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edenalieth · 11 months

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Tricked

Pairing: pixy! Hyunjin x afab reader — read part.2

Genre: faery!au, based on « the cruel prince » universe, smut, slight of fluff and angst

Warnings: he’s short tempered, knife, unprotected sex (be careful!), oral sex female receiving

Words count: 4.2K

Summary: Your eyes couldn’t stop looking at him, your heartbeat was getting quicker, your palms were getting moist. It was the way his jet black hair were tied and contrasting with his porcelain skin, the way his pearl earring was lazily hanging on his pointy ear, the way his shirt was letting you peak at his collarbones and the hem of his chest. Hyunjin was your secret sin, and you were his. Both uncontrollably attracted to each other, almost as much as you despised his nature and him yours.

A.N: hi! I'm back with a new little story :) geez, I really post once every blue moon... as usual, sorry for the possible mistakes and comments/share are always very appreciated. hope you enjoy ♡ – cami, 230619

He was furious. He could feel his blood boiling under his skin, his knuckles getting white around the silver knife he was holding. How could this even happen ? Servants were supposed to be irreproachable but, despite this obvious fact, his cape was ruined. The green texture of pease pudding was splattered all over the dark velvet. It was his favorite one, a deep blue fabric which looked like a night sky, with little crystals embroidered on the shoulders and bottom.

Anger still filling his veins, he threw the cutlery on the table. His family and guests were looking at him, some were amused, some were not. His reputation preceded him, he was so full of himself and hated being wronged or humiliated in any kind of way. He wasn’t always like this but Elfhame was a cruel world where cruel people could live peacefully. And he had to keep that mask on.

Getting up quickly, he grabbed the poor servant shirt by the hem. Plunging his eyes in his, his iris not showing an ounce of compassion.

« You know that I could slit your throat for that, right ? » Hyunjin said with such a cold voice that the servant started to shiver. He let his left hand slide along his side to find what he was looking for: his dagger.

« Enough ! ». The low voice resonated against the stone walls of the dinning room. Hyunjin stopped his move, pushed back the blade into its sheath as a grimace of disgust and anger was distorting his face. He scoffed while releasing the man. The young pixy couldn’t go against his father’s authority, especially in front of guests. He would be a dishonor for his own family. Annoyed, he gestured to an other servant to come. The girl quickly executed the order and asked « Yes, my lord ? ». The dark haired boy removed his cape and throw it in her hands. « Clean the mess this incompetent just caused ». His mother was looking at him, visibly worried. It would be a lie if Hyunjin said he didn’t think of beating the man up and go against his father’s will. Some guests would enjoy the show, he could tell just by looking at the elf waving her fan with a mischievous smile on her lips, or that gobelin whispering something to the man next to him. No. He would get his revenge sooner or later and now wasn’t the time. He needed some fresh air more than anything.

« Dear guests, my apologies but I think I will finish this in my room », Hyunjin grabbed one fae fruit, briefly bowed and went toward the wooden ornate door. The crowd was already whispering and laughing at his behavior and the scene they had just witnessed. He would hear about that later today, his father would probably give him a lesson but he didn’t care anymore. His temper had caused a lot of problems already and he wasn’t going to stop now. The guards opened the door and he headed towards his apartment.

His steps echoed on the floor which was a real piece of art. Lapis lazuli and black marble, representing the colors of his family, were skillfully mixed creating a contrast with the pale stone walls and the blue shaded stained-glass windows. Definitely a fairy tale like place. However, no matter how beautiful, comfortable or rare the furnitures could be it didn’t satisfied him the way the outside did. Reaching his room, he directly walked to his bookcase and grasped one specific book, opening the secret door behind it. That was his way to escape the manor discreetly and Nature knows how many times he would use it. Not bothering to wear an other cape, he got rid of his leather boots and left with the fruit still in his hand.

Soon the rough ground of the hidden passage was replaced by the soft sensation of grass under his feet. He hummed peacefully as his papery wings softly vibrated in contentment. Maybe the day wouldn’t be so bad after all. He wandered around the wood as his soul unconsciously led him to his favorite place. It was a small clearing near the lake, to get access to it you had to go through a skimpy path, surrounded by bushes and brambles. Hyunjin had to be careful of his wings, he didn’t want them to get scratched or worse… When he finally got out of here, he was met by a stranger.

Blankets were scattered on the grass, fruits and wine near by, a diaphanous dress covering your bare skin. You were laying on your stomach, a book in one hand, grappes on the other as you quickly looked at the intruder. He seemed just as surprised as you were. There was no mistaking on who the stranger was. Those long dark hair tied with a silky ribbon, the pearl dangling on his ear, the jewelry on his delicate fingers and his iridescent dark blue wings. It was none other than Hwang Hyunjin.

Anger started to fill his system for the second time this day. How did you even know about this place ? It was his haven and you were unwelcome in it. His wings started to vibrate, unable to control his feelings. He knew who you were, the new girl. Difficult to miss such an event. Y/N, the girl of the west lands, part of the untamed nation until your family made an agreement with King Cardan and Queen Jude. The queen and you had a pretty similar story, you were a clay girl as well, living with fairies thanks to your dad. Yet, no magic was running in your blood, you were a bastard and not a rightful being of this land. And gosh, Hyunjin despised humans. So weak, stupid and useless. They were like mere insects he could crush under his boots. At least, he could have done that before Jude Duarte became Elfhame’s queen. Nowadays, the few humans living here were respected or, at least, no harm was made to them. Still, who could blame him if he was a bit playing with you… As a mischievous plan was blooming in his mind, you put yourself back up, still sitting on the blankets.

« What a surprise to see you here, girl of clay ! » Hyunjin first spoke, his voice being soft despite his agitated wings. « It’s a shared feeling Hyunjin. » you replied, not letting your guard down. You knew about him and his anger issues just as you knew about fae and their cruelty. « Can I join you ? » He suddenly asked, a little smile on his face. You nodded, gesturing him to take the spot next to you. He sat with no hesitation. As the silence was becoming louder and louder as seconds passed by, you took back your book. The boy was good at faking his nonchalance but not as good as he thought he was. Side eyeing him discreetly, you could see his fingers fidgeting on the fabric of the blankets. You weren’t sure if you would be able to deal with this awkward situation any longer but you didn’t want to give up this place and let him think that he had won. You were tired of all those arrogant people looking down on you when you were crossing their path. Of course, nobody would harm you in broad daylight but, who knows, accidents can happen anytime at Elfhame… And Hyunjin was probably plotting something.

As if you had called for it, the dark haired boy suddenly broke the silence. « This is my favorite place. », his voice was calm, imprinted with some peace you had never noticed before as he was looking at the silver shine of the lake. « Yes, it’s pretty pleasant around here. » you replied, putting your book aside for the second time today. « I thought I was the only one knowing about here. Apparently, I was wrong… And, you know what’s unpleasant ? Your presence here. » he added, his dark eyes staring at you, his body creeping towards you, like a feline getting ready to hunt his prey. You frowned at his words, silently challenging each other. Gosh, his siren eyes were intimidating and you could understand why people were kind of scared of him. Despite the danger emanating from him, you wanted to smack his beautiful face but his family had more power than yours. It would be to risky to do so.

You were brave for a mortal and Hyunjin could feel the adrenaline running through his veins. He had never been this close to you and the proximity of your face, your lips, your curves, the tension… It was appealing to him. Oh, the pixy looked at you more often than he would admit it. Yes, you were the new girl, but it wasn’t so uncommon to see humans around here nowadays and people didn’t pay the extra attention Hyunjin had towards you. He wanted to deny his attraction, he couldn’t fall this low and belittle himself, even after all those weeks of getting mixed feelings every time you were sharing the same space. But, right now, right here, hidden from the real world… He thought it would be nice to play with you. Using the tone on you, that special voice fairies were using to bewitch people of clay, would be easy, even a three years old kid could do this. He came closer and closer, until his fingers were brushing against yours, a mischievous smile floating on his plump lips.

The moving reflects of water dancing on his face, the frail sound of wave lapping on the shore as his gaze was becoming flirty and playful. Your eyes couldn’t stop looking at him, your heartbeat was getting quicker, your palms were getting moist. It was the way his jet black hair were tied and contrasting with his porcelain skin, the way his dark blue wings were similar to the most precious sapphires, the way his pearl earring was lazily hanging on his pointy ear or the way his shirt was letting you peak at his collarbones and the hem of his chest. Hyunjin was your secret sin, and you were his. Both uncontrollably attracted to each other, almost as much as you despised his nature and him yours. You could feel his breath on your bare shoulders, suddenly full conscious of how see through your dress was, seen the lustful look the boy was giving to you.

You were a beautiful creature, almost as if you weren’t totally human. Not thinking too much about these weird thoughts and getting impatient, he decided that it was time to hunt. « Why don’t we turn your presence into something worthy, shall we ? » he whispered before casting a spell on you, « I’m starving, I couldn’t properly eat today… Feed me. » he ordered, going back to rest on his forearms, his wings framing his body like a halo. Your eyes went momentally blank, proving that the spell was working, as you took some of the grappes. Grabbing one, you delicately put in on his opened mouth as he kept looking at every single gesture you made. « More. » You diligently executed his wish until he had enough. He made you massage his shoulders, dance on the grass, your clothe twirling around you as if it was made of mist, making you almost fall as he was laughing to the point his stomach hurt. He was enjoying this a lot. Despite the entertainment, he knew what he wanted the most. « Ok, let’s stop a little » he said still giggling. « You must be sweating, right ? Why don’t you refresh yourself and go on the lake ? ». You paused and he thought for a second that the magic wasn’t working until you grasped your skirt and walked in the water. He followed you, not wanting to miss a single second of the show. Watching you from the shore, he admired the diaphanous fabric dancing around your body. You looked like a nymph, leaving him speechless. « Do you enjoy this ? » his voice was less confident and his blood was rushing down there. « Yes, Hyunjin. I love it » you replied, a beautiful candid smile illuminating your face. His breath was becoming heavy as you were lazing around the water and his desire was taking the lead on his reason. « Enough. Come join me on the blankets ». Obedient, you got out. Your dress was totally useless at this point. It seemed heavier, as water was dripping all over your curves, and the fabric was sticking onto your skin. He could see everything, to the small moles adorning your thighs, to your nipples perking up. He wanted to touch you badly, to let his wildest fantasies come to live after restraining them for weeks. He took your hand in his, leading you as he was once again laying down. You were on top of him, his shirt getting wet in the process but he didn’t care. His expression was more serious, his wings weren’t the buzzing mess they were earlier. You looked at him, waiting for him to speak and tell you your next mission. He caressed your face with the back of his hand, brushing his thumb against your kissable lips. Soft and warm. « Y/N. Kiss me. » Did he just told you that ? He had to get a grip on himself, what was wrong with him ? As you were coming closer, he realized how wrong it was. He had to stop all of this and go back to the manor. Now. However… Just one kiss wouldn’t be bad, right ? He would make you forget all this buffoonery with another spell and would never talk to you ever again. He promised himself. Closing his eyes to enjoy the first and last time he would kiss you, he didn’t notice the mocking smile on your face.

How naive the pixy had been. Fae people were dangerous and cruel but, apparently, the mix of an elf and a human was worse… At first, you thought he just wanted to make a fool out of you. You would let him play a little before giving him a lesson he would remember. Yet, when you noticed the desire in his eyes, looking at your wet clothed body, which built up a fire inside you. And he had fallen for your little role-play. Honestly, you couldn’t blame him. People always thought you were a simple girl and not a half-blooded one and it came with some advantages. It was true, you couldn’t use magic but you were immune to it, you didn’t age like humans and you could lie, something a lot of people were extremely jealous of. Yes. The tone was inefficient on you and the black haired boy was about to know that real soon.

His eyes still closed, he wondered what was taking you so long. He finally looked at you. You were straddling him, the water from your body soaking his clothes, holding back your laughter because of his confused expression. « Wha-what are you doing ? I asked you something, do it! ». Anger was creeping back, his fist clenched as he was trying to get up. You wondered if his angry face wasn’t even prettier than his usual arrogant one. « Say please ? » you teasingly said. « Excuse m- »

You made him shut his mouth with your hand and leaned closer. He was furious right now, his wings started to buzz as if a swarm of bees was attacking you. « Behave. I told you to say « please », is it that difficult for someone like you ? You’re used to have everything on a silver plate, I guess. » you scoffed, staring at his dark pupils. He seemed a bit relaxed, when you felt his hand sliding along his waist, looking for his dagger, only to be met by the emptiness of his sheath.

« Is it what you’re looking for ? » you asked, falsely innocent. You waved the beautiful silvermithery before his wide opened eyes. When did you ?… As soon as you removed your hand, he tried to push you and get his weapon back. Unfortunately, too slowly. You put the blade under his chin, the sharp knife almost wounding his immaculate throat. « You tricked me ! » he screamed, helpless. « You were the one trying to lure me into your trap ! » you defended yourself. He smashed the ground with his fist. You were right and he hated it. « Let me go. » But you didn’t move. « Let me go or I will go to the royal court and complain about your threatening behavior! You will spend the rest of your life in some deserted lands! ». You laughed. He continued his tirade. « And why did the spell failed ? What are you ? ». Your smile quickly faded. « I’m a half-blooded. My mother is also half-blooded. She’s half human, half elf. And so am I. That’s why it’s not noticeable at first sight, you have to know me for that. ». He was visibly surprised and was scanning every parts of your body. He could see it now. The slightly pointy ears, the purple shade circling your pupil and your skin looked perfect while basic human’s one was more… dull ? Damn it. He had been stupid. He sighed. « What do you want half-blood ? ».

« I want the same thing as you do. » Not giving him the time to reply, you closed the gap between his lips and yours, kissing him passionately. He tried to resist but gave up easily. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he pulled you against his body. He was loosing his damn mind. Intoxicated by your smell, the way your tongue was playfully licking his lips or how your free hands was running down his torso. One thing was still bothering him. The dagger. « Y/N, could you please put this away ? ». He put one of his finger on the blade, pleading. You were hesitant, judging the plus and minus. « I promise I will not hurt you or run away. Please. » He was almost begging, needing to kiss you more, to be free to touch you. Fae couldn’t lie, it was the rule. You obediently granted his wish, not breaking your eye contact. As soon as you did, he sat up not bothering about the fact that you were still on his lap. You felt his hands sliding under your dress to help you remove it. You didn’t protest and let him do so.

The full view was even prettier. Your naked body was like a painting to him. Masterpieces weren’t meant to be touched, but you were the exception and he let his hands run down your curves, making you shiver. He couldn’t wait any longer as he attached his lips to your nipple, sucking on it desperately, his tongue twirling around it, his hands resting on your ass. You moaned while pulling onto his ribbon to untie it and grab his long silky hair. The sensation was amazing and you started to hump on his still clothed bottom, his boner growing under your core. He pulled away from your sensitive breast to cup your face and kiss you more. His hips started to move in harmony with yours but he wanted to have your skin against his. Quickly unbuttoning his shirt to get rid of it while your fingers were working on his pants, he soon ended up in his birth suit. Crouching back on his lap, you wrapped your fingers around his member and started to move up and down. He whimpered as you were variating the pace of your strokes, your thumb caressing the tip of his dick, already glittering with precum. He had never been touched like that. It wasn’t his first time and faeries loved to devote themselves to drinking session and fuckery but it was only that, no feelings involved, just some bestial instincts. It felt different with you. By the way you were looking at him and his body, your delicate gesture, this intimate place only the two of you knew about. Who would have thought you would be this soft when you threatened him just few minutes ago. Wanting to relieve his blooming feelings, he grabbed your waist and made you roll on your back, taking the lead this time. Spreading your legs to expose your bare core, he slid his fingers along your slit. You were dripping wet and wanted to get more. « Touch me » you begged. He smirked. « You didn’t need to ask ». You felt his middle finger rubbing your clit before entering your vagina. He kept playing with both of it while your walls were getting tighter, your fingers digging into the skin of his back to feel his chest against yours but still being careful of his papery wings. « I want to make one with you » he whispered to your ear, sending electricity through your veins. « Please Hyunjin ». Hearing you saying his name in such a sinful way felt like the sparkle which lit up the fire. His wings were vibrating softly and it turned him on even more when you caressed the part where they were meeting his shoulders. He positioned himself, grinding against you to lubricate his penis with your fluids. He looked at you, waiting for your consent. You nodded, cupping his beautiful face with your hands as he gave you his signature siren gaze. Penetrating you gently, you let out a soft moan quickly muffled by his plump lips kissing you. His hips were working faster, your tongues dancing together into a slippery kiss while your legs were hanging around his waist. The pace was changing, giving you more sensations, feeling his full length hitting your G spot. He broke your kiss just to give you some more on your jawline, neck and collarbones, eager to hear you whine under his touch. And you didn’t disappoint. He could feel your walls ready to clench around his member but he didn’t want to end it yet. At your surprise, he removed himself. « What are you doing ? » you complained, breathless. « Trust me » was his only answer. He intertwined his fingers with yours and made a trail of kisses along your body, going further down until his mouth was on your venus. He gave a first lick to it, tasting you fully. His tongue was dangerously working on your clit, sometimes giving some kitten lick, sometimes using it all. It was totally new to you and you weren’t sure you would be able to take it any longer. « Hyunjin… » you said in a breath. Your legs were starting to shake lightly and you looked at him in despair. You were met by his almond eyes, enjoying the view you were offering him. It was such a sinful yet dreamy scene. That’s when you felt it, the wave of pleasure rushing inside of you, making your legs quiver uncontrollably and moan a mantra of his name. He detached his lips from your sex, giving you some time to take your breath. His chin was glimmering with your juices and you wondered how you tasted like… « My turn ? » he said with a smirk. « You didn’t need to ask. » He giggled as you answered in the exact same way he did before.

