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s4lv4tions · 1 year

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numerology; nsfw

pairing; gojo satoru x reader / gojo satoru x geto suguru (past) / geto suguru x reader (past) summary; numerology — the belief in an occult, divine or mystical relationship between a number and one or more coinciding events. or: trying to move on. wc; 13.4k cw; death, angst, requited unrequited love, violence, smut (at the very end, but mentions throughout), canon divergence, spoilers for manga an; if you think you've read this before, you probably have! i posted this on my old tumblr a year or so ago, and it's still available on my ao3. this version is slightly updated and edited, but still diverges from canon as it was created at the start of the culling games arc :)

The first time you bathe with Satoru, he cries.

You don't notice at first; he's quiet — abnormally so —, and his face remains pristine, unchanged. The only hint you get is a small, barely audible sniffle that stops as quickly as it starts — and you think he wants it that way. You don't think he's ever cried in front of anyone.

That's why you don't say anything. Just continue washing the suds from his hair, and pretend that the tears rolling down his cheeks are beads of water dripping from his hair — but you take extra care to massage the conditioner in, and peck his cheek as you finger-comb through silky, cloud-white strands.

It occurs to you afterwards — as he lounges on your bed, scrolling through channels with a wayward hand planted on his stomach — that perhaps, it's the first time somebody has taken care of him. The first time ever, or just the first time since… since…

Geto Suguru's face smiles up at you from your vanity — a tiny polaroid, his face no bigger than the nail of your thumb. Beside him, Satoru grins, cheeky and bright-eyed — you don't think he's ever been any different —, and in the corner, the smudge of your thumb covers the lens. You don’t have to lift the photo and check the back to know what’s written there, in your scratchy, looping scrawl; the strongest, 2006.

"Lord of the Rings?" Satoru calls, carefree as ever. A yawn catches in his throat, and his fingers slip underneath his shirt to scratch absentmindedly at his chest. "Ooh, haven't seen this one yet…"

"Uh, yeah. Sure."

It was a better time. Less pain. Less responsibility. Less death — or maybe the same amount, just shielded by the blinding cover of childhood inexperience. Suguru was still alive and burning bright, Satoru was happy (happier. He didn't cry in the bath, at least). Shoko didn’t self-medicate as intensively as she does now. The days were spent in childish ignorance and stupid indulgence, and even when things seemed their darkest, you never lost hope.

(It probably says a lot about you that, if given the chance, you wouldn't return. Whether that's because of what you know is bound to happen, and the pain is too much to experience again, or because you're so utterly pathetic that you'll take sadness and grief and a tiny shred of affection over… whatever it is you were back then, you don't know. A smudge in the corner of a picture of the jujutsu world's greatest.)

Suguru's eyes seem to burn into you. You turn the picture over, and rejoin Satoru on your bed.

"It's been two years."

Satoru doesn't like to talk after sex. Not in any way that's really meaningful, you mean, nothing that lets you in. He loves jokes, empty small talk, work politics. Chatter that's deep enough to show he cares a little without bearing any part of himself — your injury healed up? When was the last time you had a break? There's a new teppanyaki place in Shinjuku, I'll treat you. Don't work yourself too hard, you'll put me out of business!

If you're being honest, you didn't go into this expecting anything more than a person to scratch an itch with.

You're already friends — though, you're not sure friends totally encapsulates what Satoru is to you, romantic or platonic. You've been friends since you were 12. Satoru, Suguru, you — and then Shoko, when you all met in your first year at Jujutsu Tech. That's how it's always been.

You swear sometimes you know him better than yourself. You swear sometimes it's his voice you think with. Is that what "friends" encompasses? Somehow, it doesn't seem enough.

Whatever. The point is that your relationship with Satoru is already strong; foundations tall and proud and unshakeable. You didn't start fucking Satoru in the hopes of forming a relationship — one was already there.

It's just... Satoru is young, yes, and he enjoys flirting, but (contrary to common belief) he's not all that keen to sleep with the first person who's willing. You don’t say this with the belief that you’re special. It’s just that with work, and especially with — y'know, his… romantic history, Satoru hasn’t found the time or will to just sleep around. At least, according to him.

Sheer willpower isn't enough to make those urges go away, though, and… well, you had them too, and you were willing, and he trusts you. And you'll take anything he'll give you, really, even if it's just scraps. Even if sometimes it makes you feel worse.

Today's one of those days.

You feel sick, after. Not because of him — because of yourself. Your polaroid of Getou and any other photo he's in has been turned over, anything that could remind you of him tucked away, but — but he's everywhere today, everywhere, and you'd fucked Satoru despite it. And Satoru is covered in memories of Getou, of course. Every freckle, every shifting of muscle, every jut of bone — did Getou touch him here? Caress every bit of him he could get his hands on? Tangle his hands in his snow-white hair, breathe against his collarbone?

When you came, you cried. Pretended it was just because it was so intense, but behind your eyelids, dark, cat-like eyes stared back.

"Hm?" Satoru hums as if he didn't hear you, eyes fixed on the TV. Dumb doesn't suit him — it's honestly a bit of an insult for him to even try it. Like you didn't sense the stiffness of his limbs the second he'd stepped inside, or the crumbling edge of his smile, or the way he'd forced you to love him harder — pull his hair harder, scratch his back deeper, his Infinity turned off and his skin yours for the marking.

Satoru's mannerisms are scribed into your brain. You catch yourself emulating them, sometimes; hands waving, head tilting, grin wide and posture open. You wear it like an oversized coat, an ill-fitting costume, and sometimes you wish you could stop taking on pieces of him. The more you take, the more you must throw away — and it's Suguru that your memory discards. You find yourself forgetting how he hummed when he woke up from a nap, or filled his cheeks with food like a hamster; how he scrunched his face up when he laughed, pretty all the while…

The point is that even with his incredible knowledge, his awesome strength, the sheer holiness of his existence — you know Satoru. And the fact that he came to you today isn't mere coincidence.

You decide to come out with it. You've tiptoed around it for 24 months, give or take, had a shockingly brief mourning period before the jujutsu world forced you along, and… even with what he did, Suguru deserves better. "Suguru died today."

A beat of silence. Then:

"Mm, I guess he did."

You'd spent the day staring out at the grey sky, the miserable sight of soaked pavement. Grey, grey, grey. Concrete jungle. Heavy rain clouds and an ocean of multicoloured umbrellas, bobbing and rolling to destinations unknown. You hadn't said it aloud; hadn't even thought of it, specifically. The knowledge of it had just sat over your head like a thick, sweltering fog — and if you know Satoru at all, you know that he'd done the same. Maybe he hid it better.

You don't have to look now to know that his lips are pressed thin. You find the sudden thought of looking him in the eyes daunting, anyways, so you turn onto your side, back facing him, and pick mindlessly at the sheets. You don't want to see what his reaction will be when you say—

"Did you know that I loved him — back then?"

You don't want to see the shock, or the confusion — and you'd rather not see a lack of them, either. What's worse, you wonder — him knowing and loving Suguru too, or not knowing and loving him?

"...Yes."

You screw your eyes shut and try to will away the sudden surge of cold, like a sharpened dagger to your chest.

(It turns out that knowing is much more painful.)

Suguru Geto had been the apple of your eye ever since you'd met. 11 and gangly and stupid in a way that all children were always stupid, Suguru had been a bit kinder than his white-haired counterpart. Satoru, being Satoru Gojo, had grown up with no fear of authority, no mindfulness for his less-powerful peers as anything more than people who existed around him. You and Suguru were allowed the title of friends, but very few were. Anyway — he grew out of that mindset, of course, but your fondness for Suguru stayed.

(Though they'd always seemed to be on another level than you — not even just in terms of power, but… just caught up in each other, always. Suguru had only ever wanted Satoru. And vice versa.)

And then Suguru changed. Right under your nose, he changed, and his sudden quietness made sense. His fatigue. The way his hands would always shake when swallowing an exorcised curse, always had since you were kids, and then suddenly they were ingested with a scary calm. Nobody understands the taste of curses. Not even you, not even when he’d explained it in sickening detail.

You sigh, then. Tired and lethargic and not from physically straining yourself for an hour. This is bone-deep, soul-weary. It's been held in for 730 days, or maybe more. Maybe you've carried it with you since birth. "I never apologised."

"For what?" Satoru asks — and he laughs, jolly, and the sound fits awkwardly in his throat. A clear attempt at feigning indifference, but he's a bad liar. He always has been, because he's never needed to lie. Perks of being the strongest, you guess. You can just come out and say shit — and if you can't, not saying anything technically isn’t lying.

"I hated you, after," you confess. You dig your thumbnail hard intoyour pinky finger, taking momentary refuge in the sharp shock of pain. "I couldn't stand to look at you. When I did, I saw… I saw what you did. What you had, and what you had thrown away. I blamed you for Suguru. I blamed everyone except Suguru."

Another snicker, a bit too humourless. "You can't stand to look at me now."

"I…" You don't know what to say to that.

Truth is, you don't want to see his face. Contorted in pity, or disgust, or sadness for you. You've gotten used to living in his shadow — most everyone has — but that doesn’t ease the ever-present blanket of insecurity that you carry around your shoulders. It doesn’t dull the ache of inferiority you’ve been housing in your chest from the moment you were saddled with your technique. As you aged, you got better at hiding it, and you generally prefer your self-pity to go unnoticed, but Satoru—

He could always read you like a book. And you hated it. You hated being pitied by someone who was as powerful as him — someone as close to God as one could get. It was demeaning. Patronising. It makes you feel like a child again, bowing your head as your mother makes excuses for you.

You shift over — onto your back, and then onto your other side — and you look at him. You force yourself. Blankets pooled around his waist, his skin so pale it could be translucent, eyes icy blue and framed with fluffy white.

"You were forced to do it," you murmur. Your eyes remain trained on his chin — his are much too bright, much too all-seeing for comfort. "If you hadn't, he would've gotten worse. He never would have stopped. You knew that, you always did. It… took me a while to come to terms with it."

Satoru sighs. Then, he slumps down so that — like you — his head rests flat on the pillow, and his body arcs towards yours. He's forced himself into your sights again, in a way that’s gentle, but not so much that you wouldn't be able to figure out what he's doing: forcing you to face him.

"Would it have made you feel better," Satoru begins, reaching forward to brush his fingers against your chin, "if you were there when I did it?"

Would it have?

Would it have given you closure? Would you no longer spend your nights wondering what he'd looked like, what his last words were, his last thoughts? If he had spittled and roared in anger, if he had wept in fear, if he had attempted a smile, a joke? If he thought of you, or if you were just another insignificant blip in his radar?

In your mind, Suguru exists as his 17 year old self — smiling and mischievous, polite yet humorous. He puts extra broccoli on your plate and gently berates you to eat more. He tells you that you're a precious part of the team, that none of them would be who they are without you. He calls you crybaby because you always wear your heart on your sleeve, and tells you not to worry about things you cannot change.

Change what you can. Forget the rest and leave it to me, crybaby.

The bubbling hatred that had festered inside him has no place in your head. You want him to stay as he is, your Suguru that was never yours, shining like gold in your mind.

"No. He hated me at the end, I think," you say quietly. For a second, you dare to meet his eyes — bright and pointed in how they stare at you. You know he can see the tears that have begun to burn in your waterline, the way you ball your fists so hard you dig half-moon into your skin. He doesn’t need to be blessed with the Six Eyes to see.

"I wasn't interested in changing the world like he was, even with my Technique. That made him despise me, I think."

Satoru stares for a few more seconds. You wonder what he's thinking about. A second in your time is a lifetime in Satoru's; he must be thinking hard.

But he blinks, at last; sighs so deeply that his chest caves in with it, before he winds an arm around your waist and pulls you close, bare chest to bare chest, only atomic space between you.

There's nothing sexual about it. You're nothing but bones and skin and blood, here. He moulds your head to his shoulder with one large hand and cocoons you in his embrace, warm. Protected. You're not sure who the action is meant to comfort.

And just when you think the conversation is over — just when minutes have passed with nothing but the sound of the TV between you both — he speaks.

"Suguru could never hate you. Trust me."

You don't want to know what that means. You're only beginning to get over it, two years later.

Satoru is holding three onigiri in one hand, and two Starbucks' cups in the other — extra sugar, extra cream, extra ice, extra unicorn-marketing, just the way you both like it.

"There she is!" Is the first thing he says as he meets you just outside the metro, grinning.

It's sweltering hot today — the sun had risen early and would surely set late, and Satoru seems to be taking advantage of it. Gone is his Jujutsu Tech uniform and thick blindfold, but he's stuck with the all-black theme like he usually does — black jeans, black linen shirt, black socks and shoes. Even the frames of his sunglasses are black.

(Handsome. He's handsome. He's always been handsome — years later, you'd think you'd stop feeling the effects of it.)

Lucky for him. You're not, y'know, the strongest sorcerer in the last century, so there's no leeway for you — and even in your summer uniform, the skirt and short-sleeved blouse, you're sweating. Your only respite is that the combined force of you and Satoru will mean this mission is going to be a breeze.

Satoru tsks. "Took your time. I almost ate your onigiri."

A man nearby jogs past, clearly in a rush, and Satoru has to step closer to you to avoid him. He could've stayed still. He wouldn't have touched him, anyway, with his Limitless.

"And you would've had to buy another, genius."

A pout. "You only love me for my bank account, don't you?"

(He's joking. It's a joke.

But your hand shakes — a miniscule tremor — as you reach out to take one of the cups, and you know he sees it because he's Satoru and he sees everything. You turn away as quickly as you can, setting off in the direction of whatever place it is you're here for, and pretend that the fact that he can say it so casually doesn't kinda fucking hurt.

(He could never say it like that with Suguru — so bluntly, so crassly. Not without softened eyes and softened smiles and a gentle tilt of his head — those are mannerisms reserved only for him, never to be seen again. Instead, you get snickers and digs in the arm and teasing pulls of your hair. Of course it’s a joke. That’s all you are.

Perhaps you should just be grateful for what you get. Perhaps you should try to stop comparing yourself to a man you once loved. Perhaps you should try to stop comparing yourself to a dead man. Perhaps, in the end, you just love the pain of it all.))

"Yeah," you reply, taking a large, sugary sip. "And don't you forget it, either."

Satoru catches up to you quickly, effortlessly; his arm flops around your shoulder as he tugs you in the opposite direction, chastising you for going the wrong way — but it stays there long after it needs to.

Itadori Yuuji — Sukuna's dead-but-not-really vessel — thinks your cursed technique is powerful. He thinks it’s amazing that you can use reverse cursed technique — you must be really powerful, right? Gojo-sensei says you’re special grade. He also thinks you're very pretty. He tells you this over his fourth grilled pork belly wrap — this one bursting at the seams with kimchi, garlic, and roasted sesame seeds.

He doesn't say it in a flirtatious way — it's just an observation to him, simple and blunt, and you figure he has about as much of a filter as Satoru does.

"O-oh," you say, metal tongs frozen over the sizzling meat. "Thank you, Yuuji."

You had briefly met him for the first time before his death — Nobara, too. Megumi, the third piece of the golden trio, has been something of a little brother ever since Satoru had taken him in, and you know him well enough to know that Yuuji's death (or lack thereof) is weighing on him terribly.

(There are too many parallels you could make. Suguru and Satoru. Haibara and Nanami.)

Hiding it does make you feel guilty. To experience that grief, that loss — even if it will soon go away when Yuuji rejoins jujutsu society — isn’t something to take lightly. But Yuuji needs a guide that isn’t completely off the rails. Satoru and you balance each other out, and balance seems to be something Yuuji needs.

He reminds you terribly of Satoru when he was younger. Maybe that's why you have such a fond spot for him — he's too goofy and well-meaning and genuine to dislike.

"Why are you acting surprised?" Gripes Satoru, chewing with his mouth open. "I tell you that all the time."

Your eyes narrow. You place a perfectly cooked slice of marinated beef on his plate. "You're you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He whines. "We're best friends, crybaby!"

"You don't say I'm powerful. You say I'm helpful. There's a difference. And don’t call me that."

"Is there?" Satoru asks, turning to Yuuji for guidance. The teen boy shrugs, preoccupied by assembling his newest monstrosity. "I call you pretty, too."

"Yeah, when—"

When you're eight inches deep in me, face buried in my neck, trying to get yourself off. Your cheeks flush with warmth at the thought, and you shut your mouth. Yuuji doesn't notice your slip up, busy as he is; Satoru does completely, and fixes you with a grin so sharp that you vow to not give him any more meat until Yuuji is completely full.

"It's not the same," you say, voice final. It's a lighthearted lunch. You don't want to ruin it by getting touchy over semantics, and that's exactly what'll happen if you keep going. "You say it to reward me. Like tossing a dog a bone."

You reach for the scissors to snip the meat into little pieces — and in doing so, you miss the brief frown that presses against Satoru's brow.

Neither of you say anything more on the matter.

Satoru has known you for five years when he realises that he resents you. Not completely, and not for one particular or solid reason, either. He prefers not to think about it, in any case, because you're one of his closest friends — and even at 17, he knows that that's hard to come by. Especially as the Strongest.

Satoru stares up at his ceiling; stares at the miniature striations only he can see, the starburst-shaped gyrations of clay used to finish it off.

Tonight, he's thinking about it. And many other things.

He hates that you're so hesitant about everything — he hates that you believe yourself so weak that you have to tiptoe. You, with your reverse cursed technique — which is a feat in and of itself — that could transcend time and space, just like he could. A technique passed down for hundreds and hundreds of years, accumulating power all the while…

(Your technique has lots of rules and regulations, of course. A handicap, and he understands it frustrates you, but his own frustration eclipses his understanding. Why should someone so strong feel anything but their own strength?)

He hates that you curl in on yourself when you're sad, or lonely, or angry. He hates that you wear your heart on your sleeve — he's never allowed himself to, not fully. He can't, never fully, because there are people who are watching him, people who hate him, people who want him dead. He can joke. He can make his political desires clear — but he can’t love like he wants to, and God forbid he cries.

He hates that you close your eyes and bask when it's sunny, like a cat in a sunspot; hates that you remember that he doesn't like chicken wings and prefers thighs; he especially hates that you watch over Suguru like it's your job, when Suguru doesn't need it.

And some part of Satoru hates Suguru, too. It was strange for him to come to terms with it, fond of him as he is, but as he grows Satoru realises that there's no love of his that isn't closely affiliated with hate. It makes the love all the more strong.

Satoru, for one, dislikes how polite Suguru is, even when he doesn't need to be. He hates that Suguru becomes a straight-faced, unfeeling thing when he's upset, and tries to hide it — the emptiness in his eyes unsettles him like nothing else.

Most of all, above all, Satoru hates that Suguru loves you, crybaby, and is too pussy to do shit about it. Satoru doesn't understand why, anyways, because he'd made it clear that if he wanted, Suguru could have you both and Satoru wouldn't care. Usually, the thought would offend him. How can you love someone when you already love me? When you've already sworn yourself to me? You already have the strongest, who else do you need?

But… he doesn't know. He kinda understands. You're precious to him, too, after all, sunflower soaking up the sun.

Like he said: there's no love of his that isn’t closely affiliated with hate.

Six and a half hours after the hours-long meeting that followed the ruined School Goodwill Event, you find yourselves in a diner somewhere in Harajuku. It’s one of those weird fusion places, loaning ornamentation and tokens from classic American diners, serving omurice with fries, sushi with mashed potatoes, with a cute little mascot that looks like Elvis. It’s loud enough and bright enough to make you feel timeless. It's a sensation you can appreciate.

Something’s been telling you that time’s ticking, and you’re not quite sure what it is. Trauma, probably. Anxiety. The fact that curses have been banding together, learning spoken language, amassing power — planning an attack on Jujutsu Tech, gaining intelligence, gaining anger.

Satoru doesn’t say it — doesn’t want to say it — but you think it’s unnerved him, too. The last time outsiders entered school grounds was… two years ago, wasn’t it? It’s crazy. Everything always seems to lead back to Suguru.

The attack has fueled something in both of you, anyways; something that makes you both stay up instead of knocking out like you usually do; something that makes you both hungry and restless and liable to travel across Tokyo past midnight. By public transport, no less. No warping or high-speed flying for you, tonight.

But you appreciate it. And you think that Satoru is taking things slow for the same reasons you want to — to take things in, to appreciate what you never think to appreciate. To admire the mundane, even for a little while. Satoru’s less emotionally attached to the jujutsu-less aspects of life than you are — bullet trains and waiting in line and standing on the train platform, escalators and traffic — but he enjoys them all the same when he has time to. And it’s not often The Strongest gets to experience pure, genuine normality, too, so maybe sitting in this gaudy diner and watching the world pass you by is a luxury he rarely affords himself.

He orders the most complicated drink they have — a sakura-caramel milkshake topped with whipped cream, glacé cherries, and an entire slice of cheesecake. He’s down to the last dregs of melting cream within 10 minutes, swiping fries from your plate between sips, ignoring your chides of rotten teeth and high blood sugar.

Blindfold swapped for glasses. Strands of hair drifting down against his forehead.

You’re always reminded at the worst times of how handsome he is. It’s not like it’s a secret, or he’s unaware of it — and he takes pride in his looks, if his extensive skincare shelf and general attitude is anything to go by — but he puts much more stock in his strength, in his usefulness to others, his intelligence. The things he can provide for others. Not many people realise that.

Maybe you shouldn’t act so high and mighty. It’s not like you don’t appreciate his appearance as much as the next person — hell, half the time you’re trying to stop it from distracting you — but maybe you get a pass. Y’know, as a person who actually has reason to marvel over the stretch of his neck and the flush of his cheeks and how his lips go the prettiest pink when you kiss him. Or the cords of muscle along his arms; the slender-yet-thick bands of muscle of his chest and legs. The large, veiny expanse of hand — slim, delicate fingers wrapped around a paper straw…

"Are you gonna eat those?" Says Satoru, slurping obnoxiously. “Haven't eaten since dinner."

You push the basket across the table, uncharacteristically void of argument. "Go crazy."

Satoru sets his empty glass aside, but the straw remains in one hand. The other he uses to pluck up fries, 4 or 5 at a time, his gaze suddenly fixed on you as he chews nonchalantly.

"Y'know," he says, licking salt from his fingertips, jabbing the straw in your direction, "I can always tell when you're horny."

"Excuse me?"

"You squirm," Satoru continues — matter-of-fact, casual, as if he's talking about the weather. "And you get quiet.”

“I’m a quiet person,” you snap, nails pressing against your palms under the table. “Sorry I know when to shut the fuck up—”

“And then you get flustered. And when you’re flustered, or embarrassed, you get angry.” He raises his hand — signals the cute waitress for another basket of fries, and leans back with his arms splayed along the back of the booth. “Don’t look so surprised! How long have we known each other?”

If you were a better person, you’d probably admit that yes, he’s right. You do get quiet when you’re horny, and you do get angry when you’re flustered — if you were a worse person, though, you’d remark on how you're the first person he crawls to when he’s sad, or overwhelmed. How getting you into bed and losing yourselves in each other is a sort of therapy for him. How he always tries to distract you with cheeky grins and sly, flirty comments, but then afterwards he cries in the bath as you clean him up.

You don't say that, obviously. Seems like a pretty shitty thing to bring up today of all days. He'd probably deny it anyways, but you don't think it's a coincidence that the attack has left him restless and he obviously wants to take you home.

The new fries are delivered to the table, but he looks right past them. He bows his head slightly, glasses slipping a little further down his nose so that his white-framed eyes peek over the top of them.

"Let's warp home," Satoru says — and oh. There's that voice. That drop in tone, that lack of boisterous humour he always employs. It's soft enough to have goosebumps rising on the back of your arms, smooth enough to have you squirming — yes, squirming, you admit it — in your seat. "Alright?"

"Yes." And it's embarrassingly breathless, and embarrassingly quick, but Satoru doesn't tease you. Just smiles, raises a hand for the bill, and watches you all the while.

You count seven stitches in the forehead of Geto Suguru.

Count, because it's all you can do. Everything else is lost to you.

Breathing.

Standing.

It feels like even your heart has stalled. Because—

Because—

Because Geto Suguru is dead. Dead, in the ground, no longer breathing, no longer living. Satoru had killed him. Satoru had demolished him.

The lips of the Geto in front of you twist — a sickening, stomach-turning imitation of the smile you once adored. On his face it's a sneer, a mockery. Your Suguru did not smile like this when you knew him.

"Hello," he greets pleasantly. His arms are hidden within the sleeves of his yukata. Hair down. Suguru always tended to wear his hair up, unless he was fresh out of the shower. Unless he was upset. It was too much hassle to take care of. You know when he took over the Time Vessel Association and donned the gojo-kesa he began wearing it down. "_____ _____, yes?"

You can't answer. Your ears are ringing. Your stomach gives a worrying lurch that winds up your throat — you think you're going to be sick.

How? Why? Who — who is this in front of you? Because it's not Geto, not Suguru — and you don't say that because of longing or a pathetic desire for ignorance. This thing feels wrong. Inherently, blasphemously wrong. Looking at him for too long makes your cursed energy prickle. Seeing Suguru's image painted in such slimy, rancid energy has you gasping for breath.

Satoru, your mind whispers. Satoru needs to know.

He should. He needs to. But this pseudo-Geto does not look friendly in the slightest, and you are isolated.

Looking back, it had seemed fine to go alone to exorcise curses in the belly of Tokyo's metro. Taking old service tunnels and eventually entering abandoned tracks hadn't felt scary. You're a semi-special grade sorcerer with years of experience under your belt and a powerful cursed technique that could get you out of most, if not all, pinches, restrictions and regulations be damned.

"I'm sure you're very confused. I apologise, really…"

The reality of the situation hits you. Maybe hit is the wrong word — it doesn’t come as a bloody, stinging smack in the face. It’s a trickle of ice-cold water down the nape of your neck, drawing dread from your head all the way into the pit of your stomach. You don't think this is a pinch you'll come out of — at least not battered half to death, especially when a silver-haired curse decorated with stitches steps out from behind pseudo-Geto. The curse Kento had fought. The one that he said to look out for. Patchwork.

Immediately, you know fighting isn't an option. But what else is there to do, in the face of pseudo-Geto and his silver-haired, sentient curse? Your technique may not be limitless in your possession, but in theirs? If they did to you what they did to so many others — transfiguring you past the point of recognition, stealing your body and technique, desecrating your corpse with cursed energy…

"I can feel it from here," titters the curse excitedly. "So warm… I have to have it! Her soul, I have to have it!"

Fuck.

You could try to escape, but you wouldn't have enough time to run past them and through the winding corridors of the underground, even while distracting them with your cursed technique. They'd catch you within seconds. You’re sure they have curses lurking around waiting to thwart you, too.

You could burst directly into the layers of concrete and metal above — use your technique to revert them back millions and millions and years to their very first forms, atoms and subatomic particles, and then rebuild them up as an ascending platform — but that would take too much time, and you'd be completely defenceless while you did. Not to mention the toll it'd take on you.

(Not to mention the fact that you'd be bursting into the public eye from a giant crater in the ground.)

"I'm sure you know what I'm going to do," continues pseudo-Geto, amiable. "I would ask you to join us, but I know that is impossible. Therefore, there is only one course of action."

Can't fight. Can't escape. Can't get answers. Can't stay clueless. How contradictory.

You're not dying, that's all you know. And if you have to do the one thing you never wanted to do, then so be it. Anything is better than death. Death is not an escape, in this scenario — it’s a guarantee of imprisonment.

"It's a shame," pseudo-Geto sighs, bloodlust swelling. "Such a waste of a good technique."

You make a Binding Vow with yourself within seconds.

Using a magnitude of cursed energy usually out of your reach, your entire body will be reduced to atoms — intangible, untrappable, unkillable — for as long as it takes to retreat to safety. In return, you will be unable to think, unable to move according to your own will, only a mere pawn to entropy as the rest of the galaxy is — high risk, high reward.

There are many things that could go wrong.

In reducing yourself to essentially nothing, in splitting your cursed energy into billions of particles, you could reach a state of such low cursed energy concentration that you are, for all terms and purposes, considered dead. In doing so, your Binding Vow could break, and you would be unable to return to living.

Or you could float for days, weeks, years — safety is subjective, subjective is dangerous when it comes to contracts, and you can only hope that your own understanding of it sets the standard.

It's either this, this fleeting, terrifying chance, or death. With one, you can return to your school, your students, your Satoru — you can tell them what happened. You can bring justice to whoever has disturbed Suguru from his slumber. With the other — nothing. Just plain, utter nothingness forever and ever.

(You know which you'd rather.)

The last thing you recall, in spotty haziness, is the heart-stopping sight of Suguru surging towards you, eyes bloodthirsty, face contorted in malice.

The last thing you hope is that Satoru isn't too upset about the risk you've taken.

Eight days after your solo mission, you resurface — a discombobulated, stumbling mess on the outskirts of Shibuya, eyes glazed and mouth stuttering over syllables. A nearby Window calls the college within seconds, and Gojo is there just as soon — hands shaking when he grasps your arm and turns you to face him, fingers trembling when he cups your cheeks and brushes them under your eyes.

It’s you. It’s you, it’s you, it’s you, and he can breathe, he can fucking breathe, his chest is lighter than it’s been for those entire 8 days — all the while, he burns with an anger so intense it hurts. And Satoru is no stranger to anger, of course — knows it as intimately as he knows himself — but he's not sure if he can remember the last time it had rendered him breathless, trembling. Bloodthirsty.

It's not the time to think about it. Not when you're shaking in his arms, so frail and weak everywhere except your hands — no, your hands remain strong, fingers digging into his clothes and skin. He turns off his Infinity. The sting of your touch grounds him.

