#i will post it on ao3 a little later if you'd rather read it there (bc it got loooong)

[queenlucythevaliant]

1 Chronicles of Narnia

Now these are the generations of Frank I, King of Narnia, and of Helen his Queen:

After Frank had lived twenty-seven years and Helen his wife twenty-four, they begat a son after their own likenesses and called his name Frank, after his father. A daughter also they begat, and her name was Sarah; for they said, “Aslan gave this land to us and to our descendants.”

They were the first of all rulers of Narnia and to them all the Beasts and Creatures of the world were given in stewardship. They made the rough places level that structures might be built and tamed the wilds a little that the people of Narnia might dwell in them. For their line the cornerstone of Cair Paravel was laid, so that Frank and Helen might have a dwelling place worthy of the calling to which Aslan had called them. They guided the people of Narnia and instructed them in uprightness; and in all things they were Aslan’s servants.

And all the days of Frank I were eighty-two: and having reigned fifty-six years, he died and was buried at Lantern Waste in the place where Aslan first called him. And Queen Helen’s days were ninety, and she lay beside him.

-

Frank II lived sixty-three years and by his wife, the nymph Hespera, he begat sons Frank III and Isaac, and a daughter Rebecca; for he remembered the ways of his parents. Frank II did all that Aslan had commanded his father, and he wrote down all the songs and stories that his parents had taught him.

And Isaac his son went to the pasturelands in the south and established his father’s rule there even as he worked the land among the Beasts. But Rebecca remained in her father’s house, for she loved the sea.

And having ruled Narnia eight years, Frank II died, and Frank III ruled in his place.

-

Frank III lived fifty-four years and by his wife, Liriope the naiad, he begat only Rachel, his daughter. Now Frank III was thirty-three when he began to reign, and he was the first king of Narnia to rule at Cair Paravel. Under his dominion, the boarders of Narnia were drawn: north at the River Shribble as far as Lantern Waste and south at the mountains beyond Glasswater. He ruled twenty-eight years in peace: and after he died, Rachel ruled Narnia.

-

Now Rachel was twenty years old when she began to reign. She remembered her fathers’ instruction and she walked in uprightness; yet she feared the evil that had gone into north and so devoted herself to Narnia’s fortification. It was said among some of the people that Queen Rachel did not close her eyes even to sleep.

In her first year, she ordered the forging of 5,000 iron swords from the Red Dwarves, and from the Black Dwarves 2,000 shields and 12,000 arrow tips. From the dryads she ordered 1,500 bows such as could be made of sturdy, flexible wood. She built up walls and armaments around the Tree of Protection and appointed farsighted Eagles to guard it by day and Owls by night. She established watchtowers in the Northern March; and the first armies of Narnia assembled under her general, Gripfast the centaur.

Rachel lived seventy-seven years and she begat Frank IV and daughters Lea and Dina: and having reigned fifty-seven years, she died. And she and all her descendants were buried beneath the third hill of Cair Paravel, just within the outermost fortifications.

-

Frank IV was fifty-three years old when he began to reign. He lived sixty-nine years and begat Frank V and Cainan. But Frank IV was the first Narnian king to die in battle, for in his day a wer-wolf made its den by Cauldron Pool and was terrorizing all those who came there. So the king went out alone and called the wer-wolf out to combat, and the wer-wolf tore his body apart.

When his son Cainan heard what had happened, he rode out to Cauldron Pool with twenty warriors and they vanquished the wer-wolf; and after he had done this, Cainan sailed east and became the first ruling Prince of Galma.

Having reigned sixteen years, Frank IV died, and his son Frank V ruled Narnia in his place.

-

Now Frank V was forty-three years old when he began to reign. His mother’s name was Neda, a river goddess. And he did right in the ways of Aslan, but not with his whole heart. For Frank V was a proud man and he put his own seal, not the Lion’s, on all that he did. He established the first Narnian exploratory corps, an assembly of 3,000 Birds, Antelope, and other nimble creatures sent into the wastes to report back what they saw. In this way, the lands to the south of the mountains were first discovered.

By his wife, a woman of Galma, Frank V begat Frank VI, Colin, and Col, and daughters Ellen, Nia, and Genive. And because his son Frank V was his heir, the king greatly favored him; but his other sons and daughters, the king left to their own devices.

And in that day, Aslan was seen again in Narnia's lands: for when they were young women the princesses Ellen, Nia, and Genive stood together on the eastern shore of Galma and called to him. They spoke the words of reverence and supplication which had come from the writings of Frank II, saying, "We long to see thy glory, O Aslan; Lord, shine your countenance upon us." And as they waited, behold, Aslan came to them out of the east and spoke unto the princesses face to face. Yet it is not written in this or any other book what he said to them.

Having reigned thirty-eight years, Frank V died. But Frank VI lived twenty-six years only and did not wed, for he was feeble from birth. Colin, his brother, ruled in his place.

-

Now Colin and his brother Col were much intrigued by all that lay to Narnia’s south and in youth they made a pact to establish a kingdom there together. But when Frank VI died and Colin became heir, he told his brother Col, “You must go south now so that when I am king, we may begin to build an empire together.” So Col went south into the mountains and there established Archenland.

And Colin became king when he was thirty-one years old. On the day of his coronation, he sent a dispatch of 700 Narnians to Archenland, telling them, “Build my brother a nation fit to stand beside Narnia.”

Thus Archenland grew and prospered; and travel to and from Narnia was established across the mountains. Each year, Col and his queen would winter in Narnia; and Colin and his queen, who was Ida the mountain nymph, oft summered in Archenland. In this way, the great alliance between the two nations was born.

And by Queen Ida, Colin begat Colin II and daughters Salla and Saria: and having reigned forty years, he died.

-

Now Colin II was forty years old when he began to rule. Colin II did what was right in Aslan’s eyes. In the first year of his reign, he formally dedicated Stone Table Hill to the Emperor-beyond-the-Sea. Likewise, he established days of feasting in the Lion’s honor and on those days the gates of Cair Paravel were flung wide to all who would enter. And he begat a son Cal and daughter Joianna: and having reigned nineteen years, he died. But Cal lived only nine years and his sister Joianna ruled Narnia after her father’s death.

-

Joianna was thirty-two years old when she began to rule, and her mother’s name was Sharra. Joianna was called the Dancing Queen, for she was the first ruler of Narnia to partake in the summer frolics on the Dancing Lawn. Lords came from the south and the east to beg her hand for a dance; but she married a Narnian Elm-spirit.

Yet in spite of her cognomen, Joianna loved all the arts: she was a painter and she established a school of painting which met at Lantern Waste, for she said, “It is the place of all creation.” And in her day, many masterful artworks were made, and some adorned the halls of Cair Paravel.

Joianna was patron to many of the finest artists that Narnia has yet known: she gifted fine materials to Caulkin the dwarf, who made statues of gold and bronze so lifelike that many mistook them for living creatures, and to Gleamcast the centaur she gave lengths of blue and black velvet for her tapestries.

In her last days, Joianna also established the Narnian Library at Cair Paravel, that all the histories of the world might be put to paper. And she lived for seventy-six years and with her husband begat Cal II, Caden, and a daughter Marianna: and having reigned forty-four years, she died.

-

And Cal, second of that name but the first to rule Narnia as king, lived sixty-six years. He begat Jonan, Julan, and Joianna II: and having reigned ten years, he died.

But it was during Cal’s reign that outlaws from another world appeared in the south of Archenland and began to build themselves a kingdom, which today is called Calormen. They brought laws and customs from their own place and did not pay Aslan any due. Rather, they cursed him as a demon and a false god; and when he heard news of this, King Cal’s heart stopped and his life ended.

-

Jonan was thirty-nine when he began to rule and he begat only daughters: Ira and Lyra by his wife Helin of Archenland, and Birchsilver, whose mother was a dryad: and having reigned six years, he died.

-

Now Ira lived seventy-nine years and begat Garlen, Galad, Seabreak, and a daughter Joianna III. She did not acknowledge Aslan or the ways of her fathers, but did wickedness in the Emperor’s sight. When Ira heard of the fine perfumes being sold in the new southern country, she sent an envoy south and arranged to purchase them. And when she heard that some Calormene ladies had slaves to carry them about in litters, she ordered six centaurs and two unicorns to live at the Cair and bear her astride wherever she went.

Queen Ira greatly prized her own beauty, and when she began to think that her daughter Joianna had surpassed her, Ira had a tower built at the westernmost wall of Cair Paravel, and there imprisoned her. But though her tower was not windowless, Joianna wasted away because the Eastern Sea was beyond her sight, and her beauty quickly faded. Only then did her mother the queen release her.

Having reigned fifty-two years, Ira died and was buried with her fathers.  

-

Now Garlen, Ira’s first son, lived sixty-one years; but he received a wound in his youth and could not sire children. Thus, his brother Galad ruled Narnia after Queen Ira’s death.

Galad was fifty-three years old when he began to reign, but after his half-sister’s imprisonment he began to lose his senses; and by the time he became king, he was altogether mad. Yet in spite of this impediment, he made a favorable marriage to Larin, princess of Archenland, and she bore him Cassadon and Carradon and daughters Raina, Joia, and Ellan. Because of Galad’s infirmity, his wife Larin and son Cassadon ruled Narnia in truth: and having been king thirty-eight years, Galad died.

-

Now Cassadon was instructed in the ways of wise rulership from the time he began to speak, and he walked upright before the Lion. But when his brother Carradon saw that Cassadon ruled while their father still lived, he bribed a certain satyr to kill him while he was out riding. But Cassadon dodged the blow and arrested the satyr, who told him at once what Caradon had done: and because Cassadon trusted Aslan and was forgiving in nature, he pardoned his brother and did not raise a hand against him.

But resentment still simmered in the heart of Carradon, so he went to some of the royal guards at Cair Paravel and said, “If one of you kills my brother Cassadon, I will give him his own dutchy; and if he fails, he will be pardoned, for my brother is a soft-hearted man.”

But the guards were loyal to Cassadon because he was a good and upright man, so they went before him together and told him what Carradon had asked them to do. And when he heard this, Cassadon was greatly distressed; but because he loved his brother, he placed him under house arrest and did not raise a hand against him.

Yet Carradon hated his brother all the more for his kindness, so he wrote to his brother-in-law Prodit, the husband of his sister Ellan, saying, “If you arrange to have Cassadon killed the next time he is in your house, I will make your wife my heir when I am king, and then your children will sit on the throne of Narnia.” So, the next time that Cassadon visited the house of his sister Ellan, he was given a chalice full with poison and drank it, and at once he began to spasm in his chair. But Cassadon cried out to Aslan, and the Lion preserved his life until a healer arrived. And when Ellan found out what had happened, she questioned all the members of her household until Carradon’s treachery was unveiled.

Then, after long consultation with his advisors and with Larin his mother, Cassadon brought Carradon before the Stone Table and said, “Though you are my brother, you have thrice betrayed me and sought my death. Therefore, let the Emperor-beyond-the-Sea be judge between us.” And after he had said these things, Cassadon put his brother to death on the Stone Table, and his blood ran down its surface and pooled in the letters that were graven there.

And Cassadon lived sixty years and by his wife, the maenad Lucizia, he begat a son named Gale, most famous of all the kings of Frank’s dynasty, and daughters Allia and Lightfall: and having reigned less that a year in his own name, he died.

-

Now Gale was thirty-nine years old when he began to reign. From a child, his father taught him all the histories of Narnia to instruct him in uprightness; and as a youth Gale vowed that when he ruled Narnia, he would serve Aslan with his whole heart. He was a just judge and a valiant warrior, and all the people of Narnia loved him. He reinstituted the High Festivals which Colin II had begun and invited envoys from Archenland, Galma, and even Calormen to partake in them. And a few Calormenes came to know Aslan in this way.

But Gale’s greatest deeds, it is told, took place on a series of sea-voyages to the lands to the East of Narnia. Terebinthia he discovered uninhabited, and when some of his people asked to form a colony there, Gale told them, “Go with Aslan’s blessing and devote yourselves to his service there.” But Gale remained high king over Terebinthia in those days.

The Lone Islands he found peopled with men whose ancestry traced back to that other world from which Frank and the Calormenes had first come; and the people of the Lone Islands were at great need, for a dragon had made its habitation on Doorn and was besieging the people there. But Gale mustered his Narnian forces and by Aslan’s gift defeated the dragon. In gratitude, the Lone Islands made Gale and his line their emperor forever. But even as he accepted, Gale said, “There is only one Emperor, and all the kings of the world are in his hand.”

Gale reigned forty-one years and by his wife Josephine, a shepherdess of Felimath, he begat Gale II: and when he was eighty years old, he sailed east without any crew and his likeness was never seen in Narnia again.

-

Gale II lived one hundred and thirteen years and his wife Lis begat only daughters: Galia, Raia, Lia, Blushsky, and Bee. Gale II was the richest of all Narnian kings, for under his reign the Narnia prospered and the land was abundant. The king gathered riches from the four corners of the world: musical instruments and precious gems from the north, carved decorations of coral and bone from the east, golden statues and stonework from the south, and rich wine and fruit from the west. His daughters were famous for their beauty and wit, and all made good matches: and when they married, they took heaping chests of treasure with them. But Gale retained the bulk of his wealth, and beneath Cair Paravel he caused there to be built a great Treasure House.

During the reign of Gale II, a strange people emerged west of Narnia in the land of Telmar: and the king sent them rich gifts of gold and silver and many jewels, but they were turned away. Yet the inhabitants of Telmar showed no signs of hostility against Narnia, and so the king did not prevent them from making their habitations in the west.

When the Calormenes finished building the great temple of Tash in the thirty-fifth year of his reign, the king said, “Let me go and see this great thing which has been built in the south.” So he journeyed to Tashbaan and partook in the dedication of the temple, and there he paid a great tribute in rich rubies and emeralds at Tash’s alter.  

Yet while he was in Calormen, a few Marsh-wiggles began to rebel in the north of Narnia, and the Black Dwarves, and some of the Beasts in those parts soon joined them. But Gale II ordered the rebellion crushed and the wigwams of those who had begun it were destroyed utterly.

And when they saw what the king had done to his own people, the men of Terebinthia rejected Gale II as their high king; and Gale did not oppose them, for his army was discontented.

And having reigned seventy-five years, Gale II died, and his daughter Galia reigned in his place.

-

And Galia lived ninety years, but most of her life she spent in the western dutchy of Lantern Waste with her husband, who was duke: and with her husband she begat Gale III and Carlisle, and having reigned five years, she died.

-

Gale III lived eighty-one years and like his mother did not begin to reign until he was old: for the splendor of his grandfather’s rule still hung over all Narnia. But while he ruled, the people of Narnia were free and unencumbered; but the lights of Cair Paravel were dark while Gale III reigned. And by two women he begat Gale IV and Ele: and having reigned seventeen years, he died.

-

But Gale IV lived thirty-six years only and his daughter Rosebriar, whose mother was Zehra Tarkheena, ruled Narnia in his place.

Rosebriar was thirty-eight old when she began to reign. She lived eighty-nine years and with her husband, Lord Eleon of Terebinthia, she begat Gale V, Ebeneezer (whose name came from one of Narnia’s oldest songs), and Umit. Now Queen Rosebriar was a prophet, and while dreaming Aslan gave her visions of things to come.

From a child she dreamed snow and ice, howling winds and howling wolves; but then she saw Aslan, whose radiance filled the sea, and he promised her that he would one day return to the land he had created and give four children of Frank’s root rule over Narnia.

Having dreamed all these things, Rosebriar caused four thrones to be built in the royal hall of Cair Paravel. Marble they were, graven with images from Rosebriar’s dreams, and she decreed that none should sit in those thrones until all that Aslan had promised had come to pass. And as to the rest of Queen Rosebriar’s prophecies, are they not written in her book which is stored in the Library of Cair Paravel?

Having reigned fifty-one years, Rosebriar died and her son Gale V ruled Narnia.

-

And Gale V lived seventy-seven years and begat Gale VI: and having reigned ten years, he died.

-

Gale VI was sixteen years old when he began to reign, and his mother was Ell of Archenland. Gale VI honored Aslan, and he waged wars in the north in the hope of rooting out the evil concerning which Queen Rosebriar had prophesied. But in the northern moors, no sign of the witch could be found. Yet Gale VI pushed Narnia’s northern boundary across the whole of Ettinsmoor to the foothills of the mountains, where they have remain to this very day. And Gale VI lived fifty-nine years and with his wife begat Gale VII, Galian, and Calvin: and having reigned forty-three years, he died.

-

And Gale VII lived forty-two years and married the hammadryad Greyleaf, by whom he begat twin daughters: Stonegrey and Cloudgrey. And having reigned seven years, he died.

-

Stonegrey and Cloudgrey were twenty-two years old when their father died, and because they were twins, they said to one another, “Why should one of us rule over the other?” So they reigned over Narnia jointly. They were not wicked in nature, but neither did they remember the name of Aslan, nor even the prophecies of Rosebriar their recent mother. They sat together in two of the four thrones which she had built for Aslan’s anointed, and so defiled them. When they did this, the grass began to wither across the land.

At this time, a faun named Salus came out of the west by Lantern Waste; and he visited the sister-queens at Cair Paravel. “The line of Frank is withering,” he said to them. “Return, return to the Lion, O Narnia! You will be torn from the ground as a withered tree and flung into the fire.”

Queen Stonegrey and Queen Cloudgrey heard Salus’s words, but they did not listen. Instead, they laughed and said, “Return, mad-faun, to your own place.” And the grass continued to wither, as though bitten by frost.

Stonegrey lived ninety-nine years and Cloudgrey lived sixty-six. Each of them bore a son in the same year, and the names they gave them were Fallstone and Stormsky: but they nursed their sons together, and kept them in the same nursery, and one of the children died in the night. No one was ever certain whose son had died, so they called the surviving child Stormstone, and he inherited their thrones. And having reigned with her sister forty-four years and alone thirty-three, Stonegrey died.  

-

Stormstone was seventy-one years old when he became king, and he saw no reason why he should not seat himself in one of the four thrones as his mother had done. But when he did this, the rivers and springs of Narnia began to run dry. And Stormstone knew then that he had done evil, or else he was frightened; so he cordoned off the thrones with a net of enchanted thread, that none might sit in them for a hundred years.

And insodoing it came to pass that King Stormstone became greatly learned in the magical arts and thus he went out to the Tree of Protection hoping to strengthen the protective spell that Aslan had laid on Narnia at creation. But when he inspected it, he found that the Tree sick, for only a few of its apples were sweet. But Stormstone was fearful of what the Narnians’ response would be if ever this became known, so he hid it from all but his closest advisors.

And by his wife Stormstone begat two sons, Shale and Micah: and having reigned for thirty years, he died.

-

And Shale lived eighty-eight years and by two wives he begat four sons, Calis, Tinan, Rush, and Ash, and two daughters, Deereye and Cornflax. In Shale’s day, the dwarves delved deeper into the earth than ever before, and discovered such wonders as no one had ever seen; and some of the Beasts began to live among their wild kindred and became as dumb beasts. The revelries at Dancing Lawn honored Aslan no longer, and after a while they went on day and night unceasing. Wine there was, and rich food from Calormen and the Lone Islands. And King Shale spoke Aslan’s name not once in the forty-four years he reigned.  

But the weeping willow dryad Fleba came before the king and she spoke the name of Aslan in a reedy voice. “The winter draws near,” she wept. “Aslan, the Light in the East, loves you still; but his glory will not suffer wickedness to endure.” And though the king heeded her not, she returned to his court again and again, weeping loudly.

In his old age, King Shale hosted a tourney to which he invited all the lords and ladies, kings of queens, Tarkaans and Tarkheens, and every person of beauty or skill from across the known world. And after the festivities began, the king became drunk, and when he tried to mount his horse, he fell backwards and died. And because few of his children survived him, his youngest son Ash ruled in his place.

-

Now Ash lived forty-seven years and begat Emberred and daughters Eca and Eleen. He was thirty-eight years old when he became king, but as soon as he was crowned, he indulged in all the vices of his father: and having reigned nine years, he died.

-

Emberred lived eighty-one years and begat Felfrost and a daughter Silksheen. In the thirty-sixth year of his reign, the Bear Snaggletooth appeared at the Stone Table and began to prophecy concerning the Deep Magic: “The Lion will not forget his Pride. What he has said to me, I will tell you: the Deep Magic from before the Dawn of Time was given form and word that his beloved might be redeemed. He will breathe into the remnant of his faithful ones, and not one will be lost.” All the words of that Bear were written down, for a few Narnians believed his words, and having believed they went unto the Stone Table and cleansed it, and there began be murmurings against the king.

When Emberred heard this, he ordered that Snaggletooth be put to death: so a Narnian executioner bound and muzzled him and cut him open on the Stone Table, and the his followers dispersed in fear.

Having reigned fifty-two years, Emberred died. But Silksheen spread rumors that her brother Felfrost was not his father’s trueborn son, so she ruled Narnia after Emberred’s death.