You softly pushed him on his back, to be able to ride him comfortably. As you positioned yourself and started to move on his dick, he placed his hands on the small of your back to help you keep your balance. A moaning mess, this is what you were reduced to. Hyunjin felt dizzy under your touch and the way his cock was perfectly fitting inside of you, as if you were meant to be, drove him to the edge. It was also your gaze, strangely full of something pretty close to love, your delicate hands running through his hair or touching his chest. Despite your still sensitive bud, you could feel a second wave of orgasm coming for you and he could feel it too. Your walls were getting tighter, making it difficult for him to slide easily inside of you, clenching his length in the most delicious way. Sitting for you to get him fully, he gave few more hip thrust before reaching his climax, shaking between your arms as his face was resting on your breast. Soon you were met by yours and stayed like this, connected for a bit, both panting while his semen was dripping down your thighs. He looked up towards you, a soft smile on his face, his eyes looking like little crescent moons. You gave him a peck on his forehead before he spoke. « Y/N… I’m dying of heat… Should we go take a swim ? » You giggled but happily agreed. Holding your hand he led you into the water, not letting you go. « Did I make my presence worthy of your time, Lord Hwang Hyunjin ? » you teased him, cupping his face with your hands. « More than worthy, half-blood. Let’s meet again… Hmm… Tomorrow ? » He pressed his lips against yours, water refreshing your overheated bodies. « It would be my pleasure. »

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softlyspector · 1 year

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Credence

Summary: A year after his mother’s death, Marc travels back to Chicago to face his father. He doesn’t expect it to be easy but he also doesn’t expect it to be so hard. He especially doesn’t expect to find refuge from the hard moments in a little known witch’s shop a few blocks over. And definitely not in one keeping watch over the family’s piano.

This chapter: You meet Steven, and learn a lot about Marc.

Tales Untold; Part IV - Series Masterlist

Pairing: eventual Marc Spector x Reader (eventual minor Steven Grant x Reader and Jake Lockley x Reader)

Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings (this chapter): mental health issues, feelings of guilt, angst, mentions of past child abuse

A/N: I want to give a big thank you to all of you who have been keeping up with this series. I love you so much, and thank you for all the continued love and support. It means so much. Comments and feedback are so appreciated! Please let me know if any additional warnings need to be added. For full series warnings, please check the series masterlist, which will be updated as parts are posted!

IV.

Tales Untold, Chicago 2:41 AM

The silence of the street is deafening in the wake of Marc’s words.

Nothing on the street moves. The warmth of the spring breeze ruffles the hem of your robe and all you can do is blink at him, not sure how to respond to Marc telling you he’s not Marc. You slide your gaze away from him, eyes tracking over the dark street, like the answer might be hidden in the tree leaves or between the gaps of the paving stones.

Your storefront has never looked more empty, and the memory of Marc laboring in the sun a few days prior comes unbidden. He’d been so careful, repotting the flowers that could be saved into new homes until he could get the supplies to rebuild the flower boxes. You’d sat on the front step, your help vehemently refused by him again and again as he broke down the old flower boxes and took down your sign.

You’d liked watching him, the shape of his hands so capable and strong. The least you could do was keep him company and so you’d sat there on the step, long into the slow afternoon, only occasionally getting up to get him something to drink.

Marc often forgets to take care of himself. He doesn’t think to eat sometimes, nevermind drink something to keep hydrated.

His words ring in your ears again and you blink away the memory.

I’m not Marc.

You glance back at Marc, eyes flicking over him, still not sure what to say, still not sure how you’re meant to reply.

Confusion and just a tad of hurt, spikes in your veins. What was with the accent? The apologetic shine in his eyes?

I’m not Marc.

Maybe you’d heard him wrong.

He opens his mouth to continue, fingers still anxiously twisting together in front of his chest.

“Marc?” you shake your head slowly and cut him off before he can speak. “Are you okay? What’s happening?”

“Sorry, sorry, doing a shit job at explaining myself, yeah?” He chuckles nervously then wipes at his cheeks, the briny residue of tears still staining his skin. “Dunno what happened. Somethin’ bad must have.” Marc shivers even though the early morning air is warm and humid.

Sweat beads along his brow, pearling against his skin and slowly rolling down his temples and into his mussed hair.

You swallow, trying to place the accent in his mouth, trying to place why he’s speaking to you in an accent at all.

It’s one that’s unfamiliar to you - London or just British you can’t tell.

I’m not Marc.

The sudden unfamiliarity of him makes you want to pull back from him. The confused hurt burbling ever higher in the back of your throat.

Marc’s shoulders twitch in another violent shiver that finally breaks you out of your shock.

Odd accent or not, he’s shivering and obviously distressed. “Marc, honey,” you beckon him forward, stepping back from the door. “C’mere, come inside. You look like you’re freezing.”

He hesitates, mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally manages to make the words come out. “I’m - I’m, please listen,” he pleads gently with you. “I’m not Marc. My name is Steven Grant. I’m not sure what’s happened, yeah? Just…I just woke up on your street.”

For one defensive, mean moment, your heart folds in on itself and you consider slamming the door in his face. After you’d spent so much time together, opened your home to him, he was…what? Fucking with you?

You tighten your grip on the door, prepared to shut it and tell him to fuck off. How juvenile, and cruel. And for what purpose? To get back at you for what happened outside his father’s house?

Everything you know about Marc flashes through your mind's eye. It just doesn’t sit right with you, weighs oddly on your heart.

It’s not something Marc would do.

Distress lines the body in front of you. Your eyes trace over those broken capillaries again, the tacky sweat and tears drying on his skin. His shoulders hitch a little as he sniffles and you realize he may start crying.

You relax your hand on the edge of the door, taking a long breath.

That did leave the question of what was actually happening, though.

He’s disheveled and distressed, swiping the sweat away from his temples with a shaking hand while he waits for your judgment.

You think briefly of the stress Marc always seems to be under, the fear in his eyes when he’d found you conversing with his father, how you’d considered his reactions far too exaggerated for someone with just a tense relationship with a parent.

Maybe, maybe the stress had finally caught up with him.

It didn’t matter really, you wouldn’t leave him standing there on the street no matter what.

You glance back at Marc - Steven, you mentally correct yourself - and smile. He still looks nervous, like he’s afraid you’re going to turn him away. Like he’s been rejected before, like he’s been accused of lying before, and he fears it's about to happen again.

“Okay. Steven,” you give a firm nod, the name an odd taste in your mouth. It feels strange to see Marc, and call him something else.

You just need to understand, you think. You just need to understand what’s happening.

“Steven,” you repeat his name, trying to get used to it. Deciding you should treat him like someone you don’t know, if he’s insistent that he isn’t Marc. And if you don’t know him, he might not know you. “Are you comfortable coming inside?”

He nods, stepping closer to you and his voice wavers, “Don’t think I can go back there…not while I don’t know what’s happened. I’ll explain everything! Honest, I will. Sorry, I know how confusing this all must feel. I’ve-I was, when it first happened.”

When what first happened?

You don’t ask just yet, smiling again instead while you hold the door open wider to let Steven step inside.

“You’re shivering,” you fuss at him, closing the door gently and twisting the lock back into place.

You reach out and cup your hands around his shoulders, rubbing his arms lightly. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and jeans. His skin is clammy and chilled, tacky with a dried anxious sweat.

It’s something you never do with Marc, you don’t usually touch him at all. But the action doesn’t feel strange with Steven, and he leans into it, accepting, stepping closer to you.

“Explain what?” You ask as gently as you can, the dark of the shop hemming you in close, cocooning you together. “Steven?”

“Something must have happened with Marc and our dad…that’s the only thing that could explain it, yeah? Why I was - this doesn’t usually happen. Not anymore. He must be really upset.” He seems anxious at the thought, and you find it hard to keep up, to understand what he’s saying when he’s talking about himself like Marc is another person.

Which, you suppose, he must be.

An idea fractures in your mind, something you’d read about online once. Back when you were still thinking of finishing college, when you thought getting a degree in psychology might be a good idea.

“I’m so sorry,” you say as gently as you can. “I still don’t understand. I don’t know what’s happening.”

Steven takes a breath and meets your eyes, frowning apologetically.

And it is Steven.

Because the longer you look at him, at the sloped curve of his shoulders, the soft cast of his gaze, and the fluttery nervousness of his hands, the more you realize this truly is not Marc Spector before you.

It can’t be.

He doesn’t even look like Marc, not really.

“Steven,” you trail your hands down to his wrists, note that his hands are still shaking. “What happened?” And then, not quite knowing if it was the right thing to ask, “Is - is Marc alright?”

Steven nods at you, nods and nods and doesn’t look away from you, his eyes growing round and soft. “Bloody hell, you are gorgeous. Marc doesn’t tell you that. He thinks so too.”

“Oh,” you feel something pleasantly warm pool in your gut. “No, he doesn’t. Tell me, that is.”

It’s strange, to be speaking to Steven about Marc, like he isn’t there.

And he isn’t, you suppose.

You just need a bit of time to adjust to that.

“Okay, Steven,” you repeat his name, trying to convey that you’re starting to understand just a little. “Would you like to come upstairs?”

Tales Untold, Chicago 3:04 AM

Steven is much chattier than Marc, and much more willing to part with information.

You settle him on the same stool Marc usually takes at your kitchen island, and go about making a cup of tea for each of you. “Sorry, I only drink tea at night so I only have chamomile. It helps me sleep.”

“That sounds lovely, actually,” he says, his eyes soft as his gaze follows you around the apartment. He’s much calmer now, the hitch in his breath gone.

So you make the tea, and find that Steven takes his with just the slightest amount of honey.

You’ve only ever seen Marc drink coffee, and always with too much sugar and a splash of milk.

With the first sip of tea, his shoulders loosen just a fraction, the muscles in his face and neck relaxing.

Even so, his limbs are looser than Marc’s ever have been and you realize you’ve never seen Marc fully at ease. “So,” you move around the counter and grab the blanket from the sofa to drape around Steven’s shoulders, worried that the shaking in his limbs might never stop. “You’re Steven.”

Steven nods at you, hands cupping around the warmth of the mug in front of him. “I’m sorry about bothering you so late,” he falters. “It was very kind of you to let me in at all…I know how I must sound to you.”

“You don’t sound any particular way,” you quickly chirp. “Really. It was more of a shock than anything. I should be apologizing to you.” Before he can contradict you, you continue, “And it’s no bother that you’re here,” you assure him. “Really. Uh -,” you hesitate. “Marc is here all the time late. He was drunk on my doorstep the first time.”

Steven chuckles. “Yeah, I remember bits of that. What an absolute plonker he was.”

You stifle a laugh, and then wait, sensing he’s going to get to explaining things to you without your coaxing, in his own time.

Very different from Marc then.

“Not sure - I mean if you’re confused then obviously - obviously Marc never talked to you about it.”

You tilt your head and wait for him to continue. “Talked to me about what?”

“Us. Me and Jake. Why would he though? No need, yet, yeah?” He chuckles uncomfortably.

“Jake?”

“Sorry, I’m still not, not explaining things right. Probably just makin’ it more bloody confusing.” He shakes his head, eyes clenching closed briefly.

You smile, “Just a bit.”

Steven blinks back over at you, watches you for a moment, not looking away like Marc would. It’s odd to feel his eyes linger for so long, gaze trapped on yours.

His brows are tilted out and up, rather than lowered over his eyes, divoting that little space between his brows with tension.

“Well, I guess it's better to just say it, innit? Marc didn’t explain things to me properly and that turned out just bloody brilliant, didn’t it? No.” His smile is warm. The brown of his eyes is warm, like melting molasses to Marc’s umber.

You don’t try to hide the laugh that bubbles up. Strange as the situation is, it doesn’t feel wrong. It feels like something that was always meant to happen. You reach out and lie a hand against Steven’s forearm, silently encouraging.

“Marc has Dissociative Identity Disorder,” Steven says, watching your hand, the slow stroke of your thumb against his skin. “Well, I suppose we all do, really. I didn’t know about Marc for a long time. It was an accident that I found out at all. He would have kept himself a secret from me if he could have.”

His skin feels warm now, and you’re glad the chilled feeling has retreated. Your heads are bent close together, and when you look up, Steven’s nose nearly brushes yours. So, you’d guessed right earlier, that fleeting thought. “What happened?” You ask.

His brows quirk up. “You…believe me?”

You blink, not expecting to be questioned. “Should I not?” Then, a hot anger creeps in, “Do people usually not?”

He swallows, and you release his arm and lean away from him, trying to remember he’s a stranger, that Steven and you do not know each other despite how familiar he is to you. “Just, just a bit strange.”

“I believe you,” you reassure him. “Of course I do.”

He hesitates, then continues, his words stilting and slow. “Marc is protective,” he explains. “He’d rather shoulder everything alone.”

You smile, and drum your fingers against the counter to quell the urge to touch him again. “That does sound like Marc.” When Steven takes another sip of tea, tucking the blanket tighter around his shoulders, you continue, worried you were making a mess of things or not reacting appropriately. “It’s really nice to meet you, Steven. I’m sorry about how I answered the door.”

Steven’s face relaxes, his shoulders loosening a bit more. “You couldn’t have known. I’d say you’re taking everything rather well.” His face is loose, a curious expression tilting his features. “You are really very kind. I see why Marc likes you.”

A nervous flutter beats in your belly and then moves up to knock against your ribs. It’s an innocent enough sentiment, still, you find yourself oddly delighted to know Marc does actually enjoy your company.

You can’t imagine what makes Steven say it, though, so you just smile. “That’s such a strange thing to hear about yourself. Thank you all the same,” you move off the stool and back around the counter, giving him a little more space.

You retrieve your own cup of tea, watching the familiar body glance around your apartment with curious eyes.

His gaze lands on the piano in the corner, the key lid still slid back from the last time you’d played for Marc. Steven opens his mouth and you expect him to question you, but instead he merely murmurs, “I see why Marc likes coming here so much.”

You nod, “I play for him each night. It’s why he decided to do some repairs for me. He’s pretty closed up about the piano though. Think maybe it’s something to do with your mother.”

Anger you don’t expect wells up inside you, wriggles between your teeth. You tuck your robe tighter around yourself with a sudden chill, thoughts of Marc’s insistence that you not get out of the truck, his body physically blocking yours from the house, flashing through your mind.

You know the origins of DID, and a lump forms in the back of your throat.

He must be so angry at you, for not listening to him.

Angry, or terrified. You can’t decide which is more likely.

You’re brought out of your reverie when a crisp piano note floats through the room.

Steven has moved to stand by the piano, staring down at the keys with a soft expression. When he glances up, he looks a tad embarrassed. “Has Marc told you why this is so important to him?”

“No,” you take a few steps forward. “He won’t even touch it.”

Steven depresses another key, decidedly not sitting down. “Does he know how to play it?”

You laugh and move to sit on the piano bench, feeling the ghost of all the times you’ve sat next to Marc there, his shoulder gently pressing into yours, the contact so light it was almost nonexistent, like he was afraid to take too much, make too much of a mark. “He said he used to know.”

“Maybe when we were children then,” Steven surmises, taking a seat next to you. “Reminds him of something.”

“You don’t know?” You ask, surprised.

“Won’t bloody tell me, no. Said he would sometime.” He continues quickly, “And he will, just needs a bit of time.”

You watch his hands, not touching the keys now but hovering over them, tapping out a silent song. “Looks like you know how to play it. Maybe you should try.”

Steven hesitates, hands hovering still over the keys suddenly, fingers frozen. “Not sure I should. I don’t know why Marc won’t.”

“He’s trying to protect you from something,” you guess.

Steven slowly shakes his head, fingers lowering and knotting together in his lap, “Not this time, no. I don’t think so. Usually I’d say yes, but I don’t think he’d keep bringing us over here around it if it were something bad.”

“He said he’d tell me,” Steven repeats, anxiously, like the words aren’t quite coming out the way he wants them to. Like he’s preemptively trying to protect Marc from your judgment, though you have none to level against him. “He - he tries to tell me things. But he’s not good at it yet. Talking about things, that is.”

You nod, “Yeah, I understand.”

Steven’s hands hover over the keys again, tapping out music you can’t hear. “He hasn’t told you anything? Nothing at all?” You shake your head and Steven rolls his eyes, but it's with a gentle affection. “Bloody hell, Marc,” he mutters to himself.

“It’s okay,” you murmur. “We don’t know each other that well.”

He turns to stare at you, his knee pressing into the side of your thigh. “Hang on,” he blinks at you, “Marc, he’s here everyday, yeah?” You nod. “What an absolute twat. Really? Nothing?”

You find yourself smiling, leaning closer to Steven, “Yes, well, I haven’t exactly asked. And like you said he’s kinda closed up. I know a little but I try not to push him.”

Steven fidgets, glances around the room. “I could tell you - just a few things.”

You hesitate. Though you want to know more, about Marc, about Steven, you don’t want to know if Marc doesn't want you to.

“I’m not sure-,” you start to hedge.

“Just about me then,” he smiles. “Nothin’ to do with Marc. He can tell you when he gets his head out of his arse.”

You snort, the laugh that bubbles up so unexpected. “Alright then. Just about you.”

Steven is beaming at you, “You have a nice laugh.”

He smells like Marc, of course he does, wide brown eyes watching you with an unearned amount of affection. “Sorry,” he chuckles, just a bit self-deprecating. “I do feel like I know you, just a bit.”

“I understand.” You look away and clear your throat. “I feel like I know you too.” You meet Steven’s eyes again and then turn to the keys, slowly playing the song you always tap out for Marc. “Can I ask who Jake is?”

“As far as we know,” Steven answers easily. “There are three of us. Jake, he’s rather elusive. Rarely around really.”

You nod, and Steven leans into your side, much more heavily than Marc ever has. The warmth of him against you is nearly hot but not unpleasant. “Mm,” you hum so he knows you’re listening to whatever he wants to tell you.

Steven tells you that they don’t usually switch without the other’s knowledge, not anymore. “So, something must have happened, that the switch was involuntary, yeah? It only happens when we’re upset.”

You tilt your head, beginning to see why he’d been so anxious. “When things get too much,” you tread lightly.

“Yes,” Steven smiles at you. “Exactly.” His grin fades, “Don’t remember anythin’, though. Just - just staring at your shop.” You don’t have time to contemplate that, your body reacting on instinct as you suddenly turn and take his hands, a horrible thought occurring to you.

“Are you-,” you glance over his hands, press your fingers up his arms. “Hurt. Are you hurt?”

His smile is sad and gentle. “No. Not physically anyways. That’s somethin’ we don’t have to worry about anymore.” He avoids your gaze when he says it, an odd grief lodging in his eyes.

You find it hard to breathe for a moment, something hard sticking in the back of your throat.

Their mother, then.

Anger pools in your gut but you swallow it. It’s bitter. It burns going down.

“Well,” you release him. “That’s good to hear.”

It’s silent for a moment, in which you stare at Steven and he stares back at you. “He must feel very safe. To come here to you.” He swallows. “To bring me here. Us.”

