#oh and let me know if you want it listed as a gift on ao3! i'm trying to get better at remembering to do that

[emyn-arnens]

Maglor and Elrond, ‘poured forth their joy in music and song’, and Rivendell for the writing prompts?

Elrond & Maglor, G, 1k (from this prompt list)

Elrond watched Maglor’s fingers as he plucked at the strings of the harp. He was always entranced by Maglor’s hands, long-fingered, graceful, and elegant, capable of creating melodies of surpassing beauty, and yet they were the same hands that had wrought violence unthinkable. The same hands that could spin stories from strings had laid the havens to waste until the streets were stained scarlet.

Fear and awe and a strange sense of peace—Elrond could little name the emotions he felt when Maglor was near, but these he could identify. Beauty and terror, comfort and pain. He never knew quite what he felt around Maglor, but he was strangely drawn to him, like a moth to flame. 

He and Elros had been saved, but he did not know why, and he was too frightened to ask.

Maglor began to sing in the High Tongue, and though Elrond did not understand the words that spun through the air, he could understand the shapes of their meaning—the joy of life and growth, and the dance of renewal and rebirth.

Elrond stood in awe, transfixed by the beauty of the song and the lilt of the harp. He felt almost as if he could touch the music, if he bent his mind and will hard enough to the task. He felt Maglor’s voice in his chest, in his heart, in the pulse of the air around him. Everything listened, bending ear to the power of the song.

The strange words took form, and Elrond heard new voices join the song. The sweet, pure voices of nightingales sang from the shadows, and Elrond caught a glimpse of fluttering wings. White petals of night-blooming jasmine bloomed upon the pillars, and their light scent filled the room. 

Elrond reached out to stroke a petal of the pale flower that grew before his feet, twisting upward until its petals brushed against his chest. His fingers passed through the petals, and the flower melted away at his touch.

“It is only an illusion,” Maglor said softly, and the spell was broken. “The same kind of illusion that Finrod wove in Tol-in-Gaurhoth.”

“Where is it—where are the flowers and birds from?”

Maglor was silent for a moment. “They once filled the gardens of Nargothrond, before its fall.”

Elrond considered this. “Can you teach me to weave illusions with songs?”

Maglor smiled and beckoned him near. “I can teach you that and more.”

---

“Will you not stay?” Elrond asked.

“Only for the night,” Maglor said. 

They stood beneath the eaves of the Last Homely House. Nearby, the waterfall poured into the starlit pool that lay behind the slope the house stood upon. Evening birds called softly to one another, hidden among the boughs of the trees, and the faint sounds of laughter and music spilled from the doors of the house. In the valley around them, all was painted in the soft purple of twilight.

In the silver light that fell from the lanterns hanging overhead, Maglor looked younger than he had for many centuries, and the soft shadows of twilight removed the lines of care from his face. 

“Will you join us in the Hall of Fire?” Celebrían asked, nodding at the harp fastened to Maglor’s back. “It is Midsummer and a time of celebration here. We would welcome your craft. There are few among us now who can sing and play with the skill of the Elder Days, and it is long since the Hall of Fire has been graced with such skill.” She turned and smiled at Elrond. “Perhaps Elrond will join you. He does not often sing anymore, and little of the lays of the First Age, but perhaps now that you are here he might be convinced.”

Elrond pressed Celebrían’s fingers gratefully. Ever gracious, she had smoothed away any uncertainty Maglor might have felt.

“Please, join us,” Elrond said, gesturing for Maglor to enter the house. “Tonight, we shall sing as we once did.”

Maglor smiled.

---

Inside the Hall of Fire, the fire burned low in the hearth, little needed with the warmth the summer sun had laid upon the house. The lanterns glowed brightly upon the walls, and the faces of the gathered Elves were merry, for they had just finished the Midsummer Feast and gathered now for tales and songs of joy and wonder.

Maglor set his harp between his knees and placed his fingers over the strings. Elrond readied his lute, waiting for Maglor to begin. Maglor’s fingers brushed over the strings of his harp, and a few quiet notes drifted into the hall.

The hall fell silent.

Maglor plucked the strings louder, his hands rippling over the harp like rain. At his glance, Elrond joined in.

Maglor began to sing with a voice that held the power and gentleness of the sea—now the voice of the ocean’s might and majesty, now the voice of the softly spilling waves. Elrond joined his voice with Maglor’s, weaving in and out of the ebb and flow of Maglor’s voice.

Images began to fill the hall. Elrond scarcely heard the gasps of the gathered Elves, so consumed was he by the power of Maglor’s voice and the strength of the song they sang. 

Golden light filtered through the hall. It was the light of high noon on a Midsummer’s day in Valinor. This Elrond knew in his heart, though he had never seen the shores of Aman. If he looked closely enough, he could almost see the golden leaves of Laurelin spread above the heads of the gathered Elves.

The sun-golden and star-silver petals of elanor sprung up from the floor, their star-shaped heads nodding in a gentle breeze. Between them sprouted the fragrant stems of lissuin , filling the hall with their light scent.

Elrond heard now the soft splashing of waves upon the shoreline and the distant cry of gulls winging overhead, and his heart was stirred with longing for a distant country he had never seen.

Maglor turned to him and smiled, and in his eyes shone bright, unrestrained joy.

Warmth pooled in Elrond’s chest as he smiled back.

Crossposted to AO3 | SWG

#thanks for the prompt! i hope this fits the bill! #oh and let me know if you want it listed as a gift on ao3! i'm trying to get better at remembering to do that #silmarillion #silm fic #tolkien fic #maglor #elrond #kidnap fam #the silmarillion #my fic #asks #dreamingthroughthenoise

[starryeyedjanai]

words that are hard to swallow

rated: teen | @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt: christmas tags: modern au, christmas gifts, birthday gifts, accidental come ons read on ao3

Steve doesn't know what to get for Eddie for Christmas so he finds an Etsy shop that does custom candles where you can choose the scent and the message on the candle.

Steve puts in the order note that he’s getting this for someone that probably likes woodsy scents and that the message can be the seller’s choice.

He doesn't look at it before wrapping it because it gets to him a day late in the mail, on Christmas Eve when everyone is exchanging gifts, and he barely has time to wrap it before he leaves to meet everyone for dinner.

Everyone exchanges gifts around the tree after dinner and Eddie pauses for a really long moment when he gets to Steve's gift and it makes him nervous.

Does he not like the scent? A candle seemed like a generic gift that anyone would like, but maybe Eddie is particular about his scents.

A minute passes and then Eddie leans over to say, “We should probably talk later,” before putting the candle back in its box.

Steve follows Eddie to his place after dinner, wondering the entire time if he somehow mortally offended him and when they get inside, he asks, “Did you not like it?”

Eddie says, “I mean, it was a weird time to give that to me, don't you think?”

Steve is confused. A weird time to give him a candle?

Eddie sees his confusion and says, “You have no idea what it says, do you?”

Steve shakes his head. “I told the Etsy shop to surprise me.”

Eddie laughs. “Oh, you’ll be surprised alright.”

He takes the candle out of the box and turns it around.

It reads Light me when you want a BJ.

Steve is obviously mortified.

When he goes back to it later, the Etsy listing was apparently for “Candles for Him, Husband, Boyfriend, 18+ Messages.” He thought it meant there were over 18 messages to choose from.

He sighs and vows to pay closer attention to the listing next time.

—

The next time he needs a gift for Eddie is his birthday and he really does mean to pick his gift up earlier because he’s known for a while what he wanted to get him. But he lost track of time and then suddenly Eddie’s sending him a reminder about his birthday dinner and Steve still hasn't gotten the gift.

He heads to Target hoping and praying the Lego set Eddie mentioned a few months ago is in stock.

He finds it, luckily, and heads to the card aisle, but he’s pressed for time, so he just grabs one in the birthday section and hopes the message doesn't have anything age specific in it.

The cashier rings him up and places the card face down on the envelope, asking if he wants it in the bag.

He says no and asks if she has a pen because he doesn't have one in his car.

He grabs the pen from her and writes Hope you have a great birthday! on the inside, shoving it into the envelope and into the bag before taking his credit card out of the reader.

He rushes out of the store and is only a few minutes late to dinner.

He tells Eddie he’ll give him his gift at his apartment since he forgot to get a gift bag, so he meets Eddie at his apartment afterwards and brings the Target bag inside.

Eddie is appropriately surprised and happy, wrapping Steve up in a hug when he sees what’s inside the bag.

“You wanna help me put this together?” Eddie asks, and Steve says yes because that’s also part of why he wanted to give it to Eddie here.

They start putting together the set, the Bomber Starfighter, and it takes hours to get even halfway through, so they call it a night and agree to finish it tomorrow.

When Steve shows up a few hours before his shift the next day to finish it, Eddie opens the door with an envelope in his hand—his card must have fallen to the bottom of the bag when they took the Lego set out.

“So I don't know if this was a ‘haha remember the weird candle I accidentally bought’ thing or a come on, but I nearly choked on my coffee this morning when I found this,” Eddie says, letting Steve inside.

“Oh fuck, what does it say?” Steve asks, cringing.

Eddie turns and looks at him. “No fucking way this was an accident. I’d buy that it was a gag card, but there’s no way you picked this up by accident.”

“I was running late and didn't have time to read through the cards in Target. I just went with one that looked plain and simple,” he says.

Eddie hands him the card.

On the front, it says I LOVE YOU FOR YOUR PERSONALITY, BUT THAT D*CK IS A REALLY NICE BONUS.

“Jesus christ,” Steve says. “Why did Target even have this card?”

Eddie snorts. “Either the universe is trying to tell us something or you have supremely bad luck, my friend.”

Steve looks at him and hesitantly says, “Maybe it’s both?”

Eddie looks taken aback. “Yeah?” he asks with a shy smile.

Steve runs a hand through his hair. “I dunno. I was… thinking about it after the last time, with the candle.”

“Thinking about…?” Eddie trails off, looking at Steve's lips, his eyes going dark.

Steve nods, biting his lip.

Eddie takes a step closer and says, “I don't know if you realized, but I lit that candle last night before you got here. It was burning while we were building the Lego set.”

Steve's breath comes a little bit quicker. “I didn't notice that, no.”

“Do you want me to light it again?” Eddie whispers and Steve doesn't even have to think about it before he nods.

They don't end up getting around to building the rest of the Lego set that day.

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #st fic #st ficlet #merry christmas to those who celebrate! #janai.doc

[pursuitseternal]

“The Fourth Day” of Bats, Blood, and Mirror Smut in “Antics of the Newly Ascended”

Ascended Astarion x Reader |E| 2.3K of Batstarion and Self-indulgent mirror sex

Summary: He’s late to arrive back, and then you hear… scratching at your window. Bat nibbles and head scritches quickly shift into other sensual indulgences. Ones that allow him to experience other benefits to his ascension… and to your own pleasure.

CW: “Right Hand” puns, Batstarion bites, cunilingus, mirror sex, Extra Emphatic performance from the Ascendant cause he likes the way he looks, “oh yes, I see what all the fuss is about”

Previous Ch | Ao3 Link | Masterlist

A gift for @icybluepenguin

🪞🦇🪞🦇🪞🦇🪞🦇🪞🦇🪞🦇🪞🦇🪞🦇🪞

You lay in your bed, tossing and turning. Waiting for Astarion to return. The camp needed supplies—potions and scrolls and armor. And it was Astarion’s turn to go fetch, even as he had grumbled how beneath him it was as the Ascendant.

Of course, Wyll had only laughed all the harder, shoving the purse of coin in his pale hands and slamming the door on his ass. The goods had been sent ahead by a maid from the Elfsong’s tavern, the Ascendant adding in the message delivered along with the bundle that he would return anon, once he deemed his presence sufficiently missed.

That was hours ago… Now even sleep sounded good. Long, lonely sleep. With him somewhere out there in the dark of night.

Your stomach swirls, knowing he is powerful, knowing he is experienced in how to care for himself, but… you have so many enemies now. So many assassins and monsters and soldiers. The list of beings that wanted you dead seems to grow ever bigger.

He shouldn’t have gone alone.

Stupid, arrogant, exalted idiot.

Every sound in the tavern, every creak on every floor reaches your ears. And it’s not your heightened vampiric senses.

You’re worried. For as much as he preens and postures and bites and drinks, you can see it plainly with your eyes and your heart. You see what others can’t since his Ascension.

He’s still just the same, poor at planning, smooth brained rogue. Good with his hands, silken with his words, bad at anything to do with plots or logic or calculations or…

A soft scritch scratch at the window made you sit up from your good- humored, condescending musings.

Something… big… rests against the panes of glass. You look closer. Something largish and fluffy and… white.

“My dear consort, let me in…” he speaks in that way that caresses your mind with his own.

“You have got to be kidding, Astarion. Are you stuck again…”

“No, not stuck. I am positively famished. I need to rest, to feed, before I can use my magic to return to the handsome body you know and crave and worship….”

“Pfft,” you roll your eyes. “So you need help, is that it… mighty Vampire Ascendant?”

“You wound me, my darling…. My treasure…” he flaps against the glass again. His little claws scratch so hard as he grows clearly more and more agitated. “My right hand…” he purrs so silkenly.

You cross from the bed, your body naked as you stroll so slowly towards his blurred shadow on the other side of that pane. “It’s funny, my love, that night you offered me this…” you pause to flourish your hand the same way he had, “gift of immortality… I didn’t realize by your Right Hand, you meant things so literally.”

That made him flutter harder and bang his little bat feet against the window. “I swear when I do get in there… when I do finally feed and shift back… I’ll make that right hand do so much more for me than opening this fucking window….”

You laugh…. So adorable. So dramatic and ridiculous. So… him. “You should see yourself, my love. I suppose II would miss you if I should leave you so… indisposed.”

You cackle, reaching for that handle. The instant a gap was big enough, he flapped his way inside. Circling on his beautiful, membranous wings, you feel the wind brush your hair away before he lands on the back of your shoulder. His itty, bitty fingers hook onto the crest of your back, the only warning you get before you feel his small razor fangs bite into your neck.

So much smaller than normal, you gasp in surprise more at the sensation of warm fur on your skin. His little claws hook tightly, and his quiet breath snuffles beneath your ear as he drinks. You reach your hand around, his little ears twitching as you blindly brush them, scratching one finger in that small space at the top of his head. His mouth still contentedly suckles on your blood.

Tingles of magic wash down your back, and suddenly your hand raises with the top of his head, that silken mess of curls wrapped around your finger. Lips replace bat teeth, the wide span of his warm tongue swirls lazily over the teeny marks he’s left.

“Now… about that defiant, rebellious right hand of yours,” he rasps against the sensitive spot behind your ear.

“Oh…. This little thing?” you taunt, wickedly, childishly, gripping that bulge between his legs from behind you. The “oof” that comes from his smirking mouth is music to your ears. You spin smoothly, pivoting your grip on his cock, and you give it just a few hard strokes to make it harden under your touch.

It doesn’t take much. It never has. He bucks against your palm. One of his elegant, long-fingered hands clutches underneath your chin, dragging your lips for him to consume. You taste the blood on his tongue, feel his hunger mixed with yearning. The way his tongue dances with yours hides nothing of the want you were so quick to incite in him.

You lose your breath as he shoves you against the wall. Moonlight floods from behind him, his sharpened face barely lit in the shadow. But those curls, ravaged by the winds of flying, mussed from his shifting, those silver-white curls sit like a halo in the pale light. Left hand closing around your right, he presses it against the wall, a silent command to hold still. Very still.

A single kiss on your lips, a rakish arch to his brow, and he drops to his knees. His hands force your leg over his shoulder so quickly, you have to grip that wall behind you, caught only by the way he shoves his shoulder under your thigh. His face already presses hard into your mound, fingers already prying your folds wide for his tongue to lap. Careful, you use your left hand to comb through his curls, riding the circling of his head as he licks through your seam.

The same sort of little noises come from between your thighs, little low hums of feeding, muffled grunts amidst the wet suck of his tongue on your clit. Your hips buck, catching on his nose, his hands keeping that new angle for him to push deeper into that wet.

You pound your right hand into the wall, a closed fist, and your legs shake. He drives you closer and closer, pools of heat and lightning racing to your belly and down your nerves. He laughs into your cunt, fingers slipping into your channel from somewhere below your ass. You can’t see, can only feel that rhythmic lap and suck of his perfect tongue and thick smirking lips. But those fingers crook hard to catch your spot, that itch he knows how to scratch and make you shatter.

You pant, riding the brush of his nose on your clit and the suck of his tongue as he devours you even in climax.

“Fuck me…” you groan, head smacking against the wall as you raise your hips even higher. His hands hold you firm, even as your legs twitch and threaten to go boneless in your orgasm.

“Oh yes, darling, I am about to do just that,” he stands to rasp into your ear. “You did say… if only I could see myself… a delightful suggestion, my pet. Come now,” he purrs, “but you will only use those defiant hands of yours as I see fit. And…”

He flips you around, drags you across the room to the corner, until you’re staring at your own reflection. The simple wooden-framed mirror shows every pale line of your bodies as one. You can barely tell where your soft curves melt into the edges of every hardened rise of him behind you in the moonlight. “…you’re going to watch ever little way I fuck you…”

“You mean you’re going to watch every little way you fuck…”

His hand reaches from behind you, clawing around your mouth and twisting to bring your ear against his smirking lips. His crimson eyes lock into yours in that reflection, a matching color. “Well, it was your suggestion, my love, since we both have been given such a gift. And I haven’t yet seen how ruinous I am in this process…”

“Tch,” you suck your teeth, a humored and condescending shake of your head. “Fine… it is a sight to behold. And after all, these days are about you discovering yourself, indulging in your powers.”

“And I’m so grateful it’s you who enables my indulgences, my darling,” his silken voice croons. His tongue visibly sticks out to run that warm, wet pad up the curve of your ear.

His gaze watches yours flutter, your body shivering involuntarily as you want more. “Bend,” he growls into those little circles and folds of your ear. His grip fastens on your wrist, making you reach for the wall beside you, turning you sideways to that shimmering mirror glass. You look through the messy curtain of your hair, watching in that reflection as his hand smooths down the vertebrae of your spine, his other grips and pumps his cock. That hard, veined length dripping onto the floor, twitching relentlessly as he catches your eye with a wicked grin.

“You keep those insolent hands where I can see them, darling, and you… will… watch me.” His voice drops into a deep-throated growl, his head cocked back, hips bucking into his fist. Even as he clutches the cheek of your ass, his sharp nails finding purchase, drawing blood to the surface as he marks you.

His. Forever.

Fingers leave your skin, pulling back that long, tousled mess of your hair so you can obey him.

So you can watch.

Watch as he lines himself up with your entrance, watch as he drags that blunted tip, forcefully and slowly back and forth through your slick. Watch as his hand beats his shaft against your folds, smearing your arousal up and down his velvety smooth skin as he does so.

It’s… burning in your belly, the way he’s licking his lips, stare alternating between watching his body in the mirror and your eyes drinking in his every sensual stroke.

You can’t look away, watching him shut his eyes, head thrown back in pleasure, arching as he sheathes himself until you feel that brush of his balls against you. You want to shudder and hang your head, instantly filled and throbbing and so… very… full.

“Don’t you disobey me, pet,” he hisses. “Best keep watching, or else…” Eyes still shut, he groans in deep delight as he pulls out once more only to grip your hips and shove inside again.

Deeper. Harder. More punishing. Fangs bared, he smirks down to watch his perfect shaft entering you, a slow beating rhythm to the snaps of his hips. Every little ripple of muscles in his body, you get drunk on the sight of him. Even that slight gleaming slick on his cock that you see, that base of his shaft as it glistens before it disappears to ram you full again. It makes your mouth water.

He picks up the pace now, your body so warm and wet from how he pleasured you. He smiles at himself, tilting his head back towards the mirror. You can feel it, the extra undulations of his body, a little extra shove, a little harder buck of his hips to make your ass slap hard on his body.

A performance of pleasure just for him.

Deep, subtle pants leave his gaping mouth with each thrust, his eyes watching the way his own flawless, ruinous body clenches as he fucks. Every tweak of his abs, every clench of his ass, you can see his eyes dart in the mirror to savor the sight.

You laugh, well, barely laugh. As breathless as you are, riding every pummel into your cunt, you manage to speak. “Careful, or I’ll have to get a blindfold if you can’t stop watching yourself…”

“Oh darling, I finally see what all the fuss is about,�� he pants between his words. And you hear it, that edge to his voice, reckless and uncontrolled. His words catch in his throat just as stilted as his thrusts become.

Hard and random and rough.

Your cervix grows numb, your channel walls so swollen, so hot. Pounded over and over again until he finally groans and folds over you. Arms yank you back against him by your hips, slamming your body against his wild bucks. You watch that magnificent reflection as he unravels, how his knees buckle as he comes.

How his seed spills so hard from his cock deep inside you, it’s already dripping to the floor at your feet. The sight of sweating pale skin and undulating muscles bent over for you… you shatter too. And it makes another groan, a whimper come from where he’s laid his head on your back, just below your shoulder blades. Your walls milk him of every last drop, your own arousal joining the mess on the floor beneath your feet.

Breathless, your arms shake, still extended towards the wall. A naughty grin on your mouth as he looks at your lust-hazed eyes and tousled hair. His face is a matching set of post-coital mess and beauty.

You reach that right hand of yours between your legs, slowly, delicately teasing over your own slick clit, drenched in both your cum. Stroking further to brush the soaked base of his cock that is still buried inside you, he nips into the skin of your back, not hard enough to break the skin.

Just enough to make you look again in that mirror.

“Your right hand is forgiven… I’ll allow it…” he purrs one more time.

His crimson gaze still looks hazy and dunk on that sight of you coupled. And you wonder if he will ever let you stand.

#astarion #ascended astarion #mirror sex #comedy and smut #oh he does see what all the fuss is about #batstarion #astarion smut #astarion x reader #reader x astarion #astarion x female reader #astarion x f!reader #astarion x female tav #astarion x tav #Astarion being self-absorbed #astarion baldurs gate #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #bg3 smut #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fic #astarion fanfic #baldur’s gate iii #baldur gate 3 #baldurs gate smut #baldur’s gate 3 #baldur's gate #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #baldur's gate 3

[trickphotography2]

Santa's North Island Delivery Service

Stuck at work, Bradley is missing his daughter's first Christmas Eve. But when the squadron decides to turn the hanger into Santa's Workshop, the pilot is able to sneak away to spend a little time with his girls. (Inspired by a true story; Rooster x Reader Christmas fluff)

Word count: 2.4K

Ao3 | Masterlist

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

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw was officially having the worst Christmas Eve. Not only was he stuck at work doing absolutely nothing, he was missing his daughter’s first Christmas Eve. 

With his boots kicked onto his desk, he leaned back in his chair and scrolled through the photos you’d sent him throughout the night. At eight months old, Bennett was too young to really know what was going on, but it didn’t make it suck any less. He wanted to see her lying under the tree, colored lights reflecting in her eyes. (He’d already set that picture as his home screen.)

“Hey, Lieutenant?” A knock on his door drew his attention, and he looked up to see Petty Officer Second Class Wagner, one of the head mechanics, standing there. 

“Yeah?” Rooster said, sitting up. Even though he outranked the enlisted man, Wagner was one of the most respected non-commissioned officers in the squadron. To cheer up the men stuck working the night shift, he’d organized a movie night after doing a Christmas movie bracket throughout the week - National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation had barely edged out Die Hard. 

“You got anything at home that needs to be assembled before going under the tree?” 

“Huh?” 

“Any gifts for the kiddo that need to be put together? We’re getting a list of stops together for the trucks.” Rooster gave him a confused look, which made the man chuckle. “We’re bored, so we figured we’d set up some presents for everyone’s kids in the hangar. The first group of guys are heading out now to get stuff, and then we’ll swap.”

“Oh, uh… yeah, I think there’s a couple things. Let me check with my girlfriend.” With a nod, Wagner left, leaving Rooster to stare at his phone. After a moment, he called you.

“Hey, babe,” you said, answering on the third ring. He could hear babbling in the background.

“Hey. Have you started getting things together to go under the tree?”

“Not yet. We’re just finishing up bath time, and then we’re gonna get cookies out for Santa and go to bed, aren’t we, Benny girl?” 

“Any chance you can hold off for about an hour?” Bradley asked, unable to keep from smiling at the sound of his daughter giggling. 

“Are you getting off work early?” It was hard to miss the sound of hope and excitement in your voice, and he hated to dash it.

“No, but I’m gonna run home and pick up some stuff.” You hummed.

“Okay. I’ll try and keep her up. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Alright, love you.”

“Love you too.” Hanging up the call, Bradley dropped his head and tapped the phone against his forehead. It was only your second Christmas together and the first as parents, and he was already missing things. You’d assured him it was okay and that you understood that his job sometimes meant spending time apart, but he hated it. 

“You’re a mean one, Benny Grinch,” you sang, gently bouncing your daughter as she howled. Letting your head fall back, you blew out a long breath. The crying fit couldn’t last forever. 

Though overly tired, she was fighting against going to sleep. It was a nightly battle, but one that Bradley usually helped to fight. You’d learned early on that he had what you lovingly called the Sleeper Hold - the minute Benny was tucked into her father’s arms, her eyes would start to close. Shifting her onto your shoulder, you glanced at your watch and sighed. As much as you wanted to wait to finish the bedtime routine until Bradley got home, it was getting late. “Alright, sweetie,” you cooed, grabbing your water bottle and retreating to the nursery. “Let’s get settled in.”

With the white noise machine and night light on, you settled into the rocking chair and lifted your shirt. Benny rooted for a moment before latching onto your nipple, making you inhale sharply at the pinch. Digging your toes into the carpet, you gently rocked back and forth, holding your daughter’s gaze as she ate. “Merry Christmas, Bennett,” you whispered, stroking her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed as she grunted. You closed your eyes, comforted by the warm weight of your daughter in your arms and the tugging at your breast.

“Hey.” The soft, raspy voice roused you from the trance you’d fallen into, and you lifted your head to see Bradley standing in the doorway.

“Hey,” you replied sleepily. His long legs ate up the space between you until he was beside you, leaning down to press his lips to your forehead. The familiar scratch of his mustache had your eyes fluttering closed again. 

“She done?” Bradley asked, a large hand coming down to cup your daughter’s head. 

“Should be soon.” At his touch, Benny startled from her doze, suckling hard and squirming. 

“You need anything?” 

“The sleeper hold in a minute to finish her off.” In the dim lighting, you saw Bradley grin before he leaned down again to brush his lips against yours. 

“I can do that.” As if on cue, Bennett released your breast, her breath a soft pant against your tender skin. Without a word, Bradley took her and settled her on his shoulder, patting her back. “Hey, Benny, were you good for mommy tonight?” He paced the nursery as you reached for one of the breast pads and cleaned up. When a loud burp sounded, you heard him chuckle. “That’s my girl.” 

You took a moment to appreciate the sight before you - your boyfriend in his tight khaki uniform cooing to your daughter as she rubbed her face into his shoulder to fight sleep. “How long do you have before you have to head back?”

“I’ve got about thirty minutes,” Bradley replied, turning on his heel to face you while pacing the room. “Benny girl, the sooner you go to sleep, the sooner Santa comes.”

“I’m not sure she’s old enough for that bribery to work yet.” His grin blinded as he kissed the back of her head, lightly bouncing her. 

“Gonna be fun when she is. We’ll track him with NORAD and everything.” Shaking your head, you stood and kissed both of their cheeks.

“You get her down, and I’ll start pulling out the gifts.”

“Put aside anything that needs to be put together or wrapped, and I’ll take it to the hanger. Apparently, that’s what we’re gonna do for the rest of the shift.” With a mocking salute, you left the nursery to the sound of him humming a lullaby. 

Ten minutes later, Bradley crept out of the nursery with the baby monitor in hand and joined you in grabbing the presents stashed around the house. The Daggers had dropped off their gifts throughout the week, and your family had mailed theirs. The craftsman that you’d helped Bradley purchase when he moved to North Island didn’t have the best hiding spots - it wasn’t exactly something he needed when you’d been his real estate agent - but with Benny so little, it was a problem for the future. “I think we may have overdone it,” you sighed, setting an unwrapped toy on the couch. The floor by the tree was already covered with wrapped presents.

“Nope, just enough,” Bradley chuckled, opening his arms. With a scoff, you stepped into his embrace, smiling as he swayed you. A dark spot decorated his shoulder, and you gently wiped away your daughter’s drool. “Gotta spoil my girls.”

“I really hope you kept to our budget for each other.” When he stayed silent, you pulled away and cocked an eyebrow. “Bradley Bradshaw, you stayed within the budget, right?” 

“I stayed within our Christmas budget,” he answered, his hands gliding down your back to cup your ass as his mustache tickled your throat. “Love you, baby.” 

“I love you too. Now, help me get all of this stuff under the tree. Did you want to do her stocking?” 

There was a whoop, and Bradley turned to see three guys crouched on the hanger floor cheering as they played with a racetrack. Another corner had been designated as the bike assembly space, an array of tools spread on the ground. One of the card tables had been dragged out from the break room, and it was covered with popcorn and an assortment of cookies. 

Unsure of where to go, Bradley walked towards a few other officers standing in the corner. “Hey, Rooster,” Captain “Taco” Bell said as he neared. “We were just talking about ordering pizza for everyone. Would you throw in?” 

“Yeah. Does anyone know if there’s a system here, or does it just go wherever?” 

“Wagner’s in charge,” Payback shrugged, nodding towards the NCO helping assemble a kitchen playset. “You got stuff for Benny?” 

“Just a few things. Brought some of the smaller stuff to wrap, too.” The two men quickly went to the Bronco to unload the gifts. Setting them in a pile with a couple of rolls of wrapping paper, they quickly assembled the play sets. A few other guys drifted by, helping to slot the plastic pieces together or offering to help wrap. Boxes piled up on one end of the hanger, and a sign-up sheet for folks who had larger gifts at the house that needed to be assembled was passed around. It looked like at least six families were getting swingsets or trampolines. Bradley idly wondered about setting up a swing in the backyard in the summer. In the meantime, he assembled the small slide that would be perfect for the living room.