-

Silksheen lived seventy-three years and begat Firmfoot and Stronghilt: and while she was queen, there were rumors of a Marsh-wiggle who prophesied in the north. Yet when Silksheen heard of this, she said, “What news is it to hear a Marsh-wiggle proclaiming doom? Let him alone.”  And after she had reigned fourteen years, Silksheen died. And though Firmfoot was her elder son, the queen favored Stronghilt; so he ruled Narnia in his brother’s place.

-

Stronghilt was forty-nine years old when he began to reign, and he begat three sons, Goldbrow, Silverbrow, and Bronzebrow. All three were tall warriors, strongly built and with power in their arms. And once his sons were grown, the king said to himself, “Since the gods have blessed me with three such fine sons, surely I must put them to some mighty use.” So he assembled a great army not of Narnians, but of cruels, hags, incubuses, wraiths, efreets, wer-wolves, Ettin-giants, and all manner of other evil creatures from the wild lands to the north. And with that army, he marched against Archenland; and his sons were with him. But Aslan caused a great wall of cloud to come down in the mountains where Narnia’s southern boarder was, and nothing could pass through it.

So Stronghilt turned east and set his sights on the Seven Isles, but when the king and his armies set sail, Aslan caused a wall of fire to rise above the waters and encircle the Narnian coast as far as could be measured, and nothing could pass through it.

Then, in despair, Stronghilt turned his gaze west to Telmar, but before his armies could advance, his son Goldbrow slit his throat while he slept, and thus, having reigned twelve years, Stronghilt died.

-

And Goldbrow lived forty years and begat no children: and having reigned seven years, he died. And his brother Silverbrow ruled Narnia.

-

And Silverbrow lived forty years and begat no children: and having reigned seven years, he died. And his brother Bronzebrow ruled Narnia.

-

And Bronzebrow lived forty years and begat only a daughter, born in midwinter, whom he called Swanwhite: and having reigned seven years, he died.

-

Now Swanwhite was fifteen years old when she began to reign, and her beauty was so great that any pool into which she gazed held her reflection for a year and a day. And as she grew, the people of Narnia said of her, “Here, at last, is another great ruler from the line of kings.”

On the day she was crowned, a winged horse came before Swanwhite weeping great, horsey tears. It was a lovely summer day, perfectly befitting the beauty of the young queen. Yet the horse wept and spoke the Lion’s words: “Judgement comes like a sledge through snow. O my cold and lonely one, the King’s heart breaks for you.”

The queen laughed and heeded her not. It was a beautiful, gentle day and she did not think herself cold or lonely. She replied, “Be merry, fair friend; today I would have joy in all the land.”

And Swanwhite reigned in joy for a time, but in the sixth year of her reign the White Witch came out of the north at last, and at her command were all the armies of evil creatures that King Stronghilt had assembled. She began her conquest in the far northwest, and when rumors of it reached the queen she laughed and heeded them not.

But in the final days of Swanwhite’s reign over Narnia, the White Witch tore down Queen Rachel’s walls which had stood for seven hundred years around the Tree of Protection. The Tree itself she turned to stone with her wand; and her armies trampled it to pieces.

When word of the Tree’s destruction reached Swanwhite at Cair Paravel, she mustered fifty Narnian warriors and led them to Stone Table Hill, hoping to take the Witch by surprise while she was performing dark rituals there unguarded. In this, Swanwhite failed. The Witch turned her warriors into stone and had the statues carried away; but Swanwhite herself was bound and gagged and the White Witch slew her on the Stone Table.

Swanwhite lived twenty-five years and begat no children: and having reigned nine years, she died. And the White Witch ruled over Narnia.

[justporo]

Lost between the covers

When outside a blizzard is raging, there is nothing better than cuddling up with your vampire for a little reading date, right? Well, if you can pick a book to agree on...

MASTERLIST | AO3

Author's Note: Written for the "Getting cozy" prompt of the BG3 Winter Holiday challenge. Shortly ago I wrote a little thing about Astarion and books - and then immediately knew I had to write more about it for the fluff challenge. The bad erotica short stories thing was inspired by another post (I'll link if I can find it, if someone has it, please halp, I can't find anything on this hellsite) and also ofc there have been several posts going around on how Astarion is a Drizzt fan.

Pairing: Astarion/GN!Tav (You) Warnings: none Wordcount: 1,4k ~~~

The burning logs crackled in the fireplace while the flames licked on them and flickering warm light filled your living room. Outside a snow storm had been raging the whole day and hadn't stopped even when night had fallen. Wind was howling around the house, and little specks of ice were thrown so hard by the gusts, they made clattering noises against the big living room window.

It didn't bother you at all. You didn’t even spare it any attention at all anymore. The rising and ebbing of the howling wind and the crackling of the fire had become nothing but pleasant background noise.

You were all cosily snuggled up on Astarion's lap, legs swung over his, head on the vampire's shoulder, a blanket wrapped thoroughly around you. The pale elf’s feet were comfortably crossed over each other at the ankles on the floor. His head slightly rested on the crown of yours and he had put his arms lightly around your frame while holding a small leatherbound book he was reading to you from.

The whole scene was just complete and utter bliss - you didn’t remember the last time you had felt such serene peace. Perhaps you never had.

And if you would have asked him, Astarion would have told you very much the same. The vampire might never get used to the feeling of having you close, feeling the warmth of your body slowly seeping into his own as you relaxed into him, fully trusting him. He’d never known or shared this kind of closeness with anyone before.

And he wouldn’t give it up anymore for anything in the world - not even for being able to walk in the sun again.

At first Astarion had made a fuss when you had started to climb on his lap like a cat. But you'd been feeling rather sick for a while now and felt you were entitled to some pampering from your partner. And of course Astarion actually loved that he was that to you: the person you came to because he was your safe haven - not to mention the love of your life. 

But the vampire still had wrestled you off his lap once more while you had pouted.

“Ah ah, patience, my darling. I'm only setting us up so we can stay all neatly cuddled up for the rest of the night,” he'd lectured you and had inclined his head towards you while doing a little bow.

“I don't know, Astarion, you being the one talking about having patience somehow feels cynic to me,” you'd replied and wrapped your arms around you to stay warm.

Astarion's eyes had narrowed dangerously at you, tongue in cheek, before he had turned on his heel and left without another word. You probably had only made him take his sweet time now. With a sigh you had sunk back onto the piece of furniture

He had returned some time later with a stack of different books under his arm, a cup of hot tea for you and some mulled wine for himself.

Astarion had scoffed at first at the premise of drinking “fine wine ruined with spices and fruit, my love - why not immediately make me drink juice with seasoning, ugh.” But then he had started to enjoy it quite quickly.

You scurried to make place for your vampire on the sofa. Then putting the mugs down on the small table beside the couch, the vampire sat down beside you again, balancing books of different size and condition on his legs.

“So, tell me my love, what shall we read?”, he asked cheerfully while you just eyed the stack of books on his lap - they were in your spot.

Astarion looked at you cockily, eyebrows raised, waiting for you to give a response. You just slowly blinked at him. Your brain was mushy and foggy from being sick - you weren't up to make important choices, but you tried to pull yourself together. Astarion was awful at downplaying how excited he seemed to just snuggle up with you on the couch with a book and you surely wanted to indulge him.

“Well, what's on offer?”, you finally asked in response.

Astarion jumped right back into action with a pleased grin: “I'm so glad you asked, my love.”

He lifted up the first one of the books: small, blue, golden lettering on the front and spine. “We have a nice small volume of poetry - the writing is a bit too sappy for my liking, personally, but this poet's been all the rave lately, so I had to form an opinion on that of course.”

“Of course,” you chimed in with a knowing little smile. It was insanely cute to you how much enthusiasm the vampire had for literature.

You had drawn your legs up to sit on them and were now leaning your elbow on your knees, chin in your hand, looking at Astarion who lifted up the next book - a huge, very old looking, leather-bound tome.

“We have one of the most holistic and elaborate accounts of history of our wondrous city of Baldur’s Gate”, the vampire went on, putting on some scholarly demeanour. Gods, he almost reminded you of Gale for a second. You blinked a few times to get that out of your head.

Then you eyed the dusty and crumbly book with a scrunched up nose: “You don’t really want to read that, do you?”

Astarion looked at you in confusion: “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Nerd”, you simply said. “Next!”

The vampire’s red gaze narrowed at you in distaste. He still held up the huge leatherbound chronicles in his hands.

“One comment about how I grew up on the streets and am uncultured, Astarion, and I will bite you!”, you threatened and stuck a finger in his face.

Immediately the pale elf put on a smug grin. “Would be a nice change for once, don’t you think?”, he muttered in a sultry tone while you just rolled your eyes and groaned. “But alright, I understand that the audience may be a little… overwhelmed with this suggestion”, he continued in one of his insufferable ways and went to carefully place down the huge tome on the wooden floor.

You still felt like you had been made fun of but you let it slide for now.

“Alright, next up we have this titillating collection of obnoxiously bad erotica short stories,” Astarion continued and lifted up a much smaller book again - this one bound in linen in a deep red colour. The vampire was back at grinning lewdly at you, one eyebrow lifted high.

“Is this where you got all your lines from?”, you asked dryly.

Astarion’s expression immediately turned sour. “Alright, we’re not reading this one”, he said in a flat tone, glowering angrily at you. He threw the book over his shoulder and heard how it clattered to the ground - always so dramatic.

Meanwhile you had started cackling so much you had to bury your face in your hand for a moment. Under his breath you heard Astarion mutter something about why he hadn’t “just chosen about anyone else to manipulate and end up with”.

Quickly, you went to lean forward and grab his face to cherish it with a kiss. Despite his still disgusted face the pale elf welcomed the loving attention. When you pulled away you kept holding his face in your hands: “You’re stuck with me, love.”

“Good thing, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else then”, Astarion replied and leaned in again for another kiss.

Afterwards,sitting up straight again, Astarion sighed dreamily while his eyes lingered on you.

“What’s the last one?”, you asked after a while of the vampire seemingly just getting lost in your eyes.

“Hm?” he made, raising his eyebrows. Then he shook his head softly to focus again while you grinned to yourself knowingly.

Astarion lifted up the last pick in his stack of books he’d brought: “Well, the last one is another adventurous tale of Drizzt Do’Urden.”

Your head perked up when you heard that.

Astarion had introduced you to the legendary tales of Drizzt a while ago now and despite brushing it off at first you had gotten seriously into the stories. And another one of those stories sounded just about right for a stormy winter night and for cuddling up for the rest of the night.

Eagerly, you climbed on Astarion’s lap without any other responses. The vampire just laughed while he allowed you to cosy up to him and finally sealed the deal by putting an arm around you, with his other hand opening up the book already.

“Alright, looks like we have a winner”, he mused playfully and dragged you in a little closer on his lap so he could press another kiss to the top of your head.

Tag list: @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess @darlingxdragon

[silenzahra]

🥰 for the writing prompt? Writer's choice!

Referring to this post ✨

This fic was loooong overdue! I am really sorry to have kept you waiting for so long, but I hope it was worth the wait! 🙏

Thank you sooooo much for sending me this prompt! It has truly melted my heart to work on this idea 🥺 I really hope you like it! 💖

Are you ready for some brotherly fluff? 🤭💚❤️

Here's the link to AO3 in case you'd rather read it there! ✨

Wordless Love

When Luigi arrives home, Mario still hasn't returned.

Luigi sighs and closes the door behind him. The pipes in the castle really must be clogged. He wonders if he should come to his brother's aid, but he knows that, if Mario needed his help, he would have called him.

Besides, this gives Mario and Peach a chance to spend some more time together.

With a somewhat amused smile, Luigi leaves the toolbox on the entrance cabinet and hangs his hat on the rack. He's feeling very tired after a long day of single-handedly serving his Brooklyn clients, and all he feels like doing is taking a shower, grabbing a quick dinner, and going to bed.

But he can't go to sleep without Mario. Even though he knows his big brother is safe and sound in Princess Peach's castle, Luigi needs Mario to, at least, be home so he can fall asleep.

So he heads to the bathroom and takes a fast, but warm and relaxing shower. When he finishes, and since Mario isn’t home yet, Luigi opts to leave everything ready to make dinner later and goes out into the garden.

It's cool, as autumn is coming to the Mushroom Kingdom, but that doesn't stop him. Luigi smiles as he walks through his small garden, the one he has cultivated with so much care and attention since he and Mario moved there. He looks closely at each plant, each flower, and makes sure to irrigate the ones that need some water. He talks to each and every one of them, tells them how beautiful they are that night, and quietly sings a little song during his walk. He also makes sure to check that the automatic watering system he installed with Mario's help is still working perfectly, and smiles to himself, satisfied, after verifying that it is.

These flowers, this garden, are his pride and joy. Every day he’s more and more happy for the good fortune of having a small corner in which to raise his favorite flowers. When he lived in Brooklyn he had to make do with a couple of flowerpots, but, in the Mushroom Kingdom, there’s room for all the plants in the world. So, without a second thought, Luigi transplanted his first two flowers and, since then, he’s grown many more.

And now his beloved garden looks beautiful in broad daylight as well as under the faint, bright glow of the full moon. Each flower has a particular beauty and scent, and Luigi has learned to recognize each one by its fragrance before he even sees them.

When he re-enters the house, he realizes that he has spent a whole hour outside, walking among his plants and singing to them. However, just as he closes the garden door behind him, the front door, which is opposite him on the other side of the living room, opens at last.

“Mario!” he exclaims as soon as he sees him enter, and runs towards him. “You’re back!”

Before his brother has time to drop his tools or close the door behind him, Luigi pounces on him. Mario lets out a loud laugh of surprise and staggers back a little at his impetus but does not hesitate to return his brother's embrace with the same heartiness.

“Yeah, I’m back,” he mumbles, laughing, as he pats Luigi’s back.

They smile at each other as they part, happy to be together again. Luigi takes Mario’s hat from him and hangs it on the rack next to his.

“Looks like there was a lot of work at the castle today, right?” he says meanwhile.

“Oh, you just can’t imagine!” Mario exclaims, dropping his tools any which way on the entrance cabinet. “I think we’d better go together next time. We’ll simply postpone all the appointments we have with our Brooklyn customers.”

Smiling, Luigi carefully sets each tool in its place inside the toolbox he’s been carrying all day.

“I thought about coming to help you,” he admits, “but I didn’t know if you’d be... busy.”

He wonders if Mario will understand what he’s referring to, if he'll catch the hidden meaning beneath that one word, but he senses he'll have to keep that joke to himself.

“Busy?” Mario looks at him with a raised eyebrow, confused. “What do you mean by that?”

Luigi lets out a low chuckle as he places the last tool.

“It’s nothing, don’t mind me,” he says, amused, and grabs Mario’s hand to lead him to the kitchen. “Come on! Are you hungry? How about I make you a lasagna?”

“Lasagna?” Mario repeats, his face suddenly lighting up like a lighthouse in the middle of the darkest night. “But of course! What kind of question is that?”

Luigi lets out a chuckle, cheerful and touched in equal parts. His brother will never change, and Luigi adores him more and more every day for that.

Amid jokes and laughter, the brothers enter the kitchen. Luigi, after putting on his green apron with a pattern of orange flowers, starts cooking immediately, and Mario, instead of sitting down, stands next to him and passes him the ingredients and utensils needed to prepare the lasagna. In the meantime, he tells Luigi how his day has been, as they separated in the morning to go to work in different places, and explains how difficult it was to unblock all the pipes in the castle. Then, always ready to listen to him, Mario asks Luigi how his day has been, but Luigi, more focused on the cooking, shrugs and quickly summarizes what has been a very normal working day for him.

“And how’s Peach?” he asks casually as they wait for the lasagna to be ready. “How did things go with her?”

“Just as usual.” This time it’s Mario who shrugs, but Luigi doesn’t fail to notice that a slight blush is now covering his brother’s cheeks. “You know her. She’s very... kind and sweet. Just as usual,” he repeats, looking away.  

Luigi covers his mouth with his hand to hide a giggle. He would love to hear more, to encourage Mario to tell him more about those feelings that have undoubtedly blossomed in his heart after meeting the beautiful princess, but Luigi doesn't insist. He knows his brother so well that he’s convinced he will open up when the time comes, when he feels ready, and Luigi wouldn't want to pressure him for anything in the world.

It doesn't take long for the lasagna to be ready at last. As he does every night, Luigi serves his brother first, and smiles at the keenness with which Mario takes the first bite. As he sits down, his plate already full, he notices his brother's satisfied expression, and the soft "Mmm!" Mario emits as he chews causes Luigi’s smile to widen.

“My goodness, Luigi,” Mario exclaims admiringly. “Your cooking gets better every day!”

Luigi blushes and laughs nervously.

“Th-thank you,” he stammers, embarrassed, before starting to eat too.

During dinner, however, Luigi realizes something that makes him uneasy: his brother is tired. More than him, even. Luigi knows this because Mario, who usually talks non-stop between bites, remains silent this time, just centered on savoring the lasagna, a clear indication that his energy has diminished considerably since he came back home. Luigi sees it in his eyelids, which appear somewhat droopy, no doubt exhausted and eager to close until the next day. Luigi senses it in the slowness with which Mario gradually puts the food into his mouth. Still, every time their eyes meet, Mario gives him warm smiles and makes sure to keep telling him how delicious he finds the lasagna.

Luigi loves to cook and always feels flattered that his brother so enthusiastically enjoys the dishes he lovingly prepares for him.

But tonight there is something more important.

Tonight is not just about having dinner with Mario and spending some quality time with him before going to bed, but also about taking care of his exhausted older brother.

“Come on,” he says as he gets up, once they’ve both finished dessert. “How about I run you a hot bath to help you relax?”

Mario smiles, and his grin, although full of affection as always, is also a true reflection of the fatigue that plagues him from within.

“I’d love that, Lu.”

Determined, Luigi begins to pick up the dishes, but, when he’s about to start washing them, meaning to do it quickly so that he can take care of Mario, he senses some fingers on his shoulder that make him turn around. He meets again his brother’s sweet smile, who reaches out his other hand to take the plate that Luigi had grabbed.

“I’ll wash them,” Mario offers.

“Oh, no, that’s not necessary,” Luigi refuses, worried that Mario’s tiredness will increase.

“I insist, Lu.” Mario, unwilling to surrender, gives him a gentle and playful hip thrust to softly push him away. “You made dinner. It’s only fair.”

Luigi knows Mario's determined expression too well to know there's no point in trying to stop him. Defeated, he agrees to step away from the kitchen sink with a resigned sigh and watches his brother with a hand on his hip.

“All right, you win,” he concedes, at which Mario’s smile widens. “I’ll go draw your bath.”

Mario nods with a chuckle as he does the dishes, and Luigi takes off his apron, which he had inadvertently left on during dinner, and goes into the bathroom. The first thing he does is close the door and turn on the heater to warm up the room. After putting the plug in the bathtub, he turns on the hot water faucet first and lets the tub fill up a bit before turning on the cold, but not too much. He wants the water to be hot and to last like that long enough for Mario's muscles to relax after today's hard work.

In the meantime, he hangs Mario's bathrobe on the rack next to the tub and places a small towel on a stool in case his brother wants to wash his hair. Luigi also prepares the shampoo, soap and sponge, and puts them on top of the towel so that Mario can reach them from inside the bathtub. He takes the hairdryer out of the cupboard where they keep it and carefully sets it in a corner of the sink, because he knows that Mario does not like to go to bed with wet hair, so he will need it if he decides to wash his head. Luigi quickly leaves the bathroom to go to his bedroom for a moment: he hurriedly opens the top drawer of the dresser they share, takes out Mario's favorite pajamas and returns to the bathroom at lightning speed. He then pours some soothing bath salts into the water and places a towel on the floor, in front of the tub, so that Mario won't slip.

Finally, satisfied with his work, Luigi turns off the faucet, switches off the heater and goes out into the hallway in search of his brother.

“The bath is ready!” he announces with an exaggerated flourish as he enters the kitchen.

Mario laughs, giving him an amused look, and puts the last plate away on the sideboard before following him. Although the bathroom is very close to the kitchen, Luigi guides his brother as if they were inside one of those old mansions with an infinite number of corridors and rooms and opens the door with a graceful bow.

“I hope you find it to your liking, sir,” he says, modifying his voice so that it sounds deep.

Mario lets out a chuckle again but puts his shoulders back and places both hands behind his back as he walks past Luigi into the bathroom.

“Very warm and cozy, butler,” he replies, imitating his brother’s tone.

Luigi, still bent over and with his arm outstretched, is forced to cover his mouth with his other hand to contain the snort that was about to escape from his throat. However, when he straightens up, his laughter is stifled by the tender look, full of gratitude, that Mario, standing in front of him, throws at him.

Then Mario reaches out and wraps an arm around his neck to pull him close, giving him a quick squeeze in which their cheeks squish against the other’s. The moment is so fleeting that Luigi does not have time to raise his arm to reciprocate the gesture of his brother, who, a second before releasing him, turns his head to place a quick kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you, Lu,” he says, his voice full of warmth. “It’s just what I needed.”