“You’re always welcome,” you say. “Any of you. Even Jake. You’re all safe here.”

You’re surprised to see a tear streak down his cheek, before he leans in and takes your hands and deposits them back on the keys. “Keep playing. Please.”

Tales Untold, Chicago 5:13 AM

The sky is starting to lighten when you finally stop playing.

Steven offers to leave, or to sleep on your couch.

But all you see is the grief in his shoulders, the cast of shadow beneath his eyes, the broken capillaries, the pin pricks of red. You imagine how hard Marc must have been crying and decide you can’t let either of them be alone.

Steven doesn’t protest so much, or outright refuse when you tell him to sleep in your bed. It’s big enough, you argue, and you don’t want him to be alone, not even across the room.

Something in his face crumbles when you say that, and a torn, aching, raw hole of loneliness in them makes itself known to you.

You imagine Marc, if he could even be convinced, would lie stiffly next to you.

But Steven relaxes, laces his fingers with yours across the stretch of sheets between you and tells you how much he likes the stained glass that hangs in your window.

“I’ve been thinking of making some, for downstairs in the front window.”

“You made those?”

“Yeah.”

“Bloody brilliant. They’re beautiful.”

You smile.

Steven’s eyes are on your hands in the dark, his thumb tracing over the back of your hand. “Maybe I could help you? Since Marc is helping with everything else.”

“I would love that.”

He tells you about his job, about London, until his voice slows and slurs and eventually stops altogether.

You stay awake until his breathing evens out and slows. Only then, do you let a couple tears slip out and take a shuddering breath.

Tales Untold, Chicago 7:24 AM

Pale sunlight streams from between the slats of the blinds. It bends around the stained glass hangings, purples and reds splotched against the far wall.

The light wavers over the floor in long ribbons. The room is warm, the threat of the first truly hot day looming.

And Marc can’t make heads or tails of where he is for a moment.

His last memory is the heaving, soul crushing grief blocking his throat, the divoting fingers of the past gripping his lungs in tight fists. He remembers staring up at the front of your shop, empty and dark, without your sign and those pitiful fucking flower boxes.

The worming hurt had seized him again. He couldn’t brother you, not like this, not again.

Not after you’d seen too much, not after he’d frightened you and made you flee. You had wanted nothing to do with him. You had been eager to be away from him, and that’s something he could never blame you for.

Another howling sob had climbed up the back of his throat, so hot and hard he’d choked on it, swallowing down the sound until the pressure behind his eyes felt like it might bleed.

And then -

Nothing.

Just flashes of what came after, of you opening the door to Steven, your hands on piano keys, the twist of your mouth when you smiled.

Now, bright sun.

He blinks into it. Something heavy and warm rests over him, something soft and weighted with fragrance.

Marc freezes when he recognizes the scent.

Lavender and rosemary. You.

The sun retreats, his eyes adjusting to the light, and he finds himself blinking at the changing screen patterned with baby’s breath and tulips.

The thing on his chest is a cream colored duvet.

He’s in your fucking bed.

Surely not.

Surely Steven had not-

Slept next to you. Imposed them on you like that.

He shifts, and finds the bed empty. But the sheets on the other side of the bed are rumpled. And when he slides his hand across the mattress he finds it still warm with fading body heat.

Marc jerks his hand back like he’s been stung.

A headache begins at the base of his neck, the weight of this, of you knowing about Steven, of you and Steven bonding, combined with the night before, is too much.

He's not upset you've met Steven, he's more concerned with what Steven might have told you.

The conversation with his father floats back through his mind. The way you’d been all too keen to get away from him on the street. You hadn’t let him take you home, you clearly hadn’t wanted him to come over for dinner like he normally did.

He’d been trying, so fucking hard, not to let you see, not to let you get too close and see too much. You don’t deserve that, no one does, to have to carry inside them the things that he already did.

What had Steven told you? Marc doesn’t know. His memory is nothing but random flashes.

Marc sits up slowly, rubbing at the back of his neck as he tosses the duvet back and swings his legs over the side of the bed.

“Steven?” You call out at the sound of him moving around.

He freezes, the cut of your voice light and hopeful.

Do you always sound like that? He suddenly can't remember. Maybe it was a tone reserved for Steven.

Fuck.

He clears his throat, disentangling himself from the sheets. “It’s me,” he rumbles.

You appear around the side of the screen, eyes wide. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure who-,”

“It’s okay,” he interrupts, not quite meeting your eyes. A hard knot of shame swells in his chest, choking him. “So,” he grates. “You met Steven.”

He sounds irritated to his own ears, but he doesn’t correct his harsh tone. He doesn’t move to meet your gaze, training his gaze on your sock clad feet instead when he stands.

“Yes,” you say, stepping back when he moves from around the changing screen to face you fully. “I did.”

Marc huffs out a self-deprecating laugh, his headache increasing in intensity. “Great.”

A long silence slips between you. Tension floods his shoulders and rakes up his spine. Shame makes a familiar home in his heart, curling tight around the arteries.

He finally turns his eyes up to yours.

But you’re just watching him with a quiet intensity. Gently, like you’re speaking to a wounded animal, you say, “He’s lovely. Me and Steven got along well. I’m glad I got to meet him.”

When he doesn’t answer, you continue, “Are you okay? What happened? Steven didn’t seem to know.”

“No,” he lashes out, hating himself even as the words spill forth.

It’s easier. Hatred and embarrassment are easier to swallow than your acceptance. He wants your hatred and rejection and embarrassment. Because at least that makes sense. “Still told you plenty though, huh?”

Marc curls his hands into fists at his sides, waiting for you to snap back at him. You just shrug and step back, circling your kitchen island. “Yeah, we talked. Nothing important really.” You pull down two glasses from one of the cabinets. You have to stretch and your shirt slides up, revealing the soft skin of your lower back.

He shifts his eyes away from you, trying to hang onto the fraying threads of the shame and anger welling up inside him.

But you aren’t rejecting him, that’s clear. Not in any sense of the word. You aren’t treating him any differently than you normally do.

He feels inadequate, bad. Guilt lingers long against the wings of his lungs.

“I’m going to make some iced coffee.”

You don’t ask if he wants any, and Marc doesn’t answer. The acrid emotions floating inside his lungs like black smoke, starts to fade when he realizes you aren’t going to engage him at all. You aren’t going to entertain his anger or his shame. There’s nothing to be angry or guilty about.

“Come sit down,” you direct. “You don’t have to tell me what happened. But you should probably talk to Steven if you can. He was pretty upset.” You fill the glasses with ice, the clink loud in the quiet early morning. “He really didn’t tell me anything,” you add quietly. “Really he didn’t.”

Marc takes a long breath, closing his eyes for a moment, before he crosses the room to sit on his usual stool. “I shouldn’t have come over here,” he rasps, dragging a hand down his face, elbows braced against the counter. “You didn’t want us here.”

You turn and offer him one of the cups, sliding it over the counter to him. You plant one hand on your hip and tilt your head at him. “Really, Marc? Who said I don’t want you here? It certainly wasn’t me. Steven just explained that you have DID. Okay? That’s it. And that’s nothing to - to be ashamed of. Okay? And I don’t think Steven remembered what happened so he didn’t tell me anything else. He couldn’t.”

The glass is patterned with bumblebees. Marc traces a thumb over one of them. “Yeah? Wasn’t that enough?”

“Enough?” You ask, confusion coloring your voice.

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t know how to tell you that he’s crazy, even if you don’t recognize it yet. You don’t know everything, but this should be enough. Enough to put distance between the cradle of your care and him.

And how much he’s come to rely on you.

“Oh,” you whisper suddenly. Because you’re smart and intuitive and you just seem to always understand, even when he doesn’t say anything. “Oh, Marc, no. No.” And then, your voice light, filled with a strange levity, “I really like Steven and you promised to make me planter boxes.”

He chokes down the laugh that threatens to burst free. “Yeah, I did.” His shoulders loosen, the adrenaline flooding his system eases out and leaves him feeling exhausted, wan and dried out.

“Right. So you aren’t allowed to go anywhere just yet. I don’t want you to anyways.” You push a bottle of coffee creamer across the counter to him. “Here. I saw this one at the store and thought you might like to try it. It’s probably sweet enough for you.”

He just nods and takes it from you.

You round the counter and sit next to him with your own cup, fingers sliding up and down the sweating glass nervously.

“Can I tell you what I felt when I touched the piano?” He freezes, doesn’t dare look over at you. “My…I don’t like to think about it like a power. Because it doesn’t feel that way, and I don’t control it. I don’t want to control it. I trust it to know when I should know something.” You pause, swirling the straw in your glass. “And the piano wanted me to know.”

Marc turns to look at you, and finds himself reflected in your eyes. You look ashamed, guilty. Your smile is warped, sitting on your skin like you expect to be rejected. He remembers that first time you’d mentioned it, that the piano remembered him. You’d looked embarrassed then, too.

And the next time. So, shit talks to you, huh?

You’d snorted, avoided talking about it.

He must be silent for too long, because you nervously continue, fingers drumming on the counter. “I know it’s weird. It’s okay if-,”

“No,” he interrupts. “No. Tell me.”

“It’s weird, I know-,” you repeat again before you pause and take a breath. Your mouth opens and closes several times, like you don’t know how to continue.

He wants to tell you it's okay. Instead, he says, “Tell me.”

You blink and then smile, taking a sip of your coffee and watching from the corner of your eye to see if he does the same. He rolls his eyes and lifts his own glass.

You’re right, he likes the coffee creamer. White chocolate mocha, the bottle says.

It’s so sweet it makes his teeth itch. He loves it.

“It’s good.”

“I knew you’d like it,” you chime before you clear your throat. “When I touched the piano that first time, and everytime after that really, it felt like peace. Like happiness. Maybe like gold and mornings. To me, it’s like a conversation. And all it wanted me to know is that it was not ready to leave it’s home.” Marc stares at you, eyes flickering down to your hand which rests next to his, not touching his skin, not quite. “It was waiting for someone. Wouldn’t say who.”

You swallow. “So I never suspected, Marc. About your mother. I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened but I’m sorry and I understand why it’s so complicated for you. The piano and being here and how it used to be hers.”

Steven might not have told you anything, but you’ve been able to guess, at least about some things. He fidgets, pressure spilling down his sides, raking over the skin of his belly. He inches his hand into yours, so your pinkies are touching. “You weren’t supposed to know.”

“I’m sorry,” you say and you sound like you mean it.

Marc moves his hand until it’s settled fully over yours. Your skin is soft beneath his calloused palm. “There’s a lot you don’t know. You don’t have to be sorry about any of it.”

The shame has retreated, replaced by this odd acceptance.

You flip your hand up and press your fingers through his.

Tales Untold, Chicago 6:59 PM

He’s repointing your brickwork, or starting on it at least, digging out the old mortar from between the bricks and letting it lie where it falls.

You’re sitting on the step up to your shop, quiet in the setting sun. You look content, capable hands sanding down the sides of the first completed flower box he’d brought over the day before.

“Before…before things changed, we were really close.” You look up but Marc doesn’t look at you. He speaks to the brick. “My mom and me. We played the piano together. All the time.”

You carefully set the box down, leaning your elbows against your knees as you listen. “She started drinking a lot. Piano got covered up. We never played it again. Maybe that’s why you feel good things from it. Because that’s all it knows. That’s all I remember.” He jams the chisel into the mortar hard, sweat drips down his temple, slides along the curve of his cheek.

“I’m sorry for - for what happened the other day with my dad. I didn’t mean to scare you.” You shift, sitting up straight but Marc still doesn’t look at you, shoving the chisel between the bricks again without preamble. His arms strain, and he thinks he should stop, that he’s digging in too far.

“After you left,” he continues, even though he can see you opening your mouth in his peripheral vision, probably to contradict him, but he doesn’t want you to have to lie for his sake. “After you left, my dad asked about you. Too many questions. Why I didn’t want you to come inside. He asked like he didn’t know how hard it is for me to go inside.”

Marc knows, he knows you’ve already guessed at the abuse. Steven had told him how you’d asked if he was hurt. And Marc remembers, can see your face in his mind’s eye, the gears turning in your head as you put the pieces of who he is together.

You’re too intuitive for your own good.

So he might as well just get the words out.

“I…usually handle it better but I was so -,”

He was so fucking scared. Anxious.

“Stretched thin,” he says. “That I couldn’t - that the truth just came out.”

You haven’t moved, and Marc sets the chisel down, his hand shaking. “What happened?” Your soft voice asks as he sits on the pavement and leans back against the ruined brick wall.

��I reminded him,” Marc says, bracing his forearms on his knees. “Of why this has been so hard. I reminded him of everything that happened in that house.” He manages to look over you, fastening his eyes on your ankles, the old pair of sneakers you wear. “Told him that’s why you’ll never fucking visit. Not as long as I’m there.” He swallows, “Especially now that I know…I don’t want you to touch something, see something you won’t be able to forget.”

When he finally drags his eyes up to yours, the last part is easy to say. “Went to bed. I shouldn’t have tried to sleep, not when I felt the way I did.” He swallows, thinks briefly about how pretty you look in the sun. “Nightmare, from the stress probably. I could feel how close I was to slipping but I couldn’t stay there and - and I’m trying not to become her, so I can’t drink and -,”

Marc doesn’t finish that thought, and the silence stretches for a long minute.

“What was the dream about?”

What it’s always about. Rushing water. Begging cries. Bruised hands. Slamming doors.

“Doesn’t matter,” he shakes his head. “I shouldn’ta come here. But, maybe I knew - you and Steven would put things back together.”

You stand, hesitating for only a second before you join him on the ground. You push your head against his shoulder and let out a long breath. “You can always come here. You’re safe here. Steven and Jake too.”

“Not sure you wanna leave the door open for us like that,” he tries to joke.

But you just nod fervently against him, “Yes, I do.”

He should let you go. He shouldn’t tell you these things.

Instead, he twists his fingers with yours. “You gonna paint that one tonight?”

“No,” you squeeze his hand. “It’s almost dinner time. I thought we could order Chinese.”

He nods, presses his nose into your temple even though he shouldn’t accept your comfort.

“We gotta get out more,” you say suddenly. “Outta this shop and you outta that house.”

He nods against you, eyes closed, breathing in the lavender and rosemary of you.

His hands are dirty but you still clutch at him like he’s not sweaty and gross. You inhale against him like he’s made of something much more valuable than flesh and blood.

“Do you want to reconcile with your father?”

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly.

“Well,” you start. “You could bring him to dinner here. It’s a start. It’s neutral ground.”

Marc doesn’t answer but you don’t demand one from him. Like you know he’ll answer you sometime, eventually.

“We gotta go to a Cubs game,” he says. “I haven’t…there’s a lotta stuff about Chicago I miss.”

“Like the Bean.”

He snorts, “Oh yeah.”

“Pizza.” You lift your head, “Navy Pier. Skydeck. Shedd.”

“Yeah. Mostly the pizza though.” Then, hesitant because you’re like a mirage, like something too good to believe. He squeezes your fingers, feels you echo the touch, squeezing right back. “Wanna go to a Cubs game with me?”

“As long as you buy me pizza afterwards.”

He can feel you smiling against his arm when you duck your head.

Marc huffs out a gentle laugh. His chest feels distinctly lighter. “Okay.”

“It’s a date.”

Thank you for reading! Another special thank you to those keeping up with the series, and for all the continued love and support.

Comments and feedback are so appreciated. New parts will be posted Saturdays at 3PM EST! You can add yourself to the tag list on the series masterlist.

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ashersanity · 3 months

Note

Dropping by to say omg AUGHH I love your writing! Always gets me hooked and gets me to scroll till the end, especially the Whitney stuff-

Idk if this has been asked/answered before, but Whitney piercing headcanons? What spots they might have chosen? I've always imagined they had a fuck ton of metal rings and studs-

That where the spam liking is coming from? I’ve been getting lots of spam likers lately, not that I mind but it’s nerve inducing whenever someone randomly likes a recent post only to pull up with one from months ago out of nowhere. Just where the fuck are you guys finding these things? Usually sift through someone’s blog by their top posts or recent posts in order, maybe per a specific tag then too. Appreciate it though, thanks.

Whitney piercings.. have been on my mind lately too. I’ve got a tongue piercing scheduled soon so this is wildly timed well.

content warning! accidental self-harm? whitney tries to pierce some things themselves, fucking fails. blood. do not attempt to do these at home, you stupid fucks.

Know one would likely think that’s Whitney’s first piercings would be the regular earrings shit but to me, it was the tongue they did first. Y’know, it’s easily hidden behind the tight line of their lips firmly pressed together, not that the bitch doesn’t openly show off the muscle whenever they get the chance to whenever they speak, but can get away it. Maybe their parents would disapprove though the bully doubts so themselves, don’t got the money to get such a procedure so they settle on a handcraft piercing for their tongue. Where’d they find the gleaming pearl to do that? Who knows really.

Pulls up with some random tutorial on their phone, cheap and blurry camera with the instructions unclear but by god, Whitney does some dumbass decisions at times and this is one of them. Would be lying if they didn’t hesitate for a bit, shit, they’re going to get that damn piercing whether their dad or mom, both likes it or not. Sharp needle fisted in their hand, tongue peeking out and does it go well? Fuck no. Yells out a curse as stray droplets of blood drip across the tiled floor of their narrow bathroom space, leaving fresh, bloodied marks in their wake. Wasn’t all that serious of an injury, least not to the delinquent where it caused serious, permanent damage. Begrudgingly gets it done by a professional the next time, slight flush on their face from the sheer embarrassment of having failed pathetically so.

Next were earrings, the typical way that it’s done with an ice cube and of course, a needle again. Got an infection for a week, the blonde heals fast. Doesn’t affect them all that much other than the annoying routine of having to apply the same disinfectant over the surface of their swollen skin for a week straight. I’m talking a couple of rings wrapped over their ear shells and lobe, typically sharp since it suits them. Probably has snake bites too, seen too many arts to not say so otherwise and they like the look of it.

Genitals.. Yeah, the genitals for sure. Whitney wants to enhance their sex experience and fuck, do they love to hear a bitch squealing from the friction of the glinting metal fresh against their skin, lightly kicking back.

