#OUR FIC

[magpie-writes]

Venus in Furs

Pairing: Helaena Targaryen x Fem!Reader x Aemond Targaryen

Rating: E

Words: 4.6k

Warnings: Targcest, semi-public sex, bondage, pain kink, explicit smut

A/N: Venus in Furs is a poly Helaemond au. We have no idea how many chapters it'll end up being, but the story will progress as the relationship does. Sometimes a chapter might be a little kinky drabble, other times it might be an epic 10k beast. This story has just become such a vulnerable little happy place for @acrossthesestars​ and myself and we hope you enjoy it! Tags will be updated as the chapters go on.

alex masterlist | emma masterlist | ao3

Part One - Seven Hells P.1 | Part Two - Seven Hells P.2 | Part Three

The sky above was clear, stars managing to peek out even from the thick veil of the city lights. It was loud, music blaring from cars and drunk revelers pouring out from the mouths of the surrounding bars and clubs. My heels clicked on the sidewalk, the noise echoing loud over all the others and my hands curled into fists within my coat pockets.

'Don't lose your nerve,' I thought. 'You aren't allowed to chicken out.'

A sharp gust of near freezing wind ruffled my coat, blowing up beneath the short skirt of the black dress I wore under it, and I bit down on my cheek to keep from yelping nervously at the shock as I neared the building I had been looking for.

Seven Hells was a privately owned club, the red brick facade blending into all the others on the block. The only clue that I had arrived at the right place was the small gilded placard by the door that simply read "7" in an ornate script. My chilled fingers wrapped around a thick brass knocker in the shape of a dragon's head, rapping it gently against the wood. The door swung open and a handsome bouncer stared me down, the moment stretching on forever. He was older, with a close cropped silver beard, a bald head, and a thousand yard stare.

"Password," he asked, his voice rich and deep. 

"Oh don't bother with all that, Harrold," a soft voice chirped from behind him. "She's with me. Isn't that right, Lady Grey?"

The door opened a crack wider, revealing a cloud of moon pale hair and the Cheshire Cat grin beneath it. 

“Honestly, you express a tea preference one time.” Rolling my eyes despite the amused smile tugging at my lips, I stepped up onto the landing, close enough for the club’s warm air to twine invitingly around my bare legs, beckoning me inside. With an apologetic shrug to the stoic giant before me, I gave the password Helaena Targaryen texted me earlier that evening. 

“Dreamfyre.” 

He granted me a nod, as if in appreciation of a fellow rule-follower, and threw the door wide. 

“Welcome to Seven Hells.” 

If I'd thought the grandeur of our Neo-Gothic university campus was extravagant, with its ivy-clad walls, peaked windows, and rolling quads beneath venerable oak trees, the sumptuousness of this club delighted in proving me wrong. Stepping down into its shadowy interior, I couldn’t help gaping at the luxury surrounding me. Sleek, black leather couches sprawled along the edges of the cavernous room, all subtly tilted towards a low stage, the obvious focal point of the room. No one graced it, not this early in the evening, but a St. Andrew’s cross stood waiting in the wings, eager for its first victim. It was the most obvious nod towards the club’s hedonistic character but the more I looked, the more secrets I uncovered. 

Steel hardpoints graced walls and furniture, looking like so much industrial hardware until I realized their presence went beyond simple aesthetics. Mirrors littered the walls, affording endless views for performers and pleasure seekers alike. Stacks of silken cord lined low-running shelves, all in easy reach. It was an opulent, unguarded promise of sensuality. 

A dare. 

A shiver of anticipation licked up my spine, despite the warmth winding sinuously around my legs, caressing my chilled skin and urging me eagerly to shed my heavy wool coat.

“Come on. I can’t wait to show you everything.” Helaena seized my hand excitedly while I was still unwinding the glittering gray scarf from around my neck. I shoved it into the pocket of my coat as Harrold quietly lifted the garment from my arms before withdrawing to his post by the door. 

My eyes weren't sure where to land. A pretty brunette winked at me from behind the bar and heat crawled up my throat at the gesture. My gaze darted from the couches to the stage to the people who had just started to trickle into the space before landing on the pale hand that grasped my own. 

Helaena was divine, a gods damned painting, a water nymph come to life. Her white-blonde hair hung in soft waves around her shoulders, her plump body sheathed in a tight powder blue dress, the hem hitting her mid thigh. When she turned back to wink at me, the light caught in the glitter she had painted over her eyelids, her pink mouth curling up at the edges. 

"I love first timers." Her voice was soft, but I still heard every word.

I raised a brow. "Do you bring people here often?"

She squeezed my hand. "No," was all she said as she dragged me to the bar. 

The energy of the club settled around us as I followed my new friend, all simmering possibility and the driving beat of music emanating from hidden speakers. When I slid onto one of the plush velvet barstools, Helaena perched alongside me, never letting go of my hand even as she raised her other to catch the bartender’s gaze. 

“Two of the Wild Gin Brambles please, Talya”

My eyes widened in surprise as she named the exact cocktail I would have ordered from the specials menu. Despite the crowd of people surrounding the bar, jockeying to place their orders, no one looked surprised when, in mere moments, the bartender slid two glasses towards the pair of us.

“How did you guess?”

Helaena only smiled her enigmatic smile and raised her own drink to clink against mine. 

Her violet eyes tracked every movement as I raised the sweating glass to my lips and took my first sip. Flavor bloomed on my tongue, tart and sweet, strong but clear, the blackberry syrup coating my mouth even as the gin traced a cool burn down my throat. 

“That is delicious,” I said, having to raise my voice slightly to be heard over the sound of the other revelers.

“Let me try.”

Rather than lifting her own glass, Helaena leaned in and kissed me. 

Startled, my lips parted on a gasp, but when I moved to cup the other woman’s cheek, she deepened the kiss. Her tongue slid against mine, a swift, gentle taste, and then she pulled back, her gaze searching. 

“What did you think?” My voice was deeper, roughened with the desire already surging in my blood. 

“Delicious,” she confirmed. Her starry eyes roved over my curves and I could swear they came to rest on the hollow of my throat. I wondered if she could see the eager jump of my pulse.

Helaena grinned when she recognized her stare was bordering on overwhelming, glancing down into the depths of her drink and taking a sip. I looked up, willing away the heat that had settled almost uncomfortably in my cheeks. My gaze settled on the mirror, a flash of silver catching my attention. From across the room, mismatched eyes pinned me like a butterfly to glass. The set of his full mouth was almost stern, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. My heart hammered against my ribs but when I blinked, he was gone. 

A wide smile broke over Helaena's face. Whatever had grabbed her attention lit her up from the inside out, a soft warm glow settling beneath her skin like a beacon. I turned and couldn't stop the soft "oh" that fell from my lips.

If Helaena was divine, then Aemond Targaryen was damned. He was her soul's twin and yet her opposite, hard and lean where she was soft and curved. He prowled toward the pair of us with all the violent grace of a predator stalking prey, the top half of his long white hair pulled away from his face, the rest hanging down his back like a curtain. He wore all black, a button down shirt tucked into fitted slacks. His face was hard, unreadable except for the flame in his left eye, the same shade of violet as his sister's. In place of his right eye, lost in some accident at the hand of his nephew, if rumor was to be believed, sat a sapphire, the facets swallowing up the low red lights of the club's interior. Helaena squealed and clapped her hands at his arrival, reaching for him. Aemond took her hand, pulling her close and bringing it to his mouth, his lips soft against her skin as he hummed in greeting. 

"I'm surprised she came," he said by way of acknowledgement, his gaze falling finally on me.

Heat bristled up my spine, righteous indignation at being referred to as if I was of no importance.

"Play nice or Lady Grey won't come at all and where's the fun in that?" Helaena replied, poking at Aemond's middle.

Something tensed in my gut at that easy, playful gesture. A reminder of how these two belonged to each other, pale and strange as binary stars and just as entangled. How could I ever hope to join their orbit? 

As if sensing that momentary flicker of doubt, Aemond raised one perfectly sculpted brow with all the cool poise of a marble god as if to ask “How indeed?” I bristled, drawing myself up to my full height, my spine set like steel. Damn him and his smug self-assurance. Helaena had approached me after all, invited me to join them in their pleasure den I’d only heard whispered about on campus, with all the dark, half-veiled insinuations that accompanied such an invitation. 

“You tell him, Hel.” I slid my arms around her waist, glaring a challenge of my own at Aemond over her shoulder. “She was just wondering if there might be any dancing on tap for the evening, or is that too frivolous for the Eyes Wide Shut crowd?”

Aemond’s mouth twitched. 

“Oh, I’m sure we could manage something.” 

In the end, all it took was an imperious nod and his sharp gaze to some nearby staff member, and then the music shifted, turning to a low, throbbing beat that pulsed through the crowd. People moved as if summoned to the dance floor, a tangled knot of writhing bodies and reaching limbs. Aemond sketched a half-mocking, half charmingly outdated bow and extended a hand to me. 

“Would she like to dance?” This time, the slyly intentional word choice felt less like a slight and more like an almost-apology, an unspoken admission of having chosen his words poorly. For the first time, I noticed how stiff his posture was. Maybe I wasn’t the only one unsure of how to navigate this evening.

I inclined my own head, amused despite myself, and said “She would.” 

It was easy enough to follow him to the dance floor, Helaena close at his heels. Aemond spun me once before drawing me close, his hand finding the small of my back. "Dance, then," he said in an amused tone, his gaze raking over my body. I narrowed my eyes as he just stood there, trying to get a feel for whatever game he was playing. It was Helaena who rescued me, her hands finding mine and pulling me further from the edge of the dance floor. 

She moved with a liquid sort of grace, the sort that left one utterly entranced. It was impossible not to move toward her, caught in her orbit as if she were the brightest star in the dark sky. Her lavender eyes were bright enough to light up the dance floor as her hands settled on my hips, turning my back to her front before pulling me flush against her. She smelled like violets and lilies and something earthier, something you would find in the forest after it rained. I wondered if later I would be covered in the body glitter she'd dusted all over herself, her skin shimmering in the glow.

"Can I touch you?" She asked, her voice low against my ear. 

There was literally nothing I wanted more in that moment.

I nodded and she ran a hand up my throat to grasp at my jaw, tilting my head back until she could catch my mouth with her own. She tasted like gin and sweet lip gloss, strawberry maybe. My hips followed whatever sinuous rhythm she set as she curled her tongue around mine. I felt her smile against my lips and couldn't stop myself from mirroring the gesture. With one hand I reached back, carding my fingers through the moonlight strands at the nape of her neck. 

One song melted into two and then three and I learned for a fact what I had already had an idea of: Helaena Targaryen was entirely captivating. She radiated a dreaminess, a sort of unexplainable out there feeling that I couldn't put my finger on but I knew I wanted to sink into. There was also an edge. She had teeth and claws and made a conscious choice to keep them sheathed. At some point I had turned back to face her and she smiled wide again, as if she had never considered not being so open, so real. Then her eyes drifted away, lighting up again when they landed on her brother. I looked too, because I couldn't help it. Aemond had taken up a perch on one of the large leather chairs, more of a loveseat, really. When our eyes met he raised his left hand and beckoned us forward with a crooked finger. Helaena drifted toward him as if pulled by gravity, her hand reaching back for mine and pulling me along after her. 