The pizza arrived around 10:00PM, and there was a quick break. As they sat around the hangar, the Santa letter exchange happened. Wagner supplied blank papers with a printed Christmas border, and the parents swapped letters for others to write the replies. “This saved my ass one year,” Wagner shared. “My middle daughter was starting to question Santa, and boom - different handwriting. Got her for at least another year.” 

Around midnight, the squadron split into three sections - one to stay back and clean up the hanger, and two to deliver gifts and set up the presents. Bradley packed up his gifts and put them into the back of the Bronco. He was joined by three guys to set up a trampoline. Aided by headlamps, they were able to get it done in about an hour with only a few pinched fingers in the process, which was worth it to test it out. 

A trampoline was added to the Christmas list when Benny was a bit older. 

After touching base with Wagner, they headed to the second house to set up another trampoline before returning to the hangar. The third team left to assemble a swingset while they settled in to watch Die Hard for their last two hours on shift. 

Tucked away in his office, Bradley set about wrapping his last present. 

“Benny girl, look here!” you cooed, trying to get your daughter to look as you snapped pictures. Sitting in her father’s lap, she slapped the present in front of her and shrieked. Bradley laughed, quickly shifting his hold to wipe the drool from his wrist onto his sweatpants before retrieving his cup of coffee. Even with just two hours of sleep, he wasn’t willing to push back Christmas morning. After taking a sip, he set the mug down and took Benny’s hand, sliding it under the paper seam. Her hand flew up, ripping the paper.

“Good girl!” he chuckled, helping her tear the rest away to reveal stacking cups. It took about an hour to get through the presents, trading off the baby to get pictures. 

A small stack of presents surrounded you as Bradley opened his new electric razor. “Thanks, baby,” he said, crawling across the living room floor to kiss you. With one hand on Benny’s stomach to keep her upright in your lap, you cupped his cheek and ran your thumb along his scars.

“You’re welcome, babe. Merry Christmas.” 

“Merry Christmas.” Pushing onto his feet, he quickly shoved the wrapping paper into the trash bag and ran a hand through his hair. “That looks like almost everything.”

“Unless Santa left something somewhere in the back of a closet, it looks like we got it all.” 

“Hang on,” Bradley said, reaching around the back of the tree and retrieving a small box. “Looks like we missed one.” Holding it up, he glanced at the gift tag. “To Mommy, from Bennett.” 

“What?” Grinning, he sat down across from you and offered you the box, holding out his arms for the baby. A quick glance confirmed it was Bradley’s handwriting on the tag. “What’d you get me, Benny?” you asked, smiling as your daughter laughed when her father tickled her. Lifting it to your ear, you shook it gently and heard it rattle. Tearing away the paper, you laughed at the kid’s jewelry box. The ballerina twirled when you opened it to reveal a bunch of plastic necklaces, rings, and bracelets. “Oooh, fancy! I know what I’m wearing today,” you laughed, quickly putting on a pair of clip-on earrings and a necklace. 

“There’s a note,” Bradley said, leaning down to press his lips to Benny’s head. He looked a bit nervous.

And there was. Buried under the plastic was a folded-up piece of paper. Your mouth fell open when you read it.

I couldn’t get you jewelry this year, but Daddy could.

With wide eyes, you looked up to see Bradley grinning at you. “Open the drawer.” 

Slowly, you pulled the handle to reveal a diamond ring. “Bradley?”

“Will you marry me?” 

Later, when Bennett was asleep and the baby monitor was tossed onto the couch, Bradley watched the Christmas tree lights dance across your face as he took you apart slowly, savoring your taste. The ring sparkled on your finger when you pressed a hand to your mouth to muffle your moans as you shook apart under him, thighs bracketing his ears. 

Kissing his way up your body, Bradley paused to suck on a tender nipple, groaning when your nails raked his scalp. The tree shook when he continued his ascent, knocking the lower branches as he tried to reach your lips. “Fuck.” 

Laughing, you lifted your head to meet his gaze and wiped your thumb along his mustache, feeling your arousal coating the coarse hair. “Merry Christmas, Daddy.”

“Merry Christmas, Mama. Now get out from under the tree so I can unwrap my present in bed and fuck you properly.” 

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

Author's Note: This was inspired by my dad and his squadron when we were stationed in Japan. He had to work overnight Christmas Eve and they ended up making a run to everyone's house on base to pick up gifts that needed to be set up. I definitely believed in Santa for another year when I didn't recognize the handwriting on the letter the Christmas morning.

The jewelry box and note are also pulled from real life. Dad went remote for a year (he was over in Korea and we were stateside) to ensure that we got orders to Florida, and came back just in time for Christmas. My sisters and I got mom the fake jewelry (we were all in high school/college) while Dad got Mom a new necklace.

Thank you for reading my (late) self-indulgent Christmas fic! I hope you enjoyed it, and my first foray into writing Rooster. And a major thank you to @mamachasesmayhem for encouraging me to write this, even if she's just dipping her toes into Bradley and would have preferred it to be Jake 😂

#bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #top gun #top gun fanfiction #top gun x female reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster fanfiction

[cinnbar-bun]

Together (Benn Beckman x Reader)

Summary: As the "mom" and "dad" of the Red-Hair Pirates, you and Beckman have a lot of work on your plates. (Un)Luckily for you two, your crew decides to meddle with your relationship (again).

A/n: A gift for my friend, @fanaticsnail . Enjoy the first mate, darling <3.

Notes: F!Reader, kinda of a will they-won't they type thing. Everyone is shipping it just Beck and Reader lowkey refuse to admit it. Lots of fluff and teasing. Reader is referred to as 'mom' and Beck as 'dad'.

Word Count: ~3k

You can read on my AO3 here!

“Dad! Mom’s being mean to me again!” Shanks loudly yelled while he was chugging more bottles of rum. The first mate sighed at the nickname but didn’t even bother to turn around and face his captain. 

“(Y/n)?” Beckman called out. 

“Yes?” You replied, the other members of the crew staring at you both with wide smiles and bated breath. 

“Smack him for me,” Beckman chuckled. Shanks let out a faux-offended gasp as the deck erupted with laughter.

“You’re so mean to me! How could my own first mate do this to me?!” Shanks whined as you pat your poor captain’s head. He pouted like a little kid before he took another swig of his alcohol. 

“That’s just what you get, Captain!” Lucky Roux laughed. “You know Beck won’t ever disagree with (Y/n)!” 

“Well some of us need to be the adults around here,” Beckman retorted. He held two mugs in his hand, one filled with his coffee, the other prepared just for you. For the first mate, it was practically routine to make your morning drinks for you. He silently handed off your mug to you, and you took it with a hushed ‘thank you’. “Are you still making the list?” 

You nodded while going over the notepad in your hand. “Tomatoes, potatoes, onions…” 

“Don’t forget to add some carrots, since someone,” Beckman’s eyes narrowed at Limejuice, “burned them all.” 

“Hey! It wasn’t my fault! I thought you eat them if they were black!” Limejuice tries to explain. 

“They’re carrots, you can eat them raw!” Beckman shouted in exasperation. “You guys are going to kill me one day!” 

“Oh, don’t be too harsh on them, Beck,” you try to soothe the first mate. “I can always take care of cooking duties, anyways.” 

The men nodded, eager to have your cooking as a guarantee instead of whatever slop they would make in their often drunken stupor. 

“Thanks, mom!” Yasopp cheered. “You know we love your cooking!” 

“Not happening,” Beckman deadpanned. The men slunk their shoulders and groaned. 

“Why not? (Y/n) makes the best food!” 

Beckman rested a hand on his hips. “Because (Y/n) is already busy taking care of a majority of the duties on this ship. I’m not having her overwork herself because you guys couldn’t figure out that carrots are edible.” 

Shanks put down his drink and nodded. “I have to admit, it’s pretty true. Beck has a point.” 

“Thanks, Capta-” 

“So I guess if you want (Y/n) to cook, you need to start picking up the slack!” Shanks proclaimed. “That’s a good compromise, right?” 

You shrugged. “I-I mean, it’s really not necessary, I can cook, too.” 

Beckman placed a hand on your shoulder and shook his head. “(Y/n), they’re grown men, they can do their own laundry and dishes. You don’t need to do everything.” 

“I could say the same thing to you,” you chuckle. “‘Dad’.”

“Not you, too,” he groaned. “You know I hate that nickname.” 

“I know, but it fits you.” 

“‘Mom’ fits you as well.” 

“Okay, you two, get a room!” Shanks laughed. Beckman glared while Shanks waved him off. “Anyways, why don’t you two take care of the shopping today? The men and I will handle things back here.” 

“Are you sure? But Yasopp was saying-” 

“Bah!” Shanks laughs off your concern before rummaging for a bag of coins. “Yasopp wasn’t planning on doing anything. Just take your time and get whatever you guys want. I better see you two relaxed and having fun when you get back!” 

Beckman made a puzzled face as he took the bag of money. “You’re not slick, Shanks.” 

“What’re ya talking about, Beck! I’m just saying, you two should take it easy today. You guys keep this ship and crew running. As captain, it’s only natural I let my best mateys have a day off every once in a while. I’m not some tyrant, you know?” 

You stifle the laughter in your throat and and close your notepad. “Well, we really can’t complain, Beck. Let’s enjoy shopping for a bit.” 

“Sure thing,” Beckman relented. He made sure his pistol was strapped to his belt and put the money into his pocket. “You got the list?” 

“Mhm.” 

“Good. I heard this island is supposedly famous for their bread. If we’re early enough, we might be able to snag some right from the oven,” Beckman comments. Your eyes widen. 

“Really? We gotta hurry then.” 

“Bye mom, bye dad!” Shanks waves with his remaining arm, causing the other members to rush back to the deck to see you off. 

“Bye, you two!” Lucky Roux waves his stick of meat. “Don’t have too much fun!” 

“Don’t stay out too late, lovebirds!” Yasopp jokes. 

“Keep talking like that and I’ll not bring any rum back,” Beckman threatens. 

“Aghhhhh! MOM! Do something about him!” The men whine to you while some of them boo and chide Beckman. 

“Bad, Beckman, bad,” you chuckle as you and Beck begin to walk down the ship. 

“You’re right,” Beckman plays along. “I’m just a horrible, terrible first mate.” 

“The cruelest first mate around.” 

“Mhm. And what does that make you? Just as bad?” 

“Probably.” 

You two go through the streets of the island, taking in the sights. It isn’t long before the sweet smell of bread begins wafting through the air and taking hold of the both of you. 

“Oh man, they weren’t kidding,” Beckman mumbled after inhaling the smell. 

“I think that means we came just in time,” you grin, excitedly walking up to the door of the bakery. You marveled at the selections within the store, as well as some of the bakers making the bread behind the counter. 

“Wow…” you tap your chin. “Maybe we should get some brioche.” 

“They do have flatbreads, too. We could get those for a meal,” Beckman hums thoughtfully. 

“With tuna?” “Now you’re cooking. Add that to the list for our next stop,” he commented, and you nodded before writing ‘tuna’ on your list. 

“I’ll add some rice as well,” you say. 

Soon, it is you and Beckman’s turn to order, and you two greet the old woman working at the counter. 

“And what can I get you two?” You begin to place your order, before turning to Beckman. 

“Do you think we should get anything else?” You ask, glancing back toward the display of pastries. Of course the first mate caught that and nodded. 

“Two pastries,” he added. “You want that one, right?” Beckman pointed at your favorite pastry and you smile bashfully at the fact he knew what you liked without you having to say a thing. 

“Yep, that one,” you confirm. The old woman grins at you two and begins to package your bread. Beck takes the box of it to carry, and promptly thanks the woman. Afterwards, she puts your two pastries in a small, wax paper bag and hands it to you. She sighs contentedly and has a nostalgic look on her face. 

“Oh, you two remind me of the good ol’ days. May your love stay with you forever,” she wishes. The sentiment catches you off-guard for a brief moment. “Sorry, we’re actually-” 

“Thank you, ma’am,” Beckman thanks her. Your eyes widen as he smiles at you, and you can’t help the smile forming on your lips, either. You wave goodbye to the woman and exit the bakery with Beckman. 

“Why’d you say that?” You ask, curious of his intentions. He shrugs, but there’s still a playful grin on his face. 

“Felt natural,” is all he says as you two continue down the street. You rummage through the paper bag and get out the pastry he ordered for himself, one made with figs, and hold it to his lips. He stops his mindless chattering about things to get and leans down to take a bite. 

“Mm, that’s so good. They got good figs,” he mumbles with a mouth full of pastry. You laugh at his silly behavior and wipe some of the crumbs off his chin. 

“Let me try mine.” You take out yours and bite into it, melting at the exquisite taste of the pastry. “Oh, that’s amazing.” 

“Right?” He says enthusiastically. “We have to come back here again and get some more another day.” 

“We should bring some back for the crew next time.” 

“Nah. Let’s keep this one our little secret,” he winks at you. 

“You’re a very cruel first mate, Beck,” you tease. 

“Well, can you blame me? They won’t taste as good without you eating them with me.” 

“I think I have to agree.” 

The day continues on like this, with you two continuing to shop and cart around box after box of supplies for the ship. Beckman and you have practically inspected every item for the freshest produce, meat, and fruits for the crew. Thankfully, you two are the most organized and efficient members of the crew and are practically finished before lunch. 

“Did we grab coffee beans?” You ask, looking at your list again. 

“Right here, dear,” he answers, showing you one of the bags. 

“Okay, good,” you check off another box. “Is that really it?” 

Beckman looks over your shoulder to see the list and the boxes all around you. “Would you look at that… guess we really did get everything.” 

“I mean, this looks like all we need, but we did it so quick,” you say, admittedly wanting to spend more time with the first mate. 

“We did. I guess that’s what happens when you don’t send Roux and Yasopp to do the shopping.” You laugh as you remember the time when those two went to get the supplies, only to come back near midnight with only the most expensive of alcohols and hardly any food. From then on, Beckman had set a rule that if anyone messed up that bad again, they’d have to pay with their own coin. 

“Should we head back, then?” You ask. 

“If you want. I have no problems walking around the town with you,” he replies. 

“Considering you’re pushing that cart, I think we should go back and drop the supplies off.” 

“It’s not a problem, (Y/n). This is pretty easy to pull,” Beckman assures you. 

“Still, I-” you begin, before Beckman places a hand on your shoulder. 

“Hey. It’s okay,” he states. “I’m happy to keep walking with you. After all, even our captain said we should enjoy ourselves. I don’t see any issue with us taking a bit longer to go back.” 

“You really mean it?” Beckman nods. 

“I do mean it. I enjoy our time together, and it’s rare we get the time to just do as we please.” 

You hesitate for a moment then nod at him. It is true, as a pirate, especially in the crew of a notorious Yonko, moments of peace are rather rare and fleeting. Not having to fight for your life or the world is a nice change of pace every once in a while. 

“Okay. Where to next?” You ask as Beckman leads you deeper into the city. The shops are more refined compared to the street markets near the port, leading your eyes to wander. You gasp and stop in front of a display window when you see a gorgeous selection of bracelets. Some are made with gold, others silver, and another with a shiny, black material. Beckman notices you frozen at the display and makes his way to you. 

“Come on, let’s go in.” 

“Huh? Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m just looking.” 

“Don’t be so modest, (Y/n),” Beckman urges. “Go try one on.” 

“I don’t have the-” 

“Nope. No more excuses,” he shakes his head as he opens the door to let you in. You step into the store, amazed at the beautiful jewelry surrounding you. A salesperson greeted you and chatted with you about the bracelets you saw on display. They pulled out the displays for you to try on and you debated which one to pick. 

“Hm…I think I want to try that one on,” you point at the gold bracelet. The salesperson clasps the bracelet gently on your wrist and you marvel how it sparkles under the light. “Beck, what do you think?” 

You show off the bracelet to him and he stares at it with a surprised expression before he composes himself. “It looks great on you.” 

The excited look on your face makes his heart beat faster as you tell the salesperson you want to buy it. 

“Good choice. I do want to let you know we are currently doing a promotion for this particular set. If you buy another one, it’s 50% off.” 

You turn to Beckman expectantly. “Do you want to get one then, Beck? We can match!” 

He examines the bracelets. “I don’t know, I don’t think they’d look that good on me.” 

“Hey, you can’t pull that trick on me after you made me come in here!” 

“Fine, fine,” he chuckles. “I think I’ll try this one.” He picks out the black bracelet and puts it on. He looks impressed with the jewelry and his face softens as he looks into your eyes. 

“Well? Does it look alright on me? Definitely doesn’t look as good as it does on you,” he jokes. 

“It looks great,” you look back into his eyes as you press your wrists next to his. “I think this should be another of our little secrets.” 

“I’m starting to think my bad behavior is rubbing off on you,” he smirks, as he goes to pay for the jewelry. 

“Maybe it is, Beck,” you respond as your eyes are locked on your matching bracelets. 

The afternoon is spent wandering aimlessly in this town. You two visit nearly every shop, walking and chatting about everything under the sun. Things like memories, what the crew was possibly up to, to even the most mundane topics like sweets and how you like your eggs prepared. 

It feels simultaneously too short and like an eternity between the two of you. He continues to lug around the cart of supplies and other things you two bought in your impromptu shopping trip, never looking any worse for wear. He doesn’t care to focus on something like that when he’s with you. 

The sky is beginning to turn a bright orange and pink as the two of you finally manage to get back to the ship. 

“Wahhh! Mom and dad are back!” Roux yells as the men cheer. Shanks leans over the edge and smiles at you two. 

“Well, well, I didn’t think either of you had it in you to take a break!” Shanks admits. “We all started placing bets on if you would be back by noon.” 

“I was saying midnight, for the record,” Yasopp shouted. 

“You guys are so immature,” Beck chuckles while shaking his head. “We just explored some of the shops. Got a few things.” 

“Anything fun~?” Limejuice says. 

“Bowls?” You lift a few of the new bowls you bought at a store. 

The men throw their hands up and groan. “Really? Nothing else?” 

“Nope,” Beck lies, making them all quiet. He scans the deck and notices it’s rather clean compared to the smelly and alcohol-ridden floor. “So, you guys actually did clean up, hm?” 

“Yeah! Course we did!” Shanks proudly exclaims. “I told you we’d handle it. Now where’s the rum-” 

“When we have dinner.” 

“Ugh… why are you the worst?” 

“Don’t be like that, Shanks,” Beck crosses his arms. “(Y/n) and I won’t be around all the time to handle everything. It’s good for you guys to learn to take care of the ship.” 

Yasopp sighs. “Always so mature and level-headed, I tell you.” 

“You’re so lame, Beck! How does (Y/n) put up with you?” Limejuice whines. 

“Mom, tell Beck he’s boring and needs to be cooler!” Hongo cries. 

“Enough complaining, help put these supplies away,” Beckman points to the boxes. The crew begins to do as told while you and Beck start unloading some of the supplies. As you do so, Shanks calls your name. 

“Hey, gorgeous bracelet. Where’d you get it?” He asks, loving the gold on it. You jump when he mentions it and look at Beckman, who gives a simple nod. 

“Just got it from the shops. It was on sale.” 

Shanks nods and lifts your wrist closer to inspect the bracelet. “Wow, it really looks great on you.” 

“She would hardly step into the shop until I made her. She was eyeing that the whole time,” Beck teases you. 

“Not the whole time, exactly,” you try to explain. “It just was pretty, is all.” 

Beckman lifts a box up to a shelf and Roux loudly gasps, surprising everyone. 

“Beck!” 

“What? What’s wrong?” You and Beck say at the same time. Roux has a knowing smirk on his face as he points to Beckman. 

“You got a matching bracelet, too!” Roux shouts. Shanks and the other men gasp and move in closer to look at it. As Roux said, the black bracelet on Beck’s wrist matches yours perfectly, and the men howl in laughter. Some even begin to exchange money as you and Beck are mortified at their behavior. 

“You guys seriously made bets?!” You cried. 

“It was just a simple one!” Hongo admitted. 

“And who was the one who said they were doing more than just shopping for food?” Yasopp rhetorically asks. 

“You were also the guy who said they’d return at midnight. You lose half,” Roux retorts as he takes the money in Yasopp’s hand. Shanks huffs as he also gives some money to Roux. 

“So like, did you two confess?” Shanks asks hopefully. 

“For the last time- we’re not dating!” You and Beck shout in unison. 

“Could’ve fooled me. You guys act like you’re married.” 

“You guys are in so much trouble,” Beck sternly tells the men as he steps closer to them. 

Some of the men begin to scream in horror. “Whaaaaa! Mom! Save us!”

#one piece x reader #one piece #one piece oneshots #benn beckman x reader #benn beckman #x reader #reader insert #shanks and the red hair pirates look at reader and beck like “mama y papa. mama y papa.”

[dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice]

The Grim Reaper's Guide to Breaking Every Rule of the Universe /// Chapter 1

I just want to say thank you so much to everyone who showed love towards the prologue and the memes I made, I've ended up gaining more followers in the last week than I have in the last couple years lol. Unfortunately Alastor isn't going to make an appearance for at least two chapters, but I hope you like what I've written so far. Enjoy!

Summary: When touring America for the sake of it, you go to stay with your aunt in New Orleans for a while, taking up a peaceful part-time job restoring objects. But a few weeks in, a package arrives containing an old radio that's seen better days, along with a note seemingly written by someone who thinks they could fist-fight the Devil.

What you didn't know, was the hell of a path that was now set out in front of you. Not fist-fighting the Devil, but instead a very smug radio host who would have no problem spending the rest of his days driving you up the walls.

But two could play that game.

Tags: Demiromantic-Asexual Alastor x Demiromantic-Asexual OC/Reader - 1920s/30s New Orleans - fluff - angst - EXTREME slow burn - crack - Violence (It's Alastor what else)

Word Count: 5278

Warnings: Period-typical racism and sexism, Period-typical attitudes towards neurodivergency. MC'S RACE IS DEFINED DUE TO PLOT REASONS (also because she is based off my OC)

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

Now available on Wattpad and AO3 (please let me know if links aren't working)

< Prologue // Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 >

PART 1: Chapter 1

Congrats! You're Adopted

Impluvius (Definition): Soaked with rain. (Adjective)

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Tuesday, 11th June, 1929.

Arriving on your Aunt’s doorstep soaked to the bone in the middle of a hurricane was the last thing on your list of ‘crazy crap that could happen’. But alas, here you were, shivering and seething as you hauled your trunks up the steps to the front door. You were lucky enough that the area was only being battered by the edge of the storm, allowing you to find a sleeper train that was still willing to run from Montgomery to New Orleans, but it had left you in a sour mood when they had revoked their food services, because damn you were in the mood for a simple ham and cheese sandwich. And the mood only had to sour further when you found yourself standing outside the station for a good fifteen minutes waiting for a driver whilst you and your belongings were drowned by the ongoing summer downpour. Sure, you were used to the torrential downpour of the Yorkshire moors, where there were more wet days than dry, but you were prepared for that, not for the barbarous battering of the 70mph winds that forced you to stuff your useless hat away, leaving the once neat updo of hair that you had meticulously styled that morning to whip you in the eye whenever a gale flew past.

And, as if the gods had something out for you, the taxi that pulled up decided it would be hilarious to speed to a stop in the middle of the giant puddle that had accumulated next to the pavement, sending out a small wave that reached your ankles, soaking your frilly socks and favourite patterned heeled oxford shoes that your mother had gifted on your 18th birthday.

“Oh for Christ’s sake.” You hissed to yourself, lifting your foot to inspect the leather. The driver was lucky that they were already three years old, otherwise you would’ve given him a glare deathly enough to send him to an early grave. Or so you hoped.

Thankfully, the driver didn’t pay you much attention, clearly too tired for small talk, simply asking for an address. Though he had paused when you spoke, turning to eye you up and down where you were cramped uncomfortably between your luggage in the back seat, grunting out a “You English?”, to which you nodded, muttering that you were visiting your aunt. The drive was silent after that, the only sound being the loud sputtering engine and the rain that pounded against the windshield. Minutes passed and you were quickly outside the house, which led to now: trembling in your boots, rapping your knuckle against the green wooden door with wet hair clinging to your face and eyebags that could rival a chronic insomniac.

It wasn’t long until the sound of locks clicking and unlatching reached your ears, and the door creaked open, an eye peeking through the gap. After it landed on you, it quickly swung open, revealing your Aunt Agnes in a nightgown and robe, with an oil lantern in hand. At the sight of her, you gave a half-wave and shaky smile.

She gasped your name. “Oh, there you are my lovely! I thought you got lost in the storm!” Realising the state you were in, she hurriedly placed the lantern on the hallway cabinet, rushing out to help you haul your luggage in. “I was so worried your train had been cancelled by the hurricane. Here, get yourself out the cold – you can put your coat to dry by the fire.” She handed you your leather duffel bag before crouching down and lugging the largest trunk into her arms with a grunt. Making sure everything was in the hallway, she went to close the door, though you didn’t miss the wary scan she took of the street, or the diligent focus of making sure every lock and chain was in place. The wariness soon disappeared, however, as she spun around to face with a grin, her thick braid of long, brown hair whipping over her shoulder.

Giggling as she bounded over, she wrapped you up in a strong hug, and you reciprocated with matching eagerness, but also trying your best not to cringe at the squelching noises your waterlogged coat made. 

“It’s so nice to see you!” You said exhausted as you released her, teeth still chattering from the chill. “The rooves were practically coming off in Montgomery, so I’m surprised they were willing to keep the trains running.”

“Well there’s no need to worry about that any more, you’re here now! Come, I must get you warmed up.” she asserted warmly, leading you with a hand rubbing against your back, down the hallway into the kitchen. Rummaging through a wicker basket, she pulled out a spare nightgown. “Go see if your spare underwear is dry, then head to the bathroom across the hall and change into this. I’ll go make you some warm milk and honey.”

Thanking her, you quickly made your way into the living room where your belongings had been left, unlatching the clasps of the trunk to reveal your damp clothing. Luckily, there was some underwear in the middle that had not yet been affected, so you grabbed them and returned to the hallway to try and find the bathroom.

After several failed attempts of opening the wrong doors, you finally came across the bathroom, eagerly shedding yourself of your dripping wet layers, welcoming the warmth of the soft, dry underwear and ivory coloured nightgown. Returning to the living room, you dumped your wet clothes on your trunk, before walking around the sofa. Planting your behind in the armchair closest to the fire, you melted into the cushions with a relieved sigh, sticking your feet out in front of the flames to try and get some feeling back in your toes.

It wasn’t long before the clinking from the kitchen ceased, and your Aunt came back through, meticulously balancing a wooden tray with two large steaming mugs sat on top. Placing them down, she handed you the one covered in purple flowers. Thanking her, you instantly took a sip, letting the sweet honey and heated milk warm your insides as you watched your aunt take a seat in her own well-loved armchair.

“Sooo,” she began with a knowing grin whilst tossing you a crocheted blanket. “How’s America been so far for you?”

You scrunched your face in thought. “…Surprisingly not as bad as I thought. I think Great-Auntie Beatrice had influenced my opinion a bit too much growing up.”

Agnes rolled her eyes. “A bit?? That old woman has despised the country since that American lad up and left her back in the 1870’s.”

You snorted over your mug. “Well, she certainly has taught me to not raise my expectations about the place, but, I’ve got to say it has allowed me to be more impressed by what I see – especially the Appalachian mountains, they’ve definitely got a unique charm to them. Thank you, by the way, for letting me use your cabin up there.”

She waved you off. “Oh, it’s no problem, really. I would give you the place if the twins weren’t so keen on going up there.”

“Speaking of the twins, how are the three of you doing?” you asked.

Agnes let a weary smile cross her face. “We’re doing better, now anyways. The twins had some issues when starting school here – starting fresh at 16 in a completely different country certainly has its cons. It’s died down now, but in the first few months they were followed home by some kids who would taunt them for the way they spoke. Hell,” she laughed in disbelief. “they even had a teacher who thought they were Scottish for the first three weeks until I came in for a meeting about their grades and spent ten minutes explaining to her that not everyone in England speaks the same way as those pompous Londoners who squeal at the slightest bit of mud on their shoes.”

“What?!!” you guffawed, trying to stifle a laugh. “Please tell me they at least beat some of the kids up.”

“I wish.” Agnes sighed, sinking back in her chair. “But I don’t want anymore attention on them than they already have. Anything else and those kids will go looking for dirt on them and the last thing I want is for them to find out who their father is.”

You looked up at her in surprise. “You don’t??” you asked, perplexed.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Agnes said sternly. “I loved their father to the ends of the universe and back, but the two of them being mixed English-Japanese will garner the wrong type of attention here. God forbid, if it gets out their mum’s a pagan witch it’ll be the end of peace!” She vented, throwing her arms up in frustration.

You pondered her words for a moment. “But I thought New Orleans was considered a safer place for things like witchcraft? Isn’t voodoo a popular religion and practice here?”

“It is, but it’s still kept more on the down-low. When you have a religion originating from a place like Africa, white Christians can get reeeaallll iffy about it, and it’s no different here – I believe there’s laws in place against parts of the practice.” She explained. “But it doesn’t stop them from keeping their shops open. Our neighbour Neliah runs a gorgeous corner shop near the outskirts – I can’t and won’t practice voodoo, but I do treat myself with a visit whenever I need new herbs, I could literally fall asleep in there with the lovely way it smells.” You smiled at the way she seemed to get lost in thought, though she quickly snapped herself out of it. “But anyway! How’s my sister doing? How did Emmett react with the news?”