Shoko is already waiting in the clinic for him — she’d been preparing ever since the call first came in. The students (the ones on campus, at least) crowd together at a distance, buzzing anxiously as Satoru disappears swiftly into the depths of the infirmary with you in his arms.

Bad things happen often. Too often. Satoru isn’t sure whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing that they haven’t gotten used to it yet.

“Gibberish,” Satoru answers when Shoko asks if you’ve said anything competent since he picked you up. “Just gibberish.”

Shoko is poking and prodding you with the usual doctor's shit — stethoscopes and thermometers and that blood pressure band that goes around your arm — and you just lay there and take it. Head rocking side to side, limbs trembling, mouth lolling open, and Satoru's trying not to lose his head because what good is taking your temperature? Do you look like you have a fucking cold? Is the way your eyes focus and unfocus normal? The way you can’t string together two syllables that make fucking sense?

But even with how he can see your cells malfunctioning all over your body, Shoko knows more about this shit than him. So he sits pretty on her swivelling chair, twisting back and forth, body the image of boredom but mind anything but. Time and time again, he’s reminded of how unprejudiced tragedy is — how it leaves no hint, no mark of itself, no time to prepare for the toll of it all.

Satoru had greeted you briefly before you’d left. Said something about getting lunch together, that you better be careful because you were treating him — the same shit he said time and time again, his real plea hidden within the folds and twists of his jokes and quips. Be careful. Don’t die. I can’t lose you. You’re precious to me.

You’ll be okay. You have to be — he won’t allow anything otherwise. But if he’d known last week that you’d end up like this, would he have said those things out loud? He doesn’t think so. He’s cowardly in that way.

A few moments later, Shoko straightens up. Immediately reaches into the pocket of her lab coat and pulls out a cigarette and a rusting lighter, and is puffing out clouds of bitter air just seconds later.

Shit. That’s not a good sign.

Shoko sighs. Rubs at her dark undereye circles and only makes them worse, taps her cigarette so that the ash falls to the floor. “I know what it is.”

Well fucking tell him instead of keeping it in!

“Oh?” Satoru says instead, leaning forward onto his knees. “What is it, then?”

“She used her technique on herself.”

“She does that all the time to heal."

“She didn’t heal herself,” Shoko snaps — and Satoru remembers that he’s not the only person you’re important to. That while he and Suguru had gotten ahead of themselves being the strongest, they’d left you and Shoko to stroll humbly along your own paths. The only girls in their year. The only person Shoko could fully confide in, really — at least in Tokyo —, the only person who had bothered to check up on her when she drank too much, smoked too much. Even if Shoko hated it.

Shoko is upset. Satoru doesn't what to do with it.

(Alcohol — she likes alcohol. Satoru reminds himself to pick up the most expensive bottle of the stuff the next time he's out.)

(No. She’s trying not to drink so much, isn’t she?)

(Whatever. Life is short.)

“She dissipated herself.”

Satoru knows about your technique intimately enough that it immediately gives him pause — but he runs over the details in his head, just in case, as if it isn’t already imprinted on the flesh of his skull.

Your cursed technique allows you to disassemble items down to their most basic units — subatomic particles — while your reverse cursed technique allows you to reassemble them. Items can be reassembled into their previous form, or to another related form, but you cannot exceed the item’s natural entropy threshold. If you do, the item cannot be reverted back to a physical state, and you will bear the brunt of the resulting shift in energy.

It's a finicky technique. Finicky and fickle and the risks tend to outweigh the rewards — but you'd always used it so elegantly, so gracefully. Even when you doubted yourself, you had a handle on it. Satoru admired that about you.

("You don't say I'm powerful. You say I'm helpful. There's a difference."

You'd said that to him once, when he brought you and Yuuji to lunch. You'd acted like it didn't bother you but he could tell it did — he didn't need his Six Eyes to notice how your nose twitched and your eyes narrowed, displeased.

But Satoru believes in two types of helpfulness.

The kind he is — powerful, needed, a force to be reckoned with. Someone that keeps things afloat, that acts as a beacon in the dark.

Then there's the other kind. The usefulness of pawns, of bait. Necessary, but not fundamental. Desired, sure, but rarely crucial.

You've always been the first. Always. You and him and Suguru and Shoko, always. Even he could admit that.)

You disassembled yourself into atoms. Into nothingness. You lost your mind, your body, your energy, everything—

Satoru sighs. He's been doing that a lot today.

“I didn’t know she could do that,” Satoru says. His throat is covered in a layer of sawdust. He can’t remember the last time he had to actually focus on not throwing up. “Why would she do that?”

“She talked about it, before,” Shoko says. She leans against the bed you’re laying on, gazing over her shoulder — and the way she looks at you turns his stomach, the upturn of her brows, the sad downturn of her mouth. It’s as if you’re already dead. As if she’s looking at a living corpse. “Just… as a theory. A last resort to help her get away, if needed, but—”

“But what?”

“She knew she didn’t have the power for it,” Shoko mutters. Breathes another puff of cigarette smoke. “If she tried, she'd end up just… fading away. In breaking herself up, she'd negate the cursed energy that gives her the power to put herself together.

"And the side effects would be… well, you can see that for yourself. Stupid, so fucking stupid…”

“Well, obviously she has the power for it,” Satoru murmurs. “Or made the power for it.”

“A binding vow?”

Satoru shrugs. Clenches his jaw, watching as you scratch at the faux-leather underneath you. “It'd make sense. Explains how she put herself back together."

(But for what? What could have driven you to such lengths?

A curse like Jogo wouldn't be all too difficult for you to defeat.

So who…?)

Shoko hums. She stares into space for a moment, eyes unfocused, and for a moment Satoru sees her younger self — the one who just started smoking, just started drinking, who carried the weight of all the people she healed (and those she'd failed to) tucked in her pocket. The Shoko that would make sarcastic quips and humble them when they needed humbling, but humour them when she knew the outcome would be funny.

A time when they had very little responsibility. Even him, shackled with it since birth. Comparing his duty from then to now is like comparing a boulder to the weight of the world.

He feels very old, suddenly, at 28.

"There's nothing I can do for her," Shoko says, softly. Regretfully. "If she did make a binding vow, I can only assume she made a condition about returning to normal. If so…"

Satoru can’t do anything about it, basically, she explains. Your condition is one that will only heal with time, patience, and the odd boost from Shoko’s technique. Maybe, she says — she's still unsure about that last bit.

It sickens him. It festers as a deep, curdling annoyance in his bones, his uselessness. It’s a sensation he had only felt once before, standing before the slumped-over body of Geto Suguru. Nothing he could do for him except put him out of his misery, and even then that felt like a cop-out.

So… he can't go directly after the thing that had forced your hand, because they had left no trace. He can't heal you, either. He can't take care of you while your body repairs itself, while your supposed binding vow returns you to your rightful state — that duty will fall to Shoko, or one of her interns.

He can do nothing. And Satoru is nothing if he cannot be of use.

Nine months after the events of the culling games, Satoru enters your room to see you sitting up — eyes wide, eyes seeing, and it only takes you fixing him with a single look to know that you're okay.

(Subjectively. Relatively.)

Suguru Getou — Kenjaku — is finally dead — exorcised. He’s not sure which is the right word to use. All of his allies, killed or exorcised too. Nanami, murdered. Nobara, comatose. Yaga, dead. Inumaki, Maki, Okkotsu, maimed; the great houses of sorcery destroyed and rebuilt in the image of Satoru’s will.

Itadori Yuuji — dead. Sukuna Ryomen — exorcised.

Adding up the gains, subtracting the losses, carrying the ones… Both sides seem to have lost pretty evenly. And he should be happy about it, too; things could have turned out much worse. And they would have, too, if he hadn’t pushed himself out of his pouting and escaped the prison realm — a feat that was half out of spite and half concern for the outside world, and maybe a little curiosity. Rage. Longing to see the bastard who’d stolen Suguru’s face and body, who dared to reanimate him and rouse him from peace — longing to slaughter the thing that had rendered you bedridden and half-mad for months.

He had been the one to kill Kenjaku. It only felt right to be the one to do so — he’d killed Suguru, after all; had been the one to leave him defenceless and open to manipulation. If Suguru hadn’t been dead, Kenjaku wouldn’t have been able to steal his body.

Of course, Satoru ignored the fact that the very last rotten, desperate dregs of Suguru would have enjoyed Kenjaku’s plan — it was the only way he was able to keep his eyes open when he blasted his brain to bits. It was hard enough the first time.

All of these things sit on his tongue, bitter and souring and curdling — every detail of the battle, of the culling games, the colleagues and peers and students he’d held in his arms, the ones he’d comforted as they slipped away, the ones he’d reassured and promised.

(Pink, blood-covered hair; a smile that never dimmed, a nervous murmur (“It’s okay, Gojo-sensei. I know what I got into.”). The shaky laugh that had followed.)

Satoru’s hands tremble at his sides.

Your eyes are wet with tears when you look at him.

“How long has it been?” You croak — voice dry and cracked with disuse, whining in some parts, low and wheezing in others. Bone-deep, the fear in your voice, and for good reason — things had already been at a boiling point when you’d been taken down. Everything had moved past you. “Satoru—?”

Another selfish decision on his part: he doesn’t tell you. At least, not now, when the words threaten to vomit out of his mouth, when the pain is suddenly too fresh and too raw.

(For one strange, too-long second, he’s reminded of his mother — weak, presence-less, powerless as she was. Empty-eyed and unhappy. She was hardly even a mother with the amount of governesses he had.

Somehow, though, every problem would seem worse when her eyes were upon him; every cut and bruise was more painful; every slight against him a grave insult; every mistake a cause for self-pity and temper tantrums — and none of it mattered, as long as she took him into her arms.

A rarity, yes, but… maybe one of the only fond memories he has of his childhood in the Gojo household.

Satoru feels like a kid again — suddenly sniffling from a bruise he swore didn’t hurt, his mother ready to pat his head and baby him and coo his name. Satoru. Not Gojo-sama.)

He crosses the room and plants himself upon your bed and takes you into his arms for the first time in months, and—

And for the first time since Yuuji’s death, since Nanami’s, since Suguru’s, since your injuries—

He cries. Openly. Heaving, chest-wrecking sobs; red, wet nose and ugly whimpers. It’s overwhelming. It’s cathartic. It makes the pain worse, for a second, before it begins to taper out in a bruising wave; with it, he remembers his darling underclassmen who died, his colleagues that he’d wanted to live at least a few more years; he remembers that despite years of being told so, he’s not God — he couldn’t stop Yuuji’s death, or Suguru’s, or Toge losing his arms, or—

“Thirteen months,” he manages to get out. “Thirteen months — you couldn’t talk, or move properly, or—”

Satoru grabs handfuls of you — hair, waist, belly, it doesn’t matter. He can feel you beneath his skin. Rushing, pounding blood, cells, micromolecules — and he doesn’t need to, but he engages his Six Eyes for a moment — actually engages them, doesn’t let them run unconsciously in the background. It’s a comfort to let himself see each receptor interact with each signal on each plasma membrane, to let himself see the tissues that formed organs that formed organ systems forming you, breathing, living, sentient—

He kisses you — or you kiss him, he’s not sure — but it’s far more intimate, far more tender than any touch he’d delivered unto you; hands clutching the sides of your face, your fingers digging into his wrists. You’re crying, salt on his tongue — and he only knows they’re not his own tears because you give a great, shuddering sob when you part, trembling like a leaf in the wind.

“I had to,” you gasp, and he wants to tell you that he knows, he knows, he doesn’t blame you, sweet girl — did what you had to do to live, to survive— “I had to—”

“Only go where I can follow, okay?" His eyes are burning again, voice cracking with the promise, regardless of the fact that he’d rather you do it 100 times over than die. But it's the only way he can tell you he loves you without telling you he loves you, and he can't remember the last time he said the words aloud.

(He does. He remembers. And he remembers that Suguru wouldn't mind if he said it to you — that Suguru loved you as he loves you. And he remembers that Suguru is dead and doesn't have an opinion anymore, so it really doesn't matter, anyways.)

Satoru calls Shoko when he rights himself, barely pulling back from your embrace to text her something barely understandable and hurried. You don't say much while he does; still acclimating to being aware, being awake — he catches you with your eyes screwed shut and your nose buried in his jacket, fingers tight on his arms again. Grounding yourself. Reminding yourself that you're alive, and with him.

Shoko scolds you between rummaging around for a thermometer and scribbling your prescription in messy, barely legible cursive — calls you a dumb bitch for doing what you did, tells you that you owe her a bottle of wine and a trip to a fancy hot spring, and it all seems a little lighter.

(She cries a little — if the slight glassiness of her eyes can be considered crying. Satoru only teases her a bit for it, though you're quick to mention how he'd blubbered like a baby when he saw you, and he's humbled quickly.

It's the most normal he's felt in weeks.)

Shoko clears away after a few hours — gives you strict orders to rest, and sends him a knowing look that he's not all too sure of the meaning of.

"You look tired, Satoru," you finally say when you're alone again. Your smile is sad, knowing, and Satoru curses it all. You deserve a grace period, a moment of ignorance before the grief settles in. "What happened?"

But when have you ever wanted a moment of ignorance? When has he ever been able to hide the truth of things from you? When have you ever been anything but his equal, his confidant?

"Everything," Satoru says. A short, humourless laugh punctuates his single-worded sentence. "Everything, crybaby. Everything that we thought could happen, and everything we thought couldn't."

A flicker of a smile — uncomfortable, flat. Your eyes flicker down to the bland, starched sheets of the hospital bed. "Did you see him?"

He doesn't need you to elaborate. There's really only one person you both mean when you say him.

"Yes."

"Who was he?"

Satoru shifts in his seat. "An ancient sorcerer named Kenjaku. His cursed technique allowed him to transplant his brain between bodies and possess them."

"And he chose Suguru."

"Yes. And many others, too."

"And you killed him."

"Yes. For Suguru, and for you. But mostly for Suguru.”

“I’m glad,” you say, but your fingers twist the sheets tightly. “When I saw him, I was angry. So angry, I… I wanted to kill him. I knew I wasn’t strong enough, and I knew he would kill me, but for a second—”

He understands. God, does he understand. “You wanted to take the risk.” No matter the cost, no matter the damage to your own body. Anger like that consumes.

“I did.” You swallow. Your eyes meet his. “It was like… adding insult to injury. As if it’s not enough that Suguru is dead, but this — this Kenjaku has to puppeteer him too. Disturb his peace."

The wind rustles the trees outside. The late-afternoon gold of the sun settles along the horizon, a burning orange that stretches the shadows and warms the wind and turns the side of your face honey-soft and sad.

“But I realised that I was probably the first person he’d revealed himself to," you continue, "so I was the only one that could warn you."

Always thinking about the good of others. It was another thing he admired about you — Nanami, too. Satoru, for all his big talk about changing the world of jujutsu, about being better than those who came before him, is really quite selfish.

It's why his hands had trembled when he'd had to kill Yuuji. It's why he couldn't put Suguru in the ground the first time they met after he became a curse user. Even when he knows things are necessary, he tries his damnedest to hold on — just for the chance of it all. The chance that Suguru could change his mind. The chance that Sukuna could be removed from Yuuji without him needing to die.

"And…”

One snow-white brow raises. “And?”

“You’ve already lost too many people that you love,” you say simply, shrugging — like it's a simple fact, no need for experimentation, no need for an academic paper complete with its own abstract and footnotes. Like you've always known, in some little way, but you're only able to bring yourself to say it now.

And Satoru — well, it's no secret to him, is it? He's known it since he was 13, 14, 15 — had a bit of a buffering period, sure — and now here at 28, he knows it just as well. The point is that you're not supposed to know. Not while you're still healing from Suguru and… being attacked by fake-Suguru.

Regardless of what he knows and how long he's known it, Satoru feels his throat begin to close up, twisting and turning and holding his breath tight. He doesn’t like the feeling.

“Love?” He echoes. His voice has gotten a little empty. It's too soon for him to say it aloud, he thinks. It was okay when he whispered it in his head after making love to you; it was easy when he grinned at your scrunched up nose and scoffed comments and thought fuck, I love you. It was easy when he could pretend it was a simple, passing comment, a trick of the mind — but having it said as fact?

Not so simple. But you don’t need to know that. “Is that so?"

You don't seem to notice his momentary pause — a lifetime of rambling in his time, a second's hesitation in regular time — too busy staring at the space where his fingers stretch apart over the sheets. Just inches away from yours. "We're friends, aren't we?"

Oh.

"Oh." Satoru blinks back. "Oh, yeah. Best friends, you and I, crybaby."

"I know it's normal for us," you say, ploughing ahead, "to just lose and lose and keep losing, but… I'll be honest. I never fully got used to it, and I don't want to."

He wishes he could say the same, but he can't.

He understands, in some capacity. Nobody wants to see the people around them die, a continuous and vicious cycle. Nobody wants to get so used to loss that most funerals no longer hold any emotional significance. But getting used to it had saved him. Getting used to it helped him act without consequence, without remorse, and that's what the battlefield both needs and requires of him.

He could count on both hands the people he wants to save in this world — about half of them were dead, at this point. A lot of them died while he was imprisoned. Two, he had to kill himself. He swore he'd protect the rest with all Six Eyes, every non-existent boundary of his Limitless.

So Satoru doesn't care much about getting used to death and dying and loss and grief. As long as you're okay, he's okay. As long as his job as the Strongest is done, everything is as it should be.

He doesn't say that to you, of course. You'd probably curse him out and call him a heartless bastard. Instead, he nods, hums and agrees and tells you the names of those who died when you work up the courage to ask.

It's a long night. It's an even longer list.

10.

Shoko keeps you for observation for 10 days after you wake up — three days longer than necessary, but she won't hear it from him, no matter how many times he reminds her that technically she falsified her degree—

He's joking. Mostly.

Satoru volunteers himself to help you back home, taking with you the plastic bag filled with your cleaned sorcerer's garb and weapon. He carries it over his shoulder along with two teddy bears, a half-wilted bouquet of tulips and a half-eaten box of chocolates (all courtesy of the second years — except for the chocolates, which are half-eaten because of him). He winds his other arm around your waist even though you can walk perfectly fine, but — it's just in case. Purely precautionary. For once, you don’t argue about being babied.

In the midday sun outside, you tilt your head back and close your eyes and smile. For a moment, it's as if the sadness has melted away from you — the tears you shed over Yuuji, Nanami, Suguru. The tears you shed over him, and he wasn't even dead. Satoru is glad your eyes are closed — even beneath his sunglasses, it's painfully obvious that he's staring.

You decide to take the subway home — it's my first time outside in almost a year, you remind him, so he pushes down any arguments he might have and enjoys the too-cramped journey towards Akihabara. You’re both shoved standing together, between a panicked looking man holding a tray of coffee and a woman with her child hanging about her legs, your head bobbing against his chest as the train moves.

For a moment — as the train passes momentarily out of the underground and becomes encapsulated in light — it's easy to drown in the normalcy of it all. For a moment, he sees himself looking in as a stranger would. Here, he isn't the Six Eyes; just a simple man taking his girlfriend home, standing close on the train, wishing to be closer. Riding home to your shared apartment where he'll peel oranges and feed them to you, where he'll lay his head in your lap and hold your hands to his heart.

His nose wrinkles. He prefers reality, he thinks, where he can be powerful and have you by his side; where he can protect you, uphold peace, change the jujutsu world for the best — and then go home all the same, and have you to hold.

"What are you thinking about?" You mumble against his collar.

"Oranges," he replies.

"I don't have any at home," you say, "or if I did, they're rotted."

"Don't worry — we cleaned your kitchen up. Me and the kids." It was an afternoon of Yuuji attempting to shove rotting potatoes in Nobara's face. That was before Shibuya; before everything, really.

"Oh? You got your hands dirty?"

Satoru tries to not think about that same beaming, smiling Yuuji's last breaths. "Of course! This is me we're talking about, honey. I was front and centre."

You snort, soft against his neck. It's a wonder he went almost a year without you. "Housewife Satoru. I'll keep it in mind."

When you return to your apartment, you shower together for the first time in forever. He spends extra time and care massaging shampoo into your scalp, detangling each knot; spends extra time rinsing the suds out, tilting your head back with a gentle tap to your chin.

Steam clogs his mind. Almond shower oil and citrusy shampoo fog his senses. The realisation that you could have potentially been taken away from him sits heavy like a stone in his stomach — why it hadn't sunk in in the past, oh, 13 months or so, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he's terribly bad at caring for precious things — but if he could, if it's possible, he'll remould and reshape his hands, his heart, his mind, just for the chance—

"Satoru," you breathe against his lips, "Bow your head."

(Bow your head, you say. He'd kneel if you asked him to.)

You brush your hands through his hair; rinse him free of suds and bubbles and kiss his temples as you shut off the water. What is supposed to be healing for you is quickly becoming therapy for him — muscles relaxing, mind clearing of all responsibilities, mournings, obligations. All he knows are the soft, newly washed sheets beneath him and your nose in the crook of his neck.

It's a strange sensation, the lack of tension, his brain not working overtime. But hardly unwelcome.

11.

Satoru asks you if you saw anything when you were indisposed. Memories, flashbacks, prophecies? Blurry half-truths, nonsensical babbling? You tell him that you can't really remember — and you can't, not really, but you do remember one thing.

When you were 11, you met Satoru and Suguru for the first time. It's that memory that you can remember playing in your head, over and over and over again: Satoru and Suguru, scrawny and still-faced in their yukata.

Satoru was from a great, traditional house. Suguru was not, but upon discovery of his powers, was taken into unofficial custody of the higher-ups. In most circumstances, you wouldn’t have been allowed within two feet of them — but the elders had deemed your cursed technique a great gift, and so you were warily accepted into the upper echelons of jujutsu society, a stranger, a foreigner.

Introducing you to the most powerful sorcerers your age was nothing more than political play, of course. The adults followed behind as you walked through the grand grounds of the Gojo family — (maintained by a team of 12 gardeners, according to the Lady of the house) — muttering and scheming between themselves, making sure nothing would go awry.

Nothing did, of course. Satoru picked his nose and Suguru told him it was rude and they bickered for a while — Satoru bickered, Suguru replied calmly and quickly. Satoru asked you if your technique was good or bad ("No such thing," interjected Suguru) and whether or not you think you could beat him in a fight.

(That last question was to stroke his own ego, of course. Everyone knew he was the strongest sorcerer born in the last century.)

At some point, Satoru made you cry.

You can't remember what about, all these years later — you'd think you'd remember, considering the fact that you know the amount of gardeners employed by the Gojo estate — but you know that you had tried to stop it; fists balled, teeth gritted, full-body heaves. Crying was the last thing you had wanted to do. Crying meant weakness. Weakness meant being taken advantage of.

But you were so scared. It was all so alien. You wanted to go home, but home didn’t exist anymore. You wanted your mother, but your mother was long gone. All you had left were stone-faced adults that were only interested in your abilities.

Suguru had been confused at your reaction to what he took as a harmless quip — a little callous, as most children are — but he had reassured you nonetheless.

"Don’t cry. Satoru speaks before he thinks," he'd said, nudging your shoulder. "Sometimes you have to ignore him and he'll be so bored that he has to think."

"I can hear you," Gojo huffed. "I didn't mean to."

"See?" Suguru smiled. "Works like a charm."

Yes, Suguru had always been there to protect you. Emotionally, at least. He was willing to be kinder to people. More gentle, more forgiving. He'd believed that it was his duty as a sorcerer to protect those that couldn't protect themselves, and—

Well. That had changed, by the end, but having that memory replay in your head made you see the bigger picture of it all. Suguru's place in things. Your place in things.

You'd loved Suguru, no doubt. And you’ll probably always carry a piece of him with you — you'd hate to do otherwise. You’ll carry his kindness and his jokes and his catlike smile, all tucked away in bubble wrap somewhere in your chest cavity — but you will never disregard his wrongdoings. Since his death, you'd argued against the two sides of him; felt guilty for loving him after what he did, felt guilty for hating him after loving him and knowing him for as long as you did. Two halves of a whole. Darkness in light and light in darkness.

He was both of those things. You love him, but you don’t forgive him, and you probably never will. He will never again be the boy that comforted you after Satoru made you cry; he will never again be the boy who let you braid his hair back. He won't be the boy who slaughtered innocents, either — death's funny like that. Indiscriminately doing away with both the good and the bad.

And that's okay. Kenjaku is dead, after all, and Suguru can finally rest — and with him, your warring mind.

12.

Midnight strikes and you're still awake. You don’t even seem tired, and that's after a long shower and takeout and a movie. Usually you'd be a drooling mess by now, but tonight is different. Feels different. Satoru isn’t sure if it's just a year's worth of built up sexual tension or something else, but he feels it regardless.

He's flopped on his stomach, hair still damp; you're curled up in the shape of a C, skin reflecting the light of the TV. He might visit Nobara tomorrow. Megumi usually goes on Wednesdays, too — they could make a day out of it, and you could tag along, too. He's got a craving for the pistachio macarons they sell near—

"I'm in love with you," you announce.

Satoru doesn't bother asking you to repeat yourself because he knows he didn’t mishear. It isn't the knowing that shocks him — he's not stupid, and you wear your heart on your sleeve — it's the sudden, quick verbal affirmation of it that catches him off guard. After all, haven’t you two been putting this all off? Yearning for a dead man? Being pulled from two opposing poles?

He turns his head towards you, opens his mouth to ask you just that, and—

"After Suguru, I thought I'd never be happy again," you say, and you’re smiling like you didn't just say something inherently heartbreaking. But no, you look fond — content, even, blinking slowly at him. "And I thought I'd never feel for someone as strong as I did for him. But here I am: happy, and in love, and okay."

Satoru opens his mouth — then closes it quickly. For some reason, he remembers something Suguru said to you when you were younger: "Satoru speaks before he thinks." But he wants to think about this — about what he should say. How does he respond to you quite literally baring your heart to him? How does he tell you what he wants to tell you, what you deserve to hear? He's never been good with real, genuine words — emotional shit never came easy to him out loud. His thoughts are much more concise than his mouth is, but he guesses it's because it moves so fast in comparison.

Pity you can't read his mind. It'd make things much easier.

“You don’t have to say anything,” but he wants to, don't you know? "You don't have to pretend. It’s okay. I know that… maybe you don’t love me as much as you loved Suguru, but I know you love me in some way, at least—”

Satoru frowns — strings of ideas and thoughts bunching up and stopping short as your words register. “As much as I— hey, stop putting words in my mouth—"

"The truth is," you continue on, "I feel lighter than I have in years. I don't dread life so much anymore. I don't dread you anymore."

"You… dreaded me?"

You hum. Your legs stretch down, arms forward, face scrunched up in a passing yawn. "I'm not stupid to think you didn’t know how I felt, but… I hated that I was so obvious about it. Even when I was fighting with myself about it, I was obvious. It made me hate being around you, sometimes."

You sigh, then — not as heavy and melancholy as they used to be, no. This is a sigh of relief, of cathartic release.

Satoru blinks, and attempts to wade through the seventy-or-so compulsions telling him to make a joke, to laugh, to tease you. Maybe he should actually be serious for once. Say it straight and say it firm, so you can't take anything the wrong way. If there was ever a time for him to not beat around the bush…

"I've liked you since I was 17," he confesses, finally. "Me and Suguru, we were together, y’know, and we were happy. And Suguru loved you, and somewhere along the line I… began to do the same, but we were so young and then… Everything changed so fast. Everything broke so fast.”

Your fingers brush against his, and he breathes in a sigh. Your eyes are wide and watery, low light reflecting like glitter in your eyes.

"Sometimes, it keeps me up at night," Satoru says, laughing a pained sort of laugh. "Out of everything, that's what keeps me up — that we could've been happy together, all three of us. It never would’ve been enough to make him change, but…"

At least you would’ve known what it was like. To be happy together in that way. To be content. To find your places in the world, hand and hand. To know what it was like — even if Suguru’s fall from grace was inevitable — so you wouldn’t have to keep wondering until your untimely, gruesome, sorcerer-style deaths, or whatever.

Back then, Satoru didn’t understand why Suguru never told you how he felt. He couldn't understand how he could be content watching from afar, looking but never touching. What Satoru wanted, he learned to take; the Strongest didn’t need to ask for permission, only forgiveness.

He learned quickly that some things were better left unsaid. And now, 28 years old, half of his friends, students, colleagues dead — he understands even more.

He remembers how Yuuji had tried to stave off tears when he realised he had to die; remembers how his student’s throat had felt being crushed in his hands. He loved Yuuji like a little brother. Like a son, even. He was family. He was his student, and yet his death had been necessary, and Satoru battled with it. It allowed him to succeed in the mission he was born to complete. But he had given up Yuuji in return.

There is no curse more twisted than love.

Therein lays the problem, he supposes. The second you love someone, you run the risk of having them end up like Yuuji did. Like Suguru did. Like Nanami did. When you are burdened with incredible power like Satoru is — like Suguru was — you must be able to sacrifice for it. The closer that people are, the more likely they are to be caught in the crossfire, the more likely you are to be hurt. Suguru hoped to avoid that at all costs. It was easier to watch from afar, less painful.

Satoru is a tad more selfish. Which is bad, he knows, because he's too prepared to sacrifice. Even now. Even now, he knows that if caught between saving you and saving society, he would be forced to — to—

Satoru inhales. The only thing for it is to simply stop things from getting that far.

He could explain all this to you. He could talk circles around you about it, in fact, but the truth is that it's all conjecture. Suguru isn’t here to tell him why he did what he did. He can’t speak for him, no matter how well he knew him.