I mirrored her movements, lowering myself onto Aemond’s outstretched right thigh while she claimed his left. When I did, his gaze snapped to mine, startled. The intensity there, the banked violet fire, ripped through me like a summer storm, leaving heat and electricity crackling in its wake. Before I could shift my weight or draw back, before I could even form an apology for overreaching, he caught me around the waist to keep me still. Slowly, deliberately, curiously, he flexed his muscled thigh beneath my legs, shifting it just enough to drag against me and make me gasp. Pleasure kindled in his hawklike stare and I smiled, heat rising in my cheeks. 

We’d surprised each other. 

Helaena tipped her head back and laughed, her carefree delight so infectious even her brother’s lips quirked into something like a smile. Pure, wild joy beat like wings within my chest when her lavender gaze met mine at the same time that Aemond rested a hand on my thigh. As if some hidden key had turned, the tumblers falling into place, everything slid open, the night suddenly wide open and brimming with potential. Something was happening and we were part of it. We were all of it. 

The music fell away. All I could hear was the breath catching in Helaena’s throat when I leaned in and kissed her. The hiss Aemond sucked between his teeth when his sister’s hand slid up to cup my breast. I looked around, expecting shock or censure, but while the warmth of her palm moving over my dress made my heart race as if the world was ending, no one else seemed to even notice. Even so, I pulled back, heat flashing up my throat to settle in my cheeks. Aemond's hand tightened where it rested against my thigh and I turned to face him, my eyes downcast. He raised a hand, his forefinger catching me under the chin until I met his eye. 

"There's no need to be shy, Grey." The nickname sounded different in his mouth, sharper somehow, then when Helaena said it. "You're free to take what you want here, without judgment." 

My gaze darted between his mismatched eyes and his lips. "What do you want?" My voice was small. 

He hummed, a low noise in the back of his throat, before using his hand to tug me farther up his thigh, my hands flattening against his chest as I fell forward. His shirt was warm beneath my palms, soft and obviously expensive. And then he kissed me. It wasn't tentative or gentle. It felt as if he would devour me. Where Helaena took her time, sensuous and explorative, Aemond went straight for the kill, licking into my mouth when it opened on a whine, pulling my bottom lips between his teeth. He broke the kiss and looked up at me, his high cheekbones dusted with pink, and pursed his lips, as if he was hiding a grin. I couldn't help it and smiled back.

Helaena ran a hand up my thigh, squeezing just enough to get my attention and jerking her chin toward the stage in front of us. "The show is starting," she whispered. There was a peculiar happiness in her eyes, a sort of feeling I wasn't sure I'd ever experienced. She leaned back into Aemond's chest, his hand circling her waist to rest over her belly. The way they fell into each other was mesmerizing and I wondered if I'd ever felt that sort of easy acceptance before, the sort of muscle memory that had me sinking into someone else's softest parts. 

I turned away, suddenly feeling much too raw, and looked toward the stage as the lights lowered, a single spotlight shining bright in the middle. Lying prone on the ground was a slight brunette, her hair tied up in a bun. She wore a rose pink dress, the fabric sheer enough to see the dusky outline of her nipples, her arms laying relaxed over her head. As she slowly woke, blinking away the sleep, the light softened, mimicking the dawn, and soft music played through the hidden speakers. Fingertips drew mindless designs over the bare skin of my thigh and the feeling left me burning as they drew over my hip and up, up, up my back to massage the nape of my neck. The feeling was near sinful, my eyes closing as Aemond worked out the tension. When I risked a downward glance, I found his eyes on the stage, his face infuriatingly neutral. I raised my hand, placing it back against his chest, playing at the top button of his shirt as I glanced back toward the stage.

From the shadows of the audience on the far side, a hulking shape melted through the crowd, lumbering up the two wide steps before crouching behind a makeshift barrier, watching the young woman on stage sit up and stretch. Helaena reached forward from her perch and placed her hand on my knee, her skin warm against mine, grounding me in the moment as the man in the mask began creeping closer toward the girl on stage. A Beast on the way to claim his Beauty, I realized with a thrill.

“Is it always fairytale-based?” I whispered the question into Helaena’s ear, so close my lips brushed against her delicate skin. 

“No,” she shook her head, answering in the same respectful hush. “They do all sorts of things - exhibitions, demonstrations. But this seemed more… you.” 

Before I could ask what she meant, Aemond’s broad hand tightened around my neck.

“Pay attention,” he commanded in a low, firm voice behind my ear, turning my head back to face the stage. From Helaena’s guilty start and the way she also turned her attention back to the scene unfolding before us, I guessed he’d given her a similar reminder. Normally I would have bristled against his domineering tone, but it sent a shiver down my spine instead, making me feel as deliciously helpless as the beauty the beast prowled towards. As if he knew, Aemond trailed the tips of his fingers down my neck and between my shoulder blades. 

The task of watching the stage while he teased me like this felt Herculean, but I managed to keep my eyes on the performers, watching as the girl on stage finally registered the presence of the beast. Her brown eyes blew wide as he loomed over her and the two engaged in what could only be considered a dance. Their chemistry was a wild thing, crackling between them as they pushed and pulled, as she ran and he gave chase. The Beast reached for her, catching the pale pink ribbon that held her hair tied up, and it cascaded down her back just as he caught her, pulling her against his chest.

As his lips found her neck and his hands drew her skirt farther up her thighs, Aemond's fingers dipped below the hem of my dress. The touch itself wasn't indecent, was hardly anything more than innocent, but every nerve ending in my body lit up. He shifted his thigh beneath me, riding my dress higher, just as the beast shed the girl of her dress, her body now bare beneath the spotlight, and I fought the urge to reach back and pinch him for teasing me. But I was riveted by the performance as the actress finally gave in to the beast, succumbing to him and letting him lay her out over the stage, her back arched as he wedged himself between her thighs and devoured her.

Aemond's hand slid further beneath my dress and I couldn't stop the hitch of my breath. I knew, logically, that no one was watching us, too engaged by what was happening on stage, or what they were up to in their own seats, but my cheeks still heated at the idea, at the clandestine nature of letting this practical stranger slide his skilled fingers beneath the damp fabric of my underwear. I bit back a moan as he did just that, parting my folds, teasing at the wetness he found there. I wanted to roll my hips, to chase the pleasure his touch promised. But I stayed still, afraid to call any attention to us. 

In front of me, the Beast lay on his back, the girl, his Beauty, now straddling his hips, her face flushed from her earlier release on his tongue. She rode him, claimed him just as earnestly as he had claimed her, taking her agency and making him hers. They moaned in tandem, not the sort of practiced sounds I had heard in porn or made with partners I was more than eager to get out from under, but something more feral, more honest. As the Beast reached forward to clutch at her breasts, Aemond pinched lightly at my thigh, a hint to open my legs wider. I gave in, just an inch, and was rewarded with a lazy circle against my clit. All I wanted was to drop my weight back against him, to spread my thighs farther and see what his wicked touch could wring from me. But even as I saw other patrons doing exactly that, I knew I couldn't, knew I wouldn't.

This entire night had been totally unlike me. Taking Helaena up on the invitation had left me filled with nerves. We'd spoken often enough at school and I desperately wanted to call her my friend. She was impossible not to adore, and denying her anything felt wrong. We'd flirted and when I finally gathered the courage to ask her for her number, she'd slapped me right in the face with an invite to the most exclusive club in town. How could I say no? Especially when she mentioned the more mysterious of her brothers would be there too. 

The Beast had planted his feet on the stage, his hands gripping bruises against his Beauty, driving himself up into her. Her face bunched with pleasure as she fell forward, her hands landing on his chest to brace herself as he fucked her roughly. I felt my pulse quicken, my lungs constricting as Aemond slid a finger inside me, and then another. I couldn't stop myself, arching my back slightly to grind down against his hand. His fingers were long, slender and graceful. They felt divine inside of me and I knew it wouldn't be long until he worked me up and over that peak, the muscles of my thighs already twitching with it. 

Suddenly Beauty came with a low groan, the blood rushing up her neck to settle in her cheeks as the Beast beneath her roared his own end, their bodies going rigid. She had thrown her hands above her head in a jubilant gesture as the Beast spilled inside her, as if unafraid for anyone, everyone, to see her pleasure. Then the music died and for a moment the room was silent except for the sound of ragged breathing. I couldn't figure out where one breath started and the next began, which was mine or Helaena's or even Aemond's. The spotlight went dark and the melancholy instrumental music that had accompanied the performance melted back into the low, heavy bass from earlier. 

Aemond's hand was out from under my dress before the lights returned to normal. I hissed at the loss of him, canting forward as if seeking him out. The neediness of the gesture left me feeling more than a little pathetic, especially as he growled, "on your feet." But his voice was strained, rough even, and that gave me more than enough satisfaction. I blinked up at him, my mind hazy and buzzing after being yanked so abruptly from what had promised to be a wild sort of release. Helaena stood first and offered me a hand, pulling me up on shaking baby deer legs. She just smiled like she knew and reached up to tug at the ends of my hair. 

The crowd blurred around us as we moved past the stage, past the bar, and deeper into the club. I looked down, startled, when the click of my heels against the polished wood floors turned muffled, my footsteps suddenly cushioned by plush carpeting. We were in a hallway, the walls paneled in rich, dark wood, an expanse of wealth relieved only by a series of doors, each one different from the last. One a rich, blood red with golden accents, another gunmetal stark but littered with peepholes, the third a shockingly clear plate glass. I caught a glimpse of twining limbs and chains within and finally realized where we were headed. 

“Why a private room? I thought the whole point of this place was taking what we wanted and no one caring?” 

“I don’t like anyone seeing what’s mine.” Aemond turned to me, one arm around his sister’s waist. My heart thundered as his gaze pinned me to the emerald green door we’d stopped in front of. Helaena leant back against him, a look of feline contentment on her features as she gazed at me through hooded eyes. 

“What did you want when you came here, Lady Grey?” It wasn’t so much a question as a gentle prompting, an invitation to voice the desire that had drawn me to them like a moth to a bonfire ever since that first time I’d seen them on campus. They’d looked so out of place they might as well have been another species. Two fae royals slumming it with mortals for their own amusement, sampling whatever pleasures they wished to indulge in, and tempting the rest of us with wicked delights if only we’d be bold enough to seek them. 

I ached to be bold.

“You,” I breathed. “Both of you.” 

“Yes, that was it.” Helaena tipped her head up to meet Aemond’s gaze and said “See?”

“Hm.” 

Before I could worry that I was failing some unspoken test he leaned in with that sleek, predatory grace and twisted the door knob by my hip. 

“After you,” he purred. 

Part Two

#Aemond Targaryen x Reader #Helaena Targaryen x Aemond Targaryen #Helaena Targaryen x Reader #Helaemond #House of the Dragon #Helaena Targaryen x Aemond Targaryen x Reader #HotD #HotD AU #Aemond Targaryen fic #Helaena Targaryen fic #Aemond Targaryen Smut #Helaena Targaryen smut #Fic #My fic #OUR fic #My crow 🖤 #🦋🗡

[helena-edits-in-real-time]

Does he know the way I worship our love?

Within the first few months of their transfer to the FBI, Tony is sent undercover to gain intel on the mysterious mercenary, David Emerson. When he returns, Michelle immediately notices that he's changed and that something isn't right. Little does she know that change is something that will question her every belief about what is real and what isn't.

@more-comfortable-in-hell and I have done it again!