You startled slightly at the sudden change. “Yea, mum’s actually doing alright. Dad… took a while to get his head around what was going on, you know, when he found her Grimoire and spell books, and the fact that we’d been hiding it from him for years, but he’s surprisingly calmed down about it. They still go to church, to keep up their reputation and all that, but he’s letting her hang up protection wards around the house, he even got involved with casting a spell with us at one point, even though he had no clue what he was doing the whole time.” You snorted, memories of your father’s wide eyes as he watched your mother wave a stick of incense around him, reminding you of the time when you were around six, you had returned from the forest by your house, covered in mud and brandishing stick-swords, declaring yourself as the deer queen as you dragged a shedded antler you had found among the moss through the back door – the look on your father’s face when he walked in from work to see you tying pink ribbons along the muddy, moss-covered bone was priceless.

Agnes let out a chortle, before sipping at her drink, her expression shifting slightly to one of mild concern. “And uh, how did they react when you were – ah – found out?”

Right, the whole reason you were here in the first place. “Not the greatest.” You said dejectedly. “Mum was distraught when they said they were thinking of taking me away – calling them every name under the sun the second they said ‘asylum’. So when dad suggested coming here, she jumped at the chance, but was crying the whole drive to the docks. I gave them an itinerary of where I was going to be and when, and they’ve been using it to send me letters and gifts, but it’s been hard being fully alone for the first time in my life.” You sank into your chair, tears building in your eyes the longer you spoke.

Agnes looked you up and down, her eyes filled with sorrow for you. “Well,” she began softly, standing up to approach you with a gentle hand on your shoulder. “you're not alone anymore, so you can forget about those stupid government officials and your, uh,” she squinted her eyes in confusion. “what do they call it?”

“Over action of the mind.” You forced out with a huff. “They don’t have an official name for it, but me being fidgety and forgetful is enough for them to call me insane apparently.”

She held her hand out for you to take, which you did, allowing her to pull you up. She said your name sternly. “You are not insane. You’re the loveliest, most intelligent girl I know – especially considering the amount of books you’ve read in your 21 years.” You gave her a small smile as thanks. “Now, I’ve readied your bedroom for you. It’s a little bare, but you're staying a while so I’ve left it to be up to your imagination, and with how fast your mind goes a minute, I’m sure you’ll make it the most fantastical and extravagant room in New Orleans.” She explained as she helped you pick up your luggage, leading you through the hallway and up the stairs.

Walking down the main upper hallway, you followed her down a second one to the left, until you came to a stop on the first door on the left side. Lowering her voice to a whisper, Agnes gestured to the door on the left further down. “That’s the bathroom. I’ve moved the boys’ stuff out and given them the second one across the main hall so you can have it to yourself.” She then gestured to the two doors on the right side of the hall, with a sign hanging on each, though the candlelight was too dim to make out the words. “That’s their bedrooms, so I’m afraid you’ll have to prepare for some loud wake-up calls.” She said with an amused smile.

Opening the first door on the left, she led you into a spacey room, that was, as described, quite bare, with only a four-poster bed pushed into the top-right corner, a dark, polished set of drawers and matching wardrobe facing the bed on the opposite wall, along with a familiar -looking changing screen in the bottom left corner decorated with storks flying above a Japanese landscape – you recognised it as one of the wedding gifts your uncle had gifted your aunt sixteen years ago. In the top left corner by the large open window was a vanity with clawed feet, holding up a large, ornate oval mirror, a cushioned stool pushed under it. Next to it was another door that led to the balcony. Nearer to the bedroom door was a large roll top desk, covered in drawers, shelves and pigeon holes, though the only object present was a small typewriter tucked under one of the shelves.

Excitement filling you, you strode across the room to the bed, the feeling of the fluffy rug under your feet a welcoming sign. Placing your trunk and bag down as gracefully as you could, you spun around to face your aunt with a wide grin on your face. “This is amazing!” you gasped quietly, mindful of the two other sleeping residents. “You didn’t have to give me all this.”

“Of course I did!” Agnes exclaimed, walking over to give you another hug. “Did you forget your mother and I practically lived and raised you and the twins together until just a year ago? I’m treating the three of you as equals until the day I die.”

Looking down at her, you observed the slight wrinkles appearing under her eyes, and the dark rings accompanying them that hadn’t been there the last time you saw her back when she still lived in York. Sighing, you stepped back. “I know.” You agreed warmly. “And thank you, for everything you’ve done so far.”

She ruffled the top of your head, your long strands of hair still clumped together with rain water and the clips you had failed to pin it back with. “Anything for you. Now get some sleep, it’s past midnight and the boys will be giving you the earliest and loudest wake-up call once they figure out you’re here.”

You agreed, bidding your aunt goodnight before taking the candle she left for you over to the vanity, where you spent the next ten minutes trying your best to find every pin and clip in your damp hair, then tediously trying to brush it smooth enough to then twist into a loose braid. You also quickly took out your belongings that were wet, hanging them over the screen and the drying rack you had found in the wardrobe. Satisfied you collapsed onto the double bed, bouncing slightly on the plush mattress. Burying yourself under the covers, you blew the candle out, bathing the room in darkness, and using the rain outside as white noise, you slowly drifted off, mentally preparing yourself for the twins when they would come to wake you up.

Oh, and wake you up they did.

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Wednesday, 12th June, 1929.

You were barely able to pull your heavy eyelids apart when the door in the far corner swung open, the door handle hitting the wall with a resounding ‘BANG!’, followed by a very loud “BOYS!!”, echoing through the house.

That wasn’t the end of it though. You had barely begun to turn over at the sound of several pairs of heavy footsteps bounding across the wooden floorboards, when two very heavy weights crashed on top of you, causing your eyes to fly open as the wind was knocked out of you.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!?!” you screeched, flailing about as much as you could until your arms were free, reaching over the covers to shove at the two long figure sprawled across you.

Loud giggling filled your ears, and you looked over your duvet to find two familiar identical-looking faces, with matching cheshire grins, peering over at you mischievously from where they laid across your body. Groaning, you flopped back down, choosing instead to stare at the forest green drapes strung across the poster bed. Though it was soon replaced by two mops of loose, curly hair as they peeked over the edge at you, one dark brown-almost black, the other a pale blonde. You were thankful of their opposite hair colour, because the only way you would’ve been able to tell them apart otherwise would be with the different freckles and moles dotted across their pale faces.

“Mum said you came in looking like a soggy rat last night.” Teased Allie, reaching out to prod at your cheek with a snicker.

Your own hand shot out, shoving his blonde head away. “Did not.” You responded groggily, as you tried to shove his twin off the other side of you. “Now get your fat arses off of me.”

They gasped in mock offence, immediately plopping themselves back on top of you, both reaching to poke and prod at your face. “You said a bad word ~” Ollie chimed in a sing-song voice, kicking his legs behind him playfully as he tried to shove a finger in your ear. Slapping them both away, you prepared for another onslaught, until determined footsteps drew closer to your door, and the two of them froze as their mother walked in, a wooden spoon grasped in her hand.

“ODESSEY. ADAGIO. Get off of your cousin before I send you to school WITHOUT breakfast!” She hollered, a thunderous look on her face.

The two of them collectively groaned. “Muuuumm, don’t call us thaaaat.” Whined Ollie, as he took his sweet time slowly rolling over your whole body before sliding off the bed to stand next to his equally grumpy brother. You followed not long after, sitting up at the edge to watch the ordeal with a smug smile.

“Call you what?! Your real names?! Well then, you better get yourselves downstairs!” she exclaimed, pointing at the door with the wooden spoon.

Reluctantly, they complied, but that didn’t stop Allie from poking his tongue out as he disappeared through the doorway, narrowly missing a swing from his mother’s spoon. Facing your aunt, you finally noticed that she was already up and dressed for work, donning a cream blouse with a blue ribbon tied around the neck, along with a matching blue maxi pencil skirt that reached just above her ankles. Her hair was meticulously styled in an updo similar to the one you had yesterday, her chestnut brown hair twisted back in swirls that ended in a loose low bun, with some strands neatly framing her face. She approached you, the short heels of her shoes muffled by the rug.

“Morning! Breakfast is ready.” She explained with a smile that you returned. “Freshen yourself up and come meet us downstairs, ok?” You agreed, and she disappeared back downstairs.

Rummaging through you clothes that were now thankfully dry, you opted for a loose blouse, and a pair of wide-legged tweed trousers, taking them to the bathroom. Slipping a leather belt through the loops, you quickly wet your hair over the bath, scrubbing in some shampoo and conditioner before rinsing it out and rubbing a towel over the strands until it was no longer dripping. Happy with the light makeup you applied, you headed back downstairs, running a hand through the wet tangles until you reached the dining table.

“I see what mum meant by soggy rat.” You turned to see Allie smirking over the table as you sat down in front of a plate full of English breakfast.

“I’ll turn you into a soggy rat.” You muttered back, stuffing half a hash-brown into your mouth, whilst simultaneously trying not to sigh in relief after not eating for at least 24 hours.

“OoOoh shiver me timbers!” he mocked back, waving his hands in mock fright.

Ollie’s tall figure appeared as he walked over from the kitchen - bacon, eggs, hash-browns and baked beans piled excessively onto his plate. “Mum told us you were going to be staying in our cabin up in the mountains.” He said as he sat down. “Did you like the gift we left?” he said with a grin half lopsided by the food he was shoving in his mouth.

You glared up at them from your plate. “Yes. The excessive amount of fake cockroaches in the bathroom was a very welcomed surprise. Odessey.”

The grin on your cousin’s face fell into a pout at the use of his full name. Letting out a prolonged grunt, he returned to his breakfast.

“Besides,” you started. “It’s not like I’m the only one suffering here. Apparently you’re both Scottish now.”

The two of them let out a collective groan, slumping in their seats.

“It’s not our fault Miss Sammie has less intelligence than a hamster.” Whined Allie as he stabbed an egg with his fork. “She thought Japan was part of China the other day!”

You let out a sharp laugh. “I hope that doesn’t reflect on your learning, or your mum will end up with steam coming out her ears.” You snickered.

“Thankfully it doesn’t.” replied Ollie, rolling his grey eyes as he stuck a whole wad of bacon in his mouth, making sure to not get any grease on his uniform. “Otherwise we’d be begging mum to move us back to England.”

“Speaking of moving, how are you guys finding it here?” you asked, hoping the answers were positive.

“Meh, it’s been alright.” Said Allie with a shrug. “The alligators are cool, but apparently we’re not allowed to wrestle them, which is soooo boring.”

“And the summers are shit. Nothing but heatwaves.” Ollie added.

“Well that’s what you get when you’re used to living in the North-East of England, where one of the nearest land masses is Norway.” You pointed out. “Plus English summers can be unbelievably humid, so I’m not sure what you’re whining about.”

“Oho, just you wait until July hits, then you’ll eat your words.” He retorted. “Hurricane season can be a bitch, too.”

“Don’t remind me.” You groaned. “I barely experienced the tail-end of one last night and it almost killed me.”

The two cackled at you, much to your annoyance, but is was cut short at the sound of your name being called. Looking up, you watched as your aunt poked her head around the doorway, the handset of a rotary phone pressed between her ear and shoulder, beckoning you over with an eager look, before disappearing back into the hallway. Quickly, you got up, marching round the table. Turning the corner, you watched as she ended the call. “Yes, yes. Thank you so much Mr LeBlanc, I’ll call you back as soon as I can. Yes – buh-bye now. Bye.”

Placing the phone back on its metal cradle, she whirled around to face you, excitement prominent on her features. “Sooo, that was Mr LeBlanc on the phone…” she proclaimed, eyeing you with a growing smile.

All you could do was stare in confusion, silence filling the wood-panelled hallway. Agnes darted her wide eyes between you and the phone, clearly waiting in anticipation for your reaction, but you only knew two things about New Orleans: jazz, and that it had a river shaped slightly similar to the London Thames. So you continued to stare.

Seeing that you weren’t going to react, she let out a sigh. “Mr LeBlanc runs Héritage Amour Réparation D’Antiquités on Julia Street down near the Mississippi River, and he’s willing to take you on as an apprentice?” she said as if it was the most obvious thing on Earth.

You blinked. “Wait, you’ve been looking for apprenticeships for me??” You gawked. “Since when??? I don’t think I even mentioned that I would be looking for one in the letters I sent you.”

“Oh, you haven’t.” she assured. “Your mum told me in a letter about a month ago when you were up in New York, so I thought I would speed up the process by looking for one for you.”

You continued to gawk in silence.

“Careful,” smirked Allie from over your shoulder. “You’re gonna catch flies.”

You didn’t even turn to face him as you reached a hand back, ignoring his whine as you smushed it against his face, shoving him back into the dining room.

“You –” you pointed at yourself. “You got me an apprenticeship??” She nodded excitedly. “Jesus Christ Agnes. At this point I’m gonna be indebted to you for the rest of my life!”

She clasped her hands together, throwing her head back as she laughed. “It’s no problem, really. I just want you to get settled in as soon as possible. I told Mr LeBlanc that if you accepted, he’s welcome to come for tea on Friday to meet you, then, if he’s happy, we’ll go for a day out around the city centre, and maybe visit him in his shop during that time. Sound good?”

You blinked repeatedly, trying to wrap your head around what your aunt was saying. “I – uh, yea. That would be great, actually.”

“Great! I’ll give him a call back, and you’ll meet him on Friday.” She proclaimed, satisfied as she picked the phone back up, holding the headset to her ear whilst twisting the numbers into the dial.

Still in a small state of shock, you turned back towards the dining room, slowly making your way back to your seat. Plopping down, you were met with the smug smiles of the twins.

“Looks like you’re gonna have to splurge big time on mum’s birthday. Don’t ’cha think Allie?” said Ollie, turning to his brother with a shit-eating grin.

His brother returned his expression with equal enthusiasm. “Oh yea. I was thinking, perhaps a top of the range Gramophone? I heard they have the new model in down at that shop on Canal Street.” He turned to you. “What do ya think cousin? Ready to serve our mum for the rest of eternity?”

All you could do was flick egg at their foreheads.

——

Friday came running up on you before you even realised, and here you were helping your aunt prepare roasted duck and vegetables whilst simultaneously trying to keep the twins away from the desserts in the icebox – you figured the sneaky buggers knew exactly what creaky floorboards to avoid. When the doorbell rang, Agnes encouraged you to go answer it, so, putting on a smile, you opened the door to welcome in your guest.

Mr LeBlanc was a warm and chirpy type of man: 63 years old with white hair and a matching frizzy moustache and beard, dressed in a smart blue shirt and neatly ironed trousers and slacks. He was around 5’7 – around the average height for men at this time. Sticking his hand out, he gave you a wide smile, and feeling the welcoming aura ride off him in waves, you gladly grasped his outstretched hand with your own.

“Bonne soirée! I do hope I’ve got the right address!” he laughed, his accent a funny mix between French and southern American. You assured that he was at the right place, introducing yourself. “Oh, what a lovely name! I am Ralph LeBlanc, but I’m sure your aunt has already informed you of me.” He said expectantly, voice slightly croaky and hoarse from old age.

Giving him a smile and a nod, you invited him in, bringing him to the dining room where your aunt and cousins were just finishing the preparations for dinner, and you all sat down, tucking into the delicious meal.

The dinner was successful, Ralph happily agreeing to take you on as an apprentice whilst also assisting him with running the repair shop, as he was currently the only one managing it. You had informed him of your history degree, and your school awards in art, and after that he was very eager to agree, almost acting excited when he invited you to come to the shop next Monday for a ‘starter shift’ where he would show you the ropes and make sure you were settled. It was as if the gods switched up on your luck, turning it round from the horrific start you had arriving here, and you weren’t planning on losing this good streak anytime soon.

“Now,” said Mr LeBlanc as he stood putting his coat on by the front door. “Make sure you are wearing something comfy and flexible, preferably pants if you own any, as we don’t want any skirts getting trapped in anything.” You nodded, and he paused for a moment, looking up at you. “Odd question, but how tall are you and your cousins? I don’t think I’ve met many with your heights, especially a woman.”

You glanced at your feet, now conscious of the way you towered over him slightly. “Last time I checked I was 5’9, and the twins are 6 foot. I uh, got it from my dad – he’s 6’1, and they got it from theirs.”

His eyes widened as he puffed his cheeks out. “La vache that’s tall. And did you say the boys were only 16? Wow, I really ain’t trying to make this sound weird but those magazine people would snatch you three up if they knew you were here.”

You laughed shaking your head, albeit nervously at the thought of having your picture taken. Thanking him, you waved him out and said your goodbyes.

Closing the door, you let out a relieved sigh, grateful that the evening was successful, and you retreated back to your room for the evening.

Thought it didn’t stop your excitement for the Monday to come.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I hope you've enjoyed it so far! The ending’s a bit rushed, and Alastor's not going to appear for a couple chapters, but I hope I can make the wait worth it. See you soon for Chapter 2!!

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[august-anon]

Dancing Away

Hello hello! Here is my @squealing-santa gift for the very cool @/wrestling!anon!!

I tried to pick out two of your prompts and did my best to hit them both, so I hope you enjoy! I also only went with two of the characters listed (Astarion and Wyll) because I feel like I can't quite grasp Gale's characterization yet, and I'm still only in Act 2 of my playthrough thanks to work so I have no idea what Halsin's deal is yet lol. I figured I'd write best with my own game's romance (Wyll) and the character I get the most spoilers for online (Astarion) lol. I hope my characterization works out well enough, and once again, I hope you (and other readers) enjoy!!

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Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3

Ship(s): Astarion/Wyll

Characters (lee/ler): Switch!Astarion/Switch!Wyll

Word Count: 2250 words

Summary: When Wyll asked Astarion to dance, he did not expect it to end in such a ticklish situation. He had no intentions of letting this go without a bit of revenge.

[ao3 link]

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Dancing, Astarion thought. How sickeningly sweet.

But of course, it was Wyll. Astarion wasn’t sure what else he had expected. He was rather the fairytale prince type, not really the kind you take for a quick romp in the forest. In fact, Astarion doubted Wyll would agree even if he suggested it. A younger man may have found it romantic, but Astarion only found it to be a hindrance. It tended to be much harder to manipulate people without sex involved, in his experience.

That is, if Astarion even wanted to keep going through with that plan. It was all so much easier before feelings got involved.

Of course, none of his plans meant that Astarion was willing to drop his snark entirely. “Tell me, does this actually work for you?”

Wyll raised an eyebrow at him and, of course being the cheeky little thing he was, suddenly pushed Astarion out into a wide spin before pulling him close once more. “You tell me. You’re the one who accepted the offer to dance.”

“Come now, darling. You can’t tell me that you don’t crave a bit more… physicality, hm? Intimacy?” He pulled Wyll even closer, adjusting his grip to be just this side of innocent.

Wyll laughed, his eyes cutting to the side to avoid Astarion’s. Astarion could hear his pulse quicken, could smell the blood rush beneath his skin.

“I’d say this is rather physical already,” Wyll said, “wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, you know what I meant.” 

Astarion snuck a few fingers beneath the hem of Wyll’s tempting little cropped shirt, sliding them up his side – only, he didn’t get very far. Wyll made a strange, strangled noise in the back of his throat as he buckled in on that side, now dancing away from Astarion instead of alongside him. Astarion froze in his tracks.

“Too far?”

Wyll stood up straight, rubbing at the back of his neck with that horribly endearing self-conscious chuckle of his. “No, no, sorry. You did nothing wrong.” He chuckled again. “Just a bit ticklish there, is all.”

A predatory grin spread across Astarion’s lips and he swept in close to Wyll once more, wrapping an arm around his waist to pull him flush. He watched Wyll’s throat bob. “So open with such sensitive information, my dear.” He tsked. “Seems a bit unwise, doesn’t it?”

Wyll rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. Everyone’s at least a little ticklish somewhere – would do me no use in hiding it, now would it?” 

As he spoke, Wyll’s fingers snuck up Astarion’s own side, repeating the same motion that had Wyll dancing out of his arms. Astarion gasped at the sensation, wrenching himself from their embrace entirely on instinct. The sensation was unfamiliar and familiar all at once – something he knew he had to have felt before, but had no recollection of experiencing. He couldn’t help but stare down at his body as if it had betrayed him.

“See? Everyone’s ticklish somewhere.” Wyll paused, stepping closer. “Did– did you not know you were?”

“Trapped under control of my vampire master the past two hundred years – would you?” Astarion scoffed, refusing to meet his eyes. “Not exactly the time for warm fuzzies.”

“No. No, I suppose not.” After a moment, Wyll stepped closer again, lightly resting his hands against Astarion’s hips. “Never too late to find out, you know?”

Astarion couldn’t help but gape at him. “Are you suggesting I willingly allow you to exploit a weakness of mine for, what, your own enjoyment?” He smirked. “Why, Wyll, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Wyll laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Of course not – it’s just, you ought to know your own vulnerabilities, should you not?”

Astarion raised an eyebrow. Wyll’s grin turned sheepish – but only slightly.

“Alright. I am known to have a bit of a mischievous side.” His thumbs rubbed circles into the divots of Astarion’s hips, just the right amount of pressure to avoid a tickle. “But I would never take advantage of you in that way if you didn’t wish it.”

Astarion rolled his eyes, a fond smile spreading across his lips without his permission. “Gods, don’t be such a hero.”

The words were barely out of Astarion’s mouth before the soothing circles at Astarion’s hips became gentle squeezing. An undignified noise escaped him before he was able to seal his lips shut. He doubled over and scrabbled for Wyll’s wrists.

“I’m not hearing a ‘no,’” Wyll said, his voice filled with so much humor and fondness that it might’ve made Astarion feel ill if he hadn’t already been preoccupied.

“You ass,” Astarion replied instead.

Wyll clicked his tongue. “Maybe this will help teach you some manners.”

Astarion opened his mouth to respond, but all that came out was a rush of air as Wyll started wiggling his fingers up Astarion’s sides. While the squeezing had been gentle enough, the skittering of Wyll’s fingers was absurdly soft. The light touch was maddening in a way that Astarion couldn’t place, sending him squirming and lost to mortified giggles in mere moments. All of Cazadors horrible tortures, with his cold hands and rough grip, all of the people he’d lured back with his body, with their hungry touches and grasping hands, none of them could have prepared him for this – the delicate fingers of someone who cared for him (albeit through his own manipulation) picking him apart with such ease.

And the worst part was, Astarion found that he didn’t quite mind it. In fact, he actually rather liked it, as horribly embarrassing as it was. It was a kind of intimacy that he had never considered before, and one that wasn’t tainted with nearly so much history. And of course, the handsome smile spreading across Wyll’s face at Astarion’s ridiculous reactions was quite the bonus, even if it was at his expense.

Of course, it became much harder to think the longer Wyll took advantage of his sensitivities. Astarion had no idea that tickling could be so distracting, so consuming. He doubled over as those skittering fingers reached his ribcage, his hands coming up to try and muffle the laughter now escaping him. Wyll laughed along, and they both laughed harder when he managed to maneuver his hands up into Astarion’s underarms, causing him to stumble to the ground.

“Get out of there!” Astarion said, half-heartedly trying to shove Wyll away with one hand, while trying his hardest to shield his reactions with the other.

“If that’s really what you want!”

Astarion quickly learned that was the wrong choice, as Wyll shimmied his fingers out of Astarion’s underarms and swiftly set to poking and prodding around Astarion’s stomach. Through squinted eyes, Astarion could see Wyll watching his every jump and flinch, trying to catch his reactions through his fingers, no doubt cataloguing them to use exploit later.

“See, this isn’t quite so effective.” Wyll punctuated the sentence with a few playful squeezes to his sides.

“Seems plenty effective to me!” Astarion griped, trying to grasp for his hands.

Wyll cocked his head with a grin. “Oh, it certainly works, but you seem to do better with a… softer touch.”

With that, the skittering fingers were back, and a mortifyingly high-pitched noise burst from Astarion’s lips. It was absurd how much the method could change the intensity of the tickle, and even more absurd how badly a touch so soft could affect him. And of course, he was proved right in his previous hypothesis when Wyll seemed to focus particularly on the places he had made note of previously. All Astarion could do was roll around in the dirt and dead leaves, too uncoordinated to do anything to save himself even if he wanted to.

And then Wyll started jumping between certain areas of his upper body at random. His stomach, his ribs, his stomach again, his underarms, his hips, his sides – Astarion could barely keep track of the sensation. All he could do was laugh, no matter where it showed up next. His hips seemed to be particularly weak to this type of touch, and Wyll certainly enjoyed his time taking advantage of that. Even still, though all the playful torment, Astarion couldn’t say he exactly minded, though he would never let Wyll know.

And then Wyll’s fingers jumped up to Astarion’s neck, no warning at all. The tickle was still there, and certainly still effective, but Astarion’s breath caught in his throat. For the first time in all his squirming, he finally lurched away from the touch. One hand flew down to support himself as he tried to sit up, the other flying up to pry Wyll’s fingers away. 

Ever so attentive, Wyll pulled his hands away immediately. Instead, he moved to help Astarion sit up, rubbing his back as if to help him catch his breath despite the fact that Astarion didn’t really need to breathe anyways. It was a sweet gesture. Wyll was a fool. 

“No neck,” Wyll said. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

Astarion scoffed. “Please, as if there would be a next time in the first place. No, you’ve had your fun now, darling.”

Wyll only shook his head, a twinkle in his eyes. “Whatever you say, Astarion.”

“Speaking of fun–” Astarion ran a hand through his hair, trying to ruffle his curls back into place “– I believe it’s my turn.”

Wyll’s eyes went wide, but Astarion pulled him down to be flush with Astarion’s chest before he could make any moves. Though Wyll put up some semblance of a struggle, Astarion was easily able to roll them over, allowing him to loom over Wyll. It was almost endearing how little he was trying to actually fight back. Not to mention, few people would trust a vampire to put them on their back like this. If Astarion’s heart had still had a beat, he was worried it might’ve skipped one or two. As it was, he could hear Wyll’s heart give a stutter of its own.

Wyll gave him another one of those charming nervous chuckles. “Now Astarion, I’m sure we can talk about this.”

Astarion grinned, lowering his voice into a purr. “Oh my dear, you can talk all you wish. In fact, why don’t we start with whichever patch of skin is most likely to make you scream.”

“I’m no fool, Astarion. No man in his right mind would give up such sensitive information so willingly.”

Astarion leaned in closer, so his lips were brushing against Wyll’s ear. “Sensitive information indeed, hm?”

Wyll shivered, but at this point, Astarion was unable to tell if it was from pleasure or from ticklishness. Either way worked in his favor, so instead he set about his revenge. He started at Wyll’s hips, just as Wyll had begun with him, and started wiggling his fingers up Wyll’s sides and ribs. His giggles were music to Astarion’s ears as he shimmied back and forth beneath Astarion’s form. He tossed his head back with his giggling, baring his neck so temptingly, and Astarion couldn’t help but watch the way his throat bobbed with his laughter.

Still, Astarion wasn’t quite getting the reactions he desired. The giggles he garnered between Wyll’s hips and underarms were adorable, but it wasn’t what he was looking for. Astarion jumped down to Wyll’s sides again, giving them a few quick squeezes. He may have taken more than a few pointers from Wyll’s own attack, but it wasn’t as though he had much experience of his own to draw upon. Astarion felt his lips bloom into a devious grin at the flinch the touch garnered him and the louder laughter that followed.

“I see – you’re a bit opposite to me, then.”

Astarion could practically smell the blood as it rushed to Wyll’s cheeks, even if the blush didn’t show on his complexion. For the first time since Astarion began, Wyll started shoving at Astarion’s hands, though the laughter had clearly weakened him.

“Shut up!”

Astarion tsked. “Who knew the Blade of Frontiers was so easily embarrassed.”

He moved his prodding and squeezing inward, and finally Wyll shouted out a frantic, “Shit!” through his laughter. Wyll lurched up and tried to double over, not making it very far thanks to Astarion still looming over him. He scrambled for Astarion’s hands, fumbling blindly and ultimately making no difference to his torment.

“Ah – have I truly found my target so easily?”

“Yes!” Wyll shouted as he collapsed back into the dirt, his head thrown back once more as laughter wracked his body. “Yes, Astarion, please!”

Astarion slowed his fingers to a creeping spider, keeping Wyll in near-frantic giggles even with the light touch. He hummed thoughtfully. “But darling, how can I really be sure without completing my exploration? After all, most people would admit anything under torture.”

Wyll’s head tipped up and he stared at Astarion with wide eyes. Even still, he didn’t tell Astarion to stop. His blood may have been rushing, but it certainly wasn’t due to fear.

“Wait–” His voice was giggly and bright, his eyes clear from any distress.

Astarion hummed. “Condolences, but I believe I’m obligated to investigate further.” He leaned in close, their noses brushing. Astarion could almost taste Wyll’s giggles on his own lips, but he didn’t dare close the distance himself – he had to play this game at Wyll’s pace, after all. “Best prepare yourself for a long evening, my sweet.”

He certainly didn’t imagine the way Wyll’s heart sped up at those words.

#tickle fic #my writing #bg3 tickling #lee!astarion #lee!wyll #ler!astarion #ler!wyll #ticklish!astarion #ticklish!wyll #squealing santa #squealing santa 2k23 #ss2k23 #bg3 #wyll ravengard #astarion ancunin #wyllstarion

[ghostflowerhotpotch]

So post Beyond the Spider-Verse. Miles and Gwen have things patched up, you know those two are EXHAUSTED and Peter B. is gonna turn around from whatever celebration they're having (they BETTER end this movie with a cookout if Miles' parents learn he's Spider-Man) and you've got Gwen curled into Miles passed out while Miles is snoring. Gwen's got her hood pulled up to keep the lights out of her eyes and Miles' jacket is spread across them.

I like this idea, mind if I write a bit about it with some variants?

Headcanon: Gwen when she is sleepy defaults to following people who she is close to; Miles may be closer to the top of the list that he may realize.

AO3 link

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In a liminal space, we still find ourselves reaching for each other

As much as Miles wanted to kiss his parents goodnight and hit the bed, Peter's proposition to stop by his house to recharge seemed like the best idea.

He still needed to tell his parents that he was Spiderman, and maybe would be better to do it when he is less beaten down and with some sleep. Miles isn't sure when was the last time he slept; dimension hoping made time very confusing.