Luigi's heart beats a little faster, full of bliss, and a touched smile blooms on his face as the blood rushes to his cheeks. Despite the fact that Mario showers him in affection quite often, Luigi just can’t help blushing. Inside him, tenderness and emotion intermingle with a certain embarrassment that makes him feel bashful, as he does not think he deserves so much gratitude. After all, he’s taking care of his brother in the same way Mario has taken care of him and watched over him all his life. That's how they’ve always worked and that's how they will continue to work.

Still, he keeps smiling at Mario, who watches him with his warm grin tattooed on his face as he slowly slides shut the bathroom door. On impulse, when there’s barely a small crack left, Luigi raises his hand and waves it in farewell, and Mario, with a chuckle, reciprocates his gesture immediately.

Luigi sighs, satisfied, when the door finally closes. He’s sure that the bath will do Mario good, so he goes to his room to give his brother some space and privacy. He really hopes it will be to his liking and help him relax.

Once in his bedroom, Luigi feels as if the autumn chill has crept into it through a window. He makes sure all of them are closed and opts to turn on the radiator to warm up the bedroom a bit, especially to keep Mario from getting cold when he finishes his bath. Luigi goes over to his brother's bed, uncovers it and grabs the pillows to soften them a bit, since that's how Mario feels most comfortable. He turns on both nightlights, Mario's red one and his green one, and looks around to make sure everything is in order.

As he stands in the center of the room, Luigi feels a huge wave of exhaustion wash over him. His day has not been as hard as Mario's, but he certainly needs to rest too, although he knows he can't do so until his brother goes to bed as well. He doesn't want to pressure him or interrupt his bath, so Luigi takes his time to tidy up the room a bit, uncover his own bed and put on his pajamas.

Just as he finishes buttoning the top of his green and white striped pajamas, he suddenly remembers something. He almost forgot! He rushes hurriedly out of his room and into the kitchen. Trying to go slowly so as not to break anything with his usual clumsiness, Luigi pulls a glass from the cupboard, fills it with fresh milk and pops it into the microwave.

He’s walking past the bathroom just as the sound of the hairdryer reaches his ears. Luigi sighs in relief, for he knows what that means: his brother will be out in no more than five minutes, so he will find the glass of hot milk waiting for him on his bedside table, where Luigi carefully places it. Satisfied, he picks up the book waiting on his own nightstand and goes to the living room to sit in his rocking chair, where he plans to read while waiting for Mario.

The book is so interesting that it grabs his attention right away, making him lose track of time. When the bathroom door finally opens, Luigi realizes that he has read ten pages almost without blinking. He smiles to himself, for he's loving the story he's reading, and places the bookmark between the pages before looking up.

As he does so, Luigi lets out a little chuckle: his brother, standing in the doorway, has skin almost redder than his pajama top. Mario, hearing him, smiles with resignation.

“I overdid it with the hot water, didn’t I?” he says with a laugh, heading for the bedroom.

“A little,” Luigi replies, amused, going after him.

This time it is Mario who holds the door for him, and Luigi gives him a nod and a chuckle as he enters the room. Gently and smiling, Mario takes the book from his hands and goes to Luigi's bedside table to leave it there, while Luigi, somewhat surprised, closes the door behind him and walks to his bed as well.

After dropping the book, Mario turns to face him. Luigi stops in front of his brother and wonders if, perhaps, Mario wants to tell him something or ask him for something else before going to sleep.

But his brother doesn't utter a word: with a warm smile on his lips, he raises his arms and wraps them around Luigi, resting his chin on his shoulder and placing a hand on the back of his neck to bring him closer. Despite his initial astonishment, Luigi immediately relaxes in his big brother's arms and, with a smile, lifts his arms to wrap them around Mario's waist as he closes his eyes. His brother, patting his back gently and running his fingers through his hair at the back of his neck, lets out a deep and resounding sigh while still hugging him tightly.

“Thank you for always taking care of me, Lu,” he whispers, his lips close to Luigi’s ear.

“Oh.” Luigi lets out a nervous giggle. “You don’t have to thank me, Mario. That’s what brothers do, right?”

Luigi feels him laugh in his arms.

“I’m certainly lucky to have you as a brother.”

Luigi's heart warms up, overwhelmed by a deep emotion. He feels his eyes moisten and he embraces his brother with more strength and affection, hoping, wishing, that his way of hugging him will be enough to let Mario know that he is the one who feels fortunate to have him as his big brother. If he had nothing else, if he were homeless and jobless and could not find anything to eat every day, he would still feel the luckiest man in the world if he still had Mario by his side. He doesn't need anything else to be happy.

They remain like this, embraced, Luigi's hands on Mario's back and waist, Mario's hands on the back of Luigi's neck and back, for a time they cannot, and will not, determine. Wrapped in a warmth that comes from both the radiator and their own hearts, the brothers enjoy those brief moments of peace and safety in each other's arms, in which, without the need for words, they express how much they love the other and how important they are to each other.

With a sigh, Mario begins to pull away from Luigi, very slowly, as if he doesn't really want to, and Luigi understands, for he too is reluctant to end the contact. His brother slides his hand from the back of his neck to his cheek and watches him intensely, his blue eyes glistening with emotion.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

And Luigi knows, with absolute certainty, that Mario is speaking from the heart, as he always does when he expresses his affection towards him, as deep as Luigi's for him. With a heartfelt smile, Luigi raises a hand and places it on Mario's.

“I will always be here for you,” he promises, looking into his eyes.

With tenderness shining in his, Mario widens his smile and carefully begins to gently press Luigi's head down as he does the same. Luigi, knowing what his brother intends, lets himself be guided without hesitation and closes his eyes for a second before their foreheads meet. The sigh they release, in unison, as if they had rehearsed it, is deep, intense, and reflects all the peace and serenity that this touch makes them both feel.

“And I for you, Lu,” Mario answers in a soft whisper.

When, seconds later, they raise their heads, they give each other one last smile, as full of love as all the smiles they’ve shared since the day they were born. Mario caresses his cheek while Luigi gives him a gentle squeeze on the shoulder, and then he softly gasps when, suddenly, he remembers something.

“I almost forgot,” he says with a chuckle as he walks over to Mario’s bedside table.

He carefully takes the glass of milk in his hands and turns to his brother, who beams enthusiastically as he sees what Luigi is offering him.

“Thank you, Lu!” he exclaims, accepting the glass.

Luigi smiles, moved at the eagerness and speed with which Mario drinks the hot liquid. When he finally finishes it, he lets out a sigh of pleasure and Luigi covers his mouth to hold back a giggle, not only because of his brother's satisfied expression, but also because of the spot that glistens under his moustache. Mario looks at him with a raised eyebrow, though he laughs too, and Luigi reaches over to his nightstand for a napkin to wipe his brother's face. The latter lets him do it and they share a last moment of knowing laughter.

Luigi then takes the glass from his brother's hands and goes to the kitchen to wash it. Before leaving the bedroom, he hears Mario drop like a bundle on the mattress, and when he returns, as he expected, he finds him lying on top of the sheets any which way. With a giggle that is both amused and tender, Luigi comes to his side: he slowly pulls back the sheets from under Mario's body and carefully covers him with them. Mario, eyes closed, smiles and snuggles in, and Luigi gently tucks him in and places a kiss on his cheek.

“Good night, Mario,” he whispers. “Sleep well.”

Mario's smile widens and a deep sigh escapes from his lips. Luigi, hoping that his brother will indeed sleep well that night, gives him a gentle caress on his hair before turning off the radiator and heading, at last, to his own bed.

And just as he is about to turn off his lamp, the last light still on in the room, he hears a sleepy, exhausted voice coming from his brother's bed:

“Good night, Lulu.”

[starfall-spirit]

Summary: After picking up on Violet's attraction to Liam, Xaden proposes an arrangement.

Read on Ao3

CW: Sex, light bondage, dom/sub undertones

AN: My first Violiaden fic! It was written very quickly, with little editing or fleshing out, but it's still a fun piece so I'm going to go ahead and post. Enjoy!

"I want to watch you." 

Violet quirked a brow. "Watch me?"

"I want to watch you with someone else." That confession about floored her and she found herself fumbling with the laces of her corset as she dressed for the day. Xaden approached her from behind, smoothly taking the laces from where she held them, her arms frozen at a rather uncomfortable angle, flexibility be damned. "I may act like a possessive ass at times, but I've been watching you, Violence. You can deny it all you want, but I know there's something between you and Liam."

She blinked rapidly before turning to face him as he dropped his hands from the finished knot above her tailbone. "I haven't touched him, Xaden."

"I'm not questioning your loyalty. I'm trying to figure out if you'd let him join us for a night or two."

She bit her lip, trying to gauge his sincerity. Xaden wasn't the type to test people. Not his friends, and certainly not her. Not like this. "And this night or two, we'd be doing..."

"You and I will negotiate the baseline if you say yes. I won't bring this up with Liam until I have your consent. Ultimately, I have the same end goal as usual." Her heartrate doubled as he stooped down to whisper in her ear. "I want to watch you lose control, preferably while you're filled with my brother's cock."

Holy. Fucking. Gods.

~~~~~

A smirk. A smirk was all it took for Violet to know Liam was well aware of Xaden’s proposal when he met her at her door two mornings later. “Liam.” She cleared her throat awkwardly. “Good morning.”

“Morning. Ready for breakfast?” She hesitated. “This is hardly the place to discuss the reason behind that look, Vi. I’m flattered by the invitation and I did accept, but if this is going to be awkward or you only said yes to make Xaden happy, then I won’t be upset with either of you for putting this behind us before anything starts.”

“I wasn’t going to—”

“Hey, thanks for waiting guys,” Rhi cut in. “Let’s go. I’m starving.”

“Yeah, for Tara’s—”

“Honestly, Ridoc!” It was hardly a secret and Rhi didn’t appear the least bit ashamed or embarrassed, but Violet was already on edge without thinking about other people’s sex lives. Let them think this was a best-friend-defense or something. The pair blinked back at her. “Sorry. I just need food before I deal with the morning crazy today.”

Liam snorted from beside her, but said nothing more, scanning the route ahead of them as they made their way to the mess hall. “So you really are interested?” she murmured. 

He swallowed, his jaw locking as his throat bobbed. “Violet, if you keep pushing all I’m going to be thinking about is the things I plan on doing to you tonight and I’d really like to enjoy my meal and attend formation and classes without a hard on.” She winced, feeling simultaneously guilty and turned on. “I will say this once,” Liam continued. “I am more than pleased by this arrangement so long as it’s what everyone wants. Any other concerns?” She shook her head. “Excellent. Get your food.”

~~~~~

“You’re nervous. Are you sure about this?”

“Yes, Xaden. I’m not having any doubts. All of us are fine with this, but the anticipation is killing me.” 

He hummed softly, continuing his path alternating between massaging knotted muscles and peppering tender kisses over her bare back. “And as good as that feels, you aren’t distracting me. Again, he gave that quiet hum, this time parting her thighs. Oh that might help distract her. His fingers just dipped between her legs when a patterned knock fell on Xaden’s door. She rolled onto her back. “Pity,” he murmured, licking his fingers clean. “But then, this will be just as fun, won’t it?”

He grinned as he opened the door to let Liam past the wards. “Hey, come on in.” 

“Thanks.” She watched the pair closely, hunting for any signs of tension between them or hesitation on Xaden’s part. Though she hadn’t known either of them for very long, she could read them well.

This was going to work out after all. “Hey, Vi.”

She felt her face heat as he did nothing to hide his slow assessment of her bare figure. Compared to the two of them being fully dressed, it was a bit awkward. Hopefully they’d be joining her soon, before things started feeling truly embarrassing. She cocked her head as Xaden sank into a chair about five feet from the bed. 

“Don’t tell me you two are going to sit around and chat while I sit here naked.”

He chuckled softly, exchanging a look with their guest. “Violet, I’m not touching you again tonight. I’m watching, remember?”

Her mouth popped open. “There’s no way you’re actually going to be able to keep off of me while Liam and I have sex.”

His smirk broadened. “Challenge accepted, my Violence.”

“Do you two need a moment?” Liam drawled, somehow reading into the levity of their mental conversation. 

“No,” Xaden said. “Don’t mind me. The limits are set and poor Violet’s been wound up all day.”

“Believe me, brother, I noticed.”

“No reason you can’t put her out of her misery.”

The corner of Liam’s mouth tilted up, almost imperceptible in the low lighting. He cocked his head slightly, making a small noise in his throat and slowly rolling his sleeves back—fuck, didn’t he know what that kind of shit did to women—as if he was contemplating how to start in on her.

“Come here,” he finally said. She almost shivered. Though he kept his soft tone, there was no room for hesitation or defiance. No, he and Xaden were two peas in a pod when it came to that. “Violet.” She shuffled forward on her knees, instantly relaxing when he cradled the back of her neck, his long fingers tangling in her hair, already free of it’s braid thanks to Xaden. “Okay?” he murmured, anchoring his other hand at her left hip. She nodded. “Words,” he ordered in that quiet command.

“I’m okay with this.”

“Good girl.” 

Before she could say a word his mouth sealed over hers, tentative for a moment. Or perhaps she was the one hesitating, because only a moment later he was adjusting the angle of the kiss, the stroke of his fingers dropping from her hip to rest between her thighs, the friction there and the soft sweep of his tongue coaxing her to give into him entirely. She whimpered, leaning into his steadiness, yet aching to be drawn higher.

She’d grown so used to the wild desperation she and Xaden shared that she was slightly off kilter now, both pleased by the change and all sorts of needy for more. Frustrated he wasn’t letting the intensity of the kiss grow further, she aimed for the one thing she could control, snaking her hand between them to try to stroke her clit. Liam caught onto that too, his grip around her wrist just firm enough to keep her hand pinned behind her.

Dragging his tongue against the roof of her mouth, he drew back. “This,” he began, cupping her center, “is mine tonight. Did I give you permission to touch what’s mine?”

Brothers indeed.

“Answer him, Violet,” Xaden growled from his chair. 

“No. I wasn’t given permission.”

The consequences were already making themselves known, bands of shadow folding her arms behind her back so her fingertips were brushing the opposite elbow. She pouted, wanting to touch him freely. “Be a very good girl for me and I might ask Xaden to let your hands free.” Without warning, he sank two fingers deep into her core. “Soaked for me, needy thing.”

“Liam, let me come, please.”

“Begging already?” He hummed softly, drawing out a squeal as he swept her off her knees and pressed her flat to the mattress, careful not to strain her arms. Xaden already had the thought to redirect his shadows, pinning her arms over her head. “Good things come to those who wait, Violet. Believe me when I say I’m going to take my sweet time with you.”

His fingers slid home once more, pumping in and out of her as he urged her to spread wider, making room for him to dip his head, his tongue flicking out and tugging her closer to the high she was so desperate to reach. She clenched hard and he paused, letting her fall away before reaching her climax. “No!” she wailed. 

Gods, he was a fucking sadist.

She let out another cry as he lifted one leg over his shoulder, holding her open so she was forced to take the next round, his fingers curling and his tongue stroking deep enough her thoughts could only come in fragments. She was so fucking ready. “Liam!” His teeth pinched down on her clit and she shattered, her orgasm rolling through in sharp waves. 

“Go on. She’s ready.” She gave another deep groan, still trembling as the rustle of clothing fell away and Liam’s fingers were replaced by something much thicker. “Such a good girl, taking his cock so well.”

“T-told you you couldn’t stay away.” She groaned again, surrendering to the sensations around her, Xaden’s nails scraping over her scalp as Liam dragged in and out of her, agonizingly slowly. Realizing her hands were free again, she reached for Xaden’s waist. “I want you both. Please?”

He smiled down at her. “Who am I to deny you when you ask so nicely.”

It only took a moment to maneuver them, getting her in a position she could tilt her head back over the edge of the bed. It gave Liam and Xaden full control over what happened, even without shadows pinning her. Xaden stripped out of his clothes. “You won’t have much control like this, sweetheart. If it’s too much I want you to pinch me, okay?”

“I will. I trust you both, Xaden.”

His worry softened to pure adoration. “I know, sweetheart. But I take no risks with you if I can help it. Ready?”

She nodded, dropping her head back as Liam slid into her once again, a little sigh leaving her as Xaden slipped his thumb past her lips, coaxing her open. “Our perfect girl.”

Her eyes fluttered shut as he guided his tip past her lips, gliding over her tongue. She dropped her jaw, opening her throat as best as she could. “Good, Violet. Doing so well for us.” That came from Liam this time. She liked pleasing them both. He jerked his hips without warning, startling her enough she lost her rhythm and Xaden once again had to center her.

She let herself go, focusing only on what would bring Xaden to the edge with her, accepting the overload of sensations as they increased their pace, bringing her to her second orgasm. Neither of them had finished yet. And they seemed deadset on pulling another out of her. She whined softly. “You’re doing so good, baby,” Xaden encouraged her. In all honesty, she was hardly doing anything to pleasure him anymore. “This isn’t about me sweetheart. You’re giving us everything and more right now. All I need you to do is give in to what your body is telling you.”

“I can’t come again.”

“You can, Violet. You’re gonna come one more time, sweetheart.” Another whimper left her. She wanted to obey. To please them. “I know you’re feeling a lot, baby. So I don’t want you to try and think anymore. I want you to close those pretty eyes and let your body tell you what to do. You’re not going to fight what your body needs. You’re going to let Liam and I take care of you.”

“Just relax, sweetheart,” Liam said, cradling her hips as he quickened his pace. She was getting closer, riding the edge as they alternated their movements, setting a rhythm that would let them all finish without jostling her too much. She was lost in it, pride filling her as Xaden let out a sharp breath, spilling down her throat. She clenched around Liam, hard, not bothering to muffle her scream as they took her over again, Liam deep inside her as he finally snapped. “Fuck.”

He leaned down, his breath rattling softly as he kissed her brow before easing out of her and letting Xaden step back in to cradle her against his chest. “Can you get that water off the dresser?”

She peeled her eyes halfway open as Xaden shifted her in his arms. “Here, sweet girl,” Liam said. “Water first. Then you can have some chocolate, hm?” She didn’t bother trying to grab the glass herself since Liam seemed so keen on hand feeding her the water and candy. “Good girl. Rest now.”

She sunk down into the pillows, relishing the warmth the men on either side of her seemed to radiate. “You’ll stay?”

There was a heavy pause and she peered up to find him waiting for Xaden’s cue. “This shouldn’t be… just one time. I like you here.”

“Sleep, Violet,” Xaden finally said. “We’ll both be right here all night.”

She sighed. “Good.”

[wingedcat13]

Hi there! I read "Call me menace" back when it first came out, and it came across my dash today via a long post of tumblr stories, and I was delighted to find you'd written so much more in that universe. I burned through everything on ao3, it's all amazing!!

But the reason for me sending in this ask is: Call Me Menace was actually kind of the first step in me coming to terms with being genderfluid. I knew I was trans, but I had been trying for a while to force myself into the other binary and questioning my own validity when sometimes the other end of the binary didn't fit. I admittedly had a lot of internalized stuff to deal with but that story was i think the first time I saw gender fluidity as something...strong? I guess? Instead of bending over backwards to try and not be "confusing" to other people, I could just... lean into it, if that makes sense. Being confusing with gender could be empowering, not a social weakness. I feel a bit embarrassed sending this, but your story really was the starting point in a chain of events that lead to me sitting here, a year later, so much happier and intentionally "confusing" and more comfortable in my own skin. I just wanted to send this in since reading through the rest of the synoverse writing made my day and reminded me of where I was a year ago.

Anyways, I hope this doesn't come off as weird lol. Thank you thank you thank you for your awesome writing and I'm super excited to see where things go next! :))

Thank you for reading, and for writing in!!!

Synovus is one of those characters who just kind of… manifested, fully formed. They were never a ‘he’ or ‘she’ or any other specific gender in my mind, but rather fluid between them from the get-go. I did worry, a little, about presenting a non-binary villain, especially since I’ve tried to be clear that Synovus really isn’t a misunderstood hero (though some readers may still interpret them that way).

But the responses I’ve gotten have done away with that fear entirely. Villain or not, Synovus is the protagonist of the story, and that’s resonated with so many more people than I ever expected. Even one person finding themselves a little more comfortable in their skin would make writing the whole thing worth it.

And for what it’s worth, anon - I’m proud of you. And Synovus would be too.

[itsgrimeytime]

Magnolia in May (Part Eight) || Rick Grimes (TWD) x Greene!f!reader Regency AU

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7...

Taglist: @loliakeoghan23 @belaballs @curlycarley

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration (in honor of Speak Now Taylor's Version): Enchanted by Taylor Swift

Summary: Your town was small, not the smallest you knew, but anyone of high fortune was the gossip of the week. Predictably, Richard Grimes was a thing of whispers -rumors of a search for marriage among the grassy hills. You weren't one to buy into town gossip, but something about him... just seemed a little too intriguing.

TWS: secrets, hidden information, and miscommunication.

[[ A/N: hey girlies <333. Time for some confrontation !!! This gif exudes gentleman Rick with like CONFLICT. The epitome of the current vibes of this series. This is gonna be a long one, babes, stay in it for the long haul. Thanks for reading :))) ]]

You couldn't breathe, holding the ivory paper to your chest -like the words wouldn't be there anymore. It felt like your heart was bleeding out onto the page, his matter of speak so open that you found something deep within you wishing to share that vulnerability. Despite all the pain, you wished to be somewhat closer to him.