Chapter 1

#Helena writes #our fic #24 #24 fox #tony almeida #michelle dessler #david Emerson #Larry moss #Renee walker

[thelordofshrimp]

Will had always thought that vampires weren't subject to the animalistic tendencies found among other supernatural beings. He'd never felt different while hungry or feeding, certainly nothing on the level that the werewolves he knew experienced. He wasn’t feeling the terrifying urge to leap at Nico and drain the last of that hot, fresh blood from his veins, but that didn’t mean the thoughts weren’t still passing through Will’s head.

MORE RED CROSS AU BABY LET’S GO

the angst we all knew was coming, all thanks to @buoyantsaturn <3

Read on Ao3

buy cj a coffee

#fic #my fic #also cj fic #OUR fic #hell yeah #red cross au #solangelo

[more-comfortable-in-hell]

You're just the last of the real ones

Vincent wanted peace. He wanted to be at peace. But not alone. Not with Justine. Not with anyone… except him. Neil. This was beyond a physical attraction; it was an intellectual one, an emotional one, and a spiritual one, too.

God, he wanted Neil so bad.

Another collab with the wonderful @helena-edits-in-real-time!

Read it on Ao3 here.

#our fic #heat #vincent x neil #vincent hanna #neil mccauley #the devil's advocate

[unwillingadventurer]

Raffles Week Day 1- Audacity

#rafflesweek2024 #raffles #crime and cricket #our fic

[fromthespiderverse]

Pair of Fangs

A/N: Was feeling saucy after consuming some Miguel o'hara content on here, babes is for sure a biter, so here you go.

| Warnings |

Mentions of suicidal thoughts

Hate/love stuff

Two spiders having mean thoughts about each other

Blood

Biting

Hand job

Aka, Smut, SOO, Minors, Back Off!

The way Miguel bites while the pair kiss leaves Walker with blood in his mouth.

It earns the other a rather rough press of Walker's knee between his legs.

Really the two should have never been in the same space together, or alone for that matter.

Walker would not lie and say he didn't start it. But it was Miguel's fault for falling for it.

Walker had picked at old wounds before, say things he shouldn't about past events he should let fade away in his memories. Miguel should be better than this, and kept a level head about it. It did no good for either of them to let those same wounds open and bleed fresh.

---

Miguel's hands hit the wall behind him, Walker seeing the frown he receives in return for the action as he holds the other's hands above his head.

"Let go," the words are muffled against his mouth, he can feel faintly Miguel trying to tug his hands free via the sensors in his hand, but Walker's prosthetic hand and arm weren't anything if not strong. You'd need a crowbar or six to pry it off, and even Miguel didn't have that kind of strength. If Walker so chose, he'd just have to give the right amount of squeeze to break both of the other spiderman's wrists.

"No, I like this, you almost look weak and helpless."

He lifts and grinds his knee a little higher as he pulls back just enough to get a proper eyeful.

It's funny seeing Miguel try to hold a glare in his current state, mask free, tousled hair, his legs clamped just a bit around the knee pressed in a place that was maddening.

"Maybe if you're a good boy I'll let you go."

How dare he.

Walker lived like the embodiment of cheek sometimes. Miguel hated it. He was either moody or cheeky, barely an in-between.

At least when he was moody he left Miguel alone.

Miguel jolts when he feels the light pricks of Walker's sharp edged fingers against his stomach through his suit, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"There you are," Walker purrs, once he has Miguel's attention again, a grin tugging at his mouth, the eyes of his mask squinting.

Something else Miguel didn't like, not seeing the other's face, he'd constantly fall back on only raising his mask enough that his mouth is visible. Nothing more, nothing less.

If his hands were free, he'd pull it right off and force Walker to see the light of day with his own two eyes and reveal his likely ugly mug.

Fingers prick and then press some more, drawing Miguel's eyes to them, following them as they go trailing further downward.

It feels likely he barely has to do much more than that, as Miguel presses into his touch all on his own in a an instinctual manner, Walker removing his knee from the equation so it doesn't get in the way.

---

The biting returns the moment Walker allows Miguel to get his mouth back on him. Though Walker also bites back this time, nipping the other's lips and spilling just as much blood as he had before as he palms Miguel through his suit, coaxing sweet noises out of him as the other man starts melting under his touch, whether he likes it or not.

Walker eventually digs a clawed nail into the other's suit, just above his crotch, poking through and hooking it with his finger, only cutting Miguel a little bit in the process, earning a light hiss at the sensation. He offers no apology for it, figuring the healing factor they'd all been gifted with would sort out that sliver of a cut as he sliced down through Miguel's suit and then in turn, his boxers.

He'd replace it, the suit, probably, for him, depending on how he felt after this.

His teeth bite at the collar of Miguel's suit as he jerks him off, then through it, the material even less resistant to his fangs than it was to his claws.

It makes Miguel shudder even as he managed to snap, "Fuck-stop that-!"

"Know you don't mean that," Walker says, mildly disappointed he can't quite see the result of his bite with Miguel's suit still in the way.

And as much as he wants to shred it all to pieces so he could reach every piece of skin Miguel had, he was deciding to be nice and not leave the other without anything to wear after this. Even if it would be hilarious to watch him have to figure out how to get out of here without anyone seeing him.

---

Things get slick and slippery real fast, as Walker works Miguel closer and closer to his orgasm with each stroke, pre-cum leaking out if his tip providing Walker with plenty to slick his cock up with, Miguel whining prettily for him, his head tossed back.

That was really the best part of all this, Miguel going from serious and, in Walker's personal opinion, uptight, to this weak moaning mess. He tried every time not to, but he really just couldn't help it.

---

Miguel whines Walker's name when he finally comes, Walker's fingers curling tight around the base of the other's cock for a moment before he lets him actually splatter his fluids on the floor.

His legs turn right to putty, and if it wasn't for Walker still having a tight hold on his now sore wrists, he likely would have dropped.

Course that doesn't last long as Walker lets go, Miguel falling immediately to the floor, not able to catch himself.

"Whoops."

Walker kneels down, shifting a bit as he did so, before he pulls Miguel partly onto his lap, head and upper half over his legs.

He just looks at him for a few minutes, taking in Miguel as he floated on his orgasm caused high.

After a while he brushes his thumb over Miguel's lips, before pushing it past and pressing it down on his tongue, making him opening his panting mouth even more.

Walker's own tongue swipes over his lips, "Yeah, I'm definitely not quite done with you yet~"

#miguel o'hara x male oc #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #spider smut #cw: mentions of suicidal thoughts #cw: blood #too way too much time on this #oc x cannon #our fic

[neesonites]

Neeson X Grumio

@unabashedmagazineglitter

We will make it happen ;3

#neesonites #neeson approved media #neeson facts #liam neeson #grumio #latin #history #my fic #our fic

[ectogeo-art]

Garashir oneshot that builds off of a bit of dialogue that @sapphosewrites wrote last year. <3

Summary: Concerned about the security of medical files on the station after an offhand comment from Garak, Julian seeks out his help to seal up any leaks in the system. Garak agrees, intrigued by the fact that Julian seems to have ulterior motives for this request. A story of secrets given and taken.

#garashir #ds9 #garak #elim garak #julian bashir #my fic #OUR fic

[magpie-writes]

Venus in Furs

Pairing: Helaena Targaryen x Fem!Reader x Aemond Targaryen

Rating: E

Words: 5k

Warnings: Targcest, semi-public sex, bondage, pain kink, explicit FFM smut

A/N: I know it was extremely naughty of @acrossthesestars​ and I to end Part One where we did, but this is the chapter where we make it up to you 😘 Posting again to hit the tags properly.

alex masterlist | emma masterlist | ao3

Part One - Seven Hells P.1 | Part Two | Part Three

When Helaena Targaryen invited me to meet her at a “private pleasure club” (“So… a sex club?” “Exactly!”), I had tried to imagine what to expect. Tarnished mirrors and worn pleather? A stripper pole? Buzzing neon and tacky floors? Whatever I’d been envisioning, it hadn’t been this.

I inched past where Aemond held the door open and into what was clearly a room set aside for their exclusive use. A massive low lying bed reigned over a room lined with smoke-black walls, its iron posts topped with a flowing canopy, wound around with twinkling lights. A constellation of white pillar candles littering the surfaces of twin nightstands brightened the shadows, and a neon wall sign that read “Trust Me, Love Me, Fuck Me” in glowing pink script hung above a curved ivory leather couch. A bookcase stood against one wall, its open shelves lined with vintage books, insect specimens, and an assortment of objects in blue glass and stainless steel. When I stepped closer, I recognized them for high end sex toys.

Over my shoulder, I asked “Where did you even get these?”

Two sets of hands slid around my waist and hips, two mouths pressed to my cheek and jaw.

“Why? Are you interested?”

“Do you want to try them?”

I was.

I wanted.

I wasn't sure where exactly to put my hands, who exactly to give my attention to. Helaena sensed this and pushed me back into her brother, who kicked the door closed behind us. Aemond caught me, long fingers digging into the meat of my hips, holding me still against his hard chest as Helaena prowled forward, her lips finding mine. I felt a fist curl into the hair at the back of my neck, tilting my head to the side, teeth scraping over my skin. Helaena cupped my jaw as I opened for her, suckling at her tongue until she made a little whining noise. It was good. It was really good.

Aemond's breath was hot against my temple. "I'm going to take this off now," he murmured, his aquiline nose dragging over the high point of my cheek as his hand found the zipper of my dress. As I opened my eyes and looked up at Helaena, she just smiled, as if whatever my answer was, it would be okay. Aemond waited and my heart thundered in my chest.

"Okay," I breathed.

He made quick work of the zipper before sliding the thin straps from my shoulders and placing a kiss to the skin there. Helaena turned her back to me, glancing over her shoulder and grinning as she pulled her hair to the side. "Please?" She asked, and I could deny her nothing, trembling fingers sliding the zipper down the track and exposing the pale plane of her back. The material dropped to the floor and Helaena stood in pale blue lingerie that likely cost more than my rent. Waist garters held up sheer stockings and high waisted panties hugged the plump curve of her ass.

Scattered over her fair skin was an explosion of color that had been hidden by her white blonde curls and dress. She blushed when she saw me staring, my eyes unsure of where to land. She pointed to the butterfly that sat high up on her left shoulder, black and orange, speckled with white. "This one is Danaus plexippus - a Monarch. Their wingspan is about three and a half inches." I nodded dumbly as she gestured at the next, this one lower, a beautiful blue and pale yellow. "This is Papilionidae - the Swallowtail. Their wings beat over three hundred times a minute." Large hands tugged gently at my dress, pulling it down my body as I listened to Helaena murmur her strange nothings. Her fingers ghosted over a dark blue butterfly, this one closer to her ribs, tiny orange dots at the bottom of its wings. "This is Apatura iris, the Purple Emperor. They eat dead things." And scattered between the winged insects were other bugs and blooms and blossoms, the flowers all varying shades of pale blue and lavender and soft pink.

Helaena Targaryen was a gods damned work of art.

"Isn't she beautiful," Aemond said. It wasn't a question, his voice a low purr in my ear. I hadn't even realized my dress was pooled at my feet until his hands splayed possessively over my bare stomach.

I nodded absently, unable to tear my gaze from the beautiful canvas of Helaena’s skin. I drew my finger up her side, slowing when I reached an insect I didn’t recognize.

“And this one?”

“Carabidae,” she answered without looking. The beetle shone metallic on her skin, greens and golds, so alive even though it was stationary. I leaned forward and pressed my lips to the ink.