As they stepped into the house in Queen's (Miles assumed it was the living room but he couldn't be too sure,) Mary Jane stepped in from another room. It was kind of weird knowing who she is without even being presented first.

"Hi, I'm-" He started, a bit slower than he would like to. Too many hits in the head for one day.

"Miles" She completed seamlessly, smiling brightly at him as she put her hands on his shoulders "I had heard so much about you," And out of nowhere, she hugged him "Thank you for bringing him back to me," she told her in a really low voice, one he wasn't sure if it was meant just for him or not.

As tired and beaten down as he felt, he couldn't help but smile fondly as he awkwardly hugged her back. It was a good reminder too, that some of the greatest things he did weren't for being Spider-man, just by being Miles.

"C'mon honey, let the kid breathe," Peter says as he walks up to them.

"And you-" Mary Janes puts a finger on his chest, she doesn't look especially pleased but not too angry "I imagined it was serious when you went back to leave Mayday with me, but what happened? All of you look like you were thrown into a blender."

"Is a loooong story," Peter said, putting his hands up as he is trying to placate her anger, "Speaking of which, I promised them they could crash here until they recharge, hope that's okay-"

"Hmph," Mary Jane crosses her arms, looking at her husband unimpressed "I prefer a little bit more of a warning when you invite people, but I guess this was an emergency. Help me out to get some stuff for our guest."

"On it ma'am," He said with a mocking salute, to which she rolled her eyes before going to what seemed to be the kitchen. Despite how tired Peter B should be, he smiled brightly at them and said "Relax guys, my house is your house."

"Don't need to tell me twice mate," Hobie said as he looked around for a place where to drop dead, which seemed to be everyone's idea. They were all beaten down.

Miles, despite being ready to sleep for an eternity, followed Peter B and Mary Jane because even half dead his upbringing was stronger than any tiredness could be, and he could hear his mom in the back of his head saying "Be polite, bring a gift, and ask if you can help with anything they may need when you are visiting someone!"

Sadly he couldn't bring anything after trying to defy fate and time itself, but at least he could still be nice.

Aparently the couple didn't realize he was following them, because when Mary Jane turned around with cups in her hands she said "Oh Miles! Do you need anything?"

The place was homey, almost in an old-timey way. Pictures everywhere, a floral wallpaper that reminded him of white old ladies, but the warmth he feel around wasn't exactly for the warm lighting.

The kitchen seemed to have the same vibe, kind of similar to the one the Aunt May of his universe had.

"Um, I was going to ask if you guys needed any help?"

"Oh you are sweetheart," She said cheerily, before softly shaking her head "But you don't need to do anything, you are our guest and you had done more for us than you can ever imagine; please go to rest."

"You hear the lady, sit this one out, we will handle it," Peter said as he patted his back, before looking behind Miles and saying "Hey Gwen, you want anything?"

Miles turned around once he saw Peter looking behind him. Gwen stood at the entrance to the kitchen, she has been so quiet Miles also didn’t hear her come.

At the sound of her name, Gwen straightened her back and blinked a bit, as if she has been falling asleep on her feet, yet somehow she has decided to follow them here for some reason.

As she looked on to the front, she seemed to have the faintest blush, before she groaned and scrubbed her eyes “No, I- sorry, I guess I need some sleep.”

“Oh you can say that for all of us,” Peter laughed gleefully, before leaning his head to the side for Miles “You guys go to the living room, we will see if we can whip something quick to eat and see what we can do about emergency sleep arrangements.”

As they went to the other room, Miles realized that everybody has somehow found an answer to that last issue.

The living room had two loveseats and one armchair, and everyone more or less had found a place. On the loveseat that closest to the entrance, Noir was sleeping with Peni and Ham in his arms, Peni’s robot was turned off in a corner, and on the arm closest to Peni’s and Noir’s head was a hologram that read “Say ‘Spider-byte’ to bring user’s attention. P.S: Don’t wake me up unless the dimensions are collapsing.”

Pavitr has decided to go on the armchair, and you would believe he has been sleeping there for a long time because his head was hanging on the side, one of his legs was on the arm of the couch and the other lying against where your back is supposed to go. If it wasn’t because he was breathing fine, Miles would have thought he lost conscience and someone drop his body from the ceiling.

Speaking of the ceiling, even with one more loveseat available, Hobie had opted to make a hammock out of webbing as close to the ceiling as possible, on a corner of the room. From his position, Miles thought Hobie was using his mask on; maybe he needed more darkness to sleep than he needed to breathe properly.

At least it meant his decision was easy.

Dragging his feet on the ground, he let himself fall onto the side of the loveseat, he would have rejoiced in glee at how soft the couch felt against his beaten body if he himself wasn’t so tired.

Yet he didn’t have time to even sigh before he felt someone else not only fall right beside him but had her head leaning towards him. Miles felt himself go still as he felt the warmth of Gwen right beside him.

Despite the loveseat being big enough to have space for both of them.

How rigid his body was must have alerted Gwen because her eyes fluttered open, and seemed to look a bit confused towards him before she almost jumped on her spot and moved away enough that their bodies weren’t touched anymore.

“Shoot,” She muttered to herself before she hit her forehead “Sorry, when I am sleepy I just- sorry.”

Perhaps is because he was tired and his mind was making stuff up, but somehow things were starting to click in his head. The sleepiness in Gwen seemed to make her follow someone, and for reasons beyond his understanding, Miles has been the person she has decided to attach herself to, even if subconsciously.

“That’s different” Gwen had said to him before in the Williamsburg Tower, saying it as if somehow what they had was different from what she had with anybody else. That conversation felt like a lifetime ago, and yet his heartbeat raced all the same.

There were still a lot of things to talk about, of the lies and the secrets that she has keep, and how he has been feeling about all of this. Even now he wasn’t sure what to say.

“Is fine, we are all tired,” He said casually, before raising the arm that was closest to her side, “Come here, we can catch some zzz together.”

And regardless of all of it, he felt himself wanting to reach out to her too, missing her warmth even if he only got to have it for a second.

In a way, that’s what had ended up happening to him, wasn’t it? She came for what should have been just a blink in his lifetime, and he still was unable to let her go.

Her eyes opened slightly, as if she was surprised he had actually said that; probably thinking all the same things that were still between them and neither of them had the brain to talk about. He saw the hesitation in her eyes, as if she herself wasn’t sure if it was okay to accept.

Maybe it was a bit of wishful thinking on his part to think that way, as he said “Is okay, you can lean on me Gwen.”

Miles has really meant that in a literal way, even if deep down, he knew he meant it all the way. As upset as he was, he couldn’t bring himself to be mad at her, not when they were like this.

That seemed to be all the encouragement that she needed, because she quickly went back to his side, in fact so quick he was a bit shocked.

“Thanks,” she whispered to him, bringing her knees up to her chest as she rested her head on his shoulder, one of her arms hugged Miles’ waist as her other hand was left between her knees.

As it was the most natural thing in the world, his arms went around her, holding onto her as he rested his head on top of hers, “No problem.”

Despite the pain, the couch and still being in his suit, it was the best sleep he had in months.

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This was supposed to be a drabble, oops?

I Will upload this to ao3, may as well. I like it more than I expected for something that I made on a whim.

Sorry for not having any analysis yet, I am kind of sick and I feel my brain is fried 80% of the time, HaShem knows how I managed work like this.

Hope you guys like it!

#ghostflower #gwiles #miles morales #gwen stacy #atsv #across the spiderverse #fanfics #peter b parker #mary jane parker #mary jane earth 616

[rhoorl]

Week in Review | Dec. 24

Hi! Like the new addition above? I figured after doing these for so long I’d make a graphic (thanks to a trial of Canva Pro I got for myself). I did some maintenance to my masterlist this week too since I have more than just two fics going. Anyways enough about me, let’s get to the fic recs...

Fics I read this week:

Frankie Morales

Cold, Biting and No Need for Mistletoe by @undercoverpena - I adore the way Jo writes Frankie and I felt so spoiled to get to read two Frankie entries this week!

Common Thread by @wildemaven - Relationship Frankie just hits different. I loved all of the little glimpses we got into this relationship.

Javier Peña

Plaid Pajama Morning by @javierpena-inatacvest - I love everything and anything in this universe …a domestic Javi makes me melt.

Good Boy by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin - This also features Dieter Bravo and is 🔥 Like I literally finished reading this and stared at the wall for who knows how long…

Joel Miller

Symphony by @maggiemayhemnj - This one is moving to the Compulsory Series section next week but had to pull it out and give a big shout-out to my friend for publishing her first fic!! How exciting!

Dieter Bravo

In Reality by @sin-djarin - If you’ve been around here for a while you know that a soft Dieter is just *it* for me. This fic does such a great job of getting inside of his head…I just love him.

O, Christmas Tree by @covetyou - This fic cracked me up and is so menace Dieter, I loved it!

Gift Wrapped by @sp00kymulder - This was so cute and silly and showed off one of the reasons why I love this menace of a man so much. 

Tim Rockford

Underwater by @secretelephanttattoo - This little extra in the Undercover universe (see below in my compulsory series section) was such a delight. Learning about how Tim found Cleo (his pet fish) was so damn endearing and sweet. This doesn't help the Tim brain rot … 😆

Marcus Pike

Make Me Like the Holidays by @undercoverpena I want this Marcus for Christmas, ok? Thank you! 😆

I've Got a Crush on You by @5oh5 - This has so many elements of Marcus that I love…a sweet, thoughtful man who is a little menace. Oh and he'll get you food.

Oberyn Martell

A Baker's Dozen - Four by @avastrasposts - Oberyn visits the bakery and oh boy, was I so into this! There’s just something about Oberyn … and Mel captured it beautifully in this.

Jack Whiskey Daniels

Dessert and Sugar Coated Kisses (both in AO3) by Ladybess (@ladybess-a03) - Some charming Jack in both of these 🫠

Dave York

The Things She Does to Please by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin Some Dave York smut was very welcomed!

Ezra

A Baker's Dozen - Five by @avastrasposts - I read this yesterday and I’m still thinking about it. The Ezra in this is so layered but there’s still a very endearing and sincere part that comes through. I will be rereading this one.

Current Compulsory Series:

These are the series I am keeping up with at the moment.

Merry Fic-mas (Various) by @ladamedusoif - A great list that I need to work through, but I'm particularly fond of the Mr. Ben entry.

12 Days of XxxMas (Various) by @morallyinept - I’m behind on these but what I have read so far is 🔥

Holiday Prompts (Various) by @trulybetty

Delta Palms Tropical Resort (Frankie) by @linzels-blog 

Destiny & Deliverance (Dieter) by @mysterious-moonstruck-musings 

Paranoid Heat (Javi P) by @goodwithcheese 

Undercover (Tim Rockford) by @secretelephanttattoo 

It’s Never Too Late (Javi P) by @javierpena-inatacvest 

OTHER CHARACTERS

Will Miller

All I Want by @laurfilijames - The holidays aren't always rainbows and butterflies and this showed how it affects Will 

Posts from the week:

Check out these hilarious PPCU-inspired queue tags from @wannab-urs. Expect to start seeing Paddington Queue in a queue near you.

Check out these PPCU IDs and badges @morallyinept made!

A photo from Freaky Tales came out this week, but all I can see is older Joel.

Examples of what the Pedro boys’ Instagram profiles would look like!

I got tagged in a few Pinterest Moodboard things and they were all funny to me - mostly because of the random animals that showed up. Example 1, Example 2, Example 3

Feral corner:

Jose Pedro Balmaceda Pascal is out here with his hair grown out and the curls are CURLIN. This man is seriously a menace - LOOK AT HIM.

Thots about Steve and Javi. Pedro cosplaying as Joel. Speaking of Joel … obligatory Young Joel post coming at you. This Dieter-coded look from Pedro sent me into a tailspin. If you read Working Title, that is how I picture Dieter. Marcus Pike just being the finest-looking MFer in the FBI. Proof that the wardrobe department knew what they were doing with Frankie.

It’s been Charlie Hunnam week apparently for me but I watched this video more times than I care to admit. I can’t mention one Miller without the other…this Benny gifset gave me some thots (particularly the ones of him yelling, wtf is wrong with me).

Things I watched:

I watched Rebel Moon on Netflix. I know this movie didn’t get the best reviews, but I enjoyed it. Was it because Charlie Hunnam looked hot AF? Maaaaybe. 😆

I'm planning on watching it again with Mr. Rhoorl this week.

Personal Stuff

Tonight we are taking Baby Rhoorl to a holiday light display, which I’m pretty excited about. It’s just going to be the Rhoorl’s this year for Christmas since our families live in other states. We’ll keep it pretty low-key. I, unfortunately, have to work this week - although I will be able to work from home which is nice.  

Fic updates:

The Benny Miller brain rot is REAL y’all. As a result, I put out Are You Going to Be Quiet? this week.

I’m working on a few different things. I’m excited to be participating in the Pickled Peña writing challenge and will post something on Jan. 1. I’m also almost done with part two of Turbulence (a Frankie one-shot that’s now a two-parter). New updates for Delta Landscaping and Working Title are in the works too!

And to Wrap

If you are celebrating this week, I hope you have a great time. I know this can be a tough time of the year for a lot of us, so I’m sending you a Frankie hug and a Javi forehead kiss (consensually of course). As we approach the end of the year expect a sappy post (or two) from me. If you made it all the way to the end, hi, you're the best! 😘

Working Title (Dieter, series, ongoing) | AO3 

Delta Landscaping (Triple Frontier, series, ongoing) | AO3

Turbulence (Frankie, one-shot) | AO3

Are You? Masterlist (Benny Miller)

#rhoorl week in review #rhoorl fic rec #pedro pascal cinematic universe #pedro pascal characters

[peiskos-and-apricity]

Fated to Fall ~ Sindri x Reader [PT7]

TW: Cannon typical violence

A/n: I think I'm gonna start a tag list for this book because chapters are so inconsistent (sorry about that). So if you want to be tagged for this story just let me know! [Or you can bookmark it on Ao3 here]

|Chapter selection|

|Previous|

"Sindri!" Atreus yelled in greeting, his smile wide on his face. You were too distracted to turn to the boy as you watched Kratos' eyes try to melt you where you stand.

"I'd return your surprise but I did know you'd be here!" Sindri returned the greeting with a tone more cheerful than a few moments ago. And, once the two had gotten closer, he continued.

"I've got something for you!" Those words seemed to peak Kratos' interest. At least enough for him to slowly turn his eyes away from you and to the dwarf.

"What is it dwarf?" He asked, his voice monotone in a way that you knew meant he was irritated. Looking back towards Sindri you see his hands fidgeting and nervous in his movements, especially as he began to walk away from the table and what you knew he was gifting them with.

"You know I'm glad I came back here at least once before Ragnarok" he spoke, turned away from all of you as he did. As if talking to no one.

"Oh, if these cobblestones could talk" he reminisced as he looked around longingly. It was clear he really did miss this place.

"Then they'd have mouths...filthy disgusting mouths" he glances turned much more stiff, almost like he was imagining what it would be like and being quietly horrified with the thought. Then suddenly he turned back over, pointing towards Atreus.

"Do you mind if I fiddle with your bow?" He asked and without hesitation the boy handed it over.

It was then that Kratos turned to you before motioning you away. You knew better than to fight the simple request, as bad as you wished not to speak with him, so you followed him.

"You should not be here" he started the conversation off on the worst note possible, though you knew him as a man of very little subtly.

"Given the way the entire city cowers away it seems neither should the two of you" you answered with the same energy as him. With a sudden movement he was looming over you again, this time his anger not so hidden as it was before.

"This childishness needs to end. This is reckless" he spoke in a poor attempt at a whisper through gritted teeth. You felt every inch of your body boil at him having put himself so close to you, his figure mere inches away. So much so that your glare turned snarl like with the sudden wave of rage that overtook you. You were sure, had you not gotten your cloak, that your eyes would be gleaming at him.

"I am aware you think so little of me that you believe I'm so unable to control myself. So I have taken precautions" you display the metal rings that you had placed in your satchel and gesture down at the white bear skin you had placed on your body lined in a magic hidden from plain view.

"I will have you know, though, that even without these my leave would have been anything but reckless, given that you left me behind with no clue as to what was happening. So my apologies for being so childish as to want to know the reason I was nearly killed the other night and why we must so suddenly search for a dead god" you spoke through your own set of gritted teeth and anger. You two remained standing for a long paused moment in utter silence as you stared at one another, as if waiting to see who folded first.

"Hrm..." he finally answered. Despite your growing anger his seemed to simmer and, thankfully, he took a step back from you.

"Uh, if I may cut in here a moment-" Mimir tried to interject.

"No" the both of you answered in unison. After that it seemed Kratos had finished whatever business he had with you as he went to return to Sindri and Atreus. You followed not so far behind.

"Skjálfa!" Atreus released an arrow into a nearby wagon, the medal there compressing the same way the gate did. The boy's smile widened at the sight.

"Cool-"

"Atreus, this way" Kratos called and the boy was about to follow, though not without a curious look at you.

"Are you coming?" He asked to which you gave a nod. To your surprise he looked quite excited.

"Awesome! Come on, I'll catch you up on the way" he waved you forward. You went to follow, though upon looking where the two intended on going you grew a little weary.

"It's a bit dark in there" you commented mostly to yourself. Right before you could take another step you heard Sindri speak up again.

"Oh! That reminds me! Hold on just a moment" Sindri stopped the two of you as he went digging around in his bag. He pulled out a few random things before he seemed to find what he was looking for.

"Since you all are currently lacking a light source, sorry, I went ahead and made these for you! I only made two, though. I didn't expect that you would need one. But I'll get right to it! It'll be done by the time you all make it back" he outstretched the glowing lights which you and Atreus gratefully took from him.

"I'll make due until then. Thank you" Sindri nodded and turned back to do whatever else he had come here to do.

"Atreus!" Kratos called again. You and the boy glanced at one another before quickly catching up.

-

Once the three were gone Sindri went about cleaning up shop, knowing that they most likely wouldn't return here for a long while. Frankly he didn't want to stay long either, not after what Odin had done to the place he once called home.

It only took a moment later he was off again, back through the Yggdrasil and to the home he now knew. However, whatever comfort he had been looking for evaporated the moment he opened the doors. He was hit with disgust, his eyes catching each tiny stain and out of place chair. He wrinkled his nose at the sight before quickly setting off to tidy the place up.

He zoned out while he was cleaning, for the most part. His mind was mostly on what his new project might be and how he would be able to keep up with the mess all the others seemed so keen on making. And soon enough the inside looked spotless and he was off to clean up the mess outside. That being the branch peices that had been shattered all over the ground earlier. So he swept and swept and swept. As he did, his mind wandered from projects and future messes and instead became caught on the stranger he had only recently met. He had to admit it stung a little, not knowing this person who seemed so caught in the lives of those he cared for. He knew it probably shouldn't, yet it did all the same.

He hardly had time to ruminate on the topic when he heard a set of feet he knew all too well, a glance behind showing his brother arriving back home.

"Brok!" He called, the blue dwarf turning his head almost immediately at the sound.

"The fuck you want!" He called back. Sindri took his opportunity to swipe away the last of the splintered branches before quickly making his way to his brothers side.

"I thought you should know the bow string worked! It was actually more effective than I had originally anticipated!" Sindri began his boasting, the project something he had largely worked on by himself. He got an eye roll in response.

"Well whoopty fuckin' do. Least I know yer done blowin' up all my shit" Sindri immediately regretted having said anything.

"It was one time! At least I don't nearly burn the house down every time I make something to eat!" He rebutted but Brok seemed hardly effected.

"If ya don't like my methods then you can cook yer own damn food!" Brok took a turn into the workshop to which Sindri didn't follow. Instead he stood annoyed on the other side of the workbench. Something Brok didn't seem to notice or care about either as he went to work on whatever he had planned.

For a while longer there was silence between the two. That was until Sindri found himself thinking about the stranger again. He found that his curiosity only grew the more he allowed himself to think about it.

"How long have you known them?" Sindri asked out of the blue. Brok's face twisted a moment, his eyes glancing towards his brother before back down to his work.

"Who're ya talkin' about?" he asked, striking his hammer once more.

"Y/n- you know who I'm talking about! You two seemed close" he asked again, this time Brok considered his words.

"What's got ya so curious?" Sindri took a moment to ponder exactly that. Surely it was just because of your shared company. But perhaps too it could be his intrigue in your work and his astonishment at your lack of care for it. Or even just the simple fact that he was curious for curiosity's sake.

Maybe it was that you just seemed so strangely familiar. Like the itch of a memory he couldn't quite grab hold of. A stranger he's somehow met before.

"Nothing in particular. I just find it strange that I didn't know about them until now" Sindri settles on the obvious answer but his tone was sharper than he had meant it. He wasn't sure if Brok noticed.

"I's told ya about 'em before. Just not in no detail" Brok explained which only brought more questions to Sindri.

"Why not?" Was the one he decided it best to ask first.

"'Cause it weren't nothin' your nose needed stickin' in" he answered flatly.

"Well it seems to be plenty of my business now" Sindri countered and Brok huffed.

"Ain't nothin' important to tell you" Sindri was growing unsatisfied with his answers.

"But why not just tell me anyway?" Brok  was growing visibly frustrated.

"S'this some sorta interrogation?" He was openly indignant by this point but Sindri most definitely wasn't backing down. So, before Sindri could try to push him again and further delay his work, he answered.

"I mets 'em when they's was half dead fightin' off some Draugr at the start'a Fimbulwinter. Didn't know they's was involved with the other two until a whiles after. Now if yer done sniffin' my ass like a dung beetle on date night, I would like to get back to work!" Brok's frustration became more visible the more he spoke until he was eventually fully turned to Sindri, his annoyance more than obvious.

"Well if you would have just answered my questions I wouldn't have to ask so many!" Sindri defended against the clear wishes of his brother, causing him to turn back to his work in a huff.

"If ya don't get yerself somethin' better ta do I swear ta whatever god'll listen that I'll jump over this table and lick ya-"

"Leaving!" Sindri didn't hesitate to immediately vacate the area, knowing damn well that Brok's threat was anything but empty. Yet now he felt his curiosity nearly burn him, Brok's words having only left him with more to question. But he tried to brush it off as best he could.

He had work to do after all.

-

The journey was longer than you had originally thought, but finally, after having met Durlin and walking yourselves through precarious machines, old maze like mine shafts and fighting frankly less creatures than you would have thought while looking for a maybe not so dead god, the four of you had made it to a final set of large wooden doors. Well, technically not so much the final door as it was the last one you all would be looking through, considering you could all spend weeks in here if you really wanted to search the place.

It looked pretty sealed, more than any other the four of you had gone through anyway. But it wasn't anything difficult for you all to figure out. A few shots from Atreus' new bow string took out the metal on the sides well enough and a good pull from Kratos' blades should-

"Hvat er at gerast!?" A voice yelled behind, your head immediately whipping to the sound and in so meeting the eyes of strangers. And oh boy, they didn't seem to friendly.

"We've got company!" You yelled, making sure the other two managed to pull themselves away from the task at hand. Thankfully, whether due to your words or the strangers yelling, they did.

Your movements were natural, planned. Kratos was quick to take his pick of the group and Atreus happily went to help, given that the two always did work so much better together. So you were left with the other. You didn't feel any need to complain though. As far as you were concerned you got the easy work. They had to deal with the bigger guy and you were pretty sure there were others heading their way.

"Alright, let's get this over with" you taunted your enemy, though you were pretty sure they couldn't understand you. Either way they didn't hesitate to charge.

The battle was as controlled as chaos got, as battles like this usually were. Every blow could have left you mauled, but such was the life you all lived. And, if you were being honest, they weren't really much of a challenge. A minor inconvenience at most.

Bodies dropped and it seemed that you all would get through this quickly. It lessened your hope that there was anything in the locked room if these were the people guarding it. Either way their numbers dwindled and soon only two remained. Given that you currently had your axe handle thoroughly wrapped around the throat of one of them, that would soon be only one.

You had thought to go through the effort of breaking his neck before a quick glance showed Atreus in front of you, his arrow waiting for a mark.

"Atreus! Over here!" You called. A second later the stranger fell limp, an arrow embedded in his skull.

"Behind you!" Atreus yelled as you dropped the body in your arms. You dodged at the last moment, the strangers weapon hitting nothing but dirt and rock. He hardly had a chance to look up before Kratos' axe met the back of his head. And so he dropped limp atop the other, the bodies piling up.

Then, finally, it seemed that it was over.

"Clearly they don't want us in there. This has to be it" Atreus proclaimed with all the confidence and hope that you couldn't have imagined clinging to by his age.

"Back to it then" Mimir encouraged, though you couldn't help but feel a little bad for the soon to be dashed hopes of the boy.

"I don't know. I feel like if Odin was going to hide away a war god, it would be with far more than a few Einherjar..." you tried to caution them. This all felt far too easy.

"Agreed" Kratos spoke, but his blades dug into the wood anyway and soon he was pulling the door from its hinges.

You had to give credit where was was due, if there was one thing Kratos did well, it was tear things apart. So it wasn't a surprise when he did so easily. The door collapsed in a way similar to a tree; its movement slow at first before quickly colliding with the ground.

Dust covered your vision, your hands trying to swipe the cloud away and coughing as it still made it to your lungs. But soon it settled, bits of light traveling through the remnants of it searching for a source other than the thin clouds to reflect off of. Your eyes squinted through the strange haze when finally you saw someone. Before a moment more could pass as the three of you approached, you heard Atreus call out.

"Tyr!" The name sent your stomach to your throat as you realized that you did in fact now stand at the feet of a once dead god. You couldn't find words. You hardly believed what you were seeing. By every sane metric it shouldn't be, yet here you stood, steps away from who you had long known as legend told in stories of great acts of kindness and mercy. A betrayer of Aesir, a god of war who fought for his mission towards peace.

"What trickery is this, Odin? What game do you play with me now?" His head hardly moved and didn't dare raise to meet the eyes of any of you. He only sat, unmoving, uncaring.

"We're not with Odin. We're the good guys!" Atreus, ever the optimist, tried to convince Tyr that this wasn't some sort of trick. An attempt you knew was in vain just from a glance at the fallen god. It was then you noticed he was far from what he once was. A broken man with the fading visage of a legend among many.

You placed a hand on Atreus' shoulder to hold him back. The boy glanced up at you as you shook your head slightly, warning him to keep his distance.

Kratos wasted no time in getting behind Tyr and grabbing the rope that clung to his neck. With a pull the rope grew taught and a swift swing his blades cut threw it easily.

Far too easily.

"This...Is the god of war?" Kratos asked the question, though by his tone you knew he was far from impressed. You gave him a sharp look. That was surely no way to address someone who had spent hundreds of years hidden away at the mercy of God's as cruel as the Aesir.

"Those blades..." Tyr spoke, his eyes transfixed on the red glow that had cut him free. But then the eyes fell again, acceptance covering him.

"I know you..." his tone was full of subtle disdain.

"God-killer" his disdain no longer subtle. His eyes finally met Kratos

"Have you come for me now?" He asks, his resentment clear. His words weren't empty; he knew of the ghost.

"Only to free you-" your father tried reaching a hand.

"Stay away!" Tyr quickly coward from him as he moved himself away, his tone a beg for mercy in its own. Atreus tried to step in but your hand held him back once more. His look to you was full of confusion that you cooled with a patient stare.

"Brother, let me try" Mimir spoke up and Kratos didn't hesitate to give the man a chance.

"Tyr- Tyr! Look...You know me, don't you?" Mimir's voice was jovial, friendly even. Like he was meeting with an old pal under far less dire circumstances.

"You...You killed Mimir!" Well that certainly wasn't the reaction you had hoped for.

"No, no! No, no no no!" Mimir frantically tried to convince.

"Yeah we- we brought him right back!" Atreus, in his own set of frantics now, tried to calm the situation in the worst way possible. You pulled the boy away from Tyr as you saw things quickly going south.

"You...stay away from me, you monsters!" Tyr cried out, whatever previous confidence he held staring down the god-killer now utterly evaporated as he stumbles his way to his feet, bumping the door frame on his way out.

"Stop!" Atreus pulled from your grip and began to run after him, taking only a glance back to the three of you as he went to catch up.

"We need him!" He justified before booking it after him.

"Wait!" Kratos called as he took a spot beside you. The both of you barely set to a run before more of the Einherjar came down from above and out of crevices. You hardly had the time to see one attempt a push and pull match with Kratos when you have two on you. You struggle against them a moment, shifting your weight around until one falls to your heel, a quick stomp knocking them out before you were able to throw the other to the ground beside them, your axe splitting their skull just in time for you to look up and see Kratos shoved through some unstable wood and out of sight completely. And worse yet, he left three more up here for you to deal with.

Great. Looks like you've got to figure this out on your own.

#gow #god of war #gow ragnarok #gowr #gow sindri #god of war sindri #god of war x reader #gow x reader #gow sindri x reader #fated to fall #gow kratos & reader #gow atreus #gow kratos #gow atreus & reader #gow ragnarok sindri #gow ragnarok x reader #gow ragnorak #gow reader insert #gender neutral reader

[billsfangearring]

11 Good Omens Fic Favorites

a.k.a. I was going to choose my personal top ten but was too indecisive

One of my fandom resolutions for 2023 is to get back into reccing, so here’s a very casual GO rec list to kick things off! Fics are ordered longest to shortest.