'I ask, from the depths of my heart, don't leave Alexandria.'

Words swirling around your head, you wondered distantly if you could even make any sense out of it all. Certainly not now, with the sort of touched sorrow that twisted into your stomach -guilty and ever-so-slightly hopeful.

You'd never been so confused in your own feelings, it was so easy to villainize Lori before you knew her. And now that you had, it was hard to detach the empathy, the guilt-

It was so exhausting, and you truly wished to sleep it all away. Think later, digest later, but something had been unfinished -pushed to the side.

The invitations.

Without so much as an extra moment, you held the letter to your chest and rushed down the stairs -despite everything, you were desperate for whatever you could get from him. Initially, you'd started by the door -figuring they were maybe placed with some of the mail, but after scouring that stack, you ended up empty-handed.

They were smarter than that, you noted to yourself -turning off toward Father's desk.

His desk wasn't organized, papers and files everywhere -it was a miracle he knew where everything even was. Your fingers brushed over the tops of some stacks, waiting for the rather thick texture, or at the very least the pure ivory tone. Even as you organized stacks and siphoned through drawers, you were still left disappointed.

"God," you sighed, looking in a few telling places -bookshelves, under pillows, and even in the fireplace embers.

Someplace, somehow, you'd ended right back at the entry -cleaning the dust off a shelf with some of Father's trinkets from his travels, and your eyes caught on a stack. Hidden behind one of the statues (crafted out of some sort of heavy stone) were a number of envelopes that had yet to be mailed.

Your first instinct was that these were the ones Beth had meant to send off, and maybe, that's why you'd gathered them of your own accord. Your letters, though, if how they were delivered to you was any indication, were not in envelopes -only folded. You supposed that since they hadn't gone through the official post, there was no need.

It had to be about 5 envelopes there, just based on the feel, as you placed them down on the table -shuffling through the paper for any sort of reason for them to be stashed. Your eyes caught on the handwriting -Headmistress's, all curly letters and eloquent print, it read: Mrs. Ettington.

That name had rung a bell, a sort of old friend that she'd only been reconnecting with the past few weeks. She'd said they'd gone to school together long ago, and she was delighted to catch up. It was rather pointed, her mentioning of it to you -all details and sure you remembered the name. At the time, you'd brushed it off as her wishing to cheer you up, but now-

Your fingers were quick to break the envelope seal.

It was dated the day of the dinner, in swirled lettering across the top right -not proper for postage. It was clear this envelope was just for show.

With two fingers, you fished out the thick paper -carefully pulling the texture out onto the table. To your surprise, it was two. Handwritten notes from the mere few hours before the dinner, and you knew that handwriting by now.

'Dr. Greene and Family,' it read, in far more formal writing than what your note had been consistent of, '-It is with great sorrow that I must cancel our planned dinner scheduled for later this evening. I'm sure you're well aware of my current situation from the papers, I've even heard some of my staff gossiping, so the concept is not far-fetched. And my hope of this matter being dealt with quickly has come with its fair share of hiccups, so at this current point in time, rescheduling will be put on pause. I apologize for any inconvenience and will take it upon myself to explain this matter to Ms. Greene. If you shall wish to let me, I would request she comes to my estate on the 'morrow so as to get rid of any misunderstandings. Awaiting your response, Richard Grimes.'

"'-will take it upon myself to explain this matter to Ms. Greene,'" you read out to yourself, tone rather solid and dull. That had not happened, had the Headmistress stopped it? Or had she not noticed the note until after your return?

It wouldn't have been something to bring up then -shed tears and shivering from the rain, you were sure the thought hadn't even crossed her mind.

With a quick motion, you'd picked up the second note in the pile -the formal invitation. It resembled the same as the ball's, all perfectly cut edges and balanced, elegant printing -but not as embellished.

The words were brief but said much of the same as his letter -at least pertaining to you. It was, as Mr. Dixon had explained, a summoning. A rather direct one with an explicit purpose.

Your heart had nearly cracked out of your chest, and yet your hands reached for the next envelope -detailed a mere few days later. You were going to read them all, no matter if it hurt. You'd already been hurt, all you had wanted to do was know.

'Dr. Greene,' a more direct address, seeming to note the lack of success for the last one -still formal but not as distant as the last, '-I think you know what I'm contacting you for, either from the previous letter or mayhaps from your own daughter returning late last evening. Is she well? I tried to get her a carriage but she refused and the rain hasn't even let up well into the next day. If you would be so kind as to let me know if she's ill, it would soothe me greatly. And do not hesitate to ask for any sort of monetary assistance if the care is needed, I understand she's in great hands, your own, but I wish to offer my services in case of necessity. Any other matter is of less importance than her health, so despite the complicated situation -I am at your beck and call. Anxiously awaiting your response, Richard Grimes.'

It was difficult to swallow, reading through the note -you'd supposed this one had went into his hands, however. Remembering that your Father had his hands on a medicine rather quickly, one he'd had a hard time keeping stock of in the clinic. Had Mr. Grimes sent it?

The other note was a response, thin writing was easily your father's -you recognized along the paperwork scattered everywhere in the house. You could hardly read it, though, written so hastily, only a few words sticking out but you'd gathered it was, in fact, about the shortage.

Even further supported by Mr. Grimes's response detailed at the bottom, 'I will set out as soon as possible for Atlanta for such medicine. There is nothing to repay, I would do anything for her, you must know that by now.'

It was rather rushed, words all crooked and ink bleeding -you'd imagined he'd left as soon as the quill was lifted. For you.

You felt tears burn behind your eyes, sinking into the chair you had been roaming towards -imagining the hesitance of himself at the door. Father accepting the medicine, and the pull of concern he would have had. But he couldn't come inside -you imagined it might've broken his heart to leave. No, it had to.

You'd taken the next one in your hands, it was the next day after the last and upon looking at it, seemed written faster, quicker. Like it was merely his thoughts as he scribbled them out.

'Dr. Greene,' it read -still composed but something about the letters blurred together more, '-I must make it clear that every and any intention I have with Ms. Greene is honorable. I can only imagine the turmoil she may be going through at this very moment, and it truly crushes me that it is my fault. I intended to explain it myself, but she seems to have garnered a meaning herself without my input. If you have any respect for me, I would ask sincerely that you let me explain myself. She is far more important to me than I think anyone has realized, and while I understand your hesitance, the situation does not look favorable. I fear if I cannot explain it now then, she may never know. And I truly don't wish for it to end this way, or for it to end at all. Richard Grimes.'

He didn't wish for it to end, thrummed against your skull, as you pulled out another formal invitation, same details different date. The print had no tells.

You couldn't think on it too long, or you'd never get through them. And you were determined to do so. This time three pieces tumbled out of envelope, two of which were rather familiar.

'Dr. Greene,' the fourth one started, words closer -rushed, and the ink bled, '-I'm not sure if you're even reading these at this point. But I'm at a rather, regretfully, desperate moment. I considered delivering this one myself just so I could be sure you'd at least read it. I'm not sure I could quite handle it if you refused to let me speak to her, however, so I am to send this by courier again. All I've found I can do is hope you believe me in my urgency, and at this current time, I'm not sure you even respect me enough to do so. But I cannot help but try. I will not stop trying. I can't. Please, just let me explain myself. Allow her to choose if she believes my intentions, or if she wants to accept to meeting me. I will respect that decision if it comes to pass, but truly dread if it ever comes. Respectfully, Richard Grimes.'

You recognized the invitation, all formal in it's presentation with the date changed. But it did not come alone. There was a second note to be brandished to a different face -you wondered if it had ever gotten there.

'Ms. Maggie Greene,' it detailed, '-I know it's rather unusual, writing through a sister to get to someone. And I considered addressing this directly to the eldest Ms. Greene, but I'm sure you understand my hesitancy. I'm not sure anything I send her will be seen by her own eyes, by choice, or by the ignorance of not knowing it ever existed. All I ask is simply for you to tell her I wish to speak to her. In any capacity. Or that I'm reaching out at all, I fear that she doesn't know I'm fighting for it. That my plans are set in stone, and that her assumptions, or perhaps the world's, are without a doubt the truth. You know my intentions, you always have, ever since that day near the seamstress shop. And I ask that you honor that and tell your sister I am still fighting, that I have not run away. Please. Sincerely, Richard Grimes.'

You'd reread it, over and over again like it would change a single thing. Like the words would be any different. 'I am still fighting... I have not run away-' bouncing around your skull like the words could change, like they could mean anything but what they meant-

You'd never thought about the idea that maybe he wouldn't decide to reconcile his marriage. That he'd choose you. It didn't seem possible, even now, you still hesitated to believe such a thing.

But it was here, maybe not said directly, but it was there. Underneath each written word, everything he said framed it to be seen. Maybe he hadn't meant to, but the delicate care you felt in each word -it was unmistakable. With every swirl of concern, urgency, anything, you could tell that he'd found himself caring for you. Even just a little.

It hardly felt little but you didn't wish to be too hopeful.

The last envelope felt as if it had its own set of eyes, staring you down -rooting you to your spot. Smoothed into a chair, hair surely a mess and cheeks an aggravated red from the wiping of tears, you felt quite inadequate to win the stare. And a part of you truly wondered if you'd already gone too far.

Perhaps this last letter was a recanting, and detailed that despite all of these, he had given up and wished to pursue life as a married man. For his children, for the betterment of his estate, whatever reason he chose was the most accurate. There was quite a list in favor of it, you'd done it yourself. Tried to rationalize your heartbreak, like maybe it would change how you feel. Make it seem more impossible, so your mind would be tricked into understanding that it was never yours to have.

Your hands moved before you could stop them, as you opened the final envelope -it was thinner than the others. Just a single slip of paper hidden there, not an invitation, you'd guessed. As you pulled it between your fingers, your eyes squeezed shut, instinctually, almost as if you'd said a quick prayer rather than gathered yourself for what it said.

Deep breath in and a slow breath out, you patted at your cheeks with a bit of cloth and began.

'Ms. Greene,' it started, words wonderfully composed and written but still somehow vulnerable, '-I'm not sure you shall ever receive this note. Or any at all. Not because I didn't wish it, but merely because I doubt you'll ever be made aware of its existence. I've been going back to Mr. Elliotts, asking him how you are. He says he hasn't seen you in days. I haven't seen you in days either. My head is a mess as it is, but I find something clears it all when I think about you. I've never been more certain about you. I suppose I'm just afraid I don't know if you are as certain as you once were. I want you to be. I need you to be. I can't properly voice this here, it's much larger than I'm able to quite capture in the written word. Or maybe any words at all. Ms. Greene, I wish to speak to you. It's all I want. I just want a word, and if you slam the door, I will respect it. But even with an idea that they're might be a bad outcome, I have to try. I would hate myself if I didn't try. Please. Yours, Richard Grimes.'

Please, was the word that stuck that time, please.

As you neatly stacked the bits of paper -mindlessly, you found it was all that had played on repeat. All that you could see was desperation, flitted through the stroke of the quill, the bleeding if the ink. It felt as though his heart was there, in that note -extended on an opened palm.

Like it was a simple offering, one you could refuse. Or one you could take, one you could listen to and care for.

It was there under all the notes under all the words, under every dip of ink Richard Grimes had offered his heart up -vulnerable and open and desperate.

And you hadn't known.

You thought back to your final words with the man, before you disappeared off into the rain, heartbroken and unfixable -'you're not mine'.

Stretched across your lips, holding back a sob, it was true. From what you understood then, it was true. You hadn't asked him, sure, but it seemed like the obvious choice. That you were not the one he was fighting for.

But if felt here, in these tiny little letters that you hadn't seen, that he was trying to show you: 'I am yours, all yours.'

Like there was never a doubt to him, and he only sought to prove it. To show you, because you hadn't listened-

But you were late, not of your own accord but you were still far too late. And a part of you wondered if maybe it was too late. Or if there were more, or if he was still trying, still fighting-

You could only hope so.

[globalrebrand]

Answering to Vil

You should have known better than to bring home bad press.

Warnings: fem afab!reader, domestic violence, rough sex, bad bdsm etiquette, electo stimulation, anal sex.

A/N: This is posted from my Ao3 Lakeffect. Please enjoy!

You had been so good lately, the perfect little wife for the past week. Coming home early from your night out, preparing healthy snacks for Vil while he completed the more clerical tasks his work required, giving him massages at the end of the day, waking him up with head first thing in the morning. 

Even now, as you rested with your head on his lap, reading your book while he caught up on emails, nothing but admiration filled his heart as he gazed at your pretty profile. Reclining next to him on the couch in nothing but a thin tank top and cute panties, he felt a heat stir within him. Vil was battling an urge to put down his phone and push down your top, exposing your lovely breasts to his eyes. But you looked so at peace he didn't particularly want to disturb you. 

After all, it was so seldom that you looked like you actually  enjoyed  the time you spent with him. He wouldn't tarnish this pure moment with his lust.

But it seems you would. Curious.

"Put your phone down," you murmured into his thigh, bringing a hand up to envelop his and drawing it away from his device and towards your lips to plant sweet kisses on his fingertips. 

"Be here, in the moment, with me," you pleaded softly against his skin, causing his heart to try and flee his chest with its incessant beating.

"A book is as much of a distraction as a phone." Vil argued half-heartedly, he eyes trained on the affection you were bestowing on his hands. 

"Well, I want to put it down." You replied, placing the novel in question face down on the coffee table in front of you. Its pages splayed to hold your place while you turned on your stomach and propped yourself up on your forearms to meet his violet gaze. 

"This book is about the most wonderful romance." You cooed sappily as you swayed your head to put a moony emphasis behind your words.

"Oh, is it?" Vil questioned, not convinced of the book's quality by your dramatics. Emphasizing his skepticism by raising a playfully suspicious brow as he watched your pretty eyes as they focused on him. Your expression was full of warmth and mirth with a hint of teasing provocation Vil hadn't seen since before the two of you wed. 

Oh, how he missed it. That expression of yours filled with unencumbered love and admiration. 

"Mmhmm." You nodded in agreement to his question, never breaking eye contact as you occupied yourself with pressing increasingly tender and wet kisses on Vil's fingers. It was obviously your attempt to arouse him, and it was largely successful, but Vil could never let you know how easily you excited him, transformed him from a stoic paragon into a desperate lovesick beast. 

Each brief gentle glide of your tongue against his fingers caused his mind to think about all the other places where he'd rather feel its press.

"Then why do you want to put it down?" He offered another question in a lazy attempt to distract you (and himself) from your increasingly forward advances.

"It's making me feel...inspired." you simpered sweetly, your voice full of implications as you dropped his hand after a teasing nibble and brought your palm to brush against Vil's inner thigh.

Vil felt his cock twitch to life. The traitorous thing. 

Of course, he would be delighted to have you initiate lovemaking (he could count the times you'd done so priorly in your two-year marriage on one hand). However, he still had a hundred or so emails to work through. Even if he indulged you, tried to keep the encounter relatively short, made you shed that thin top that wasn't doing much anyway, and ride him here on the couch while he sucked at your pretty tits, it would likely be an hour later, and he'd still have to answer these emails before he went to bed, delaying his bedtime and upsetting his delicate routine.  

"And since when is it my responsibility to indulge your "inspiration?" 

"If not you, then who?" You replied without hesitation.

By the look on your face, he could tell your question was entirely innocent. He half expected you to say something bitter to counteract the sweetness of your words, but you didn't. And while it was likely a rhetorical question, Vil certainly had an answer immediately pop into his mind. 

If not him, then not a single soul would ever be able to indulge you like he could, touch you like he does or fuck you half as well as he could. Only him.  

It was about time you understood that. Vil had worked hard to keep you with him, sacrificed your affections even to tether you to him forever, and now he waited for the day when you would find your way back to him. Open up to him the way you once had and long for him desperately the way you once did. 

"Absolutely no one." He remarked possessively, bending down to press a needy kiss to your lips. You kissed him back with as much passion, bringing up a hand to tangle in his silky tresses to deepen its intensity.

When Vil pulled away from the kiss, you whined in protest, a petulant pout forming on your lips. 

"Give me ten minutes, little one. I need to clear out my inbox. Then we can go upstairs." He whispered against your plush lips. 

"Kay," you replied, a smile on your face at his promise. And Vil just had to give you another kiss. You were simply too adorable for your own good. 

If he could live in this moment with you forever, Vil would die a happy man, but, of course, reality had to set in sooner or later.

You returned to your previous position, reading your book, and he returned to his phone. Going through his emails with renewed focus as he tried to bat away intrusive thoughts of how you would look later in the night sprawled bare across his sheets.

But a few minutes later, at promptly 21:03, an email from his publicist titled with your name and followed by ' '!?!?!?!?!?! '' posed a threat to his evening's peace. His publicist, a most diligent woman, was proactive and quickly got on top of messes. However, she often sounded the alarm too frequently and over trivial matters. He was hoping that was all this was.

But he could never be so lucky when it came to you.

There was no opening greeting to the body of the email, just a large photo file that showed you at the nightclub that Vil reluctantly permitted you to attend on a night out with some of your peers from your agency. You'd been out of the public's eye for roughly a month, and he was well aware that your fans would be anxious to see you again, so he digressed. 

He knew that paparazzi hounded your friend group consisting of mainly fellow well-known models expecting to get headlines about a raunchy night of partying. Still, you were never the focus of their photographic bombardment, just a shiny bystander in the background. To the public, you had the reputation of being the enigma of the group, demure and reserved. You seldom acted in a way to garner headlines, and Vil never really worried about you bringing home bad press. He trusted that you knew how to behave even if your friends did not. 

After all, they did not have to answer to him, but you did, and that should have put enough fear in your heart to keep you on your best behavior. 

But it seems this time it wasn't. 

And now he knew the cruel truth. 

Your behavior the past couple of weeks wasn't the result of the two of you turning a corner in your relationship. It was just you being a manipulative little whore.

You'd betrayed him, you knew you'd betrayed him, and you had just been biding your time, trying to create some cushion while you waited for the other heel to drop. 

Vil eyed your reclined form again, but this time, everything felt so hollow. His heart could splinter to pieces just looking at you. You were just as you were, engrossed in your book and utterly ignorant of his suffering. 

Well, Vil hopes you enjoyed your little fortnight of deceit. He certainly had, but he knew now what he needed to do. 

He called your name softly, as he had done many times before, and you, without looking up from your novel, responded with a melodious little hum to let him know he'd successfully gotten your attention. 

Good. 

The delicate hand gingerly combing through your hair with unbidden affection abruptly arched into talons, scratching your scalp as Vil gripped your hair by the root and  pulled . His beautiful face contorted into a sneer as you felt the tension of each strand stretched too taut, radiating into an acute generalized ache. With a gracefully violent flick of his wrist, he drew your face up to his phone so that you, too, could view what had offended him so gravely. 

"Now tell me, my love. What. Is. This? "

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

He spat the words venomously. It wasn't a question but a demand. You would tell Vil the truth, and you would do it  now . 

Your lungs felt like they would seize in your chest as you looked at the debauched photo. In all truth, you would have paid the paparazzi whatever money they asked to keep the image buried, but Vil maintained your finances, and you doubted he would supply you with such a large sum without explanation. 

The photo in question showed you, dead center of the image with the elegant lilac silk dress Vil had selected for you, being drawn up your thigh by the overly familiar fingers of one of his costars from his most recent film project. The actor's other hand teased at the thin satin strap at your clavicle, threatening to expose your breast as his warm eyes gazed down at you lustfully. His body was tightly pressed against your back, and the photo recalled uncomfortable memories of his erect member pressing into the cleft of your ass through thin silk satin. For your part, you tried unsuccessfully to obscure your face, but that only resulted in the massive, extremely rare purple diamond on your custom engagement ring catching the glint of the paparazzi's camera flash, further identifying you. 

It didn't help matters that your face didn't look repulsed but pondering, as if you were weighing the risk of getting more familiar with the man in the photo. And in truth, that traitorous thought did pass your mind. 

Maybe Vil would be so disgusted with you if you cheated that he'd finally divorce you, but it was a vain hope. Vil has always been clear that he has no desire to leave you under any circumstances, only that he would become more dedicated with his "corrections." You supposed that loyalty could be a double-edged sword when inlaid with possessiveness. 

Perhaps the evidence of this photo coming to light is punishment for you even thinking of acting against Vil.

Still, you couldn't have anticipated that Vil's coworker would accost you when he offered to drive you home from the club. Sure, you'd exchanged polite conversation with him at the cast wrap party a few months ago when the film finished shooting, but that was it. 

Of course, conveniently, the paparazzi didn't publish photos of you pushing him off and storming away, probably preferring to sell a narrative where you were cheating on your A-lister husband. 

While you obviously knew about the photo, you wouldn't dare tell Vil. He never made it easy to open up to him, to come clean about your mistakes. There was no preempting the punishment with honesty. Every mistake you made was open to equal persecution, whether you felt remorse or not. Waiting for him to find out on his own at least offered you a few days of relative peace. And even though you tried to soften the blow, it seems your plan backfired. Vil was the angriest you'd seen him in  months .