Whitney with a dick? Jacob ladder piercing, the bars set upon the length of their dick, ranging from their base to the flushed tip oozing pre-cum. Likes to specially tease you with it, making you count the number of bars as they slowly sink into your stretched out hole, struggling to form coherent words from being stuffed so full by a fat cock. You fail? They’re doing it all over again till you get it right.

Whitney with a pussy? Labia piercing. (Seen them before but I had to search that shit up for the name.) Rings snugly tucked around their clit, sensation all the more heavy as they comfortably grind themselves down on your lap at the pub, shameless in their erotic display. If you’re eating them out whenever or wherever, a light flick of your tongue across their drooling clit is enough to have them dizzyingly stupid and moaning, head thrown back.

Nipples, the fucking nipples. Visible against the shirt they wear beneath their scruff, leathered jacket, proudly standing erect. I’d say this is actually one of the main bodily weaknesses of the bully. Sure, their genitals is definitely an erogenous zone, but play with the pink buds a bit and you have yourself a whimpering Whitney struggling not to cum from your playful touches alone.

Know this isn’t about piercings but thanks to @princesstokyomoon, I’m convinced this motherfucker has a womb tatt regardless of gender and you get a slight glimpse of it whenever they’re out and about with only their old, grey sweats on. Hipbones right above the elastic waistband, trailing below the inked art. Fucking.. Fucking stupid bitch whining at the press of your palm flat against that exact area.

#I made this longer than I should #happens whenever we’re talking about whitney headcanons #I’ve got specific shit for the bully in my mind #they were one of those kids with bunch of bandages slapped on from the amount of bruises they’d get #no. they didn’t grow out of it — just doesn’t bandage themselves anymore #dol #degrees of lewdity #whitney the bully #whitney dol #dol whitney #curious anon #asher gets asks #asher writes

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ficbrish · 7 months

Text

To Belong

Rating: Explicit 18+ only!

[AO3 Link]

[Kinktober 2023 prompt thanks to @absurdthirst! October 6th - Collar/Leash]

[[TW/CW: Dom drop, cptsd, blood, alcohol, smoking, choking, service, oral]]

Summary: Astarion and Vistri seek the help of old friends for a bit of kink coaching.

Takes place during post-canon (about 4 years after). There are SPOILERS FOR THE ENDGAME OF BG3 directly under the line!

Penance is my friend's OC and we co-wrote the group scenes. The AO3 link has more information and where you can find their companion smut to this. Which is ❤️‍🔥

[Click here for my other Kinktober one-shots]

Astarion had a roguish glint in his eyes and a smirk on his face. His hands were hidden behind his back, and it looked to Vistri like he held something as he strutted over to her in their bedroom.

“Uh oh.”

He smiled, a chuckle under it, “I haven’t even said anything.”

Vistri stepped closer to rest her hand on his chest, appreciating the beating of his undead heart. It fluttered as if he were nervous.

“You don’t have to say anything. I can just tell.”

Astarion bent over and leaned forward to speak low by her ear, “Now that I’m here, you might as well give us a kiss.”

She smiled and moved a curl away from his forehead. He wore that soft, mischievous look; one of his many ways of showing adoration.

Vistri brought her mouth up to his. That little moan he always let out whenever their lips met made, “I love you,” slip from Vistri’s tongue once she pulled away.

“I don’t think I caught that. Be a dear and repeat it for me.”

“You didn’t hear?” Vistri teased, “Let me get closer then.” She nestled her lips against his earlobe and whispered, “I love you, Astarion.”

He shivered pleasantly, just a little bit. Vistri kissed his cheek affectionately before taking a step back. She’d fight a whole other Netherbrain just for the way he looked at her right now.

“And I love you, dearest Vistri.”

She hummed with satisfaction before asking, “What is that behind your back?”

“A delightful little surprise,” he brought his hands around to show her a box that was wrapped in pretty paper.

Vistri couldn’t help the smile on her face, “You thought of me?!”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. I think of you all the time! A normal, healthy amount. Just every morning, noon, and night—And all the seconds inside them.”

Vistri laughed and ripped open the giftwrap, “I only meant it’s not a holiday or anything.”

“I don’t need a special occasion. Just you, my love, to inspire me. Now stop staring at me and open that gods damn box before I get too excited and spoil the surprise.”

“I’m opening it! Gods!” Vistri protested in mock offense.

She lifted the lid and moved aside the tissue paper. Vistri looked back at Astarion with the biggest eyes, “You didn’t!”

He seemed so genuinely pleased with himself, “I just wanted to make another of your dreams come true.”

On top of a velvety bed sat a collar. And not just any collar, but the collar. It was made of dragon scale leather and inlaid with opals and pearls.

“It matches my face!”

“That’s not too macabre, is it? I thought it was cute, but then I thought—”

“Astarion! It’s perfect!”

Vistri enveloped his chest in the biggest bear hug her little arms could manage, smashing into him with such force that Astarion almost toppled over. He could feel her hot breath seep through his clothing. Speaking with her face still tight against his chest, she asked, “But… Are you sure?” with muffled concern.

They’d talked about doing something like this a few times over the years. Vistri yearned for his collar ever since she fell in love with him, but Astarion had been traumatized in a kennel. Astarion, being the person he was, tried to convince her he’d be fine, but Vistri didn’t want it if it wasn’t for him too. Being owned and belonging to him in the way a collar represented came from a resilient need for restoration and reclamation. It wasn’t just about Astarion feeling ready, he had to want it in the same way. It couldn’t be something he put himself through just to make her happy. It had to be something they both re-enacted in order to heal.

“I want us to have fun and live our lives the way we want,” Astarion answered, “I’m tired of Cazador still having his way with parts of my mind. I want to take back everything he’s taken, and I want to do it with you.”

Vistri had tears in her eyes, she was so happy, “It means everything to me that you trust me with this, and I promise to do everything to keep you safe.”

Astarion held her tight, resting his head on top of hers. They stood there embracing for a good few minutes before breaking apart.

“And I will do the same,” he promised.

They started slow, with Vistri simply wearing the collar around for a few days. Astarion could see her in it, knowing what it meant, and sit with how that felt before getting into anything more intimate. She’d wear it for benign conversations or reading a book. She’d take it off for any serious moments or prolonged physical contact.

Years ago, Vistri consulted Shadowheart about eventually navigating something like this with Astarion.

“It’s not that I lack experience in this…”

“Area?” Shadow suggested, “Field of study?”

“Exactly!” Vistri continued, “It’s just, all my experiences were with people who took what they wanted and didn’t consider me.”

Karlach would have scooped her into a sweeping hug, but Shadow just passed the wine and explained everything she could. And that was exactly why Vistri was admitting this in Shadow’s tent versus anyone else’s.

She explained concepts to Vistri like aftercare, Dom drop, and the simple idea of taking things step-by-step in your own timing.

“It can be easy to fall into the trap of feeling like the villain,” Shadow admitted, “The healing part is… I don’t know. Maybe it’s just doing the things that were done to you, but with everyone feeling good and okay instead of… what it actually was.”

During their trial period, as Vistri and Astarion referred to it, they would check in with each other a lot to see how things were settling. One night as they sat together on one of their sofas, Astarion answered, gently toying with the collar around her neck.

“It’s absolutely stunning on you.”

The feeling of his fingers lightly brushing along her throat drove Vistri wild, but she needed to stay grounded if she was going to keep Astarion grounded too.

“I love it almost as much as I love you. Your taste is immaculate, my dear.”

Astarion giggled happily, warm and secure, “I could have picked any old bit of leather, and you would wear it like perfection.”

“But you didn’t just pick any old bit of leather.”

“I did not,” he chuckled, “I searched and searched until I found the very best one, because you deserve no less.” He playfully poked the bridge of her nose for emphasis on the word, you.

Vistri stroked his hair, “I’ll happily be your prized pet.”

“My beloved, cherished pet…" Astarion smiled dreamily, "I rather like that.”

“I like that too.”

“Is that what this is then?”

“Do you want it to be?” Vistri checked, “That—Does it feel good to you?”

“It feels sort of wonderful, actually. Does it feel good for you?”

“Oh, it feels lovely!” she answered affectionately.

After discovering what it would mean to them, they decided to take it a step further. Vistri would wear her collar, and they’d go about their evening as usual. This time, however, Astarion would ask her to take off bits of clothing until she wore nothing else.

Vistri sitting by the fire was the picture of contentment. Flickers of light caught on the opals in her collar, making them dance. And Astarion would stare at her.

Before saying something like, “And now your shirt, my dear.”

Her eyes grew more eager with every article shed. Astarion kept asking how she felt, knowing each time the answer would be the verbal manifestation of everything sitting in her expression.

Then he’d tell her how that made him feel, “I love watching you choose to do what I want you to do.”

Since that went so well, they got confident. A couple nights later, Vistri was again left wearing nothing but her collar. Swept up by her existence that night, Astarion gave her a new kind of command.

Every moment between them was a little more intense than usual. They saw each other a little brighter, felt the ache of their love in a different way, and that filled them with the rush of brand-new lovers. It was just one of those days where they looked at each other with fresh eyes and were stunned by the sheer perfection they found in front of them. The heat on Vistri’s face grew as abundant as the slick between her thighs.

That night, she moaned every time Astarion asked her to take off another piece of clothing.

It made him feel greedy.

“Come over here,” he beckoned with a nod.

Vistri stopped performatively searching the bookshelf and turned with a smirk. “I know that tone,” she teased.

Astarion patted the spot on the sofa next to him and pouted, “Come be a good girl for Daddy.”

Vistri blushed and walked over immediately.

Astarion laughed appreciatively when she sat down, “Oh, you liked that. I can tell.”

Speechless, she bit her lip and smiled.

“Now why don’t you lay back for me, darling? I want to admire your form, and I can do it so much better when you’re in that position.”

She did as he suggested.

“That’s it, love.”

Astarion performed that predatory expression he wore so well; the one she trusted so much. “Now spread your legs for me,” he demanded with a sweeping, vampiric wave of his hand.

She did as he asked. Smirking, he moved closer, and she whimpered as he stroked her thighs. The anticipation of his touch almost outshined his actual touch. Her body knew his as the source of years of passionate ecstasy, and on top of that, it was the safest one hers had ever known. It gave itself to him entirely at the barest brush, at the least bit of attention. And here Astarion was, paying her every drop of attention and holding Vistri in both hands.

She cried out his name and wriggled under his fingers. All he had to do was run his palms up and down her thighs, and her want for him turned into madness. It was delicious enough to earn her praise, “How you purr for me when I pet you…”

“Please,” Vistri writhed, helpless; begging, “Take everything. I’m all yours.”

Astarion played with her until he couldn’t help himself. He ordered Vistri to help him undress, then claimed the home he found between her legs. They left her collar on for a while, but Astarion took it off to sink his teeth into her neck. It was the one thing they owned that they couldn’t afford to ruin with bloodstains.

Completely carried away with each other and the moment, they went a step further. Vistri screamed his name so sweetly it inspired Astarion to say, “That’s it, show us who you belong to.”

She shouted his name at every thrust, and once she started crashing around him, Astarion groaned and muttered, over and over, that he owned her. He fucking owned her. It went on for a while before he whined, spilling into her. As he rode out his pleasure, Vistri joined him in it and screamed that she was his. She was completely his.

It was a wonderful moment, but it settled over Astarion afterwards in a weird way.

Not immediately after either.

They checked in with each other as usual, and both felt fantastic. They kissed each other’s fingers and held each other; talked about everything and nothing for hours. Then they went into their trances, blissfully wrapped around each other.

It wasn’t until the next day, when Vistri secured the collar around her throat, that either of them noticed he was bothered. Astarion was excited one moment and in the next, shuddered, almost imperceptibly.

“Are you all right, darling?” she asked immediately.

The corner of his mouth lifted with a little smile, but Astarion was obviously shaken. “I’m not sure,” he questioningly stated.

“Why don’t we sit for a bit?” she suggested, carefully taking off her collar, “Hold on, it’s stuck.”

“Let me get that for you,” he tapped her shoulder, and she turned around for him to finish undoing the clasps.

Astarion looked lighter once it was off. Like some weight had lifted.

“What changed?” she asked, concerned.

He sat down next to her, “You know, I’m really not sure.”

Resting his head in her lap, Vistri played with his curls. She made a concentrated effort to hold her tongue, wanting him to have the silence he needed, and wouldn’t speak until he was ready to speak.

“It’s not like we really did or said anything we haven’t done or said before…” he started before trailing off.

“But not with a collar.”

“No, not with a collar."

Vistri swallowed the guilt and blame bubbling up over her reason. His curls were her final tether to reality, petting them gently to steady herself, “We don’t have to—”

“But I want to! That’s the tricky bit of it all. I like what we did, and it made me feel… I don’t know… Powerful and powerless all at once. And the powerlessness snuck up on me. I didn’t even know it was there until I saw you put on your collar again.”

“I’m so sorry, love.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.”

“Neither do you,” Vistri assured him. Then she asked, “Do you know what made you feel powerless?”

He thought about it, “It’s not about hurting you—You enjoy it too much for those kinds of thoughts to take purchase. Visibly, audibly—”

“Astarion!” Vistri laughed, more from relief than anything else. If he was joking again, he was starting to feel better, more himself.

“What? You just really, really, obviously adore the things I do to you. And I think that deserves to be stated out loud as often as possible.”

She raised an amused brow, “You’re getting off-topic.”

“Right!” he agreed, “Where was—Oh! Right. The powerless thing. As I said, it’s not about hurting you or doing something to you that you don’t want. It’s more about… I feel wrong for wanting you to belong to me. It isn’t about doing something that I don’t want to do. It’s about me wanting to do it in the first place.”

“It’s perfectly okay to want those things. Even with everything that’s happened.”

“I know. It just feels that way anyway.”

They just sat in that together.

Eventually, Vistri had an idea, “You know who we could always ask about this?”

Astarion chuckled, knowing exactly what she was about to suggest, “Jenny and her pretty Penny?”

“Yes! It’s about time we have them over to stay again.”

v---v v---v v---v v---v v---v

The four of them were absolutely delighted to see each other. Shadowheart and Penance looked the same as they always did, but entirely different too.

Shadow’s shock-white hair was even longer but rather than the tight, chained style she’d worn when they traveled together, she sported a softer braid. Penance had hers pulled up too, but neither had a hair out of place despite the dirt on their cloaks indicating a recent scuffle with something nasty. Penance towered over Shadowheart even more than Astarion did Vistri. His shoulders were broad, but Pen’s were broader. They were a visual contrast that made Astarion and Vistri look matched in comparison. All this to say, the tiefling was quite big. It even looked like she’d put on more muscle in the past six months. She had a few new scars too.

But it hadn’t been that long. Not really. Half a year, actually, but when you all used to live and fight together, even a week apart felt like a few years. The last time they’d all seen each other had been at Shadow and Pen’s farm, so seeing them again at their manor made it feel like even more time passed than it did.

Exclamations, hugs, and kisses exploded from the open door. Shadowheart was unusually animated, handing out such physical affections freely. Peace seemed to suit her; living in its safety had brought her to life. Penance, her stalwart sweetheart, was far more subdued by comparison, but no less affectionate. She offered Astarion a warm handshake and Vistri a kiss on the cheek. Even through their various greetings, Shadowheart and Penance always had a funny way of devoting a corner of their attention to each other at all times, as if there was an invisible tether between them.

“May we come in?” Shadowheart asked with a wink to Astarion.

“Why aren’t you a sweetheart! Yes, please step inside.”

Vistri noticed Pen wasn’t wearing her collar yet, and put her hand up to hers in blushing embarrassment.

Shadowheart could see Vistri’s discomfort for what it was and reassured her she wasn’t doing anything wrong, “It’s fine that you’re already wearing it—Moonmaiden’s mercy! It’s absolutely stunning! Astarion, what did you do? Sell a whole city?”

He laughed as they all stepped further in, “How little you think of me! I’d rob half the Upper City before selling anything.”

Everyone could feel Penance, the staunch Paladin of Lathander, tense up a little at the idea.

“Now, now, Pen,” Shadow purred, “Remember our friends and their little jokes.”

Vistri and Astarion shared a look from the corners of their eyes.

Penance insisted on taking their bags into their room despite the abundance of well-paid servants that swarmed them in the foyer.

“It’s no trouble,” she insisted, blushing under her blue-grey skin as she dismissed them.

They had a before-dinner catch up in the lounge by the fire. The deep glow of the Underdark shone through the windows.

“Sorry about the lack of sunlight, Pen,” Vistri apologized, noting their slight unease, “And the moon, Shadow.”

Shadowheart waved off her concern, “Darkness still has its moments. As for Pen…”

Her shoulders were tense, and she cleared her throat, “The light of the Dawnfather comes from within just as much as without.”

Shadowheart chuckled a little and took her hand to kiss it as if to say, What am I going to do with you?

They got the usual conversations out of the way first. Shadowheart had brought a new litter of kittens to the farm. Penance had just finished a new addition to the estate. There’d been a bit of drama between Astarion’s brothers and sisters. Lae’zel was still at war, but it was going well. Gale confirmed again there were no signs of new Elder Brain activity. They’d all gotten the same box of cigars from Karlach and Wyll.

“Well, now that we’re basically all caught up,” Shadowheart segued, “Let’s talk about why we’re all here.”

“You mean other than just to adore you two in person?” Vistri remarked with genuine flattery.

“Shadowheart said you two were exploring and that we could help. Right?” Penance asked.

Shadow placed a hand lovingly on her knee, “Precisely, love. Not to mention dinner.”

“Speaking of dinner,” Astarion said, “We still haven’t dismissed the cook in case you need any help preparing it, Pen. I know you’ve insisted, but you can always change your mind.”

Penance shook her head resolutely, “I will not change my mind. I’ve been planning this all week.”

“She wants to, Asty. Besides, Penance loves to show me all the ways she can serve, don’t you?”

The large tiefling shot her a million-gold smile. She did.

Astarion crossed his legs and languidly sat back, “Well, far be it from me to get in the way. When should we officially begin?”

“First, I’d like to reiterate what I’ve said before. However the two of you decide to explore is perfectly fine. For us, the collar is a symbol of our devotion to one another. I ordain and Penance serves. While her collar is on, she defers to me in all things. Her focus is mine. She is mine,” Shadowheart said.

Penance hung on to every word and a grin slowly spread across her face. The air shifted around them ever so slightly, charged with anticipation.

“Exactly so,” she added, “My primary attention will be on Shadowheart, so forgive me if I’m not much for conversation.”