As with any rec list, please read the warnings and tags on ao3 and make whatever decisions are best for you. I hope you enjoy!

the bucket list by darcylindbergh (@forineffablereasons)

There was a certain look that Aziraphale wore occasionally—a pinched sort of moue that looked like he’d just taken a very large mouthful of cinnamon—which meant he thought Crowley was being ridiculous. He had put it on. “Hang on,” he had said. “You want us to do human things?” * If you're going to go native, you might as well go all the way.

absolutely stunning, I wanted to take breaks while reading to really let it all sink in, I felt ALL THE EMOTIONS (44k, incomplete, E)

Your Mirror by equestrianstatue (@justlikeeddie)

I'll be your mirror; reflect what you are, in case you don't know. Crowley drummed his fingers briefly against his mug, and then sat back a little in his chair. He gave Aziraphale a long, appraising glance, and then seemed to come to some decision. “Listen, angel,” he said, “let me pitch you something.” Lulled by the familiar patter of Crowley’s voice as he was, Aziraphale still recognised this to be vaguely dangerous territory. He swallowed. “Go on,” he said.

one of the best-executed non-linear narrative fics I've ever read—just masterful, really peels back the layers in their relationship (28k, E)

This Soul Outstreaming by Rend_Herring

“Why did you come here?” Aziraphale interrupts. “Why do you keep doing this?” All the saving, he means, all the chasing after Aziraphale he does. It can’t only be that he’s not keen to endure a replacement. That can’t be it, not anymore. He’s going to get himself in trouble, and then it’ll be Aziraphale’s fault. Crowley’s mouth shuts with a click. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, reaches for the handle of the fork and taps his fingertips against it before setting his hands in his lap. When he speaks, it’s very soft. “Don’t you know?” he asks. Aziraphale, unnaccustomed to his heart refusing to translate why it throbs with such haste, shakes his head.

sad, tender, funny, and romantic with beautiful prose, really just everything you want, so many quotable lines (22k, E)

Lay me down in Eden by caricari (@heycaricari)

Two supernatural entities go for a walk and Crowley gets more than he bargained for.

SO ROMANTIC OH MY GOD in the dialogue, interior monologue, and actions, excellent characterization, so pure (then explicit lol) (17k, E)

You've Got Kudos by curtaincall (@fremulon)

Aziraphale and Crowley both write fanfiction. As it happens, they both write Good Omens fanfiction. Of course, neither of them would ever admit this to the other. (A love story told primarily in AO3 comments)

this is the most meta thing ever lmao, really impressive skins for the ao3 look—pay attention to all the little details like usernames, etc. (4k, M)

build me a city, call it jerusalem by gyzym (@gyzym)

Man begets man begets The Tales of Men, and there's nothing godly in that; Those Above and Them Below haven't any need for the stories humans have been hungry for since the snake and the Angel with the flaming sword.

pre-show fic written in 2012, leans heavily into religious themes and Biblical references, melancholic, spare but beautiful writing style (3k, T)

The Gift by entanglednow (@entanglednow)

In which there is a little wooden elephant, and a long overdue confession.

simple yet checks all the boxes, very very soft and sweet, the DEVOTION, more biblical settings, truly just lovely (3k, T)

Anthony J. Crowley, Retired Demon and Airbnb Superhost by TheOldAquarian (@darkpurpledawn)

What are you supposed to do when you've been fired from your sweet job in Hell for thwarting the schemes of Satan, you've got a swanky flat in Mayfair, and you're looking for an excuse to spend all your time in someone else's bookshop? Obviously, you turn to the dubious world of short-term vacation rentals. The resulting Airbnb property has been variously described as "an instagram trap," "a vampire den but make it botanical," and "the weirdest bed and breakfast in the shared history of beds and breakfasting."

a highly entertaining series of Airbnb reviews of Crowley’s flat—every single one kills me, as do our ineffable duo’s cameos (3k, G)

Kissing, Accidentally. by skybound2 (@skybound2)

Crowley doesn’t mean to kiss him, really. It just sort of…happens. An…automatic response, if you will. An unintended automatic response. Unexpected, even. It’s not planned, that’s what he’s trying to say. ~~~ Or the one where Crowley gives in and kisses Aziraphale while he has him pinned against a wall.

winner of best use of footnotes, hilarious, Crowley is WHIPPED and an absolute disaster of a demon, just delightful (2k, G)

Too Generous by rfsmiley (@redfacesmiley)

“You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged; but one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever.” Or: what happened after the [ we all got hit by a ] bus scene (aka "you could stay at my place, if you like")….

the TENSION, the PINING, ahh my heart was in my throat, excellent dialogue, and multiple P&P references (1.5k, T)

Interwoven Footsteps by skybound2 (@skybound2)

It takes them a while to get there. Six thousand years, give or take. But they get there.

criminally underappreciated (probably because it's super short), gorgeous, lush, sweet, their whole story in under 1k words (700, T)

#good omens fic recs #good omens #ineffable spouses #bfe fic recs #fic recs #long post

[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Fourteen

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

no tag list. please follow @emkald-fic and turn on post notifications for updates or subscribe on AO3

Tumblr Masterpost

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen

AO3 Link

Author's Notes: Back from hiatus on April 26th! (Chapter 16 is just about polished and I finally made progress for chapter 17). I'm sending huge, huge thank you to my beloved beta and co-pilot, @vampire-exgirlfriend for all her love and support and kindness. There's been a lot of times that I've thought about stopping, about not continuing this story, about maybe just keeping it to myself. It's been her love and very aggressive 'that is DUMB' affection that has brought us close to the end of Arc I.

And a huge thank you to the people who have liked this story. I genuinely would love LOVE LOVE to hear your thoughts. In inbox is open, reblog and tag me, however you want to let me know that you're here <3

we are now entering the 'oh my god these too are so fucking into each other they want to fuck so bad it makes them look stupid' era

CHAPTER FOURTEEN - Love the World Like I Should

Grandfather Rodrik shows up with love and gifts, and there's some smooching on the dance floor at Aegon's nameday feast. Also some political anxiety.

King’s Landing was filled to bursting in the days approaching Aegon’s nameday celebrations. Never had Abby seen so many people crush themselves into the Red Keep. ‘More will be at Harrenhal for the wedding’, Helaena had said, their small group seeking solace away from the gaggle of the court for a while. Baela had come with them, overwhelmed with the crush of noise herself, even if she did not admit it. The Princesses Targaryen, Abby, Wylla, little Floris, and Baela’s two ladies had all sought the quietest part of the gardens to hide from the increasingly aggressive attentions.

Now, though, Abby could not hide from the crush of people.

The Reyne retinue arrived in the early afternoon, and while an ancient and powerful house as theirs deserved their pomp, the familial presentation was for Rodrik Reyne, uncle to the Queen Alicent Hightower, and grandfather to the future Princess Abrogail Strong.

Grandfather to the potential future queen, as the whispers and rumors flew around the Red Keep with the coming celebrations. Rumors that Abby wasn’t sure would come to pass, but could not deny that the king’s wishes still might change. That was a future she wasn’t sure what to think about.

His hair was more gray than auburn, thick and wavy as if he were a man of twenty instead of near seventy. Lord Rodrik was tall and broad, an imposing figure on his gray and white courser, its fine white mane braided into little knots along the elegant arch of its neck. To see him and the king that was only feet away from her had a curl of unease snaking through her belly. To look at the king was to see a man wasting away, a man at death’s door. To see Rodrik Reyne dismount with fluid ease was to see a man who, while past the prime of life, clearly had so much left in him.

“Your Grace.” Lord Rodrik mounted the steps, arm clapped to his shoulder in the Westerland sign of fealty as he bowed. “It is good to see you in fine spirits, my king.”

“No finer time than to celebrate such a joyous occasion, Lord Rodrik,” the king said with a smile. Rodrik clasped Uncle Otto’s arm in a firm grip, pleasantries exchanged and his smile broadened as he bowed lower before Queen Alicent.

“You are the light of the seven, aren’t you, my dearest,” he complimented her, genuine to the core. The queen’s cheeks pinkened at the praise and she readily embraced her uncle, fingers grasping his arms.

“We are so glad you are here to celebrate, uncle,” she said. “I am pleased to see you in such fine health and I’m so sorry Aunt Dalla could not come.”

“It is a long journey and she is not as quick as she used to be. She was quite happy to stay back with Daerion and enjoy the children. I am their favorite, after all. It’s only fair that I give everyone else the opportunity to receive some attention.” Alicent blinked as she registered the joke, a chuckle spilling from her as her uncle pressed a kiss to her hand.

Aegon stood between his mother and Abby, and she felt more than saw him straighten up as Lord Rodrik turned his cool blue eyes on him. Age had not shrunk the man, and Lord Rodrik stood as tall as Uncle Otto, and though there was a far less threatening air to him, it made him no less intimidating. Aegon’s chin tilted up to meet the man’s eye and he inclined his head.

“It is good to see you, Lord Rodrik,” Aegon greeted, his voice polite and steady, when not two hours before, he’d been with her in the alcove behind the tapestry of Jonquil Drake frantic with nerves at meeting her grandfather. It seemed like the kisses she’d given him, as well as the growing bruise that was barely visible above the collar of his deep green damask doublet had not eased his worries. “I hope your travels were easy and without issue.”

The last time they’d seen any of the Reynes had been near a decade ago, at her mother’s funeral. They had spent time with her and her father at Harrenhal before coming down to King’s Landing to spend time with the queen and her children, and that event was entirely different than now.

“Good tidings on your nameday, nephew,” he returned with all the formality as if he were addressing him by princely title. “Our travels were well, and it’ll be good to be off the road for some time.” An expression of mischief danced in the pale gray-blue eyes of Rodrik as he assessed the prince before him, eyes catching on the bruise on Aegon’s neck and then glancing at Abby and the arm she had laced through his own. He raised a brow. “It would appear that your betrothal has made a man of you yet, my prince. I might even say you’ve grown an inch or two since I last saw you.”

Heat flushed through Abby’s face and Aegon’s own, his sputter brief and confused as the Lord gave him an amused look, as if he might ruffle his hair had Aegon been a decade younger. Instead, he gave another incline of his head before coming before Abby.

“You are most certainly taller than I last saw you,” he said, cupping her face in his gloved hands, the scent of horse and spice clinging to him as he kissed her forehead. Her hand slipped from Aegon’s arm to clutch at her grandfather’s crimson sleeves beneath his brown leather jerkin, warmth spreading through her chest at the gentle affection.

“Not much taller than this, I’m afraid,” she said, a light, awkward laugh. Her grandfather reached up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, where the rest of her hair hung in a long, simple braid down to the small of her back. He cupped her cheek, and she caught a shine in his eyes, a slow exhale as the familiar look of grief she knew well crossed his features, aging him in the moment. “I’m very glad to see you, grandfather.”

Rodrik Reyne nodded, pushing past the emotion before moving on to greet the rest of his nephews and niece, and she felt Aegon’s hand slide around her waist, fingers bunching slightly against the crimson and silver damask against her hip. She hid her hands in the belled sleeves, knotting them together and taking comfort from Aegon’s touch. Her chest ached painfully but she gave him a smile when he murmured her name.

“I am well,” she assured him, leaning into him momentarily before their party went inside, her grandfather speaking of the gifts he had brought for all of them.

Over the past days, it had been a bustle and flurry of becoming reacquainted with her grandfather, of suffering through her sister’s company. The apartments that she technically shared with her brother had served as the hub for the activity of their family. Houses Strong, Reyne, and Lannister moved in and out of the modestly decorated space. It had been overwhelming, but with the arrival of her grandfather, Cory’s acerbic tongue and judgmental looks had been averted, and Abby wondered if there was jealousy hidden beneath all that venom. She had fallen into her own acquaintance with the Queen, whom she had known when she’d served as one of Rhaenyra’s ladies when they were young.

Abby also had to organize the gifts brought from the Westerlands that would be sent back with Uncle Simon. Bolts of fine cloth of gold and silver from the expansive Reyne mines, a peregrine falcon, lovely cream and gray with black specks and bright black eyes she’d named Caelus. There’d been books too. A small chest carved with mountains and flowers contained five books, mostly from Myr, and some from Braavos, including what looked to be an interesting treatise from a Volantine woman who advocated for the importance of women’s contributions, and another on teaching woman to cultivate what she had determined as useful qualities, to achieve worthy acts in their lives.

‘A woman’s success,’ it read, ‘depends on the ability to manage and mediate by speaking and writing eloquently and effectively, for men so easily dismiss the thoughts of women, especially when their power is threatened by them.’

Perhaps she should look to promoting more copies of the sumptuously illustrated work. Perhaps she might even try her hand at replicating some of the images therein. There’s been a box of paints and new charcoal among the gifts, as well as a newly bound book for her to sketch in. Abby smiled at the idea, and had tucked it away for later.

“Mind the dress,” Wylla’s voice came from behind, already dressed for the feast and bossing about the red-clad maids of the holdfast who had been helping Abby as she worked to put together her household. Theraxis lay reclined along the end of the bed, his great yellow eyes watching the flurry of maids with such focus as if he too were supporting Wylla’s orders.

“Only a single lady?” Grandfather had balked, perceiving insult before she’d hurriedly cut in, explaining Wylla was more than enough, she did not want to be demanding, and hadn’t needed anyone else.

Wylla had snorted, eyes flashing in the familiar argument. “She’s meant to be looking for more ladies over the course of the festivities,” with all the same annoyance aimed at her as she had aimed at Aegon in the courtyard so long ago. “She needs six at least, but will she listen to me? Nay, she’s a wee stubborn thing and Lord Larys doesn’t seem to push it either.”

The gifts had not stopped there, and she was currently staring, wide eyed, at the most recent one.

The ornate wooden box before her was made of varnished rosewood, with inlays of silver decoration along the edges, and an equally delicate lock that her grandfather had carefully opened with a tiny silver key. The tiara that lay inside was fit for a queen. Ten citrine sunbursts wove together like flowers, the colors of them running from red to gold to orange and in the center of each, diamonds glittered. It sat in the center of the box, resting on a cloth of silver pillow and her mouth went dry.

“Th-this is too much. Grandfather…” Abby’s voice faltered and she lifted her gaze to meet his. Never had she felt so spoiled, so doted on. She felt guilt for it, the way it warred in confusing uncertainty. So long she had never asked for more, and it wasn’t as if Larys was a doting brother who snuck her sweets and trinkets the way Harwin had.

Her grandfather’s gaze was a mixture of annoyance, affection, and more that she did not understand. “It is most certainly not too much, dear child,” he said with a casual wave of his hand. Wylla slightly raised her eyebrows when he wasn’t looking and gently lifted the tiara from the box. “You are the blood of Castamere. You are my blood, my granddaughter,” he had said, cupping her cheek in a warm, rough hand and pressing a loving kiss to her brow. “The realm would do well to remember that you are a Reyne just as the queen is. It is not simply Hightower blood no matter how much my good brother likes to pretend.”

At least her grandfather was honest and she could not blame him for that. This was how the game was played. This was how power was brokered, even Abby understood the simple truth of it. Unlike most, Rodrik Reyne did not hide his motives, and the care that he expressed towards her since his arrival a few days ago had proven genuine. He did not ask her for favors, had inquired about her wellbeing and made sure she had what she was owed to her station.

Wylla’s nimble fingers had ensured the tiara was settled in her hair, twists of braids securing the citrine that matched her hair. The Riverlands style was one that she was glad not to give up and she would not have anyone thinking she was anything but the daughter of the rivers, and now a child of Castamere.

Her grandfather had escorted her down to the queen’s party. The king and her brother and uncle were already in the throne room and she could hear and feel the buzzing of growing anticipation as they approached the antechamber. Her hand rested in the crook of her grandfather’s elbow and her fingers spasmed with nerves. His hand found hers and she looked up at him, mouth parted as if to speak. He smiled at her instead.

“You look so much like your mother,” he said softly, his blue eyes misty and his smile warm. It took Abby aback. She had not seen the Lord Hand smile so openly and honestly. Larys barely smiled and when he did it made her wish to avoid it more often than not. The last man who smiled at her in such openness was her father. “She is here with us and she would be so proud of you.”

“Would she approve of this?” Abby asked softly. It was a silly question, the kind of question a motherless child who could barely remember her own mother asked. She could see the queen through the doorway at the end of the hall, hear Helaena’s laughter echoing along with Daeron’s.

Her grandfather paused and seemed to steel himself. The emotion was plain on his face. The grief was palpable and he did not meet her eyes as he composed himself. “Your mother was in the very fortunate position where I could let her choose who she wanted to marry. She could wait, and find a match that she got along well with. Lord Jason was a possibility, but even if your mother wanted to marry him, I couldn’t let her resign her future to a foppish imbecile like him, Lannister seat or not. She fell in love with your father and he did not demand heirs of her or money or prestige. He simply wanted someone to spend his days with and they found that in one another. That is what your mother wanted for you. A world where you were safe and loved.”

He cupped her cheek and Abby lifted her hand to hold his, feeling her own tears threaten. “The future has one certainty and there will be hard choices to make. Know that your family stands behind you, and that you may be a Riverlands girl, but there is a lion inside of you. They say in the north wolf packs survive together. You are part of a pride and are just as fierce. Dragons could not take the Westerlands and fire cannot burn the rivers.”

“He won’t burn me,” Abby said softly. “I trust him. I… care for him. I want him, not for a title, not for whatever the future may bring. I simply want him and he wants me and we just want to be happy. I think we can make each other happy, Grandfather.”

“Good,” he said and dropped his hand. “Then should the Stranger take me this night, it will be knowing you will be happy.” He gave her a watery laugh, amusement on his face. “And should he mistreat you, then I will haunt him to madness.”

When they entered the antechamber, Lord Rodrik pressed a kiss to her hand and went to join the rest of the gathering in the throne room. Helaena was in conversation with Daeron, and Aegon…

Aegon turned to look at her upon her entrance and his face went slack. She blushed, smoothing her hands over her gown, watching as the candlelight shimmered over the green and blue layers of the skirt, the fabric diaphanous, like currents of water around her legs. Her fingers found the golden dragons embroidered over her waist, intermingling with the glittering red weirwood leaves, worrying at the material. Her slippers were as gold as the dragons on her bodice, peaking out beneath her hem as she closed the distance between them. Aegon reached for her and she slid her hand into his and watched the smile spread slowly across his face.

‘I think we can make each other happy.’

Abby was not meant to be on Aegon’s arm as they entered the feast. He should have been escorting his mother as protocol dictated since King Viserys had entered the feast already. It was a heady feeling to know Aegon would not let her go, even as he was forced to drop her hand so she could tuck hers into the crook of his arm. A thrill that continued down her spine and coiled in her belly with the rest of the bursting butterflies dancing inside that gave her the strength to tilt her chin up as all her lessons instructed her to do. The perfect posture, the perfect gait all came rushing to her in a way that she finally understood why it mattered.

The pride that she felt wasn’t about being Queen Alicent’s pet project, or even that she had somehow snagged a prince for a betrothed. She was Lady Abrogail, heir to Harrenhal, the legacy of her mother’s fierceness and her father’s wisdom. As they walked behind the queen and Lord Otto, Abby squeezed her hand along Aegon’s bicep. She was the daughter of the Riverlands, and Aegon was lucky to have her, for there were many others that she could be with.

He looked at her with clear and bright eyes, the lilac full of mirth in a way she hadn’t seen from him in so long, and there were broad smile lines around his mouth, the flash of white teeth as he grinned at her. His hair was freshly washed, the silver curls gleaming gold in the sea of candleglow. His doublet was new as well - a fine, black silk brocade with a pattern woven in that evoked a shimmer of dragon scales. Golden clasps in the shape of dragon heads gleamed down the center. The seams were piped with red silk, and red silk trim embroidered with golden dragons wrapped around from the center and over his back. The same embroidered trim encircled his sleeves, which were slashed open along the back of his arms from bicep to the buttoned cuffs, the Targaryen red brocade of his shirt beneath poking through.

For the first time, he wore a crown upon his brow. It was a hammered circlet of gold that rested gently around his head, interspersed with seven circles stamped with dragons. Before the realm, he truly looked like the prince that he was.

A son who was celebrated by his parents.

She was lucky to have him. Let them see it. Let Queen Alicent see how brightly they made one another smile when they got to choose one another. Let them see she was not beholden to The High Tower, or to the Targaryens, or to anyone. Let them see that for all they may want to whisper about machinations and intrigue, she wanted him, and he wanted her.

Abby curtsied deeply before the king before they took their seats. Aegon was on his father’s left hand - the place of honor for the evening, and she was beside him. ‘How lucky we are’, came the thought again. She had not realized she had spoken the words aloud until Aegon’s grin widened into a beaming smile, his eyes crinkling with his own joy.

This was how the past weeks should have been. This is what the welcoming feast to Lord Tully and his party should have showcased: the two of them united, happy now, even as they set out to figure out what their marriage would be, what it would look like. There was enough time for that.

“You know, people like us don’t marry for love often,” Wylla had said, words that had stuck to her ribs.

The queen, her brother, and her uncle did not care for her and Aegon’s happiness, that much was startlingly clear to Abby. They had not come together in this betrothal by choice, but beneath the heart tree, they had made a promise. They had made their choice.

As her elder sister, Corynna, and her husband, Erwin Lannister sat beside her, Abby wished for the comfort of Wylla and Heleana at her side. The latter was at the other end of the table, and Abby’s gaze sought the friendly face of the young woman at the table below.

Wylla sat with Uncle Simon and Aunt Mya, looking striking in her black velvet gown. It was cut in the southern style, the neckline edged in white and silver cut across the line of her shoulders, her raven hair twisted into three rope braids woven with white ribbon and strung with pearls. She looked like a dream, Abby thought. A maiden of winter with all her pale skin and dark hair; striking in a way that many other women were not and Wylla wore it well. Harrion was beside her, his head inclined toward a lovely, red haired woman beside him. Wylla had said that his betrothed, Lady Alys Bracken, had only just arrived. She was so slight next to the northman’s bulk, her smile soft, eyes crinkling at the corners as she laughed at something he said.

Wylla caught her eye and sent her a warm, reassuring smile that Abby returned with a little wave, uncaring of decorum at the moment with how shaky her nerves were starting to get now that everyone was staring up at her. Her dear friend had not shied about her own discomfort in crowds, declaring her own relief that she was not the one who would be center of attention in her teasing, sharp yet fond way.

A harsh pinch against her left arm made Abby jump and she turned sharply to look at her sister, who was smiling serenely as if nothing was amiss. “Stop it, you’re behaving like a child,” she hissed behind a gritted smile. “I’ll not have you shame me.”

“If returning a kind gesture and a greeting to someone across the room is childish, then I cannot imagine you have many friends, Corynna, that do not cling to your skirts.” She smiled at her sister, whose saccharine falseness turned quickly to annoyance. “Do mind yourself, Cory. You are not my mother, nor my guardian.”

She caught the sidelong glance Aegon gave her and she felt his warm hand on hers, drawing it to his mouth to press a kiss against her knuckles. Abby felt the spray of heat along her throat, pressing her lips tightly together to keep from biting at her lip and being too obvious. He kept hold of her hand, thumb running lightly along her knuckles in familiar reassurance, and leaned in to speak softly against her ear.

“Lady Abrogail, if that’s the kind of behavior you plan on keeping up, as your husband, it shall be my duty to discipline you for such talk.”

Abby’s mouth went dry, her flush deepening and she glanced up at him, demure beneath her lashes. “Prince Aegon, you get ahead of yourself. I am the image of propriety.” He smirked and they both drew back. Abby reached for her goblet to calm the different sort of butterflies fluttering through her stomach now.

The echo of a staff cracking against the stone floor of the hall reverberated through the hall and all fell silent as the king rose, the queen beside him in what was meant to be a show of unity. But Abby knew that she was there to steady him so he did not have to rely on his cane. The black, red, and gold robe he wore nearly swallowed him whole, and she wondered how heavy it was for him.

Beside him, Alicent Hightower wore the colors of her house instead of a glow of green. She was as regal as Abby had ever seen, in a storm gray damask gown with white flame embroidery along her neck and shoulders. A cape of gray silk felt about her and the gray sleeves of her gown hugged her arms until they flared out at her forearms to bell around her wrists. Her auburn hair was twisted back on the sides of her head before coming to a single twisted braid down her back. Upon her head rested her crown of state. It was a gold circlet with seven points of golden flame rising from it and in the center flame was a blood red ruby that matched the gold and ruby earrings dangling beneath her hair.

“Be welcome,” the king said. His voice had rarely been a strong one, but he had found the strength behind it to let the words carry now. “It is good to see so many happy faces here, as we come together to celebrate my son, Prince Aegon’s nameday.” He turned his head to look down at Aegon with a nod and a gap toothed smile that, while fleeting, was genuine. The people clapped, thumps on tables shaking the cutlery, and Abby grinned at him. Aegon looked taken aback by the well tidings, the shouts of wishes for good health and good fortune. The hand that he had rested on her knee tightened and Aegon straightened in his seat, smiling back and giving a wave of thanks as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him.

The King continued, “The Queen and I also honor House Strong this night. Since my ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror, landed upon these shores, the Strongs have been a leal and loyal house. Ser Osmund Strong himself was the longest serving Hand, and through the decades, this family has proved themselves time and again, their fealty to the throne and their dedication to the realm. It is why upon the passing of the beloved Princess Rhaena, that my grandfather, King Jaehaerys, bestowed the great Harrenhal to House Strong. It is this dedication that before he passed, our late Lord Lyonel Strong, the Seven keep him, agreed to a proposal. We welcome you all to celebrate with House Targaryen and House Strong as I announce the betrothal of our son, Prince Aegon, to the Lady Abrogail Strong, and their investiture as the future Lord and Lady of Harrenhal, under the wise and clement eye of Grover Tully, Lord Paramount of the Riverlands.”

The whispers of the betrothal had already snaked their way through the keep over the past weeks. First the servants gossip, then the unofficial talks among the lords who had, by now, sent ravens back home to their holdings in the Riverlands. It was news that had passed naturally among the realm, and while Abby did not see any surprised faces, the cheers that roared up took her by surprise. The slamming fists on the tables, the clapping, the shouts of well wishes and even some crass remarks was not at all what she had expected. She felt her cheeks burn and the flush of it snake across all the exposed skin of her gown. She yearned for the coverings of her linen gowns so none could see how red she had turned at the attention.

Yet, Abby did nothing to hide how large her smile was, so wide it nearly hurt. She met Aegon’s eyes, his own grin crinkling the corners of his eyes, and she never, ever wanted to see him frown again if this was how bright his smile could be. He then looked at the crowd and she followed suit, waving at the smiling faces, blowing a kiss of thanks to all. She did not startle when Aegon lifted his hand from her knee to tuck beneath the fall of her curls and rest along the back of her neck in a possessive gesture that made her belly roil with heat. She looked at him from the corner of her eye and saw that his bright smile had set into something darker, more firm.

The feast began, servants coming out of the shadows. Trenchers of roast pork in red wine and plum sauce were placed before them, steaming with scents of ginger and cinnamon. Shrimp cooked in fennel and white wine steamed from large platters, boiled eggs cut and stuffed with fragrant cheese and herbs nestled among salads of other fresh herbs and greens. Abby gasped, admiring the hollowed out Stormland lemons with glistening pieces of Dornish blood oranges and lemon sticky with sugar dotted the table in pops of bright, delectable color.

Aegon was eagerly filling his plate with the roast pork he so adored, and she reached for one of the sour orange treats, popping a sticky piece of fruit into her mouth and hoping it calmed the knot of nerves that were growing insistently.

“They certainly spared no expense,” Corynna’s voice was soft at her side. Abby glanced over at her sister who was commenting on the wine being poured to her husband. Her sister was as beautiful as she was sharp, resplendent in the colors of House Lannister, a ruby red gown that set off her golden skin, and an overdress of golden silk. Her brunette curls were tamed and pulled back into a low bun at the base of her neck, encased in a jeweled net of gold and rubies, a heavy lion pendant hanging from her throat. She decided not to engage with her sister’s low commentary, for it was exactly what she wanted, and instead busied herself on the treat in front of her.

“Here.” Abby glanced at Aegon, who held his fork up with a piece of pork. She opened her mouth to decline, and he popped the piece in with that dangerous smirk flashing across his mouth before going back to his food. It was good, the spark of ginger cutting through the sweetness of the plum. It had also served to get her mind off the fact that they were eating at the head table, and she let her gaze drift, ignoring her sister’s tut of disapproval.

Abby caught Baela looking at them curiously. She was beautiful that evening in the colors of her mother’s house. The aquamarine gown was cut in the Pentoshi style like the previous one she wore to their family dinner, with a deep v cut into the bodice and the layers of fabric pinned like a chiton at her shoulders. On her head she wore a silver tiara shaped into the heads of seahorses with matching gemstones for their eyes. Abby gave the princess a small smile. “You look lovely tonight, Princess. I am truly glad to have you here and I look forward to us getting to know one another.”

Baela’s violet eyes narrowed somewhat at being addressed, and Abby felt Aegon shift beside her as he honed in on the conversation. “May your futures be bright and happy, Lady Abrogail. Cousin.”

“Thank you, cousin,” Aegon replied with his tight smile. “Perhaps it will be your nuptials we’ll be celebrating next.” The words were friendly, at least somewhat so. Abby suppressed a sigh, but knew it was at least a small win. Baela did not seem to mind sitting next to Daeron, for the pair of them had fallen into a discussion about their dragons and how Tessarion had fared in Oldtown. “I heard Mother wondering if her and Jace will wed next.”

Jacaerys.

Abby chanced another look at the incredibly awkward end of the table. There was the queen, then Lord Otto, then Larys, and then… Aemond, Helaena, and Jace. The three of them were utterly silent, like mimes in a play, and it was hard to tell what made it worse: the fact that Aemond and Jace had ended up wearing near matching doublets that evening, or the sapphire sun that was Helaena between them.

Aemond and Jace and Baela should have been separated, but Jace could not sit next to her, for the rumors that would cause and so poor Helaena was stuck as the wall to separate them.

She looked every inch the beautiful princess from a song. Her silver hair hung loose and free down her back with four braids keeping her hair from her face. The twists wound themselves into the silver tiara she wore, the sapphires winking out like stars from the woven metal strands that took the place of her usual braid. Her gown was diaphanous silk, her shoulders bared. The sleeves were a light blue and the sheer fabric hugged her arms. The gown went from a lovely sky blue to a deeper shade of twilight along the hem, and the silver embroidery evoked silver flames dancing across the gown. She wore the colors of Dreamfyre, dragonrider that she was, the princess of House Targaryen that did not need to evoke her house colors to state her place in the world.