Gulping nervously, it only took but a second for you to burst into incessant apologies as you turned to him with pleading eyes.  

"V-vil, I'm  so   so  sorry. I-" 

Too riled and too angry, Vil didn't wait for you to finish. He flung your head away from him, brusquely silencing your apologies and causing you to crash into the couch's downy velvet before tumbling on the floor, your head just barely missing the pointed corner of an elegant marble coffee table. Rising from where he sat so peacefully moments ago, he loomed over you. It didn't matter that you were already down, defenseless, and  diminished . He was always trying to secure the higher position, if only as a physical reminder of how much power he had over you. 

Vil watched you intensely. You could see a modicum of care in his visage, he was worried he might have injured you, and his eyes roved over you to check the damage, but once he saw you were fine, any consideration he had for your well being abandoned him. 

His eyes, now narrowed and cruel, observed your fearful expression keenly before stepping away with a scoff. 

Vil was  seething . A hand tucked under his arm with the other pressed against his lips as he paced the narrow track of carpet between your living room furniture. You could see he was trying to calm himself, brace himself for whatever you were about to tell him so that he didn't lash out in a way he would regret. 

All you could do was watch him as you waited for him to soothe himself enough to address you. 

His beauty never ceased to compel you despite the revulsion you often felt at his actions. Vil was currently growing out his hair for a role as a medieval King in an upcoming film. His hair hung in soft waves just shy of his clavicles, giving him an even more imposing and alluring look. 

"Explain yourself!" He barked at you after several tense moments of pacing. 

You bit back to urge to snap back that  ''you were going to,''  as you lifted yourself from the floor once he stopped moving ,  but you had a lingerie shoot coming up this week, and if the bruises resulting from your imminent punishment were too severe, you would have to cancel.

Taking a deep breath, you tried your best to explain the events that led up to the photo. You described how you thought you were just being cordial when you ran into his costar and how the man offered you a ride home, around 1 am, and you took it since your friends weren't ready to leave and you thought that you could trust him since he'd never given you any impression otherwise.

For good measure, you added a plaintive,  "I just wanted to be home with you sooner," w hich was true. While you loved a good night out with your friends, you could sense the evening was starting it drag, and even if you resented him, being cuddled in Vil's arms sounded much better.

"I pushed him off of me moments later and called a cab," you finished, but it was clear from his expression that Vil was displeased by your explanation and that he wanted to scold you for hailing a cab but must have decided against it, as there were other things more pertinent to berate you for. 

"I tried to dress you tastefully enough that you wouldn't garner too much attention but still shine." Vil finally spoke, mainly to himself, as if he couldn't believe someone you dare put their hands on his possession despite his 'preventative measures.' Ignoring how that logic was utterly nonsensical, you tried a different approach. Still, Vil wasn't buying it, hardly letting you get a word out before interjecting with all sorts of accusations. 

"Are you fucking him?" He questioned, completely serious.

"What? Of course not!" You rebutted indignantly. Highly offended, he would even suggest such a thing. 

"How long has this been going on? I saw you talking to him at the cast party."

"I told you. Nothing has been going on!"

"Besides, everyone and their mother knows that you're mine."

"Yes, darling, so there's nothing to worry about."

"Why were you even talking to him in the first place? You know my rules for going out without me."

"I was trying to be genial." You continued, despite your husband's interruptions. He's your costar. I didn't want to offend him by ignoring him and make things awkward and-" 

"As if they won't be awkward now? Why didn't you just tell him no from the beginning?" You swear to god that if he cut you off one more time, you would  lose it . 

"I- there was no reason for me to believe-" 

"No reason to believe he wanted to fuck you? Why would he speak to you otherwise?" Besides the fact that you were a living human with emotions, ideas, and your own allure and charm, you let it go, instead, you tried to regain his attention since he'd given in to the illusions of his fears of you leaving him. Such an irrational fear, Like you'd ever be able to leave him if you tried. If you genuinely wanted to.  

"Vil-" You attempted to stop his ranting. 

"I can't believe you nearly let him expose your chest. What the  fuck  were you thinking?!" You  weren't  trying to let that happen but insisted it wouldn't do anything. 

"Vil-" You tried again.

"You should have shoved him off, told him  no  the minute he touched you."  You did.

"Vil-"

"You never have a problem telling  me  no." He huffed, resentful. His eyes full of disdain, as if he was reliving all of your past rejections of his affections.

"What happened to that backbone of yours?" He bit tauntingly, with an arched brow and judgemental scowl that would have paralyzed most people, but you were well used to it, so your tolerance for effects was higher than the average person.

This cattiness, this cycle of fight and fuck was a routine part of Vil's particular brand of obsession. 

Never mind that he had stripped you of most of your freedoms. Vil dressed you how he liked, styled you perfectly to compliment him. Booked your jobs. When your agency wanted to book you, they didn't call your manager.  No , you didn't have one of those anymore. They called  Vil  for approval. Not even you. The nights out he allowed you were planned well in advance on your calendar, strategic in their spontaneity to make sure you popped into the spotlight independently so fans wouldn't start rumors- discover the truth about Vil's domineering, controlling nature.

And he  still  thought that you had too much agency despite nearly every aspect of your daily life being managed by him. 

You'd learned to suck it up. And you'd been managing it fine, sure colors seemed less vivid, and waking up next to Vil was always but as a chore in a way it didn't use to be before you got married, but you were  fine .

After all,  all week , you had been doing everything you could to please Vil. Indulging him physically, spending quality time, and to your surprise, it wasn't miserable. You realized that you enjoyed it when you could pretend your relationship was like it was initially,  warm  and  affectionate , but Vil always ruined it with his desperate, practically manic desire for control over you. Most of the time, you tried to stomach it out of sick truth that somewhere deep, deep,  deep  down, you  did  love him, but he never acknowledged your efforts as anything other than you finally giving him was he thought he was due. Never realizing that your returning of his affection meant that you had to  murder  your dignity and pride for the sake of order. 

But tonight, he had crossed a line you thought you'd buried long, long ago.

"Well, I don't have much room for a spine with you stringing me up like a fucking marionette!" 

The sentence flew from your lips before you could even think to stop them. The second you said the words, you knew a slap would be placed across your cheek. And indeed, it came, hard and fast, albeit a fraction of his true strength. Still, it threatened to rupture your eardrum for the dozenth time regardless of his restraint.  

While in some relationships, a hit like this might be the gravest border crossing, in yours, it was a warning. It was a signal to stand down or risk greater discipline. 

Maybe it had been too long since your last punishment, and you'd forgotten the pain because again, thoughtlessly, you growled:

"Fuck you"

"That is  it ."

Grabbing you by your forearm Vil dragged you up the stairs to your shared bedroom before tossing you over his shoulder like captured quarry when you'd put up too much resistance. 

"I've had enough!"

"You don't think I've had enough!" You shouted back, propping your hands on his lower back to lift your head to try to retain an ounce of dignity as you let him have it. 

While Vil was prone to the occasional delusions, you knew that he knew what he was doing to you was morally unacceptable, the control and isolation he didn't need to hear it from you, but you thought he should. Even if it changes nothing. 

"You're absolutely insane. You're so painfully jealous and possessive. You blame me for things I have no control over. You need help!"

You shouted in retaliation, the words somewhat muffled in the gray silk of his pajama shirt. While you couldn't see his expression, you doubted Vil was moved by your cries and critiques. He never had been in the past.

So you tried a different tactic. 

"He told me he wanted to eat my pussy in the back of his car." You told him, no longer shouting, just tossing it out casually to see his reaction. 

That stopped Vil in his tracks.

"He said I always looked so stressed and probably because you didn't go down on me enough." It was a surprisingly astute observation. Vil was rather stingy with giving despite his skill. 

"Now you're just being openly antagonistic." You couldn't see anything other than Vil's toned ass ascending the carpeted stairs of your manor, but you could easily tell he was rolling his eyes at your attempts to further rile him. 

"I should've let him. You wouldn't want me as a toy if someone else played with me, right Vil?" You mocked childishly.

 "Tell me, would you want me if I came on another man's tongue?"

"Don't be so vulgar." Vil scolded before tossing you on the bed, with far more force than necessary, you landed on an embroidered silk coverlet with a small oof. 

While he tried to hide it, it is evident that Vil was visibly further enraged by your recounting of what his costar said in an attempt to seduce you. He quickly grabbed handcuffs from his nightstand drawer. Flipping you on your stomach and yanking your arms behind your back. He cuffed each wrist to the opposite elbow, ensuring you had absolutely no use of your arms. Then dragged you to the edge of the bed by your forearms and gave you another careless shove leaving you to clatter to the carpet like a spoon flicked off a table. 

The impact of your shoulder against the floor was dampened by the thick pile of your bedroom rug, but the radiating soreness left you sluggish and dazed. 

Vaguely you could hear Vil rummaging around in the velvet tufted storage ottoman at the end of the bed that housed all of your intimate toys. You couldn't see what he had grabbed, but you heard carpet softened footfalls nearing your collapsed form.

With another ruthless tug, you were again brought to your knees. However, this time, your husband sat at the edge of the bed. His aubergine silk pajama top was unbuttoned to expose his elegantly muscled chest, and the matching pants pushed around his hips, exposing his pale drooling cock. 

Gripping you by your hair once more, Vil drew your face to his. His eyes burned dully as if he had tempered his rage for max efficiency.

To see those pretty lavender eyes you loved so much, so distorted by rage, caused hurt to stir in your heart. Even if it had partially been your goal. It broke your heart to realize just how far away Vil was from the man you love. 

"Save me your pity," he growled as if he could read your thoughts. And he likely could to some degree. When not overcome with this, this  ugliness,  he was the person who knew you best in the world. 

Vil drew your face nearer, tilting your jaw so he could whisper into your ear. His breath was hot, but his words left frost on your brow.

"The only way I'll leave you alone is when you're dead." No emotion, just a cold statement you didn't accept as anything less than factual.

"Even if you stray from me, I' will always welcome you back in the fold," he continued.

"I just hope that you'll be able to sleep at night with all the ruined lives left in the wake of your infidelity."

Then he kissed you, and it was instinctual for you to part your lips and let him. His plush lips always felt so soft and tasted so sweet and floral against your own. His tongue moved in heavy strokes, probing the inside of your mouth, roughly and desperately, as if this kiss was supposed to remind you of the love he held for you. 

"Now get to work." He instructed, the command leaving his lips effortlessly as if he were a haughty prince. 

Vil drew back, reclining slightly with his arms extended, supporting his palms. He looked like a fallen angel with lengthed strands of hair framing his undone face. He was enchanting even in his darkest moments. 

"This is the time for repentance." He reminded you, placing a hand on your jaw and urging you to take his already erect length down your throat. 

But you resisted him gently, trying to pull your face from his grip. You had a difficult time feeling a need to repent more than you already had. 

"Vil, please, I already apologized." You felt tears welling in your eyes, frustrated that you had to endure more punishment. Your voice came out in a pathetic whine which you hated, and even more, you hated that you weren't looking at him, that you couldn't look at him. The weight of his vitriol became too much to bear. Instead, you opted to look at the floor to lessen the weight of his bitter gaze.

"I-I don't like you when you're like thi-" you began when you were interrupted by your husband's irritated scoff. And then second later, an intense sharp pain that seared into the supple flesh of your ass cheek exposed by cheeky panties.

"Aaaahh!"  Your scream snuck up on your like a thief in the night, erupting from your throat before you even registered the severity of the pain from Vil's assault. 

A normal riding crop didn't hurt  this  bad. This pain was far too strong, too  intense  to be the result of just being hit by stiff leather. 

"Vil-" You started, utterly stunned. He held up the instrument in question and then pressed a button on the side of its handle. And sure enough, a faint electric hum could be heard.

He  shocked  you?

"We've never had a chance to try this one out, have we?" Vil showed off the toy with his usual grace, manipulating it cautiously so that he would not be on the receiving end of a hearty zap.

It looked like a standard crop, but a long electrified handle and metal studs binding the leather loop at the end allowed electric pulses to hit your flesh. 

You could see that the switch on the handle was pushed to its maximum setting, and you only prayed your skin wouldn't show evidence of its use the next day. You were worried that Vil forgot about your jobs for this week in his anger. 

"Normally, you're much better behaved," Vil remarked almost wistfully. The sentiment is exaggerated by the dim orange glow of the antique lamps subtly illuminating your bedroom. 

"I usually don't have to take such drastic measures, be good so I won't have to take anymore, alright darling?" He had the nerve to smile at you, the quirk of his lips sardonic and condescending. 

"Open those pretty lips for me." He spoke firmly, and you obeyed without hesitation. The reminder of the blistering sting of the crop was enough to regress you into a domesticated animal who thought of little else than how to behave to avoid another instance of knee wavering pain. 

"Were these what drew him to you? This whorish mouth." Vil hummed as he traced cockhead around your lips, and instinctively you licked them, catching the trail of precum his oozing tip left in its wake. 

Vil chucked, pushing his cock between your lips. "So you are still somewhat trained."

You couldn't fight the urge to roll your eyes, and as expected, you were rewarded with another blistering shock. 

Your husband only smiled on as you yelped like a kicked puppy at the torturous sensation.  

Vil let out a heady moan as he pushed his way further down your throat. His fingers tangled in your hair to guide your movements. 

You closed your lips around him, hoping to take him the way he taught you. The way you knew made him cum unbelievably fast, but he stopped you with another slap to the ass, causing you to hiss sharply. 

" Watch your fucking teeth. " He growled, delivering yet another hit, this time on your upper back which was far more unpleasant as the shock didn't radiate through muscle and fat but against bone. 

You steeled your jaw, trying to avoid the pain, but with nowhere else to bare the brunt of the hurt, you dug your fingertips into the flesh of your upper arms, surely leaving an ugly mark. 

"Let me take what I want. Just sit there with your tongue out like the slut you aspire to be." 

You obeyed, ignoring the insult. And Vil continued to take. Roughly and rhythmically thrusting his long cock in the delicate confines of your throat.

You felt yourself growing light-headed. His pace was so fast you could barely manage to breathe out of your nose, but Vil had absolutely no concern for your comfort. You peered up at him through bleary eyes only to see his head thrown back in bliss as he maneuvered your head along with his cock in time with his strokes. 

He comes down your throat, removing his cock and then quickly covering your mouth and pinching your nose, forcing you to swallow his seed. 

The tears that had welled in your eyes now flowed unbidden down your cheeks. 

Strangled sobs sputtering out of you as you tried to regain your breath after your husband's ruthless onslaught. 

You didn't dare look up at him, but you could feel him boring holes into you. A disgusted look likely on his face as he watched your poor attempt at composing yourself. 

"Don't tell me you're seriously crying. We're nowhere  near  finished." 

You held up a hand in a silent plea for mercy, but Vil ignored it. Leniency wasn't in his vocabulary tonight. 

"On the bed." He commanded, his voice unrelentingly resolute.

You tried your best to follow his demands, but it was hard to maneuver yourself on the bed with your arms cuffed behind your back and your legs feeling so,  so  numb. After several long moments of clumsy struggling, Vil grew impatient. 

"Can you move any more gracelessly?" Vil chided, sparking your ass one more time to motivate you to move faster. 

Standing on already unstable legs, the sensation caused you to nearly leap out of your skin, but at least you finally managed to get both knees on the bed. 

Vil came up behind you, running his slender fingertips up your sides and bringing your thin tank top with him, exposing your breasts. 

He cupped them harshly, pulling and teasing the nipples as you whined in response to his ministrations. You still struggled for breath, and his toying touch didn't make it any easier. 

But you nearly lost all capacity to breathe when Vil's hand slid down your torso to harshly cup your cunt through your slightly spread legs.

"You've utterly soaked through these panties." He pulls the gusset aside with a single elegant swipe of his finger as he admires your smooth mound. "Such a pretty cunt," he sighed, what a shame it belongs to a foul-mouthed wife." 

Vil ground his cock against your back as he encouraged you to lift yourself as he pulled your panties from your form. Manipulating the fabric around your legs. Once had the material removed from your body, he returned to taunting you. 

"Tell me, darling, was your pussy this wet when that man had his paws all over you, humping you like a rutting dog, spilling filth into your ears."

"It was wetter."

"Insolent brat." Vil seethed with clenched teeth.

"To think I was going to fuck your pussy when you clearly haven't learned your lesson." Your husband pushed you farther up on the bed, bending you over and climbing on the mattress behind your bowed form. 

"The only place bad girls get fucked is in the ass."

"Ngh-" Any protests you were going to voice were silenced by Vil shoving three fingers down your throat, gagging you. 

"You better get them nice and wet because this is all the lube you're getting." He growled against the side of your head.  

He lifted your hips so that your knees could rest under you as he roughly slathered the mix of your saliva and viscous wetness from your pussy on your puckered hole, a small mercy.

Spreading your plush ass cheeks with his sizeable palms, he lined the rounded tip of his member with your tight unstretched hole and thrust into you without hesitation. 

You inhaled sharply at the blunt intrusion forcing its way into your ass. 

Whatever he applied definitely wasn't enough, and even with a few stabbing strokes, a raw, burning ache didn't subside.

"Calm yourself, my love, take it. I know you can take anything I give you."

"That's one of the reasons I love you so much." 

You ignored him, disgusted he would even say such a thing to you. The press of his torso against your back, his soft lips teasing your neck, felt so foreign and invasive. You wanted nothing more than to leave your body entirely and return when your husband finally came to his senses.

Slowly, the ache eased. As Vil continues thrusting, deep shameless. Letting each pounding thrust drag as he drew his hips back, only for them to collide with your cheeks again.

His hand on your lower back keeps your body flush against the duvet while the other rest on your neck, rendering you unable to turn to look at him while he takes his pleasure from your debasement.

"What a pity such a pretty wet cunt has to go unattended." He remarked pitifully.

"Beg me, and I'll fill it for you. I know you want it. You never could truly resist me. You  always  give in sooner or later."

Your life would be much better if you could, you thought mournfully. You just wished he would shut up. He was always so withholding with his words and affections. Why was it now of all times that he was so willing to share his inner thoughts?

"Beg me, and I'll come inside." He told you through breathy panting. 

"Mmm- fuck, get you pregnant with my child, so your mind has no time for such frivolous diversions like a 'girl's night out' No time to even  think  of betraying me."

"I know you're ovulating." He added. And  fuck , now that you thought about it, you were. Curse Vil and his meticulous notes on your physical well-being. 

"It probably wouldn't take very much." He murmured against your skin, his voice firm as if initially he threatened knocking up to anger you, and now the prospect of impregnating you sounded too alluring to resist. 

"Go on, darling wife, beg  your husband  to cum in your pretty pussy"

"I'm not going to b-beg you. I-I'm not ready f-for a b-baby." You muttered petulantly into the covers.

"You will beg." He asserted, staunchly rejecting another denial from you and doubling down with his affections.  

"I know how your poor cunt aches with nothing to fill it." Now Vil was bent over your arched back. His hips canting fervently, forcing his length into your tight hole with deep thrusts, filling you with a dull ache of building arousal. 

Vil's fingers flew to your clit, relishing the previous untouched nub with firm circular rubs he knew would make you keen with pleasure. 

You moaned at the familiar gratifying sensation. His slick fingertips caressed your nub with frightening precision, sending you hurtling towards your unwanted orgasm. 

"And besides," Vil's silky voice hardly showed any signs of exertion, just a sultry breathiness that never failed to arouse you further. His lips brushed lightly over your ear as he began addressing the other part of your protests. 

"What does it matter if  you're  ready when it's what  I  want?"

His hand then dipped down to your cunt, two fingers quickly finding purchase against your g-spot. Seamlessly entering your tight, quivering hole and brushing against the pulsing nerve in long, tedious strokes. Blurring your mind to anything besides his pleasure. 

"I know you love it." He groaned against your ear, his voice no longer disguising that undeniable fact his orgasm was fast approaching. 

"Tell me you love it." He was pleading with you now.

"Tell me you love  me. " Vil intertwined his left hand with yours as his other hand stayed fastened to your clit, toying with it relentlessly so you would meet your completion at the same time he did. 

"I-I love it. I l-love you." You gasped breathlessly. 

"Don't lie to me." He all but begged, his voice belying true vulnerability for the first time all night. 

"I'm not- I-I love you, Vil." And it wasn't a lie. You knew it was for no good reason, but your traitorous heart couldn't deny that even beneath his abuses, you loved your husband. 

" Yes , good girl." He moaned. 

"Now, take it, take what I give you." Vil pulled out of your ass and immediately plunged into a fluttering cunt. 

The resulting pleasure was instantaneous. 

The minute his perfectly proportioned length filled you, your walls clamped down on his member, drawing him in and holding him captive as your pussy delighted in the pleasurable stretch. 

Embarrassingly, the moment his cock bottomed out in you, you came, clenching around him desperately and drawing out your husband's orgasm as well. You could feel the ropes of his cum splashing against your womb as his cockhead kissed your greedy cervix, and you tried not to think of the future implications. You wouldn't think of them until Vil had succeeded in his new mission to get you pregnant. The two of you were in no place to bring a child into such dysfunction. 