Entranced, I traced an invisible path to the next, my fingers faltering as they reached a spider of some kind. Helaena shivered beneath my touch and for the first time, unease flickered behind her violet gaze.

“That’s a Trichonephila clavata," she murmured. "An Orb Weaver. People find them off-putting because of their size and web structure, but they're meant to symbolize an end to hardship and a beginning of abundance."

Aemond's hands covered my breasts, kneading the flesh through the thin material of my bra. I felt him through his slacks, the hard ridge of his cock pressed to my lower back as he curled his body around mine. The sight before me and the feeling behind me was a heady mix and I felt almost weak at the onslaught of sensation.

"They're beautiful," I managed to squeak out as Aemond sank his teeth into my neck, one hand abandoning my breast to once again fist in my hair, tilting my head to the side.

Helaena grinned and turned to face me, stepping closer. The body glitter that covered her soft skin glowed in the dim light and she looked lit from within. "Can I touch you?" She asked, her eyes meeting mine.

I nodded, unable to find my words as Aemond sucked a bruise against my skin. His sister pressed her body to mine, skating her hand down the center of my belly and past the waistband of my silky, dark blue underwear. She purred when she found me wet.

"You look so pretty in this color, Lady Grey," she whispered against my lips. "Doesn't she look so pretty, Aemond?"

Aemond broke away from my neck, resting his chin on my shoulder and watching Helaena press her middle and ring fingers against my clit, drawing a slow, tight circle. The hand in my hair forced my head down, forced me to watch as his sister slid between my folds, two fingers teasing at my entrance. "Like it was made for her," he answered, tugging the cups of my bra down to expose my breasts, pinching harshly at my nipples. He chuckled when I gasped.

"It matches your eye," Helaena said, excitement evident in her breathy voice. She plunged those teasing fingers inside of me and I cried out, hitching my hips forward and pushing back against Aemond.

He hummed, low in the back of his throat. "So it does," was all he said.

Helaena curled her fingers forward, hitting the delicate spot up high that made my knees go weak. Leaning over my shoulder, she caught Aemond's lips in a heated kiss. He growled against her mouth and I clenched around her hand at the sight of his hard lines meeting her soft curves, the two of them melting into each other. Helaena pulled her hand from my underwear and Aemond instantly replaced it with his own, the two so in sync it made my head spin as I tried to catch up. Bending down just slightly, Helaena pulled my right nipple between her lips, her hands coming to clutch at the underside of my breasts. Aemond's touch was rough comparatively and I couldn't help but grind down against him, the orgasm that had been so abruptly halted earlier creeping back up on me.

"You're so tight, Grey," Aemond whispered against my ear.

I merely nodded, my mouth dropping open as my head fell back against his shoulder. When he kissed me this time, it was gentler, almost teasing. He pulled back and I moaned low in my throat, bereft, and chased the wicked curve of his mouth with my own.

“No,” he chided, amused. “Eyes on her.”

The thin whimper of protest died on my lips when Helaena slid two pale fingers into my mouth. I sucked them greedily, watching helplessly, blissfully, as she circled my nipple with her tongue. She sucked it to a stiff peak, one hand gently kneading the flesh of my other breast, while her brother’s fingers dipped back inside me. Moaning, I spread my legs to take him deeper, needing the touch of his hand.

“There,” he crooned as his fingers slid against me. “Does that feel good, Grey? My fingers in your pretty cunt?”

“Uh huh.” I was too far gone to care about the pathetic mewl that fell from my lips as I nodded.

Helaena hummed around the swollen tip of my breast, an eager smile playing over her lips.

“You want us to make you cum?”

“Y-yes.”

Aemond leaned in close, took the shell of my ear between his teeth, and growled, “Then beg.”

I don’t remember what I said next. How I begged for his nimble fingers to split me open, or how I pleaded for Helaena not to stop suckling at my breasts - but I must have, because before I knew it I was a writhing mess in Aemond’s arms, his firm hold the only thing stopping me from sliding onto the floor.

“Pretty thing,” Helaena murmured, her mouth skimming moth-wing light over my heated skin, her hands reaching back to unclasp my bra. “She did so well for us, didn’t she?”

"She did." The two words from his mouth felt like a mountain of praise. Aemond's hands skated over my arms, his long fingers tangling with mine and raising my hands above my head. I looked up and could only watch as he placed my palms over two small bars, each in the center of a sort of hanging restraint. I hadn't even noticed them when I'd entered the room, my eyes drawn to shinier, more obvious things.

As if he did this every day, Aemond secured the leather straps, both lined in something soft, around my wrists. When he was satisfied that I wasn't going anywhere, he stepped in front of me, his hungry gaze dragging over my body.

Helaena looked at me as if I were an offering. Aemond stared as if I were a sacrifice.

She perched her chin on her brother's shoulder as his eye met mine, her long fingers, the nails painted a soft pink, began to undo the buttons on his shirt. Inch by inch, his moonlight-pale skin was revealed and it felt as if I was being let in on a secret as the art inked into his flesh came into view, in a style completely different than his sister's. Over his right pec was inked a woman with long, waving hair, her head turned to the side, a tear falling down her cheek. Below his collarbones sat two thick, broken chains, the words Fire and Blood between them at the base of his throat, and across his ribs was a heart, pierced with three daggers. I couldn't help but squirm as I watched her fingertips slide over them, lingering on the one delicate tattoo amongst the thick etchings, an Orb Weaver over his heart, twin to the one on her spine, before trailing down the lean muscle of his stomach, up the center of his chest and higher, to push the black fabric from his body.

"You want him, don't you?" Helaena's eyes darted between mine and Aemond's, her lips curled at the corners.

I nodded.

"Say it." There was a command in her voice and that molten feeling rose up in my belly again. I felt the heat crawl up my neck.

"I want him," I said softly, not tearing my gaze from Aemond. Something softened in him, as if he had decided I was worthy of the respect of believing me.

Helaena's wicked hands found the buckle of his belt, making quick work of it before unbuttoning his slacks and pushing them over his slim hips. There was more ink on his legs, but I was too enraptured by the sight of him hard beneath the thin material of his black boxer briefs, the thick length of his cock jumping as Helaena stood on her toes to whisper in his ear, "I told you, lover." Then her fingers disappeared beneath his waistband and Aemond cracked, his eyes closing as he groaned at her touch.

I whimpered at the sight, at the ache building between my thighs as I did my best to press them together, to alleviate that throbbing need that clawed at my belly. Aemond's eyes snapped open at the sound, his face setting in harsh lines before he turned and gathered Helaena's hair in a fist. He tilted her face back and she smiled wickedly up at him just as he crashed his lips to hers, claiming her. Backing her up toward the bed, Aemond slid his thumbs beneath her underwear, sliding them down her shapely thighs before stepping out of his own. When she had stepped out of them, he dropped to his knees on the mattress, facing me, and crooked a finger at his sister. She fell, a graceful tangle of limbs as she arranged herself on all fours in front of him, leaning forward to brace her weight on her forearms. Her eyes were lavender fire as they met mine and she whined when Aemond spread her open, sliding two fingers inside of her.

My hips jerked, the phantom sensation of those same fingers still haunting me as I watched Helaena’s lips part. Pleasure bloomed on her face, her limbs soft and pliant as Aemond drove her closer to bliss. Her low moans, the way her lids slipped to half mast, the dreamy look of enjoyment as he fingered her - all of it was exquisite torture. I bit my lip, my thighs rubbing together as I felt my own heat rising. When Aemond began kissing her neck and circling her clit to make her arch against him, I thought I might actually combust.

As if sensing my distress, Aemond smirked over the pale round of Helaena’s shoulder. “Something wrong, Grey?”

“N-no,” I breathed. I was clutching the padded leather restraints encircling my wrists, utterly transfixed by the serpentine dance of their bodies gliding together on the emerald silk sheets.

“No?” He echoed, an eyebrow raised. Lowering his head, he nipped at Helaena’s earlobe and murmured “Tell her what we do to liars here, sweet sister.”

Turning a lazy feline grin my way, Helaena purred, “We punish them.”

“That’s right,” Aemond agreed, cruel fire snapping in his mismatched eyes as he stared me down.

Images of whips and paddles flashed before me and I shuddered in delicious anticipation, but before I could ask what form my chastisement would take, Aemond grasped Helaena’s shoulder and drove himself inside her in one swift movement. I whimpered and tugged helplessly against my restraints, achingly empty and desperate to join them.

This was to be my punishment: being forced to watch their coupling without the relief of touching them, or even myself.

Every rock of Aemond’s hips rolled through Helaena like a wave. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the sight of her generous breasts swaying with each thrust, or the way his strong fingers grasped her hip. Her face crumpled as pleasure consumed her and even his expression slackened as he lost himself between her thighs. Slick dripped down my own as I squeezed them together, rocking on the balls of my feet as if by following their rhythm, I could relieve the emptiness inside me. I cried out when Helaena did, our voices rising together until hers broke on a sob as she found her bliss. Aemond worked her through it, driving himself inside her until she sank, limp and spent, against the sheets.    

After a moment, Aemond leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the Monarch butterfly that graced his sister's shoulder. He heaved himself up and pushed from the bed, stalking toward me. It was impossible to keep my eyes from dragging over the lean muscle that covered his frame, his now tangled silver-blonde hair, his cock that jutted proudly from between his hips. The blackwork tattoos that covered his moonlight skin just drew me in deeper. His chest brushed mine and his fingers were surprisingly gentle as he brushed them over the tattoo on my ribs, tracing the famous words Joan of Arc had muttered: "I am not afraid. I was born for this." He hummed, in question or approval I wasn't sure, before reaching up and unclasping the restraints that still held my wrists above my head. My hands fell to my sides, the blood rushing back into my arms, pins and needles dancing over my skin uncomfortably. I hissed at the sensation and Aemond took my hands in his, surprising me, rubbing his thumbs over my palms until the feeling began to subside.

When I looked up, he was staring at me, his face set in those harsh lines, as if he were waiting for me to pull away. But I wouldn't, I couldn't. He was so close and all I wanted to do was touch him. Tentatively, I reached up, trailing my fingertips feather light over the scar that split the left side of his face. I wasn't sure if he could even feel it, but he leaned ever so slightly into my touch, his gaze never leaving mine. Without thinking, I stood on tiptoe and pressed my lips to the ridge of twisted flesh, my breath fanning across Aemond's face. I felt him tense and moved to back away, but then his hands were in my hair, his mouth was on mine and he was kissing me.

There was nothing soft or gentle about it. This kiss was teeth and tongue, push and pull, desire, devotion, and all of the mess in between.

Maybe it wasn't just Hel that wanted me. Maybe Aemond did, too.

I threw my arms around his neck and let him turn me around, let him guide me backwards toward the bed where Helaena waited for us.

Aemond broke the kiss, tossing me back against the mattress as if I weighed nothing. He laid his body over mine and kissed me until I couldn't breathe, my lungs constricting with their need for air, but I couldn't bear to pull away from him. He dragged his lips down the line of my jaw and across my throat. When I glanced up, I found Helaena smiling down at me, that devilish fire lighting up the lilac depths of her eyes. She trailed her finger over the bridge of my nose before leaning down and pressing her lips to mine. The juxtaposition of her soft mouth and Aemond teeth scraping welts over my collarbone set of sparks across my skin, and I reached up to cradle the back of her head as Aemond's lips latched around my nipple.