“Typically, we keep to our roles quite strictly, but since this is all new for you, we’re happy to make exceptions as you learn,” Shadowheart finished.

Astarion tipped his head genuinely, “Thank you.”

“It’s our pleasure,” Penance smiled.

It was so easy to see why those two served the sun and the moon. Brightness poured out of the Paladin, and the Cleric was more than happy to soak up her every ray and reflect it right back. They tempered each other, complimented one another.

“You are our friends, and you know us well,” Shadowheart warned, “but we are a bit different when we’re playing formally. If anything happens that doesn’t sit right with you for any reason…”

“Safe word is ‘Barcus’,” Vistri finished for her.

“Right. Ours is ‘Netheril’.”

“Rest assured,” Pen said, “It pleases me greatly to serve.”

Gods, Shadowheart practically giggled, “Isn’t she darling?”

Penance leaned in for a kiss that was met with equal fervor.

“They are so sweet,” Astarion said to Vistri.

Vistri had a smile on her face she couldn’t get rid of, “Do you think we’re that sweet from the outside?”

“We can hear you talking about us, you know,” Shadow said.

“We know,” Astarion quipped, “That’s why we’re saying it.”

Penance gave Shadowheart a final peck and then made for the kitchen. There was work to be done and she was eager to do it. Not to mention the fact that, though she loved Vistri and Astarion dearly, she could never quite settle in their presence. They were always unpredictable and bursting with energy; difficult to keep up with at length. Rather than trying, she preferred to show her affection in other ways.

A servant approached her on her way to the kitchen, but she waved him off.

“No need to fuss over me. You will have to plate everything though. You know that’s not my gift,” Penance winked.

While she cooked, Shadowheart went over everything a second, third, and fourth time. But it was nice because it gave Astarion a chance to talk to her about what happened the other night. Vistri tried her best to just watch and not chime in. Shadowheart could understand him in a way she couldn’t in this instance. Shadow and Astarion were the people who held the leash, and they were platonic friends instead of sexual partners. As Astarion’s expression shifted from anxiety to relief and then joy, it became easier and easier for Vistri to sit back and stay quiet.

When Penance finally came back into the room, she was holding her collar.

Hers was the complete opposite of Vistri’s but commanded just as much presence. Made of restored leather and backed with reinforced steel; it was plain except for a singular moonstone. It was well-worn and loved even before they’d found it in the Shadow-Cursed Lands, and since having it repaired, it was obviously well-worn and loved again.

“Oh, that’s lovely!”

Penance politely dipped her head, “Thank you, Vistri.” Then she approached Shadowheart and presented the collar to her.

“This means she’s ready,” Shadowheart explained, “Are you two ready?”

Vistri and Astarion looked to each other and nodded.

“Yes,” they both said.

Shadow looked from them to Penance. Once her eyes were on her lover, she needed only to nod. Penance lowered herself to her knees. Even so, she was still so tall.

“Can you be good for me?” Shadowheart asked.

“Yes.”

The air between them was thick with trust and care. Shadowheart smiled and buckled the collar around Pen’s neck. For a brief moment, it was as if the world around them had ceased to exist and was born anew between them. As the moment passed, Shadowheart turned to Vistri and Astarion.

“Pen gives me her collar to let me know she’s ready. And then I put the collar on her as my way of letting Pen know I’m ready.”

Vistri looked to Astarion. There was a thoughtful, delighted smirk on his face, “Hmmm, I think I like that.”

“Would you like me to take it off so you can put it on me, my dear?” Vistri asked.

Astarion smiled warmly, “I just might!”

Vistri turned around so he could unclasp it. Once it was off, he offered it back to her. She accepted with a bright smile before giving it back to him.

He smirked, “Come sit on my lap.”

Vistri felt her heart flutter as she took to her perch. His smell was all around her. She could feel his chest against hers, and the movement of his relaxed breath.

“There you are,” he said as he secured it back around her throat, “Now the whole world can see how darling we are to each other. And by the world I mean Shadowheart, Penny, and the servants.”

Penance glared at Astarion before she could stop herself. Astarion froze. He forgot that “Penny” didn’t actually like to be called that and that only Shadowheart could actually get away with it in her presence.

Shadow corrected her before Astarion could stumble over an apology.

“Penance.”

The effect was immediate. Penance looked back at her like a guilty puppy.

“I came here to show off my perfectly trained pet, and here you are glaring at our hosts.”

Shadow’s voice was stern and icy. Vistri and Astarion knew they’d be stepping into roles, but they were also facing the experience and familiarity that came with years of this kind of play between them.

Vistri squeezed Astarion’s hand, Are you okay?

He squeezed it back and nodded an, I’m all right, love. Thanks for checking.

They watched the other couple resolve their conflict. Penance bowed her head in shame and Shadowheart clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

“Misbehaving is rare for her. We do apologize.”

Astarion bowed his head, “No apologies needed, darling. It was my offense. May I offer your dear pet an apology?”

“If you must,” Shadowheart smirked.

He made eye contact and said, “I’m sorry I called you a name you don’t like. I’ll be more careful.”

“Thank you,” Shadowheart said for her as Pen bowed her head to express it, “Now, shall we admire her for a moment?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” he smirked.

Anyone could spend hours singing Pen’s praises. She was tall and broad even for a Tiefling, the result of many years of hard discipline. Her silver-blue skin was scarred and her hands calloused, evidence of her love for hard work. Her pale pink hair was shaved down on the back and sides with the rest tied back in a neat ponytail. She was terrifying to behold, and half it was just from being so beautiful.

“I cannot fathom another person who compliments you better, Shadowheart.”

“I suppose she’ll do. My great beast,” she observed.

“A mountain that greets the sun!”

Shadowheart smirked and circled Penance like a displacer beast around a hunk of raw meat. She ran her fingers over the tiefling’s biceps.

“She is quite striking, isn’t she? Well endowed,” she purred.

All the while, Penance stood perfectly still, waiting for an order and silently enjoying the attention. She was rather terrible at appreciating herself, but Shadowheart was more than happy to make up for it.

“I always knew you were a size queen,” Astarion teased.

Vistri looked up at one of the servants as he stepped into the room. He wasn’t one of the spawn, just a big fan of vampires. He was just George.

“Hello, George!” she waved.

He waved back, “Hello! Dinner is ready, by the way. If you would all please take your seats.”

As George left, Astarion stopped them all from moving to the dining room right away.

“Let’s not forget about my little dragon,” he offered Vistri a hand and pulled her to her feet.

“Exciting!” she said, “I’ll go stand next to Penance so you can admire us both at the same time.”

Shadowheart smiled at her dearest friend and Vistri smiled back. She was much warmer with Vistri, knowing discipline wasn’t as suited to her tastes as her own pet.

“Well, now, Astarion. I think you’ve got some competition. Vistri’s even prettier than you are.”

“I’d take offense to that, but I completely agree.”

Penance looked over at Vistri and winked, offering just a little encouragement of her own.

As they all moved over to the dining room, Astarion watched Shadowheart pull Penance to the side to check in. He took his cue to do the same with Vistri before sitting down at the table.

They pulled off into the room’s entryway and spoke low.

“Are you doing all right, love?” Astarion asked as he moved hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear.

“It’s a little weird, but kind of a good weird. You know?”

He chuckled, “That’s how I feel too. It’s a bit startling at times, but it’s more exciting than anything else. So, you’re doing okay?”

Vistri nodded happily, “Yes. I’m perfectly content. Are you okay?”

“I’m wonderful,” he admitted, a little shyly.

“Kiss me,” she suggested.

Astarion leaned into her, pressing her back into the wall as he pressed his lips against hers.

They found themselves at the table before Shadow and Pen.

“Everything okay?” Vistri asked when they finally joined them.

Shadowheart nodded her head, “We’re fine. Pen isn’t totally used to an audience, but it’s well in hand. Leave her to me.”

Vistri put her hand to her heart, “We’re adjusting too, darling. Don’t fret about it.”

Penance nodded.

“It’s kind of exciting though, right?” she went on, “I mean, it’s all so new, but I’m already having a wonderful time. Plus, I get to share it with you and Shadow.”

Penance nodded again.

“Though, it is a little strange too—I suppose that’s the case with anything new though… What do you think?”

Penance sighed patiently, “Vistri, I’m trying to focus.”

“Right. Sorry.”

Penance took her duty so seriously that it was hard for Vistri to feel like she wasn’t slacking in some way. Maybe she wasn’t doing this right, not paying Astarion enough attention or giving him enough deference. Vistri looked to him for reassurance and he beamed back at her. So she looked over at Shadow, but she had no criticisms to offer. Besides, she’d reminded her over and over again that pets are individuals and dynamics are unique. Pen can be as staunch as she wanted to be, and Vistri could just be Vistri.

“No need to apologize,” Shadowheart smiled. She turned to her beloved pet, “Shall we eat?”

Their first course was a salad made with crops from their garden on the Surface. As the servants brought it out, Shadowheart explained how important it was to Penance for them to have a taste of the sun.

Astarion was genuinely touched, “Thank you. I truly appreciate that.”

Food didn’t sate his hunger, but he could still taste and admire it. More importantly, Vistri would enjoy it. He looked over at her happy expression from tasting one of the tomatoes. Even though Vistri grew up in the Underdark, Astarion always felt guilty for depriving her of the Surface and its food. She loved Surface crops, and the ones traded to the Underdark were never as fresh, or grown in the wrong soil down here. Astarion couldn’t put into words how grateful he was they’d brought her some picked just earlier that day.

So instead, he gave Penance and Shadow a toothy grin and said, “I remember this dressing. You made it all the time back at camp.”

Vistri agreed, mumbling and chewing, “Mmmpphh.”

“Don’t try to talk with your mouth full,” he chided playfully, “It’s rude and we have guests.”

Vistri glared back at him but there was a glint in her eye.

“Careful, Asty,” Shadowheart warned, “If you don’t tame your pets, they get wild.”

He turned to Vistri with a devilish grin, “All the ways I can think to tame you, beloved. My mind is rushing with the possibilities.”

She answered with a hellish look that complimented his, “In honor of our wonderful chef, how about a little penance?”

Astarion raised his eyebrow, “Oh?”

Shadowheart crossed her arms in amusement, waiting to see where her friends were going to take this. She looked over at Penance and could see, by the slightest twitch of her eyebrow, that she was critiquing her food and making mental notes adjusting the recipe for her dressing as she chewed.

“You did perfectly,” she said to Pen from the corner of her mouth.

Penance wiped her mouth with her napkin and smiled at Shadowheart. Then her eyes grew wide as her moment of pleased contentment was interrupted by Vistri’s next words.

“How do we all feel about blood at the dinner table?”

At least this time they were asking.

“Not while we’re eating!” Shadowheart protested, “Excuse yourselves for a moment and go do that in another room like civilized people.”

“It’s not that taboo here,” Astarion said, “We live in a city full of vampire spawn for gods sakes.”

“We live with animals that have more restraint,” Shadowheart sighed.

He stood up dramatically and giggled as he held his hand out to Vistri, “Come, pet. This is lovely but I need some real sustenance and you need to be punished. If you’ll excuse us for a moment or two.”

Shadowheart rolled her eyes happily at the sight of them skipping out of the room. Penance finally let herself chuckle at her moonbeam’s little zinger.

“Laugh it up, devil. I’m saving your punishment for later,” Shadowheart mused.

On the other side of the wall, Astarion pushed Vistri’s back into it with an eager kiss.

“You’re supposed to punish me,” she laughed, still pressed into his lips.

“I know,” he purred, “But I do so like misbehaving with you.”

He tangled his tongue with hers and Vistri tasted their wine and Pen’s salad. She felt his hands roam over her breasts, his lips move to her neck.

“I can’t wait to fuck you,” he growled as he licked her throat.

She sighed, “Bite me.”

Grinding his hips against hers, he sunk his teeth into her neck. Just a shallow cut he’d gladly lick up until it closed. Vistri wriggled between him and the wall, trying not to cry out.

The next course was already on the table by the time they got back. Roast duck with carrots and a colorful arrangement of potatoes. It smelled divine.

Shadowheart spoke once they sat down, “Got a little bit of red on your collar there, Vistri.”

Astarion stood back up at once, “Shit!”

Vistri leaned into him as he tried to rub the stain off with his fingers, but that only spread it around.

“Fuck it!” he said, bending over to put his mouth on her collar and suck off the blood. It was just easier that way! And even if dragon scale didn’t stain, he didn’t want to tempt it.

It was quite a sight, Astarion sucking on the collar around Vistri’s neck. Shadowheart laughed, “Gods, you’re like this even when you’re not trying to be.”

“Like what?” Vistri asked, head tilted with Astarion’s mouth still hanging on her neck.

Thankfully, the collar didn’t stain.

As dinner resumed, Astarion took note of how Shadowheart interacted with her pet. It almost seemed like she was ignoring her at first, since Penance wasn’t really part of the conversation, but every once in a while she would look over at her or touch her idly.

“Penance. Astarion’s cup is empty.”

Without wasting a moment, Penance wiped her mouth with her napkin and rose from her seat. She took the bottle of wine from the servant nearby, as if he was the one behaving strangely, and refilled Astarion’s cup.

With her task complete, she paused, looking to Shadowheart for guidance.

“Vistri, would you like more wine?” Shadowheart asked.

“Please!”

Penance filled her glass and then waited, once more, for further instructions. Shadowheart looked at her, holding her attention in the palm of her hand, knowing she could hold it there forever. After a long moment of this aching, glorious tension, Shadow nodded.

“You may sit.”

Once seated, Penance was rewarded with a hand on her cheek and a soft, “Good.”

Astarion watched them with rapt attention. Seeing Shadow and Penance act the way they did took away that wrong feeling. Around them, he felt validated and free to play. These people understood power and how its exchange was more than just cruel or petty; it could be so much more. He could, for lack of a better description, be a kinder Cazador to Vistri than he ever got. He could do similar things that were done to him, but from a position of power, and with the person he trusted and adored the most wanting him to do it.

He was truly confident and playful after dinner. He and Shadowheart were also tipsy enough to start showing off.

“Penance, show them how easily you can pick me up,” Shadowheart demanded.

She swept her into her arms like Shadow was a leaf. Blushing, she stared at Pen like she was dessert.

Astarion looked over at Vistri.

“I could try?” she shrugged.

“You don’t have to try. You sweep me off my feet every day without having to lift a finger.”

Shadowheart cleared her throat and leaned into Penance’s chest. “Put me down before I get you in trouble,” she said huskily.

Penance placed her gently on the ground, but Shadow’s cheeks were a little darker. Her breath a little tighter.

Astarion twirled Vistri into the middle of everyone’s view, “She might not be able to pick me up, but her honeyed tongue could talk a devil back to the Hells. And she has! Quite a few times, actually.”

Shadow walked up and pat Vistri on the head, “I was there for that, and you were so impressive.”

Penance let out an impatient noise. Shadowheart snapped her eyes to her.

“I see,” Shadow said tightly, “You want to be punished. The way you’re carrying on while I dote on my best friend is most unbecoming.”

Penance let out a long, tense sigh.

Astarion pouted, “Darling, I’m hurt! I thought I was your best friend.”

“You’re a different best friend!” she laughed, her firm manner melting away immediately.

“My, my, Shadow,” Vistri grinned, “Everyone’s fighting over you tonight.”

Astarion came up from behind and picked Vistri up. They fell back on the couch, laughing.

“Come lay down in my lap, you sweet thing,” he whispered into her ear.

He slowly stroked her face and hair as Penance served them brandy. She didn’t imbibe herself, but she did take some water over to Shadow’s side and knelt by her knees. Shadowheart leaned down and whispered something to her that made her swallow thickly.

Astarion, eyeing the box from Karlach and Wyll, was struck with an idea.

“Vistri, darling?” he called.

“Yes, love?”

“Would you be a dear and light us some cigars?”

The glint in her eyes reflected his.

“Gladly.”

Vistri got up to grab a cigar from the box, and the back of her neck tingled in the most delightful way. It wasn’t Astarion’s orders per say, so much as it was seeing him confident and unafraid. Figuring she’d bring it to him in the manner that would most please him, Vistri sat on his lap and told him to open his mouth.

"I think I'm the one supposed to be giving the orders, my darling," he corrected.

Vistri pulled a face and Astarion clicked his tongue, “Now don’t pout love. It’s Ladies first, and we don’t want to be rude. Besides, you’ll want to save the best for last.”

He gave her bum a squeeze as she leapt off his lap to put his cigar aside and present one to Shadowheart, who then placed it in Pen’s mouth. Vistri snapped her fingers and a little flame shot up from the tip of her thumb. She held it steady at the end of Pen’s cigar until she puffed it into steady life.

“Good girl,” Astarion purred, “Now come over to me.”

She grabbed the cigar she’d put to the side and paused before bending over to meet his smirking grin. He opened his mouth, and she placed it between his teeth. She fell into Astarion’s eyes, and kept staring into them as she snapped her fingers and bent to light his cigar.

He used the opportunity to capture her, sweeping Vistri into his lap.

Penance was already turning the room into a cloudy day.

Astarion took a generous puff before taking the cigar out of his mouth to kiss Vistri. She giggled and he growled.

“Share it with me, darling?” he asked her.

She nodded, and Astarion brought his cigar to her lips. Lingering on each consonant, striking them with emphatic warning, he told her, “Take it,” and pushed his thick cigar into her mouth. Grabbing the end of it between her teeth, she did as commanded and sucked. He held it there until puffs of smoke began to billow out of her mouth, making her eyes water.

Taking it so harshly without coughing once earned her another, "Good girl," whispered low by her ear.

Shadowheart didn’t particularly care for cigars, but the wine coursing through her veins had made her peckish, and since she couldn’t feast on Penance just yet, she settled for the smoke. She looked down at her pet and cleared her throat, batting her eyelashes. She patted the spot on the sofa next to her, and Penance hopped up with a grin.

Slowly, Shadowheart parted her lips and snaked her tongue just past the edge of her mouth. An invitation that Penance answered reverently with the end of her cigar. It was maddening to watch her inhale, but that madness was its own pleasure, and it was made even sweeter knowing that it was shared.

Shadowheart stared deep into Penance’s eyes and exhaled. It took every bit of the tiefling’s self-control not to lean in and devour her, but that would have been overstepping. So, she took the cigar back and sucked down a huge lungful of smoke before letting it drift slowly from her nose.