"You're going to be a good wife now, yes, good behavior like you have been," Vil whispered the words reverently against your temple. 

Without pulling out of you, he collapsed on top of you, urging your hips to flatten against the bed as he lay draped across your back.

He always became so soft after a session, proportional to his anger.

It was as if fucking you so viciously and violently was the ultimate catharsis for him. Once he came, he was prepared to move on from your transgression. Certainly not forgive them, no, Vil would file away this incident in his memory for future guilt-tripping, but he could return to a level of normalcy with ease. You wished you could move on so easily as well, but the reminders of his violence against your body would be hard to forget.

But the tender kisses he pressed to the nape of your neck would help to soothe your wearied mind. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Around an hour later, you found yourself in the bath, tucked against Vil's chest as he kissed you deeply, fingering you again, albeit much more pleasurably and gently. 

You came on his fingers without much fanfare. Just a little buck of your hips and a heady groan against his lips as your walls clamped down on Vil's two fingers.

He pulled them from you slowly and pressed a final kiss against your temple as he pulled you close to him. His touch numbed the sting of the fresh cuts and aching bruises now decorating your flesh.

Relaxing music from a nearby speaker filled the silence, but you felt there was more to say. 

"Vil," you began softly, earnestly. "I  am  sorry about the photo, but please, you have to understand I didn't mean to." You met his neutral gaze with wide, imploring eyes, urging him to see the truth to your words. 

"He came on to me-" you tried to insist, but Vil hushed you with a finger to your lips. 

"Don't worry, my love. He'll receive his punishment in due time. I know you were not the sole transgressor." You knew Vil exacting retribution against his costar would be difficult, the film was set to release in a month, and any seriously negative press would tank the film's sales. 

"Besides, anyone who attempts to take what's mine without my permission must pay a high cost." Vil reminded you with another sweet kiss on your forehead. 

"Of course," you sighed, tired of fighting. You practically were his possession. Your marriage legally assured it. 

"Just know that for the time being, I will also be attending these nights out. Be grateful I'm still letting you go at all." 

You opened your lips to thank him, not because you felt genuinely grateful, but because it was your obligation. However, Vil wasn't finished speaking quite yet.

"But hopefully," he began again after a few seconds, "we won't have to worry about it much longer," Vil whispered sweetly as he curled a possessive hand on your abdomen.

You wilted into his chest at the implication, but your anger had long left you. There was nothing left to give.

You should have resigned yourself to a life with Vil much sooner. It would have saved you many scars. 

Epilogue

[thelordofgifs]

Silm fandom! Have a PSA. Hate the piped tags on AO3? Would much rather read a fic tagged Fingon/Maedhros than one tagged Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo? Have I got the userscript for you! Look how neat and readable my AO3 silm character tags look now:

What is a userscript?

Good question! The small sibling, who is a computer geek, did not know about these when I mentioned them, so I have to conclude I have stumbled upon some secret hidden wisdom here. In short, a userscript is a (free) program written in JavaScript that modifies the web pages you visit. They're very safe, and imo an essential part of customising your web browsing experience to your liking!

How do I install userscripts?

I might make a separate post about mobile browsers because I'm tired. But on desktop, you first want to get a browser extension that allows you to manage your userscripts. I like Tampermonkey, which works with most major browsers.

Okay, how do I get rid of the piped tags?

Once you've installed the userscript manager of your choice, you want to go to the userscript Ao3 De-Piped Tags on Greasy Fork and click the big green "install" button. For most userscripts, that's it! For this one, we need to take a couple of tiny extra steps:

Go to your Tampermonkey dashboard (you can find this by clicking on "browser extensions" and then "Tampermonkey". Unfortunately I don't know how other userscript managers work, so if you didn't choose Tampermonkey you'll have to play around a little.)

Click the "Ao3 De-Piped Tags" script on your Tampermonkey dashboard.

This should bring you to the "Editor" page, and a bunch of scary-looking code in JavaScript. Don't panic, I have no idea what any of this does and I still managed to do the necessary fiddling! The block you want looks like this:

//SCRIPT SETTINGS// const sideToDisplay = 'right'; //left OR right, for character tags with one pipe (two names) const partToDisplay = 'right'; // left OR right OR central, for character tags with two pipes (three names) const tagsOnFicPage = 0; //0 to disable, 1 to enable

4. All you want to do now is change the first line so that it reads

const sideToDisplay = 'left'; //left OR right, for character tags with one pipe (two names)

so that the tag "Maedhros | Maitimo" displays as "Maedhros" instead. If you're a Quenya freak (affectionate) who would prefer all the tags display characters' Quenya names instead of Sindarin ones, skip this step.

5. If you'd also like this change to show on the fic page itself, not just the AO3 search results page, change the third line of the code block to read

const tagsOnFicPage = 1; //0 to disable, 1 to enable

6. Save your changes to the file, refresh your AO3 page, and marvel!

I hate this and want to get rid of it.

No problem, you can turn off the userscipt or completely uninstall it from the Tampermonkey dashboard!

I want to display some names with the left part of the piped tag and others with the right part, is that possible?

Unfortunately not :( This also applies if you're in other fandoms (I hear The Witcher fandom is one such?) which uses piped tags where you want to use the right side of the tag.

Can anyone else see the changes I've made?

No! The userscript applies to your own browsing experience only, so you aren't messing with how anyone else's fics display when you use it.

This is magic, got any other cool userscripts for AO3?

Loads, most of them much easier to use than this one! Here are some links:

Put your "marked for later" button on the AO3 homepage

Add HTML formatting options to the AO3 comment box

Set your default posting language to English

Fix the bug where copy-pasting from Google Docs to AO3 puts spaces around all your italics

And here's a list of many more to peruse!

Cool, how do I get this to work on a mobile browser?

Yeah my laundry's finished now so I'm not typing all that out. Maybe tomorrow.

[farmerlarrry]

Orange Slices (Joel Miller x f!reader)

masterlist | chapter ten | chapter nine | read on ao3 | playlist

story summary: A story about finding companionship and love in the midst of chaos.

a/n:  Happy The Last of Us day everyone!! Also happy birthday to Joel. <3 (posting this a bit late in the day but it IS the 26th for me still lol). Had to do a transitional chapter for everything to add up and make sense later on, next chapter will be much more exciting!!

word count: 4050

if you want to be notified when I post new chapters, follow @farmerlarrrylibrary and put on notifications! If you'd rather be tagged, just let me know.

Chapter Eleven

Roughly a year and some months later

Summer is quickly coming to an end, the leaves have started to turn into warm tones of red, orange, and yellow. The lush greenness of the land disappears with each new day. It’s just about midday and you’ve been sitting at the base of a boulder for about an hour now, simply staring off into the distance. A layer of freshly fallen leaves coat the ground. You feel wholly at peace. A chill runs down your spine as a slight breeze begins to pick up. The sound of leaves rustling reminds you of a thousand little whispers, making you not feel so alone up here. You tuck your knees in closer to your chest, regretting not wearing or bringing anything warmer than your thin long sleeve shirt out on today’s patrol.

It’s a very serene day. Patrol went perfectly fine, you had a longer trek than usual as it was your day to check on the dam. Of course, nothing was out of the ordinary and you sort of went into a state of autopilot. From there, you circled around, heading straight for the outlook as you do most days. Everyday is pretty much the same, and have begun to blend into one another. Wake up, patrol, outlook, dinner, sleep. Rinse and repeat. Every. Day. The one thing that you never get tired of is coming here. The view is just as beautiful as the first time you saw it. In some sort of strange way, when you’re here, you can still feel the strong, intense presence of Joel, as if a part of himself still remains up here even after he’s left. Today in particular, it’s extra strong and in an odd way, it’s comforting.

You take a look next to you, looking at the barren ground. A bittersweet feeling overcomes you, one you have to immediately ward off before you become nauseous or it turns into something more. The feeling comes and goes. 

When you first started coming out here on your own, it was in the dead winter. You’d only stay a few minutes, sometimes a half hour at most, but never longer. The reasoning not really being the weather, how the cold seeped in through your thick winter coat chilling your right down to your core, or how your nose was so cold it’d take the rest of the day to regain feeling. Sure you’d use that as an excuse to yourself, but deep down you knew the real reason. The memory of the last time you saw Joel haunted you for months after his departure. You couldn't escape the guilt nor the hurt it caused. It took you a while to build up to spending more time up here. When spring came and your emotions subsided, you started staying for longer periods of time. Soon you began to bring your lunch with you, slipping books in your backpack to sit under the shade on the warm summer days. For your birthday, Nessa gifted you a beautiful leather bound journal. She told you she had it made special for you by someone in the community, remembering how you loved writing and journaling back in high school. After that you started carrying it with you everywhere you went. You haven’t quite gotten into the routine of writing regularly, but on the occasion you do, you’ve found it to be therapeutic. This is how you’ve learnt to deal with things, with pen and paper. 

Tucking the pen between your lips, you pull out your leather bound journal and flip open to the last entry, there’s about a half page worth of writing.

Sometime in mid July.

Tommy and I just came back from a couple day trip. It was just him and I this time. We ended up coming back empty handed, not that it really matters, since we just go out for fun, to get out of the community and have some time to ourselves. Spent a lot of it hiking. It was a peaceful trip this time around, we weren't bothered by no one or came in contact with any infected (unfortunately the number of infected popping up outside of the city has been increasing as of late) Nessa said she wants to come along next time… Tommy told her she could just to make her happy, but we both know she wouldn’t be able to last a night out here without throwing some sort of tantrum. The ground is too hard, she can’t sleep because she’s scared, she’s cold, she’s hungry…. I love Nessa to death, but taking her out on a trip like this is not my definition of relaxation or fun. Tommy was telling me on the way back he wants to take an extended trip soon, it’s been awhile since he’s done one (last one was when he found me). Maria has told him no multiple times already, telling him it’s not worth the risk and that Jackson is already doing so good on its own. He sort of alluded to his want to go east. I didn’t say much, I hope he invites me along if he does end up planning something.

After glancing over the words, you flip to the next available blank page, tapping the blunt end of the pen against your chin thinking about what you should write.

—

You’ve been in the community for little over a year now. To you, it really doesn’t seem like it’s been that long. Time really does go by fast, especially when you’re living, not just surviving. Within the last year, you’ve been able to create a life, you have a few people you’d consider your friends, you have a job, and you finally feel like your life is yours. The feeling of not belonging quickly subsided after about two months in. It was like your body and mind finally caught up, realizing you didn’t always have to build your walls up so high, always having to be on the outlook for potential danger. Life feels normal. Well, as normal as you can imagine.

You somehow managed to push past your hatred toward Nessa’s group of friends. At first it was no easy feat, most of the time having to bite on your tongue, or completely remove yourself from whatever situation was causing you frustration, but eventually it got easier. You became used to how they acted, learning when to block them out. You still aren’t a huge fan of Heather, Aimee, or Drew, but it is what it is. At the end of the day, they are Nessa’s friends, and Nessa is one of the most important people in your life. You do it for her. Regardless, they can actually be a lot of fun when they aren’t shit talking the other members of the community. 

Soon the group would be referred to as the gang , Heather was the one to initiate the title, and then everyone sort of continued using it.

About once a week, all of you meet up at an old abandoned building on the far west end of the community. Most of the time a mass amount of alcohol is involved, occasionally an old stash of weed. Sometimes you all will listen to music on an old record player Drew found in the cellar, other times someone will bring a deck of cards and you’ll play card games. The nights always end the same; Heather and Aimee both shit face drunk, barely able to move and usually one of them ends up puking at some point in the night, the other gagging in response. Drew takes over as the entertainer, sometimes he will put on plays, reenacting interactions he’s had with the others, playing up the situation and making it way more dramatic than it actually was. Other times he’ll put on a concert, strumming on a three stringed guitar and singing as loud as he possibly can, making up lyrics as he goes. Nessa always ends up in a fit of laughter, her face turning red as she gasps for air.  You, being more modest with your alcohol consumption, tend to sit back and laugh amongst the others. Whatever ends up happening, it is never a dull night.

And then there’s James. 

After Joel left, when Nessa wasn’t available – whether she was busy with the others, helping with the kids at the school, or when she decided Tommy and her needed to have more alone time– James was there for you. For a while, wherever you were, James was right by your side; whether you were in a talkative mood, or just wanted to sit in silence. You’ve come to learn that he is entirely different from what he presented himself as during that first interaction at the gates. James is incredibly kind and sweet, he’s laid back and easy going— for the most part. There’s times where he can get uptight, particularly when he is on guard duty, but he believes that the rules are meant to be followed to a tee, and there's little to no excuse to break them. Which is probably why he and Joel were always at each other's necks. 

Nearly all the girls around your age swoon over James. Stopping whatever they’re doing to look at him— when he enters a room, or walking around the community minding his own business— they always turn to one another, sharing whispers and giggles. Between his looks and the way he generally acts, you can understand why. Any girl would kill to be with someone like him. He pretends he doesn’t notice, but based on the way his cheeks turn red when it happens, you know the truth. He loves the attention. 

You were able to take over Joel’s spot on border patrol with the help of James. From what you’ve heard, Maria was quite hesitant giving you that type of assignment so soon after arriving. Nessa was the one who ended up telling you, and you assume she heard it from Tommy. You don’t know what James said or did to make it happen, but whatever it was, you were grateful he was able to do that for you. 

You can still vividly remember him coming out from the main building one early morning as you and Nessa were heading toward the school; walking with large strides, practically jogging, toward you with a big smile on his face. His long hair being flared out to the sides by the wind. Welcome to the patrolling squad, missy, he shouted across the main town center, causing people to turn a look between the two of you. You shrieked in excitement, running toward him and burying your face into the side of his neck. He wrapped his arms around your waist, swinging you around in a circle. That day was the first day you felt the pure essence of happiness in a long time. The excitement of getting what you wanted was overwhelming.

Nessa never really understood your undying desire to do border patrol. She always told you that you should try and work at the school with her because it was easy and it was fun , or she suggested at the very least you should work in the infirmary. You’d just shrug her off. She wasn’t willing to understand, nor do you think she ever would be able to. 

When you first started, James accompanied you. The two of you would meet at the stables before the sun would rise, making sure you were out early before most were even awake. He took you through a few rotations; checking the fences, clearing the dam, checking the hunting sheds deep within the heavily forested areas, patrolling other parts you weren’t even aware of. He wanted to make sure you knew the proper way of doing things, always making sly remarks which were obvious digs at Joel.

 For the first few months, it was great. But you wanted to be able to do more . Nearly everyday, either on your way back to the main gates or when you’d pass the barn, all you could think about was how badly you wanted to escape and go to the outlook Joel showed you. It was a while before you were able to get back there. 

On one particularly cold and bitter winter day, James had something come up. He met you at the stables as per usual, a perturbed look plastered on his face.

“I won’t be able to go with you today,” He was straightforward. You gave him a small nod, curious as to why and also, who was going to take his place. Please don’t be Drew, please don’t be Drew… you begged in your mind. Last time Drew went with you, it turned out to be an absolute shit show, nearly leaving you stranded on the side of a mountain. “And unfortunately all the guards are busy n’ there’s no one to spare, so that means…” 

“I can go by myself,” You responded maybe a little too eagerly, knowing what this meant. You could do things on your own accord, at your own pace, you could go wherever you wanted and no one would know. James gave you a confused look as you bit down on your lip in anticipation. Never in a million years he’d agree to that, you think.

“That– you know you can’t do that… it’s– it’s not safe, what if… what if something happens. You can just join one of the other groups today and then–” He took a step forward, grabbing your wrist, the snow crunching under his shoe. You could see his breath as he let out an exasperated sigh.

“It’s just fences today, we’ve done this so many times,” You subtly pulled out of his grasp, blowing a strand of hair out of your face. James looked at the ground, slightly shaking his head. “If I can’t do something like this on my own… I probably should get a new assignment.” 

James heartedly chuckled at what you said, taking a moment to contemplate. You gave him wide, pleading eyes. Regardless of his answer, you knew you were going to go, no matter how it made him feel. A fire burned inside your belly at this unexpected opportunity. 

“You do the fences, and come right back, okay?” He finally said, you returned a giddy smile to him, pulling him into a tight hug. He returned your tight embrace, resting his hands on your lower back. “I’ll be on channel 4, if you need anything, you better reach out… and radio me when you get back.”

That day was the first time you returned to the spot, and it certainly wasn’t the last. You made sure to be up and out of your house earlier than before, accidentally leaving James behind, every morning. He asked about it the first few times it happened, you lied and told him you couldn’t wait around for him because it was imperative for you to be back at the community by midday… except you were never back by midday and he knew that. Every time he tried bringing up how you shouldn’t be going out alone, you cut him off changing the subject. After a while he stopped trying and never pushed the matter further, although you could tell that it bothered him. 

You liked to be out there by yourself. Once you step out past those gates, just you and Lucky, you felt as if you were finally able to breathe. You didn’t have to put on a false façade, you were able to just simply be.

On the off chance you didn’t feel like going out alone, you’d stop by Nessa and Tommy’s place on your way out to the stables, inviting Tommy to come along. Those days were few and far between, but Tommy was always happy to join, dropping whatever it was he was supposed to be doing to accompany you. The two of you would talk about all sorts of things; fishing, music, things from before the outbreak, mainly it was Tommy sharing more of his many stories that landed him in a deep amount of trouble. Spending that time with Tommy was therapeutic for you. He quickly became one of your closest friends, and now was like a brother to you. 

There was only one unspoken rule while you two were together. Talking about Joel was off limits.

You never really stopped thinking about Joel. As time went on, the hurt that he caused you slowly melted away, it just kind of sat dormant, always lingering and occasionally it would hit you, but you’ve learned to not let it become debilitating. He often appeared in your dreams, usually unexpectedly showing up in the dining hall, or showing up on your doorstep, or some other part of the community; the two of you would catch each other's eyes. Every time you had this dream, there was a different outcome. Some nights you were relieved to see him, other nights all you could feel for him was anger. No matter how you acted in your dream, when you woke up, a part of you deep inside was always happy to see his face again.

However, no matter how under control you may think you have it, you still look for his face in everyone you come across. You look for that comfort and calmness he brought to your soul in everyone. No one ever comes close, and you sometimes wonder if you’ll ever feel that level of contentment ever again. With more time, this feeling will fade, you always tell yourself. Just give it some more time. 

Since being here, you’ve been able to reconnect with Charles. So much has changed since the apartment building, Dottie and Henry have grown so much. Charles has sort of become like a father figure for you; always checking up on you, making sure you’re fed, your house is stocked up with extra supplies. You’ve been able to actually get to know him now that things are different. 

The two of you first bonded over a book. He caught you reading one early morning, you were sitting on the edge of the field where they grow and harvest root vegetables. The Chrysalids by John Wyndham. You found an old copy in the building that you and the rest of the gang would hang out at. That’s an interesting pick, his voice came out of nowhere, nearly scarring you to death. The cover caught my eye, you responded no louder than a whisper. The truth is, the premise of the book fascinated you, especially considering your own reality. What else have you read, he took a seat next to you. From that point, you and Charles would meet up any chance the two of you had a free moment, talking about books, which eventually took a turn and you ended up forming a close bond with him. 

Now most evenings, you spend over at his house with James. Charles, the kids, you, and James all eat dinner together, and after James helps with the kids’ homework while you and Charles go off to his den. Once the kids go to bed, James and you head out. He insists on walking you home every night, regardless of the fact that he lives on the complete opposite side of the community. You think it's a sweet gesture, but a completely unnecessary one. 

In the spring, Tommy and you started going on fishing trips, usually spending the night out in the woods. Tommy told you about all the summers he spent as a teenager with his friends out at the creeks behind his childhood home; fishing, wrestling in the mud, smoking. Then eventually Charles found out and started tagging along, apparently before the outbreak, he was an avid fisherman, just not a very good one. Once it started becoming a weekly weekend trip, James and Henry would tag along as well. But most often it was just the three of you. You started to cherish the nights you spent under the stars after it started getting too cold, something you never thought you’d end up enjoying and yearning for after all the fearful nights all by yourself. 

—

Placing the pen in the spine of the notebook to hold your place, you close it and set it off to your side on the ground. You reach for your worn out bag, sticking your hand through the half unzipped pouch and feeling around the depths. You pull out a brown paper bag, carefully unrolling the top. Today’s lunch consisted of half a sandwich, the once whole one that Nessa gave you when you stopped by yesterday morning. 

As you're unraveling the moist paper wrapping, you notice some sort of commotion brewing at the main gates. From up here you can see the area in front of the gates, as well as a good portion of the community. The large doors draw open, and about two dozen guards come out from it. Some on foot, others on horseback. You can see half of them beginning to ready their guns, drawing them from their holsters. Your mind completely forgets about your lunch, you’re no longer hungry. You strain your eyes, squinting them, desperate to figure out what's going on. Without looking away, you grab the walkie talkie from the side of your hip, turning the volume dial up. You are instantly hit with an array of voices, some cutting in on each other, sentences overlapping and cutting out. 