I felt like a conduit between them, glowing from the inside out as they touched me, as they pulled me apart and fit me back together in new and wondrous ways.

We tumbled together, wandering hands and roving mouths, discovering each other. I learned that Helaena made the sweetest sounds when I dragged my fingers through her folds, the slick mess of her pleasure helping me glide slow circles around her clit. Aemond, for all he liked to watch, pinched his brows together and cursed when I took him in hand, my palm still wet with her, and stroked him in the grip Helaena demonstrated. One arm thrown lazily behind his head as he reclined, Helaena lounging by his side, my body sprawled between this thighs, Aemond took it all in stride - but when I lowered my head and licked the salty pearl of precum from his weeping tip, he growled and caught me by the wrist.

“Enough.”

He hauled me up roughly until I was straddling him. By then my own cunt was aching again and I slid eagerly over his thick, swollen length, making him hiss with every pass of my hips.

The heavy fall of his jeweled gaze stilled me. "Are you on birth control?" The way he asked was so clinical that I drew back at the question. After a moment I nodded.

"My pills are in my purse if you want to see." My voice was small, but I couldn't stop myself from grinding down against him. Aemond just nodded, his eyes drifting down my body again. The blunt head of his cock caught against me, and I leaned back, reaching between us to ease his way. My eyes rolled back when he bottomed out, but he took no mercy on me, didn’t wait for me to adjust to the stretch, just planted his feet and drove himself impossibly deeper, smug satisfaction on his proud face.

Helaena watched us for a beat, two, then slid gracefully up and above Aemond. I reached for her, pulling her into a kiss even as one of his broad hands left my hip to grasp her thigh and pull her down, down to his waiting mouth. Running my hands through her silky hair, I caught her by the nape of the neck, our kiss grounding me as we both rolled our hips, Aemond fucking both of us at once. The flick of my tongue in her mouth echoed the tempo he set, and Helaena’s moans were a musical counterpoint to his grunts as she wound her arms about my neck. I scraped my nails along Aemond’s thigh and was rewarded with the barest suggestion of a whimper. His fingers tightened around my hip hard enough to bruise. I hoped it would. That bloom of pain in the morning might be enough to convince me this night was more than some fevered dream.

As if she sensed the drift of my thoughts, Helaena’s kisses trailed lower. She nipped at my collarbone and, when I gasped at the sharp sting of pain and arched my back, grasped me around the throat.

“Pain excites you, doesn't it, Lady Grey?”

I nodded quickly, my eyes widening beneath her hypnotic stare.

Her smile unfurled like a secret before she leaned back in, catching my bottom lip between her teeth and biting down, her fingers still encircling my throat. Beneath me, Aemond's hands came to grip the cage of my ribs and I felt delicate in his grip, held up only by the strength of his body as he fucked me. Helaena whined against my mouth, a dusky flush crawling up her chest, her neck, her cheeks. I chased her lips as she leaned back, one hand finding her jaw and holding her to me, the other clutching at her breast as my tongue curled behind her teeth. She trembled in my grasp as Aemond drove her closer and closer toward the edge that we all teetered on. I heard a growl from below, felt a shift as he dug his heels into the mattress and matched the thrust of his hips to the rhythm he set with his mouth.

Helaena tumbled over first. I swallowed her strangled gasp, the sound low and throaty as she moaned her brother's name, her hands tightening where they gripped my wrists. I didn't think there was a more beautiful sight than Helaena Targaryen caught in her own pleasure, her mouth parted, her eyes closed tight, her starlight hair wild around her face. She fell back against the pillows, panting, her skin shining with glitter and a light sheen of sweat. She was a goddess in that moment and I couldn't believe I was here with her, worthy enough to see her like this.

I wanted to look at her forever. I wanted for her to see me the way I saw her.

Aemond pulled my attention back to him, back to my own body and where we were joined. He reached up and cupped my jaw in his large hand. The gesture was shockingly intimate in a way I hadn't expected and his eyes felt impossibly deep as I fell into them. With his free hand, he kneaded at my breast, his thumb brushing over my nipple. I leaned into his touch and felt that heat bloom within me, rising higher and higher until it exploded through me, pulling me over and then down, down, down to meet him. I fell forward and caught his lips with mine, devouring the little sound of surprise he made at my boldness. His arms wound around my back and I felt him so deep I knew I was stained by him. He came with a groan, spilling hot within me, his hips finally stilling as his hands trailed between my shoulders.

I thought I would never catch my breath, that my heart would thunder out of my chest. But Aemond shifted beneath me, tugging me to lay at his side, tucked beneath his arm. He rested his head on Helaena's soft stomach and her fingers were instantly carding through his hair, combing the snarls I'd left behind. It felt easy to be with them like this, soft and pliant in the afterglow, and the thought squeezed tight in my chest. I wriggled, preemptively feeling the awkwardness that undoubtedly would come next. Aemond clicked his tongue at me, tugging at a lock of my hair when I couldn't keep still

"What are you doing?" He asked, his voice rough, a little irritation pulling at the edges.

"I'm just gonna get cleaned up," I said. "Let you guys do whatever else you had planned with your night." All I wanted was to stay until they sent me away and pray that maybe they never would. But if I was being honest with myself, my welcome was likely worn out.

Helaena reached down, trailing her finger over the flat of my nose again. When I looked up, she was smiling. "You don't have to go, Lady Grey. You can stay as long as you like. No one is going to kick us out."

My brows pulled together. "Are you sure, I mean -."

Aemond cut me off. "We own the place, Grey. No one is coming knocking. Just relax, okay?" His arm would tighter around my middle, dragging me further into his embrace. When I didn't relax right away I felt his hand on the back of my head, guiding my cheek down against his chest. "Will you just…" Finally I acquiesced, melting against him as Helaena tangled her fingers with mine.

"Do you really own this place?" My voice was whisper quiet.

Helaena answered. "We bought it two years ago. Our brother Aegon thought it was a good investment, but you can't trust him with money, so Aemond and I went in on it. It's proved very lucrative. Who knew there were so many little deviants in King's Landing."

“Oh. That’s... wow. Okay. But do you want me to? Stay, I mean.”

Hel opened her mouth but Aemond sighed and I swear I had never heard a more weary sound. "Grey, I need you to listen very carefully. Helaena wants you to stay. I want you to stay. The only reason you'll move from the spot you're in is when I inevitably roll you over and fuck you from behind, okay?"

My head popped up, my cheeks hot with the blood that rushed to my face. When I looked down at him, his eyes were closed, his face utterly relaxed. Helaena just grinned.

"He means it too," she said, her finger tracing the Orb Weaver that was tattooed across his heart. "Aemond only says what he really means."

After a moment I nodded, laying my hand over his pec and resting my chin on top of it, a small smile curling at the corner of my mouth.

Her words sounded like an invitation. They sounded like a promise. And if I listened very carefully, they sounded like a possibility.

To Be Continued

#Aemond Targaryen x Reader #Helaena Targaryen x Aemond Targaryen #Helaena Targaryen x Reader #HelAemond #Aemond Targaryen fic #Aemond Targaryen smut #HotD #House of the Dragon #Helaena Targaryen Fic #Helaena Targaryen smut #Helaena Targaryen x reader x Aemond Targaryen #Fic #My fic #OUR fic

[helena-edits-in-real-time]

Be careful making wishes in the dark

"So, I've heard you want to testify Myers was with you when Teri Bauer was killed." There was something in Milton's expression, something almost predatory, that sent a shiver down Tony's spine, but he wasn't about to let him see that. "That's right." "Why?" "Because that's what happened." Tony stood by that version of the events but had a terrible feeling in his gut. And for good reason. "I will be blunt with you, agent. I know you're lying." -- Nina makes a mistake. Milton cleans it up. Tony wants to help but soon realises there's more to John Milton than meets the eye.

Another collaboration with the amazing @more-comfortable-in-hell.

Chapter 1

#helena writes #our fic #24 #24 fox #the devil's advocate #the devil's advocate 1997 #jack bauer #tony almeida #nina myers

[van-der-linde-worms]

Take Your Cigarette From Its Holder, Burn Your Initials On My Shoulder

Pairing: Arthur Morgan/ Mary Gillis Linton

Fic summary: AU in which Mary is wanted for the murder of her husband and that of her father, and Arthur is a bounty hunter going after her.