"I don't know why Suguru never told you," Satoru says instead. He folds his fingers tighter, taking yours in his grip as he does so. "Guess that's something he took with him to the grave."

"I've stopped wondering," you say. “I’ll never stop regretting, but I’ve stopped wondering. I can’t stay rooted in the past any more. It was doing more harm than good."

And you raise your interlocked hands — nestle them under your chin and screw your eyes shut, like you're wishing on the evening star, like he's something precious to be treasured. All of a sudden he's 17 and confused about why he can't stop staring at you. He doesn’t have Suguru to tease him about it, now.

“I’ll never forget him,” Satoru announces — a warning, or a reassurance, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s telling the truth and nothing but the truth, and whether or not you like his truth is not his concern. He respects you too much to lie about this to you.

Your lips twitch upwards, a phantom of a smile. “Neither will I. "

"I'll never forget you, either."

The smile grows, blooms, blossoms, until it stretches bright and full across your face. The first smile of yours he's seen in a while that wasn't at half-mast, or tinged with sadness, or pain, or fatigue.

"How lucky I am," you whisper, "to be known by you, Gojo Satoru."

It should be the other way around, he thinks.

(12.5.

It's the first time he makes love in years.

Satoru has always fucked you. Always. No matter how tired you both were, no matter how injured — he'd always force himself to be rougher, force his touches to not linger as much as he wanted them to.

If he felt too much, he'd crack a joke instead of drowning in it; if he felt his eyes beginning to burn he'd bury his nose in the crook of your neck and push it down. If he thought of long, dark hair and cat-like eyes, he'd tighten your grip in his hair and the shock of pain would clear his mind. He fucked quick, and when he was done he'd lay far away enough that he couldn't feel your skin against his.

Tonight, he lets himself love and be loved again.

You're on top of him, ass flush against his thighs, taking every inch he has to give you; his hands have found your jaw, thumbs brushing back and forth across your dewy, sweat-slick cheeks. One hand of yours clasps around his wrist; the other bands to his chest, nails digging red into his skin. Your cursed energy blooms, flushes, flourishes when he opens his eyes to look at you.

He sees every pore, every hair, every dimple, every broken capillary, every scratch and scrape. Every part of you, bending to him in some places, unfalteringly stubborn in others.

"Look at you," he mumbles, blinking dumbly. "So… pretty…"

You snort something like a laugh, and continue: up, down, up, down. Slow, grinding gyrations of your hips that make his head spin pleasantly; and with his Limitless nullified, he feels every inch of skin, every tensing of muscle, every scrape and press fully and completely. He’s never felt so engulfed in it before — the sensations of it all, the warmth, your scent, your weight above him.

He'd drown in you, if he could. Take you in his mouth and nose and ears and everywhere, until he's left gasping for air and grappling for something of substance. Maybe once upon a time he would keep those thoughts to himself, for whatever reason — but now he's allowed to be selfish in his affections, allowed to give more than surface-level compliments and vague declarations of love.

Between pleasure-ridden shudders and sloppy, wet kisses, he breathes:

"I want you everywhere," he says, "All the time. Over me, on me, in me—"

You raise a brow, impudent and teasing in a way that makes his abdomen tighten. "In you?"

And maybe he didn’t mean it in the way that you took it, but he plays along anyways, waggling his brows. "You heard me."

"You're terrible."

"I'm not joking," Satoru argues — but it’s hard to take him seriously when his voice quietens, when he arches up eagerly to meet your lips—

When his grip on your lower back becomes painfully tight, when his lips part in a moan and his eyes screw shut and he throws his head back, hips rutting up to meet yours, and—

His peak rises to greet him — and his heart swells all the while. He finds himself clawing for you as his orgasm builds, hands clambering against your back, your neck, your hair, until (with a great, shaking breath, may he add): "Fuck, I — mmf, I love you—"

It carries him off to a state of fuzzy, empty-minded ignorance — pleasure tightening his entire body, fizzling from the tips of his fingers to his curling toes. Your name on his tongue, slurred and mellifluous, his smile dizzy and drunk.

As you smile down at him, so unbearably fond, Satoru thinks that he doesn’t mind saying I love you aloud after all.)

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just-some-random-blogger · 11 months

Text

Safe Keeping | 6

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

What say you, lady? Don't you think the Hound would make a fine husband? He would protect you, yes, and you would bear him many babes." I curtsy again but this time, my voice falters when I speak, "I- I think he would," I turn to my left, "Lord Sandor would make a fine husband... a fine father."

Sandor Clegane x Reader | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, forced marriage, smut (piv, emotional sex, praise kink), enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, miscommunication, baby fever, fluff!, typos, etc.

A/N: i said i'd end this on p5 but i think i'll be ending at p7 HAHHAH lol. originally posted on ao3 but felt like posting it on here

Tagging: @otteropera @poisonsage808 @glitterandgoldfinds @the-queen-of-sorrows @minttea07 @fluffpudel @j3nn-1 @jelsasnowflakes1

"My lady," followed by high pitched barking made me turn around from where I sat in the garden.

Maester Yannick was walking over to me, with three puppies on his trail. He lifts his robe when he feels one of the critters nip at it. He hisses at them and tells them not to bite. Rose barks and takes it as a challenge.

I chuckle and shush her, raising a finger as I bend down to reinforce the discipline.

Rose looks at me then scurries off.

I straighten up on the bench as Yannick sits beside me. We both then turn to the soldiers in the making, training across the grounds of Brown Wood.

The Hound barks at them when they get their positions wrong.

"He is lovely today," Yannick tells me.

I turn to him and chuckle, but nod nonetheless.

He continues observing my husband, "he's been training long, hasn't he?"

"Mmm. Perhaps a couple hours," I look back at Sandor, "why? Do you think it is bad for his wounds?"

"I think it is bad for you," he looks at me.

I pull my head back, "me?"

The maester stands, "you are wasting precious time. Both of you are in good conditions," he links his hands together, "for the good of your house, it would be wise for you to be more... vigilant about producing heirs."

I feel my face drop and burn.

"As you know, my lady, the herbs I make for you are not cheap. It would be a shame to put them to waste due to a lack of effort."

I clear my throat and turn away from him.

Maester Yannick nods, "which reminds me, I will go and fetch you some tea right now."

I watch him walk away.

Once he was gone, my attention is averted back to Sandor. In truth, now more than ever has his hound persona been more apparent to me. Besides his fierceness, his snarling, his grit, the way he bared his teeth and howled at everyone, I could see his loyalty, his need to do good by the people in his life, his protectiveness, especially when it came to fighting, and his warmth.

I begin to think about Daisy. I turn to my side and watch as the pups begin to wreck the garden with their paws.

I find myself thinking about that night... that night when he said he loved me.

I rub my belly, not liking the way my stomach churned at my string of thoughts.

I watch as Sandor straightens up a boy, who was about to fall flat on his face, with one hand. He shakes his head at the child and says he can't fight if he's fighting himself too.

I imagine him speaking the same way to our son.

It was a horrible mistake. As quickly as I thought of it, I then remember telling him to give me a child by another woman.

I've set him free. He does not belong to me; in truth, he never did.

I quickly stand and wipe my face.

This was no longer leisure, this was torture.

I quickly run inside, retreating to my bedroom. Once I am there, I takes my shoes off, plop on my bed, and stare up at my ceiling. I look at the cobwebs in the distant corners and I wonder why I felt like crying but had no tears to shed. I lie there in silence, wishing nothing but to waste away.

I lift my head up from the sheets and turn to the door when I hear it open. I immediately stand and brush my skirts, "Sandor."

The feel of the cold floor on my bare feet send a shiver down my spine.

Sandor cautiously looks at me, "is everything alright?"

"Mmm?" I raise my brows, "what- why do you ask?"

"You ran inside and left your babes in the garden"

My lips part at his words. My hand instinctively comes to my belly.

"Pups," he raises a hand, "I meant pups. I didn't mean--"

Sandor is cut off by the voice of maester Yannick calling my name as he knocked on my door. Sandor opens the door for him and the old man enters, smiling when he sees the two of us. He is about to hand me the tea but then decides otherwise and puts it on my vanity.

He turns to Sandor, "I am pleased you decided to attend to your wife. Her fertility herbs are slowly being depleted. I was beginning to fear it would be for naught."

I grow frigid.

With that, the maester nods and exits, "please do enjoy each other's company."

The sound of the door closing leaves me red in the face. I lock eyes with Sandor then look away, clearing my throat. I flinch when he calls out my name.

I turn back and rub my arms, "yes... husband?"

"I didn't come here for that," he mutters, raising a hand cautiously.

My chest tightens. Of course not. I open my mouth, but he cuts me off before I could make a sound.

"I came to check if you're alright," he slowly steps forward.

I tense and nod, "I am well."

I feel my heart race when he takes another step towards me.

"Y-you needn't worry about me."

"I always worry about you," he mutters as he walks closer.

My words catch in my throat, "what?"

"Let me help you," he speaks, now only a few steps away from me.

My heart is pounding. I step back slowly, "h-help?"

"In the way only a man can," he lets out a heavy breath.

My calves hit the bed. I stop in my tracks and stand frozen. The Hound is now looking down at me. I am too overwhelmed by his presence to do anything else but stare.

The next thing I know, my gaze is drawn downward as he sits on the bed and peers up at my form.

"If you want a child from me," he whispers, "I'll give you one by no other woman but you."

I look at him, heart in my mouth, body burning. I scratch my fingers and nod at his words.

Sandor sighs, "I need to hear you say it."

"I-" I shakily speak, "I want a child," I face him, "a child by you... my lord."

His brows knit.

My breath hitches when he touches my waist.

I can hear his heavy breathing as he whispers, "Sandor. Please."

I gulp as his palm rubs slowly across my belly. The action makes my skin prickle with goosebumps. My hand comes atop his. I oblige, "Sandor."

He gently tugs me in between his legs and my breath nearly escapes me. He rests his hands on my hips then pulls me in, sinking his face into my side. My ribs rattle with how quick my pulse was.

Sandor inhales deeply, "gods, you smell good."

I feel my body burn, "i-it's lavender oil."

I squeak when he pulls me down onto his lap. He cages me against him, my back flush against his chest. He sinks his face into my neck and slowly draws in a breath. His arms snake around me as he hotly speaks, "it's you, my pretty squirrel."

I feel his hands slowly lift my skirts up. My hands latch onto his arm that was still around my belly.

"Be calm, my wife, I cleaned up before coming here, in case I had to wipe your tears."

I make a sound as he knocks his nose into my jaw and exposes one of my legs to him.

"I don't like it when you're upset."

My breath hitches, "I-I'm not upset."

"Good."

Sandor feels the goosebumps on my skin when his hand makes contact with my bare thigh. He shushes me as he rubs and kneads my flesh. I whimper and begin to squirm when his hand hikes up my inner thigh.

His fingers touch my clothed center. He breathes hotly against the pulse of my neck, "I'm going to take this off, mmm?"

I gulp and nod slowly at his words.

I maneuver with him when his hands come under my skirts to rid me of my smallclothes. He doesn't like the space that is created between us and rips me back into him. He ruts his hips into mine to add to his point.

I whine when Sandor's right hand rubs into my heat.

"Fuck," he hisses, "you've worked yourself up over nothing."

I make a louder noise when he prods his fingers into my pulsing entrance. I can feel his fingers slide with ease against my warm folds. I instinctively grip his arm when he sinks into me.

Sandor's other arm, in turn, tightens around me, "you can take it. You've taken more than my fingers, beautiful."

I whimper when he sinks another finger into me and begins to pump in and out. My breathing grows heavier and I throw my head back on his shoulder as he moves into me.

I feel his beard scratch into my neck. I feel his teeth graze lightly into my skin. His fingers languidly move in and out of me, even as I clench my thighs together. He makes no move to part them, and in truth, it doesn't hinder his movements at all.

I feel his tongue dart out on my neck, "I want to taste you."

I slowly lift my head from his shoulder just as he pulls his hand away from my thighs and brings his fingers into his mouth. I feel sobered by his action, taken aback by how filthy it was yet how eagerly he did it.

The next thing I know, he pulls back and lets my body fall in a space between his thighs. He quickly undoes his trousers. After, he pushes me onto my feet, and grips my hips. He rather impatiently rips up my skirts and I feel my thighs shake when he grips my bare flesh.

He pulls me back down on him, and I mewl when I feel his hardened length slip clumsily between my thighs, not yet entering me. I settle on him; the sensation of his clothes on my skin makes my belly roll.

"Fuck," he growls, as my thighs instinctively clamp around him. Sandor is unable to withhold the bucking of his hips.

When he does this, pleasure, crackling like embers, tingle up my body.

"Open up," he hisses, one hand coming between my legs, "I have to be inside you. I have to come inside, have to come inside your weeping cunny."

"Sandor," I whine as I slowly part my legs.

"I know, pretty squirrel. You're so worked up, for me," he breathes against my ear then nips at my lobe, "so fucking eager."

A drawn out whine escapes my lips when he sheathes himself into me.

He wastes no time in moving. I end up squeaking as he braces me against him and firmly thrusts upward into me.

My cries grow louder as his arms tighten beneath my breasts. I feel his hand knead one breast, but it doesn't last very long.

I am throttled onto my chest and pressed down on the sheets. Sandor lifted me up like I was nothing and adjusted me on the edge of the bed.

I'm barely on my tiptoes, as most of my weight was shifted on my spine from of how my husband was hoisting me up to cater to himself.

His movements quickly pick up the pace, and our position becomes reminiscent of the time he had me like this once before, only this time, his one hand was rubbing my scarred hip and he was much more vocal.

"Look at you, all bent over and mine," he groans.

I nails dig into the sheets.

"I'm gonna fill you up. You're going to be so fucking full of me."

I squeal into the sheets. The idea drives me wild. I plead into the bed but I don't think he hears it.

Just as I felt something begin to build in me, he slows.

I open my eyes, not realizing I had closed them as Sandor drops one of my hips. I squeak when I feel him grab my shoulder and slowly turn me on my back.

My jaw drops; I breathe heavily through my mouth. Sandor looks down on me as his hands grip my sides. He pushes me upward and presses my legs by my ribs

He slowly thrusts into me, hands working their way across my body. He rubs my thighs, my belly, my breasts. His brows furrow, "fuck. So fucking soft and warm."

He massages my breasts then works his way up to my shoulders. His one hand rubs my neck before clutching my jaw. His other hand slides back down my hips. I whine when his thumb rubs circles around my sensitive nub. It makes my toes curl.

He sighs, "so fucking beautiful."

I whimper when his other thumb swipes my lips. I find myself licking at it. It makes him groan and buck into me faster.

I push my head back and arch my spine, "fuck- Sandor."

Both his hands land on my hips. He digs his nails into my flesh and begins to move deeper. Eventually, he sinks one hand down by the side of my head for support. My hands latch onto his hips.

"Come for me, pretty girl," he groans, "I'm not gonna last much longer."

I tug at his clothes.

"Be a good girl and come all over my cock, mmm. I want to feel you tighten around me-- get all messy and wet and loud and," he gives deliberate thrusts, "so fucking beautiful."

I whine, "Sandor, I want- I want to-"

I begin to tighten and shake against him. My legs wrap around him and my hands cling onto him for dear life. I find it futile to conceal my sounds, as I cannot find the strength to shut my mouth as I ride the feeling of bliss.

With a loud cuss, Sandor rams into me as deeply as he can. His movements are rough and slow. Both of his hands secured on my waist as he spills his seed into me.

I can feel him throb and can feel myself dripping with warmth.

Sandor takes his time, really drawing out the feeling before slowly coming to a halt. He lets out a final moan when he does stop then takes a deep breath.

I look at him as he closes his eyes and straightens up. My body burns when he looks down at me through hooded eyes and rubs my body again. He enjoys rubbing my breasts the most.

My hands come to his arms, and that seems to stop him.

I am about to tell him not to stop, but he speaks before I can, "wrap your legs round me."

In truth, I didn't have to do anything as he wraps my legs around himself and picks me up in his arms. I hook my feet around each other and am careful not to touch his blistered back as my hands go to his shoulders.

Sandor crawls up the bed with me clinging onto him; I feel the strength in his muscles as he moves. He sets me down on the pillows. He arranges one under my head and brings one beside me.

He looks at me for a moment then whispers, "I'm going to pull away now."

He waits for me to respond before doing anything.

In truth, the thought of him pulling away from me makes my body ache with sadness, but I slowly nod anyway.

I close my eyes as Sandor gently draws away from me. My emotions immediately overcome me in my vulnerable state. I rub my eyes when I feel tears build behind my lids. Sandor fixes my skirt and gathers my legs together. I feel him take the pillow beside me and stuff if bellow my bum.

"This will help keep my spend from dripping out."

His explanation makes my body burn.

I feel Sandor shuffle beside the bed and I hear him fixing his clothing.

I clench my jaw, dreading what I knew exactly was to come next.

I open my eyes when he calls my name. I look at him pathetically, noticing how his skin glowed with sweat, the last evidence that he was ever in me beyond his untucked shirt.

He reaches out to me and I really don't want to take his hand knowing he'll leave me after, so I don't.

I have no idea why he still grabs my hand. The action feels like a betrayal. He rubs my knuckles before kissing them. I chew my lip, feeling wronged over the fact he has never kissed my lips and probably never will.

"I will be leaving now," he mutters.

His words gut me, as always.

I rip my hand out of his and turn away from him, "very well."

Sandor knits his brows at the sharp withdrawal. He was gentle was he not? Still, he's being turned away.

His mouth goes dry. He slowly steps back, "I..."

I turn my body away from him. I draw in a deep breath and try to make my voice as even as possible, "thank you, Sandor."

Sandor flinches. He steps back some more, "I-I'll bring your dogs here for company."

I chuckle dryly. Company. My voice breaks, "I'm tired."

Sandor's mouth twitches. He backs all the way up to the door, "I'll let you rest then."

I cover my face with my arm and hum in agreement, not trusting myself to speak anymore.

The moment I hear the click of the door, I begin to sob. I whine as his words replay in my head. How could he tell me such things, call me beautiful and say he wants me, then leave me right after? How could he touch me like that then want nothing to do with me?

I pull the pillow from underneath my head and wail into it.

Sandor, who couldn't find it in himself to step away from the door, decides not to walk back in when he hears the crying. His belly curdles with self-loathing. He feels like he's going to choke because of how hurt the noise sounded, nevermind how lovely it was seconds ago; it meant for nothing.

He walks away trying to figure out where he went wrong. He relives every touch, every sound in his memory. His eyes water when he comes to the dreadful realization it must have been horrible being with him. He forced his wretched looks onto an unwilling witness.

He gulps as he sniffles and wipes his face in frustration. He feels like walking into the forest, never to be seen again, but then he steps out to the garden and hears small barking sounds. He looks at the three pups, playing with the boys, who should have been training, and feels his heart twist.

He finds himself imagining what the scene would've been like if Daisy was here... if his pretty squirrel-- he shuts the thought away.

I knock on Sandor's office door and enter when he tells me to come in.

He looks up, does a double take, then immediately stops doing whatever it was he was doing. He clears his throat, "Lady Clegane."

His words pierce through me. He's never called me that before. I close the door and walk towards him, "Lord husband. Good morrow to you. Where is Andrew?"

His shoulders tense, "he... should be here any minute."

I nod as I halt in front of his desk, "he has gotten good enough at reading and balancing coin, I hope?"

Sandor sighs, "yes."

I notice the crumbs on his beard, then I notice a plate on his desk. He must have broken fast here. I fidget with my fingers and wipe my chin, hoping he would get the message. He doesn't. I decide not to note on it and simply get to the point, "maester Yannick said your wounds have dried up, and that if you liked, you could go on your rounds again."

Sandor nods and straightens in his chair, "I think I'll start once I'm confident in the bloke balancing our coin."

I nod slowly and link my hands together, "alright," I shift in my spot and turn to the door.

I look back at him and feel my body burn under his scrutiny. I offer a smile, "that is all I wanted to say," I rub my hands together, "-wanted to check on you."

I gasp when he jumps out of his chair.

I clutch my chest and stare at him. He had an arm raised and reached out to me. It dawns on me he said something but it was too quick for me to catch.

I release a breath, "pardon?"

Sandor lowers his hand, rolls his shoulders back, and clears his throat, "I... I asked how you're doing."

It takes me a few moments to realize the meaning of his words. I shift and my spot and rub my chest. I feel my neck burn when he further clarifies his question.

"Yesterday, when we... bedded, I didn't hurt you, did I?"

I draw out a deep breath and smile softly, "you were... gentle with your touches."

Sandor is unsatisfied.

I aimlessly look around, "and, anyway, I am not as fragile as you think."

He purses his lips and tilts his head. He takes a moment before speaking, and when he does, he does so hesitantly, "I was afraid I made my pretty wife weep again."

I instinctively let out a laugh, but it was clearly unamused and pained. I feel like I was being scorched alive when I look at him looking at me. I shake my hands, suddenly in denial, "no, I was quite satisfied!"

Sandor's eyes widen a fraction.

Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. What am I saying?

He blinks twice and wipes his mouth. Finally his crumbs fall off. He mutters, "that's... good."

I release my final chuckle. He turns to his desk, fixes some things, then looks back to me. He looks like he means to smile but he doesn't, "I'm glad."

He slowly sits down afterwards.

I feel like I'm being weighed down by anchor.

That was it. That was the conversation.

Sandor is no longer looking at me. He shuffles the paper into a file and I slowly begin to feel the air around us thicken.

He sets the parchment down and darts his eyes to me. He purses his lips again and I catch the way his face twitches. He opens his mouth and slowly points to the door, "if that's all... I would not keep you."

I don't know why I laugh again, but I do. It's not even funny. I feel like being stabbed would have been better, more amusing at this point. I curtsy at him and shuffle backwards, "of course. I do not mean to keep you either."

Sandor feels sick. He clenches his fists and turns to his desk. He breathes in deeply, trying not to rile himself up any more than he already was. Gods knew he would use all his strength to keep this room locked.

I walk towards the door and turn the knob. I feel a wave of tears threatening to spill, and I slap my mouth when a squeak leaves me.

Sandor is immediately alerted. He looks up and pushes himself on the edge of the seat, "what?"

I turn to the ground and wipe my face. I take two seconds for myself then turn to him. I cover up with a chuckle, "I said... y-your beard."

Sandor immediately rubs his beard.

I chuckle louder, trying to convince myself that I actually found it funny, "you have crumbs on your beard."

Sandor looks at me like I grew another head.

I laugh enough that I actually start laughing at myself.

When I stop, the silence is loud.

Sandor clears his throat and cautiously asks, "you find that funny?"

My stomach drops when I see the red tinge of his ears. I walk up to his side and shake my head, "wait, no- I- I didn't mean it like that."

Sandor shakes his head and offers me a quick and small smile, "it's fine. I just wasn't expecting that from you," he looks back to his desk, "anyway, I'm used to it."

I feel like my entrails were being grinded.

A line forms in his brows, "I don't think I've ever heard you laugh before."

"I wasn't laughing at you!" I whimper under my breath. The air in my lungs begin to catch in my throat as I exhale, "I was just- I ju-"

Sandor turns to me, face slipping when he catches my teary eyes.

He stands and takes my shoulders.

I blink my tears away and smile in an attempt to calm myself. I am glad I do not shed a tear. I speak through a loud breath, "I'm just nervous when I'm around you!"

Sandor immediately releases me. He sighs through his nostrils, "scared, you mean."

I shake my head and take his shoulders, "nervous."

The Hound seizes up like there was a knife to his neck. I take a moment to look at him and pull back.

I cannot deny it hurt when he immediately steps away from me.

I really should have left at this point, but my mouth had a mind of its own. I furrow my brows and give him an earnest look, "I can trim your beard for you."

He steps back one last time, then looks at me as if I now had three heads.

I realize my mistake, "if-if you want me to. I'm not saying you should, I'm just offering to-"

"You want to do that for me?"

I turn to stone. I look around nervously, "mmm... o-only if you'd have it... ... my lord."

Sandor's face twitches. He sighs and slumps forward. He furrows his brows, "you'd be staring at my face the whole time."

I watch him as he rummages through his things.

My stomach rolls again and I step back, "ah... I see."

Sandor stops to look at me.

"If you do not feel comfortable, I will not..."

My words run dry when he pulls out shears. I watch him as he straightens up. He grips the tool in his hand, "it's you I'm worried about."

I look up at him, not knowing what to say.

"I don't mean to scare yo-"

"I'm not scared of you," I mutter.

Sandor stares at me. After a moment, he slowly takes my hand and hands me the shears, "maybe you should be."

My chest pounds at fleeting touch.

I cut his beard in the garden, as I didn't want to make a mess in his office.

He sits on the bench there.

The breeze blows at both our hair.

"You needn't touch me so gently, girl," he says, "it will take a lot of you to hurt me."

I do not change the manner in which I touch his cheek. I can feel Sandor looking at me, but I do not avert my attention away from his beard, "just because you do not hurt easily doesn't mean I cannot be gentle with you, Hound."

The Hound reaches out to my thighs when my foot rolls on a rock. I barely even fidget, but, still, he holds me in place to keep me from a potential fall. He does not release me. I gulp when I feel his thumb rub my skirt.

"You can hurt me if you like," he says.

I pull back and furrow my brows, "would you like that?"

He grinds his lower lip in his teeth. He debates for a moment and I decide to snip his mustache. I shush him when he tries to speak. He purses his lips tightly.

A moment passes with just the sound of cutting.

"I wouldn't want to cut your lips off," I shift in front of him, still ever so aware of his touch of my thighs, "you still need them to kiss."

I pull away to check if his mustache was straight. I notice his expression, dumbfounded, and continue snipping. I sigh, "that was a jest."

I pull away and again and move to the other side. Sandor still keeps his hands on me. He looks at me as I gently move his head.

I add, "I'm quite funny actually."

He chuckles lowly.

It makes my heart flutter.

He smiles, "oh, I don't doubt it, little girl."

I flatten my lips into a line, unsure if he was serious or not. I trim the hair by his jaw.

"You must like kissing then."

I freeze in my spot. I stop what I was doing, then continue, "what do you mean?"

He pulls his hands away. I watch him link them together and rest them on his lap. He shrugs, "you thought of kissing."

"Do you like kissing?"

I place a hand on my hip. He turns to me and shrugs again, "s'fine."

I furrow my brows and mimic his shrug, "well, you've never kissed me, so I wouldn't really know, would I?"

"You've never kissed a man before?"

"No," I impatiently respond, "I've kissed you, but you did not kiss me back," I take a few last cuts off his beard, "on our wedding day, remember?"

I see Sandor's look of disbelief when I finish and brush him off. Specks of hair fly off with the wind.

"You never kissed a little lord in secret as a little girl?"

"Only a big lord," I make a face, "as according to you I still am a little girl."

He stands from where he sat and peers down at me.

I purse my lips and cross my arms. I shrug, "point taken."

His brown eyes glimmer with confusion. I find myself raising my brows. Just as he is about to speak-

"MILORD, MILADY!"

We turn to the three young men walking over to us. I recognize them as Sandor's training apprentices. They push each other as I turn and smile at them.

"Good morn', lady!" Harry says, bowing exaggeratedly at me, "your dress is very rambunctious."

I furrow my brows at his words and find myself chuckling, "uhhh, thank you?"

Sandor raises his brows and curls his lips.

Daniel slaps Harry behind the head, "YOU MUG, D'YA KNOW WHAT YOU SAID, EVEN?"

Harry hisses and shoves Daniel, "DON'T HIT ME!"

Daniel gets shoved again when he incidentally elbows Richard, "OI, WATCH IT!"

The boys begin to quarrel.

I step back before they can accidentally hit me, in turn, knocking my back into Sandor's.

"Enough!" the Hound barks, making the three brothers, or at least they acted like that, stop and turn to him.

My eyes widen at the sound of the Hound telling the boys off. I watch each of them tense as their Lord Clegane goes on a whole speech about biting off more than they can chew, and that, "if you lot want to act all tough around me, know I'll knock all three of your egg-heads with my hands tied."

I turn to the Hound, "Sandor."

He lets out a deep breath then eyes the three before him, "fuck off."

The boys immediately scram.

I bend over and grip my hips as I catch my breath. Lucy laughs at me as she beckons the puppies over with a stick. They come running over then she throws the stick for them to chase.

I huff, "these pups will be the death of me."

Lucy snorts, "and here I thought you wanted children."

I glare at her as the three small dark furred creatures begin to chase her around the garden as she runs. I call out in offence, "I do!"

Lucy runs over to me, "well, don't you know babes are far worse that this!"

She giggles when she grabs my shoulders and uses me as a shield for the dogs. Though I was still winded, I laugh with her as the puppies prance around me. I grab Lucy's arm and begin to wrangle with her, "at least my babes will learn to speak. These pups know no sense!"

Lucy pushes me forward, encouraging me, "no, no, go on, s'your time to run, milady!"

I whine, "I really can't, Lucy."

"Oh, come on, lovie, you used to be full of energy! You're actin' as old as maester Yannick."

I hold back a laugh and shoot Lucy a look.

She shoots one back, "what? Did I lie?"

"Girls."

Lucy and I stop and turn to whom spoke. Sandor looks at us the way he always did, scrutinizing and serious.

I straighten up and nod in regard, "my lord."

Sandor sighs and looks away with annoyance. Wind blows his hair, adding effect to his expression. He looks down when the puppies begin to run towards him. They stand on their hind legs, pant, and bark. I swear I saw his exterior break into fondness.

But then he looks at me and it's all gone, "this came for you." He holds out a letter to me between his fingers, "I don't recognize the house sigil."