“I don’t know how you bear it, but then I remember you’re an infernal beast,” Shadowheart said evenly.

Penance’s eyes offered plenty of searing reply, “Your infernal beast.”

“You know Astarion,” Shadowheart mused, “Do you remember how I mentioned that wild pets need taming?” Astarion reluctantly pulled his gaze from Vistri.

“I do.”

Shadowheart pushed Penance gently off the couch and back onto the floor. Their eyes stayed trained on one another, and it was clear the time for company was coming to a swift end.

“I was speaking from experience. My pet may seem well-behaved now, but she’s got a devilish streak in her that must always be carefully minded. Shall I show you how I handle such a brute?” she asked.

Astarion leaned in close to whisper in Vistri’s ear, “Why do I feel like I’m in trouble too?”

Vistri giggled and kissed his cheek. “So scary,” she murmured back, “Reminds me of all the times we misplaced her eyeliner.”

Shadowheart snapped her fingers and Penance went entirely still, like a coiled spring.

“Pushups, I think,” Shadowheart said, pointing to the middle of the room, “Go on.”

Penance got to her feet and took a long pull on the cigar between her lips, never dropping her gaze. The length of the puff looked almost painful, but she didn’t so much as flinch. She took another, letting the smoke shoot out of her nose in long plumes. A devil indeed. Then she passed it to Shadowheart and made her way to the middle of the room.

“A beast needs a firm hand lest she start to forget herself.” Shadowheart said firmly.

Without skipping a beat, Penance dropped onto her hands and began slow, measured pushups. Her short-sleeved shirt gave an excellent view of her corded arms as they pumped. For a few moments, no one spoke. Everyone simply watched this display of powerful submission until the sound of Pen’s breathing became too much to bear.

Vistri twirled around in Astarion’s lap with the full intention of making a joke, to relieve a little of the thick tension in the room, but misjudged the force of her shoulders and her throat pressed into his mouth. He froze. Under usual circumstances, he would simply indulge in Vistri’s blood, with her permission, of course, but not in front of their guests.

He had to restrain himself in present company and that proved quite difficult with her so close and so sweet in his nose. Despite himself, he let out a soft, low moan.

Penance stopped moving, her attention similarly pulled to Shadowheart who had…also let out a rather telling noise.

The evening was promptly dissolved.

“Ahem, I think we should all retire before we lose what’s left of our reason.” Shadowheart announced.

Astarion took a moment to stand up and bid them goodnight. He turned to Vistri and commanded her to do the same.

“Say goodnight to our guests, pet.”

She blushed and bid them sweet dreams.

When Penance and Shadowheart left, they were alone.

He tackled her onto the couch, kissing her deeply and whining from his throat. Vistri met him with a fury that was hard to contain. They tasted like brandy and smoke.

“Take me to bed,” she begged him.

“Naughty, Naughty,” Astarion chided, full of heat, “We haven’t even settled our little bet.”

Their own cigar was smoked about halfway, but the ashtray with Pen’s was completely ash.

“Well, it's all gone but that took about ten minutes, so I say we both lose.”

v---v v---v v---v v---v v---v

They had a leash for Vistri’s collar they hadn't used yet. It wasn't near as grand; just a fine, black leather whose simplicity complimented the collar's grandiosity. After tonight’s dinner, Astarion felt ready. He put on the airs of a vampire lord to command her, “Come bind yourself to me, you sweet, delicious treat.”

Vistri gladly walked over to be taken. He fit her leash into the loop on her collar, and she was tethered.

He reached out for her face, caressing her cheek, “You just want to please me, don’t you?”

She nodded, “More than anything.”

“And what do you get out of it?”

“Your happiness.”

Astarion kissed her, then said, “That’s about me again.”

“I know.”

She was so sweet he had to kiss her one more time, “Then if you really want it all to be about me, you’ll serve.”

Vistri ran her hands along his chest, “I want to sate every desire. Until you feel perfect.”

“Believe me, my dear. You will.”

He fingered the leash between them, then tugged it to bring her closer, “You like this?”

She nodded with enthusiasm, “Oh, I like this.”

Astarion smirked, “Then get on your knees.”

His tone was firm, but still warm. Vistri kneeled and he towered over her, looking down and running his hands all through her hair. He positioned her head between his legs at the level of his hips. Vistri could see the hard imprint of him through his trousers and needed to put it in her mouth.

He ran his thumb across her bottom lip, then grabbed her chin to make her meet his gaze. Tightening his grip on the leash shortened the give between them, and he wrapped the leather around his fist a few times, “Now you can’t get away. Any regrets?”

Vistri crawled on her knees until she was pressed into him. Her face rested on his thigh and nuzzled it, “No regrets but that you are not yet buried deeply into my ache.”

Astarion grabbed a fistful of hair at the top of her head and pulled. She gasped pleasantly.

“Now don’t be so vulgar, darling. At least not yet.”

He let go of her hair to play with her lips again. She kissed his fingertips as they danced across her. He only abandoned them to undo the lacings on his trousers, and Vistri’s breath caught on her throat anticipating the sight of him.

He was stunning. His head pushing boldly passed his foreskin was art. His thickness was both threat and promise. Vistri turned her gaze back to his face and saw his fangs bared in his grin. So many parts of himself that he sank into her. She wanted them all, wanted all of him; to be devoured and taken over, owned.

“I long for it, Astarion,” she moaned, nestling her cheek into his palm.

He grabbed hold of himself and pressed his tip against her mouth, just like he had with the cigar. He watched her open up to take it, and held it just there between her lips.

His eyes rolled back for a second as her tongue flickered along it. He sighed, “Now that’s not fair.”

Vistri stopped.

“I didn’t say stop.”

She did it again.

“That’s better, pet,” he ran his hands through her hair.

Astarion took himself in hand again to push further into her lips. Just passed her teeth, just like he did earlier in the evening.

“You have to open your mouth so wide to take me, my dear.”

The sides of his lip twitched as she played with his head, now completely nestled on her tongue.

“Oooh,” he moaned, “You treat me so well.”

Vistri felt him take a slightly wider stance and tug her leash even tighter, bringing him even deeper into her mouth.

He grabbed hold of her chin again. He loved to cradle Vistri’s face in his palms with his cock in her mouth. He loved seeing himself disappear into her lips and come out coated in her sweet taste.

“Would you like the whole thing?”

She moaned her desperate consent, and he thrust himself into her throat. Steadily, his hips rocked against her lips. Slow, rolling thrusts in and out; languid.

Astarion watched, looking down at her, holding her leash. He felt… good. Like he had all the power in the world. Like she was his servile spawn and him a true lord.

And that didn’t feel bad.

He didn’t feel bad.

Astarion stared, drinking in her show until the drool started to drip from the corners of her mouth. Then he pulled himself out very slowly, just free of her lips, keeping himself right in front of her.

“Swallow,” he commanded.

Vistri caught her breath and swallowed the combination of his and her salivations.

Astarion patted her on the head as a reward, “That’s a good pet.”

There was still wetness dripping down her face, at the corners of her mouth and a little on her neck. He wiped her off with his fingers, and licked them, tasting her on his hands.

“Sod it! I can’t take any more of this,” he said, scooping her up to throw her onto their bed, full of rakish charm.

Vistri landed on her back. The bed bounced lightly with impact as Astarion crawled over on his knees to straddle her. He tugged the leash tight between them and pulled until she sat up to meet his lips. Astarion let out the hungriest groan and pushed her back down after adding more give to her tether.

Vistri was putty. Begging, writhing putty.

He stroked the spot on her neck that he drank from earlier. With the dragon blood running through her veins, it had already healed.

“We’ll just have to mark you again right after this. You did promise to sate my every desire, did you not?”

“I want the same thing,” she said thickly.

Astarion smirked. He was going to have to satisfy her to set her mind right. She was literally lost in her want.

The sight of her so helpless to him made him feel like he really belonged somewhere.

He pried apart her knees and leaned closer, his hands crawling up her leash. As he put himself inside her, after they both shouted out with closed eyes and opened them again to behold each other, he made another offer.

“Would you like me to wrap this around your throat as I fuck you?”

“Please,” she begged.

Astarion unhooked her leash and wrapped it around her neck like a scarf. Keeping her safe would require just enough concentration that he wouldn’t have to worry about losing himself. It was a lingering threat that allowed Vistri to let go completely and Astarion to stay grounded.

The collar was firm, and the leash was tight without being restrictive. Both pressures on her neck only made Vistri more eager for his teeth.

With one hand on her leash, and the other caressing her waist, he pumped into her. It was overwhelming. Trust was made more explicit and exposed their raw cores. The leash and collar wrapped around her were his arms cradling her heart as she exploded like a star. Vistri made Astarion feel so safe, he could just toy with her and take; to be a tyrant without being horrible.

He could fracture her, and she could fracture him, and at the end of it, know themselves and each other better.

Astarion screamed, “Thank you,” over and over as he came. Vistri was so spent by the time that happened, her voice was too rough to do more than whimper with tears in her eyes.

They panted and smiled at each other so wide they ended up laughing. He unclasped her collar before she left to refresh herself. When she jumped back into bed and into his embrace, she offered him her neck.

“You greedy thing,” he spoke against her skin before sinking into it.

v---v v---v v---v v---v v---v

Shadowheart checked in with Astarion the next morning.

“So,” she took a careful sip of her hot tea, “How is everything now that you’ve…”

“Fully stepped into my role?”

She nodded her head.

His voice was light, “We got out the leash last night!”

“How very exciting!” she smirked.

Astarion took a sip and adopted a serious face as he put down his cup.

“Uh oh.”

“Why is everyone always so quick to say that to me?”

“Because you’re you,” she smiled, “Now what are you on about?”

“I really… I really appreciate you and Pen for—”

She shook her head and waved her hand like it was no big deal.

“But it is a big deal. To me. So, I thank you,” he bowed his head, “You really made me feel better about myself, more myself. Does that make any sense?”

Shadowheart reached forward to give his knee an affectionate tap, “It makes sense, Astarion. And I’m happy for you. Truly.”

Penance and Vistri came over in an unusual chorus of laughter. Pen’s deep, rolling cackles were broken up by Vistri’s loud, pitchy squeals.

“What’s so funny, love?” Shadowheart asked.

Vistri squeezed her shoulder in greeting and winked, “Pet stuff, darling.”

“Oh, how ominous!” Astarion teased, “Dear Shadowheart, I do believe they’ve been talking about us behind our backs."

"Unlike you, mosquito,” Penance said, “The things I say behind people's backs are exactly as I would say to their faces."

Before Astarion could protest, Vistri hopped over and kissed the top of his head.

“I quite cherish the things you do behind my back,” she smirked.

Penance gave a little snort and looked over to Shadowheart with a wink, who just stared back.

“Don’t fish for compliments so early in the day,” she sighed. The smirk on her lips was more than enough regardless.

That evening, Penance and Vistri wore their collars again. Astarion and Shadowheart were seated on one of the couches as if it were a shared throne. Penance and Vistri held out their collars to their respective partners, and Astarion and Shadowheart smiled at each other as they secured them around their necks.

Dinner was just the same as last night but with everyone a little more settled. Everything more okay because they’d done it once before.

“A toast,” Astarion offered, the wine in his glass a bit thicker than the others, “To friendship, and above all…” his eyes sort of welled up, and he had to pause before continuing, “To family.”

The women raised their glasses, smiling warmly at Astarion as they met his toast.

“To family,” Vistri and Shadowheart said, and Penance nodded.

[Click here for my other Kinktober one-shots]

#vistarion #kinktober 2023 #absurdthirst kinktober list #prompt fill #collaboration #vistri #astarion #balders gate 3 #full fic #astarion x tav #to belong fic #BrishFics #fluff #smut #lemon #bg3 spoilers

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bomberqueen17 · 1 year

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momentum

last year i kept missing updates and people were so sweet like “you don’t have to post X often! you don’t have to hit a deadline! do what suits your schedule!” and that was lovely and I did appreciate it, but the point of the deadlines was momentum. Now I have fallen down so thoroughly on posting ever at all, zero routine left, no concept of it even, that I have no momentum and my brain is like clearly no one cares about this so give up, and that sucks, and i’m exhausted and cranky and useless and shitty but by god i am not abandoning my like fifty WIPs that i care deeply about i swear and so anyway i am trying to force the engine to turn over, as hard as I can, i swear other people were excited about this and i can use that to get myself excited about it again, i can do this

so please help me get excited about literally anything, i am in despair.

SNIPPETS of THINGS i am TRYING TO MAKE HAPPEN:

direct prequel to Fit For Pearls:

“Did he ask you to tell me about the meeting?” Ciri asked, eyeing him.

“He did not directly ask,” Voorhis said stiffly, “but he knows I intended to ensure you had the opportunity to attend such meetings. Had he not wanted me to tell you, he would have needed to order me not to.”

“Is that how it works?” Ciri asked.

“It’s how that works,” Voorhis said, very stiff and formal and not much like his normal self. She wondered what he was trying to convey. Was it displeasure, that this was his task? Was it nervousness, that it was in fact not his actual task and he was perhaps taking advantage of some confusion to play politics?

She hated politics.

She’d chosen politics.

“I thank you,” she said wearily.

next bit of the Peace-Tied series, a tender little Iorveth & Yennefer moment with hair-braiding, very self-indulgent:

By the time they finished writing and elaborately illuminating the placard, Yennefer’s hair was caught back in a series of delicate little braids that then twined around one another, and caught her hair up off her neck. She was also inexplicably near tears at the tenderness of all of it.

Iorveth knelt up to finish fastening the ends of her hair behind her ear, after having twined the braids up over her head. His body was a long, warm press along her back, his hands warm and big cradling her head.

She tipped her head back and he held her like that, gentle and reassuring. “How’s that?” he murmured.

She took a shaky breath, and he smoothed a hand down the side of her face, settling down on his knees to put his arms around her from behind, cradling her back against his shoulder. “There,” he said. “Now your hair looks like someone cares for you.”

“Is that what it means,” she murmured.

“It does,” he said, and pressed a kiss against the side of her head, above the hairline. “Thank you for fixing my face. I wasn’t ready to die, not like that.”

“I am glad that I could,” she said.

and finally this weird modern a/u (tw for self-directed ableist language in dialogue) i’ve been working on slowly forever that is so close to cohering and yet doesn’t quite, in which I think you can guess what Joe’s thusfar unknown real name is:

A hand caught him by the arm, two hands, steadying him, and helped him sit up. Joe was even more frightening up close; Roche had noticed the eyepatch from a distance but his face was heavily-scarred on that side, like somebody had gone at the eye with a knife and missed. Or, like something had hit him very hard in the face, taken the eye, then bounced off his cheekbone and twisted down his face.

But his hands were strong and he steadied Roche for a long moment, and despite the frightfully leering aspect his damaged face gave him, his expression was actually neutral. “Is anything broken?”

“I got shot,” Roche gritted out, “twice, a year ago, this is as good as it fucking gets. I just landed badly, just now, and it takes me a minute.”

He saw Joe notice the cane. “Ah,” the man said. “I hadn’t realized.” He looked around. “Dogs knocked you over?”

“The saluki is a fucking menace,” Roche said. He couldn’t sit like this, it was agony on his hip. “They’re all fucking menaces.” He couldn’t get up, he couldn’t stay down, he was shivering with the pain.

“Let’s get you to a chair,” Joe said, calm and businesslike. “Where’s the damage? Hip and shoulder?” Roche managed to gesture, and Joe proceeded to mostly lift him unaided, which hurt like a motherfucker, but once he’d dumped Roche, surprisingly gently-- he was very strong-- into the armchair in the corner it was easier to get his various joints at angles that didn’t hurt. “Do you need anything else,” he said, far too neutral and calm.

“Yeah,” Roche said, savage with agonized frustration, “I need to not be a fucking cripple.”

Joe didn’t answer for a long moment. “While I can relate to that,” he said, “I meant, do you have any medication or anything that would help?”

Gritting his teeth, Roche pointed to the paper bag he’d left on the sideboard, that still had the pill bottle in it. There were still a couple of pills in the old bottle but he wasn’t going to have Joe wander through his house looking for them.

Joe took the bottle out of the bag. “One or two,” he said.

“I can-- one,” Roche said, giving up; Joe was already opening the bottle.

“Can you dry-swallow or do you need water,” Joe said, but he was already moving over to the dish drainer to retrieve a glass.

“Water,” Roche said, resenting it. Joe put the bottle down and filled the glass, bringing over a pill between his thumb and forefinger, and the filled glass in his other hand.

Roche took the pill and the glass, inwardly fuming. He could get the lid off a fucking pill bottle, and he hadn’t asked for this.

“Would an ice pack help or is it past that?” Joe asked, and while his tone was neutral, it grated over Roche’s last nerve.

“You know,” he said, “I didn’t ask for your fucking pity.”

Joe said nothing, just stood regarding him. After a moment, he bent down, looming uncomfortably close. “I know we don’t know one another, Vernon,” he said quietly, “but I want you to look me in the eye for a moment, and then tell me that you think I don’t know what it’s like to have to adjust to a new way of living after a bad injury.” *

Roche’s anger flattened out abruptly, staring into his neighbor’s mangled face. The remaining eye was green, astonishingly green against the medium-brown of the man’s complexion. “Uh,” was all he managed; he didn’t have an answer for that.

“I understand that you’re in pain,” Joe went on quietly, straightening up and smoothing his hand down the front of his battered jacket, “and I can extend you a little grace based on that, but I want you to realize what you’re doing.” He glared down at Roche. “One last time, is there anything else you need, or are you all right on your own from here?”

Face burning, Roche managed to grit out, “I’m all right on my own from here.”

Joe stared at him for a long moment, and then turned and left, closing the door carefully and quietly behind himself.

The canine energy surged through the kitchen again in the wake of his departure, but then Strega came over and put her head in Roche’s lap, and he fondled the silky curls of her ears and said, “Awesome work, guys, we’re doing great!”

*yes this is the Look Deep Into My Eyes Ernie meme, i could not resist

#my writing #a wild snippet post #a desperate bid for motivation

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queenhelaenathedreamer · 8 months

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Part two dedicated to Laena Velaryon!