Rating: Explicit

Genre: Idiots in love, slow burn

~~~~~~

Chapter XIII: Unrequited

Word count: 7980

Last chapter: Chapter XII

“Hey, Arthur!” Mary calls out from the kitchen. “ ‘fore it gets too cold, I was figuring we could head out for a little camping trip. It’s clear out anyway.” Mary pauses for a moment. “You know anything about constellations?”

“Stars? Eh, I know the north star I guess,” he mutters as he stretches his arms. “When do ya wanna go then?”

“What'd you say about today?”

He looks up at her as he picks up his pants from the floor. “Today? Hm, can't blame ya for getting bored, being stuck here all day 'n stuff.”

“So, it's a yes then?” she asks, just loud enough for him to hear her over the sizzling of whatever she is cooking in the pot.

“'course.” He puts on his shirt and makes his way to her. He can hear a faint laughter and his arms encircle her waist, making his heart flutter.

A blissful sigh escapes his mouth as he nuzzles his jaw against her hair. The top of her head is just at the perfect height for his chin to rest on. His arms tighten around her, the soft smell of her hair is almost heavenly to him. 

“What's a good time then?” she asks. Arthur lets out a low croon and looks down at the colourless, chunky mix in the pan. 

“We ain’t in a hurry. What’re you making anyway? Eggs?” 

“It’s oatmeal. I uh, didn’t have coffee so I grabbed the wrong dish. It’ll be fine, just slather some jam on there, it’ll be fine,” she reassures herself. Arthur looks away and shuts his eyes, he could have sworn whatever the eldritch menace in the pot is certainly isn’t oatmeal.

“Looks fine,” Arthur lies. 

“I just had a look in the news and I read some comet’s supposed to pass earth around this month!” Mary gushes. “I’ve heard they’re so pretty.”

“It’d be nice to get out with you again, Mary. We ain’t done anything since…” Arthur trails off. 

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking of. I think near that decrepit old ranch would be nice, there’s lots of open space and the view is just gorgeous.”

“Sure.” Frankly it sounds rather romantic, but he doesn’t dare get his own hopes up. She’d been so kind to him, despite the situation.  If only it could be anything more. 

“So, if we head out around eight, I think we should head out on foot this time. I think it should be safe, no bears or anything.” she twirls around, her skirt hits his shin ever so gently. She stands on her toes and steals a kiss from his lips. She finds one of the jars and quickly pops it open. Arthur nods and moves the pot from the hot stove.

“Ain’t you energetic?” he begins shoveling the odd food onto plates, unsure of whether to add  knives and forks or spoons to go beside them. 

“Well, I’d just like to spend some time with you again. It’s lonely out there, on your own,” she slaps a spoonful of their sweet jelly on the chunks, trying to mask it. She steadily adds more. Arthur grabs his plate before she can add more. 

“Thank you.” Mary stops a spoonful later. The two sit down again. 

A look of slight discontent spreads across her features as she prods at the clumps, mashing the jam in with her spoon. The first rays of sunlight twinkle in her dark eyes, a murky orange glow peeks through her lashes. Her lower lid moves ever so slightly, the soft lines around her eyes cast gentle shadows,, her soft crows feet twitch as she takes a bite of the food. She couldn’t be more perfect, she couldn’t possibly be prettier, she couldn’t be any more wonderful and… god, I love her, I love her more than anything, more than anyone. If only.

“I was thinkin’ I’ll go down to the post again today, see if Hosea’s written back yet.”

“Could you check if Jamie wrote back too? They’re getting graded again right about now, they should be getting them back and I want to see how he did this time.”

“Sure, you need anything from the store?” Arthur asks. The porridge isn’t that bad, just weird looking. There’s too much jam to his liking. 

“I’d just like the letter, thank you. Oh, there should be some mint around there too!” She notes After a period of silence, she speaks up again.. “Y’know, back in the day I used to be pretty good at finding herbs. Whatever the cattle hadn’t stomped was always good, used to be that we’d dry them out to be eaten.” “You mind pickin’ some then?”

 “If we even find any.” 

“It’s high time I get moving then, if we ever wanna get out there on time,” Arthur stands up, picking up their empty plate. Mary brings hers to the sink as well. Arthur quickly kisses her again before he steps out. 

Arthur rides out to the post, taking his time. The autumn air was unusually warm that day. The ride passes by slowly as he enjoys the fading summer sun.

There were a few letters at the post office, this time . He didn’t often get mail, but this time was different. Mary got one from Jamie, Arthur got one from Hosea, another from John and one from Albert Mason, a photographer he ran into a bit ago. As he checks through the letters, Charles enters. 

“Arthur, hey! Haven’t seen you in a while,” he pulls Arthur out of his thoughts. 

“Charles. Yeah, been busy with somethin’. How’ve ya been?”

“Same as before, been trying to find you around.”

“Figure we should catch up some time. You think we could go hunting some time tomorrow, catch up?”

“Sure. But I gotta get moving now, got someone to meet in town.”

“I'll see you at the ol' spot in the mornin' then?”

“Yeah, sure.”

*****

The sun is hardly touching the horizon when Arthur arrives home, yet he can already see the ceramic pot steaming on the stove.

“Ain’t it a bit early for dinner?” 

“Figured since we're heading out we should eat early. I’m not letting you slip on eating, you’re too thin as is.” She rubs his cheek. His heart skips a bit. I love you.

She notices the letters in his hands, he picks out the one from Hosea, eyeing it as if it were a trap. “Who’s that from?”

“Hosea.” Arthur sits down and tears it open. His eyes scan the text, his expression shifting from concern to an amused chuckle. 

“What is it then?” she asks from the stove. 

“John got some girl knocked up in town, I did tell ya about John?”

She thought for a while before shaking her head, “Don't think so. What about him?”

Arthur shakes his head, as if in disapproval, though the mischievous grin on his face remains. “He's been heading to the bathhouse a lot. 'm pretty sure Dutch was still alive the last time he took a bath. Apparently a girl there caught his eye and, well, now little Johnny Marston's gonna be a pa.”

She lifts her eyebrows, surprised, “Oh? Send my congratulations to them then.”

“Nah, don't think John's too happy about it,” he says, folding the paper and shoving it into one of the drawers. “'sea wants me to have a talk with him later. Oh, and here's Jamie's letter”

“Thanks,” she says, carefully tearing the envelope open.

He observes her face as she scans the letter. A small smile creeps up her face. Insignificant as it is, her joy is contagious to him. “How’s the boy doing?”

“Did pretty well in his first test; he joined some club in school too. I’m glad he’s finally making more friends.”

“Good for him,” he shakes the strap of the satchel off his shoulder. “Meanwhile I have my brat of a brother.”

“Oh come on Arthur, he’s just a kid. I guess he just ain't ready to be a dad.”

“Him? A kid? Nah, he may be a manchild but he's a grown man, whether he likes it or not.”

“How old is he even?”

“20 or so. I know, barely older than Jamie, but ain’t no kid. He messes around, he gotta deal with the consequences.”

“I guess,” she shrugs, going back to work at the counter. “Poor girl though. What is he gonna do then?”

“Somethin’ dumb most probably. He is John.” 

“He ain’t gonna leave them is he?”

“He wouldn’t do somethin’ like that. Think ‘Sea’s pushin’ him to marry her now.” “Well I guess that’s good then, she ain’t just gettin’ left in the dust.” she sighs, measuring out some salt. 

“Figure this is the dumbest thing he’s pulled in years. You’re lucky Jamie ain’t like that.”

“That boy's done his fair share of stupid stuff too, believe me.”

“Do I dare ask?” Arthur asks with a chuckle.

“C’mon now Arthur, ain’t like every kid can go running around like John.” Mary scoffs. “Why, it’ll be getting dark soon, we should get movin’ after eating if we wanna catch anything.”

“You got anythin’ else planned?”

“Not really.”

“How do you even pick out them constellations?”

“Well you have to look at em or have someone else point ‘em out. I figure I could make something up too.”

“Y’know, back in the bad old days ‘sea used to teach me about the stars. Thing is he doesn’t know a damn thing about them and there ain’t no thing called an Aphana star or a wolf constellation.”

“Oh, but there is! It’s actually called the Lupus constellation and it should be in view in June!”

“Welp. I think it was back in the winter though, any idea if it’s visible then?”

“Nope.”

“Hosea’s got a way with bullshitting anyway, ain't a surprise. Should’ve asked Dutch, he’d’ve known.”

“What did Dutch know then?”

“Something about astrology, how stars are s’pposed to affect how people are.” 

“Hm? Horoscopes?”

“That, yeah. Think he got over it once he got to Marx.”

“Marx? Karl Marx?”

“You know him?”

“I’ve heard of him.”

“Dutch wouldn’t goddamn shut up about him for a year, least it was better than the Greek phase.”

“Greek phase? This Dutch guy was into a lot of stuff huh.”

“All kinds of it, but none of them ever lasted.” Arthur grumbles as he sets the table, the memory of Dutch bringing a faint smile to his face.  

She carefully fills the bowl with scoops of stew, filled with chunks of meat and carrots, and waits for them to cool down before placing them on the table. She sits down next to him as he sends the spoon into his mouth.

It doesn't taste too bad, the broth is flavourful and well seasoned, but the meat is  tough, probably overcooked. 

“How is it?”

“Tastes like rubber,” he teases, laboring his teeth through the meat.

“That's what Barry said. Unfortunately the poor guy didn’t live to tell the tale.”

He raises his eyebrow at her rather dark joke, “What, you're gonna poison me too?” 

 “Well if I am you would have tasted something, my dear,” she jokes. Arthur chuckles and shakes his head.

“True that. Tastes fine though, you’ve improved.” 

“Thank you, means a lot from someone who’s clearly burnt out his taste buds.”

He quickly empties his bowl, despite his complaints. She is still eating as he drops his bowl in the sink.

“Gonna pack for the night, you mind doin' the dishes?” he says, putting on his hat as he unlocks the door.

*****

She potters around the home, gathering things, excitement painted on her face, the kind of innocent glee he had grown to adore. He grabs the bedrolls from where he had put them. Her’s seems rather worn and dirty, something he’d rather take. She’d get cold far more easily anyway. Mary paces into the room, grabbing something from the closet. 

“C’mon then! It’s really perfect timing, new moon and all!”

“Comin’”, he answers. “Gonna saddle up Boadicea. You grab something warmer, s’a little chilly tonight.”

She raises an eyebrow, “Oh, now you’re nagging me?”

He shakes his head, though not exactly in denial, “Like you ain’t always cold.”

“None of your coats fit me— here, take this,” she shoves a wool blanket into his arms. “Besides, I know you’ll keep me warm.”

“ ‘ppose we don't need this then,” he gestures to the blanket in his hands.

“Guess we don’t. You’re enough for me.” 

His heart skips a beat. He knows all too well that it's only a joke, but to think that he would ever be enough for someone like her… he would never be enough, but, if she really thinks so…

Her voice pulls him out of his stupor, “We better hurry up.”

“Sure,” he mutters, once again leaving the house to load the bundles in his arms onto Boadicea. Making sure that she has brought her compass and matches— even though Arthur has probably got these in his satchel, he's always prepared for everything— she throws a scarf over her shoulder and swiftly ties it around her neck, a simple makeshift cloak to protect her from the cold, before stepping out to join him.

****

The spot she mentioned isn't too far away, and they have got themselves settled in no time. She gathers some errand branches for firewood as he sets up the tent.

Arthur joins her around the fire once he is done. He watches as she gazes into the flames, the light of the fire dancing on her face.

“When did it happen, the thing with John?” Mary asks.

“Last week or so I guess. Why?”

“Well, I just keep thinkin’ about it. Ain’t really fair somethin’ like that could just happen,”

“Really ain’t. Don’t dwell on it too much, ain’t like things would change anyway.”

“I know. Y’know we used to try for kids plenty, Barry and I, and nothing ever came of it. He got sons already ‘n he always blamed me for it.”

Her expression is calm, yet Arthur still feels a needle poking at his heart upon her words. “Oh. Must’ve been a hell of a thing.” 

“I guess.” The air between them once again falls to silence, the only sound being the crackling of the fire and the occasional crinkling of the grass as the wind makes its way through their swaying stems. “Heh, well, lucky thing I s’ppose. Never felt more trapped than back then with him in that place.”

Arthur inches his hand ever closer to hers, placing it in her open palm. Perhaps it’s an attempt to comfort her when he lacks the words to do it in any other way. Her skin feels wonderfully soft on his fingertips, the calluses under a delicate silken layer. The warmth emanates from her palm, her fingers are rather cool to the touch. Each wrinkle in her palm imprints itself in his mind, the contour of the muscle operating her thumb, the tiny little scars from a million little accidents over years, burns, cuts, abrasions. 