The look on her face was blank and somewhat wide-eyed, focused on the shrimp in front of her. Abby’s heart ached, wanting to go to her and get her out of the situation she was in, but there was nothing for it. Helaena already grew anxious with crowds and she didn’t need the extra stress of being caught between two petulant looking boys.

Jace tilted his head towards her, saying something that drew a small smile from Helaena, and the knot of worry eased slightly.

The course was cleared away, the minstrels along the side gallery merrily playing songs from each of the realms present there today. Currently it was a Westerlands tune, fewer drums than the melodies of the Crownlands, and Abby caught Lord Tyland’s head bobbing to the music from his place at his twin brother’s side.

The next course was brought out and it was the largest pie Abby had ever seen, along with pottage of wild hare and cabbage, roasted lamb smelling of caraway and fennel and thyme. There was roasted chicken in orange glaze. Her gaze returned to the pie. It was as big as a wagon wheel, the pastry crust browned and caramelized and surrounded by many smaller pies like a crown. The crusts were slivered all around and gilt in gold along the top, and she could smell the saffron and cloves. They were stuffed to the bursting with more eggs and mixed meats and smelled delicious, but Abby’s stomach was knotted with nerves combined with the heady twist of arousal that pulsed every time Aegon’s knee bumped hers, or the way he’d tap his fingers upon her wrist to make sure she was alright.

Aegon inclined his head towards her, waving the servant away and pushing his plate between them. “You’re not eating. We’ll share.” He even pressed his goblet into her hand, taking hers and sipping from it in such an intimate gesture that Abby’s nerves were utterly forgotten about in that moment. She took a sip from his goblet, unsure of what to say. Aegon raised an eyebrow at her. “Eat,” he ordered and she knocked her slippered foot against his boot.

“You’re eating enough for the both of us, Prince. I couldn’t possibly keep up with you.” His appetite was a voracious one, and the plate he’d pushed between them had already started inching back towards him. She stabbed a piece of meat and gave him a look as she ate. He looked only somewhat abashed and popped a piece of crust in his mouth, licking juice from his fingers. She was reminded of the lakeside picnic, and the way his lips felt against her fingers while she fed him, the blushing heat as he fed her cakes in return and the kisses shared.

It must have shown on her face because a wicked gleam flashed across his eyes, gaze drifting to the low neckline of her gown and the gentle swell of her breasts. A voracious appetite indeed. He laughed when she busied herself with her goblet.

“Everyone is staring,” she whispered, unsure if she was chastising him or reminding him. Aegon’s gaze raked along the bare expanse of her shoulders, his hand twitching along his stolen goblet as if he was keeping himself from reaching for her again.

“Of course they are, hunītsos. Let them. Let them see how happy you look.” His gaze grew uncertain for a moment and she understood what words he held back.

“How happy you make me,” she offered softly. It was finally Aegon’s turn to blush, the expression uncharacteristically shy, and Abby could not help but lean over to brush a soft kiss against his cheek. Satisfaction was bright in her chest when his blush deepened before his own satisfaction crossed his features.

Let them witness. Let Edmund Vance and whatever moody River Lord conspired against them see that Aegon was hers, claimed by the rivers.

“Prince Aegon,” Erwin called halfway through the following course - mutton and stag and boar drenched in plum and wine sauces, brown sauces, and surrounded with dates and figs. The youngest Lannister brother was a gleaming gold lion, square faced with bright green eyes. He was not lanky as Lord Tyland nor as haughty as Lord Jason. He was a third son, bred for battle, and while he did not appear to cross swords with her sister, Abby wondered if that was a battle he had no desire to engage in. “I hear you’ll be participating in the melee on the morrow. Do you wield a morning star like Ser Criston, then? Or perhaps a battle ax?”

Corynna tutted, leaning back with exaggeration so her husband might speak. “It was only a matter of time before we talked swords.”

“The Prince is admirable with his sword skills, Erwin,” Abby piped up proudly before Aegon could speak, her turn to boast of him as he had done for her.

Aegon’s hand rested along the back of her chair as he leaned over with a grin on his face. “Some could say. It’ll either come down to skill or my lady’s favor, should she grant me. Mayhaps I’ll have the good fortune of meeting you in the ring?”

“Everyone knows the joust is where one proves themselves,” Baela cut in.

“Prince Daemon was quite impressive with his blade in the last tourney I saw him in, just as he was with a lance,” Erwin said with ease and a smile. “All the bouts require their own skills and strength.”

The conversation of the small tourney for tomorrow kept on, with Daeron joining in. Abby ignored her sister’s displeased muttering and her husband did as well. Perhaps that’s how the peace was kept in their household.

As the dessert course came out, those in attendance began to move about the room. No doubt they were eager to speak of the confirmation of what had been announced, judging by all the gazes that flitted in their direction. There were her favorite strawberry and cream cakes just out of reach, but she found that she had no appetite for the rich confection with the nervous energy building. Instead, she snagged a piece of marchpane dragon off Aegon’s piled plate of treats. He playfully snapped at her as if he was going to bite at her hand before handing her a marchpane crown without comment.

She leaned towards Aegon, brushing his ear and delighting in how he shivered at the contact. Her fingers tapped against his arm. “I’m going to speak to Wylla.”

He reached up to snatch at her wrist. “Stay,” he murmured, eyes searching her face. Don’t leave me alone next to him, she knew he was asking. Abby shook her head.

“We have to mingle, Aeg, We can’t sit up here all night.” He rolled his eyes and Abby tutted. “Go rescue Helaena.”

Aegon glanced down at the miserable end of the table and they spied Gwayne having come up, a hand braced on Aemond’s shoulder as he spoke to Larys and his father. “I’m surprised Aemond hasn’t stabbed him yet,” Aegon muttered and gave a nod. “Is this to be our duty now, my lady?”

Abby scrunched her face up in amusement and took his offered hand to rise from her chair. “Aye, it shall be, my lord. Save me a dance.” He pressed a kiss to her knuckles and they parted, Aegon going to join his uncle and siblings at the end of the table. She tilted her head, admiring him as he walked from her before heading towards Baela.

When Abby looked at Baela, she was reminded by the statue of Visenya that Aemond favored so in the gardens, or the tapestries that hung in the upper levels of the gallery: women who rode the skies with braids twisted into their long hair, the fierce and determined looks on their faces showing their command of the world. Targaryens were the closest one came to gods in Westeros. This fact Abby had grown with all her life. Everyone in Westeros did. She saw how the smallfolk clamored for the affections and attentions of the dragonriders during parades, the furrowed brows of the septons who disliked the competition to the Seven.

“Princess,” Abby gave the other a bright, welcoming smile. “Come with me, I have someone to properly introduce you to.” There was deference in her tone that Baela was owed, but Abby also clung to the reminder that she was to be a princess too. They would be equals in a few months, and the Queen wanted her to grow accustomed to this fact.

Baela, her lovely, violet eyes narrowed in her direction, seemed to have other ideas. Abby had asked Helaena the other evening what it was that Baela had said in Valyrian, and the princess had only said that she should not worry, for she did not believe Baela would speak so carelessly in the future. The other woman held her gaze, assessing in the way Abby was sure her dragon, Moondancer, would assess and Abby swallowed past the lump of nerves beneath the gaze. She realized after a moment that it was one of uncertainty. It had initially felt hostile - which considering whatever Valyrian she’d spoken upon arrival had been clearly hostile, it made sense - but it had also become clear that the princess was uncomfortable and therefore more judgemental, Abby thought, than she might normally be. At least, Abby hoped that was the case.

“You have people to introduce me to, Lady Abrogail?” The disdain was not obvious, and Abby wondered if this was what it meant to be unaccepted by the Valyrians. The family had kept to themselves since the landing. She had studied the Targaryen family tree in her studies and knew how rarely they married out of the houses. ‘The blood of the dragon must remain pure’, was stated when they’d learned about the Doctrine of Exceptionalism that allowed the practice of incest, and outlawed the multiple wives that The Conqueror and King Maegor had taken.

Would Aegon have wanted multiple wives? Would he have wanted someone more Valyrian to make him feel closer to his heritage? The curious thought flitted through her mind, and Abby felt a stab of jealousy at the idea of such a scenario, along with an uncertainty she couldn’t quite identify, but similar to the feeling of otherness that she found herself experiencing among the company of the other Riverlanders.

“I do. I hope, very much so, that your time here in the capital will be as comfortable as possible. I understand that it must be quite the change from Dragonstone, and the company of the rest of your siblings.” Baela said nothing at first, lips pressed in a thin line before looking down the table. Abby followed her gaze.

Jace and Helaena had a series of tarts and other confections in front of them, and Helaena was laughing brightly at the marchpane tentacles rising from a plum tart. Jace plucked one of them, slathered in cream to take a bite, offering the piece to Helaena who shook her head in amusement and reached for one of the candied lemons.

Aegon had pulled his brother away with a firm grip on his shoulder and the pair of them had headed towards the floor, goblets in hand with heads bowed towards each other. They were accompanied by some of the other young men at court; the Fossoway boys, Ser Leo Costayne, brother to Lord Owen, and their cousin, Lyonel Hightower, heir to the Oldtown seat.

Ser Leo was the eldest at over twenty, his almond eyes from his mother’s Lyseni heritage striking with the silver hair of Valyria that spread across the empire. He had already earned the title of The Sea Lion, the West taking pride in their own fierce seafarer as House Velaryon did with The Sea Snake, Lord Corlys. Little Floris had found him handsome, blushing when her avid gaze had been pointed out by Helaena. Abby had found herself readily agreeing.

At four and ten, Lyonel was as tall as Aemond with the promise to be taller, with the same cut cheekbones Abby could see was a Hightower feature, while Alicent, Aegon, and Helaena shared the soft roundness of their Reyne mother. His skin was swarthy from his Dondarrion mother, a contrast with his lighter brown hair. Her eyes drifted to the group of ladies, colors of the Reach and Westerlands in their clothes, and how they clearly were eyeing Prince Aemond, who was doing his best to pretend to be above it.

Far better for their attention than that of Cassandra Baratheon, who was stoically sitting by her heavy set father, face flushed with wine and quietly hissing at his eldest daughter. An unbidden pang of sympathy pulsed through Abby’s heart at how unhappy the other woman looked, momentarily overriding her displeasure.

Abby turned her gaze back to Baela, whose own eyes were sweeping the mass of people before them. She wondered if the rumor was true of a possible betrothal between Jacaerys and Baela, the future king and queen of the realm. Dragonriders both, in the Targaryen ways of old like Aegon and his wives, like King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne. She wondered if it had happened already and was simply unannounced, Rhaenyra waiting for the most opportune moment. Or perhaps the pair were simply siblings, mayhaps promises made out of stubborn pride. Would that explain Baela’s disdain for them? Did she see them as interlopers in a place that she considered her birthright by conquest and the Valyrian blood flowing through her?

Baela finally rose, fluid and graceful and confident in all the ways that Abby still found it difficult to be. The other woman stood a few inches taller - not a difficult feat by any means, but Abby was envious of the graceful turn of her neck. She was reminded of the descriptions of Visenya: comfortable in silks as she was in armor. What a sight the other would make upon dragonback with a war cry tearing from her. How confident Baela Targaryen was;in her sense of self, her place in the world, in all that made her Valyrian.

It struck Abby then how she did not feel like a child of the Riverlands no matter what she claimed. It felt as if she were spinning falsehoods into a cloak to shroud herself in, to distract from her own sense of confusion. As they approached the closer table where her Uncle Simon sat with the Brackens, listening to the conversation blend before her in the lilt and familiar cadence of the Riverlands, Abby found herself feeling like an outsider. It had not quite been like this at the welcoming feast those weeks ago, where they spoke the language of the capital. Her mother tongue had been one lost to her over the years since her father died, relegated to the dinner table and bedtime stories, of ephemeral memories of lullabies long sung. To hear Wylla’s own northern brogue share in the words of Old Tongue falling in a similar harmony, panic settled in Abby’s chest to find that she couldn’t quite keep up with the words exchanged.

The panic was frozen when Wylla turned her head, and all at the table gave move to rise and give their courtesies to Princess Baela. Out of the corner of her eye, Abby saw Baela shift a little, felt the whisper of silks brush against her. “This is Lady Wylla Karstark, from Karhold,” Abby introduced, her voice coming out higher than she intended as she forced past the lump in her throat. Wylla rose, nodding to her brother who was also getting up to speak with some of the other lords.

“Princess Baela, I hope you’re enjoying the festivities.”

Baela inclined her head but said nothing.

“She is my dearest friend and also far from home. Also quite the archer.” Abby reached for things that Baela might find intriguing and welcoming, hoping her instincts weren’t wrong.

Wylla shook her head slightly. “You are too kind, Lady,” she lightly teased with the use of the title.

Baela’s head cocked, the tinkling of the silver charms in her hair soft among the din of the room. “My, all that snow and ice. It’s a wonder you do not melt beneath the dragon’s heat,” Baela said and the challenge was clear in her voice.

Wylla smiled in her sharp way, ever the winter fox. “As a daughter of fire and sea, I would assume you to be well acquainted with contradictions. One must burn hot to survive the cold.”

Baela actually smiled at that and Abby took the chance. “Wylla is a far better archer than I, Princess. I hear you yourself are well acquainted with the bow.” Wylla’s storm gray eyes flitted to her and Abby did everything she could not to shift awkwardly beneath her friend’s gaze. Not in this dress, and not with the sunburst tiara that graced her head. Instead, she grinned back at her. The princess merely glanced back at her before shifting closer to Wylla.

“Do you hunt, Lady Wylla? I hear there’s to be a hunt later this week and I do so miss hawking…”

Abby released a soft breath, pressing a grateful squeeze to Wylla’s shoulder before moving on to her aunt and uncle. Her cousin, Gareth, had stayed behind at Harrenhal, and she had fuzzy memories of her Aunt Mya. The older woman was plump and warm, brushing a soft kiss with a greeting. The din of the throne room grew louder as the meal came to an end, servants dashing between the party goers, removing plates and replacing carafes of wine and small foods for guests to continue to indulge in. The music shifted to a more lively fair and the dance floor quickly filled with eager revelers.

Lythene Ryger of Willow Wood had drawn her into the shy gaggle of maidens who were standing expectantly along the edge of the dance floor, trading glances across the room at the lords and Abby had noticed the looks they’d thrown in Aemond’s direction. Lady Lythene was five and ten, soft featured with honey brown eyes, her strawberry blonde hair woven with strands of river pearls in the common half knot coil that was common in the Riverlands.

“If Lord Yorick were here, none of these men would have a chance to win tomorrow,” Melony Piper said, all dark hair and more freckles than one could count. “My sister says he was the most fearsome knight not so long ago.”

“Psh,” Lythene rolled her eyes. “Everyone knows Ser Gwayne is a force to be reckoned with. Besides, Lord Yorick never leaves Runestone and if he did, Lord Borros would throw a fit.” She looked smug with the knowledge imparted and whatever look on Abby’s face seemed to spur her on. She leaned in. “Lord Yorick is married to Lord Borros’ younger sister with a son of their own. Should Lady Elenda not have a son, it’s said his sister may push one of her son’s claims to Storm’s End.”

As one, their eyes swiveled in the direction of Cassandra Baratheon, perfectly coiffed, and everything the daughter of a Lord Paramount would be. Raven hair wild as storm clouds around her bare shoulders, her golden dress sparkling in the dancing torchlight with an opal the size of Abby’s fist nestled in the hollow of her throat. Abby’s hands twitched, smoothing over the cloud of blue and green silk organza, the golden dragons and weirwood leaves embroidered over her bodice.

A warm hand touched her wrist and Abby met the gentle, honey eyes of Lythene, who smiled up at her. “Tá cuma álainn ort, a bhean,” she said softly while the others tittered. It took Abby a moment to register the words, “you look beautiful, my lady”, and Abby smiled shyly.

“Go raibh maith agat,” she thanked her and Lythene bit her lip as if holding back a chuckle.

“Agat,” she pronounced softly, the inflection different. “A little closer to got, and less like goat.”

Her cheeks burned and she repeated it softly and Lythene took her hand, squeezing it. “I can’t imagine you get to practice with many people here in the South,” she laughed, a tinkling like bells that drew the attention of other men.

“I haven’t. I’m looking forward to getting to speak it more, but I can’t get that sort of practice teaching Aeg- Prince Aegon.”

“You mean he’s actually going to try learning our tongue?” came the aggressive disbelief of Lady Melony. “Targaryens aren’t ones to debase themselves so.”

Lythene opened her mouth but Abby cut in, a frown slashed across her face. “Aegon is a Targaryen and a Hightower, a family that traces their lineage and impact to before the First Men, some say.” She tilted her head, exhaling softly and shook her head. “The Targaryens may be above us due to the gifts of the dragon, but you can be assured that Prince Aegon will take his duties seriously.”

She was reminded of the words Edmund had sneered at her, of how none would trust a dragon coming into the Riverlands and it was foolish to think so. Lythene said nothing, watching her curiously while Melony Piper’s bright green eyes narrowed somewhat, thin mouth pursed. Abby’s grandmother had been a Piper, which made the two of them kin.

Seven and the Old Gods help her if Aegon did not live up to her promise, but Abby trusted that he would. That he would, at the very least, try.

Melony opened her mouth to speak again but murmurs danced through the crowd, attention towards the dance floor. Abby looked over her shoulder in surprise.

Jace led Helaena by the hand to the crowd of dancers as the next song started, fingers touching as they circled around one another. She was a glittering, blue dragon amidst the crowd, hair like mercury as it flowed around her. Helaena loved to dance and the joy was obvious on her soft features, Jace’s own smile a shy one, his broad frame more obvious as he circled around her. Not as tall as Aemond, but Jace would grow taller yet.

“Well,” Melony’s attention had changed. “That’s an interesting development.”

Abby’s eyes instinctively cut to the queen where she sat at the King’s right, a slight furrow to her brow, and the Lord Hand beside her, his attention also on the pair dancing. A fond smile cut across Otto Hightower’s face as Helaena laughed when Jace spun her, and Abby wasn’t at all sure what to make of it.

Helaena looked happy, though, and that was all that mattered.

Abby startled at the feeling of a warm hand stroking against her elbow and Aegon’s laughter was soft as he stroked his fingers down her arm in a way that had goosebumps flaring across her skin. His fingers twined with hers and the ladies around her bobbed curtsies, murmuring My Prince and Your Grace.

“You all look like you’re having so much fun here, but I must steal my betrothed away,” Aegon said, his voice light and amused, in his element as the center of attention and even more dangerous without drink to cloud his senses. Abby felt the heated flush creep along her throat when Aegon tugged her into him. “I promised you a dance, didn’t I, Lady Abrogail?”

Lythene looked amused, Melony uncertain and Abby turned under Aegon’s arm so that she was facing him. “You did, my Prince. Thank you for the conversation, Lady Lythene, Lady Melony,” she thanked as Aegon began tugging her away. “It was good to meet you.”

Everything else drifted away when Aegon pulled her into his arms. The contrast to the last time they’d danced together was palpable. There was no anger between them, no confusion, no fear. He twirled her as he drew her into the space as if he were showing her off, her skirt flaring around her, rippling greens and blues like the rivers of her home, the candlelight glimmering along the golden threaded dragons on her gown, and the citrine bursts along her tiara. When Aegon pulled her into him, she could feel the heat of his body barely pressed against her, the flush of it coursing through her with every hammering beat of her heart.

“I wish we were somewhere more quiet,” Abby murmured to him as they turned around one another, clapping their hands before reaching for each other again. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Aemond tugging Wylla on the floor, her friend caught between surprise and a pleased flush along her cheeks. Abby would have to tease her later, in return for how merciless Wylla had teased her.

“Do you?” Aegon asked, grinning at her, eyes full of heat. “We could, you know. It is my nameday.”

“We’ll be caught, and I’d rather your mother not find us,” she chuckled, spinning away from him to turn around Lord Tyland, who smiled down at her indulgently while Aegon politely moved around Lady Johanna Westerling, Tyland’s goodsister and dance partner. Her gaze kept pulling back to Aegon whenever they were separated in the dances, and when they came back together, there was an ache in her chest that she could not identify. Relief? Want? Longing?

Everything?

“Remind me to get you a map of the tunnels,” he murmured, leaning down to brush a kiss against her temple and she couldn’t help the bubbling of giggles that escaped her. Aegon looked incredibly pleased with himself, and as the next song started, he pulled her closer to him, hands possessive on her hips as he lifted her in the air and spun her around.

“Whatever do you mean?” she asked. Then it clicked. “What, so I can sneak to your room?”

Aegon winked at her. “Clever girl.”

“I try.”

As Abby turned, her eyes caught on the furious, dark gaze of Edmund Vance across the hall, accompanied by Lord Piper and some of the other River Lords. Abby blanched, the joy she had felt abating like water on a fire at the ugly look in his eyes. So distracted, she was, that she stumbled her steps of the complicated dance, nearly falling had Aegon not pulled her to him in time. She saw his gaze follow hers, his own smile morphing into a hard look.

“I’ve taken care of it.” Abby didn’t understand, trying to find the steps again without ruining the entire dance, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. Aegon’s hand brushed soothing along her arm, his other hand warm on her waist and giving her a reassuring squeeze. “Focus on me, eyes on me, hunītsos.” His voice was gentle and firm all at once, quiet and earnest and Abby focused on the sound of it, her gaze finding his, softened now. “Aemond saved me from making a scene, but I’ve handled it.” He tilted his head. “I don’t need to take his hands.”

Abby struggled to find words, a strange and unfamiliar thrill coursing through her that she could not examine too closely in the moment. “And what have you decided to take instead?”

As the dance came to a close, Aegon reached up to cup the softness of her cheek, tilting her head back with his thumb on her lower lip. He leaned in, mouth brushing against hers, and the vow he made was full of promise.

“His pride,” he murmured, and kissed her in front of the realm to seal it.

What was your favorite moment of the chapter? What's something you're looking forward to? Any fun theories!? I'd love to hear your thoughts on what you're enjoying about Maiden and any curiosities you might have! And if you're not sure what to say, just a kind reblog with a heart or something would be lovely <3

[Chapter Fifteen]

#fic: the maiden and the drowning boy #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen fic #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen #aegon x oc #aegon ii targaryen x oc #hotd #hotd fic #hotd fanfic #house strong #aegon x abby #my fics

[trickphotography2]

D-Day by TrickPhotography | Chapter 2

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x female!reader

Word count: 3.1k

Synopsis: After finding out his girlfriend is pregnant, Jake is ready to move in and get married. The last thing he expected was to be hit with a six-month deployment at sea and missing the birth of his first child.

Chapter 1 | Master List | Ao3

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Chapter 2

“Special delivery!”

You looked up from your computer and blinked at the older woman in your office doorway. While Joanne, the office receptionist, often waved on her way to the break room to restock the coffee or clean up after the guys, she rarely stopped by. The most interaction you usually had was stopping by her desk to get your mail and snag a piece of candy from the bowl. After you had strongly shut down the hints that you needed to help the administration department set up the holiday party, the relationship was strained. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to help - it was just that you were the only person outside of admin asked to do so. If she’d asked just one man from your team to do the same, you would have been more than happy to pitch in. But you’d walked in on one too many snide conversations about the ‘party planning committee’ to give the guys another thing to tease you about. 

So Joanne standing in front of your office was an oddity. Even more so was the vase of flowers in her hands. “What are those?”

“Flowers for you, silly! There’s a card and everything!” She stepped into your office as you stood, lifting the flowers to her face to smell before handing them to you. You frowned at the arrangement of white roses and blue hydrangeas, running a finger along the green foliage. It clearly wasn’t the obligatory office birthday gift and your parents never sent flowers. “Open the card!” Joanne said, clapping her hands. 

Sighing, you set the vase on your desk and plucked out the white envelope. The front said that the arrangement was called Blue Skies. Your frown deepened at the message on the back.

1) Thanks for the beers

2) Didn’t think you were a tag chaser

3) I prefer to be called a man in a bag or Hangman

4) I disagree

-- Jake

There was that phone number again. 

“Well, who is it from?” Joanne asked. “A secret admirer?”

“My parents,” you lied, forcing a smile while stroking the soft rose petals. 

“Oh,” her smile fell, disappointed that there wasn’t more gossip to spread in the office. “That’s nice of them. Any special occasion?”

“Not that I know of. I’ll, um… I’m going to give them a call to thank them. And thank you for bringing these to me.”

“Of course. I’m up front if you need anything.” 

As soon as she left, you collapsed back into your chair and let your head fall back to stare at the ceiling. For a moment, you debated calling Seresin but decided against it, tossing the card in your desk drawer to deal with later. Your attempt to focus on emails kept being interrupted as the scent of the flowers permeated your office, and the blue caught the corner of your eye. It was a relief when the meeting reminder popped up on the screen. Quickly, you locked the computer and gathered a notebook and pen, grabbing your coffee mug at the last second.

Mark and Glen nodded as you moved toward the break room coffee pot. They were talking about a golfing trip over the weekend that some of the guys were going on. When they asked what you were doing, you shrugged, “Just relax and catch up on some stuff around the apartment.”

“No hot date?” Glen asked. Unlike some in your office, you knew Glen was playfully teasing - you’d attended his wedding just two months ago, and the man was so obnoxiously in love with his wife. 

“Not unless you count Mr. Clean who will be getting up close to my baseboards,” you laughed. 

“Say the word and you’d have a lot of guys lining up to see your baseboards,” Mark smirked into his coffee, and you blushed. Glen rolled his eyes before looking at his watch.

“Meeting’s starting soon. Save you a seat?” When you nodded, he shouldered Mark towards the door, and you could have sworn you saw Glen swat the back of Mark’s head. With a deep breath, you set your mug by the sink and turned on the cold water, removing your watch to thrust your wrists under the stream. While annoying, Mark’s comment wasn’t the worst you’d heard. And you’d, unfortunately, opened yourself up for that comment - joking about someone seeing your baseboards? Rookie move.

Eventually, you turned off the water and dried your hands. After putting on your watch and dumping cream and sugar into your coffee, you made your way to the conference room for the weekly check-in. Thankfully Joanne had sent one of her staff in to take notes so you wouldn’t be in charge of the meeting minutes. 

Twisting in your chair, you looked at the flowers again and chewed on your lower lip. They’d caused quite a few remarks as your colleagues filed past your office following the meeting, a few people popping in to try and get the gossip. You stuck to your story about them being from your parents. Glancing at the open door, you grabbed the card from your drawer and held it up again.

The card was handwritten, which either meant that Seresin… Jake… had called in the order or gone to a flower shop himself rather than ordering online. The writing was small and precise; you could feel it indent the paper when you ran a finger over it. Flipping the card over, you saw that Blue Skies was in different handwriting. Which meant he probably wrote the note himself. 

Something about a guy going into a flower shop and picking something out for you made your heart give an unwelcome flutter. It was a bad idea. You interacted with pilots enough to know those wings usually came with an ego. There was too much of that in your life already, why invite more? And besides, what kind of nickname was Hangman? You knew enough to understand that it was his callsign. Had he been caught doodling in his notes one too many times, or was it some inside joke? Groaning, you tried to push away those thoughts. There was no need for you to know where it came from.

Picking up your phone, you quickly typed in his number and hit send before you could think too much. It rang repeatedly as you shut the door and crossed your arm under your chest. 

“It’s Seresin. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.” 

“Oh, hi,” you said, unprepared to have been met with his voicemail. “I, um, I just wanted to call and say thank you for the flowers. They weren’t necessary. So, um… thank you again, and have a great day.” Cursing yourself after hanging up, you muttered, “Smooth.” 

The phone rang in your hand, flashing an unknown number. Against your better judgment, you answered it. “Hello?”

“Hi. It’s Seresin - Jake. Glad to hear you got the flowers. I was getting worried they got delivered to the wrong place.” 

“Right, um, thank you. Again.”

“You’re welcome. So I’ve been thinking about this conflict of interest.” 

“Oh?” 

“I’ve got nothing to do with contracts and I don’t even fly what you’re selling - I’m still in an old fourth-gen, like you pointed out yesterday. So there’s no conflict.”

“Really?” you said, feeling charmed despite yourself.

“And to your other point, I’ve very clearly a man in a bag, not a boy.”

“Man or boy, I don’t date pilots.”

“That a hard rule?”

“Yes.”

“What if I told you I was on the maintenance crew?” 

“Lying isn’t a great way to get a date.” 

“Who says I’m lying?”

“They don’t hand out those gold wings I saw on your uniform to just anyone, Lieutenant.” 

“You know a lot about uniforms. You serve?” 

“No, I’m a civilian.” When he hummed, you cleared your throat. “It was nice meeting you. And if you ever have $75 million lying around and want to purchase an F-35, feel free to call me and I’ll give you the sales pitch.” 

“That with the friends and family discount?”

“We’d have to be friends for you to get that.” 

“Ouch. Nothing on the family side?”

“Are you saying you're family? Because that would be another reason we can’t go on a date.” He chuckled, and you smiled. 

“I can see why you’re in negotiations.”

“It pays the bills.” There was silence before Jake cleared his throat.

“So dinner and drinks are off the table?”

“They are.”

“Damn.”

“No hard feelings?”

“Just a couple. It’s not every day you come across someone smart and gorgeous.” 

“You’ll get over me.” At that, he laughed and you grinned. 

“That’s usually my line.” 

“Oh, so you’re a heartbreaker? Good thing I’m dodging that bullet.”

“Guess so.” Neither of you said anything until he spoke up again. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah. It was nice meeting you, Lieutenant.”

“Jake.”

“Jake,” you repeated. “Have a good rest of your week.” 

“You too.”

When the call disconnected, you let your head fall back against the door and sighed. Why is it that a five-minute conversation with Jake was more fun than you’d had in months of being on dating apps? 

“So do you have any siblings?” Tyler asked, running his finger around the rim of his coffee mug. Smiling, you shook your head and subtly twisted your wrist to glance at your watch. Half an hour in and you were still playing twenty questions. You wondered when he would ask what your favorite color was. At least he wasn’t monologuing about his podcast like your last date. 