I apologise immensely for the delay and, as anticipated, it will be dedicated purely to jewellery. In the previous posts about Helaena, Alicent and Rhaenyra I had made some hints about hair and hairstyles as well, but I decided to skip this part because I imagine that Laena almost always keeps her long silver curls loose. Basically she only ties them up to fly on her Vhagar, otherwise she wouldn't see anything and they would end up in her mouth, let's clarify that now.

Here too, just as in the clothes, marine subjects predominate. So ample space is given to seahorses, the symbol of her household, shells in the most varied shapes and fish. I love the first necklace, the wire surrounded by pearls of various sizes and finally the shell, made of mother-of-pearl and then enriched by the tentacles of its host. Decidedly more opulent is the second necklace, which I imagine is made entirely of silver. There is no lack of detail here either, from shells to seahorses to small mother-of-pearl mirrors encircled by pearls. Just to finish off the modest final pendant which could well be a sea dragon. Yes, a gift from Daemon who appreciates and respects her identity as a Velaryon and did not want to give her a Targaryen dragon.

Another popular accessory for Laena are the earrings. I really like the amphora-shaped ones, which I think express Laena's love for adventures, but my favourite are the blue ones. They are very refined, made of delicate porcelain and then painted. In my mind the subjects portrayed may well be illustrious men and women of House Velaryon, dating back to the days of Old Valyria.

Of course shells, as delicate as they are elegant, are inevitable. The golden details, however, I always imagine them in silver. I can't see the Velaryons wearing gold, so much for the clothes seen in House of the Dragon.

Can't miss the rings either. Yes, this one is fashioned to depict a beautiful mermaid, creatures that in the legends of Westeros seem decidedly more benevolent. The Velaryons receive the Driftwood Throne from the legendary King Merling, and the ship on which Corlys' body is transported to Driftmark is called precisely the Mermaid's Kiss. As Laena was his only daughter, it is highly likely that he compared her beauty and courage to that of a mermaid.

A far more opulent accessory is the long band that encircles her arm. Of oriental origin, it is one of the many artefacts collected by Corlys during his many travels. Considering the style of dress I imagined for Laena, I find it decidedly perfect.

Finally, I conclude with two real gems, more works of art than jewellery. Given the wealth accumulated by the Velaryons, however, it is only right that Laena should wear such refinements. These are two extremely elaborate and beautiful pendants. If desired, they can become the pendants of a necklace or even an opulent brooch encircling the fabric of a dress or cloak. As subjects I chose a woman riding a sea-horse, particularly appropriate for Laena, and a ship, the tangible pride of the Velaryon house's glory.

This also concludes my thoughts on Laena. I hope you have enjoyed these posts as much as those on Helaena, Alicent and Rhaenyra <3

#hotd critical #hotd #asoiaf #medieval dress #house velaryon #laena velaryon #lady laena velaryon #house of the dragon #fire and blood #asoiaf dress

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nochi-quinn · 3 months

Text

candela obscura chapter 3 episode 3: slay the empress

candles in the wind, got it

oh no aabria looks SO GOOD

the gold on the fingers???

hey what the fuck

"a chair outside of elsie's room" weh

not the vermin guard posted outside the room

wait hang on what are nokari's pronouns? am I delusional?

a brain right off the bat??

A TOKEN RIGHT OFF THE BAT??

"you…kept it?" you two are going to kill me but also is this the TIME

"oscar is an interesting fellow" ducks the shippers

AABRIA

"that's all of them, friend"

everyone here has two hands

cosmo

hey liam fuck you

LIGHTS?

HEARTBEAT??

SLOWING HEARTBEAT??

madame glask's mic is currently fucked

mama glask

"but I go here"

roll to convince child not to alcohol

I had to step away, did oscar just say he likes kids bc they're easy to lie to

samuel

"you're killing aabria. look at her."

cheese it it's the fuzz

party of Many

LIGHTS

are they fucking MOLOTOVING THE CASINO

"of COURSE"

GINA

samuel

people's elbow

aabria said no pigeons at this table

stress level: sam's going "oh boye"

"powers?? of….persuasion???"

"HEY STOP THAT"

"pop a titty out" aabria

"well then fuck"

"I WANT TO KICK ASS" noshir bby

roll to persuade the gm

HEY AABRIA???

"you guys can be here now" "…no thanks"

fuck bran the soldier all my homies hate bran the soldier

guns is cheating

YEAH

"can I have my dice back?"

okay flash powder pearl earring is pretty good

girl with the flash powder earring

"I feel like I would beast out immediately" "oh, GOOD"

I feel like two sixes should cancel out a one

aabria MEAN

"she'll probably choose nice things" press x

"fucking COCK"

"do you drive?" "who do I look like?"

"I have no depth perception!"

oh ashly's panic noises :(

RAJ. CONTROL THYSELF.

"DON'T KINKSHAME."

"this is the monsterfucker season!"

no we need travis reverse psychologizing the dice

oh no

oh NO

"BURCH"

"he's a billion years old"

"I think of my mother" fuck you liam o'brien

these monster noises are like bricks scraping together but bass-boosted and I'm into it

"I like that pitch"

aabria. aabria no.

"she's so mean"

"what are you doing over there?" HER BEST

these two are going to k i l l me

and possibly each other

probably definitely cosmo

"I could never strike my queen" lays in the floor

"and he's made of talcum powder"

"you need to roll like him"

hey liam

hey liam what the fuck does that mean

just a bunch of passed-out fuckers outside the burning casino

"I just want to let you know you're so pretty right now"

aabria: take a bleed and you can kill this gu sam: done

"we take it back, mina, you can drink"

oh buddy

buff mina!!

imposter god??

fuck yeah multisentry

she's in her morphing clothes

liam do not manipulate this so you die

I'm still not sure he didn't knock the tower over on purpose in sagas of sundry

I'm typing so I don't have to listen to his describe how horrifically he's fucked up

NOW I'M TYPING SO I DON'T HAVE TO LISTEN TO NOSHIR

sam is me

"I'm gonna take off HIS coat and wrap his arm"

liam your noises are unneccesary and unappreciated

samuel

"he's very hittable"

"what a sight" rajan

underground??

"it's called rollies"

"you have to beat a 3" "well I got a 1"

MINA D:

I absolutely called he was going to block mina with his body

sam's just like that

"an os-scar"

"edit that out please" "they absolutely will not"

that's so many drive

spend 3 drive to Slap

gina

aabria's going to murder you

"every time I have a problem, I just throw a molotov. then boom, I have a different problem."

wait I need raj's arm to fall the rest of the way off so I can have HFW feels

sam

"everyone take three points of bleed"

slow-release molotov

sounds!

"they're like birthday candles"

OOH

I appreciate the committment to the bit

TIME BUGS

"'you' feels like a 'we' in your mouth"

oh jesus this is supposed to run another 2 and a half hours

"I wouldn't worry about that" too late am worried

noshir

you're going to give sam an anuerysm

candela obscura has magic pockets

hey sam

hey sam drop your location I just wanna talk

SAM

"there is a wish" sam's not allowed to say those words in my presence

"if you say it it won't come true"

"it never makes a splash" hey aabria what the fuck

THIS is why it's another two hours

"did you say 'friend'?!" "…NO."

baka rajan-kun

"I heard you~"

"don't hurt yourself"

…is aabria done up as Iomene

at this point I wouldn't be surprised if cosmo just pulled out his own literal jawbone

"how adorably pedestrian" rajan

I'm starting to get slay the princess vibes. I have no basis for this, it's literally just Vibes

"like a giant……maw."

"I'm gonna tiptoe into chernobyl"

these two are gonna KILL ME

bruce banner negotiating with the hulk vibes

ykw this polycule is canon and I'll fight you about it

not the breathing

"I would punch her out of the way"

w e l p

these five are going to all kill each other and also me

"there might be time later"

"WHICH ONE WAS IT"

"I'm sure that's fine"

if there's one thing liam o'brien's gonna do it's make me cry about his character's mom

is The Old Way blood

hey cosmo whatcha doin

aaaahhhhh noises

EARTHQUAKE LIGHTS

oh that's a cool idea for a scar

I've loved everybody's scars in general, they're all really creative

yeah yeah tears of the kingdom we've all played it

oh it's one of THOSE

I like the split screen but one of my favorite things is watching the other players react to the wild shit people do solo and I so desperately want to see ashly's face right now

aabria you can't just cut ALL the lights like that I have anxiety

and so does sam

hello 911 aabria and sam are killing me with acting again

the slay the princess vibes continue

lays in the floor about elsie roberts

"you contain multitudes" some of them have big big teeth

"I have notes"

"not as old as you" "rude"

he said the thing

oh sam's been crying, liam got sam

no fuck you I did the "five go in one comes out" with madness I'm not doing this again

erika ishii already ripped my heart out you can't have it aabria

lays in the floor about elsie roberts harder

sam

oh gina

liam just has that voice now

#candela obscura #critical role #spoilers #crititag #liveblog #reaction post #candelatag #formatting this was such a pain in the ass #tumblr why are you like this about bulleted lists

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moodymelanist · 1 year

Text

Where The Light Won't Find You Chapter Seven

Happy Tuesday, everyone! I wanted to try and wait to post until Wednesday, but this chapter was so exciting I wanted to post now hehe. Hope you all enjoy xoxo

Read on AO3 here!

✵✵✵✵✵✵

Nesta

Having Elain by her side again was easily one of the best decisions Nesta had ever made. It had only been a week since they'd been reunited, but things had been running more smoothly than even Nesta could have anticipated. Not only was Elain a calming presence in the Hewn City, with her pretty dresses and easy smiles, but she’d been practicing her own magic as of late. She’d gotten much better at controlling her visions, even if she didn’t always understand them, and was more than willing to share the interesting ones with Nesta.

“Did you See anything of note today?” Nesta asked once they’d sat down for breakfast. They were eating in one of the rooms closer to the top of the mountain today, both of them vastly preferring being as close to natural light as possible.

“I’ll tell you about it later,” Elain answered vaguely, smoothing down the fabric of her dress before reaching for a pastry. She had on a pretty green number today, complementing the much darker shade of Nesta’s own gown, and half of her hair was pinned back from her face using what must have been new pins. Elain had been getting little gifts from the servants for days now, and she made a point to show her appreciation as often as she could. “Besides, we’ll have our own guest soon.”

Considering her sister was wearing the pearl earrings that Lucien had gifted her last Solstice, Nesta wasn’t particularly surprised when the spirits whispered that he’d entered the Hewn City. When he strode into the room a few minutes later, she looked up to greet him. “Hello, Lucien.”

“Your Grace,” he replied, inclining his head toward Nesta. His eyes fell on Elain and he paused, clearly unsure of how to greet her for a few moments, but he continued onward nonetheless. “My lady.”

“My lord,” Elain responded with a smile. “Please, sit with us. You must be starving.”

Lucien only hesitated for a moment before pulling up a chair and sitting between them. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“If you were, we wouldn’t have told you to sit,” Nesta told him with a roll of her eyes. She turned and faced Elain next, cocking an eyebrow as she said, “At least now I know why there’s so much extra food.”

Elain went a little pink, but they were all too busy piling food onto their plates for Nesta to call her out on it. Once they’d all gotten something in their stomachs, Nesta turned her attention to Lucien. He looked handsome as always, wearing an all-black ensemble threaded with green that made his red hair even more striking than usual, but he was so busy sneaking glances at her sister that he didn’t even notice Nesta looking him over.

“Did you get that book I asked you about?” Nesta asked, thoroughly enjoying the way he had to force his attention back to her. She supposed he and Elain had never had time to themselves before all this — and she was partly to blame for that, she knew — but that only made it more fun to witness it now.

“I did,” Lucien answered. He twisted his hand through the air and her book appeared in a flash of golden light. “It certainly caused a lot of fuss, so I hope it was worth it.”

“Fuss how?” Nesta followed up. She took the book from him without comment, copying his gesture to perform the same trick he’d just done but in reverse. “Did anyone try to hurt you?”

“Gods, no,” he responded with a snort. “I mean, I saw Cassian, but I left before anything really happened.”

“They all thought you took me from Velaris,” Elain chimed in, playfully rolling her eyes before her expression turned serious. “I’m sorry for putting you in the middle of that.”

“It’s alright,” he replied softly. “I didn’t mind.”

Nesta allowed them a few moments of charged silence before she cleared her throat. “Have you made up your mind yet, Lucien?”

“My answer is yes,” he told her, managing to tear his eyes away from Elain long enough to focus on Nesta. “I’d been thinking about leaving for a while, but… that gave me the push I needed.”

“Good,” Nesta replied, pleased. She’d have to write Eris to update him on the good news, and more importantly, gather Lucien’s thoughts on a number of things going on at court. “I’m happy to have you on our side.”

“As am I,” Elain chimed in with a pretty smile.

Lucien’s cheeks flushed slightly, but he managed to continue the conversation without giving in to being flustered. “Should I just pick a room in the mountain then, or…?”

“Mhmm…” Elain trailed off. Her eyes went a little vacant as she tapped into her powers right in front of them. “Not here. I think it’s high time for a proper upgrade.”

“Are you going to tell me what that means, or are we supposed to just follow your lead?” Nesta asked, teasing.

“You’d follow me anyway,” Elain teased right back. “But I won’t make you guess. It’s time we take up residence in the moonstone palace.”

“Rhys did give it to Keir,” Lucien informed them. “There’s a strong argument it’s now yours.”

“Do you think it would anger anyone if we moved up there?” Nesta asked, biting her lip. She’d gotten used to sleeping in her cavernous bedroom, but she wouldn’t lie — it would be nice to sleep in a palace where she could go outside freely. “Anyone at court, that is. I don’t care what Rhysand and the rest have to say about it.”

“As long as you keep spending the majority of your days in the Hewn City, I don’t see why anyone would be too bothered about where you lay your head at night,” Lucien answered with a shrug. “Besides, I’m sure there’s some way to go back and forth without too much fuss. If not, we can always create one.”

Nesta nodded, taking it all in. “You’ll help with checking the wards?”

“Of course,” Lucien agreed. “I’ll be sleeping there too. Believe me, I don’t want to wake up to unwanted guests any more than you do.”

“Then it’s settled,” Elain decided. She turned back to Nesta as she speared an apple slice on her fork. “We’ll claim the palace tonight after all your meetings for the day?”

“That’s fine with me,” Nesta replied with a smile. She liked seeing this more assertive side of Elain, and based on the way Lucien could hardly take his eyes off her, he did too. “I’ll find you when I’m done for the day.”

✵✵✵✵✵✵

True to her word, Nesta found Elain in the study the moment she was done meeting with some of the Hewn City’s merchants. They’d been annoyed with some of Keir’s old policies on trading with outside courts, but the issue had been quickly resolved with Lucien’s expertise.

Elain was lounging across one of the couches, reading what looked like an old tome about Day Court magic. She must have picked it up during her brief trip to Helion’s court, but Nesta didn’t know why it would interest her. Elain was crafty enough to have her own reasons, though, and they’d both had enough choices taken away from them that Nesta wouldn’t begrudge her this.

“Are you ready?” Nesta asked, keeping her voice soft so she wouldn’t startle her sister.

“As ever,” Elain replied sweetly. She marked her place in the book and used the same trick Lucien had performed earlier, her magic glowing nearly the same pale green as her dress as the book vanished. “Is Lucien winnowing us?”

“Yes, since I haven’t been before,” Nesta answered. She waited for Elain to stand up so they could start walking toward where Lucien was likely already waiting for them. “You should have him teach you how to winnow. You never know when you might need it.”

“I don’t have to make up reasons to spend time with him,” Elain responded, rolling her eyes. “If I wanted to see him, I’d just ask.”

Nesta just poked her sister in the side. “I never said you did. I’m just saying it’s a useful skill to have, and it would make me feel better if you knew how.”

“Fine,” Elain promised with a put-upon sigh. “I’ll ask him, but only if you get to work on your magic too.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing all this time?” Nesta asked dryly, motioning to the spirits silently accompanying them.

“I mean proper training, Nesta,” Elain replied with a knowing look. “There are things those books of yours won’t be able to teach you. Things you really should have guidance on before you just… try them.”

“Fine,” Nesta agreed, rolling her eyes. She knew Elain was just trying to be helpful, and even she could admit there was too much to learn on her own. Raw power could only get her so far, after all. “I’ll examine my options.”

“Wonderful.” As they rounded the corner, Elain flashed a smile at Nesta before turning the full force of it on Lucien. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Lucien confirmed, shaking off his slightly dazed expression. He offered both his arms to them, and Nesta latched onto Lucien’s right elbow while Elain gently threaded her arm through his left one. “I don’t know if the dead can winnow, so you might want to leave them behind.”

Nesta used her free hand to send the ghostly guards away for now, barely even registering the rush of magic through her veins. “I’ll summon them again if we need them.”

“Alright,” Lucien answered slowly. “Well, let’s not waste any more time.”

Nesta let herself be yanked into nothing for a few moments before reappearing outside the familiar palace. After being inside the Hewn City for so long, it felt strange to be out in so much open air, though seeing the sun without barriers was certainly a nice change of pace. The moonstone palace glittered before them in all its glory, rising high above the gray mountains it was situated on top of, but even from outside Nesta could tell it was empty.

“The wards might grant us access, but we’ll have to try and find out,” Lucien eventually said. His metal eye was whirring and clicking as he studied them, and Nesta watched it move, completely fascinated. She’d never seen anything like it, and she’d had such few chances to see it in action.

“Even though Keir is dead?” Nesta asked, shivering as a cold wind whipped right through the fabric of her dress. It was freezing up here, and they weren’t inside the wards that kept the palace warm. It was one of the few times in recent memory she found herself annoyed her flames didn’t burn hot, but not as annoyed as she was with herself for forgetting to bring one of the thick traveling cloaks hanging in her new wardrobe.

“The magic doesn’t flow the way you’re thinking,” Lucien explained. “There’s no power tied to the ruler of the Hewn City, at least not in the way High Lords are tied to their Courts, so there’s no telling if the wards will recognize your claim to the throne. We might have to force our way through the wards and change them from the inside.”

“I understand how the magic flows, Lucien,” Nesta countered with a roll of her eyes. “I was there when Keir died. I was just wondering if the wards would still be functional when they’re not tied to any specific person.”

“My apologies,” Lucien said. “They’re still functional. Rhys likely altered the wards to allow Keir access, but they’re still keyed to him.”

“We’ll have to be quick,” Elain added suddenly, her eyes far away. “Their plans have changed.”