I walk up to him, smoothening my skirt out, then take the letter. I look at the wax seal for only a second then open the letter.

Sandor watches me raise my brows. He chuckles.

Lucy watches Sandor smile softly before purposefully frowning.

I look up at my husband, "it's from house Alistair."

Sandor's face scrunches up, "never heard of it."

I huff and delay my response to stop the puppies from chewing at the Hound's trousers. Sandor watches as I do this and gently shakes the puppies away. He takes my arm, preventing me from bending down, "I don't mind. They're just pups."

I give him a look, "if I don't stop them now when they're tiny, nothing will stop them when they're big."

Sandor watches as I sternly tell off the puppies and shoo them away. He chuckles at it, but then freezes when Lucy chuckles as well. The two make eye contact. Sandor doesn't have time to react.

"Cedric."

He turns to me, face contorting, "what?"

The puppies run off and Lucy runs along with them. I continue to explain, "Cedric is from House Alistair. You know, the lord that gave us a place to stay. You called him pretty bo-"

"I remember the fucker," he snaps.

I tense.

The Hound's nostrils flare, "what does he want?"

Suddenly, the letter in my hand feels heavy. I shrug, "he's invited us to his nameday celebration."

Sandor scoffs, "you mean he's invited you."

I release a frustrated huff when he begins to walk away. I follow after him and open the letter. I clear my throat and read aloud, "Fair greetings to Brown Wood, the home of House Clegane. May this letter find you in good spirits and health."

Sandor rolls his eyes as he walks back inside. He makes no haste, but I do, in order to keep up with him. I continue, "Seven days from now, I, Cedric Alistair, will be celebrating my--"

"I don't fucking care, little girl," he stops in his tracks and turns to me.

I nearly collide with him, but I gladly don't. I purse my lips and continue anyway, skipping to the part that holds my point, "if the Lord and Lady Clegane be so courteous in taking time out of their day to attend my feast, I would gladly-"

"Do you want to go, squirrel?"

I look up at him, blinking at the sight of his stern expression. I have to say, the omission of the word pretty for his petname made it feel... wrong. I clutch the letter by my belly, "he hosted us, me, Lucy... Daisy, even you, when we had nowhere to go. I think it only proper to attend his nameday to show appreciation and respect."

Sandor's eye twitches. He looks away and sighs.

I chew my lower lip, "he was kind to us, Sandor. I only mean to-"

"Fine," he cuts me off, "but if he touches you," he walks off, "I'm going to kill him."

His statement make my stomach churn. I cannot for the life of me understand what the intent of his words are. I chase after him again, "what if he asks me to dance with him?"

Sandor chuckles dryly, "a fine reason to chop him up."

He stops when I grab his arm. He looks at my hand on his bicep then gives me a look as I say, "you cannot kill him."

Sandor places his hand atop mine, "then don't fucking dance with him."

He squeezes my hand but it is not rough at all. It's gentle and extremely warm. He doesn't even try to pry my grip off, in fact, it's like he was tightening it on hm. My lips part and my body begins to burn.

I then realize when he was close enough for me to feel his breathing that he had been leaning in. I catch the way his eyes dart down to my mouth. I find myself slowly pressing my lips together.

I close my eyes when Sandor comes close to my cheek. I swear I felt my heart leap into my mouth when he pressed his face against mine.

He draws in a deep breath then sighs, "have you ever seen a hound share?"

The silence between us is deafening.

"Hmm?" he hums.

I open my mouth but nothing but mindless sounds leave me.

"I don't even think your pups do that."

My breath catches in my throat when he I feel his beard and his lips press gently against the crook of my neck.

Then the next moment, he releases me and pulls away like nothing happened.

We stare at each other for the longest second of my life. I feel like I'm on fire. What's worse is that I don't think he realizes just how affected I am, or actually... maybe it was good he couldn't tell I was dying inside.

"Still," he nods, "a dog is a dog and I will do as my master commands."

I feel light headed when he walks away.

I clutch my belly and walk to the nearest surface for support. I rub my neck, wondering if that really just happened.

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moonstrider9904 · 6 months

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That Old Song

Pairing: Crosshair x Female Reader

Summary: After pining after him for months, you get the chance to see Crosshair one more time before he ships out with his squad to Kaller.

Tags: SFW. Kissy-kiss, pre-relationship, general softness, implied tragic romance

Word count: 1693 words

Read on AO3 | My one-shot masterlist

This one was inspired by That Old Song from the Slime Rancher soundtrack because it gives me tragic romance vibes and even though I always wanna give Crosshair a happy ending, I really felt inspired to explore the more tragic side of canon because we all know what happens to him by this point (and season 3's not even over lol Lord help us)

The sky turned purple as the sun on Anaxes began to set. The warm toned twilight would always bring a sense of foreboding with it, but you were used to it. The hangar on Anaxes was not a front line, but it was still a warzone, and war didn't discriminate. It took away, it destroyed, it forced goodbyes, but like the stars that were rising in the ever-darkening sky, there were always gleams of hope that traced finer, beautiful shapes if you knew how to look for them.

He was such a glimmer, at least to you.

You hadn't stepped a foot inside the base since the Havoc Marauder landed. Though repairs and refueling were insistently handled by the team's own engineer, you had the honor of being the only mechanic around whom Tech would even allow to set a finger on the hull of the modified Omicron-class attack shuttle. While he was off running diagnostics and the rest of the squad loaded up on rations, you were finishing up putting away the supplies you'd needed for a standard oil change. You caught the scent of the oil coming from your gloves, which you carefully removed to reveal your hands, the skin on them soft and surprisingly well taken care of despite your profession. At that moment, you could hear the subtle pacing behind you, and a gentle smile formed on your lips. You'd had so many encounters with them that, while short, had already allowed you to recognize how each of the defective clones walked - you'd gotten the chance to know such a detail from many clone battalions, but you didn't enjoy knowing any of them as much as you did for Clone Force 99.

The steps approaching you were light as a feather resulting in lifelong training for stealth, and long resulting in a tall silhouette. Carefully paced one after the other, you knew he was already smirking at the sight of you. It was simply who he was.

You turned around and your eyes landed on the silver hair and the deep brown eyes that would reflect sunlight so beautifully whenever a golden ray hit them just right - that was the only thing that made you yearn for sunshine in the middle of that twilight. Regardless, you couldn't help but grin at the man approaching you. Being in his presence was everything that occupied your thoughts when he was gone.

"Thought you'd be here," he said while chewing on a toothpick.

The giggle that left you was just a bit too obvious for your taste, but you muscled through it. "Aren't you smart."

"I hope you haven't been here all week," he teased. "I don't tell you when I'll be here in my letters for you to tie yourself to the hangar."

"It might surprise you to know I'm always exactly where I need to be," you smirked, your hands traveling to your hips. "I just happen to be needed here right now."

Crosshair, who was always so stern and so serious, let out a chuckle in front of you. The way others talked about him, even his brothers, you were already sure by then that you were one of the only people he ever did that around, and the low sound of his laughter and the way his chest fluttered when he did made you feel your knees giving out on you. Finally, Crosshair took a couple of calculated steps toward you, decreasing some of the distance between the two of you. He looked down at you, silent for a moment, so peaceful you could hear the wind blowing at your sides. Despite the cool breeze, all you could feel on your skin was heat.

"Have you heard the rumors?" You asked him.

Crosshair nodded, the seriousness returning to his face. "Yeah. War's ending soon."

Sarcasm flooded his previous remark, and you gave him a bittersweet smile. "You don't seem all that happy about it."

"It's not that," Crosshair replied. "I'm not in a position to assert or expect anything."

"Right," your mind went back to your initial pondering on the cruelties of war, but you decided to focus on the man in front of you. "Will you be headed to Coruscant?"

Crosshair shook his head. "We're needed on Kaller."

"Oh," you said. "I see. Kaller... snowy, full of clankers."

"My specialty," Crosshair purred.

You giggled. "So... maybe it's safer to say that I'll see you again soon?"

As you were talking to him, you inched closer to Crosshair. Your hands were down at your sides, but you couldn't help but notice how close his hands were to yours, and how easy it would be to reach out and touch his gloved fingers with your bare ones. What you hadn't realized up until that moment, even with all the letters and the hours you'd spent thinking about Crosshair, was how desperately you needed to hold him, and to be held by him.

But Crosshair sighed, hesitant. "Darling..."

"We haven't been sending each other letters for months now just because," you whispered. "Have we?"

A faint smile appeared on his thin lips. "No."

Your own smile, though soft, grew at him, and your eyes seemed to sparkle.

"Crosshair..." You sighed, the dreaminess finding its way into your voice.

He couldn't help but laugh again. "Well, damn. You really are smitten."

Flustered, you looked away, but Crosshair reached out to gently hold your chin and have you look up at him again. He took in the way you were looking at him, with sparkling eyes and an adorable smile, your cheeks warm and your silhouette glowing with hope, like a girl first entranced by puppy love. Your hand went up to perch itself over his wrist, but as you did, your romantic heart stilled itself when the thought of him leaving soon bled into your mind, forcing the smile to slowly disappear from you.

"What is it?" He asked.

You chuckled bashfully. "I just..."

You feared the effect of your words, you feared that it would put a pressure on him that he didn't need, one that no soldier deserved to be burdened with. But inside you, a flame burned, one that prompted you to simply speak now, to not hold back, to not reduce yourself and your feelings to letters and comms. Crosshair, the man of your dreams, finally stood before you, his hand on your skin. You would never forgive yourself if you wasted this opportunity now that you had it.

Because how in the world could you have known what happened next?

"I just don't want you to leave," you whispered. "I never do."

Crosshair gave a soft exhale as he rolled the toothpick to the opposite corner of his lips and spat it out to the side only to look at you again, his gaze turning gentle on you. His other hand traveled up to your face, and now he cupped your cheeks with a steady, soft grip.

"Would it help if I told you I don't want to leave you here either?" He asked.

You smiled softly. "It's nice to know that."

Your eyes met, and you were overtaken by the desire to collapse in his arms and become one with him. You valued each second you'd been gifted to look at his face; your gaze traced the tattoo over his right eye, memorizing the little textures where the ink seemed to falter - you'd never noticed it wasn't a solid line, it looked like it'd been drawn over the artisanal canvas of his skin. You basked in his warmth as your hands reached out to his waist, and you pulled yourself closer to him, and while you did, part of you wanted to curse and lash out at the fact that you hadn't done this sooner.

But you were there now, and that was enough to calm you. And if the war was ending, you wanted to cling to the hope that you'd be in the arms of your beloved again soon.

"Crosshair?" You asked.

With his gaze, he prompted you to continue.

"I..." you said. "I want to kiss you."

Crosshair didn't wait longer, and he slowly lowered himself to gently press his lips to yours. You felt as if every star in the sky above you would explode at that moment, and your arms slid up around Crosshair's shoulders while his slid around your waist. A kiss that started out softly didn't hesitate to become what you could only describe as romance itself, fully engulfing you both in one wavelength as your lips danced together, timeless in your own right. Softly, you moaned at his taste, and you vowed never to forget the sensation of his lips on yours, warm and intoxicating, like it would give you everything you'd ever need for the rest of your days.

You never wanted it to end, but the time came for Crosshair to set you down again. You hadn't even noticed when you'd started to stand on your toes, but when the soles of your feet were back on the ground, you looked up at him with hope, with love, and with the unspoken desire to scream "don't go" building up and eating you up inside.

With all those feelings in your gaze, looking at you nearly broke Crosshair's heart.

Your hands gently traveled to Crosshair's cheeks and you felt his stubble growing in beneath your fingertips. You gave a light chuckle and added that detail to the many you'd remember from that night, and finally, you smiled brightly at Crosshair.

"Let me know where you end up after Kaller," you said.

Crosshair smiled softly. "You know I will."

You knew it would be time for him to leave soon, so you resolved to be with him in the time you had left. You threw your arms around Crosshair and held him tighter than you'd ever held anyone. You didn't mind the armor under your soft body, all that mattered was you were holding him.

And fervently, during those last few moments, you prayed neither Kaller nor whatever came after it would take him away from you.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

#moonstrider writes #tbb crosshair x reader #tbb crosshair x you #crosshair x reader #tbb crosshair #tbb reader insert #the bad batch fanfic #tbb fanfic #the bad batch fanfiction #crosshair #clone force 99 #the bad batch #tbb x reader #the bad batch x reader #crosshair x you #tbb

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nerdanel01 · 3 months

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Emmrich Fics

Figured I'd put all these in one pinned post, since this is what I'll probably be working on for the near future! Linking below the series of one-shots I've been working on, which detail my F!Rook's background working with Emmrich in the Mourn Watch in the years leading up to DA:TV. [Author's Note] 1. Thrown In The Deep End - Rook's first day in the Mourn Watch with her new mentor, Emmrich Volkarin. Things don't go as planned. 2.5k+

2. Annum - Rook's first workiversary, 2k+

3. Guard - Emmrich is gravely wounded in the Necropolis. Rook handles it about as well as you'd expect. 5k+

4. Substitutionary Satisfaction - Rook unravels a bit after sharing a tent with Emmrich in the Necropolis. 4k+. **18+ for sexual fantasy and explicit sexual content

5. Exquisite - Rook tries to find some way to express to Emmrich what he means to her. 2.5k+ 6. Death - When Rook is wounded while patrolling the Necropolis, Emmrich is forced to take drastic measures to protect her. 1.5k+

7. Tipsy - Rook and Emmrich share a night at the opera. Emmrich POV, 2k+

8. Appearances - A chance conversation with Myrna yields some unexpected revelations. Emmrich POV, 1.5k+

9. All Things Go, All Things Grow - Changes are happening in the Mourn Watch. Rook doesn't take them so well. 4k+ 10. All Things Go, All Things Grow Pt. II - Emmrich contends with the consequences of his decisions. Emmrich POV, 3k+ 11. Dilemma - The more things change, the more they stay the same. Emmrich POV, 5k+

__________ .....and one-shots, because I can't be stopped, I guess.

You Who Know What Love Is - @racheloleo asked if Emmrich ever fantasized about Agnes. Emmrich POV, 4k+ 18+ for explicit sexual content.

Horrors - Lord Halkias makes the long journey to Nevarra City to inter his wife in the Necropolis. Although Johanna Hezenkoss tries her best, she cannot conceal his arrival from Emmrich. 3.5k+ When We Were Young - Things don’t always work the way they used to when you are older. Rook assures Emmrich that’s just fine by her. Emmrich POV, 1.5k+, strongly implied sexual content

Caught - Emmrich POV, 1k+, 18+ for explicit sexual content.

From This Day Forward - Emmrich and Rook consider what will come next after the Veilguard's mission is complete. Emmrich POV, 1.5k+ Aostrolf's Weed - After an unexpected discovery in the Necropolis, Emmrich and Rook are forced to contend with their feelings for each other. *AU, Pre-Veilguard, Mourn Watch origin Rook 20k+ wc, 18+ for explicit sexual content, available by AO3 link only

Love Is A Stranger - Multi-chaptered fic that pics up where Aostrolf's Weed leaves off.

Exquisite, Pt. II - Emmrich is reunited with Rook when he joins the Veilguard, but that reunion is somewhat less warm that he would have hoped. Emmrich POV, 2k+ __________

For anyone looking for the former pinned post with my Solas fics, they can be still be found at my Solas Masterpost, here.

#I may be wildly mischaracterizing him and setting myself up for a very disorienting experience when I actually play the game but you know w #i'm having fun #i have been working on that chaptered fit for so long I forgot how much fun one-shots were #emmrich volkarin #dragon age emmrich #emmrich the necromancer #dragon age fanfic

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fuctacles · 6 months

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Every inch of you is perfect

For @subeddieweek Day 2 | T | 1591 | t4t, transfem Stevie, transmasc Eddie, bathing, Mommy kink, FLUFF, established relationship | Ao3 Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Ao3

And while you're here, may i interest you in @stevieweek ?

The sound of a whimper leads Stevie to the bathroom. The doors aren't locked, so she steps in, and finds her boyfriend submerged up to his neck in foam. She pats herself on the back for keeping track and being prepared this time. Gently, she knocks on the door to alert him of her presence.

Eddie looks up with sunken eyes.

"I hate this," he groans instead of a greeting. Stevie doesn't blame him.

"I know, baby." She steps properly inside and threads her fingers through Eddie's damp locks. She drops a soft kiss to his temple while massaging his scalp. "I got painkillers, ginger tea, and some brownies. I'll bring them in a second. Need anything else?"

"Don't go," Eddie protests.

"I'll put on the water, and I'll be right back," she promises, but stays for an extra minute to scrape her nails behind his ears. Regardless, Eddie makes a sound of protest when she tries to leave.

"Hey." Stevie's tone is gentle when she grasps his chin, more of a reminder than actual scolding. Eddie opens his eyes to let her know he's listening. "You're a big boy. You can wait for five minutes, can't you?"

"I can." Eddie nods petulantly.

"Good," Stevie squeezes his chin and leans down to give him a peck. "Do you want some music, baby?"

"I do."

Stevie pulls out her phone and finds Eddie's metal ballads playlist she has saved on her Spotify. She sets it on the windowsill to play.

"I'll be right back," she promises before stepping out. She leaves the door open so he can hear her moving around the kitchen, and he closes his eyes, knowing she'll take care of him.

He hears her come back, and yet the cold hand on his cheek startles him.

"Sorry, baby. Got you some Tylenol. Open up."

He opens his mouth without hesitation and lets her drop the pill on his tongue, followed by a glass of water pressed to his lips to wash down the medication. His hands stay under the foamy surface through the whole process.

"Perfect. You're so perfect, baby."

Despite the pain, Eddie smiles at the praise, eyes fluttering open.

"Wanna be good for you."

"You always are," Stevie reassures him, pecking him on the lips. She moves a stray piece of hair behind his ear. "Can I join you?"

Eddie makes a face.

"Uh, I don't know. The water is kind of gross."

"Nothing is gross about you, baby," Stevie reminds him gently. "We probably need to change it anyway," she muses, dipping her hand under the foam. "Yup. Can you pull the plug for me, honey?"

Reluctantly, Eddie nods.

"Good. I'll get your tea and snacks, and I'm right back."

This time Eddie doesn't protest. He's got a mission to focus on, draining the bloody water to make room for his girlfriend. He watches the foam slowly lower, settling partially on his naked body. On the meat vessel that betrayed him once again.

Stevie comes back with the stool they often used as a makeshift side table, and settles a plate of chocolates and brownies on top of it.

"Did you get Reese's?" he asks, peeking at the snacks.

"Course I did. Who do you take me for?" She raises an eyebrow, blowing at the steaming mug in her hands. It's Eddie's Lord of the Rings one, an old convention find.

"Can I?" he asks, eyes focused on the plate.

"They are for you, sweetheart, you don't have to ask."

"Thanks, Mommy."

Stevie smiles at the endearment. It's been coming more and more naturally for him to call her that, and it made her chest bloom with love and affection. Each time got her closer to proposing.

She blows at the tea some more and takes a careful sip before handing it to Eddie.

"Here. It's cool enough to drink. Don't make that face," she adds after he scrunched his nose. "I added the raspberry syrup from Robin."

He takes the mug, sniffs its contents, and takes a sip.

“It's not bad bad, I guess,” he decides. “Thank you, Mommy.”

"You're welcome, sweetie. Now let me fix that bath for us."

She reaches for the shower rod and while Eddie drinks his ginger raspberry tea, she rinses off the leftover foam before plugging the drain and letting it fill with hot water again. Eddie watches her curiously as she walks to the cabinet and reaches for the highest shelf.

"Ooh, are we doing a bath bomb?"

They had a couple stashed somewhere for their relaxing baths together. Stevie liked getting the fancy ones and Eddie liked to look the other way when he saw their prices.

Stevie hums in affirmation.

"Got a special one just for you. You're going to love it."

"Thanks, I'm already making my own bloody water."

"Cheeky, aren't we?" She looks down at him with a raised eyebrow. He bites back the bratty smile. "You'll have to wait and see." She puts the bath bomb aside and starts undressing. Eddie watches the movements of her fingers, transfixed. "Keep drinking your tea, baby," she speaks up without looking.

Eddie takes a loud sip, watching Stevie’s top fall to the floor. Her jeans follow, and he sighs, resting the hot mug against his cheek.

"So pretty."

Stevie smiles at the compliment. Her boy called her the sweetest things, and it always worked. She was proud of her looks, but his words were what made her feel truly beautiful and feminine.

"Thank you, baby. Are you done drinking?"

"Yes." He takes one last sip and shows her the empty mug.

"Good job, sunshine." She takes the mug from him and puts it away. "Do you want me behind you or on the other side?" she asks, pulling off her socks.

Eddie considers his body and asks if it wants to be touched, and what it needs.

"Wanna see you," he decides.

"Okay." Stevie nods. She ties up her hair and Eddie watches her arm muscles flex. He can't wait for his period to be over so he can get pinned down by them and thrown over her broad shoulder. He sighs at the thought, and his train of thought must be obvious because Stevie smirks when she reaches to remove her bra. Eddie loves her tits too. Being suffocated between them was his favorite thing. He loved all of his girlfriend, her curves and muscles, her breasts, and her dick. Every inch of her was perfect. And he meant every inch.

Her clothes are in a pile on the floor and so is Eddie, except he's in the bathtub, suffering. He almost forgot, but another relentless cramp helpfully reminded him.

Stevie grabs the bath bomb before stepping into the bath with him. Eddie watches the steam cling to her skin in a wet sheen and tries to distract himself from the pain with the goddess in front of him.

She sits down and water licks the tub’s edge, threatening to spill, so she quickly turns the tap off. She scoots closer until their shins cross under the water, and reaches out to gently caress her boyfriend’s leg, knee to ankle.

"Ready?" she asks, hovering the bath bomb over the surface. Eddie nods, finally tearing his gaze away from her and to her hand and the little gift. The bath bomb is big and white, innocent-looking. It could be anything.

She lowers it into the water and thick black clouds start emerging from her hand. Eddie makes an excited sound, his hand flying under the water to reach the fizzing blackness quickly filling their tub.

"Well, that's a manly bath bomb."

Stevie bursts out laughing. She drops the bomb to do its thing and reaches up for her boyfriend's face.

"You're manly," she says, finally giving him a proper kiss. "How are you doing?"

"Better now," he admits.

They watch the water fizz and bubble until the bath bomb completely dissolves. The water is inky black, except for the extra shine of silver dusting on the surface. Eddie threads his fingers through it, reveling in the thick black color of the water, letting the silver sparkles settle on his skin.

They feed each other sugary treats and exchange soft kisses until the water cools, no longer bringing relief to the aching muscles. Only then do they wash each other properly, Stevie moving behind him to massage shampoo into his scalp.

"You want dinner on nap first?" she asks softly. However, based on her boyfriend’s droopy eyes, she could probably guess herself.

"Nap," Eddie answers without hesitation.

So she wraps him up in his fluffy black towel and helps him dry off. He doesn't protest the pampering, getting conditioner rubbed into his hair, or getting it brushed. When he's about ready to go to the bedroom, Stevie lifts him without warning. He yelps, grasping her shoulders.

"I can walk myself!" Then he protests. But Stevie presses her lips to his surgery scars and walks out of the bathroom with Eddie in her arms.

"My baby boy isn't walking anywhere today."

She sets him down on the bed, where his special boxers are already waiting, and bats his hand away when he tries to reach for them. She grabs the underwear herself and holds it for him to step into.

He does so, despite the embarrassment reddening his cheeks. She slides them up his legs and lets the elastic slap against his skin. He huffs, slapping her hands away while she snickers.

"Come on, let's go to sleep."

@stevieweek

#subeddieweek #sub eddie munson #cj x subeddieweek #sub eddie week #steddie #mine #t4t steddie #stevie harrington #transmasc eddie munson #transfem steve harrington #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fanfiction #transfem stevie harrington #transfeminine steve harrington #stevierything

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coolshadowtwins · 6 months

Text

SVSSS YQY Fan Fic Round up!

Ok, I finally have them all together! Please enjoy these fanfics, and if you have any to recomend that's not on here, feel free to say! I'll add it later!

First off, The YQY Weekend 2023 AO3 collection and The QiJiu Week 2023 I'm going to recommend as the entire pages! Great places to go find a fanfic to enjoy! Some might be double recomanded, but some should be unique!

Mouse On The Thorn by Lbhs_left_tiddie

On a mission, Yue Qingyuan comes across an omega child, who shares a name and a startling resemblance with his favourite shidi. Shen Qingqiu, however, denies knowing such a child, and make it very clear he wants nothing to do with him.

Without any family or home, Yue Qingyuan instead offers to take care of the child.

Palimpsest by Azzandra

Yue Qingyuan has one giant blindspot as a sect leader, and that's Shen Qingqiu.

But now a curse has made him forget Shen Qingqiu, and that changes some things.

gather jewels from graveyards by formerlyknives

When strange rumours reach Cang Qiong, Shen Yuan is a little slow to investigate.

He lives to regret it.

The number children by Angry_gremlin_commando

Ten-year-old Mobei Wu, fifth son of the current Mobei-Jun, gets stranded in the human realm after one of his uncle's murder attempts. There he meets fifteen-year-old Yue Qi, fresh out of Lingxi caves and on the way to rescue Shen Jiu.

It turns out even ice demons aren't immune to Yue Qi's Big Brother energy. (This author has a good number of stories to check out! Go look at them!!)

A smile for the master, a snarl for the wolves by Angry_gremlin_commando

Shen Qingqiu and his young disciple Luo Binghe qi-deviate at the same time and swap bodies. It makes them understand some things about each other.

To Plant a Garden by SweetTiramisu

Yue Qingyuan spends so long beneath the earth that he becomes a part of it. Perhaps Shen Qingqiu will plant a garden in him.

Written for Qijiu Week Day 2: Touch Starvation.

bite your way to safety by AMereDream

The Geese come at a time that neither Shen Jiu nor Yue Qi considers ideal. They make it work. (This author has so many good fics! Go read them! This is just the one I chose to put on this list!)

You Were You, And I Was I by MissMegh

Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan qi deviate and turn into their teenaged selves. They don't know who they become. They don't remember the worst moments of their lives. They only know they're together again.

Pretty soon everyone on Cang Qiong Mountain knows they are, too.

Our Sect Leader Is A Baby! by dryingmangoes

Yue Qingyuan gets deaged. Somehow this changes everything.

for day 2 of qijiu week blessing/curse

Treading Well-Worn Paths by mofumofu

After Shen Qingqiu married Luo Binghe, Yue Qingyuan thought his role in the man’s life was over.

However, as he carried the child-sized lord of Qing Jing Peak in his arms, he was grateful for this unexpected opportunity to bond with the person he cherished most.

Shen Yuan, meanwhile, wondered desperately where the hell he was.

hey, share the weight a little by Tossawary

Shang Qinghua is miserable as an outer disciple of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, doubtful that the plot will ever begin, when he finally runs into his first character. Yue Qingyuan is only a boy in desperate need of a helpful friend. Well, why shouldn't Shang Qinghua be that friend? A little investment now when they're young and Shang Qinghua might just be able to survive this world with the support of a sect leader.

It's definitely not because he's also in desperate need of a friend.

(He's definitely not expecting love.)

you're my number one by pennydaniels

Yue Qingyuan is granted a chance to have his heart's deepest desire made real by a mysterious goddess living in a small sect's private temple.

The Evening by kat8cha

Yue Qingyuan wakes up, he gets dressed, he goes to work, he goes to the gym, he goes to a party.

He pays people to tell him what to wear, people to tell him where to be, people to tell him what to do, and pays for someone else's engagement party.

A broken mirror restored by bunnyfication

Yue Qingyuan is hit over the head with the realization that he could ask Shen Qingqiu to marry him, Shen Qingqiu's suspicious mind cannot make sense of the sequence of events. Yue Qingyuan would never, would he? What is this, mind control??? (it's happiness, but neither of them has ever felt it before).

nobody, nobody told me by AMereDream

“Qingqiu-shidi,” he started. “Are you al—”

Xiao Jiu tugged, surprisingly strong for someone who had collapsed out of nowhere less than an hour before. Yue Qingyuan followed, partly out of surprise and partly because it was Xiao Jiu; of course he’d go wherever Xiao Jiu wanted him to be.

He found himself being dragged onto the bed, only the thin sheets separating him from Xiao Jiu's body. His breath caught in his chest, and he clenched his eyes shut.

Xiao Jiu's bony elbows dug into his chest, his thin — too thin, having skipped too many meals even for someone who didn’t need to eat — shoulders curved to meet Yue Qingyuan’s body.

His long hair tickled Yue Qingyuan’s face. He smelled like the honeyed soap he washed his hair with. Yue Qingyuan inhaled covertly, deep and greedy.

One morning, Shen Qingqiu woke up a changed man. Yue Qingyuan is left trying to figure out what happened to make him so relaxed and affectionate.

#svsss #svsss au #svsss fanfiction #yue qingyuan #shen jiu #shen qingqiu #qijiu #79 #yueshang #shang qinghua

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achaotichuman · 7 months

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Hello!!! I was wondering if you have recs for pro-Tamlin fics, fics where he gets a happy ending in general? Or where the Night Court get called out on their bullshit with a side of pro Tamlin bc I’d devour them but have a hard time finding them (I love your fics btw)

Sure do!

Pro Tam fics can be difficult to find. I found all of these scrolling through either the Tamlin redemption tag, or the different relationship tags on AO3.