“ Yup, just north of the main gates,,” A clear sentence finally comes out. “The—”

It cut out again, and you hit the base of the walkie talkie with your palm. 

“Can you repeat,” A different voice responds. It must be cutting out for everyone , you think. 

“The—” They repeat, cutting out again. “Down by the dam, there‘s only one survivor.”

“Copy,”  A bit of annoyance hangs in their tone. The dam? I was just at the dam an hour-ish ago, you start thinking about when you were there, did you miss something? 

Getting up, you walk over to the edge of the cliff. You have one hand on your hip and the other is holding the radio up to your ear. 

Suddenly everything goes quiet, no one is talking. Your eyes are now locked on the ground, darting from side to side. Surely if they needed your help, they would call you in, right? You start to worry, now switching over to channel 4, the channel that James uses to communicate with all the higher ranking and more experienced guards.

After a few moments of silence, all the guards now out of view as they disappear into the tree line, you return back to the spot at the base of the boulder. Picking up the sandwich, you set the radio down between your crossed legs. You take a modest bite of your soggy sandwich, chewing slowly. You have an odd feeling in the center of your stomach, boarding nausea. 

“C–n..Som–dy” James' voice suddenly comes over the radio, nearly causing you to jump. You force the food down. He’s cutting in and out. Your breathing becomes shallow. Something feels different, you think, you can hear your heartbeat in your ears. 

Another moment of silence follows. You narrow your eyes, drawing your brows close together.

“Tommy ,” He calls out, this time much more clearly. “For fucks sake.” 

Just static.

“Can someone find Tommy , tell him to get to the front gates immediately… Maria too,” His voice is tense, urgent sounding. Your heart is beating fast. “Tell them… Tell them there's a situation.” 

“On it,” A voice promptly responds. “If they ask… what– what should I tell ‘em?”

You listen closer, there’s a long pause before James says anything.

“Tell them…” James’ voice sounds hesitant. There’s some muttering, but you cannot make out who is talking or what they’re saying. Just tell them, you hear faintly, it sounds like it could be Nora, but you can’t be sure. She’s listening right now, I kn — his voice cuts out for a few seconds— this is bullshit, James responds instantly in a hushed, harsh tone.

 “Fine, tell them Joel is back.”

read chapter twelve here!

painting divider | credit: @cottage-writings

[midnights-dragon]

Made this post and immediately wrote it into a short & sweet ficlet. Happy Holidays, Good Omens fandom! ☃ If you'd rather read it on ao3, the link is here. ❄️

Snowflakes and Starshine

"There's another one! Angel, look!"

Aziraphale smiled indulgently as he followed Crowley's finger. The demon had hooked his arm around Aziraphale's neck with the casual sort of intimacy you got from being hereditary enemies for 6000 years, and was smugly pointing with a flippant hand towards a very brightly gleaming, multi-colored, five-pointed star that was perched atop a sparkling Christmas tree in a window of a shop in Berkeley Square — which, given the prediction of later snow (not the usual London mush, but real snow), was quite deserted for once, people all over going home to their families.

But still, lights gleamed in the half-light of the evening, and the square was lit up by various holiday decorations, including the star that Crowley was so excitedly pointing to.

"My dear, I've said it many times, and I'll say it again, I really, really do not see how they are comparable to your stars," Aziraphale murmured, repeating a fond, familiar track of conversation that was really nothing but making conversation. "It's a caricature. Nothing like the beauty and . . . oh, the infinity of the real thing, captured in that silly piece of plastic."

"No, no, no, angel, you don't get it," Crowley argued lightly, humoring him as the two of them strolled past the store window. Aziraphale smiled a little as he caught their reflection; both of them were bundled up in winter clothing (Crowley especially), the demon's arm thrust around Aziraphale's shoulders in a picture of careless nonchalance, his glasses slipping down his nose to reveal the bright excitement in his eyes.

"It's the — eh, ngk, the symbolism — symbolism, s'that the right word? — of it all, y'know? Like — s'nice to see the appreciation for — for the stars. That silly piece of plastic, it . . . it means something to someone. 'Cause of me, 'cause of my stars." Crowley smiled, a beautiful, rare thing, like a flower blooming in the snow. He looked every inch the angel Aziraphale had known, and every inch the demon he knew, like the crashing of two nebulae coming together to form something beautiful.

"Stars are . . . they're . . ." Crowley, whose words had pulled Aziraphale from his quiet reverie, had begun to frown a little, his brow pinching, his nose scrunching up. Aziraphale swooped in to save him, placing his hand on Crowley's chest as they walked, smiling warmly at him to make up for the cold of winter that blistered around them.

"They're gorgeous."

"That's the word!" Crowley snapped his fingers, grinning broadly. He shrugged easily, bumping his shoulder against Aziraphale's, his dangling hand brushing Aziraphale's arm. "'Sides, you're one to talk about plastic caricatures, angel. I've never once seen an angel in anything humans've created, let alone holiday decor, that looks even a bit like you."

"No, no, we see them all the time!" Aziraphale protested. "Plenty of Renaissance painters captured me, dear, and I'm quite all over the Sistine, and besides, even here — oh, even right next door, the blonde one with the white wings in the tree in the record shop looked quite a bit like me!"

"Nahhh," Crowley insisted, rolling his eyes with vigor and scoffing under his breath. His nose wrinkled again, and Aziraphale was seized with the absurd notion to kiss him there. He refrained with dignity, though he did beam a little at the demon's next words.

"None of 'em compare, angel, not at all."

Aziraphale blushed, a tentative smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He had grown quite fond of this little game of theirs that they had been 'competing' in ever since the people had begun to form the holiday traditions of their decorations; both the demon and the angel found Christmastime to be rather lovely, as well as the holiday season in general, of course (besides the cold, for Crowley, who always complained whenever they ventured outside, but still tagged along when Aziraphale went on walks such as this one), and had begun keeping track of how many star or angel decorations they saw, respectively. Whoever had the most by the end of the season got to slack off from Arrangement blessings and miracles for the spring. It was really just a thing for fun, though; neither really kept track. Besides, Aziraphale got plenty of a reward when he got to see Crowley look so happy.

Aziraphale loved watching Crowley light up as bright as the decorations themselves whenever he saw a star, even, as Aziraphale would call them, plastic caricatures that gleamed an annoying neon and blared Christmas carols from shoddy speakers. He remembered the first time the demon had seen a little boy place a star atop his Christmas tree in the mid-19th century, somewhere in Wales that they had met up in for a drink; Crowley's eyes had widened, and then his lips had pulled up in the beginnings of a smile, and then he had beamed, and it had been beautiful on him.

"Aziraphale", Crowley had whispered with awe and uncharacteristic openness, tugging on Aziraphale's sleeve and pointing, his eyes stretched open wide. "Aziraphale, look. I made that."

"You made the . . . decoration?"

Crowley had shaken his head, still staring at the star. He had looked, for lack of a better term, starstruck. 

"The stars."

Aziraphale had smiled with understanding, then, and had tried to quash the aching of his heart that threatened to overwhelm him if he were to look into Crowley's face for too long. He felt as if he would be blinded; Icarus, flying directly into the sun.

"That you did, my dear," he had murmured fondly, allowing himself to become Icarus. "That you did."

It had been a fun tradition ever since then, like how humans baked cookies or exchanged gifts during the holiday season. Even after the Arrangement had ended with not-Armageddon, they had continued it in an unspoken agreement.

Each year, Aziraphale decorated his shop with as many star-themed decorations as he could, and each year (it baffled Crowley, who always looked very bemused when he pulled the Bentley up to the bookshop, but he always put angel wings on the car's fender, so really, he was just the same), he lost the challenge in spirit because of it, and had to bring the next bottle of wine whenever they got together, which was most nights, nowadays. But it didn't matter if he 'lost', because each time he saw Crowley smile even the tiniest quirk of his lips, he felt as he had felt back then, watching the Starmaker craft the universe in their fingertips.

"There's another one!"

In the present Aziraphale smiled, his eyes feeling oddly wet, and moved his hand up almost subconsciously to thread his fingers through Crowley's. The demon paused for a moment as he had begun to point out another star across the square, his mouth half-hanging open, and then he continued on as if nothing had happened, though he held back just as tightly, the only acknowledgement being the slight flush rising in his cheekbones, and the way his eyes darted towards Aziraphale's mouth for a moment.

They were very caught up with staring longingly at each other (though they wouldn't call it that, of course; we can save that particular turn of phrase for the non-Icaruses who have not been blinded by the sun as of yet) that they didn't notice the light pattering of snow beginning to fall around them until Crowley caught a snowflake on his nose and immediately yelped at the shock of it, wrinkling his entire expression and swiping at his face with a fumbling hand.

"Snow!" Aziraphale exclaimed happily, tipping his head up towards the skies and smiling widely. He loved snow. It was soft and beautiful and pure. Crowley had said that snow reminded him of the angel, once.

Aziraphale turned to the demon in question, who was watching him, his cold shock temporarily forgotten as he stared, once again starstruck, at his angel.

"Gorgeous . . ."

"Sorry, what was that, dear?"

"Nothin', angel." Crowley smiled crookedly, and yanked a hat that hadn't been there before out of his coat pocket, shoving it over his ears and grinning wider. He seized Aziraphale's hand in his own once more, with a muttered "S' warm," in lieu of an explanation, and they looked up at the sky together — or rather, Aziraphale watched the snow fall, and Crowley watched Aziraphale.

They both glowed like the stars perched atop the trees, or the snow shining in the light of the sun, and their love was as loud as the tolling of the bells that rang for Christmas Day in the distance.

[saintsenara]

I have really enjoyed reading your answers to the rare pair tag game. I have added a lot of the fics that you recommended on your latest answer to my 'Marked for Later' list on a03 to enjoy over the weekend. I was wondering your honest thoughts are on the following ships: Tom/Ron, James/Snape, Tom/Hermione, Molly/Bellatrix, James/Regulus and Snape/Lily and Dudley/Draco. I apologise for the number of ships and I am really curious on your opinions.

thank you so much for the ask, @sarafina-sincerity - and for continuing my recent tradition of offering opinions nobody else wanted to hear on an increasingly unhinged list of pairings.

[i know you sent a message apologising for sending some ships which were asked before, but i love to chatter, so i'm going in to answer the original...]

tom riddle | voldemort/ron weasley

obviously this is the crack pairing when it comes to voldemort + a member of the trio - while tomarrymort and tomione/volmione stories number into the thousands on ao3, voln/ton/rom/ronmort/whatever we're calling it has a grand total of... ten tagged works.

i think this is a tremendous shame, but not - it's important to say - because i agree with the tedious fanon idea, particularly prevalent in ships which feature hermione with anyone else, that ron would make a good death eater [as you will see below, i think that honour belongs firmly to hermione herself...] - even in a voldemort wins au, ron isn't going over to the dark side. it sounds too much like hard work.

instead, i'm into this pairing because ron is... kind of mother. he likes to look after people and he channels his negative emotions into doing this [he wouldn't have left the tent if harry and hermione had learned how to shoplift properly and he could be settled in front of a nice pot, i'll die on that hill]. just imagine little captive ron - maybe the snatchers recognised him, maybe voldemort's won and everyone else is dead - bustling around his gilded prison in malfoy manor making the dark lord a cup of tea when he turns up to psychologically torture him. voldemort would - as i am - be intrigued.

and if, in fact, you'd like to see almost exactly this situation play out, you will definitely enjoy wind tunnels by @mrmxlemons. ron isn't having a good time, but his cooking is.

james potter/severus snape

i've not read much snames, so this is mostly just based on general vibes: i think it's fine but not fantastic.

as i've said in literally everything i've ever posted about sirius black/severus snape, snack is a great pairing because they're narrative mirrors, something which creates so much drama that it makes me scream.

severus and james don't have this - if anything, they're narrative opposites. james is adored by his parents, he's rich, he gets the girl, his best friend is in love with him and not the other way round, he's the ringleader of his gang rather than a follower, his whole family have been gryffindors, and so on and so forth. obviously opposites attract, but you haven't got the immediate potential for connection that you have between severus and characters such as sirius, lily, and - let's all be real - voldemort.

i'm not really going to get into the bullying debate here, but it seems to me that severus would regard james - had he lived - in a similar way to how he regards the adult lupin; that is, that he would completely disassociate from any situation in which he's present, rather than love getting in his face as he does with sirius. i don't love snupin for this reason [i'll read it, of course, but it always feels extremely ooc to me] - the fissure caused by their conflicting personalities simply runs too deep, and my suspicion is that snames is the same.

hermione granger/tom riddle | voldemort

so, this is the one where I think I'm likely to deviate most significantly from the opinions of my dash...

i think it's entirely plausible, but only from hermione's side.

the argument i've seen most against tomione/volmione is that hermione's moral code would never permit her to accept anything less than a voldemort who was transformed into a man she would want - which means the whole murder thing needs to get thrown in the bin.

i... disagree. the canonical hermione is someone who is very morally inflexible in relation to how she expects others to behave, but incredibly morally flexible - and often quite immoral - in pursuit of things she herself wants or thinks she wants. she is also the cruelest and most ruthless member of the trio. she thinks herself rational and would - therefore - be the easiest for anyone cleverer than rita skeeter to manipulate. she is very lonely, and would, in a situation in which she was captured, be the member of the trio most swayed by basic demonstrations of kindness [lord voldemort only needs to endure a brief conversation about hogwarts: a history and hint that harry and ron aren't coming to look for her and he's golden]. she always thinks she's right - if she's convinced just by harry and ron not telling her otherwise that her knitted hats are freeing house elves in their droves, i am certain she could be convinced that she won concessions for muggleborns under voldemort's regime through her own skill and not because he wanted to grant them anyway. and so on.

whether the relationship is something she has to do or wants to do, i think she'd be able to justify it to herself as a necessary evil which doesn't actually go against her standards for herself. that she would never think this for harry and ron if they shacked up with the dark lord is part of the fun...

from voldemort's perspective, while he definitely has a weakness for dark curly hair [bellamort nation, rise up], i cannot see him going for it as anything other than a tool of psychological warfare [whereas i think you can write e.g. tomarry based very much in mutual attraction]. intellectually, while hermione is very clever, she doesn't have the interest in experimentation which voldemort has [this is why snapemort and riddledore both always slap - they have the same views on magic], she's extremely condescending, which is his thing, she obviously grew up incredibly rich, and her dour, whiggish empiricism doesn't align very well with his late-antique-emperor's view of the world.

she doesn't give a shit about dead rabbits though. maybe they could bond over that.

bellatrix lestrange/molly weasley

yeah why not. they canonically went to hogwarts at the same time and bellatrix is definitely giving off jilted ex vibes in that final duel.

would molly put up with bella's nonsense? absolutely not. bellatrix would have exactly the same reaction as fleur to the burrow - nothing to do except cooking and chickens - and the ensuing argument would burn the place to the ground far more interestingly than that dogshit scene in the half-blood prince film.

regulus black/james potter

i don't know her, sorry.

lily evans/severus snape

as i said here, i'm into it in a post-james world where lily is trying to rebuild her life by connecting with her past.

so let's take it from a different angle: do i think it could work in the pre-james era?

absolutely not. i think these two need something as seismic as catastrophic loss to force them to actually engage with each other as they are, rather than as the versions they've constructed in their heads. at school, where they're both just dancing round each other, never seeing eye-to-eye on anything, they're never going to be able to get to that place.

i also think james needs to be out of the picture - she's clearly into him long before the mudblood incident, and that knowledge would only ever make severus astonishingly unpleasant to have as a boyfriend. rip king, but you were lost in service of shipping.

dudley dursley/draco malfoy

yeah it's hot. boxer!dudley is enormous and ripped, what's not to love. draco deserves a huge boy who also hates harry.

plus imagine narcissa vs petunia on the topic of their darling boys. or lucius vs vernon when the former pulls up to privet drive in a flying rolls royce. i would be seated.

[kazoosandfannypacks]

“Always Remember (the burning embers)” by kazoosandfannypacks

Pairing: Captain Swan Rating: General Word Count: 1380 Summary: Killian and Emma have a late night conversation about careless words that've left their scars Tags: au, fluff, captain swan, one shot, post canon, canon compliant, fix-it-fic, missing moment Author’s notes: I've been planning this fic for a little while here, since sometime during season 5. The title is based on the taylor swift song "the great war," which I feel nicely sums up Killian and Emma during the Dark Ones arc, though this fic takes place probably a couple years later. Taglist:@zahara@kmomof4@jonesfandomfanatic@booksteaandtoomuchtv@jrob64@tiganasummertree@anmylica@teamhook@undercaffinatednightmare@gingerchangeling@lonelyspectator@caught-in-the-filter  @ultraluckycatnd  @cs-rylie @silver-the-phoenix @pawshapedheart [if you’d like to be added to or removed from this list, hmu in my dms or askbox!]

Also on Ao3!

 Killian had gotten so used to waking up next to Emma that it always felt weird when he didn't- especially when it was two A.M., and she'd been right there when he fell asleep, and now she wasn't.

 At first, he suspected maybe she'd gone to the bathroom or to get a drink of water or something like that- but then he saw her, sitting at the foot of the bed, seeming a touch unwell.

 "Is something wrong, love?" he whispered.

 She turned around, a bit startled.

 "I didn't realize you were still up."

 "Love, it's two in the morning," he said, "have you been awake this whole time?"

 "I guess," Emma said.

 "What's wrong, love?"

 "Nothing," she shook her head.

 He knew her better than to believe that.

 "What's wrong?" he repeated.

 "Nothing important." Emma said, quickly.

 "Emma," he said, hoping his soft tone could soften whatever armor she'd been crafting, "if you're up thinking about it at two in the morning, it must be important. What's wrong?"

 She sighed, and glanced back at him for a moment- and in that moment he nodded to her, like you'd nod to an injured animal to ask it to trust you, to tell her, "Go on. Let me help you."

 "It still feels like a fairy tale," she said.

 Rather than try and read into that statement, he simply asked for clarification.

 "What does?"

 "All of it," she said, in a whispered breath like an angry laugh, "you, Henry, my parents, our home- our happy beginning."

 "Aye," Killian nodded, knowing she still hadn't hit the point of her problem.

 "And the problem with a fairytale is the story always ends, the book closes, and you're back to being whoever it was you were escaping from."

 "Emma," Killian crawled out from under the covers and over to the foot of the bed so he could sit next to her, "what we have here is real, and it's not going away."

 "I know," Emma shook her head, "and I'm trying so hard to believe that."

 "What's stopping you?"

 She shrugged. "Myself. For someone whose job is happy endings, I'm pretty good at destroying my own."

 "What's that supposed to mean, love?" Killian asked, trying to sound reassuring and not like that was the dumbest thing he'd ever heard.

 "I…." she shook her head.

 "You don't need to push me away, love."

 "That's just the thing- that's what I do," she shook her head, "I push people away- people I love."

 And she tacked on, on top of it all, so softly he almost didn't hear it: "and that's why I'll always be an orphan."

 "Emma, love," he said, carefully but desperately turning her face to his, "where did you get such a ridiculous idea?"

 She pushed away physically this time, shaking her head and turning away from him.

 "I'm glad you don't remember," she said, almost smiling.

 "Remember what?"

 "It's nothing."

 "It's not," he insisted, his voice raising above a whisper for the first time that night, "talk to me."

 Her eyes almost seemed the blue ones for all the tears they held back as she looked up at him. He wanted to help her, wanted to dry the tears she was afraid to cry, wanted to clean up the mess she was afraid to spill, and wanted to make everything right for her. That's all he ever wanted for Emma, to be that for her, to be the one she could turn to no matter what she was facing- to be the one who made her burdens lighter.

 "The conversation at Regina's," Emma took a deep breath, "back when we were Dark Ones."

 He'd tried so hard to purge those awful memories, choosing to dwell on their happy moments instead of ones like that, those moments where they didn't trust each other, where they closed themselves off to each other, where they argued with each other….

 "That moment when I told her she'd always be an orphan," He recalled, "her pain now is my fault."

 He didn't know what to say now. All he knew how to do was throw his arms around her, pull her close to him, hold her as tight as he could and choke out an "I'm sorry."

 So, that's what he did.

 "It wasn't you," Emma said, "it was the darkness. I've tried not to mention it, because I know you'd never…."

 Though he couldn't see her face (which was buried in his embrace,) he could tell by the way her voice trailed off that she was crying, and he quickly let go of his right arms' grip around her, so he could catch the tears as they rolled down her cheek.

 He knew his apology was nowhere near sufficient, but he still didn't know what to say- what could his words do to make up for such loveless atrocities?

 "I'm sorry," Emma said, "I shouldn't've brought it up. I shouldn't've mentioned it."

 "Nonsense," he said, taking her hand in his and pulling it close to his chest, "I never want you to think that a problem you have is too big to share with me. Understand?"

 She nodded. He sighed, unsure what words would tumble out after his breath.

 "I love that you're my anchor, Emma," he said, "a ship would be lost without her anchor, and I'd be lost without you. I love everything you've ever done for me. Do you know what else I love about you?"

 "What?"