He opens his mouth to say something, but once again nothing comes out.

She pulls him close, placing a kiss on his cheek. He can feel his cheeks reddening, and he knows for a fact that it isn't the heat from the fire. I love you. 

She pulls herself onto his lap again, her lips meet his. The soft tingling doesn’t last for long. Mary’s fingers slip into his hair as she lays him down. Arthur feels a pang of sadness as her hands trails down his torso to his crotch. It’s childish, really, hoping that she’d somehow miraculously return his feelings. It‘s just sex to her, he reminds himself, nothing else, nothing more.

Yet he leans into her, pulls her closer until skin meets skin, flesh is inside flesh, thoughts melt into lust.

Just as the fire within them is quenched by the wetness between their legs, the flames before them simmer to red coals. He bites his lip as she lazily rolls down beside him. They both take a moment to catch their breath, and she points up to a bright star as he throws a blanket over them. She sits up to grab her compass, before once again lying down with him.

“That there’s the north star, and try to connect these seven dots, see that ladle? That’s Ursa Minor, the little bear,” she says, trying to map out the constellations before them with her fingers. Arthur feels a smile spread across his face as she connects the stars. “Under it, there’s a bigger ladle– Ursa Major, his mother. Oh, and right next to them!” Mary whispers, leaning on Arthus’s shoulder to align their view, so that she can point out the stars for him more easily. “See that long trail of stars? That’s Draco.”

“Let me guess, it’s a dragon?”

“Good guess, mister. Oh, and look to  the south west, near the moon, see that really bright one near the horizon? That’s Venus.”

“Oh, I remember Dutch pointing that one out to me, and the red one, Mars, is it?”

“Think so, I can’t really see it though, if we’re lucky we might catch it around sunrise. You see the hexagon above it? That’s Ophiuchus, the snake bearer.”

“And the line across it s’the snake?”

“Yeah, oh, and right at the top is Cygnus, the swan.”

“It does look like a bird. And what about that one next to it, the bright one?

“I’m not too sure– think that one is lyra. A lyre, y’know?” “A liar? Now that I’m familiar with.” “No, the instrument! You pluck the string like a guitar– well, probably more like a harp. It belongs to this poet Orpheus.”

“S’that feller on the sky too?”

“No, don’t think he is– if anything he’s going underground.”

“What’d ya mean?” “You see, this Orpheus guy who sings so wonderfully, the god of music himself gave him his lyre…”

As he listens to her story, Arthur pulls out his journal to mark down the stars, connecting the lines and writing down the name of each constellation beside it. It’s a bit dark, but the light from the campfire is sufficient. 

“...and his song is so beautiful, it moves the king of the dead to tears. So, he agrees to let him and his wife go, on one condition: Eurydice must walk behind Orpheus, and he should not turn around on their way back, until they reach the mortal realm, and if he does, he’s going back to the mortal world alone.”

“That sounds too easy.”

“Things are always easier said than done.”

“He turns around?” “Yeah.”

“That’s dumb.”

“I s’ppose… but, I think I would’ve done the same.”

“Nah, that’s ridiculous, I’d never turn around if I was him.” “It’s a long way up, it’s dark and it’s cold, he can’t hear her footsteps and he can’t see her shadow, her being a ghost. We can’t blame him for doubtin’ if she’s really behind him.”

“He could have called her name if he’s in doubt.”

“Maybe he did and she called back, but he couldn’t hear her.”

“Even if so, he can, y’know, wait until they’re up above before turning around?”

“Well, yes, but doubt got the better of him.”

“Doubt, huh, ain’t no use doubting,” he grumbles as he flips to a new page of his journal. She chuckles, “Now that’s bold of you to say. Surely you won’t say that you’ve never doubted anything before?”

“Well, no, but I’m not letting it hold me back.”

“Can’t really say the same for me. And looking back, I don’t regret a single bit of it.”

“To each their own, I guess.”

“I guess. Oh! Look to the east, that’s Jupiter.”

“Which one?”

“The big one under the cluster of stars, you see it?”

“Oh, yeah,” Arthur replies, as he marks it down on the pages. “It’s right in the middle of Taurus, the bull.”

“Bull? Can’t see it.”

“See that cluster of stars? That’s Pleiades. That’s its body, And there’s the horn– here, I’ll mark it down for you,” she says, quickly outlining the shape of the bull in his journal.

“And what a coincidence– do you know Taurus is the bull that the god Jupiter turned into?”

More stars are mapped out and more stories are told,with the rising and falling of celestial bodies being the only sign of the passage of time, and despite it being well into the midnight hours, Arthur does not feel sleepy at all. To him, the night only seems to be passing too quickly. 

He steals another glance at her under the starlight. He can see her better now, despite the fading light from the embers, now that his vision has adjusted to the darkness. She looks just as beautiful as she does in the day under the daylight, her features looking all the more softer in the dim lighting. Suddenly he wishes– as silly as it is– that he can lie with her like this always, forever, until their bodies turn to bones, until the last star in the universe dies out.

“You see that board guy over there? Near Gemini?” her voice once again grasps her attention.

“What guy?” he asks, staring at the direction she is pointing towards. “You see those three bright stars? They mark his belt.” She grabs his hand and uses his finger to point out those stars for him. “And over there, that’s his bow. That’s Orion, he’s a hunter.”

“Think I see him now,” Arthur mutters, outlining the feller with his pencil.

“He kinda looks like ya, y’know, big and broad and all.” He lets out a small chuckle, “If you say so, ‘cept I don’t sparkle.”

“Right. Oh, and underneath! Sirius, the brightest star in the night sky other than Venus. It’s not fully out yet, but you can see half of Canis Major.”

“Let me guess, it’s a dog? The hunter guy’s dog?”

“Exactly, and you can see the rabbit running away from them…”

He can tell the sun is going to rise soon by the time the two finally settle down in their bedrolls, as the sky gradually changes from dark blue to pale purple. He pulls her over to the nicer bedroll before she has a chance to protest.

“I've got my own bed,” she says, though she slips under the sheets with him regardless.

“It's old 'n dirty, 'sides, we fit pretty well here don't we?”

“Hm, it's cozy enough,” she mutters mindlessly,  resting her head right above his heart. She can hear his heart speeding up the second she lays her hand on the other side of his chest, but pays it little mind.

A small smile blooms across his face as she yawns, she's kind of adorable like this, soft, docile, her usual defensiveness vanished into the night.

“You're so warm…” she mumbles, right before falling asleep, “I can hold you forever like this.”

Please do, it is the last thought he has before he, too, falls into slumber.

****

Arthur heads out shortly after they went home, only to return with another man an hour later. The two are engaged in a discussion as she steps back in, putting down the basket of clean  clothes in the corner. Seeing another person in the house is a strange feeling, her heart frantically jumps around her chest. They both look up, she feels she should just run off. Surely he’d recognize her, he’d know, everyone did, he’d instantly know and now she’s trapped in a house-

“Mary, was expectin’ you. Charles Smith, Mary Linton.” She reaches to shake his hand, the two make brief eye contact and engage in the courtesy.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Smith.” she greets, the man nods in response. She steps around the room and looks at them both. The two connected rooms offer little privacy and stepping out would be rather rude. 

“C’mon, sit with us,” Arthur invites her over. She sits by him and notices the cups of coffee on the table. There was a chip on one of the cups, a large one. The silence is broken by him yet again. “This is the feller I was tellin’ you about, we ain’t met in a while.”

Charles and Mary look at each other in silence and then glance back at Arthur. “And this is Mary, figure you read about her in the papers a bit ago.” Shut up, Arthur, just shut up. Please.

“Think I did. Arthur didn’t tell me about this situation.”

“Well, i-it’s not really a thing that should get out, in case someone hears, you see.” Mary excuses. Charles shoots a look at Arthur, silently shaming him for every single choice that led up to this. He had caught on the moment she stepped in. The two pillows on the bed, the little stitched on details and his neatened up appearance. A thing Charles hadn’t before noticed was the degree of his idiocy, apparently. 

Arthur notices her stilted mannerisms and places his hand on her hand under the table. 

“Why then?”

“ ‘s hard to explain,” Arthur squeezes her hand. She gently squeezes back.

“Ain’t really. We share a bed.”

“Oh.”  

Arthur chats with the man for a while, before the two get up to leave. Charles raises an eyebrow at him as he pulls a jacket on, questioning the whole situation. He eyes the strange lady observing them. 

“You wanna come with us?” Arthur asks, it snaps her out of her trance. 

“Well, I won’t be of much help or company. ‘Sides, I have things to do, you go on ahead darlin’,” Mary stands up as they step out. 

Darlin’.

Arthur pauseos at the door, turning back to look at her, their eyes meet as she steps forth. The door clolpsllles, the9ootttotototo to to tttttt  the 9brief moment ends as the door clicks shut. Arthur lets out a breath he only now realizes he had held in for the time. Something was missing, he thinks, but shakes the thought away.

Should have goddamn kissed her.

He gathers his thoughts for a moment and steps back to meet the younger man. 

“What’s going on with you, Arthur?” Charles asks. 

“Nothin’, nothin’,” Arthur denies, turning away. Charles furrows his brow. 

“At this rate I’d have guessed you married her.” His tone is only half joking.

“Huh.” he feels a flush creep up his face at the thought. It’s a silly, soft  thought but… that damned woman seemed to some strange aura about her. She wouldn’t ever, never in a million years even consider it would she, not with me. Fool.

“As a matter of fact ‘m hurt ya didn’t tell me.”

“Ain’t like that, Charles. She ‘n I ain’t involved like that, she’s got her own things goin’ on and she’ll probably leave me any day now.”

“Is that so?” Charles casts him a strange look as they walk into the woods, “I’ve never seen you act like that with anybody.”

Arthur sighs, he can’t help but be ashamed of these…stupid feelings, but it would probably do him good to let it out. It’s just Charles, ain’t like he will judge him for it.

“Well I do like her a bit, she’s been living with me for a while and she…she’s been real nice to me, y’know.”

“…I can tell,” Charles mutters, recalling in terror the way the two looked at each other. “Thought you were tracking her down just a while ago, and now you’re living with her?”

“Long story short, she saved my life, I owed her one, and she needed a place to hide so, we ended up sharing a roof.”

“And you said you like her?”

“Yeah?”

“Arthur,” Charles stops in his tracks, turning to look at him. “She killed her husband.”

“Yeah, that. That feller was a bastard, a child rapist. Can you blame her for that?”

Charles sighs, he can see the reason behind that woman’s action, if what she claimed was true, that is, but he sure can’t see any logic behind Arthur’s thought process. “Still. Of course she’d put him in a bad light in her story.”

“Even if she did lie to me it ain’t like I haven’t murdered anyone before. C’mon, let’s get going,” he urges.

“Fair enough. She does seem sweet on you, gotta say.”

“You really think so?” Arthur asks, his tone almost hopeful.

“That she’s sweet on you? Yeah. I’m guessing she’s why your den finally looks like a house now?”

“Yeah, yeah, she’s been a great housemate.”

Charles wants to point out that housemate seems like an odd choice of word given the way they interact, but he does not comment.“ ‘m glad to hear that, but still, be careful.”

“C’mon, if she’s going to kill me she would’ve done it weeks ago. Enough about me, how have ya been?”

“Same old. There's this beekeeper who moved near me a few weeks ago and his little army has been bothering me ever since. Nothing interesting beside that, really. How’re you two getting on?”

“A beekeeper? Never would’ve guessed voluntarily keep ‘em.”

“Mm, yeah, all sorts of folk out there. What’s she been doing in this time?”

“They live out near the fields? Saw a bunch of flowers there, seems like a nice place for ‘em.”

“Heard there was someone new in town sellin’ knitted things ‘n embroidery”

“Yup. Does he get stung by ‘em often?” “Is it her?”

“Yup, so, how’re you two gettin’ on, other than that?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Hm? Means what I said it meant.” Arthur shrugs. 

“Hosea told me you were harbourin’ an outlaw, said it like it had passed. When’s she gonna be gone?” Charles dodges the subject.

“Hope not soon. Charles, I… I think I love her.”

A look of disapproval spreads across the other man's face. “I’m not gona do anythin’ about it, it’d… it’d be dumb.”

“C’mon, Arthur, I can see that, but I don't wanna see you get hurt. Might just be best to let her go.”

Arthur sighs heavily. 

“I know, I know. S’gonna hurt anyway. Enough about her, you said you saw a stag ‘round here earlier?”