I'll link all the fics here. I'll put all the summaries and the relationship that goes with them, if there is a relationship. This is a list of all my personal favorite Tamlin fics, but these creators make other amazing Tamlin fics, and scrolling the pro Tamlin tag can take you to some really cool fanfiction.

A Court of Threads and Daises by @shi-daisy. Tamlin/Lucien.

Tragedy almost struck the Spring Court when Tamlin Evergreen tried to take his own life. Lucien Vanserra manages to save his former Lord, but not his power.

Now that the Spring Court has a new High Lord and the horrors of war are behind them, both Tamlin and Lucien agree to help the new heir navigate court life and attempt to rebuild the broken Spring Court, along with healing themselves.

They weren't expecting to fall back in love in the process.

A Second Chance by @goforth-ladymidnight. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra. Modern ACOTAR AU – There is a reason that Tamlin disappeared from Lucien's life seven years ago. Lucien just doesn't know what it is. They were more than college roommates; they were best friends. Now, a chance encounter in a bookstore leaves both of them wondering if they can pick up where they left off. A new year is right around the corner, but there is no wiping Tamlin's slate clean. Featuring Jurian and Vassa in supporting roles, this is not a story of redemption, but of finding love—and forgiveness—in the most unlikely of places.

Lovely and Lonely by @praetorqueenreyna. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

"In hindsight, Lucien thinks he fell in love with Tamlin the moment he first laid eyes on him."

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

Lucien Vanserra must come to terms with his sexuality, and his complicated feelings for High Lord Tamlin.

Wildflower by @mathiwrites. Tamlin/Rhysand.

Five hundred years before Feyre’s arrival in Prythian, the humans fought against Faeries, led by the King of Hybern, for their Freedom. Tamlin is only seven years old when the war begins, but his family’s involvement and a fated friendship with a handsome young Lord from the Night Court will change his life forever. This is the story of how he becomes the High Lord you know and love, and the redemption story nobody asked for.

TL;DR - before they were enemies, they touched butts.

A Court of Beasts and Chances by M4r0u_Mar. Tamlin/Tarquin.

About a Beast who must be prince and a Prince who wants to be beast. About a Prince who learns of second chances and a Beast who learns of redemption. About looking for love and finding it in the journey rather than the destination.

Or the one where I rewrite ACOTAR to make Tamlin and Tarquin mates.

A Court of Choices Made by Anonymous. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra. Lucien decides to go after Tamlin to pick a fight after his first Winter Solstice with the Night Court.

I see red, I see nothing by AngryRamen. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra. Lucien travels to Amarantha’s domain to try and bid for peace between her and the courts of Prythian. It doesn’t go well.

Still Beautiful, Still Mine by @goforth-ladymidnight. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra. ACOTAR AU - In the weeks following his visit to Amarantha’s Court Under the Mountain, Lucien is still recovering from the loss of his eye. Nuan has made him a replacement out of gold, but the scars on his face are there to stay. When Tamlin comes to see him, Lucien cannot help but relive the events that brought them to this point, if only he could focus on what's standing right in front of him...

A Sunbeam Shining Bright Into the Night by @nocasdatsgay. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

After the Great Rite ritual is completed, Tamlin always goes back to the Manor to see if Lucien is waiting for him. This year he is.

Forbidden by @nocasdatsgay. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra. Calanmai has come once again, but Tamlin isn’t focused on the females waiting for him.

Breezing on by Sprighnt (SliPuP_Slit). Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

His focus was shattered when Feyre dropped onto the bench next to him with a dramatic sigh, “You won’t even say hi after you ditched us last week?”

Lucien rolled his eyes at her antics, “I didn’t ditch you, I was studying for math. The exam of a subject that I need days to prepare for, remember? I didn’t think you’d even notice me gone, what with all the ogling that takes up your time in our practices.”

“Shut up!” She shushed him, glancing around wildly for any eavesdroppers, “what if he heard you?”

——— Lucien has settled into a routine now. He’s finally able to go back to competing after an accident that had him wondering if he’d ever be able to skate competitively again, he’s out of his hellish childhood home, and has friends that make him happy.

By the Fountain by Sprighnt_(SliPuP_Slit). Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

Tamlin is tired of stuffy dinner parties, luckily, he has his best friend, Lucien, to make things more interesting.

———

Tamlin took the time to look at Lucien, who was staring at an elegant fountain nearby. He examined the dip of his nose, the scrunch of his brows, the slight part of his lips that indicated he was contemplating something. Then Lucien’s mouth set in a firm line, meaning he’d made up his mind on whatever the issue was.

Lucien glanced back at him and Tamlin startled at being caught watching. He placed his hand gently on Tamlin’s arm, “I don’t think my father will plan one for me either.”

New Springs by Sprighnt_(SliPuP_Slit). Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

“I can’t be here for as long as you,” she clarifies, gesturing to the forest around them.

“You’re leaving?”

She shrugs, “It’s nice here, but my sisters, my father, they’re my only family. Even if they’re, a little difficult at times, and I don’t want to hurt Tam. I was really in love with him, but, to put it plainly, I’m not like you.”

“Like me,” Lucien repeats, confused, “what do you mean?”

———

In another universe, an alternate timeline, Feyre says “I love you”, before she’s sent off and therefore breaks the curse the way it was supposed to be broken. Things are different.

absolution by @praetorqueenreyna. Feyre/Mercenary Lady, Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

Things didn't work out between Feyre and Tamlin. Years later, they both find love in unexpected places

Beauteous Evening, Calm and Free by franklinarchive. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

Tamlin heals and then he moves on.

Or, what if Sarah J. Maas hadn’t committed ‘character assassination’ against Tamlin?

When The Sun Came Up (I Was Looking At You) by pansexual_intellectual . Jesminda/Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

There was a slight choking sound from the Night Court side of the room, but when you looked, Lucien was expressionless, adjusting his doublet.

It was the worst idea you had ever had. In the shreds of your manor you dropped to your knees. He was gone in the morning, as you knew he would be.

Burning Batter by Sprighnt_(SliPuP_Slit). Tamlin/Rhysand. Rhysand comes over to make cupcakes with Tamlin for Feyre’s upcoming New Year’s party.

A strange thing happened the night of the High Lord meeting by @umthisistheonlyusernamenottaken. Tamlin/Rhysand.

Tamlin shook his head, a small smile on his full lips. “You forget that we were closer than friends once. I know your face. Even when you think you’re being so clever, hiding behind that mask of impassivity, I see you.”

He snarled, even as his heart began to beat faster as the other male approached him.

“You think I didn’t see you? You couldn’t stop looking at me during that meeting.” He took another step closer, and his next words were tinged with playfulness, a hint of the Tamlin he’d used to know.

“Were you thinking of that night too?”

He froze. “What?”

In the Eyes of My Beloved by Alynaw66. Tamlin/Rhysand.

I promise, Rhysand sighs into his mouth; Then down onto the slight curve between his neck and shoulder. Tamlin shivers, feeling dazed. Overwhelmed.

“Another offer,” he begins, one hand sliding down to grip Tamlin’s narrow waist.

(Also fun fact about this fic, I was brought to Tumblr because of a link in the notes, so without this fiction I wouldn't be here)

Stay or Go? by SoulOfStars. Tamlin/Rhysand. Both of their families are dead. Rhysand decides to stay. They fuck in the second chapter.

heaven sent a hurricane by @praetorqueenreyna. Tamlin/Eris Vanserra. After his family is killed and he is crowned High Lord, Tamlin struggles to keep his Court under his control. (Un)Luckily for him, Eris Vanserra steps in to help.

A House of Flame and Flower by Mellowenglishgal. Nesta Archeron/Tamlin, Nesta Archeron/Azriel.

“Spare me the self-righteous lecturing, Feyre. You and your new family believe yourselves superior: that anyone who is not deemed worthy by you must bow or be eliminated. I refuse to bow to those I do not respect: and I owe none of you any such obligation. Nor am I obligated to remain where my autonomy is threatened,” Nesta sighed, gentle yet commanding, her voice low and steady and unyielding. “I renounce all ties to the Night Court. From now on, you are no longer my sister.”

“Where will you go?” Feyre snapped, but Nesta saw it: the sudden realisation that Nesta meant every word.

“That is no longer your business. Goodbye, Feyre,” Nesta said softly. She rose to her feet, elegant as an empress despite her unkempt clothing. As she stared down her youngest sister, Nesta caressed the delicious power shimmering like slumbering embers deep in her heart, until her veins sang with silver fire, pure light, blistering heat, deadly yet silent.

Flame was silent: everything it met shattered and snapped, disintegrating, unable to withstand it.

She was flame. She was undiluted, unrefined, unapologetic power.

She told Feyre, “You will not hear from me again.”

(Side note, I just started reading this fic and it looks FREAKIN amazing) Edit- Anyone who saw that I changed the name of the author to a tag, ignore it, I was wrong.

A Court of Lies and Resurrection by @ashintheairlikesnow. Tamlin/Rhysand. AU: Feyre is dead, torn apart by Amarantha when Tamlin did not send her away in time. Tamlin, forced to submit to Amarantha's terms, finds himself looking for help (and finding affection) in places he never expected, while Lucien allies with an ancient enemy (and one of Rhys's closest friends) to save him. WARNING Extensive explicit adult content, sexual situations, violence, MA

In This Peace Series by @trshtffc, the first fiction in the series is completed The Sorceress . Tamlin/Original Female Character.

Seven years after ACOWAR, Spring Court is struggling to keep from falling apart completely. A mother tries to move on and keep her daughter safe in this chaotic world, but when the young female most needs a friend, she'll give the disgraced High Lord a chance to attone for the pain he has caused, and, perhaps, to finally heal.

TW for - mentions of suicidal thoughts - mentions of loss of a pregnancy - mentions of sexual abuse - mentions of emotional abuse (toxic relationships and toxic family dinamics) - colourism - LGBT+phobia

(This one was recommended to me in the replies of this post, and it looks so good)

A Ballad of Thorns & Roses: How the High Lord of Spring told his tale by @positivelyruined. Tamlin/Feyre Archeron

When Tamlin, the High Lord of the Spring Court of Prythian, finds the clock counting down to his final battle with Amarantha — two things push him into action: the sudden death and bloody sacrifice of his friend Andras and the fierce vexation of his close friend Lucien. With no more time to waste, he offers shelter to the one person that he should despise the most — the girl who murdered Andras. His heart has been bleeding for a decade. Will their connection be enough to break the bond that holds the Spring Court captive, or will this burning love only spurn Tamlin’s heart? In this tale as old as time, only time will tell.

And finally, (shameless self-ad) A Court of Song and Desolation by me. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

She had eyes like starlight and a grin that could outshine the moon, "We'll rule the world."

"What if we fail?"

"Then we'll burn it all down."

In hindsight maybe it could only have ever ended like this. Making a man who was never made to rule, High lord. This was all inevitable.

With his Court in ruins and everyone gone, Tamlin lives amongst the broken pieces of his Court and has no intentions of changing that. Lucien, however, will not stand to leave his oldest friend alone.

When Lucien takes Tamlin back to the human lands, they discover a darkness coming for Prythian. If something does not stop it, it will completely rewrite the way Faeries and humans alike live as they know it

I hope you like these amazing fics as much as I do, anon!

Edit- If anyone has any recommendations for pro Tamlin fics, or anti IC fics, please let me know and I will add them to the list!

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imrllytootiredforthis · 11 months

Note

ive never seen anyone talking about yuuji so I'll do it.

yuuji itadori the type of sub to put your pleasure before his own comfort

like he'll be reaching his limits and all he'll ask about is

"am i making you feel good?"

"does this feel as good to you as it does to me?"

ok I know i prefer pillow princes but sub!yuuji is such a cute concept

service sub yuuji has my heart<333

he's so puppy too, he's def put on puppy ears if you asked him to and whine and whimper a lot all while he does his very best to make you feel good.

even when his legs start shaking or his jaw gets sore he won't stop because he just wants to be a good boy for you<3

fuck.

no bc i read this one fic forever ago on ao3, it was the softest cutest thing with yuuji where he had an oral fixation and spends half the fic just shyly sucking on the reader's fingers and 😫😫 lord help me it was so hot

#inbox💌#hard thoughts #dom reader #yuuji x reader #yuuji smut #sub yuuji #sub jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujustsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #sub jjk

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dangerousduckcloud · 3 months

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Flowerbeds make up for a nice eternal rest

Read it also on AO3

“Couldn’t sleep.” You replied, putting the well-loved copy of the book back in the shelf. “What about you?” “Yeah, same.” He sat down on the couch, legs spread and elbows resting on his knees. “Hard to do so when you learn your whole life is a lie… Just ink on paper.”

I've been updating daily, however I've noticed the quality is not quite good sometimes (today, for example), so I'll be taking longer to update, maybe once a week/2 weeks or so, I'm sorry for this, but I wish to write something of good quality

Chapter 6 < > Chapter 8

taglist: @kurai-hono-blog

Fingers ghosting over the spines of the books, you're surprised to see so many titles familiar to you, from Lord of the Rings, Jurassic Park, all the way to Jane Austen books, some of them more worn than the others, a small smile creeping up your face at the thought of knowing just who read these books so many times.

A new question —added to the many that’ve appeared since you accepted you’re in some other reality— popped on your mind, if so many things in their world are similar to yours; people, social functions, historical events, what was so different that led yours not having superheroes and vigilantes? There’s no Gotham, no Metropolis, no Star City, nothing.

Did this mean they simply do not exist, or they just didn’t want to make themselves known? Here, everything started with Superman. If he existed in your reality, what made him not want to help people? Had he been captured by the government instead of the Kents? Had his ship landed someplace else? Are there other planets out there?

So many questions, so many possibilities, not a single answer.

The book authors are the same as your world; Tolkien, Crichton, Austen… Not just a coincidence in people here writing books with the same title, so it begs the question of a point you mentioned last night.

Does this mean there's another version of yourself in this world? Is there a different version of them in yours?

“You alright?”

It didn’t matter how many times you would hear that voice, it will always send shivers down your body, making your heart skip a beat. Turning around towards the voice, the early morning light deluged him in a pink-golden light, water droplets falling to the floor, he was only dressed in black pants and a tight black shirt that didn’t seem comfortable, his muscly arms threatening to rip it apart.

His unnaturally vibrant green eyes were more focused on the book you were holding —Little Women— rather than your face.

“Couldn’t sleep.” You replied, putting the well-loved copy of the book back in the shelf. “What about you?”

“Yeah, same.” He sat down on the couch, legs spread and elbows resting on his knees. “Hard to do so when you learn your whole life is a lie… Just ink on paper.”

“I don’t think it is.” With long strides, you sat down next to him, an ample space left between you two. “The fact that you’re here with me discussing about this mess should mean that you’re more than just a puppet created to entertain. You’re a human being, with feelings, thoughts, ideas… Who knows, maybe someone from your world came to mine and wrote your life story.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, of course. If you were simply the mere product of a writer, how could I be here, when I’m not?” This whole time he’d been looking at the floor, lost in his mind, finally turning to look you in the eyes. “I’m as lost in this as you are, but the one thing I’m certain, is that you’re real, Jason. As real as the moon and the stars.”

It was immensely evident something continued plaguing his mind, his eyebrows drawn and eyes unfocused, you knew how lost he must feel like, having felt the same just the night before, but whatever conclusion he came to, his face searched yours once again, a tired, tight smile on his face.

----

Breakfast had been a chaotic affair, having to explain to the rest of the family present in the house what endured after you woke up in the cave, Tim and Cass having long gone to sleep after they were sure you were safe.

“So, we’re not real?”

“You are, just not in my world. At least not like this.” Your meal had long gotten cold, being bombarded with questions that left you no time to take a bite. “There are no vigilantes there. Also, I’m sorry, Tim.”

“What for?”

“I thought you were delusional.”

Everyone in the table laughed, with Tim throwing you a harmless glower, even Alfred coughing to hide his smile.

“This is intriguing.”

You nodded at Cass’ response, at last grabbing your fork to eat your cold scrambled eggs, attempting not to make faces at the taste.

“So…” Tim spoke once again after refiling his cup of coffee for the third time. “Everything that we’ve suffered, is all just because someone wrote it?”

All eyes were laid on you, your face pale and mouth dry suddenly.

You couldn’t say no, because you still didn’t know how this worked, and you didn’t think you’ll ever find out, was your world shaping theirs, or was it theirs shaping the stories you were shown?

But you also didn’t want to say yes, because that would mean…

Unconsciously, your eyes wandered over to Jason, eyes locking for a second, his neutral demeanor changing into a raised eyebrow.

“Why did I die?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Cass raised a brow as well, her words clipped. “You’re lying.”

It was way better when you still thought they were just crazy, with no interrogations to interrupt your breakfast.

“There… There was a poll.” Avoiding everyone’s faces, you spoke to the table, voice as small as possible, however, with them being the detectives they were, they still could make out your words, if the gasps were any indication.

“A poll?” Jason reiterated, outraged. When you looked up, green eyes filled with hate was the only thing you could focus on. “A poll to decide my fate? A fucking poll?”

“I—Jason, they—”

“They what? Why would they do something like this!?” His eyes were glowing, hands closing into fists. “I was fifteen! Why would you do this? Who the fuck would think of killing a teenager!?”

“Wh—Me!?” You stood up, chair dragging behind you. “Jason, I wasn’t even born when that happened! And—and from what I read; they didn’t even think they’d do it.”

“Oh, and that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

Tears were prickling your eyes, mouth left hanging open. He had every right to be angry, everyone would, however the hate directed to you was unwarranted. The rest of them were looking at you, faces unreadable, except Dick’s, his eyes red, but whether it was for the current situation or remembering Jason’s murder, you didn’t know, maybe it was both.

It was clear none would come to your rescue, too disgruntled and sorrowful on Jason’s behalf.

“What do you mean you weren’t even born?” Tim asked, his investigative soul winning against his feelings. Or maybe this was his way to deal with the pain. “You’re Jason’s age, you were fourteen.”

Sniffing, you cleared your tears with the sleeves of your shirt. “I don’t know how time works here. That happened in the… The eighties, I think. I was born in the 2000’s.”

“This doesn’t make any sense.” He mumbled. “The years…” And without another word, he left the kitchen, quickly followed by Jason, although taking another path.

“Jason, wait.”

But your words fell on deaf ears. You hadn’t known Jason for a day, and he already hated you.

“I’m sorry.” Apologizing for everything you’d done and everything you didn’t, you walked out the kitchen as well, not a clear destination in mind.

#jason todd #the red hood #redhood #red hood #x reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #batman #dick grayson #robin #batfam #tim drake #bruce wayne #nightwing #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x fem!reader #cass cain #cassandra cain

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teejaystumbles · 5 months

Text

Against all odds (part 8)

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7

(Whenever I put this on AO3 it will probably be all one chapter and the longest single chapter fic I've ever written lol) (continues straight after Part 7)

Shame the stranger won’t want to visit the White Horse again any time soon, he thinks as he changes into his sleep clothes. It’s still a decent pub even if Hob heard when he last visited that they want to tear the place down for new buildings. It’s a shame, truly. Hob likes the old Inn. It’s one of the few constants in his life, the most important right after his stranger.

He lies down with a sigh and stares at the ceiling, trying to recall how the place has changed through time. He falls asleep before he can reach the 15th century.

Hob dreams again of the White Horse. It is 1389 and he is sitting and drinking with his mates of old, joking about Death being stupid.

A man clad all in black with a face as white as the moon steps silently up to their table. Hob’s mates ask him who he is but the man stays silent and doesn’t acknowledge them, his pitch-black eyes fixed on Hob. Hob stares. He knows him. Would know him anywhere. This is his friend, who he’s been waiting for for a very, very long time.

He ignores the others and they fade into obscurity. He says, awe and wonder clear in his voice and face, “You came.”

“We have an appointment, Hob Gadling. Of course I came.”

“But you didn’t- you didn’t want to meet…here. Any more. Am I wrong?” Hob feels confused. He knows what he’s saying is right, but it doesn’t make any sense, here and now where he has never met this man before. The stranger inclines his head.

“In your dreams I do not feel hesitant to visit this place. It is yours, and therefore a pleasant space to be in.”

Hob frowns.

“Mine? This is your place, my friend. Our place.”

“No. This is your dream of the White Horse Inn, Hob, and every human’s who has lived and visited it. But yours especially. It is not mine,” his friend says almost wistfully, “Neither here, nor in the Waking.”

“Then I'll find us a new place, or I'll build one!” Hob exclaims and jumps up. “A new Inn. One where you'll feel comfortable, a bright place, with a garden and a tree out front and sunny spots to sit and talk, or be quiet. Somewhere that is ours, yours and mine.”

“You would? For me?”

“Aye. I would do anything for you, my friend. My lord.”

Hob tastes the unfamiliar title on his tongue, repeats it again and finds it to feel perfectly right for his stranger, especially when he sees the sparkle in the man's eyes at being addressed as such. “My lord…” The words Hob knows he had been tempted to say on this day in 1389 roll out of him like a rushing river he cannot stop-

“I’d swear fealty to you, if you’d accept it, and call you my liege. My king,” and he sinks to one knee before the one who rules him.

Dream gasps as Hob’s words hit him with the force of a wave crashing into him. He vibrates with ambiguous emotion as Hob smoothly sinks to one knee before him, brown doe eyes looking up at Dream with pure honesty and - love. It’s clearly love that’s shining out of Hob’s eyes and Dream feels the flames at his mantle’s hem lick higher and higher.

What is this human doing, offering him first his blood and now his fealty?

“Oh. Hob,” he rasps, aghast. He doesn’t know what to say. He accepted the first offering. Would it be wise to decline the second? There is magic in the number Three, if he is not careful this will turn into a dangerous affair indeed. If this continues Hob Gadling could be bound to him forever. Excitement rushes through him at the thought.

His.

Someone who'd willingly be Dream’s!

He cannot do this. He mustn’t. Hob may love him, or a version of him he thinks he knows, but Hob is someone who needs to be his own man. Dream cannot imagine him as a vassal, a servant, of anybody, least of all Dream’s.

He takes a step closer and puts a hand on Hob’s head. The man gazes hopefully up at him, a smile on his face. Dream feels his chest tighten.

“You honour me, old friend. Yet I would not rob you of your freedom. You are, and should always be, your own lord and master, subservient to none. I do not wish to be your king.”

Hob’s face falls for a moment and Dream prepares himself for Hob’s disappointment. Then the man at his feet suddenly smiles again and grabs Dream’s hand, cradling it gently before laying a kiss on it.

“Shame. I think it’s too late for you to refuse, my lord, as I have already made my choice. You need not acknowledge me as yours, I will still fight for you and defend you if you are in need. If not a servant, then I am your loyal ally, and I will still offer you anything that is mine.”

Dream shivers and gapes at Hob, who winks cheekily at him and kisses Dream’s hand again. Hastily Dream takes a step back and cradles his hand against his chest.

“You do not know what you promise, Hob. You have to be careful-”

“Careful? Hah!” Hob barks a laugh and gets up from the floor. He claps Dream on the shoulder as if they’ve always been in the habit of touching each other so casually and Dream flinches, stunned.

“Sorry to say this, old friend, but when it comes to you I have never been very careful. Don’t think I can start now.”

Hob shrugs and turns to the table to grab a tankard of ale and a glass of red wine, strangely modern in the mediaeval surroundings of the old tavern, and thrusts it into Dream’s hand. Then Hob toasts him with another wink.

“To our long and lasting friendship, my lord. My friend.”

Dream, perplexed, raises his glass in turn and they both drink. Hob grins happily at him and Dream feels his cheeks flush. He vanishes the wine with a frustrated gesture. Leave it to Hob Gadling to stump him and make him accept a second gift despite himself. He needs to think about this.

He murmurs, “This dream is over,” and leaves Hob to his sleep.

Hob wakes up with the feeling of having dreamt something nice, but he can't remember more than that he was in the old White Horse. Snatches of a conversation, of making a toast, come back to him, but he doesn't know who he was even talking to. No matter. It's still better than no dreams at all. He feels much more rested after sleeping since the dreams returned. Seems like his brain is very grateful.

He gets up and throws a glance over at his desk. The journal is gone. Hob blinks. Then he grins and goes to get ready for his day.

His stranger has taken the book! Now it’s just waiting for him to return it. Oh, and come up with a new place to meet, he supposes, while he shaves and slicks his hair back for another day at the agency. Hob sighs. He really needs to get another life. He’s sick and tired of his job and this look. He likes his flat but now that his stranger and him have a new way to communicate, and his friend has no interest in entering the White Horse any time soon, maybe Hob can just up and move to another town for a bit.

He finishes his routine and goes to put the kettle on. He hasn’t taken a holiday in a while. Maybe it’s time for a break at least, if not a reinvention of Hob Gadling. He can come up with what to do next and focus on his stranger. He seems to desperately need the company of a friend, even if he won’t say it outright, and Hob wants to be that friend.

After breakfast Hob drives to work to finish up some business before he calls in some time off for a family emergency. ‘Against all odds’ plays on the radio and Hob sighs. He listens for a while as his Porsche crawls through London traffic, humiliated by the memory of putting these lyrics down to express his feelings in that first journal entry addressed to his friend. He switches stations and lands on the other extreme - Kylie’s ‘I should be so lucky’ cheerfully hits him right in the heart again. “It's a crazy situation, You always keep me waiting, Because it's only make believe, And I would come a-running, To give you all my loving, If one day, you would notice me-” “Christ,” Hob growls and turns the radio off. Just one more day. He just needs to keep his head for a few more hours, finish off some editing, talk to his bosses and then he’ll be free to wallow and pine for as long as he wants. “Get it together, Gadling,” he hisses at himself and changes gears as the light turns finally green. It’s not like his stranger is not talking to him. He’s back. Everything’s fine. Better than fine, even. He shouldn’t be hung up about things that will never change, he should focus on all the positive developments. His friend wants to meet him again, so Hob should focus on figuring out where they could meet. A park would probably be best, he thinks.

Part 9

#dreamling #1989 au #the sandman fanfiction #teejay writes

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k-s-morgan · 4 months

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TGSTLTH related

Ok so I decided to do it here cuz I don't know will AO3 allow me to write essay hahahahah 😂😂😂

I don't even know how to start this. I've been reading fics for 13 years straight, like I don't remember the period of my life where I didn't read them cuz I always have some ship active and I'm crazy BL fan. Only a small number of them can make me crazy to the point I don't wanna sleep, eat, skipping my obligations, killing the pain and your sebaciel did everything. I haven't felt like this reading fic..,maybe ever? This is totally another level of me being fascinated by some writer.

I adore sebaciel, I'm in fandom since 2016 but the biggest problem I had with their fics is that - either people go too much OOC with them orr they rush up the things between them, going quickly with sex and feelings. It bothered me so much so I was crawling for good SC fics as crazy!!

After some break with SC, I came back to ao3 and saw your long fic. I started reading it but I dropped it after 3 chapters, I got bored cuz I thought you are gonna just re-type manga and do classic thing which another people do. Quickly, I got disappointed with another one and idk how but I decided to give your fic one more chance and dear lord......that was one of the best thing I have ever read. Maybe even the best.

Like, how smart are you? What's your IQ? Your manage to explain me some things about Kuro plot which I haven't udnerstand by myself. And the way you write Sebaciel relationship. That's everything I have ever wanted. Everything. They have normal conversation and that's it, that's all I need cuz there is everything. I feel electric every time when they talk, fight, do things together, goood the little touches svbjhsdjvbvbvbvbvbsdjvhbdf. I was tense whole fic. I read it for like 10 days, abandon everything until I finished it and now I feel sad ahahhaahha. But you are really something special, cuz I always used to say that manga itself is the best fiction cuz Yana knows the best how to create good Sebaciel energy. You, next to Yana, did the best job. You kept them as they are, never broke the character, and that's what I am most grateful. Slow burn, with drama and angst, love and attention, all misunderstanding, you put all necessary spices for 5 star meal. My fav part is when Ciel told Sebastian to add slamming doors to his most dramatic moments of his life ahahahahahahhaha 😂😂 I laughed like crazy, they are so precious♥ And I really wanted kiss to happen when Ciel lied Sebastian about another demon, that was sooo svbjhsvjhjhvbdf. But okay, you know the best, I trust you fully with this♥

The fact that they are ready to kill each other before they have normal conversation about their feeling is my fetish. I am in love with toxic things. Ciel ready to throw all game just to prove Sebastian that his value is not only his soul, right after he told himself for 1000 times he needs to stay on distance..... I LOVE ITTTT!!! I also need to say that you find PERFECT balance for good plot and romance. Your games and their cases...I just don't know, deep bow for you queen🔥��After all, you didn't retype drama ahahaha but you manage to keep it canon without changing anything but still adding your spices so it's not ordinary Kuro plot we see every day....

I just have one question. From time to time, I was like a Bard ahahhaha, so sick of their games and my head hurting me, but on a good way. I am clear about Ciel but what about Sebastian and his disgust for Ciel's nicer, soft, emotional side? I know Ciel doesn't have it a lot, but would Sebastian still be grossed out about it as he was at the beginning of a contract or not? Keeping in mind that he is more and more obsessed with a boy?

So, that's all. I don't know how to use Patreon/PayPal, but for you I'll try cuz I only have credit card and that's all I know ahhahaha, I like to keep money in my hands😂 I'm sad about the situation in your country and all under - war countries. It's not bringing any good for anyone, specially for civilians. I hope you are okay and I wish you alll the best, the good karma must hit you really quickly cuz you made one person really, really happy here♥

Looking forward how will you finish this story, have a nice day❤

PS - this is the longest comment for fic I have ever left ahhaha, it's crazy how you got me sooo hyped up bjcvsdghvbds.