 "Call me a bit of a narcissist, but I love that you're my mirror. When I see you, I see a lot of myself. I see someone who never gives up, someone who risks their life for those they love, someone who does everything they can to be a hero, no matter what mistakes they've made.

 "And when I first met you, I saw what you were," he continued, "and what I was- a lost boy, a lone wolf- an orphan. And when I said those angry dark words I wish I could take back, words I never should've said- I was talking to myself too."

 He'd never seen a perfect blend of confusion and understanding quite like the one he saw on her face now.

 "We did push people away, love. We did hide from the people who cared about us. That's why we should still be orphans. But that's not what we are anymore."

 "Why not?"

 "Because we turn to the people we love. We've set aside our armor and chosen something new."

 "What's that?"

 "Trust."

 Still holding her hand close to his heart, he instead brought it to his lips and kissed it.

 "Emma Swan, you will never be an orphan again. That's not who you are anymore. You're the Savior. You're my True Love, my happy beginning and ending and everything in between. You're a mother and a daughter and a hero and the most perfect wife a man could ever ask for."

 "Some days I have trouble believing that," Emma shook her head, "but I believe in you."

 With the hand that he wasn't holding, Emma reached up and stroked his face, her cold hand warming against his cheek. "So if you can believe in me, I can believe in me too," she said.

 "I'm glad to hear it, love."

 "And you're not an orphan anymore either, Killian Jones," Emma said. She kissed his hand, then pulled it close to her heart, "You're my family. You're my best friend. You're my true love. My hero."

 "Aye," He nestled his head against her forehead, gently, then whispered "I love you."

 "I love you too," she whispered back, "thank you."

 "Anytime, love," he said, "now, let's get back to bed."

 They both let go of each other, only so they could crawl back across to the other side of the bed. As soon as they were both under the covers, Emma slid into his arms, wrapping her own arms around his waist, resting her head against his chest.

 "Goodnight, my love," he said, craning his neck forward so he could kiss her forehead.

 "Goodnight, Killian." She replied, sounding sleepy but satisfied.

 And with that, Killian fell asleep the only way that felt natural anymore- with Emma in his arms.

[emberswrites]

Have you ever thought of someday posting all of your Tumblr drabbles in a collection on ao3? they're always so lovely, I think that would be great

Anyway, here it goes: Realisation + Sai

Thanks for doing this, these little snippets make my day!

This is going to sound very dumb but I actually didn't really think of doing that, I guess because I didn't think I'd be doing so many? But since I now have quite a few it's not a bad idea at all, anon. I think I will actually do that because it would be nice to have the writing in one place and easy to find. And thank you, glad you enjoy them!

Prompt Game - Bonus Ino appearance.

Sai is still learning how to understand the impossible combinations of words, expressions, body language, and gestures that make up the puzzle of everyday communication. He's been getting better with the help of his new friends and his new sensei.

Only sometimes, Kakashi is the puzzle and he's not always so helpful.

Today, Kakashi looks rather dour, even though Sasuke had sent word that he'd successfully helped a community in Ame defend from a crime ring and would be staying an extra few months to see to it's safety as they rebuilt leadership.

He should be thrilled, Ame continued to be a vulnerable region and any threats stamped out there not only made good political sense but would help the many disadvantaged who continue to live there.

Kakashi had merely sighed after he'd read the correspondence, muttered a soft good, that's good before turning back to the stack of papers on his desk. Sai had asked if Kakashi needed anything, only for him to look up and give Sai that special kind of smile, the one that looked a little too much like his own had, empty.

"No thank you, Sai. That will be all."

He relays this odd encounter to Ino over lunch and she hums.

"Well, maybe he's just tired."

"He's always tired."

"Ugh, so true. He's too handsome to be working so hard," she says wistfully.

Sai isn't sure what an aesthetically pleasing face has to do with work ethic or load, but he makes a note to ask about this later. He can only handle so much examination of the human condition at once.

"Do you think it's Sasuke that upset him? Being reminded of his charge having to make up for his ills and failings, unlike Naruto and Sakura?"

This would make Sai feel rather sad, he thinks. Kakashi-sensei is a good man and shouldn't have to feel so responsible, to the point he can't even be happy at good news.

"Hm?" Ino begins to shake her head before pausing, "No, why would hearing from- wait. Oh you may be on to something Sai! Well done."

"What is it?"

"Well, he misses him obviously," she shrugs, "You know, when someone you care about isn't around and you want to see them."

Sai does know this ache. He resolves to be more helpful, maybe that would help take Kakashi's mind off his incomplete team. He decides to stop by the Tower earlier the next day to check in and be of good use to his sensei, only when he gets there he senses another chakra presence.

He instinctually minimizes his own signature, although he is not alone in the hallway as other shinobi move about beginning or ending their work days. He has rather good hearing and it isn't hard for him to pick up on the conversation inside as he waits.

"You didn't have to come back," Kakashi is saying, "I wouldn't have said it if I thought you'd come back because of it."

"I know-"

Sasuke? Sai blinks, Sasuke is meant to be in Ame for months.

"-but I wanted to. I miss you, too, you know. It's not...this isn't easy for me. But I am compelled to do it all the same. It isn't about...making up for anything, I just think I should be using this power where it's needed."

Ah, so Ino had been right - Kakashi had been sad at Sasuke being away again. But then, he was always away. Even Naruto had gotten used to it by now.

"I know, and I adore you for it. I just - selfishly - wish it didn't take you away from us so much. There will never be a shortage of strife or calamity...your life can't be just attending to the world's ills."

"Hm. And you?"

"What about me?"

"Shikamaru told me you barely go home."

"What would I do at home?"

There is a silence after this. A long silence, Sai notes. It's broken by a breathy laugh, Sasuke's by the sound of it.

"There's your agenda for today. Tell Shikamaru you're taking the day off, I'll have you back here and energized by tomorrow morning, promise."

"That soon?"

"Until next time."

"Next time, you stay longer than a day then."

"Deal."

Sai takes several steps back as the door swings open and the two walk out.

"Ah," Kakashi says, "You've been waiting, sorry Sai. You can check in with Shikamaru when he's in soon. Shouldn't be long, will you tell him I'm cashing in one of those vacation days Shizune's always on about?"

"Oh, yes," he says, smiling lightly, "What will you do, sensei?"

"Don't answer that," Kakashi says when Sasuke looks like he's about to, "We'll be at home, if the sky is falling."

Sai watches them walk away, puzzled. Home? Who's home? Sasuke doesn't have one here any longer, not a physical one anyway. Kakashi's home? Does Sasuke stay there when he's in town?

Are they holding hands?

Oh.

OH.

Yes, Sai will definitely need to note this one down in his book.

[tiressian]

Part 5 of the drabbles set in the satosho single parent AU

If you want to read them in order, ive cross posted them to Ao3 (you'll need to log in tho): x

Notes: double drabble, mature themes, sensuality

….

It was a little after 10pm when Megumi's sugar rush finally turned into a sugar crash. Gojo was all too happy to tuck him into bed, but the giddiness he felt skipping back into the living room died when he realised Shoko was putting on her coat. 

"Thanks for tonight. I had fun."

"You're leaving?" Gojo continued to pout even after she kissed his cheek. 

"What? Early start tomorrow."

"Liar. You're just being mean."

"If being 'mean' means I save lives then I'm about to be a real pill."

"You'd rather do that than hang out? With me? With me, the greatest thing that's ever happened to you?"

Shoko smiled, fingering the collar and momentarily distracting Gojo's focus. "Yes."

"Tch. Didn't even open my present." 

"Aww you got something for me?"  

"Course! But you can only open it in my room. On my bed. Naked. Collar optional." Gojo deadpanned and Shoko snorted. 

"Night Gojo."

"Meanie."

...

Thirty minutes later, Gojo was in bed and checking his messages. 

The latest one was a photo: Shoko wearing the collar, and only the collar, an arm tastefully covering her breasts while she winked at the camera.

Gojo grabbed a pillow and screamed into it.

[rosaren2498]

Encouragement From Unsurprising Places

This is a sequel to my story ‘Nightmare or Memory’ and I have two others written already; they will be posted soon, likely later today (it’s almost 1 in the morning where I am.)

I made 4 posts that started with what I wanted out of a Dark!Dream x Reader fic that pretty much just became what I wanted out of a Dream x Reader fic so... here it is. There will be some minor differences but this and the others are what I want. It’s self-indulgent as fuck and if you don’t like it, don’t read it.

This is also on my Ao3, as will be the other two, in case you prefer Ao3 (like I do)

Warnings: Reader has Anxiety, Mentioned Trauma?

---

You absentmindedly wiped down the bar, gaze blank in that spaced-out sort of way. You couldn't stop thinking about the coat that was hanging in your closet, couldn't stop thinking about twin stars in place of eyes. You jumped when a hand tapped lightly on the bar, head jerking up and eyes wide. You relaxed when you saw Hob.

"Alright, what's going on with you? You've been distracted all week and you've been wiping down the same spot for almost twenty minutes."

You couldn't help the warmth you felt in your chest at seeing his concern, even as your face lightly flushed in embarrassment; you'd never had a better friend than Hob Gadling. "Something happened a few days ago, something kind of strange, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it."

Hob's eyebrows raised and he leaned against the bar, giving you that look that never failed to make you spill every secret; how does he do that?

Your eyes darted around, but The New Inn was mostly empty now and no one was going to overhear you; it was almost closing time. Your eyes flicked back to Hob and you sighed softly, tossing the towel you'd been using onto the bartop. You placed your hands down, spread apart, leaning against the bar like Hob.

"I had a nightmare, that one I've been having since I got out?" Hob gives a brief nod, expression twisting slightly at the reminder of your trauma. "Well... it didn't end like it always does. It got to the point where Dr. Maxwell was about to, rather eagerly, defile me and I closed my eyes, but then... I heard this voice. It was unlike anything I'd ever heard before, like a rolling storm, like black velvet; deep and soothing even as it sounded angry. When I opened my eyes, Dr. Maxwell was gone, but someone else was standing there. He was... the most beautiful being I've ever seen in my entire life, and given how long I've lived, that's saying something."

You gave a slight huff of laughter that quickly trailed off as you stared down at the bar again, expression puzzled. "He undid my restraints and gave me his coat to cover myself, seeing as I had no clothes on. He showed... concern, I think? It was a little difficult to tell; he seemed pretty stoic, except for the little smile he got on his face when I talked about you. I swear, it changed his entire face, made him light up like the stars in his eyes; it was breathtaking, really. He asked about the nightmare, and I explained that it wasn't really a nightmare, more of a memory." You blinked and shook your head, looking back at Hob, who had a curious expression on his face.

"He tell you who he was?" He paused for a moment, then gave a confused smile. "Why'd you talk about me?"

You bit your bottom lip before sighing. "He's the younger brother of this woman I know, the one I told you about, Teleute? When he told me who he was, I nearly panicked. Teleute and her family are very old and very powerful beings, instrumental to the continued existence of the very universe, in fact. I've met a couple of her siblings, some I could go the rest of eternity without ever having to see or interact with ever again,

"But there are, or were, three I'd never met: her brothers. One is missing, or rather, he left their family several hundred years ago, and hasn't been heard from since; they don't talk about him. The second is the eldest of the family, and I don't particularly want to meet him; I'm a little too worried I'd get myself in a lot of trouble by punching him in his stupid, hooded face. The third... well, he's Teleute's oldest, younger brother, and the second most powerful of their family. I talked to him about you because he was surprised that I knew about him when he told me who he was. I mentioned that, while I did know some of his siblings, we also shared a common friend," you casually pointed a finger at Hob, "you."

Hob frowned, clearly confused, and opened his mouth. "I don't-"

You cut him off by waving your hand. "You might know him as Morpheus, or... Dream? About 5'10", wild hair that's dark as a raven's feather, pale as a corpse? Never smiles except with tiny little micro-expressions?" You didn't mention the rosebud color of his lips, or how utterly ethereal he looked; they weren't normal details to mention.

Hob blinked, startled. "You know Dream?"

You huffed another brief laugh. "As I said, I only met him a week ago. Anyways, he said that particular nightmare wouldn't bother me and then, before I could even respond, did this thing that made his voice echo in the room and in my head, and I woke up... wearing the coat he lent me."

Hob looked even more surprised- if that was possible- and more intrigued. "You woke up wearing his coat?"

You nodded. "It's still sitting in my closet. I... as tempted as I am to wear it- it's really comfortable- it feels kind of wrong? I'd like to return it to him and thank him again, but I don't know how to reach out to him. I'm not even sure I want to. Knowing his family hasn't really done me much good, beyond my friendship with his elder sister." You don't mention how Dream's scent is still on the coat, nor how you can't help but react to it; you can't really explain it anyways.

"I can let him know you want to talk to him when I see him next. We aren't just meeting every century anymore, which is great. Usually, it's at least bi-weekly, but sometimes he gets a little too busy with his function and it's once a month."

You paused, giving the offer, genuine that it was, its due thought. Part of you wanted to accept; you wanted to return the Dream Lord's coat and see him again. However, part of you wanted to refuse; you wanted to hold onto the coat as long as possible and now have him come looking for it.

"I'm... not sure that's a good idea. I don't actually know if he intentionally left the coat with him or if I somehow took it with me when I woke. One would actually be... really sweet, and the other would be very bad."

Hob eyed you before giving a small shrug and a smile. "If you say so. Just let me know if you change your mind."

---

The only reason finding Teleute wasn't difficult was because she tended to know when someone wanted (or needed) to speak with her. So, when you were approached by a dark-haired, dark-eyed, and dark-skinned woman with a beautiful smile and an ankh necklace, you weren't bothered, nor surprised.

"How are you, Teleute? How's your family?"

"I'm good. The family is... mostly the same. Del misses you."

You laughed lightly. "I miss her too. It's been a while since I've seen her."

You were both quiet for a moment as you stepped into a building, unseen. You stood back as Teleute performed her function, and then you were off again. You chewed on your bottom lip as you tried to figure out how to bring up what you wished to discuss; you were so busy staring at the ground that you missed how her smile faltered at your pensive expression.

"You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

You lifted your blank gaze from the sidewalk, giving her a small smile. "I know. I guess I'm just trying to figure out how to word it... You're aware of what happened to me a couple of centuries ago?"

Teleute's smile dimmed, but she nodded

"Well, ever since I escaped, I've had horrid nightmares. They've never really left me alone, ya know? That is... until bout a week and a half ago. I was in one of the nightmares that tend to reoccur the most frequently, and it was interrupted... by your little brother, Dream."

She seemed startled, but neither of you could speak for a moment as she collected and guided another soul to her realm. When she was done, you didn't give her much of a chance to actually respond, barreling through just to get it all out.

"He stopped the nightmare in its tracks even going so far as to undo the restraints and lending me his coat to cover up with. Here's what gets me though: after he introduced himself- and I provided a bit of information about myself since I recognized who he was by name- he promised that that particular nightmare wouldn't trouble me anymore and then ended it. But here's the real kicker; I woke up wearing his coat."

It was clear that Teleute was stunned, as she remained silent for a few minutes, likely thinking things over. "Has he bothered you about the coat?"

You shook your head. "I haven't heard from him since."

Teleute smiled. "Well, then it's more than likely you didn't drag it with you into the Waking; he meant for you to still have it on."

Your shoulders relaxed minutely at her assurance, but your eyebrows furrowed. "Why though?"

She waited until after guiding another soul to her realm before she answered, a teasing smile on her lips. "Maybe, he wants to see you again? Dream rarely enjoys interacting with others, but I wouldn't exactly be surprised if leaving his coat behind was simply an excuse to see you again."

You frowned slightly as you thought it over; everything Hob and Teleute had told you about the Dream Lord made the idea sound... accurate; you almost laughed, but it felt like you were missing something important. "So I should tell Hob to let him know I'd like to see him?"

She smiled wider. "If that's what you want. You don't have to seek him out, you know."

"I feel like if I don't seek him out, he'll seek me out. And... maybe I want to see him again too. Even if I would like to keep the coat; as I told Hob, it's very comfortable."

Teleute laughed and you smiled in return, continuing to walk with her for a little while longer, before splitting from her. When you were far enough away, you pulled out your phone and texted Hob, letting him know it was okay to tell the Dream Lord that you wanted to meet up.

A few days later, Hob finally texted you back with a time and a place- four o'clock at a park not far from your flat- to meet up with the Dream Lord. You bit your lip as you debated with yourself, staring into your closet. Something in you said to wear the coat to the meeting spot; you could always exchange it for something else when he showed up.

Mind made up after a few more minutes of internal debate, you slipped the dark coat over your navy blue blouse; you enjoyed how it was long enough to fall to your feet, covering your jean-covered legs as well. You didn't button it, but you did drape another coat- one of your own- over your arm. You did your best to tame your hair, which really wasn't all that difficult, and left your flat.

Upon arriving at the park, you noticed it was mostly empty; normally, this would unnerve or unsettle you, but not today. You started to stroll around the park as you waited for him to show, taking deep breaths of the cold air; polluted or not, it was better than stale air that tasted of blood.

Abruptly, you could feel eyes on you and you stopped, dropping the coat that had been in your arms. There was a presence at your back, causing the hair on the back of your neck to stand at attention; it was powerful and would usually be terrifying, but you could recognize it. Then you heard his voice again.

"You accept my claim, then."

A shiver rolled down your spine at his voice, even as you frowned in confusion; what claim? Before you could respond, sand was whirling around you, blocking your vision. When you could see again, the Dream Lord was standing in front of you, unfathomably dark eyes staring into yours; you knew, without a doubt, that you weren't in the Waking anymore.

[lo-fi-charming]

life's little hurdles (chapter 1 snippet)

hey guys~ one thing i wanted to do for @jondaisy-week was finally start writing and posting the next part of my jaisy series (after a months-long gap //weeps)

you can read the full chapter here on ao3, but if you'd just like a little peek for now, here's the first segment for tumblr!

---

“Oh! It’s… Tonner, right? You on break?”

Daisy looks up. It’s Maxwell, another security guard. He’s not very familiar to Daisy — works upstairs mostly. She wonders why he’s here. They’re in one of the long, quiet hallways leading from one exhibit to the next; not much more than a few artifacts behind glass cases here. 

“No, not exactly,” Daisy admits. She straightens up but keeps her right leg stretched out. After a second of hesitation, she lets her hand go back to her knee, gently massaging. “Just taking a seat for a minute.”

“Tired from just standing around all day, huh?”

Daisy rotates her jaw. “Knee pain.”

“Really?”

Pulling out her cell phone, Daisy reluctantly adds, “Had an accident a few years ago.” 

Maxwell looks like he’s about to say something stupid, but that’s when Daisy’s phone begins vibrating in her back pocket. Surprised, she quickly fishes it out. It’s Jon.

“I need to take this,” Daisy announces, and gets to her feet as quickly as she can without straining anything. Usually her knee isn’t this bad, but she banged it against her dresser last night it hasn’t stopped aching since. Ignoring the dull pain, Daisy hurries out through one of the staff-only exits. 

She steps out into one of the little back gardens that’s reserved for staff to sit, smoke, and eat their lunches. There are only two people there at the moment, so Daisy feels fine grabbing a seat for herself at one of the empty tables. The chairs out here are uncomfortable, with armrests that dig into her thighs, but Daisy decides it’s still better than standing as she swipes her phone to accept the incoming call. 

“Jon? Why are you calling me at work?” 

“I’m sorry, I’m- We’re very busy today, and I can’t just sit around and text, but I had to- Oh, dammit-”

For a moment, his voice sounds far away, and Daisy thinks she hears a clatter. In the background, there’s another voice, speaking too softly for Daisy to understand what they’re saying. When Jon returns, he sighs and explains, “Sorry, I dropped my phone, I was holding it with my shoulder.” 

“...Right. What’s so important you’ve got to call me when you’re so busy?” 

“W-well, I wouldn’t call it important, exactly. I just wanted to see if you were available for dinner tonight? I meant to text you last night, but got busy and forgot.” 

“Ah.”

“I apologize for this coming at such short notice.”

Daisy barely thinks it over before she says, “It’s fine. Do you want me to pick you up from work?”

“That would be convenient! What time are you off today?”

“Five.”

“If you don’t mind waiting for an extra half-hour, that should be fine.”

“You lot really swamped over there?” 

“Like you wouldn’t believe. It’s ridiculous, honestly! We- No, sorry, I won’t get into it right now.”

Daisy hums, amused. “Sure. We getting up to anything tonight?” 

There’s a pause. Daisy waits, taking a moment to glance around the garden. One of the other staff members is doing a bad job of pretending she’s not listening to the conversation. When her companion, who’s seated facing Daisy, notices she’s looking, she reaches across the table to smack her friend’s arm and whisper something. 

Daisy turns away. Jon still hasn’t responded. “Jon?”

“It- ah- Not exactly? Maybe? I’d, uh, rather not get into it over the phone,” he says in a low tone, like he’s trying to make sure no one overhears.

“That sounds like a yes to me.” 

Jon makes a frustrated-embarrassed noise. “We’ll talk about it later!” 

“Right, right, don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’ll see you later.” 

Jon grumbles a goodbye; Daisy chuckles as she hangs up.

Read the rest on AO3!