“Only child,” you replied. “You?”

“Two older brothers.”

“That must have been a fun dynamic growing up,” you smiled, adjusting your sunglasses. Tyler shrugged.

“Being the youngest sucked since I was the punching bag. Always wanted to be an only child.”

“It does have its perks. So are you from Lemoore?”

“Nah, got that DoDEA job and moved from the East Coast. Nothing like moving across the country to teach a bunch of third graders. I really wanted an overseas job, so that’ll be the next step.”

“That’s awesome. I really liked my teachers when I went to school on base.” 

“Yeah. Not to mention the pay is way better.” Your eyes glazed over as Tyler railed against the government teacher’s salary for stateside compared to overseas postings. You agreed that teachers needed to be paid more, but this wasn’t a great first-date conversation. You nodded where appropriate and sipped at your iced coffee.

And then you spotted him.

The downside of living near a military base was how small the community was. It wasn’t something you had necessarily picked up on while growing up when your whole social network revolved around school, but it was definitely noticeable as an adult. A perfect example was seeing a man you’d turned down walking towards the only open table on the patio of your favorite local coffee shop, clearly on a date. 

Jake pulled out the woman’s chair, settling her back-to-back with Tyler, and taking the seat opposite her. Which unfortunately put him in your direct eye line. While you couldn’t confirm it because you were both wearing sunglasses, you felt his eyes lock on you as you stared at him. It’d been three weeks since meeting him in the hangar, and clearly, he hadn’t had an issue finding a date. 

You tried focusing on Tyler, but your eyes kept drifting back to Jake. He looked good out of uniform. The green collared shirt he wore clung to his arms and chest, and was unbuttoned enough to hint at chest hair. You had a feeling it was a close match to his eyes. Forcing your gaze back to Tyler, you couldn’t help but compare the two men. Tyler was leaner, his dark hair long enough for him to continually flick out of his eyes. Tattoos decorated his arms - definitely your usual type. And he was dull. It had seemed exciting to set a date after only exchanging a few messages online, but this was a reminder of why you usually waited at least a week to screen out meeting someone in person. 

Jake’s laugh drew your attention, and your eyes flitted toward him before lowering to your drink. Running a hand through your hair, you pushed your sunglasses to the top of your head and propped your chin in your hand, leaning forward to focus on Tyler. You saw his eyes dip down to your cleavage and suppressed a sigh. You’d worn a cute new halter top decorated with flowers and a keyhole slit that apparently was just enough for him to get a peek at your breasts. 

As he rambled on about the renovation he was doing on his house (one tally in the pros column - homeowner), you absentmindedly ran your thumb through your glass’s condensation. With your customer service smile pasted on, you mentally ran through the lists of things you needed to get done that weekend. It was hard to ignore the chuckles and laughs from the table next to you, and you tried not to be envious of the easy flow of conversation between Jake and his date. 

Tyler eventually asked how you got into defense contracting, and you gave him the bare bones story - your dad did it and it was a career where you could use your English degree. Granted, working on a contract for washing planes - your newest project - wasn’t always the most exciting, but you liked it. “Too bad some of that military budget can’t go into education,” he smirked.

“Yeah, it’s absolutely an underfunded public service,” you agreed.

“Could divert funding for even a couple of those jets always flying overhead and get so much more bang for your buck.” It was on the tip of your tongue to comment on having to decouple property taxes from school funding, but it wasn’t worth the back and forth. Rather than answer, you took a sip of your coffee, glancing over Tyler’s shoulder to see Jake’s raised eyebrow. 

When you’d both finished your drinks and the date was coming to an organic end, you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment that another guy who had seemed promising on paper led to a disappointing date. As you gathered your purse and empty cups, he held the door open for you to go inside and return your dishes. “Well, it was nice to meet you,” you said while exiting the building, car keys in hand. 

“Yeah, you too. I had a good time.”

“Me too,” you lied. “It’s always nice to get out and meet someone new.” 

“We should do this again sometime.” You smiled rather than answer and returned the hug he pulled you in for. Thankfully, you were parked on opposite sides of the lot. You sat in your car with the door open until he left, and then got back out. While the date was a bust, you wanted another latte to get you through the errands you needed to run that afternoon. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” a voice said behind you in line. Taking a deep breath, you turned to look up at Jake. 

“Hi.”

“Date going well?” 

“I could ask you the same,” you said, glancing out the window to where his date was looking at her phone. 

“Just getting us some refills,” he shrugged. 

“Good for you.” When it was your turn, you ordered a large iced latte to go and moved to the opposite side of the counter to wait for your drink. You pulled your phone from your back pocket and opened the dating app. Jake moved to stand behind you, crossing his arms over his chest. After typing a quick message to Tyler to say that you enjoyed the date but you didn’t really see anything moving forward, you unmatched with him. 

“Ouch. Could have at least let him get home before breaking his heart,” Jake said. Ignoring him, you closed the app and locked your phone, slipping it into your purse. Tucking your hands into your pockets, you glanced over your shoulder at him. 

“Kind of a dick move to talk to another woman while you’re on a date.” 

“Really? Even when there’s no chance of a date or even friendship with the one I’m talking to?” 

“Yeah, still disrespectful.” 

“My bad.” Neither of you spoke for a long moment. He stepped forward to grab a few sugar packets and stood beside you. “So, aren’t schools paid for by property taxes?”

“Yes!” you said, throwing your hands up. “I mean, completely agree with shifting some defense spending to education but…” you trailed off, turning to glare at him. “Were you listening to our conversation?”

“English degree?” Jake smirked. You reached out to swat his arm before you could stop yourself, which only made him laugh. “Hard not to. Should’ve kept your sunglasses on - hid that you were bored better.”

“I was not bored!” 

“Which is why you blew him off.” 

“Pay attention to your own dating life, Seresin.” With another glance at his date, you scoffed. “I’m surprised you didn’t bring her flowers.”

“Blew my budget on a cute contractor,” he shrugged. 

“Thanks for that, by the way. Everyone at work’s wondering who I’m dating.” 

Jake leaned closer, and you could smell his spicy aftershave and a hint of coffee on his breath when he spoke again, voice low and rumbling in your ear. “Probably better that I paid for delivery instead of bringing them myself, then, huh, Sweetheart.”

Goosebumps erupted on your skin, and your breath caught. Slowly, you turned towards him, catching a glimpse of your stunned expression in the aviator sunglasses hanging on the front of his shirt, and looked up at him. His green eyes dragged from your arm, lingered on your mouth, and finally met your gaze. There was a loaded silence as you dropped your eyes to his cocky grin before turning your attention back to the coffee counter. “Don’t be a dick to your date, please. Don’t be one of those guys.”  

That seemed to bring him up short, and his smile dropped as he looked out the window to where his date sat, tapping her fingers on the table. They called your drinks, and you both moved to grab them. Your eyes met briefly and you gave him a weak smile. “Good luck.”

“I’ll see you around,” he replied. With a nod, you walked towards the front door, pausing as you pushed it open to see Jake leaning against the door to the patio looking at you. Smiling, he lifted one of his drinks and tapped a finger to his forehead in a small salute. You smiled back and returned it before walking out.

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

Author's Note: DoDEA schools military funded schools on base. Stateside, it's usually only through elementary school, but overseas it goes through high school. They're just like a normal school, just funded differently (people always imagined a military training school when I say they're military schools).

Thank you for the support with this story! I do have a tag list running, so please let me know if you would like to be added to it.

Read Chapter 3

@memeorydotcom; @alldaysdreamers: @genius2050; @djs8891; @caitsymichelle13

#hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x reader #top gun fic #top gun maverick #jake seresin #D-Day fic

[afreakingdork]

Weak Spot - Chapter 1

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

Warnings: Aged-up Turtles, Romance, Meet Cute, Villain Donatello, Cussing, Crushes

Synopsis:  When falling in love is the easy part where does the difficulty lie? In a society where we're defined by our job, it's those little details as a relationship goes on that ends up setting a course for whether or not a couple can make it in the long run.

Also available on Ao3

Alright, check it! Here we go, everybody!

The current rating of the fic is Teen and Up. I'm going to be going ham on a chapter by chapter rating/tagging basis because I don't want this baby to sit in Explicit until it is, if that makes sense. It will definitely become so in the future, but until then I'm going to rate it as is. Speaking of, when that switch does happen, please look for the notes before each chapter that will signal that. If you're reading on Ao3 you'll find more handy tagging notes.

Reader will be as gender neutral as possible until/unless otherwise stated. For my outline so far, this will involve sex and fem-coded activities such as make-up application and dress. I'll mark before each chapter if something is going to lean towards more of a fem!reader.

Otherwise, please enjoy! This is going to be a long ride so let's go!

Oh, please, not today.

Maneuvering around a corner, you doubled back to duck your boss. You could almost cry; not that you ever would over something so ridiculous at work. Looking back towards where you had just come, you felt the anxious sweat form on the back of your neck. This hallway only went in one direction and if your boss was already heading this way then surely he was about to run into you.

That was not something you could handle right now.

Clutching your bag tighter to your chest, you pushed off the wall to make a run for it when you heard a coworker call out.

“Oh! Perfect timing, sir. Do you have a second to look at something?”

You heard your boss stutter and your eyes went wide. Who was this prince that stepped in and saved your lunch hour? You wanted to bestow them with a thousand gifts, but you hadn’t heard enough of their voice to identify them. Shoving down the urge to peek, you listened until the two’s conversation slunk away. It meant the coast was clear and you speed walked your way down that now empty hall. In mere moments you were at the elevator landing and jammed the button with repeated anxiety. The display for which floor the accursed machine was on had been broken for about as long as you could remember. You glared at the black screen. It would only been busted on your level. Another tick to the record of your inefficient boss. You were so lost in your glaring that you scarcely heard two more co-workers walk up until the elevator chimed its arrival.

“Tell me something!”

Standing right in front of the silver doors, you surged forward as soon as they parted. There was an elderly suited man in the back and you tucked yourself right against the panel to hit ground floor.

“What’s up with these women wearing hot pants at the gym like it isn’t 45 degrees outside and then they get fucking mad when you look at them!?”  

Unable to hide the disgust on your face, you grimaced into the corner.

“I don’t know man…”

These two weren’t colleagues you considered often, but they had rapidly shot down to the bottom of your care’s list.

“Seems inappropriate!”

You soured further as you heard the old man chirp out a response. Three was far more than a crowd it seemed.

“What about you? You gotta have some idea, right?”

You felt a tap on your shoulder.

They were not trying to pull you into this bullshit.

Seriously, this was not the day.

You prepared a barbed response and turned to sick it on them when the elevator signaled a premature stop. You lifted your head and watched as a immaculately done up woman in a skin tight dress clicked her way into the elevator on daggered heels. She not only towered over you, but everyone else in the square. The tension was so palpable you imagined pricking it with a needle. You wondered if the woman could sense it considering she didn’t have the inane context. Either way, you worshipped her as the goddess she was for even unknowingly averting a confrontation for you.

When the elevator hit the bottom floor, you were the first to scurry off. You heard your two idiot co-workers start petty conversation with the woman and you marched straight to the many glass doors that granted exit to your high-rise. It wasn’t a breath of fresh air when it came to New York City, but it was certainly a reprieve. Still clutching your bag close, you strode down several sets of steps and onto a busy sidewalk. Hundreds of suits bustled and knocked shoulders with you as you settled into the traffic. It was a necessary evil that didn’t grate on your nerves any less. Parting the clouded thoughts as best you could, you looked forward into the ray of sunshine that sat on a lone sandwich shop. After several turns, that same storefront appeared tangible in the real world.

Your heart leapt at the sight. Somewhere in your bag you pictured your online pick-up order confirmation. You didn’t need it, but its receipt meant that no further fouls could come into play. Reaching for the handle, you watched through the glass as a gentleman did the same except his head was turned back to his companion within the shop. You reeled to dodge, but it was too late. The door flew open and clipped your shoulder as your failed to completely move away. You hissed into the sting and his sudden flurry of apologies took a bit of the edge off. You gave him a passing hands up gesture to pardon his transgression and he thankfully pivoted to hold the door for you. You heard a snippet of his companion berating him as the door returned to its stationary position.

Sighing, you fell into the shop’s embrace. The smell of freshly baked bread filled your nostrils and the thrum of patrons caressed your ears. You had eaten here a few times, with its proximity to your work, but this was the first time since they’d set up their online system. It meant you could skip the line and move right over to the pick-up counter. Straightening and finally letting your bag fall away from its defensive position, you headed to said post. There was no awaiting bag and you gave a little frown. This was exactly why you had your email at the ready. Reluctantly pulling up your bag, you rifled through it for your phone. Unlocking it, you watched in dismay as the email appeared only for the UI to refresh. Squashing a whine in your throat, you waited as the mobile data couldn’t seem to catch up with the page. Shifting a thumb to see if the shop had maybe set up free Wi-Fi along with ordering system, you heard an authoritative voice call out.

“Online pick-up! Club, hold the ham, roasted tomato, add oil!”

All the petty joy in your body surged straight to your head. That was your exact order.

Now this you needed.

You closed the gap between you and the counter with a near hop as the employee set down the bag. Your hand reached out as if an angel were serving penance and you watched in slow motion as another hand did the same. Confusion twisted on your features as you both clutched the paper in tandem. Your dopamine spike skittered to a halt, leaving you at a flattened emotional midpoint.

Not now.

It had finally gone right!

“Huh?!” The pitch was far deeper and had way more gravel than you ever remembered your voice having before. You nearly growled as your shoulders bunched up and you went into full on defense mode over your lunch. You turned your irritation on your would be sandwich thief and found yourself caught at the sight. Towering over you was clearly a mutant. You blinked out of your glare and stared openly. Instead of looking at you, the man instead gazed straight through you. You saw a bit of brow sat neutral against a wash of purple. He seemed encompassed in layers as a hint of green skin peeked out from between the purple and a black mask. It made the angular glasses perched upon them all the more apparent. There was a faint tint to them that you couldn’t quite make out from this distance. From there you skirted the edges of his black ball cap and down to his black wool coat. It framed the tight black turtleneck that clung to every crevice of his seemingly chiseled torso.

You came back to yourself all at once and found that barely a second had passed.

“I’m pretty sure that’s mine.” Thankfully your mouth still knew justice and held none of the awe that had passed through your brain.

Something about your curt response seemed to catch his attention and you watched in real time as his focus seemed to adjust to your form. With the mask you couldn’t be sure, but he seemed prepared to respond.

“Online pick…!”

You watched as the man turned away from you and to the confused employee who had choked on his announcement.

“Weird! This is… the exact same order?”

Reluctantly, you finally dragged your gaze away to the staff member. “What?”

“Some kind of glitch in the new system?” The employee posited, pulling the first bag away from both of your still outstretched hands.

In your periphery you saw the mutant move and pull out his phone.

“The order numbers and names are different…” The employee struggled and juggled both sacks.

“Simply a coincidence.”

Both you and the employee jolted at the mutant’s voice.

“I’d like my lunch now if you’re done manhandling it.”

The employee nodded dumbly and before placing both bags on the counter. He then made a scared show of pushing one in each of your directions. You caught your bags at the same time and you turned to see the mutant still scrolling his device with what you supposed was purpose.

“Some coincidence, huh?” You remarked, clutching your lunch.

The mutant gave a curt nod and you heard the employee retreat.

You were about to do the same when he seemed to find what he was looking for. In a flash of movement, his device fell in a slack arm and he leaned forward. You had no time to move away as he entered your personal space. You heart hitched as he reached out to your bag. Basal instinct told you to pull away, but curiosity kept you in place. You watched as a tridactyl hand passed the sack itself and moved to lift the receipt attached to it. From this distance you could finally see the color of his glasses; it was a barely there shading of blue in one and red in the other.

“You have my order.”

One of your brows descended while the other shot sky high. “So?”

You watched for the second time as his gaze seemed to struggle to focus on you like a malfunctioning camera lens.

“Just like the guy said: the orders are the same.”

You could only glean information from his eyes and they were set sternly to stoic. He bypassed responding and instead lifted his device. The screen was turned toward you and proudly displayed his own receipt.

So, that’s what had kept him.

“You had trouble with the internet too!”

In the first show of emotion you had seen, you watched one of his brows incrementally raise. A full centimeter seemed like quite the hurdle for him.

“I’m to assume you won’t give me my sandwich.”

He straightened and your heart sank the tiniest bit.

That was strange.

You knew nothing about this man other than he was apathetic and apparently a stickler for order numbers.

Still, he was the most interesting thing that had happened to you all day.

Hell, maybe even all year.

When was the last time you had gotten to interact with a someone in banal terms?

It didn’t have to be a long lunch to be fulfilling.

“How about…” You tilted your head to the side and did your best to peered into his eyes. “I give it back to you if you sit down and have lunch with me?”

His stare was completely flat.

“If… you have time that is?” You shoved the afterthought in quickly.

He rolled his shoulders and adjusted his sandwich into the crook of his arm. You watched as he then placed his device into his pocket and pinched one of his lapels. You continued to wait with ever growing curiosity as he then swiveled his neck to look out over the dining room. You followed his gaze for a moment trying to spy exactly what he was looking at. Whatever it was, he seemed to find it and his head crawled back to you before he gave a little sigh.

“You have terrible taste.” He said simply and made a slight movement with his neck for you to follow.

“I literally ordered the exact same meal as you.” You bounced in line with him as he lead you both over to a table tucked into a windowed corner.

He waited for you to sit before he delicately took the one across from you. His posture was so perfect it was almost laughable as he set his order on the table. In contrast, you heaved yours down and struggled to take your bag off. When you’d finally slipped it to your side, you rose up to find him still holding his meal as if it were a valuable item in a criminal handoff.

“Not what you meant, got it.” You noted, grabbing your order in a similar manner to indulge him.

His head tipped down incrementally and you both made the switch. He seemed to examine the contents while you, in contrast, shoved your hand down the paper bag to retrieve your parchment wrapped sandwich. You wanted to gripe about how he had eyes on the meal from the employee until now, but he hadn’t spoken past insulting you.

Oh, yeah. You should probably be more upset about that.

Your stomach grumbled as you dismissed the thought to instead languish in his curious company. Instead of fully unwrapping your sandwich, you peeled back the wrapper to keep your hands clean before taking a big bite. As you chewed you watched as he made work of flawlessly folding his parchment until his own meal was fully exposed. He then procured napkins from his bag and set his shoulders to finally eat.

“At least you’re aware.”

The corner of your mouth quirked up at that. He certainly liked to take his time to respond.

“Why this sandwich?” You took another hearty bite and relished the way the tomatoes burst with flavor.

“A club could be considered a base standard for a sandwich shop.”

You slowed your bites as he reached both his hands up. It was only then that you realized he’d have to remove his mask to eat. It seemed like a delicious cherry on top of your silly little scheme. You watched curiously as you noted that he had no ears for the straps to attach to. Instead you took notice of the poignantly sewed on buttons to his ball cap that were keeping the elastic in place. His head came down as he removed the mask and his green snout came into view. He then tucked the mask into his coat as if it were a pocket book and brought his hands back to his sandwich.

“Enjoying the show?” He kept his eyes down on his meal and seemed to be calculating the best way to tackle it.

“Yes, actually.” You hummed, swallowing your bite. You watched with tepid joy as your stark response caused him to flick his gaze at your momentarily.

He hadn’t needed to adjust that time.

“Do you have a mutant kink?”

What a return lob.

“No, it’s just been awhile since I’ve been able to have a civil conversation with someone.”

He finally picked up his sandwich and though you could see his mouth now, its tight line read the same as his eyes, giving nothing away. He seemed to digest your words as he brought his purchase up. You felt your hands squeeze a little too hard as his lips parted. Maybe it was your imagination, but it seemed to open a little wider than necessary and you got a good luck at the pricks of his canines as he bit down into the relenting bread. A tomato falling into your lap brought you back to your senses.

You cursed and switched to palm your sandwich with one hand to retrieve the red offender. A napkin slid across the table in your periphery and you grumbled out a thank you as you took it. Wiping your slacks and frowning at the oil that had already seeped in there, you huffed.

“Very convincing.”

It was almost impressive how much sarcasm he could inject into his flat tone.

You snapped your gaze to him and scooted closer to the table to prevent another spill. “It’s not an obsession! I mean you must know…”

He didn’t bother to look up and instead inspected the crescent carved out of his meal.

You gave him a few more moments, but it seemed apparent he wasn’t going to answer so you continued on. “What you look like.”

“And what is that?” Dropping his sandwich back to the folded parchment, he peeled back the top bread to examine the ingredients.

Though his question had appeared devoid of emotion, your cheeks flushed at the thought. You didn’t mind saying it as you had long grown past that kind of fearful shyness, but it still struck you how he was able to conjure up those sort of nervous butterflies when he didn’t seem particularly interested in you in the slightest. If that aloof attitude was why, then maybe it had been far longer that you’d previously thought since you’d had a decent conversation. You could consider the ramifications of it later. For now, it was a nice reprieve to be able to indulge in the sensation of a crush, even if it felt like the meeting would only last through lunch.

“You’re attractive.” You hid the little flip your stomach made by taking another bite.

You heard a little hum and chanced peeking at him through your lashes. He wasn’t looking at you, but his attention had finally been split away from his sandwich as he considered your statement. You continued to eat until, after a certain amount of time, he joined you. You smiled to yourself through a bite of turkey. He’d deemed it another non-response, but something about that was almost endearing. If he were anyone else you probably would be labeling him rude, but there was something about his aura that you found intoxicating in a mysterious way. His looks certainly helped, but you tried to see past the superficial.

No harm in being the reacher if only for a bit of fun.

“Earlier you mentioned something about a standard?”

There was a slight hitch as he brought his sandwich up to his lips. “That’s correct.”

“Are you like a food reviewer?”

You could have sworn you heard another hum, but this time the concurrent sounds of the shop made it impossible to be sure. You waited nonetheless and prepared a few other questions just in case this one also didn’t take.

“I’m looking for a new lunch spot.”

“Oh?” You gave him a once over and watched as he dabbed his face with a napkin.

“I’d been going to one shop for years, but despite my best efforts it closed down.” He passed you another look and your heart clenched at the sight of his eye line.

“You would be a creature of comfort.” Maybe another tease would bring his gaze back to you.

Unfortunately, you weren’t so lucky.

“Presumptuous.” He said in a manner that seemed for his ears only.

“Am I wrong?” You tilted your head curiously.

He retracted ever so slightly and it brought your elbows to the table as you leaned in. He stood strong against the move before finally, instead of only a flitting glance, he looked straight at you. If you hadn’t  already craned yourself to the table, you might have collapsed.

“It was meant as a negative. A note about how you venture to guess my habits based on so little data.”

This guy was something else. He suddenly reminded you of a computer. He was the embodiment of an analytic assault. If it wasn’t the way he picked apart his food and his talk creating a sandwich baseline, then it was how he seemed to be tallying up some sort of report on you.

Gosh, you just wanted to tease him.

“But am I wrong?”

If it were possible his level gaze became even more sardonic.

You couldn’t keep the widening smile off your cheeks.

He went back to his sandwich and you were starting to get a feel for when a subject had been dropped. Maybe a little data was just enough.

“I get it.” You dropped a new line in amity. “Everyone has a favorite place and it sucks when it closes.”

You didn’t get a sense that he was ignoring you this time, but rather had little to comment on the kindness you extended. It made you all the more curious.

“Why the club? Was it your favorite?”

One of his brows arched incrementally and the fact that you noticed surely meant you were just flat out staring at him. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to care or if he did, his face continued to betray nothing.

“No.” The rounded shape his lips made around the word lingered past when it left his vocal cords.

You wondered which of the two questions he had answered or if he had tidied both up in one go. You could almost curse yourself for not spreading them out.

“Almost every shop has a club sandwich.”

You perked up slightly, putting together what he meant. He had answered the questions in reverse order. You wondered what about them had confused his processors.

“Then why modify it?” Remembering your own sandwich preferences brought attention to the fact your lunch was being sorely neglected. It was still in hand, but you still couldn’t touch it as you found him giving his first emotion of the day: the slightest downturn of his lips.

Who knew a frown could do so much for the chemicals in your brain?

“It’s frustrating that something so basic doesn’t have a clear consensus.”

“Wha-?”

“It isn’t supposed to have ham on it and yet an infuriating amount of establishments default to the product. Plus that isn’t even mentioning construction which can be slapdash at best and I’ve even been to a shop that had the audacity to put an egg into the stack!”

You blinked wide as you realized it wasn’t just a frown, but something akin to anger. The way he bit down on the end of the sentence and then shifted in an almost imperceptible way to recompose himself made your heart rate spike. What a hang up! Your mind went into a flurry. You wanted to ask if he disliked eggs in general or just on a club. You didn’t even know his name, but you wanted to know all about his culinary preferences. Imagination running wild with the list, you imagined making his favorite breakfast after a night of-

Infatuation was a hell of a drug.

You squashed any further excitement with a tepid and, hopefully, understanding smile. “And the tomato?”

The way his chin tipped up seemed to say something, but you weren’t sure what. He opted to fold his arms and you found yourself unconsciously leaning ever more forward as you awaited his response.

“The cooking process concentrates what little flavor industrially-grown tomatoes have.”

You nodded, this time genuinely knowing what he meant.  

“And the oil to add fat?”

His tightened grip on his arms laxed as he moved from looking at you to a full on survey. Feeling very seen, you dropped your gaze and picked at what was left of your sandwich.

“Yes, it also enhances mouth feel and can combat dryness.”

The corner of your mouth quirked up. Though his own tone could use a little of that seasoning, you swore you caught the tiniest note of appreciation for the catch.

It was also entirely possible you just willed it to be that way.

“Salt Fat Acid Heat…”

There was that hum again. This time you were sure you heard it.

You brought your gaze up to find his squarely on your face.

“Quite the read.” He gave a single approving nod and you could feel cupid’s arrow shoot straight through your heart. If nothing else this lunch would serve as an emotional meal for at least a week.

You really needed a new job.

“I’ll take that as you changed your mind about my tastes.” You gave a satisfied smirk and moved with the the intention of finishing your meal off.

“Absolutely not.” 

His instant reply halted your hands mid journey.

“But you just…?” You trailed off weakly.

“Something can be said about your gastronomic choices, but that wasn’t what I was referring to.”

Did he mean earlier?

Was he talking about himself?

Your head tipped to one side curiously.

You watched him stare at you long enough to blink a single time before he returned to his sandwich. Remembering you had been trying to do the same, you followed suit. You were able to get through one more bite before another question chomped at the bit.

“How many shops have you evaluated so far?”

Under the guise of popping the final corner of your lunch into your mouth, you watched him through your lashes.

His cheeks paused in chewing before he swallowed. 

“This will be the 12th one.”

You gave a snort as you stole one his napkins to wipe your hands. He responded by reaching into your forgotten bag and replenishing his supply.

“You’ll just keep going until you find a suitable replacement?”

He gave a single nod and you balled up your dirty parchment. 

“How does this one rank? I’ve been here a few times before.”

He finished off his own sandwich and took to a careful process of folding his parchment further before depositing it into his bag.

“Mid, the turkey was nothing more than watery deli slices and the bread is particularly unremarkable.”

“Yeah, I can see that. The tomato was pretty good considering it’s out of season though.”

“Quite.” After thoroughly scrubbing his hands, he wiped any errant crumbs off the table and gathered up the trash into the bag as well. “You work nearby?”

You had been in the midst of following his table manners when you faltered and ripped your bag in the process of depositing a used napkin. Your lips parted and you almost wanted to ask him if you had heard him correctly. He had actually asked you a question.

“Yeah… How did you know?” You tried to salvage the bag as your mind ran rampant again.

Had he seen you before?

Were you really about to live out some kind of romantic comedy scenario?

“Why else would you chose the mediocre if not for proximity’s sake.”

Crushing your bag along with the ridiculous thoughts, you smiled at him a little too brightly. “You got me there.”

His chin tipped again, but this time it was down. You really wanted to map out all his little tendencies, but you’d need a notepad for that. You had the perfect one in your office, but that would mean heading out.

Your heart sank.

“My lunch break.”

The statement hung in the air as you left your trash abandoned in exchanged for your bag. Within a few flurried motions you pulled out your phone and stared in anguish as it awakened with the time.

“I am so late…!” Your voice waned and you looked to the mutant with desperation.

He seemed immune to your plight and moved to stand. Though you had long resigned yourself to satisfaction of the little time you’d gotten with him, the closing window didn’t sting any less. Squinting weakly at your trash, you dropped your phone into your bag and heaved yourself up. Gathering your things, you couldn’t help the surprise that passed over your features as you found him standing beside his pushed in chair and the mask back on his face, waiting.

“Thanks.” You mumbled off and he brushed by it as he headed for the door.

You followed him and waited your turn as he dumped his bag at the receptacle.  

You had so many questions once.

Where had they all gone?

You waited sullenly as he seemed to take an extra moment before he stepped aside and you hucked your garbage ball into the appropriate hole.

“And thank you for indulging me. Works been…” You trailed off with a grimace and a wave of your hand.

He reached for the door handle, but kept his even gaze on you.

“Let’s just say this long lunch is not going to help the matter!” You sighed and wondered if that angelic coworker could distract your boss with even more edits.

That would probably be asking too much.

“It’s just a shame I won’t be able to hear the rest of your reviews.” A bit of dry laughter found its way out of you.

Finding a grip on the door, he opened it and slipped out first.

You chased after him having a feeling he wouldn’t hold it.

“I’ll just be stuck eating the same old meh meal!” Twisting your bag into both hands, you prepared for the parting.

You found him staring down at you with that ever-present aloof nature.

You opened your mouth to say your goodbye when you saw his hand come up with a clean napkin.

You tensed and forced your awareness to your face in attempt to feel if something had been left dried up there.

“I’m going about my search in an orderly block by block manner.”

Twisting your neck, he pulled your attention with his sudden speech.

“I’ll be in this vicinity for the next few days. Your options might not be so limited.”