Hi! Ooh, thank you so much for your amazing, wonderful essay! I can't tell you how happy it made me! I think the electricity was already started being cut off when I got it, so I could see I have some really lengthy ask, but it wouldn't load. It was the torture of the most delicious kind :D

Like you, I've been reading fics for ages now, and the moments where I find some fantastic story that won't let me sleep or work or even blink are always the happiest and the brightest spots I remember. So it's extremely flattering to know that my story has become something similar to other people.

I love writing about smart characters, but most of them are definitely smarter than me! The benefit is that since I'm writing, I can think and plan everything in advance. In real life, I only wish I were as quick-witted and inventive. Alas, the best ideas and arguments come to me when they are no longer needed.

I love slow burns, and I love characters who abhor the idea of expressing their feelings, so Ciel and Sebastian have the most perfect dynamic in my eyes. I feel like I could spend the eternity just enjoying their Gothic world with their games, arguments, plots, and so on. Them antagonizing each other only to instantly team up against the common enemy is my most favorite thing in the world.

As for your question, right now, Sebastian would be thrilled if Ciel were to show a softer and more vulnerable side - at least in relation to him. Well, a part of him would feel the automatic need to mock him for it anyway, some habits don't die easily, but Sebastian's feelings have evolved a lot, plus Ciel is cold more often than he is not. So Sebastian treasures every word of praise, every hint of appreciation and need because they are so rare - he's come to crave them, and he has memorized all known cases of them by heart.

And no worries about supporting me! I really appreciate you taking your time to leave such a fantastic review, it made my day!

#my fics #black butler #kuroshitsuji #sebaciel #ciel phantomhive #sebastian michaelis

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jealousveronya · 3 months

Text

Would've, could've, should've - Chapter 1

Summary:

Everyone at the Spring Court always talked about how menacing and ruthless the High Lords were, especially the strongest High Lord, the High Lord of the Night Court. And Feyre did fear him, but when the entire world seemed set on reminding her how she needed to be protected, something even her husband couldn't accomplish without her sacrificing her freedom, she couldn't help but imagine a reality where he wasn't a threat, but the one she clung to breathlessly every night.

After all, if she needed to be protected, the company of the strongest should suffice.

However, that was just a fantasy Feyre created to escape to when she couldn't get out of bed. It meant nothing. She hadn't even met the lord of the night.

But what happens when she does and can't stop a blush from creeping onto her face as she finally puts a face to all her sensual fantasies?

Read Chapter 1 on: AO3 or continue reading

Seven thrones, crafted out of purest white marble, encircled a pond that shimmered in the daylight with lotuses gently drifting across its surface. The seven thrones were meant for the seven high lords, the rulers of Prythian. Six were occupied, but one remained empty, a truth no one dared to speak of yet, nor its implications.

It had been a considerable time since the high lords held a meeting, their mutual disdain apparent in the uneasy silence that hung over the gathering.

"For how long do you intend to keep us in the dark, Beron?" Tarquin asked, scratching his chin, a hint of mockery woven into his words.

"I have a court to attend to. Explain the reason for this meeting at once, or I'll return to it." Tarquin crossed his legs. A slight wave in the pond splashed Beron's leather boots, prompting a mischievous smirk to dance on the High Lord of Summer's face.

Beron, the high lord with auburn locks, exhaled as his fingers drummed against the throne. He behaved as if he were the father of five insolent brats he'd summoned for a lecture.

"I had honestly hoped someone else would be the first to admit it, but I see it all comes down to me. Very well." He leaned back in his throne.

"A spark of my power has vanished," he declared.

Whatever smug expression had been on Tarquin's face instantly evaporated into thin air.

In a world where even a spark could mean the difference between life and death, high lord or slave, the danger of this confession did not go unnoticed.

"Am I the only one?" Beron asked, looking at the other high lords with a narrowed gaze.

"Regretfully or fortunately, you are not the only one," Kallias began. "I noticed it too. I was at breakfast when I felt it just... leave. That was about two months ago."

"I have also experienced it," Tarquin added.

The other high lords followed with their agreements.

"It's just a spark now, but who is to say how much more will vanish, how much weaker we will get?" Beron balled his hands into fists, slamming them against the throne. "It's natural to suspect Hybern—perhaps they've found a way to drain us of our power slowly; Cauldron knows how much they'd want that. But we also can't dismiss," he looked toward the seventh throne, the empty one covered in dust,

"him."

Silence flooded the room.

The seventh throne was meant for the death incarnate, the strongest high lord, the High Lord of the Night Court, Rhysand—the only male in Prythian who could make all the other high lords take a step back, even if some wouldn't admit it.

"Well, shouldn't he be here then? So we can ask him? If he's responsible, he already knows—there's no point hiding it from him." Helion broke the silence. He had been avoiding Beron's gaze the entire meeting. Although the rumors of his affair with Beron's wife were old, the bitterness between the two males was still palpable.

"And if he isn't to blame and was somehow unaffected unlike us, do we need to let him know we have grown even weaker?" The high lord of the autumn court spat.

"I have to agree. We can always plan a second meeting with him, but perhaps we don't need to tell him everything from the beginning." Tarquin followed.

"So what would be the best way to handle this?" Kallias spoke as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. His power was leaking from him, so much that the part of the pond in front of him was slowly freezing.

"I recommend sending spies to the night court. We need to see if Rhysand is planning a war, and whether he is gathering armies. As strong as he is, if his goal is to weaken us so he can take over, he still won't try it without an army. If there is no army, we'll meet again to discuss what should be done further" Beron suggested.

Agreements could be heard from all sides of the hall, except for one. Beron's eyes followed the silence until they stopped at a male dressed in green, blonde strands of hair covering his already unreadable expression.

"You've been awfully quiet, Tamlin. Is there any reason for that?"

Tamlin hummed in dismissal before replying.

"No, you have just said it all. In fact, I volunteer one of my spies for the mission."

Upon the end of the meeting, Tamlin had winnowed back to his manor.

His hands were shaking slightly, his vision blurred, claws growing longer every second as the beast inside threatened to come out.

He had barely kept it inside during the discussion, gripping the armrests of the throne for dear life.

Since he'd gotten the letter from Beron that called for a meeting he had prayed to the Cauldron that this wasn't the topic. That no one had noticed the missing sparks of power. Or that if they had noticed, that they didn't care enough. They were just sparks after all. They were so insignificant compared to the entirety of a high lord's power, power capable of maintaining an entire court, keeping a season everlasting.

He took slow steps up the staircase. The weight of his secret was threatening to push him back down.

What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to handle this? Right now they believed Rhysand or Hybern was to blame, but it's only a matter of time before they find out the truth.

The all-too-familiar scent hit his nostrils. It was the sweetest scent he had ever known. He relished in inhaling it before his feet followed its trace.

Slowly opening the door, he peeked inside.

It was a moment to behold. Water was splashed everywhere, bubbles were spilling out of the tub. Light from the windows passing through the bubbles reflected rainbows on the marble floor. And inside the tub lay a female with golden wet hair framing her face and one leg lazily draped outside, swinging back and forth.

The sight of the female he held dear to his heart was a momentary reprieve, forcing the beast to retreat within the chamber of his soul as if her presence alone could pacify it.

As if for the first time ever, Tamlin exhaled, only for a second though as the sight of her was also a reminder of the ever-looming threat.

The meeting had been a threat, a warning, because of who she was - because around her shoulders, that were peaking out of the water, tiny water wolves were frolicking - water wolves that she was creating. Her face wore a concentrated expression with furrowed brows as her delicate hands shaped water into wolves and gave them life.

Finally breaking her focus, taking notice of Tamlin, she looked up. Her blue orbs graced him with their sincerity as a smile found its way on her lips. Her skin started emitting a glow with intensity similar to one of the sun.

If he wasn't mesmerized he might have squinted to protect his vision.

And as the final punch to the gut, to remind him again of whaz she was, instead of speaking, she gently entered his mind.

"I missed you."

Tamlin could spend an eternity in that tub snuggled up against Feyre, kissing the nape of her neck, listening to the faintest of her moans, her fingers tangled in his hair, if the Cauldron only allowed it.

His teeth grazed her skin in between his kisses causing Feyre to shudder and pull on his hair harder.

The beast inside of him wanted him to mark her, to declare her as his as if that would protect her.

“Are you ready to talk about what happened?” Feyre asked using her daemati powers, trailing her nails against the inside of his mind. As much as he was settled inside her physically, she was inside him mentally.

He bit her neck eliciting a sharp gasp from her. It wasn’t enough to mark her, just enough for her to feel the sharpness of his canines and how easy it would be for him to pierce her skin.

“I prefer it when I hear your voice.” Tamlin pulled on her plump bottom lip with his claw. He wasn’t interested in containing his claws like he had been doing at the meeting. Not with her. With her he didn’t need to hide or fake control.

And the reality from who she had gotten her daemati spark wasn’t really allowing him to even try concealing them. The fact his magic was running through her veins now was eating at his heart, especially when she was so determined on using it so frequently.

Violet eyes flashed in his mind, but he quickly composed himself.

“Fine. Are you ready to talk about what happened?” Feyre asked audibly now, pink covering her freckled cheeks.

“No,” Tamlin murmured before shifting his hips. Feyre breathed out a song of pleasure as her eyes rolled back into her head. “Fuck, Tamlin.”

He licked the sensitive place he found above the collarbone.

He’ll protect her.

He’ll protect her from everyone.

No one will take her from him.

His jaw closed around the curve of her neck, this time with enough force to draw blood.

“Feyre,” Tamlin started as his tongue tasted her blood.

“Hmm,” Feyre moaned.

“You’ll cook us alive.”

At that Feyre noticed the rising temperature of the water, a consequence of her skin getting hotter and hotter, almost igniting fire.

“Cauldron, sorry.”

Tamlin’s chuckle echoed against his mark.

”I can’t- I don’t know how to stop it.”

At that Tamlin picked her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as he stepped out of the tub and headed towards Feyre’s bedroom. He made a point to step on one of the water wolves following them, turning it into a puddle.

“HEY!”

Tamlin only laughed in response.

“I need to practice. I need to get better at using my magic.” Feyre sounded disappointed.

“Nonsense,” Tamlin commented as he walked over to the bed, leaving a wet trail behind them.

“I could help you with the court, I could do so much.”

He lowered her onto the silky sheets. “You are already helping me.”

She looked to the side out of embarrassment.

“I could help you in other ways.”

“I am the high lord. I think I’ll manage. Besides, I want to take care of you. Not the other way around.” He kissed her breasts.

“Well, then I guess I’ll have to stop taking care of you.”

“That,” he warned “is an exception.”

His kisses started to get lower and lower. “Which we will get to later.”

“I just think that I should train, get better at using it.”

But Tamlin did not respond.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #feyre archeron #feyre x rhysand #feyre #feysand #acomaf #fantasy #sarah j maas #rhysand #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #rhys x feyre #rhys and feyre #feysand fanfiction

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awwyeah107 · 9 months

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2023 Fic Recs

Hello and welcome to my GIANT fic recs from 2023 post :)

I have been utterly obsessed with Tolkien’s works this entire year, and I’ve read more fanfiction in one year than I ever have before. My primary fandom this year was Tolkien, and I’m honestly rather astonished that it’s held my attention as long as it has, especially considering that this is a “recurring” hyperfixation (aka, this is not the first time I’ve had this hyperfixation).

So buckle up, ‘cause this is going to be a crazy long ride. The vast majority of these fics are Tolkien fics, but I’ve got a couple of non-Tolkien fics at the very end, and overall there's about 90-ish fics here in this bad boy XD

For each fic, I’ll give a one-sentence summary and then my thoughts on the fic!

I’m sorting them into oneshots, multi-chapter fics, series, in-progress stories, and misc & non-Tolkien fics. Within those sections, I'll loosely group them by various qualifiers like characters, time periods, and locations.

Intro: What to Expect & Fics Legend

Expect: Lots of fluff, lots of angst. Mostly genfic. Mostly Silmfics featuring or focused on kidnap fam, Fëanorians, Halenthir, Arafinwëons. Some Lord of the Rings and/or Hobbit characters are featured, so if you aren’t familiar with The Silmarillion, there are definitely fics that include characters a non-Silm reader would know. Most fics are rated T, with a few rated M.

Do not expect: Stories with a focus on romantic!Russingon (or any other first cousins x cousins ships—those really give me the ick), smut, or really gory or dark stories. No E-rated fics (with one *singular* exception where I did not know it was E-rated at first and only has a few E-rated scenes that can be skipped).

Fics Legend/Key These emojis are used to denote any stories that do have the following elements, and I’ll do my best to put appropriate warnings/mentions of certain potentially triggering topics as well, when needed.

🔒 Fic only available to AO3 users

⚠️ Features smut (skippable/not essential to the story or the focus of the story)

*️⃣ Features background/non-primary romantic!Russingon

🩸 Features somewhat graphic violence and/or heavy topics (including abuse and severe trauma or mental illness)

As I said, I’ll do my best to put appropriate warnings. However, a) there’s some stuff that just comes with the territory; Tolkien does not shy away from violence and trauma, and b) this is such a long list that I honestly may not remember if some of them apply to certain stories. Most if not all the stories do have content warnings given by the author as appropriate/necessary, so if I miss something, the author and/or the fic tags should tell you about it. My apologies if I do miss anything.

I will tag authors who are here on Tumblr; I've included multiple fics by the same authors, so I will only tag each author once.

Also, this may go without saying, but I feel like it does need saying: Your mileage may vary with these fics, especially those that are not particularly fluffy. For example, I don’t like romantic!Russingon, but I’m willing to read some stories with them in the background. I also don’t like smut, so I don’t read stories that prominently feature it, but if I’m already enjoying a story and I come across it, I will skip it. Same kind of thing with intense violence—I’ll skip or skim what I need to. So, read what you’re comfortable with, and don’t read or skip what you aren’t.

I want to give a massive thank-you to all of the fic authors, all of the people posting meta, and all of the artists out there. I was inspired to re-read The Silmarillion (for the third time) this year, and I highly doubt I would’ve been able to actually get myself to do that without all of the amazing stories and musings and art out there that drove me back to the canon we all love. So thank you ❤️

Oneshots

Haleth x Caranthir (Halenthir)

She is the Sunlight by @dreamingthroughthenoise (aka Alantie)🔒 - Caranthir and Haleth have a hike and a conversation. When I saw the title of this fic, I immediately thought of the Trading Yesterday song with the same name—and it turns out, the fic was named after the song, which fits Caranthir/Haleth as a ship so well! The fic itself is (bitter)sweet and beautiful, and I really enjoyed it.

easily sever what was never one by vauquelin - Haleth and Finrod have a discussion, and Haleth pays a visit to Caranthir. I loved reading this fic, and I’ve come back to reread it at least once. It was quite amusing at times, and I really enjoyed Haleth’s no-nonsense characteristics. The debates and discussions she has with Finrod and Caranthir are delightful to read—plus, I enjoyed Haleth and Caranthir’s dynamic and the waxing and waning tension between them. (Warnings: The fic outright says that Caranthir and Haleth have had and do have sex, in generally crude/slang terms, and there is one paragraph/section where things are described a little, but it can be easily skipped and I would not consider it explicit.)

Call It What It Is (Whatever It Might Be) by @sweetteaanddragons (aka Drag0nst0rm on AO3) (featuring art from @lidoshka) - Haleth is visited by several elves related to Caranthir, which raises her suspicions. A delightfully fun oneshot that had me grinning a lot! I love Caranthir/Haleth fics, especially when Caranthir’s denying he’s got a crush on her. Not a lot of Caranthir interacting with Haleth directly in this one, but it’s a great fic. The art was fantastic, I absolutely love Lidoshka’s art style!

Kidnap Fam

Enough by dreamingthroughthenoise (aka Alantie) 🔒 - Maglor and Maedhros argue over the twins, but later Maedhros comes to join Maglor and the twins on a picnic. This one’s a bit angsty, but it does have some sweet moments in it! I like the discussions the characters have; they feel thoughtful and well-characterized, especially in terms of how Maglor and Maedhros respond to each other. Both brothers have strong emotions, but they don’t go out of their way to be hurtful to each other.

Nightmares by @brievel - Snapshots of Maedhros experiencing nightmares and how Elrond and Elros respond. This is one of my favorite “Maedhros is having nightmares” fics where it features Elrond and Elros. It’s definitely angsty and tense, but I love seeing how the twins’ responses change over the course of the story. It really shows how their trust of Maedhros and Maglor develops.

Dawn (The Nightmares Remix) by sweetteaanddragons (aka Drag0nst0rm on AO3) - The aftermath of one of Maedhros’ nightmares from “Nightmares.” Good and angsty with relief by the end! I loved Maedhros’ reflections on the past (his memories of how he was trusted in Tirion with little ones are especially painful) and every aspect of Maglor’s interactions with his brother.

Chill in Your Heart, Life in Your Wings by @jaz-the-bard - After the Third Kinslaying, Elrond and Elros are kidnapped by a band of human raiders in Sirion, who decide to bring them to Maedhros and Maglor. I love JaztheBard’s kidnap fam fanfics, and this one is no exception. It’s a lovely oneshot with lots of feels! Features VERY cute Elrond and Elros. I just about died from cuteness during the fish book part, specifically.

Outrun the Storm by @secretlythranduil - Elrond and Elros are scared of the storm. I love a good kidnap fam thunderstorm fic, and I particularly love all the little details in this one: the guards joking about the claps of thunder being Morgoth’s footsteps, the twins thinking about what kind of state they would find Maedhros in, the reminder of how the Fëanorians found them in Sirion, and how Maedhros picks them up like Maglor had.

In Valinor pre-kinslaying #1

Unruly and ill-behaved, downright feral even by @swanhild - Fëanor and Nerdanel wrangle their rowdy, unruly bunch of elflings. This was quite amusing and adorable!!! I love the younger elflings’ antics and the older elflings’ “teen troubles” (so to speak), and Fëanor and Nerdanel parenting all of them.

Lack of All Trades by @darkfrozenabyss - Young Maitimo doubts that he has a trade or a craft. Cute father-son feels! I loveloveLOVE baby Maedhros and I loved getting to see Fëanor comforting him.

In Valinor post-kinslaying #1

The Spirit of the Law by @mynameisjessejk - Caranthir is re-embodied in Valinor. mynameisjessejk is one of my favorite authors who write the genre of “elves dealing with re-embodiment in Valinor.” This oneshot, along with the other re-embodiment fics they’ve written, is super super good. I really liked this take on Caranthir’s return, and I enjoyed the development of the Caranthir-Finrod friendship—one that isn’t usually seen in fic!

The Return of the House of Finwë by mynameisjessejk - The tales of the re-embodiment of five different members of the House of Finwë. Aaaaaa, this was such a heart-wrenching, feels-filled read! And so wonderful. I loved reading about each character coming back and seeing their reactions to those who came to meet them.

Pity Found by brievel and darkfrozenabyss - Fëanor and his sons are re-embodied in Valinor. Such an emotional fic! All the feels were amazing. I really enjoyed the fic, and I liked how the end left it open for the family to work things out further.

Beyond the Western World by thearrogantemu - Finrod and Curufin meet in Valinor. I really enjoyed this reckoning between the two of them! Finrod has such control in this conversation, yet he still has compassion for Curufin in a way. I liked how their conversation flowed and alternated between focusing on the present and the past. I think both of them needed to speak to each other, not only for closure but also to fully realize things about themselves. It was already a detailed story, but all the little reminders that they knew each other so well lent an even greater sense of depth to the story, which was beautiful. (Plus, I love the title.)

Though All Whom Ye Have Slain Should Entreat For You by thearrogantemu *️⃣ - Thingol has a conversation with Maedhros in Valinor. VERY interesting fic. I had never thought about Thingol and Maedhros interacting before, but hey, that’s what fanfiction is for, right? This was an incredible ride. I loved reading their back-and-forth debate and how calculating and emotional both were. Highly recommend if you’re in the mood for unusual character interactions and a very intellectual and emotionally charged discussion.

There Are Fires, There Is Laughter by ithilielthechosenone - Galadriel and Aredhel take a walk and catch up after Aredhel is re-embodied. I really enjoyed this. It is so beautiful and contemplative, and I love reading about the only two female descendants in the 3rd generation of the house of Finwë.

Finwëons in Beleriand/Middle-Earth

Regrets by dreamingthroughthenoise (aka Alantie on AO3) 🔒 - The Ambarussa have a discussion before the Fëanorians attack Sirion. I really like the characterization of Amrod and Amras in this fic! The way they decided to try to take responsibility for leading the attack in order to spare Maglor and Maedhros is heartbreaking but makes so much sense. I also had never considered how the situation with Eluréd and Elurín might have affected them, so it was interesting to read an interpretation of that!

Lands of the March by @cycas (aka bunn on AO3) - Maedhros discusses the lands and duties he has given to each of his brothers with Amrod and Amras. Quite an enjoyable oneshot! Maedhros is logical…but also quite caring, at the end of the day. I found myself smiling reading it!

Oh Makalaurë… by caeciliusestinforo - Maglor’s guilt over never going to find Maedhros in Thangorodrim causes him to neglect his health, which has consequences. I loved this fic. I’m a sucker for Maglor beating himself up over Maedhros’ torment and then coming to accept it, and Maglor’s desperation is depicted very well.

All the scars we can not see by waitingfover - Fingon has a flashback when he visits Himring. Awwww, poor Finno! Felt a lot of sympathy for him. It definitely felt like he didn’t really want to say what was going on, perhaps because it felt so obvious, but he did. Wish I could’ve given him a hug like Maedhros did.

i will not say the day is done by @southfarthing - Fingon and Maedhros avoid the conversation waiting to happen after Fingon rescues Maedhros from Thangorodrim. SO angsty, so intense, and so good!!! Maedhros and Fingon both have such different viewpoints on what happened and the context surrounding it—it pulls on my heartstrings to see them both struggling, but it makes it all the more poignantly beautiful when they can finally face each other.

Mithrim by @warrioreowynofrohan (aka WarriorEowyn on AO3) - Maedhros has three conversations with different people after his rescue from Thangorodrim. Oh my gosh, this fic is so freaking GOOD! Maedhros and Fingon’s first interaction was so intense and so good (“I’m sorry—” “You’re sorry?” was absolutely iconic. I practically shrieked and had to stop reading for a moment to compose myself). The fic also has a good dose of Maglor guilt, which I’m always happy to read!

Non-Finwëons in Beleriand/Middle-Earth

An evening off by earthbound_misfit - Rog enjoys spending an evening with his friend Egalmoth after work. This was such a good oneshot! So refreshing and peaceful. It felt like having a home-cooked meal :) Lovely!

Sharp Things in the Way by @dawnfelagund - A character study of Daeron, of sorts. This fic is a beautiful mosaic of moments in Daeron’s life—it’s all so bittersweet and deep and full of twisting emotions, and I honestly feel a bit of pity for Daeron after reading it. I haven’t read many fics focused on him, but I really like this one. I thought his and Maglor’s dancing around each other and the musical techniques they shared and took from each other were particularly fascinating parts of the story.

Reflections on Injustice by @hwestalas - Túrin sees Beleg heal a march-warden, and he himself later has the chance to help Beleg heal. Sweet, and a little painful! I enjoyed it. Beleg as a healer and a warrior is awesome, and I liked reading Túrin’s shifting emotions.

see it fall, child of war by swanmaiden 🩸 - Elwing says goodbye to her children. If I had to use one word to describe this fic, it would be “heartbreaking.” I expected it to be painful, and it really, truly was. I teared up reading Elwing telling Elrond and Elros she loved them, and I could feel the fear and anguish felt by the elves around Elwing. This fic really made me feel the terrible weight of the Fëanorians attacking Sirion, which was meant to be a refuge, and I think it was meant to do that. Very well-written!

Among the reeds by Adlanth - Elwing, Tuor, and those of Edain heritage spend time together in Sirion. I absolutely LOVED this!!! This is one of the first fics I’ve read that focus on the Edain and their heritage. I feel like they tend to be less appreciated in fandom, in favor of the house of Finwë (although I’ve definitely seen fics and meta about the Númenoreans). In any case, this was a delightful fic; I really liked seeing the small community of humans grow together and share their culture and history (mainly of the house of Bëor). Beautiful.

LOTR/Hobbit Characters

In A Yellow Wood by @lordgrimwing - Modern AU where Thranduil, wife, and young Legolas go on a hike. SUPER super cute oneshot!! Really enjoyed it. I love how Thranduil and his wife play with Legolas!

The Castaway by warrioreowynofrohan (aka WarriorEowyn on AO3) - Legolas and Gimli meet a stranger as they prepare to sail to Valinor. Quite enjoyable! I loved the difference in Legolas and Gimli’s opinions regarding what they should do, and how Gimli’s perspective and compassion helped Legolas to consider his prejudices. The dialogue between all of the characters was excellent!

A Warg in Sheep’s Clothing by @arofili (aka starlightwalking on AO3) - Fíli and Kíli find an injured warg pup in the woods. This was such a wonderfully fun fic to read! There were a few sad moments for sure, but I love reading stories with Fíli and Kíli because their characters have such a youthful joy and hopefulness to them. I loved “Buddy” and dwarflings’ bond with him was so adorable! (Also, I love the title XD)

General/Misc

Shinystarship Has Invited You To Join A Zoom Conference! by jaz-the-bard *️⃣ - Elrond’s father figures make a plan for how they will support Elrond when he sails to Aman (by using modern technology in Arda). THIS IS HILARIOUS. I love it. The Zoom names are perfect. I’ve reread this a couple times and I laugh every time!

Wealth Enough of Joy by StarSpray - Elrond and Celebrían enjoy time with their newborn twins and more family. This was such a sweet, lovely fic. It has the feeling of a summer evening—which is appropriate, since the description is “Elladan and Elrohir are born at twilight in summer.” I actually drew a picture in my little sketchbook of what I thought Elrond and Celebrían’s room would look like!

Mercy by @nothinghereisworking (aka cuarthol) - Snapshots of Celegorm and Finrod. I haven’t read many fics centered on Celegorm and Finrod, and I really like this! Features scenes in Valinor, Beleriand, and then Valinor again. I love how it comes full-circle and how the meaning of mercy changes over the course of the story.

An Unexpected Friendship by StarSpray (featuring art from lidoshka) - Belladonna Took makes a friend. I didn’t realize how much I needed to read about Maglor interacting with hobbits until this fic—and it made me interested in more fics of the same ilk. This particular one was SO much fun, and I loved how much hobbit culture StarSpray got into. I also really enjoyed Maglor’s and the hobbits’ characterization, too. The art of Maglor and Belladonna is adorable!

To Justify Your Existence by jaz-the-bard 🩸 - Maedhros meets his father and brothers in Mandos and braces himself for the worst. Delightfully angsty! Poor, poor Maedhros. The self-blame is off the charts in this one, whew. The emotional climax is so fulfilling!

AUs

stare death in the face (and never back down) by @oopsbirdficced (aka ingenious_spark on AO3) 🔒🩸 - Instead of returning to Gondolin when Sauron lets him go, Maeglin escapes…and runs into some relatives. This is such a cool AU/twist on what happened in canon! Lots of feeeeels—poor Maeglin. However, I love that he found [spoiler] and that they all essentially took one look at him and decided to adopt him XD

Retaliatory Kidnapping by darkfrozenabyss - Elwing decides that kidnapping the re-embodied Fëanorian twins (Amrod and Amras) might let her make a trade with Maglor and Maedhros for her own sons. This may have been the first fic I read by darkfrozenabyss! It’s so enjoyable and engaging. I loved Elwing taking matters into her own hands and being determined to rescue her sons, as well as the reluctant friendship that began to take root between her and the Ambarussa. Great ending, too! An all-around fantastic story.

Less scary than before by waitingfover - Maedhros is feeling homesick at college and receives a package (modern AU). I seriously enjoyed this oneshot! It filled me with so much warmth, and it reminded me of my family sending me things in college :) I love how each member of Maedhros’ family sent him something that showed how they loved him/thought of him, each in their own unique way.

Wayward Son by @thescrapwitch🩸 - After being re-embodied, Fëanor sets out on a mission to find his second son. This was sweet! I really enjoyed it. Fëanor’s dedication to loving and caring for Maglor is wonderful.

Where the Heart Is by mynameisjessejk *️⃣ - Amarië does not let Finrod go to Beleriand without her. A very cool AU where Amarië goes to Beleriand! We love to see it. I really like how it changes things and how the politics are different throughout Beleriand as a result.

Battle of Sudden Song by AeolianSands - Maglor encounters Sauron and recalls his cousin Finrod. I absolutely LOVE how this is written. I am SUCH a fan of Maglor using Song and living up to his name and reputation! This was so deliciously wonderful.

who could ask to be unbroken (or to be brave again) by @piyo13sdoodles - Tauriel meets a lone elf on the plains of Rhovanion and becomes friends with the mysterious singer. I really like reading “Maglor makes friends with people after being on his own” fics, and this one was so sweet! I enjoyed Tauriel’s curiosity and spirit, as well as how Maglor cares for her. Their relationship is wonderful, and I love how they grow into being each others’ family. It’s a beautiful story :)

Tumblr Oneshots

Wet Boots by @amethysttribble - Baby Maedhros is playing, and Uncle Nolofinwë comes to find him. So fluffy and adorable and silly and SWEET! I love baby Maedhros, and this is one of my go-to fluff fics. (There’s also a super cute fanart/comic of this floating around somewhere—I thought I had saved it but I can’t find it. If I ever do, I’ll add it here.)