“Isn’t that just perfect,” Lucien muttered under his breath. He finally sighed and turned away from the palace to face Nesta. “I think I can unravel the wards in a few key places, help weaken them, but you’ll have to help me.”

“Whatever you need,” Nesta immediately agreed. Anything to get her out of this miserable weather sooner.

Lucien took a few moments to conjure up a little fire to keep Nesta and Elain warm, the flames magically confined so no one would get burned. “Come closer.”

“Alright.” Nesta took a moment to warm herself before coming to stand next to Lucien. “What now?”

“When I say, you need to aim a blast right for the doors,” Lucien replied. “You’re going to have to hit it a few times, so don’t use all your magic up at once.”

“Okay,” Nesta agreed. She let her ironclad grip on her magic go slightly, just enough for her silver flames to come when she called. “And then?”

“And then we go inside,” Lucien answered with a shrug. “I don’t know what kinds of traps Rhys put up, so we should be prepared for anything.”

“I can do that,” Nesta said with a shrug of her own. She took a deep breath before reaching beneath the earth, searching for nearby spirits to help with their mission. She didn’t have to look particularly hard before they answered her call.

Lucien swore at the sheer number of spirits suddenly surrounding them, looking every bit like he wanted to take several steps back. “Mother help me. Can you… talk to them?”

“Yes,” Nesta answered. She couldn’t blame him for his reaction; the dead were eerie, especially if you couldn’t communicate with them like her. “What would you like me to ask them?”

“If they know anything about what’s inside,” Lucien told her.

“Tell me what you know,” Nesta demanded of the nearest ghost.

There was an explosion of chatter, so chaotic that Nesta knew from the first few moments that none of them truly knew anything. They were all rushing to speak over one another, but even when she managed to sort through all the noise it was clear that none of them had been privy to the High Lord’s magical choices – neither Rhysand nor any of his predecessors. “Nothing helpful.”

“Fine,” Lucien said with a sigh. He raised his hands, his fingertips shining with gold as he started probing the wards for weak spots. “Let’s just do it, then. On my mark.”

Nesta waited with bated breath for Lucien’s permission, letting her power stir through her veins until he told her to strike. She held out her palms and aimed for the gleaming doors, the majority of her magic slamming against an invisible barrier while a small amount managed to actually penetrate.

“Good,” Lucien complimented. “Ready to go again?”

“Yes,” Nesta answered, only the slightest bit out of breath. She’d gotten so used to using magic in her everyday life that expending a large blast like that didn’t completely deplete her energy anymore. “In the same spot?”

“No, go there,” Lucien instructed. He did a complicated motion with his hands and the air glimmered right where he wanted Nesta to aim, a little to the right from her first strike. “Now!”

Nesta aimed and fired before she could second-guess herself, immensely satisfied when most of her magic made it through to slam against the doors. The entire mountain seemed to shake for a few harrowing moments before settling, and she exchanged a wary glance with Elain before turning back to the task at hand. “Again?”

“One more should do it,” Lucien confirmed. “On my mark again.”

This time when Nesta hit her target, there was a sound like glass shattering as she finally broke through the wards completely. She commanded the spirits forward and they surged inside the palace, eagerly seeking out whatever lurked inside.

“Amazing,” Elain murmured, making Nesta blush. “Let’s go inside. I’m freezing.”

Lucien extinguished the tiny fire at their feet before taking the lead, wreathing his palms in his autumn flames as they slowly made their way inside the palace. Nesta did the same, her hands burning cold with her silver flames, while Elain brought up the rear. Their steps echoed off the high, domed ceilings, and the fae lights glittered to life as they slowly made their way further inside.

It was obvious that they were the only ones inside the palace — maybe even the first to come inside it for years. Although the palace was likely enchanted to remain clean, the air felt too still, like it had been too long since anyone had come inside. Nesta couldn’t smell any freshly-made scents, but just to be sure, she reached for more of her magic to sense if anything felt alive nearby.

“There’s no one here but us,” Nesta whispered, feeling the urge to remain quiet even though she knew they were alone. “What do we do now?”

Lucien’s golden eye whirred as he looked around the palace, taking a few moments to check for any unfortunate surprises before he responded. “I suppose whatever we like. It’s ours now.”

✵✵✵✵✵✵

It didn’t take long to stake their claim on the moonstone palace. Lucien played around with the wards some more, keying them to Nesta’s blood as fast as he could before someone from Velaris showed up, while Elain did the sensible thing and actually locked the doors behind them.

“I’ll show you how to do this yourself later, if you like,” Lucien promised once they were done. “It’s a useful skill to have.”

“I would,” Nesta agreed. “Elain, too, when you get the chance.”

They spent the rest of the day exploring the palace. Nesta had never been inside the giant structure, and she couldn’t believe Keir hadn’t taken advantage of such a lovely place. The moonstone shone even more beautifully after sunset, and the palace was clearly spelled to keep its inhabitants warm despite all the large, open windows. She didn’t have much interest in taking Rhysand’s family jewels — nor did she want to sleep in what was clearly his room — so she contented herself with choosing a room at the top of one of the domed spires on the opposite end of the palace.

Beautiful patterns were carved right into the ceiling, and the large windows were covered with a similarly patterned lattice. There was an enormous bed pushed against the center of the wall complete with the largest canopy she’d ever seen, and she had her own private bathroom, closet, and sitting area. The view this high up was lovely, all snow-capped peaks and vast expanses of sky, and she let herself

It might not have been the biggest room in the palace, but it was perfect for Nesta.

After taking a much-needed bath, Nesta plaited her hair back from her face, rummaged around in the wardrobe for acceptable loungewear, and eventually found her way to the dining room. Lucien and Elain seemed to have a similar idea and were already waiting for her, the two of them chatting quietly before she came to join them.

“I’m starving,” Nesta announced, unceremoniously plopping into the closest chair. “What is there to eat?”

“You do know the palace is enchanted to you now,” Lucien replied dryly. He’d taken off his black coat to reveal a white tunic underneath, and he’d rolled up his sleeves to reveal his golden-brown forearms. “Summon us up something, my lady.”

“Fine,” Nesta responded with a huff. She conjured up a steaming hot platter of rice, fish, and a vast assortment of vegetables. “Happy?”

“Thrilled,” Elain told her with a little smile. The ends of her hair were still damp from her bath, and she’d changed into a similar outfit as Nesta. “Thank you, Nesta.”

They fell into silence as they ate, Nesta feeling much better after her gnawing hunger was finally sated. “Have either of you explored the palace much?”

“The libraries here are beautiful,” Elain answered, her brown eyes twinkling with excitement. “And the courtyards here are stunning. I’m not sure what will grow this high up, but I’m sure my magic can help.”

“We can focus on the logistics of moving the servants and staff here tomorrow,” Lucien added. “Their quarters are much larger here than in the Hewn City, and I found an enchanted passageway while I was looking around the lower levels. It shouldn’t be too difficult to move back and forth once we figure out how it works.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful.” Elain smiled so sweetly at Lucien that even Nesta had to look away. “I don’t mind coordinating some of the logistics with the staff. I’ve gotten to know them a little since I left Velaris, and Nesta will be too busy to worry about it anyway.”

“Thank you,” Nesta replied gratefully. “That would be lovely.”

They talked amongst themselves for another quarter of an hour before Nesta started yawning. She excused herself and made her way back upstairs, pulling a few ghosts away from where they’d been standing guard so they could watch over her as she slept. It had been a long day, and while she trusted Lucien’s magical abilities, she could never be too careful.

✵✵✵✵✵✵

The next morning, Nesta ate a quiet, solitary breakfast in the palace before winnowing directly into her chambers in the Hewn City. Eislyn and a few other handmaidens shrieked in surprise, and Nesta spent the next few moments apologizing profusely for the fright.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t think any of you would be in here,” she said as they helped her dress. Today’s outfit was another black gown, her sleeves delicately resting off her shoulders and revealing a good amount of her neck and collarbones.

“It’s alright, my lady,” Eislyn answered. Her brown hands moved quickly and with certainty as she swept half of Nesta’s hair back into a series of loose braids. “We heard about the moonstone palace. It’s truly ours?”

“Yes,” Nesta confirmed with a smile. She couldn’t help it, especially not after she heard her other handmaidens’ excited whispers. “My sister will be coordinating the logistics. Would you mind assisting her?”

“Not at all, Your Grace,” Eislyn quickly agreed. “I’ve never left the Hewn City. It would be an honor to do it for you.”

Once Nesta was prepared for the day, Eislyn quickly took charge of the other handmaidens before leaving to find Elain. Caolàn was waiting for her outside her door, and he inclined his translucent head in her direction before they made their way toward the throne.

So it’s true then? he asked. You’re opening up the palace to us all?

“Yes,” Nesta answered. “Did Keir never…?”

Caolàn snorted. He barely opened the Hewn City to us, let alone his prized palace. Most of us have never ventured far from this place.

“That will change, if I have anything to do with it,” she said decisively.

They didn’t have time for any further conversation once they arrived in the throne room. Nesta waited for her full title to be announced before striding over to the new throne, thoroughly impressed by the snakes carved into it and their gleaming, emerald eyes. She’d been called a viper for so long that she figured she might as well own it, and it felt good to settle into the new seat knowing she was the first person on it.

Her day passed in a blur of meetings, mostly soothing the merchants’ fears about trade arrangements now that Keir was gone. Lucien slipped in at one point and helped Nesta fend off the would-be replacement courtiers, already circling for their chance to replace the ones she’d beheaded, and before Nesta knew it, the sun was already low in the sky.

She turned to say something to Lucien about retiring for dinner, but then she felt a little tug in her ribcage as someone new entered the Hewn City. Even if they didn’t have that strange connection between them, she was so attuned to the spirits here that they practically tripped over themselves to report Cassian’s presence.

Nesta sighed, not sure what he wanted, but decided to give him the benefit of the doubt anyway. If this was some ploy on Rhysand’s behalf, he’d made a mistake sending his general here. If it wasn’t… well. She supposed she’d deal with that too.

“That will be all for today,” she said to the various fae in the room. “Give me the room.”

Nesta caught Lucien’s eye and subtly shook her head. He bowed his head slightly and backed away from where he’d been standing next to her, moving into one of the corners of the room as the rest of the small crowd slowly cleared out. Her heart raced in her chest of its own accord; part of her couldn’t believe Cassian was really coming, but an even bigger part of her refused to let herself hope. He’d stood by all that time and allowed her to suffer — why would things be any different now?

Thankfully, it didn’t take much longer for him to appear. Caolàn had already disappeared to tell the rest of the guards to be on high alert, and he reappeared by her side moments before a living guard announced Cassian’s entrance into the throne room.

Cassian’s eyes were wide as he took in the changes she’d made, but he eventually made his way closer to her. He had on a nicer set of leathers, his traditional Illyrian blade sheathed at his back, and even Nesta had to admit how handsome he looked with his hair curling loosely around his shoulders. His siphons gleamed ruby in the low light, but even that wasn’t enough to distract her from the angry bruising around his knuckles.

“Cassian,” Nesta eventually said, tilting her head as she continued to study him. She didn’t know whether Lucien’s words had gotten to him or not, but there was only one way to find out. “Tell me. Have you come to bend the knee? Or did you want to die by my hand?”

Cassian didn’t answer right away, clearly taking a few moments to steel himself before speaking. “I…”

“Yes?” she prompted, leaning forward on her throne. A flash of silver caught her attention by the doors as she noticed Elain enter the room, but she didn’t let herself get distracted for long.

“I’ve come to bend the knee,” Cassian told her after a long few moments. He slowly made his way to the floor, his hands resting gently on his thighs as he bowed his head. “Your Grace.”

“How do I know this isn’t one of Rhysand’s little schemes?” she asked. She stood from her throne and descended from the raised platform, stopping right in front of him. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you, Cassian.”

“It’s not,” he replied. He snapped his head up to meet her gaze, his hazel eyes glittering with something she couldn’t place. “I promise.”

“You’ve made me lots of promises,” she countered with a tilt of her head. “You promised you’d protect me, and I was forced into the Cauldron. You promised me time, but you abandoned me the moment we returned to Velaris. I’m sure you can understand why your promises don’t mean much to me anymore.”

Cassian winced. “I know I’ve failed you, but I’m here because it’s going to be different this time. I want it to be different this time.”

“You didn’t want things to be different before?” Nesta asked, raising an eyebrow. “Is that why you chose everyone else except me?”

“I don’t want anyone else,” he argued, his hands balling into fists against his thighs. “I want you , Nesta. It’s been you from the moment we met.”

“That’s not how everyone else sees it,” she countered. “Least of all Morrigan.”

“She shouldn’t have acted like that, and I shouldn’t have let her,” he responded emphatically. “I knew that — we both did — and I’m sorry. But I know what I want, and that’s you. However you’ll have me, whatever it takes.”

“Prove it,” she told him, heart pounding wildly in her chest. She didn’t know what he would do, what he could possibly say to ease the hurt of never choosing her, but she was curious to see how he would try.

Cassian didn’t hesitate to follow her command, his fingers moving quickly as he removed his siphons. Nesta had to force herself not to react; she’d never seen him without them, never presumed he’d allow himself to be so vulnerable. He placed six of them in a neat row at her feet before he removed the one in the center of his chest, raising it in cupped hands like an offering.

“I know I don’t deserve any of your trust, given what I’ve done to you,” he began quietly. “I’ve treated you far, far worse than you’ve ever deserved, and I wouldn’t blame you if you decided to take my head for it now. But I want to be by your side in any way you’ll have me, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to earn that privilege. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to realize that.”

“That’s the only thing you’re sorry for?” she asked, her tone a little incredulous.

“No. No, it’s not.” He took a deep breath before continuing, his eyes wet with unshed tears. “I… I was so cruel to you, Nesta. I said horrible things to you, I didn’t listen to what you wanted, and I let my family make everything worse. You have no idea how sorry I am.”

It was everything she’d ever wanted to hear, and coupled with the image of Cassian on his knees before her, it was almost too much to bear.

“Oh, Cassian,” Nesta eventually murmured, bringing a hand up to cup the side of his face. He leaned into her touch with a happy little noise, his eyes fluttering shut, and she allowed herself to enjoy that for the space of a breath before she leaned in close. “I’ll allow you the chance to prove yourself to me. But if this is some elaborate ruse, or you decide to betray me later… I won’t be the one who’s sorry. I will put your head on a spike and deliver it to Rhysand myself. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Cassian breathed. He raised his arms higher to offer his chest siphon to her once again. “If you’d have me, I’d pledge myself to you and only you.”

Nesta let go of his face and took the siphon from him without comment. It was larger than the other six and warm to the touch as she ran her fingers over it. “Do it, then.”

“I swear to ward the queen, with all my strength, and give my blood for hers,” he said. She didn’t recognize the words, but they sounded like something he’d memorized; perhaps the oath had come from Illyria, or maybe some other time he’d sworn fealty. “I— I shall guard her secrets. Obey her commands. Ride at her side and defend her name and honor.”

“I accept,” she said back. Her magic was roaring to be released, and she saw the perfect opportunity to free it. “In exchange, I’ll allow you to come and go from the Court of Nightmares freely. With your head intact.”

“I accept your bargain,” he told her. Magic flared hot between them as their promise to one another was inked onto their skin. She didn’t know where the ink had settled on him, but she felt the skin at the center of her back burn as the bargain marked her there.

“Why did you stutter?” Nesta asked once the bargain between them had settled, curious.

Cassian’s cheeks flushed. “There are… other lines I didn’t think were appropriate.”

“What are they?”

“To take no wife, hold no lands, or father any children.”

“I see.” Nesta couldn’t help her smirk, but there was no need to embarrass him further. She’d made her point. “Perhaps we’ll revisit those terms.”

“Thank you,” he responded, relieved. “I know I have a lot to make up for, but I hope one day…”

Cassian trailed off the moment Nesta raised an eyebrow. “Sorry. I don’t want to get ahead of myself.”

“A wise choice.” Nesta looked down at the siphon still in her hands, reflecting ruby light as she tilted it one way and then the other. She’d never had the opportunity to examine them up close before, and it gave off a faint glow even though it wasn’t physically on his body anymore. “Are these easily replaceable?”

“Yes,” Cassian answered slowly. “I can always get more from Illyria.”

“Put the rest of them back on and stand up,” she told him. She kept examining his siphon while he did what she asked, his hands refastening them onto his body with ease. “Let’s go.”

Nesta didn’t bother to check if Cassian was following her, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that he would. She let her feet guide her to one of the studies she favored because of the windows and stilled in the small patch of sunlight shining down from above.

“My lady?” Cassian prompted from behind her after a few moments of silence.

“Hush,” Nesta said, but she wasn’t harsh with the order.

Once she was satisfied that he would remain quiet, she looked down at the siphon in her hands. The red surface gleamed brightly in the sunlight, and she was struck suddenly by the urge to leave her mark on it somehow. She didn’t know much about how siphons worked other than channeling the Illyrians’ killing power, but she vaguely remembered hearing something about how not all magic could be harnessed with them. Feyre had mentioned a story once about Rhysand shattering several when he was still learning, and Nesta hoped that she would be able to accomplish yet another feat the High Lord couldn’t manage as she poured her magic into the gem.

For a few moments nothing happened, and then Nesta gasped in wonder as the siphon was slowly overtaken by black. She had no idea what she was doing, but she knew she wanted everyone to know by looking at Cassian that he was hers , and this would serve as good a reminder as any.

Once the siphon was wholly black, she turned around to face the newest member of her court. His eyes traveled over her face for a moment before snapping down to the siphon in her hands, shock lacing his features as he stared down at the jewel. “What…?”

“You’re sworn to me now,” Nesta said, reaching out with one hand to caress the empty spot where the siphon normally sat in the center of his chest. Cassian went so still under her touch that she idly wondered if he was still breathing. “Don’t you think everyone should know that?”

“You’re right,” he eventually said back. “They should.”

She allowed him to reach out and guide the hand holding his siphon to the empty spot on his chest, hardly breathing as they gently slid the siphon back into place. The rest of his siphons rumbled gently before settling into their usual calm state, and she felt her own magic stirring in her veins in response.

“There,” Nesta whispered. She looked up at Cassian to see he was already looking at her, the intensity in those hazel eyes nearly too much to bear. “Now there’s no question of who you belong to.”

#acotar #acosf #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #where the light won't find you #moodymelanistwrites #evil!nessian #court of nightmares fic

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