Finding nothing in his eyes, you let your gaze trail down to his hand. Between green fingers you saw the telltale scrawl of numbers.

Your heart skipped such a beat you thought you might go into cardiac arrest.

“Though I’m going to the next shop tomorrow, so do find a way to appease your superior.”

You watched in horror as both your hands came up to take the slip as if it were some precious artifact.

You wondered if he found it funny.

Or endearing.

Or maybe he already regretted his decision entirely.

“Don’t worry. Sometimes I think he keeps me on just to bitch at me.” He let go of the napkin and it came fully into your possession.

Even though it acted as a record, you tried to commit the writing to memory.

Donatello

XXX-XXX-XXXX

Curt and to the point.

Just like him.

“Also, I don’t care for idle banter. Only message me when completely necessary.”

“Sure.” Pulling the napkin close, you looked up to find him already moving away. You jolted at his retreating form before planting your feet. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

He surely heard your shout, but continued on unperturbed.       

NEXT

#rottmnt #rottmnt donnie x reader #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt x reader #donatello hamato #donnie x reader #rise donnie #rise donnie x reader #rottmnt donatello #rottmnt donnie #me #fanfiction #my fanfiction #villain donnie #weakspotfic

[translightyagami]

Hi! I’m James, and this is my blog :^) I’ve been writing Death Note fanfiction since 5ever and this is a whole list of my OVER 50 Death Note fics.

This is a combination of my two AO3 accounts. I have all fics with trans characters marked with a T. For avoidfilledwithcelluloid, I have fics marked E if they’re explicit. Didn’t do that for my other account, coprinus_atramentarius, because all of those fics are explicit. Most of this is Lawlight, but there’s also Mikalight, Remisa, LMisa, just to name a few others. Enjoy and make sure to leave nice comments when you’re through!

avoidfilledwithcelluloid fics

Chapter Fic

sit and stay awhile complete, T

“Light has a fantasy of sitting in L’s lap, and he’s got a plan to make that a reality.”

the art of ink and flowers  incomplete, E, T

“Light needs an apprentice and thinks he’s found the perfect one in young firecracker Mello. Now to deal with Mello’s uncle, the strange, mysterious, and - oops! - super hot florist Ryuzaki, who doesn’t want his nephew near a tattoo parlor. What could possibly go wrong?”

i could write it (better than you ever felt it) incomplete

“Light works in the To-Oh university library, where he meets his favorite romantic mystery author, Eraldo Coil, who later reveals himself to be the great detective L. Through the course of their working together to solve a crime, Light finds he might have feelings for L and those feelings might be shared by the detective novelist.”

your heart is an empty cup incomplete

“Light is the assistant manager of a Starbucks in NYC, and L is one of his most annoying customers. When L accuses Light (correctly) of being Kira, as well as mysteriously asking for his help on a different case, the barista has to decide if he’s ready to get in bed with the enemy – maybe even literally.”

the forest holds strange creatures complete, E, T

“Light, a paranormal research grad student, comes to a small town trying to find a mysterious cryptid. He finds L, a 10-foot-tall tree creature, who helps Light discover the greatest cryptid of all: love. The only reason this one is in the chapter fic section is because it includes a Halloween special chapter with the intro of Beyond Birthday into the cryptid AU.”

At Your Service complete, E, T

“The Yagami family owns the sprawling, exclusive Hotel Kitsune where all sorts of international espionage agents make their temporary home. That includes the great detective L, whose romantic tension with Light comes to a boiling point when he comes to stay after a long absence.”

best practices complete, E, T

“Light has been working his way to the top of the corporate ladder thanks to his own hard work, and his more-than-close relationship with L, the company CEO and founder’s son. Their relationship comes to a head when L challenges Light to open himself up, making him vulnerable to showing the true depth of what he feels for L and his own desire to explore sexual power dynamics.”

One-Shots

Lawlight

constricting, T

“Light breaks L’s favorite tea cup in their kitchen, and L eats him out because he loves his husband so much.”

tell me I’m good, E

“In the middle of the night, L receives a drunk call from Light, hiding in the bathroom at a party. The call, turning from desperate to horny, reveals more about Light than L wanted to know.”

if at first you don’t succeed E, T

“Light gave his first blow job and accidentally bit L on the dick. He tries to make up for his mistake by trying again.”

let me work on you E, T

“As the result of losing bet to him, Light has to be L’s computer desk – naked and laying over his boyfriend’s lap. Of course, when L gives him another sexy challenge, Light can’t help but rise to the occasion.”

Buried Alive

“L and Light live together in L’s underground bunker after the apocalypse scorches the Earth. They watch some VHS tapes and do some gardening.”

Our Little Secret E

“After getting his memories, his freedom, back, Light wants to give L a gift: Kira tied up at his mercy. But L isn’t so sure if that gift is the one he really wants.”

The Light of the Moon E, T

“L is a vampire and accidentally bites Light, who is haunted by dreams that make him question why he wants L to bite him again (and maybe … something more …)”

little animals E

“Light and his werewolf boyfriend L fuck in their backyard garden.”

Change OR the one where L and Light get married E, T, A gift fic for @ohgodplsdontlook​.

“Six years after the Kira case closes, L and Light go have a wedding in the mansion where L spent his childhood summers. They bring the Yagami family, their baggage, and vows to share each other’s secrets.”

a divine power E

“L has a particular power that has helped him get confessions from even the most hardened, tight-lipped criminals, and he offers to use this power on Light to get an honest answer to the question “Are You Kira?” Not really believing L’s power is real (and also smelling an easy way to lie his way out of being caught) Light agrees to submit to this bizarre investigative power - not realizing that L is about to make him a *very* honest man. (TL;DR, L has a Magic Cock That Makes Anyone He Fucks Fall in Love With Him AU.)”

Possession E

“After being killed by his family for being Kira, Light makes a deal with the demon L to get back to the mortal realm - a very, very sexy deal.”

Fantasy of a Fantasy E, T

“While monitoring the Yagami family home for suspicious activity, L catches Light getting off to a dirty magazine and projects what he thinks his main suspect’s fantasies might be.”

the chains that bind us E, T

“Obligatory post-Yotsuba arc fic where Light is released from the handcuffs, and wants desperately to be back in bondage with L. Features a very creative use of the handcuff chain.”

Kept E, T

“Omegaverse AU where Light cooks up a horny evil scheme so that L won’t throw him in jail, and also lets him get that alpha lovin’ he so desires.”

so glad you’re home E, T

“L returns from a solo case and he and Light have a purr-fect homecoming together - including some spanking, cat ears, and a shower of sappy affection.”

Yours and Mine, E

“During a Kira case work day while handcuffed together, L and Light sneak off for some fun.”

Non-Lawlight

tell me the truth, T

“Light and Matsuda hit up a bar after work, and then Light hits up Matsuda for sex, praise, and a distraction from the deep emptiness inside him.”

alterations E, T

“Light comes to visit his boyfriend Mikami at his fancy law office and suggests they have sex there. When Mikami reacts unfavorably, Light has to do damage control, and it smarts a lot more than he expected.”

lizard E, T

“Light meets a beefcake guy at a bar on the anniversary of L’s death, and lets him take him home” (Lizard is my death note OC, and the fic was a wonderful commission from @queerical​)

24-Hour Gym

“After the yellow warehouse goes (mortally) in their favor, Light and Mikami frequent the same 24-hour gym. Eventually, after seeing all his work out skills, Light asks Mikami if he can bench press *Kira*.”

a big bag of factory reject seeds

“Misa keeps seeing L's ghost around the apartment and eventually, she dreams about him. But everything is not how it seems.”

Short Fic Compliation

hand in unlovable hand

Okay so I’ve been answering Tumblr askbox prompts for over 2 years now, and this? This is ALL of the Lawlight fics. There are over 70 Lawlight fics in this compilation, with all the nsfw fics marked as such. Here are somethings you’ll find in this horde: an AU where L is fat; dirty talk; ghost sex; phone calls about buying a house; early morning tea; kissing; spanking; bondage; L’s hair being brushed; and much, much more. If you have wished for a particular type of Lawlight fic, it is probably in this bunch.

Containing Multitudes

Like i said, I’ve been answering all types of Tumblr prompts. These are all the multi-pairing fics that are not Lawlight. In over 20 fics, you’ll find Mikalight, Light/Misa, Misa/Takada, Misa/Rem, Light/Namikawa, Beyond/Light, Light/Matsuda, and even a few ones with Light and my DN OC Lizard. All nsfw fics are marked as such.

hereditary

All the Tumblr prompt fics I wrote specifically about the Yagami Family. About 4 fics long, includes a really nice couple of Sayu and Light sibling sadness fics.

bottom shelf erotica

These are the 5 fics that I wrote to fill Death Note kinkmeme prompts. They are few frills, dirty, sloppy, all bottom Light smut fics. Also, since I didn’t want to give myself away on kinkmeme they’re all cis stuff. (because really who else would have been throwing trans smut up there?)

something between us (anyway)

a slowly updating collection of 10 tumblr fic requests I received for the pairings of lawlight and (my DN OC) lizard/light, covering prompts including omegaverse, coffee shop AU, sexy lingerie, and much, much more.

kinktober 2021

updated each saturday of Oct. 2021, these five fics all revolve around lawlight and specific kinky prompts.

Gift Exchange Fics

your father’s son, T

A Secret Shinigami 2018 gift for AbbodonAbandon. Light and Soichiro have a talk about why Light quit the tennis team. Lots of trans shit in here.

in your shoes, E

A Sexy Enquirer 2019 gift for @pashmina-dhaage​. L is a professor who is having a quiet relationship with one of his grad students, Light. When he sees Light through his office window stepping in mud, L rushes to give him the shoes off his feet.

wash it out

A Sexy Enquirer 2019 gift for @complicatedmerary​. Mikami and Light, a pianist and violinist respectively with the same opera company, are carrying on a passionate affair while Light remains married to the opera’s soprano, Misa.

coprinus_atramentarius fics aka my smut-only ao3 account

Bottom Light

In Your Place, T, omegaverse junk series

“Ide, Matsuda, and Aizawa ask L how he deals with Omegas; Light finds out the answer firsthand.”

let go, T, omegaverse junk series

“L offers Light a chance to get out of being his Omega; Light is unsure if that's what his problem really is.”

pillow talk

“L and Light discuss his reluctance to accept Light's father's invitation to a Yagami house dinner. A little saucy conversation between two dudes who only want the worst for each other but are also a little in lust with each other. Pre-Yotsuba arc, with a still Kira!Light marinating in the joys of being evil and sleeping with the enemy.”

special, special, T

“On a packed train, Light gets felt up by someone while in his tennis uniform and likes how good they make him feel - even if it means he's being naughty. Wait until he finds out who this mystery person is ...”

To Have and To Hold, T, omegaverse junk series

“Light is an Omega learning to be comfortable in his own happiness. L is understanding what it means to take care of someone else. Together they navigate their dynamics, both Alpha/Omega and Dom/sub, in order to cultivate a deep and lasting romantic relationship. this is a multi-part work, following the first two pieces of the omegaverse junk series.”

Bottom L

Heat of the Moment, T

“L hogs the blankets in their cold-ass hotel room, and when Light complains, L drags Light's hand down to the hot, hot heat between his legs.”

made to love you, T

“Light buys an android customized to look like L, but when he finds out Mikami's peeping on he and the bot having sex, Light decides to invite the other man to partake of the perfect lover he's made.”

need you, T

“L and Light engage in a heated kitchen quickie.”

nothing wrong, T

“After L gets a bruise from their fight, Light can't stop thinking about the marks they leave on each other.”

Overcome With Emotion, T

“After Light comes home from a trip away from L, he's built up a lot of sexual tension and L's more than happy to provide himself as an outlet for release, in more ways than one.”

For.you.mp4, T

“Pretend L survived to the second arc, is horny for Kira, and while Light’s on a work trip for the NPA cybercrime division, L sends him a special, pillow-related video”

Just a Drop, T

“Light finds L's secret aphrodisiac solution and decides to test it out on the detective to *very* successful results. But Light's not immune to the strongest drug of all - love.”

give it to me

“L wants Light's big cock inside him, and Light's more than willing to oblige. But they're unprepared for how complicated things become after they sleep together.”

Making a Scene, T

“L starts being a brat when he and Light visit the Wammy House, so its up to his alpha to get to the real reason why L's so upset - using some *interesting* methods.”

Birthday Boy

“Light gives L a two-part birthday gift that leaves a mark, and L gives himself a gift that involves going down on one knee.”

In Kira’s Kingdom

“Light has L imprisoned in his Kira’s Kingdom compound. L has been trying to escape and has failed for the third time. What was it they say about third time being the charm? Well, for L it’s more like the curse: the curse of having a megalomaniac freak be obsessed with keeping him and fucking him stupid, and L being super turned on by the whole thing.”

Going Up

“L and Matsuda get stuck in an elevator, and Matsuda confesses he’s always been in love with L. In an attempt to do a good deed before he dies of overheating, L says Matsuda can do whatever he wants with him. Will he regret his selflessness when he sees how big Matsuda’s dick is, or will that be L’s heavenly reward?”

good boy

“Light calls L his good boy, but L can't help misbehaving. Ruh-roh.”

Light’s Perfect Plan, T,DN Kinktober 2023

“Light and L have sex, and the only way Light can handle the fact that he might be into L is to create an elaborate plan as justification for them to have more sex.”

A Done Deal, T

“L makes a deal with Light that if he tops for a night, Light gets him as his maid during his next solo case – pretty black dress and all. But Light, ever the manipulator, can't let L just have this one.”

#death note #my fic #masterlist #lawlight #mikalight

[petri808]

@allaboutnalu Gift for @genavere If you have an AO3 account let me know the user name and I can tag you there. Thanks!

Happy Holidays! 🤶🏻🎄🎁 Hope you enjoy!

For being Christmas Eve, the weather is semi-warm compared to the meteorologist’s news report that morning. Not that it mattered too much, as Lucy rolls her blouses long sleeves up to her elbows, because she always wore long sleeves, long pants, or long skirts anytime she left her apartment. People often stare as they pass to the strange young blonde wearing such warm clothes during the scorching summer months, so the autumn and winter months give her a reprieve from those second glances. But she’s gotten used to the attention or at least has learned to ignore them.

Today’s outfit consists of a dark-reddish-colored, soft cotton, long sleeve, loose-fitting, high-necked turtleneck top that covers all the way up to the jawline, paired with dark gray yoga pants, and fur-rimmed, mid-calf boots. Casual, nice, but not too attention seeking. Oh, no, attention is the last thing Lucy wants from anyone. She isn’t quite an agoraphobic, but close enough. Lucy works from home as an independent contractor editor and article writer for field journalists, a ghost writer who takes all their notes and information and writes a draft that she sends back to the journalist for publishing. Her one condition is to not be listed in the article as a contributor. Most of her groceries are delivered and she doesn’t travel unless necessary. 

One of the few times she leaves home during the week is to eat at a restaurant when she’s tired of cooking and since it’s Christmas, why not splurge a little instead of getting fast food. Which is where she’s heading now, to an upscale but family-friendly type place, the staff has always been nice and accommodating due to her circumstances. It’s a bit sad to be eating out on Christmas Eve alone, but as she walks in on this Wednesday early evening, the server, recognizing her, immediately guides Lucy to a booth in the back corner of the restaurants dining room. It’s her favorite table because the booth partially faces away from the other diners and it’s not near a street-facing window. The few times that it was already taken, and she had to sit at a different table, it was uncomfortable to eat with the feeling of eyes boring into her back. Whether or not people are looking, past traumas have Lucy always in an anxious, self-conscious state of mind, and it’s only when alone can she relax. 

As she waits, Lucy notes the festive decorations they’ve added all around the room. It’s a mix of tradition and modern chic, perhaps professionally done, to match the fine dining restaurant. There’s a red-tinged, flocked, Christmas tree with slow-pulsing white, fiber-optic lights next to the host stand at the front, decorated with silver, black, and red glass ball ornaments, and topped with a silver star. Over every other booth along the walls there is a green holly bough with red and white berries, short silver pick sprays that are sparingly pierced between the leaves, and finished with a black velvet ribbon where the top meets the hanging wire. On each table, the normally white napkins are replaced with a red one that has an embroidered silver bell on each corner. Last year, the napkins were green with white snowflakes. 

About 15 minutes later, the server brings Lucy’s meal. Her choice of dinner is a shrimp scampi with linguini noodles and side of garlic toast, the best she’s tasted out of any other restaurant’s recipes. After a few bites and a sip of wine, she’s slowly easing up in the quiet place. Soft spoken conversation can be heard around the room along with typical restaurant sounds, clinking dishes, register beeps, order up calls, and the faint sound of the cars driving by on the street next to the building. It’s only 4:30 pm, not even dark yet, but the dinner rush diners are starting to trickle in, causing the servers to pick up their paces. Lucy’s looks at her phone as she finishes up her meal. She’ll leave within the next 30 minutes to get away before it turns into a full house. 

Everything is going smoothly when suddenly, Lucy’s ears perk up to a rising sound of abnormal noises she’s never heard in the restaurant before. Guest’s closer to the front are starting to look around and the conversation tones grow in both volume and tone. Banging sounds, dishes falling and crashing, Lucy hears a scream and a thud, and then— “FIRE!” She hears. Again, the domino of screams, fire, fire, evacuate! Oh, God, she can smell the smoke! Panic grips the restaurant and all hell break loose as patrons and employees are running for exits, people and tables are being knocked over, trampled, and pushed around in their bid to reach the door.    

A loud whooshing roar fills Lucy’s ears and her vision somehow shifts back to the living room of her old home, sending her pulse into a sprint, yet every muscle in her body grinds to a screeching halt, a fork gripped in mid-air, eye’s wide and mouth agape. This can’t be happening! Every second counts when there’s a fire, something she knows better than most, but her legs refuse to move. She doesn’t even know where the fire is coming from, so what if she leaves the current safety of the booth and burns before she can reach the front door?! As tears stream unencumbered Lucy finally gathers her strength, only to slip underneath the table.

It’s no use, all she can hear is the phantom crackling of a fire burning its way through a structure. Trapped. The smoke is growing thicker. ‘Get down, get down,’ her dead mother’s voice rings in her ears; they can’t get out of the house! Lucy pulls her legs to her chest and wraps her arms around to protect them, head down, resting her forehead in the slight space above her chest. She fights a losing battle to slow her panic breathing despite it getting harder to breathe as the smoke envelopes her in a black, greasy haze that with each choking cough burns the throat and stings the eyes. ‘It hurts mama! It hurts!’ The scars throb on the left side of her body, burning from the phantom heat, and a phantom smell of burning flesh and hair are all Lucy can perceive, swallowing her back up again. This is it. Fate has come to finish what it started; she muses as the smoky darkness chokes the life out of her. 

The street outside is cordoned off by the police to keep spectators out of the way of the emergency services. Fire trucks arrive within five minutes of the call and immediately speak to the chef and staff who explain the fire is in the kitchen. The kitchen staff has tried their best to put out the grease fire, but the flame-retardant spray couldn’t reach far into the vent above the grill where the buildup of goopy grease and oil from not being cleaned properly cling to the sides. So far, the flames are isolated to the kitchen, but the oily black smoke from the burning grease has turned into a layer of grimy fog that burns when breathed in or gets into the eyes. That stinging pain is what ultimately drives the cooks out. 

While firefighters rush towards the kitchen, one is tasked to do a sweep of the building. Even though the waitstaff believe they’ve gotten everyone out, they can’t take the chance of anyone being left behind. It’s now been about ten minutes since the 911 call, so the clock is ticking against anyone trapped inside. The smoke can easily suffocate, and the oily air could do lasting damage to the throat and eyes. 

Natsu Dragneel starts by checking both restrooms for guests, then sweeps his flashlight beam under each table and booth as he passes by, meticulously one by one, left, right, left, making his way towards the rear of the dining room. As a firefighter his concerns are life first, property second and each time they are called to a scene with potential people inside, his fear is being the one to find someone he cannot save. It’s the fear of every emergency responder not to be that one and just as he’s about to breathe a sigh of relief to reach the last booth without a victim, his heart stops cold when his light falls on a curled-up body under the table. 

“I’ve got one!” Natsu quickly screams into his radio to put the EMTs on notice. It’s a young woman and based on the soft rise and fall of her chest she’s still alive. “She’s unconscious!”

The space under the table is a bit tight for him to get under with all his equipment, so he drags the table from the booth and shoves it out of the way. He then sweeps the limp woman into a bridal carry and rushes out of the building to an awaiting ambulance, placing her onto the gurney. As the EMTs immediately get to work, Natsu finally has a chance to see what the woman looks like. Spots of blonde hair gleam in the sunlight through the patches of greasy soot clinging to strands and skin. She looks around his age, average height, and weight with a beautiful figure, maybe a bit younger but it’s hard to tell with the oxygen mask obscuring some of her facial features. Something catches his attention, partially blocked by her hair, but if he’s not mistaken there’s a patch of distorted skin peeking out from the turtleneck along the side of her neck, perhaps a burn? 

She’s breathing normally with the help of the mask but is still unconscious and the EMTs are not quite sure why since there doesn’t appear to be anything else physically wrong with her aside from some redness in her throat and eyes from the carbon monoxide and smoke. Since the fire never reached her, there’s also no burns. Why didn’t she evacuate, Natsu wonders. He checks the crossbody purse on her body and finds a wallet. ‘Lucy Heartfilia,’ he reads off her I.D. Most people’s reactions to a fire are to flee, but there are some who freeze, so is that what happened to Ms. Heartfilia? 

“Oi! Dragneel!” 

“Huh?” Natsu is so wrapped up in the mysterious woman that he’s forgotten he’s still on the scene. “Oh. Yeah?” He yells back to his boss Captain Guildarts. 

“You, done with the vic’ yet?” The captain questions.

Natsu returns the I.D. back to her wallet. “Yeah, why?” 

Guildarts points up. “Go check out the roof vent, see what condition it is for the report.”

“If it’s been cleaned or not?” Natsu clarifies. While the grill hood should be cleaned once a month, the whole venting system in a kitchen should be cleaned out fully at least once a year. Even aerosolized grease and oil can stick to the smooth sides of the metal duct work, which can catch fire under the right conditions and threaten the entire building.

“Yeah.” The captain responds. 

“Got it boss.” Natsu starts off towards an access ladder on the side of the building, but his boss isn’t finished. He pauses. 

“And Dragneel. When you’re done with that, go on and check on the victim at the hospital,” Guildarts winks knowingly. 

It makes Natsu flush. “T-Thanks,” he fumbles, then breaks into a gaily sprint. 

That Guildarts, Natsu muses. The guy is always chasing women, so no wonder he caught on to his intrigue. Nothing wrong with wanting to check on a victim, public service is their duty after all. Oh, who is he kidding himself, the pretty blonde has caught his eye, and he wants to learn more about her. Why was she eating alone at the restaurant? Her hair was up in a messy bun, but that only added to her charm, and the blue cat earrings were cute. It’s a warm day too, yet she’s wearing long pants and a long sleeve high turtleneck top. That’s unusual, and he just happened to notice no ring on her finger. How is someone like her single? … Wait. Natsu stops moving and looks around. He’s standing on the roof in front of the vent, but all he’s done is zone out thinking about the woman. Back in your pants, Dragneel. He shakes it off and gets back to work checking into the vent duct. It’s dirty, but not too bad. He’ll tell his boss to recommend they get it cleaned anyways and make sure to be more stringent in their cleaning schedule. Okay, now, back to the station to change, shower, then head to the hospital. ‘I hope she’ll be awake when I get there.’

When Natsu arrives at the hospital, he uses his privileges as a firefighter to get in to see the woman. The rules are only family members during non-visiting hours, but buttering up the nurses isn’t difficult considering he’s showing concern for a victim. He sneaks a peak at her charts and sees her prognosis. Smoke inhalation, elevated levels of the stress hormone cortisol, redness in the eyes from the smoke, they believe she passed out from hyperventilating, unsure of why she is still unconscious, but overall healthy and will hold overnight for observation. She’s hooked to an IV drip with some antibiotics to ward off potential infection and has a nose tube set up just to assist. He mumbles to himself. “Next of kin contacted,” the notes say, but doesn’t report if the person answered, and obviously the room is empty except for him. Add another check mark to the mystery woman.

‘She just looks like she’s sleeping,’ he notes her relaxed brows, ‘peaceful,’ really, like the day’s events were just an illusion. Natsu sits down on a chair next to the left side of the bed closest to the window simply observing, but that’s when something on her neck catches his attention. Right, and now that he can see it better, it’s definitely a burn, a large burn that travels up into the hair line at the back of her nape and down, disappearing into her gown. “Whoa…” he breathes out. That’s a serious injury, it must have something to do with her reaction at the restaurant. ‘I wonder how far down it travels…’ Natsu’s curiosity grows. He looks up from his seat to see if anyone is walking by the room, and when the coast appears clear, he slowly, gently lifts the blanket that covers her arms and body. It does in fact disappear into the gown where he can’t see, but what is revealed is more burn scars on the upper part of her left arm above the elbow and smaller groupings on her legs. He can’t see above her mid-thigh how high up the scars go, but there are also varying sized spots on her calf, shin, and ankle. 

A small cloud of moisture gathers in Natsu’s eyes as he slumps back into the chair, realizing just why she wears clothes that cover so much skin. This poor woman, Lucy, has been through a bad fire before, no wonder she panicked in the restaurant. Everything makes sense now. The hyperventilating, increased cortisol, freezing and hiding under the table. Even though the fire hadn’t reached her, she reacted to it. Likely the smoke alone set her off. Natsu reaches under the blanket and takes hold of Lucy’s limp hand. So small and delicate in his larger hand that it swallows hers up. The fact that she’s been through such a harrowing event before and still carrying on sits well in Natsu’s heart. Lucy probably covers up in shame, but to him, they’re a survivor’s badge of honor, and there’s nothing ugly about that. He rests his arms on the bed and puts his head down for the time being to get some rest too. Since no one else is here for her, he’ll be the one she wakes up to.

By the time Lucy wakes up, the sun has risen and brightly shines in through the sheer-curtained window on her bed. ‘Huh? Bed?’ The last thing she remembers is passing out in the restaurant, yet now here she is feeling refreshed. How many hours has it been, at least 13 or 14 based on it being night anymore! The brilliant white room is silent except for the soft whirring sounds of the breathing machine and light beeps of the heart monitor. She can feel the small sting of the IV line stuck in her arm and the stranger sensation of the nose tube, but other than that, the only other discomfort is a mildly irritated throat and burning sensation at the corners of her eyes— Eh? And a weight on her hand? Why is hand heavy? Lucy tries to move her hand, but something not only holds it back, but squeezes! Quickly, her eyes pop open, looking towards the source.

“Eeek!” Lucy squeals and yanks her hand away, the loose nose tube pulling off her face as she scrambles against the headboard from the strange man sleeping next to her bed! “What are you doing in my room!”

The shrill sound so close to his ear woke Natsu with such a start, he’s instantly awake and jumps out of the chair. “A call?!” He thinks it’s the alarm at the station alerting them to another fire. “I’m up! I’m up!”

“Who are you!” Lucy snaps again. “Why are you in my room?!”

“Oh, shit, yeah,” Natsu stumbles over his words as his brain gets back on track. “Sorry,” he plops back onto the chair. “Didn’t mean to scare ya, but I’m the guy who pulled you out of the restaurant.”

Oh? Oh… “Firefighter?” She asks hesitantly, or could it be a cop? 

“Yeah!” Natsu smiles and nervously scratches the back of his neck. “That’s me.”

But still, “why are you here?” It’s hours later! “Is it normal to check on us?”

“Not normally,” he admits. “Just… well, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Kinda had me worried a bit ‘cause the doctors said you should’ve woken up a lot sooner, and I wondered if it has something to do with that,” he points to her neck. “This isn’t your first fire, is it?”

Stunned, Lucy is not sure how to respond. This guy is a stranger, so why would she talk to a stranger, and yet he seems so earnest to have waited all this time for her to wake up, on Christmas of all days! She relaxes back into a cross-legged position. “What’s your name?”

“Oof,” duh, “sorry,” he apologizes. “Natsu Dragneel.”

“Lucy Heartfilia,” she reciprocates, “and yeah,” her voice softens, “years ago when I was four.” 

Natsu’s shoulders slump and gaze lowers, eyes softening and shining from the gathering moisture, as his tone fills with genuine despair. “I’m really sorry you had to go through that. No one should have to.”

“Hey,” Lucy reaches out and places her hand over his. “It’s okay, you saved me, right? Twice now a fireman’s pulled me out of a fire, so don’t feel so bad, ‘cause you’re an angel to me.”

That heartfelt appreciation pulls Natsu to look up and what he sees makes his heart skip. Lucy’s big, almond-shaped brown eyes are teary-eyed too, but her face is graced with such a beautiful smile that’s haloed by the sun’s rays as if the angels themselves are besotted. This woman has faced death twice that he knows of and yet here she is comforting him, even though he’s perfectly fine. The sound of trumpets sounds off as his brain instantly short-circuits and quick as a flash, Natsu turns over his hand to take firm hold of hers, “Be my girlfriend!’ He blurts out with eyes flashing in excitement. “I-I mean, truth is I’m here ‘cause I’ve fallen for you, a-and— yeah,” he stammers, scratching his head from nervous energy, “sorry, I’m an idiot, but I think you’re really cute and something just makes me want to wrap you up and protect you so this never happens again…”

Though thoroughly surprised, this man’s enthusiastically embarrassing cliff jump is so beautifully endearing that her anxieties disappear— but is also so absolutely amusing, that Lucy bursts into a side-splitting laughter that brings out the happy tears. She squeezes his hand back. “Okay,” she chuckles, “I’ll be your girlfriend.” 

“Hell Yeah!” Natsu loses himself and pulls her halfway off the bed into a bear hug. “Best damn Christmas gift ever!”

#nalu #secret santa gifts #nalu au #fireman Natsu #nalu fanfiction #secret santa #nalu fan fic #fairy tail