Finrod and baby Galadriel in Valinor by @actual-bill-potts (aka oswinry on AO3) - Galadriel wakes up Finrod. SO FREAKING CUTE. I LOVED this little oneshot so much. Tiny Galadriel is super adorable and big brother Finrod is just as adorable. Fluff level 3000.

Multi-Chapter Fics

The following multi-chapter fics are all complete (or have not been updated since 2022), and they all have more than one chapter. If any are incomplete, I will note that.

Girl in Middle-Earth & Modern AUs

Pathology by @wild-houseplant (aka appalled.elf on FanFiction.net) ⚠️ 🩸 - A therapist ends up in Middle-Earth and builds a life in Rivendell. This was one of the first fics I read in 2023, and what a wonderful way to start the year!! I absolutely LOVED reading this fic. This was one of those fics that kept me up late and had me glued to my screen whenever I could spare time to read it. I love its central themes of friendship, grieving, and healing. The relationships that develop between Rhodri and the various Middle-Earth characters felt so real and healthy, and it was simply so wonderful to read! The author adds a lot of notes and information about the mental health care that Rhodri, the main character, provides, which is fantastic. Also, the character-lands-in-Middle-Earth plotline is handled quite well, in my opinion; questions that usually arise with that kind of plot were answered and explained in ways that made sense and added to the story.

(Warnings: There is plenty of language/swearing, a bit of violence [not super graphic, to my memory], and a few smut scenes; the author usually warns ahead of time if there will be any smut, and it’s fairly easy to tell when things are going that direction, so you can skip it if you don’t want to read it, like me. Also, the link I have included is to the fic on FanFiction.net, which is much more updated than the fic on AO3; there are 107 chapters on FanFiction.net as opposed to 29 on AO3. However, the version on AO3 is rated as E, while the one on FanFiction.net is rated as M, just so the reader is aware. I first found it on FanFiction.net, which is why I did not realize it was rated E before I read it, and if you skip the E-rated scenes like I did, I believe it would be considered rated M.)

This fic is incomplete—the last time it was updated was in November of 2022—but the reader is not left on a terrible cliffhanger.

Don’t Panic! by boz4PM - A more realistic "girl-falls-into-Middle-Earth" story. Quite entertaining and interesting! This is a spin on the typical “girl gets transported to Middle-Earth and everything is amazing” story, where things are a lot more realistic: there’s a language barrier, there aren’t high standards of cleanliness, there’s no indoor plumbing…the works! I read basically all of it in one night. I love how Penny and Halbarad’s relationship develops, and it’s fun seeing Penny learn to fit in with elves! There’s also a sequel, which is great too. (Warnings: General…gross-ness, I guess, lol! Also, there’s a LOT of swearing, especially in the first several chapters. This does calm down though.)

Ten Weeks of the Terribles by troiaspider - Maglor is forced to babysit his younger brothers while his parents and Maedhros are away for several weeks (modern AU). I really enjoyed this fic! Didn’t want to put it down. It was so fun, and I laughed several times. It also had many touching moments that I didn’t expect, and I found myself smiling at various moments.

In Valinor pre-kinslaying #1

Make You Pretty by @theladyvanya - Vanifinwë, the only daughter and youngest child of Fëanor, likes doing makeovers for her older brothers, which leads to some…interesting results. This fic is SO CUTE!!! I love how the brothers all give in and allow their baby sister to play with them, even if they know they look extremely bizarre by the end. And when [spoiler] is the only one who is actually truly upset by the game, it does get resolved by the end of the story. The fic is quite humorous and sweet!

Trial and Error by waitingfover - Each of the young Finwëons tries to bake something for their family, with varying results. Adorable set of oneshots! I like how the nature of each of the baking incidents matches the elfling or peredhel that is attempting to make something :)

In Valinor post-kinslaying #1

The Host of the West by mynameisjessejk - Finrod is re-embodied in Valinor. Oh my goodness, this was so good. I loved the exploration of Finrod’s emotions (and how being re-embodied affected him physically as well!) after coming back to life. The tension between him and his parents/those who did not know him in Beleriand felt very palpable, and my heart broke for him multiple times throughout the story. The resolution at the end was touching, and I felt reassured that things would look up for the characters as time went on beyond the ending of the story.

Memento Pugna (Remember, You Must Fight) by sweetteaanddragons (aka Drag0nst0rm on AO3) - Fëanor is re-embodied in Valinor, but from the very start, things are bound to go sideways. This was a great read! I loved the characterization and relationship development throughout the story, and I really enjoyed the chaos and shenanigans that happened. The story is quite hilarious at times and touching and angsty at others!

To save a life by waitingfover 🩸 - Fëanor is re-embodied in Valinor, and he has to deal with several hostile family members and other problems. Really great! It’s quite interesting, and I loved how Fëanor’s character developed over the course of the story, and how he comes to prioritize family over his own desires and pride. I also really liked how the plot changed and how various characters were introduced and included! (Warnings: There is a scene with mention of sexual abuse and a traumatized character expecting further abuse, and a brief scene of physical child abuse by a crowd of unnamed characters.)

More than the Stars Above by sweetteaanddragons (aka Drag0nst0rm on AO3) - Elrond visits his father, Eärendil, in Valinor. This is one of my favorite fics centered around Elrond and Eärendil. Their interactions here are so well-written and so spot-on! I like the alternating point of view, and I simply love how their relationship was portrayed.

The Ransom of the House of Fëanor by @eirianerisdar - Elrond petitions the Valar to return Maedhros and Maglor (and their brothers and father) from the Void. Oh my goodness. This fic broke my heart in the best way. SO. MUCH. ANGST. AND. FEELS. AAAAAGHH. I could see a lot of the different emotional situations coming, which made it even more angsty when they finally hit. I kept having to pause and stop reading because TOO MANY FEELS A;SLDKFJALF. Highly recommend if you want Elrond angst (and just angst in general).

The Last Ember by eirianerisdar - Nerdanel and Fëanor begin to reconcile in Valinor (compliant to The Ransom of the House of Fëanor but can be read separately). I absolutely love this Nerdanel-and-Fëanor-work-things-out-in-Valinor fic!!! Nerdanel’s vacillating emotions were so palpable and real, and both her and Fëanor’s characterization was wonderful. The pacing was done quite well, and I love how things ended :)

Rising as if Weightless by StarSpray - Elwing’s brothers return to life in Valinor. This was such a wonderful, feels-y fic! Elwing’s emotions throughout pulled on my heartstrings—and Eluréd and Elurín were so sweet. I loved meeting so many characters who were important to Elwing, and I really enjoyed the storyline. I couldn’t put this fic down!

In Beleriand & Middle-Earth

Family Reunions by Drapa *️⃣ - Finrod brings his human friend Bëor with him to a family reunion. I don’t think I have ever laughed more at a fic than I have at this one. I fondly remember sitting down to a bowl of soup and some bread for dinner and opening this fic because the premise looked promising…and then proceeding to nearly spit out my soup multiple times while reading. Finrod’s over-the-top behavior, the miscommunications and misunderstandings, the hijinks, and the ridiculousness of all of it was just way too funny. Highly recommend if you’re in the mood for some humor (or even if you aren’t).

Refuge by hwestalas - Maglor comes to Maedhros at Himring and does his best to hide that he is injured; this goes unsuccessfully. I absolutely love the interactions between Maglor and Maedhros in this fic. They are so filled with affection and teasing and the gentle kind of pushing between siblings, and it makes me so happy to read, even though they are dealing with war and deaths of their people. The love they have for each other and their siblings—and their people, too—is clear as day. It’s a lovely hurt/comfort fic, and one that I’ve reread a few times. Wonderful read!

This Taste of Shadow (SPECIFICALLY the Caranthir x Haleth chapters) by Mira_Jade - Caranthir and Haleth meet and slowly but surely fall for each other. I didn’t realize how much I needed a fic that took the question “what would it look like if Caranthir and Haleth really truly decided to get married, and not just in the elvish way [aka, through having sex], but to commit to each other until the end?” seriously and chose to explore it. I literally was obsessing over this fic for three to five days after I read it. SO. FREAKING. GOOD. This is one of the most well-written, satisfying, thorough Caranthir x Haleth fics I’ve ever read; the story is deeply emotionally engaging, and I loved it. Mira-Jade is phenomenal at exploring characters and really understanding them on a fundamental level, and how their relationships play out with other characters. And while it’s her interpretation, it feels very real and true-to-text. (Note: This is specifically a rec for the Caranthir x Haleth chapters; the entire work is a series of ficlets and oneshots that largely make up out-of-order story arcs. The link to each chapter can be found in the index/first "chapter" of the fic, which is linked above. I have not read the rest of the work, so I don’t know if there are any warnings I should give for other chapters. The tags do indicate that there is romantic!Russingon in the fic—there’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it reference in the Halenthir chapters, but otherwise none. Also, warning for a version of Celegorm who lives up to the epithet “Celegorm the Cruel.”)

Of Bright Stars and Dark Skies by @katinkacassio (aka CassioP on AO3) - The Fëanorians attack Sirion and take the twins, which leads to the twins living at Amon Ereb. This was one of my favorite kidnap fam fics I read this year! The characterization was well done, and I will always enjoy tropes like Elrond and Elros running off and Maedhros and Maglor having to search for them. Elrond and Elros are wonderful, and both parties opening up slowly to each other was heartrending and sweet.

Maglor Plays For His People After Doriath by Himring - Maglor contemplates Doriath and plays a lament for his people. Quite enjoyable—the contemplative nature of this fic is beautiful. I liked how Maglor considers what his people need and what he plays for them, and his memories of meeting Daeron at Mereth Aderthad were amusing and sweet. This fic really conveys deep a sense of wistful mourning.

Generally Interesting Lives by @glorf1ndel - A collection of oneshots for Tolkien Gen Week 2023. I love how unique these are and how each one of them stands out! I really liked the vibe of the stories—they were easy to read and the characters’ “voices” and personalities are strong. I particularly enjoyed the chapters about Maedhros and Lúthien, Huan and Oromë, and Galadriel and Bill the pony!

I need you more than ever right now by @senalishia - Elwing and Eärendil weather Elwing’s pregnancy with their twins. I love how this fic explored Elwing and Eärendil’s relationship, their personalities, and their perspectives on their responsibilities and having children! It’s compelling and well-paced. Also, I really liked the OC healer Curunada’s curious yet brusque nature! (Warnings: Childbirth, which is a little graphic)

General/Misc

Of starlight, s’mores and misadventures by waitingfover - A collection of oneshots about elflings and their adventures. These oneshots are SO CUTE and occasionally come with a serving of angst at the end with a flash-forward. A few of them are angsty in general, but the majority are just adorable, fluffy stories. If you ever need fluff, you will find it here! Also, this fic is how I finally got all of the Quenya names of the House of Finwë ingrained into my mind XD waitingfover uses them a lot in the story and provides lists of the names at the start of chapters, so that was super helpful! (Note: This fic is still being updated, but not on a regular basis, which is why I put it in the multi-chapter fics section instead of the in-progress section.)

As the Tides Flow by @starshipsilmaril 🩸 - The story of Maglor’s life, from start to finish. I loved it! Starshipsilmaril does a great job with Maglor's emotions, and Maglor’s love story and family were so sweet. Telumë is a wonderful character, and she and Maglor fit together quite well, I think. Definitely gets more angsty as the story goes on, which is expected. Great read! (Warnings: Silm-typical violence, not super graphic [to my memory] but it’s there. Also, The fic outright says that Maglor and Telumë have sex, and there are a couple paragraphs where things are described a little, but it can be easily skipped and I would not consider it explicit. It’s also pretty easy to see coming—it’s on the wedding night.)

Some Wild Thing by warrioreowynofrohan (aka WarriorEowyn on AO3)🩸 - Aredhel’s story, from Valinor to Beleriand. I love this exploration of Aredhel’s personality and character. The small snapshots and snatches of dialogue that relate the bigger picture are beautifully written, and Aredhel’s fiery personality shines through so well. I also really liked the depiction of her and Eöl (and Maeglin!)—it felt real and the way things subtly changed for the worse over time was chilling. Great read!

To Safety by jaz-the-bard - Young Elrond and Elros get transported to the Years of the Trees in Valinor and encounter their captors once again. I seriously love this story—I felt so bad for Elrond and Elros, and I felt sympathetic towards a bewildered Maedhros and Maglor (or should I say, Maitimo and Makalaurë). It’s fantastic! I’ve reread this at least 3 times XD

In a Field of Blood and Bone by @theheirofashandfire (aka ScribeofArda on AO3)🩸 - The Battle of the Five Armies, from the point of view of the elves. This was fantastic! It was awesome to read the events from a totally different perspective; the elves (and Bard!) come at the situation with different motivations, needs, and hopes for the future than the dwarves and Bilbo, and I think that ScribeofArda handled that very well. I loved the OCs Belhadron and Rhovaniel; they felt very whole and fleshed out, and it made me wish they were in the actual story so I could read more about them. Also, Legolas and Thranduil’s relationship was so sweet, and I love how much Thranduil loves Legolas even though he doesn’t outright show it much. (Warnings: Battle violence, as can be expected from a fic that’s about the Battle of the Five Armies.)

AUs

What once was mine by waitingfover - Maglor is given a second chance to go back and change things, starting at Losgar. What a great fic! I had the privilege to follow this fic from start to completion, and I loved getting updates. The changes—or lack thereof—were quite fascinating to read! This story features a strong dose of Maglor dealing with guilt and depression, which was heartbreaking but also understandable (and, as per usual, I ate it up with a spoon). This one of my favorite AUs!

The Rescue Party by AeolianSands - Fëanor, Fingolfin, and Finarfin decide to travel to Middle-Earth and save their children before the Doom of Mandos takes them. Really enjoyed this! Quite humorous, with some sweet touches of fluff and some angsty bits. There’s LOTS of chaos and things happening at the same time, and it reminded me of a contemporary fantasy story where all these plotlines are overlapping! There were lots of twists and turns I didn't expect, which was super fun.

Waiting for Dawn by theheirofashandfire (aka ScribeofArda on AO3) 🩸 - The Fellowship of the Ring finds Maedhros alive in the aftermath of the Battle of Pelennor Fields. I love “Maedhros-and-or-Maglor-are-alive-in-the-Third-Age” fics, and this one is quite well-written! I absolutely adore Pippin in this fic; his compassion and sprightliness are so in-character and it’s amazing to read. The rest of the hobbits are delightful as well. There’s also a serving of kidnap fam with a good amount of angst and feels :) Gotta love Maedhros being healed (against his will) and coming to accept that he wants to live! (Warnings: There’s somewhat graphic descriptions of the aftermath of the battle and torture, and there is a very disturbing injury in the first chapter that was done by torture. Additionally, Maedhros is suicidal for a while.)

Say NO To Shiny (And Other Valuable Life Lessons) by @fflewddur-feanorion *️⃣ - Maglor joins the Fellowship of the Ring! As soon as I saw the description of this fic, I immediately knew I had to read it. It is absolutely HILARIOUS. I laughed so much! I enjoyed the more casual, less serious characterization of the Fellowship and felt both amusement and sadness towards Maglor at different moments. The story also features Fëanorion brother shenanigans and some epic Song awesomeness!

Little Bird by darkfrozenabyss - Elwing is lost in the woods of Doriath instead of Eluréd and Elurín, and Amras Fëanorion finds her. Oh my goodness, this one pulls on my heartstrings. It’s beautiful and sad and amazing all at once. I loved Amras as a father, and I felt so much for Elwing, having to be so grown-up so young. I also didn’t expect Eluréd and Elurín’s characterization (though it does make sense) and it made me upset for Elwing. I loved reading about her learning about her birth culture and about her relationship with Eärendil. I also liked how the story ended!

Accidently on Purpose by waitingfover - Curufin accidentally turns Finrod into a younger version of himself. I read this almost all in one sitting and it was delightful. I’ve already reread it once or twice since finding it!! The characterizations and handling of the plot were amazing, and baby Finrod was SUUUUPER cute.

The Ghost of Erebor by @mistergandalf (aka ItalianHobbit on FanFiction.net and AO3) 🩸 - In an “everyone lives” AU, Fíli has intense trauma to work through from the Battle of the Five Armies—but nobody knows what happened to him. *slaps roof of fic* This bad boy can fit so much angst in it. Soooo much angst! Fíli is so traumatized and it’s heartbreaking to read. Kíli and Thorin’s attempts to help Fíli are also heartwrenching; they care about him so much, and their worry is so palpable. And of course, the pressing needs of running a kingdom and having an heir don’t make the situation any better. This kind of story is right in ItalianHobbit’s wheelhouse!

Series

Lengthening Shadows series by waitingfover 🩸 - What if Maglor went to bargain with Morgoth instead of Maedhros? This is a fantastic concept and I loveloveLOVE it! The way things go differently is so interesting, and it opens up a whole new dimension of feelings for the characters to experience (especially Maedhros and Maglor). I really like the inclusion of the other Finwëons in the story too. Go give this series some love, these stories are some of waitingfover’s earliest Tolkien works and they’re great!

Sons of the Star series by brievel (most fics in the series are open to all readers, but a few are locked 🔒) 🩸 - This is the “Sons of Fëanor as a biker gang” AU that you never knew you needed. I certainly didn’t know I needed it. But I LOVE it. Brievel is still writing the series and I’m enjoying it! I love the characterization of the Fëanorians as tough and scrappy criminals, but with generally good hearts (especially Max). I get excited every time a new installment comes out. I also highly recommend Óhchikaape, an in-progress story [at the time of this writing], which is set in (mostly) the same universe. (Warnings: There's a lot of violence, and many of the stories deal with heavy topics.)

Maglor is an Eldritch Horror series by thescrapwitch *️⃣ - Speaking of AUs you never knew you needed, the name says it all: Maglor is an eldritch horror. The vibe is “cozy horror,” which I love; I’m not really a horror fan, but the ‘monster’ is on the good guys’ side, and I think that’s what makes it the good kind of scary. Most of the stories in this series are oneshots of Maglor and various characters living in Rivendell, but other characters come in from time to time. This series is mostly complete, but every so often theScrap_Witch has another idea and I get an update to this series in my inbox (which always gets me flailing with excitement). (Warnings: If you’re particularly squeamish or super sensitive to horror/any scary things, you may want to proceed with caution. However, I will say that I’m fairly sensitive to that, and I could just skim past any things that squicked me out—but there have barely been any.)

Return to Aman series by cycas (aka bunn on AO3) - Maglor sails with Elrond, Bilbo, Frodo, and Gandalf to Valinor. Oh. my. gosh. These were stories. SO well-written!!! I devoured every bit of them, and I think I need to reread them because I inhaled them crazy fast the first time around! (I’ve already reread a few out of order, but they work so well together as an arc and I would love to reread it again fully.) There’s so much that gets explored, the characterization is great, and overall the stories are just absolutely DELIGHTFUL. There are 15 fics in the series, and most are oneshots.

Nossecilmë series by fingonsradharp 🔒🩸*️⃣ - Oneshots of the kidnap fam. These are pretty cute (with a bit of angst from time to time)! I particularly enjoyed Little Stars and Nightingale. (Warnings: 🩸 only applies to the oneshot "Little Stars" for kidnappers physically abusing Elrond & Elros.)

Of Half-elven Children and the Difficulties that Result series by waitingfover - Kidnap fam oneshots. This collection of kidnap fam oneshots is so wonderful! These range from full-on angst to pure fluff, and there’s a whole bunch.

Old Maggie Took series by @tanoraqui (aka NevillesGran on AO3) - “Maggie Took” (aka Maglor) has become a friend to those in the Shire. A delightfully fun and touching series! There’s two works and both are simply fantastic. The first is centered around fighting ‘Sharkey’ when he comes to the Shire; I found myself grinning, cheering for “Maggie,” and alternating between laughing and going “awww” at the hobbits and Gandalf. The second story is about a going-away party held for those sailing west, and it gave me the exact feeling I get from being at a good, fun party with friends: celebratory and joyful in the best way.

In-Progress Stories

These are ones that are unfinished that I've really enjoyed and I hope get updated in 2024!

(Also, for any of the authors who see that I’ve included their in-progress fic, please don’t feel pressured to update—me saying that I'm looking forward to more is simply meant to let you know that I like the story and would love to read more if/when you update.)

Daughters of Therindë by darkfrozenabyss - Nerdanel and her 2 daughter-in-laws go back in time to prevent the kinslayings, but they accidentally bring someone along with them that they weren’t expecting: Haleth. You guys. I am glued to this fic. I get ridiculously excited every time I see an update in my inbox; I love it so much and go back every so often to reread my favorite parts of the chapters (and sometimes just end up rereading most of or the entirety of the fic). The characterization is great, and the plot is super fascinating! The tension between Haleth and Caranthir is highly entertaining, and I eat up every bit of Caranthir’s brothers’ teasing with a spoon like it’s ice cream. You will also find me screeching and grinning like a fool at every emotional moment I come across. I seriously enjoy this fic so much!

Óhchikaape by brievel and The_Anonymous_Coauthor 🩸 - Set in the Sons of the Star universe (read about the Sons of the Star series in the Series section); Riser Way [aka Celegorm, for the uninitiated] wasn’t intending to be a dad…but it seems this scrawny, sassy Native American kid is in need of a parental figure, whether either of them like it or not. I am absolutely LOVING this story and get excited over every update. I’ve stayed up late multiple times to read the newest chapter that’s been posted, and I’m 100% sure that I will do it again, given the chance. I love how Riser and Nikki’s relationship develops over the course of the story. There’s a lot of humor and heartwrenching moments, and some serious and soft moments as well. If you aren’t familiar with Sons of the Star, I definitely suggest you read some or all of the series to get an idea of who the Way brothers are, because they (especially Riser and Ken) are primary characters in Óhchikaape. This story is now one chapter away from being done and I'm super excited for the next installment of the series! (Warnings: The story features violence, and it deals with heavy topics, including trafficking and child abuse.)

if somebody loved you, they'd tell you by now by @aurorapillar (aka auroracode on AO3) - Maeglin escapes Gondolin. I’ve been really enjoying this one! auroracode writes Maeglin so, so well—it breaks my heart to see him so traumatized, but it feels very real, and I feel proud of the progress he’s made so far! I also really love how [spoiler] interacts with him and helps him feel safe. I’m excited to see where this fic goes, and it’s been cool to read it from the beginning.

Identity Theft by waitingfover - Eluréd and Elurín come out of the halls of Mandos and are given to Nerdanel by a Maia who implies that the twins are Celegorm’s children; this most certainly does NOT cause any problems in the future ;) If this fic had an alternate title, I think it should be called something like “Olórin Makes a Habit of Kidnapping Elves” 😂 Because (slight spoiler) it’s something that happens multiple times throughout the story and always causes chaos! Anyway, this bad boy has 80-something chapters and is still going strong. The plot of the fic mutates throughout, but it is largely focused on Celegorm and his adventures, with lots of cameos from various Noldor and Sindar elves. I started reading it back in March, and I’ve really enjoyed seeing Celegorm’s character development as the story has progressed!

The Harrowing by @chthonion 🔒 ⚠️ *️⃣ 🩸- Sauron comes back to life from the Void and brings the Fëanorians with him. This fic has such a cool premise: Sauron being reembodied along with the sons of Fëanor and learning how to Be a Good Person™️ and Do Life™️ with all our favorite characters in Valinor. It does feature Silvergifting (Sauron x Celebrimbor), which I virtually never read because I’m not a fan of them together (in large part because the ship tends to remind me of unwanted stuff from my past); that being said, the fic isn’t just about Sauron and Celebrimbor. It’s mainly about Sauron and the house of Finwë (and Frodo!) learning to coexist with each other and heal from the past. Chthonion’s writing is fantastic, and I love the interactions between the characters. (I particularly enjoyed Finrod and Sauron’s first conversation.) I’ve really enjoyed reading this fic! (Warning: There is a little smut, but only in chapter 16, I believe; I’ve skimmed and/or given a fairly wide berth to most Celebrimbor-Sauron one-on-one interactions to protect my mental health, so there may be more that I’m not aware of.)

Not About Owing by dreamingthroughthenoise (aka Alantie on AO3) 🔒 - Finrod and Amarië come to rescue Maglor on the beach. If there was an alternate title for this fic, I would vote “The One Where Maglor Gets Loved.” All of the characters are determined to make sure Maglor knows that they care about him and want him in their lives, and it’s so delightful. I also love the strong themes of redemption that are woven throughout, and there’s a deliciously dramatic scene with Eärendil that I practically screamed at. Each of the characters and their relationships feel so real and well-fleshed out, and it’s just lovely to read!

The Longest Night by mistergandalf (aka ItalianHobbit on FanFiction.net and AO3) 🩸 - A mysterious creature has attacked a village near Ered Luin, and Thorin Oakenshield and his nephews go to help. I’ve read all of ItalianHobbit’s Tolkien fics, and as I expected, this fic has got lots of whump, even for just 4 chapters so far! ;) It’s so very angsty and I’m eating it up with a spoon. I always enjoy reading Durin family fics—I just love their relationship and I really love how ItalianHobbit writes them. The link to the fic I put above is to the fic on FanFiction.net, but it is also posted on AO3.

When mercy stayed his blade by BarbieBlue - Maglor and Maedhros take Elrond and Elros with them after the Fëanorians attack Sirion. This is one of my favorite multi-chapter kidnap fam fics I’ve found! It’s got a lot of emotion and a fair amount of angst—it’s not super fluffy. I really like Maedhros and Maglor’s characterization in this one; they aren’t totally falling apart, but they’ve definitely got their issues, and BarbieBlue doesn’t shy away from that. I feel a lot for Elrond and Elros, who are certainly quite traumatized. Seeing the trust slowly developing between them and the Fëanorions is sweet, and I enjoy reading the dynamics between all of the characters.

we will make this place our home by @leucisticpuffin - Elrond and Elros get sent to live with their distant relatives Maglor and Maedhros Finuion. This fic is basically ‘The Secret Garden meets kidnap fam’! It is such a lovely story. I devoured most of it one time when I was up late (I had told myself that I really shouldn’t start a fic that had 40-something chapters at 2 am…but then found myself falling asleep at 4:30 am as I was reading. As soon as my eyes were open the next morning, I kept reading until I caught up!). I love the setting and all the little details that make the story work so well, and it’s really fun to read Silm characters in the mode of 1970s England. There’s a few OCs that help fill out the cast, and I enjoy their personalities and how they add to the story.

Less Wise and More Dangerous by DeepWatersWaiting 🩸 - Legolas is mysteriously transported to the First Age and runs into Fëanor and his sons. Great story, compelling and very well-written! I felt a lot of sympathy for Legolas, being plonked down in First Age Beleriand and facing people who he knew would kill his kin in the future. I like the development of the friendships he started forming (especially with Celebrimbor!), and I’ve been rooting for him as he’s been navigating the strange situation he is in. (Side note: anyone remember the AO3 shutdown back in July? This is what I was reading when that happened, lol.) (Warnings: There’s some graphic violence and injury/illness.)

Life After Death by actual-bill-potts (aka oswinry on AO3) 🔒 - Finarfin and his wife welcome Finrod after he returns from Mandos. So so so SO good. Oswinry writes SUCH good Arafinwëan fic. So carefully handled and well-written, and you can truly feel Finarfin’s desperate love and care for his son and his family. It fills a place in my heart I didn’t know was empty until I read the fic. (There have also been a few updates on Tumblr, too! Check out "my writing" and/or "silm fic" tags)

Yet Open Once Again Your Heart by @luteoflorien 🩸 - Maedhros has a breakdown, and Maglor realizes the twins are not as fragile as he thought. This one’s super heartwrenching, and I love it. The way Maglor treats Maedhros when he’s having his panic attack/breakdown/trauma-induced flashback is so well-done, and I really liked how the brothers had learned how to help each other on those bad days. The exchanges between Maglor and the twins (and between just Maglor and Elrond) are so raw and full of emotion, and Elrond himself is so wise and sweet.

What Was Sauron Thinking? by Chisscientist - Sauron is defeated…but it seems that in the process, he turned Gil-Galad into a child. The premise is so fascinating, and smol!Gil-Galad is adorable! I at turns find myself amused by him and want to give him a hug. The characterization is great, and I feel for Gil-Galad, having been unexpectedly turned into a child with memories of his adult self. I’m looking forward to seeing where this goes, and I’m glad Gil-Galad has friends/guardians around him who care for him!

Misc & Non-Tolkien Fics

Tolkien fics that don't fit into other categories:

The Silmarillion Rewrite by Jenavira - A rewrite/summary of The Silmarillion in modern language. Amazing. It was quite an enjoyable read, and it honestly helped me remember a lot of Silm characters! I think this was one of the main fics that inspired me to reread The Silmarillion again this year. I laughed several times, and I often loved the wording or phrasing of certain things that happened. (Warnings: There’s a lot of language/swearing, and there’s Silm-typical violence and trauma that happens.)

Never A Monster He Couldn’t Love by luteoflorien 🩸 - Harry Potter/Silmarillion crossover fic where Newt Scamander finds a new humanoid creature to befriend and care for, and Maglor finds a human who believes he is worthy of care and love. I absolutely adore the friendship that develops between Newt and Maglor. I’ve never read Fantastic Beasts fanfics before, despite being in the Harry Potter fandom, but luteoflorien’s Newt feels so incredibly in-character and it makes me want more. He is so kind and caring and curious, and he is exactly the type of person Maglor needs in his life to start healing from his past. luteoflorien’s writing, characterization, and handling of all the mental/emotional issues the characters go through is phenomenal, and the feels are off the charts. (Warnings: Maglor struggles with his severe trauma, and sometimes self-harms.)

Non-Tolkien fics:

hear you calling from some lost and distant shore by @sighonaraa - Loki meets Thor after the events of Avengers: Endgame (mostly compliant with the Loki TV series). Marvel fandom. This was EXACTLY what I needed after the ending of season 2 of Loki. So, so good. The banter between Thor and Loki, and also Valkyrie/Brunhilde’s character was great—the brothers care SO much about each other, and it's wonderful to read.

Lemon Cake by @afaroffsong 🔒 - Rosalind needs to make a cake for Jane’s birthday. Penderwicks fandom. I seriously enjoyed this fic! It's amazingly well-written—it felt to me like it could've come right out of the books! So lovely.

I mentioned this at the start, but I wanted to reiterate because I truly am very grateful: I want to give a massive thank-you to all of the fic authors, all of the people posting meta, all of the artists out there. I was inspired to re-read The Silmarillion (for the third time) this year, and I highly doubt I would’ve been able to actually get myself to do that without all of the amazing stories and musings and art out there that drove me back to the canon we all love. So thank you ❤️

And thank you to all who read this far XD Hope you enjoy some (or all!) of these fics!

#2023 fic recs #2023 fic review #tolkien fic #silm fic #tolkien fic recs #fic rec list #fanfiction #fanfiction recommendation #fanfiction rec list

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punderdome · 9 days

Text

The Fine Print: Chapter 14

Summary: Guests from Mephistar provoke both Raphael and Tav.

[AO3]

Rating: 18+

CW: This chapter does contain some dialogue that involves sexual assault threats. None of it is acted on, but if you are particularly sensitive to discussions of sexual abuse or domestic violence threats, consider whether or not you want to read. If you want I'll send you an overview of what happens in the chapter, just leave a message or response in the comments, and I will be happy to provide plot synopses so you can keep up with the story while maintaining your well-being.

Chapter 14: The Emissary

The emissary from Cania was arriving that evening.

Tav had never been more fussed over in her life. An army of maids stormed into her room and made sure she was thoroughly washed. Her hair was pinned into an elaborate style at the back of her head. Her hair was twisted and curled around itself with a thin silver chain. Tav’s eyes were richly drawn with precisely applied kohl and her lips painted red.

She was given a pair of lace red smallclothes and helped into the outfit Raphael had selected for the evening. He wanted her to wear the plunging red gown with the slit up the side that he enjoyed. Her ruby necklace was clasped around her neck and the bracelet around her wrist. When Tav went to put the ring on, one maid stopped her.

“The Master of the House has asked you not to wear your ring this evening.” Tav nodded. There was a deep ache in her chest that Raphael hadn’t wanted her to wear her wedding ring.

Wearing a pair of delicate slippers, Tav was ready for the evening and to be presented to her husband.

There was a knock at her door. Tav and the maidstaff exited her room. The maids all bowed in turn to Raphael before fleeing back for their tasks for the rest of the evening. Raphael’s eyes scanned her appearance before he gave an almost imperceptible nod of approval.

“Good evening, Raphael,” Tav greeted with a smile.

He was richly dressed in his finest silk doublet of black, red, and gold. Not a hair was out of place. The Crown of Karsus was worn proudly between his cambion horns.

“Good evening, wife.” He offered her his elbow, and she took it. They started to walk together through the House of Hope.

“They do not know much about you, and I do not wish them to know. Do not speak unless I tell you to, do you understand? If you do need to answer, only speak in Common.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Good.”

As they neared the parlor, Raphael’s entire demeanor changed. He went from being terse and irritable to adopting a magnanimous and hugely prideful posture. Tav had no idea what to expect as they entered.

A dozen male devils wore the sigils and colors of Mephistopheles. They were lounging around various padded armchairs around the parlor. The room was aglow with bright beeswax candles and the aroma smelled sharply of Hellfire whiskey. Valets flitted in and out of the room refilling glasses of whiskey and serving canapes and other hors d'oeuvres. There was harsh Infernal chatter that quieted as Raphael entered the room.

“The Master of the House of Hope,” Raphael was introduced to the room by his highest ranking valet in Infernal.

The party of visitors stood to greet them. Tav recognized elaborate golden chains and jewelry on horns of one of the devils that indicated he was the primary emissary sent for negotiations. He went to greet Raphael. Raphael removed Tav’s hand from the crook of his elbow and greeted his guest. Unsure of the etiquette on what to do next, Tav stood silently nearby and lowered her gaze to the floor.

“Master Raphael,” the devil boomed in formal Infernal. “I want to thank you for the pleasure of your hospitality.”

“Arrakos Maalphus,” Raphael greeted in return. They must have already been acquainted from the Eighth Hell. “It is my pleasure,” Raphael responded proudly, but Tav could recognize the slight edge of contempt. Raphael gestured for the party to sit.

Tav’s devil husband walked over to the most ornate chair in the room and sat down. He gestured for her to follow him. “Come,” he said in Common tongue. There were a few slight snickers at Raphael’s language change to address her. Tav took a seat on Raphael’s lap. One of his claws wrapped around her waist.

She kept her gaze mostly at the floor, trying to avoid the heat of various devil eyes staring at her. She was perched on Raphael’s lap like an exotic cat. Hellfire whiskey was served to Raphael, and nothing was offered to her.

The devils started to mingle, and Tav paid close attention to the conversations around her. Raphael was given news from Cania and some of the latest court gossip there. He would occasionally give a booming laugh at some of the commentary from Master Maalphus.

“Do you think we can feed her some Hellfire whiskey?” one of the devils mused to another, his mouth clicking away in Infernal.

“Mortals cannot drink the stuff, it will burn her gullet out,” the one next to him responded.

“Exactly. It would make the evening exciting in such a dreadful palace.”

“Do you think he enjoys breaking her?” another mused. Tav kept her hands calmly placed in her lap.

“I would enjoy breaking her.”

“We should ask if we can have her services in the boudoir later. Maybe we can watch her get fucked in the ass by the incubus.”

“Or maybe we can fuck her in the ass ourselves while the cambion watches.”

Tav was glad to have Raphael’s steady hand around her waist. Her husband was calmly discussing news with Master Maalphus, and Tav was trying to ignore the banter from the guests that involved her being fucked or broken. She had to tightly hold onto her skirts to keep her hands from fidgeting.

She raised her eyes slightly, seeing the devils talking about her while making raucous laughter. One of them waved at her mockingly. “Stupid mortal bitch,” he muttered to his comrades. Tav used her magic to cool her face before it became red hot, but as it melted on her skin, she worried it was just making her appear sweaty.

The devils chatted amongst themselves for a time while Tav sat in silence, listening to the discussions in the parlor. The stench from the Hellfire whiskey and concentrated devil musk was making her agitated.

Raphael’s favored valet returned and announced that their feast was ready to be served. Raphael gestured to Tav to stand, and she took his elbow as he led the diplomatic party through the House of Hope to the dining hall.

A long rectangular table had been set for Master Maalphus and his entourage. Raphael led Tav to the far end with the lower ranking devils and bade Tav silently to sit down. He returned to the opposite side and sat with Master Maalphus and the senior devils. Tav couldn’t really hear what was being said at Raphael’s end of the table.

Wines and other liquors were poured for the guests by servants. The feast was laid out before them. Most of the dishes were meats of Infernal origin, but Tav did catch a glimpse of decidedly humanoid roasts. Her stomach turned.

The devils around here were laughing at the green twinge on her face while they passed around cuts of Drow steaks. Tav took a small scoop of a potato dish, but mostly ended up pushing it around on her plate. Since she was ordered to be silent, she also tried to avoid eye contact.

Raphael was deep in conversation with the devils around him. He glanced up at her every once in a while, and she offered him a weak smile.

“Open up, I’m sure you like the taste of Drow,” the devil to Tav’s right had cut a piece of steak and was holding it out in front of her face.

“Caahor, probably only when sucking one. She would probably eat it if it was cock,” another devil responded gleefully.

“She would definitely swallow in that case.” They didn’t know she could understand every word that they were saying around her. She couldn’t let them know.

Tav took a small sip of wine. She had to maintain tight control over herself and not disobey Raphael’s orders at his important diplomatic meeting.

The devil Caahor was still trying to get her to open her mouth. Tav looked up at Raphael with a quick pleading look.

Raphael quickly stood up and clinked his goblet with a piece of silverware. “I would like to propose a toast to my esteemed guests. To a most fruitful partnership.” His marriage toast. Raphael toasted and looked directly at her, as the devils around the table gleefully drank from their glasses following his Infernal speech. Tav paused an extra moment or so before taking a sip of wine.

She wasn’t supposed to appear to understand Raphael’s toast, but his message was loud and clear to her. Whatever was still happening in their marriage now, it was the two of them versus Mephistopheles’s diplomatic party.

To signify she understood, Tav tapped the gemstone on her wrist. Raphael grinned.

Raphael, ever the magnanimous host, sat down to entertain his father’s emissary further.

“DO YOU ENJOY AVERNUS?” another devil spoke loudly and slowly in Common tongue as though she couldn’t understand him. Tav put on a polite smile, the mocking was at least more palatable than the forkful of Drow Caathor was trying to shove into her mouth.

“IT IS NICE.” Tav responded slowly with exaggerated Common tongue enunciation. A few of the devils around her snickered. “I’m quite pleased with the weather and the view,” she continued calmly.

“She would have a better time in Cania with a real devil cock,” another devil further down the table said under his breath in Infernal.

Tav smiled and tried a demure blush, pretending she thought the comment was some variety of kind compliment.

“Tell me, gentlemen, are you enjoying your visit to the House of Hope so far?” Tav asked sweetly in Common tongue. The devils around her were merely Hellish patriars. Tav knew her way around a patriar party. Master Maalphus’s entourage didn’t know she spoke Infernal and so far all seemed to think she was stupid. Tav could assist Raphael by learning as much as she could to help him turn the tides of the negotiations.

The devils near her didn’t respond. “Was the Drow steak to your liking?” she tried starting up a conversation again.

“Of course,” Caathor answered, “you should have indulged in a taste.”

“Drow has too much of a mushroom flavor for me,” Tav answered easily in Common tongue.

Tav started to formulate a plan at the table. Devils didn’t typically take challenges from mortals well. If she pushed back against them just enough, the dam would break, and the party would be easier to manipulate.

Tav played it slowly with quiet discussions of Baldur’s Gate in Common, as the Infernal beings around her made small talk. The devils near her were taking in a lot of Hellfire whiskey and becoming rowdy.

Master Maalphus slammed the table with his fist. “Quiet, you absolute fools!” he commanded in Infernal.

The conversation around her ceased. The emissary addressed her directly.

“Tavara Aureum, the Savior of Baldur’s Gate,” Master Maalphus stated in Common tongue.

“Yes, my Lord,” Tav affirmed.

“How in the Hells did you get her?” Maalphus asked Raphael in Infernal.

“Seduction,” Raphael answered easily. Tav looked and smiled sweetly at the two of them. The emissary huffed an assent.

Despite the orders to be quiet, the devils around Tav were continuing to consume more Hellfire whiskey and picking up the noise of their conversation. Maalphus slammed his fist on the table again to silence them.

“Let them enjoy the finest liquors the Hells have to offer,” Raphael offered congenially. “This is a night for the celebration of our diplomatic discussions tomorrow.” Tav sat silently, listening for the loosenings of devil tongues.

“Abarex, what position would you fuck the mortal slut in first?” Caathor gestured to her. Tav sat silently, listening in on their conversation. “I’m planning to take her from behind, the cambion is too busy sucking Maalphus’s dick to notice if I take her back to our room.”

“I would make her suck my cock dry,” Abarex answered, the Infernal consonants starting to slur. “I think I should take her around the corner and show her what a real Infernal consort does.”

“I think we grab her when her master isn’t looking and show her real devil cocks. We have to break her in before Mephistopheles gets his hands on her.” Caathor answered.

“Then let’s all take a turn before bringing her back to Cania.” Abarex countered. The devils around them laughed. Tav remained passive, but internally, her magic was roiling.

“Let’s just grab her before she makes it back to the cambion’s bedchambers. We deserve to be serviced while in his home.” Tav now understood exactly why Raphael had commanded her never to be alone with them. Tav blinked demurely at them.

Raphael called for the party to retire for the evening. He rose magnanimously and offered an elbow to his wife.

“My Lord, should we show them the archive, it’s quite impressive,” Tav suggested in Common tongue.

“Do you have a true collection, Master Raphael?” the emissary asked quickly, humoring her.

“My master has a true collection that I have enjoyed. There are eight tomes that I think I must have read and reread a total of thirty seven times. ”

Raphael stiffened.

“Eight different tomes read that many times? I think I must bring in more varied works into my archive,” Raphael mused.

“Yes, you know I am an eager reader,” Tav agreed, pleased that Raphael seemed to catch onto her reference of Canian law tome 8, part 37. The Laws of Hospitality.

“It is a nice suggestion, but I must show our guests to the Boudoir for the evening.” Raphael offered in Common. The drunken Fiends were easy to corral.

“That is such a pity, my Lord,” Tav said with a tinge of disappointment. “So many of your best works should be observed a minimum of three times.”

“I doubt the cambion has any of those types of works,” a Fiend behind her stated in Infernal.

Raphael snapped, and Tav was sent back to his bedchambers. Tav was praying to some sort of absent god or goddess that Raphael understood what she meant. The more times they threatened her, the stronger Raphael’s claim against them would grow. It was forbidden in Infernal culture for Fiends to threaten property of their hosts. Three distinct threats from a Fiend would rescind all Laws of Hospitality for that Infernal being, and she or Raphael could kill them as they chose.

It would take quite a bit more for the entire diplomatic party to be discharged, but Tav didn’t doubt that if she laid a trap, many of them would fall into it. Four of them. A third of the diplomatic party breaking Infernal laws was enough to doom them all.

Tav was Raphael’s property. Her pact ensured that she fell under the Laws of Hospitality in a very strict sense under one of the highest ranking Infernal contract types, while other consorts were seen as sharable or communal property. Atmos had drilled the Laws of Hospitality several months prior, but Tav knew them by heart. She was ready to keep a strong tally of the sins of devils.

****

Raphael hadn’t come back to his bedchambers that evening, likely preparing himself for several days of discussions. Tav noted everything from the following day. Which sexually charged statements were direct threats against Raphael’s wife?

Caathor and Aberex were both doomed. “Down, down, here come the claws,” Tav mused as she documented everything. Abduction. Assaults of various kinds.

Six more violations would allow Raphael to send the entire party away. Tav just needed to listen and document carefully.

Tav was bathed again, but refused the maids’ service to do her hair. She put on the boreal blue gown and ruby bracelet. She put her hair up into a Trobairitz knot. She donned a lacy black thong that wouldn’t show under her gown.

Lady Tavara, Archduke of Avernus. Lady Tavara who wouldn’t take any shit from the Hells.

When Raphael picked her up from his chambers, he nodded in assent again at her attire.

“The Emissary and his party are being pleasured by Haarlep. Master Maalphus has requested you be present for the negotiations.”

“Why, my Lord?” Tav asked, confused.

“It’s an old superstition in the Hells that the presence of a consort at a negotiation makes the discussion easier.”

“I do not intend to fulfill that specific role, My Lord.”

“I did not expect so, my Little Mouse.” Tav smiled up at him.

“Where should I sit today?” she asked quickly.

“On whichever being that happens to request your company,” her husband answered. Tav squeezed Raphael’s elbow. She didn’t like it, but she knew what had to be done. She was bait.

*****

Tav waited in the study for Raphael to return with his diplomatic guests. The latch to the door clicked and Master Maalphus entered the study. He sat opposite Raphael. Tav stood still behind Raphael’s chair, waiting to be summoned. It wasn’t long before the emissary invited her to sit on his lap. Tav swallowed her disgust and reluctantly obeyed.

“I love the scent of a good consort, and you have claimed one of the finest.” Master Maalphus pressed his nose into her hair and inhaled deeply. He continued his Infernal chatter that Tav wasn’t supposed to be able to understand. “I could ease up on a few points of the proposal if you give her to me in the Boudoir for a ride or two.”

“She isn’t so cheap,” Raphael answered easily in Infernal. He opened the document the emissary provided him from his father.

“I think it is a generous deal. Mephistopheles will ensure you are Archduke of Avernus and a total defeat of Zariel and her forces in exchange for returning his Karsite Crown.” The Emissary moved to reach down Tav’s bodice at her breasts. Tav slapped his hand away, and he ceased his ministrations with an amused look on his face.

“I have a Crown provided to me through contract.”

“Yes, by the mortal cunt.” Maalphus gestured at her. “You do realize how quickly I could have one of my associates impregnate her, don’t you?” Tav tried not to smile at the threat. “You should not exchange a layer of the Hells for a cunt.” Tav listened to the Infernal beings spar.

Raphael looked impassive. “My father is a cunt, and I would rather have her than him.” Several devils looked back to where Tav sat on Maalphus’s lap.

“He is willing to forgive your slight in your last meeting,” the emissary offered. Tav knew how much Raphael despised his father.

“He is a fool to think I would offer tribute.”

“I can easily bring him his tribute, boy,” the emissary threatened again. Tav mentally documented it.

“She’s feisty, and I doubt you could handle her.”

“She’ll be handled the second my palm strikes her face.” Three. Three times threatened.

“I didn’t think we were here to talk of consorts,” Raphael answered easily.

“If you agree to Master Mephistopheles’s demands and kneel, he will be sure to reward you with armies to help you take Avernus, Master Raphael.” Devil claws gripped Tav’s waist.

Raphael’s eyes narrowed.

Raphael’s valet knocked and announced drinks before dinner.

Tav once again sat perched like a doll on Raphael’s lap as he treated the diplomatic envoy to Hellfire whiskey in the parlor. It was excruciating. Raphael needed to be successful, and he was the only thing protecting her. Object at a party. She had done this so many times before.

Raphael and Master Maalphus prattled endlessly over several glasses.

She was so close to sending them away to their own layer of Hell.

Three more threats.

The valet announced dinner again, and Raphael bid Tav to rise. Raphael led her into the dining room, but she wouldn’t let him seat her at the farthest place setting. She took a place near the center of the table on one side, devils surrounding her.

“I did not wish to be away from my Lord for so long,” Tav reflected in Common as to the place setting change. Raphael made a dramatic showing of rolling his eyes and specifying “as the lady wishes.”

The Law of Hospitality. Her trap.

“Are you enjoying the House of Hope, my Lord?” Tav inquired to a more senior devil seated to her right.

“You’ll be enjoying my cock significantly more tonight when I fuck you as you scream,” the devil hissed in Infernal. Tav smiled as though she had been complimented. Hells, how much more of this? Twice. Two more threats.

“I’m so glad of your enjoyment,” Tav offered in Common slowly. She was trying to not let her smile fade. Just two more threats and she could send them away.

She could fucking kill them if she wanted.

Hells, she wanted to kill them all.

This devil did not set out to force Drow down her throat, so Tav set out to be as annoying as possible.

“Tell me stories of Cania, the frosted gardens must be ever so beautiful,” Tav offered to the grumpy devil at her right in Common tongue.

“They are a glory to my Lord,” he offered back gruffly. “All mortals are so fucking stupid,” he moaned in Infernal. To that, Tav could agree.

“I wish we could have frost gardens here in Avernus, but the weather doesn’t allow for it,” Tav prattled endlessly in Common. “I wish we could, to honor my ancestors, but we can’t have them here.”

“If this meeting wasn’t important to Master Maalphus’s promotion,” the devil said in Infernal under his breath. He didn’t continue.

Tav went on further, “I beg your pardon, my Lord, I didn’t catch the last thing you said.” Tav pretended to mishear.

“I said your dress is very nice and… blue,” the devil answered as he sat next to her.

“Oh thank you, my Lord, it was a gift from my Lord.” Tav smiled brightly. Pride and wrath were two potent sins to cause devils to break Infernal laws.

Tav giggled. “Oh! My Lord and My Lord! Such a funny set of statements don’t you think?” The devil picked up his knife. “My Lord! My Lord! My Lord!” Tav chirped in a sing-song voice.

“I am going to stab you in the neck with this knife.” The devil next to her said gruffly in Infernal.

Two.

“My Lord! My Lord!” Tav continued and giggled some more.

“Stupid fucking cunt,” the devil groaned again. A devil across the table shook his head in an almost imperceptible dissent. The knife was set down.

“I see how your mortal likes musicality and… wordplay,” Maalphus tried to offer in Infernal. Raphael just looked amused.

“She is quite often like this,” Raphael responded in Infernal. None of the devils made any sort of response.

Tav quieted down, and the devil next to her breathed a sigh of relief. She would just have to wait until he had imbibed more liquor.

Tav started cheerful discussions with other devils around her. She asked them about the frost gardens in excruciating detail. She told them how Raphael wouldn’t get her a dog. Tav talked about all of the dishes on the table from Toril as she ate a bite of lamb stewed with fruits.

Some of the devils around her were receptive to shallow conversation in Common tongue. Tav smiled at them.

More Hellfire whiskey was being poured, and the devil next to her filled his glass at every opportunity as she chattered on about meaningless things. Tav buttered a piece of bread before setting it on her plate as the devil next to her drank another swallow of whiskey.

“My Lord,” she leaned in close to his ear. “Would you like to hear a story about my first time in the Elfsong tavern?” Tav asked quickly. She smiled sweetly.

The devil raised his knife and pointed it directly at the scales on her sternum. “Shut the fuck up, bitch!” He said gruffly in Infernal.

All talk that had been taking place at the dining table immediately ceased as the knife was held out. Master Maalphus slammed his fist on the table several times in rapid succession but said nothing. Raphael let everything play out.

The knife was set down, and Tav laughed. The entire table looked at her as though she was completely mad. The devil next to her buried his face in his hands.

Tav quickly stood up and went to stand behind her chair.

“My Lord,” Tav motioned to her husband in perfect Infernal.

Sudden realizations of her language aptitude appeared on the devils’ faces. A pleased half smile resided on Raphael’s face.

“Your property was threatened a multitude of times while under the protection of your hospitality and the penalty for that violation is death, according to Canian laws,” Tav told Raphael in perfect Legal Infernal. He smiled and held her gaze.

Her husband patiently waited for her to elaborate.

“Hospitality laws for visiting devils are immediately voided for all ranks of diplomatic visitors provided at least one third of the party has violated the law a multitude of times, so you’re free to kill all of them, my Lord.” Tav said calmly. Master Maalphus spun around, looking to see which of his subordinates was guilty. The devil that she had spurred into wrath just sat with his head in his hands.

“There has been no such mass violation of Master Raphael's property, and if you weren’t such a damned foolish bitch, you would know that.” The emissary raised a finger and pointed it at her as if he was about to take his claw and stab her in the heart with it.

“Yes they did, a total of four different Fiends, including you, Master Maalphus, has threatened me a total of three times each,” Tav reminded him.

“Mortals are prone to bouts of deception or exaggeration, aren’t they Master Raphael?” The devil turned back to her husband.

“You may have been able to make that argument, Master Maalphus, had you not done so in front of me while she sat on your lap and had your colleague threaten her with a knife,” Raphael countered easily. He could have stepped in at any point in the discussion and ended the entire situation, but he patiently waited for his wife to continue with a half smile on his face.

The emissary took a second to consider a reply before making a different argument.

“Consorts are communal property. I and my party cannot threaten something Raphael doesn’t solely own,” the emissary laughed with a toothy grin. “Mortals are so cute when they try to play tough with you, aren’t they?” Devils around her snickered and mocked, but Tav was not going to back down. “This one has a sweet little bite to her.”

“You would normally be correct on that point, but I am not a consort,” Tav responded easily to his mockery. “I belong solely to Raphael. I signed a very different type of contract.”

Master Maalphus’s eyes darted quickly around the room, realizing that he was dealing with something far more dangerous than an angry consort.

“You’re all pathetic,” Tav spat over the emissary’s shoulder as he looked away. He twitched.

“The Lady of the House raises expertly argued points,” Raphael responded to her.

Tav circled the table, conjuring random stalactites of ice that hung from the ceiling of the dining hall ominously. “That’s why Mephistopheles sent you isn’t it? Because you’re pathetic.”

“I am not pathetic,” Maalphus protested.

“You’ve been bested by a mortal, and you’ve signed your entire party into a death sentence,” Tav reminded him. “You’ll be returning with your tails tucked between your legs and nothing to show for it. Hell has its laws, and you broke them. How do you think the Lord of the Eighth will take that? You’ll be lucky if you’re still alive in an hour.”

“Lord Raphael kneels before no one, you pathetic fucking rejects,” Tav asserted in Infernal language. Raphael was grinning as he stood opposite her.

“The Lady of the House has spoken. Given that your party has broken the laws for diplomatic guests, it is time for you to depart.”

Tav took her husband’s elbow before accompanying him to the portal room where the Emissary and his party were fleeing back through the exit portal.

“It has been a pleasure,” Master Maalphus offered generally in Infernal.

“Tell the Lord of the Eighth to send smarter diplomats next time.” Tav spat back in Infernal. Raphael said nothing, clearly enjoying his father’s plans being upended by his favored mortal. The look in Master Maalphus’s eyes was one of pure hatred and rage, but Tav didn’t back down, challenging him with an easy, confident smile.

Tav relished in the power of being able to tell the Hells to fuck off.

Tav breathed a deep sigh of relief. Adrenaline was coursing through her veins. They couldn’t treat her like that. They couldn’t treat them like that.

Raphael was still grinning at her.

Raphael’s lips caught hers as soon as they were alone. She ran her hands roughly through his hair, pulling him hungrily towards her. She traced the seam of his lips with her tongue and his chest hummed as her tongue met hers. Tav drank Raphael in as he ran his hands all over her.

Hells, she had missed Raphael.

She had missed the force of his desire. Raphael had always been an excellent kisser, and Tav regretted she had never told him that.

“Raphael, I love it when you kiss me,” Tav told him sincerely. She swallowed, unsure of what he would say. His claws grazed her hips for a brief moment, unsure of whether they should be seeking affirmation.

Tav pulled his mouth back towards hers, and Raphael roughly grabbed her hips. She moaned into his mouth as his forked tongue twisted around hers, and Raphael pulled her close to him. She ran her hands over his doublet, grasping handfuls of the fabric.

Raphael broke the kiss and ran his thumb over her lower lip. He said nothing but smiled hungrily. Tav let herself lean into his touch.

Raphael put her hand in the crook of his elbow and led her through the halls of the House of Hope. He eyed her hungrily every so often. Tav looked back at him, and flashed a bright smile that despite their argument, they were at least together again.

He quickly pulled her into his study. Tav was abruptly set on the edge of his desk. Her husband was quickly pawing at the seams of her dress, but Tav encouraged him to slow down with a deep, passionate makeout session. She was already wet from Raphael’s kisses, but her husband would have the Hells before Tav admitted this to him aloud.

She let him kiss her. His body was pressing her into the wood of his desk. She hiked up her skirts and wrapped her legs around him. The deeper Raphael’s tongue went into her mouth, the closer she pulled him towards her. Fabric was restraining them now, and Tav felt a deep pain of uncertainty in the status of their relationship. Raphael had been angry. Raphael had wanted Haarlep and not her. She paused briefly and let Raphael make the next move.

Raphael’s hands scrambled to the laces on the boreal blue gown. Tav aided him. He tossed her gown onto the rug underneath his desk. The black lace thong she had been wearing was quickly pulled from her body, leaving her bare in front of him.

Tav undid every button on his doublet. She traced a gentle hand between the lacy collar of his undershirt and his neck. She worked his undershirt off of his body, surprised at the ease of working a shirt over his wings.

“Raphael,” Tav murmured, as he began to fuck her. He was insistent but grinding down on her. He put great energy into grinding against her with every thrust. Hells, he felt incredible.

“Beloved Mouse,” Raphael responded, moaning into her neck.

Raphael always finishes first.

Tav shifted and moved a leg onto Raphael’s shoulder to change the position. He accepted it eagerly and thrust deeply into her. Tav pulled him closer and deeper.

“Raphael,” Tav started again, unable to finish rational thoughts. The mention of his name resulted in several deep, hurried thrusts that gave Tav a remarkable amount of pleasure.

Raphael leaned down to kiss her again. Hells she was close.

Tav could feel an orgasm approaching. Pleasure coursed through her abdomen. Raphael was still grinding down onto her clit with each thrust. Tav found she was squirming underneath Raphael’s touch. She lay back on his desk and arched her back. Raphael angled her hips with his claws so that he kept good contact with her clit while she writhed below him. Tav tensed and shook as she came, keeping eye contact with Raphael before her eyes closed as she rode out the aftershocks.

Raphael wasn’t much further behind her. His moans were ragged and his thrusting was quickening. Tav wrapped her legs tightly around him and captured his mouth with hers, swallowing every moan. She ran her hands through his hair and held him tightly to her, extending his pleasure as he came. She broke the kiss and gently kissed his neck as he panted.

Raphael was still breathing heavily, and Tav’s legs quaked around him. He pulled her off of his desk onto the floor with him, their bodies entwined and leaking fluids from their coupling onto the rug and discarded clothing beneath them. They laid as a sticky woven mess atop all of their discarded clothing. Raphael pulled her onto his chest and hummed gently.

Tav ran her hand over his horns softly knowing she should apologize for an argument long past but was completely unsure how to accomplish that feat. She touched him in silence, unsure of what to say next.

His deep baritone cut the quiet. His hand stroked her jaw. “You are the only one I truly desire. You are everything to me, and I will spend eternity with you.”

Tav stared deeply into his eyes. “Husband, can we go back to your chambers?”

With a flurry of embers, Raphael snapped.

#bg3 raphael #raphael x tav #bg3 the fine print

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