*******

“Oh, you guys are back,” Mary says, emptying a can of beans into the steaming pot.

“Yeah,” says Arthur, swinging off his satchel to hang it behind the door. “Watcha makin’?” He asks, looking over her shoulders. 

“Just put together what I could find, we’re running low,” she says, stirring the mixture of beans, mushrooms, and potatoes. “And nice to see you again Mr. Smith,” she greets as the other man lays down several bundles wrapped in paper on the table.

“Charles’ fine,” he replies. Mary only hums in response.

“Yer staying for dinner?” Arthur asks. Mary secretly hopes he would refuse, not because she dislikes Arthur’s friend. In fact, she finds him a pretty nice feller, but it is just so awkward and unnatural, especially with Arthur being so at ease and Charles being clearly as uneasy as her.

Charles merely shrugs, “Sure.”

“What have you guys got?” she asks, sprinkling some salt over the pot.

“Just some rabbits. What’d ya say if we roast ‘em?”

“I’m fine with it.” Arthur nods as he grabs a knife to skin the rabbits. 

“Need any help?” Charles offers.

“No, it’s fine, you’re the guest,” Arthur says.

“A guest? You’re talking like I’m a stranger,” Charles jokes as he sets himself down at the table, slightly more relaxed now.

“You come here often, Mr Smith?” Mary asks, trying to break the awkwardness.

“I used to.”

“Oh?” Mary puts the lid over the pot, before walking over to pour a glass of water for Arthur, then another for Charles. He silently thanks her with a nod.

“Well, then you came.” Suppose Arthur doesn’t want anyone interrupting you two. Charles thinks, though he knows better than to say it out loud.

Mary freezes, trying to think of the implication behind his statement. There is not a single bit of repulsion in his tone, yet his words make her feel like an intruder. She wonders if that’s what she is to his friends and family, someone uninvited, a hindrance to Arthur’s life. They won’t be wrong, she thinks, she has been nothing but a dependent with little contribution.

“I won’t be disturbing him for long,” she explains. “He’s been a great host, but I’d hate to bother him for any longer. I’ll be out of here as soon as I can, right Arthur?”

A sharp metal cling tears through the room before her words fall. Mary turns around and finds that Arthur has dropped the knife.

“…Arthur? Are you alright?”

He shakes his head out of his trance. “Yeah, am fine, my hand just slipped.”

She picks up the knife for him before returning to the stove. Charles watches as Arthur ties a string onto the rabbits.

A silent sigh escapes him. His face falls, the happiness sucked away by those words. 

“You alright?”

“ ‘m fine,” he shakily picks the knife up. “These’ll be good.” he smiles, a weakness hidden behind those words. 

Charles smiles back, pitying the other man.

Fine. Fine! Completely fine. Just like she’s with leaving. FINE.

“Hey, well. I hope you two had fun out there, the weathers been fine all week!” she continues. FINE, FINE, EVERYTHING’S JUST GODDAMN FINE.

“Could have used you out there too,” Charles tries to break the tension. He notices his friend's hand tighten around the knife. He places a hand on his shoulder and notices the tension in his muscles.

He snakes his hand onto Arthurs and gently places the knife on the table. 

“What?” Arthur asks, confused.

“Nothin'. You're done with this, right? I'll take it to wash.”

“Oh, yeah, alright.” Arthur says. Charles drops it at the sink while Arthur kneels down before the fireplace, hanging the rabbits over the pile of logs.

Charles sits back down at the table. He notices how Arthur is still kneeling on the floor, despite having finished his work. He doesn't comment.

Arthur finally breaks out of his haze as Mary turns around, leaving the steaming pot behind. “Yer done?”

“Not yet, gotta let it simmer for a while,” she mutters, grabbing the unfinished needlework on the table. Charles immediately recognises it as Arthur's neckerchief. Huh.

Arthur brushes the ashes off his hands on his pants. “S'gonna take these at least an hour to cook too.”

“I hope you boys are not too hungry then,” says Mary, as she sits down at the edge of the bed, disappearing from their view.

“I can wait,” Charles says. Arthur casts the bedroom door another glance before sitting himself down at the table, opposite to the other man. 

“So, what have you been up to, other than getting all enamored and stuff?” Charles asks with a whisper. Arthur really has been a stranger lately. He can sense something has changed in him during the past few months. Though Charles can't really tell what it is, he knows Mrs Linton and Arthur's…feelings for her, have to be the reason for it.

“Eh, nothing much, just the old stuff.”

“Y'know, your house really looks a lot nicer now.”

“Yeah, like I said she's a great housekeeper.”

“You look a lot better than before too, you know that right?”

“Do I?” Arthur gives him a funny look. “How?”

“Hard to say, but at least you don't like you're gonna die in a week anymore.”

“That's a real nice compliment coming from ya,” Arthur chuckles. 

“I mean it, you look way happier than before.”

He shrugs, “S'ppose the extra company does me good.”

“...company, huh?”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“So, you said you've got a new neighbor?”

“Yeah, a Jason Brown or something like that. I forgot his name and it'd be too strange to ask at this point.”

“Why? Just say you haven't got his last name or something.”

“Guess I should try that.”

“You said he keeps bees?”

“Yeah, he's given me a jar of honey a while ago. He's a pretty nice feller. His herd, not quite.”

“What'd they do?”

“They were supposed to be heading to the apple farm nearby— he mentioned something about them being pollinators and him having got a fund from the owner— but they kept heading to my house to bug me.”

“You ever got stung?”

“A couple times. Didn't even do anything to them.”

“Huh, what about that Jason feller?”

“Not as far as I know. I've seen him work from a distance before. They seemed to let him do whatever he wanted to their hive. He was wearing this net thing over his head though.” Their conversation is interrupted by Mary shuffling through, she grabs her needles. Arthur’s expression falls again, his gaze follows her out, an odd type of sadness masked behind his eyes. 

**** 

The two men step out, Charles pats Taima’s neck in greeting, the mare nickers as he grabs her reins. 

“Hope you’ll be comin’ back some time soon.” Arthur steps closer to the horse.

“Sure. You sure you’ll be alright, Arthur?” Charles asks, swinging his leg over the horse. 

Arthur laughs. “ ‘course I’ll be. Just a crush is all, no reason to worry.”

“You sure?”

“Who do ya think I am? She’ll be out ‘before you’re back, it’ll… pass.” he hesitates on the word. 

Charles nudges the appaloosa to a trot and leaves, glancing back at the other man, left standing in the dust. Arthur turns his gaze to the window and catches a peek at her, sitting there, working hard on another one of her projects. She tilts her head and her eye twitches. 

She’ll be gone soon, she’ll be gone and there isn’t a damn thing I can do.

Arthur steps back inside and she springs up from the spot, tying off two treads and snipping them as she steps over. She pulls him down and ties a black scrap of fabric around his neck. It wasn’t what she was working on before, he notices. 

“Did your friend leave?” she asks. Arthur nods as she adjusts it around his neck. “ ‘m glad to see you ain’t a real hermit just a, hm, a hermit of opportunity.”

“Can’t be a real one with ya here.” he forces a chuckle. “ ‘sides, ain’t fun like that, I don’t mind the company.”

“He'll be coming over again soon?”

“Dunno, maybe, why, do you want him to?”

“Not really.”

He gives out an airy laugh, “Oh, he'll definitely be hurt if he hears that.”

“No, not what I meant. He's a nice feller, but it's just a little bit strange with someone else here y'know?”

“What'd ya mean?”

“Guess I'm just used to being alone with you.”

A warm feeling blooms across his chest. Could she really enjoy being here with him?

Arthur swallows, calm down, she just said she was used to it. It doesn't mean anything.

“Huh, thought you'd be getting sick of my face by now.”

“Probably would have if you weren't so handsome.” 

Suddenly he doesn't know where he should be looking at, and his hands feel awkward hanging besides his hips, but he doesn't know where to put them. He looks away, hoping she isn't able to see his flushed cheeks under the dim light.

“Flatterer,” he mumbles. She smiles and stands on her tiptoes to give his cheek. He has never told her, but it's his favorite way to be kissed; quick, chaste, but sweeter and more intimate than any other kiss. He can almost close his eyes and pretend it's a gesture of something more than mere habitual affection.

He realizes he's still standing at the door while she has already sat down at the edge of the bed, folding her outer clothes. He slowly makes his way towards the room to join her.

“He's not gonna visit for a while. We'll be getting plenty of alone time,” he says, playing with her hair, which she has just let down. Her curls fall onto her shoulders adorning the outline of her face. He twirls a strand around his index finger, feeling its smooth silkiness.

“Good, more fun with just you and I here, isn't it?” 

“How so?” he asks with a knowing smile. The eager hands prying his collar open and the wild kiss that follows it are the only answers his need.

#take your cigarette from its holder burn your initials on my shoulder #mary linton x arthur morgan #mary linton/arthur morgan #mary gillis #mary gillis linton #mary linton #arthur morgan #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #our fic

[sidhebeingbrand]

Remember House of Sand? B’s and my now-obsolete but still beloved Bobadinnec fic?

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/35431588 rated M, cw body horror, psychological horror, animal death. Written pre-BoBF)

B and I commissioned More Art and I desperately need you to see it. (Commission Severini, they’re good folks)

https://twitter.com/severenitm/status/1600197503550648320?s=46&t=_Eu__6q1QmQYJkIna3mPYw

#our fic #other people's art #art i commissioned #boba fett #toughbreaks #bobadin #bobadinnec

[northisnotup]

I guess this is a series now.

Parts one and two! Canon typical violence, mind the gap. Hey @themarchrabbit you’re it <3

He thinks of saying 'this is the farthest I've ever been from Arles,' when his captor takes them expertly through the narrow and treacherous gravel roads on the mountain sides. It's just the right side of pathetic to court sympathy, and it even has the bonus of being true. He thinks about it.

In the end, he says something about sky burials. The effects of high altitude on decay. 

His captor has a horrid fascination with the macabre facts Laurent collects like his mother collected jewels. Horrified fascination is better than condescending indulgence. Not by much, but Laurent has learned to savor the small victories, as sometimes they're all you get. That - and in all honesty, he cannot fucking stomach the way his captor had smirked while talking about art movements, either not realizing Laurent could see him in the rear view mirror, or not caring.

He respects Laurent’s anger more than any offered camaraderie. Which appeals to Laurent’s pride, but is less than ideal when it comes to everything else. Still, it’s workable, if only because nothing about the situation is ideal. He still has no idea who the man works for, whether he is being taken out by a rival, or gotten rid of as he’s too old to fit his uncle’s tastes but not yet old enough to inherit. Admittedly, Laurent may have banked too hard on the fact that his disappearance or death either directly before he was to inherit or immediately afterwards would be suspicious enough to comment on by those who would use it for their own gain.

But of course, that could be exactly what his captor is hoping for.

There are simply too many variables but whoever this man is, he is not a paid grunt. This is professional work.

First - The cuffs have only come out once, and for a purpose. His wrists were in full view the whole time they were on, so even if Laurent was to go for the wire hidden in his pajama cuffs, he was never in a position to do so. In fact, any time he so much as shifted, the noise of metal on metal would rouse his ceaseless watcher.

Second - When it was time to leave it was tape, not rope, not chains, but tape that was wrapped expertly around his forearms, securing them together with one hand cupping either elbow. And not duct tape, either. Nothing that would leave a residue, or marks. This was bondage tape, which stuck only to itself and not the skin. 

Third - They kept to backroads, so interactions with other drivers were minimal and had not once stopped for gas at a station. Instead, his captor pulled over a klik or two past the last station and pasted on a rueful look as he filled the car with a jerry can from the trunk.

All of this points to one, terrible, conclusion: Laurent is going to die. Not immediately, not when he's been so gently handled, compared to the last time he was kidnapped, and they've passed so many prime spots for a body dump already.

His uncle never wanted to know the particulars of the many Fixer’s he hired. He thought knowing the details would make him more likely to react, if ever questioned. Laurent though, Laurent has always appreciated an artist, no matter the medium. And artists are always oh too happy to talk about their work.

"When will we arrive in Marlas?" Laurent doesn’t allow himself to relax when his captor jumps, casting a furtive look in the rearview mirror. He counts his small blessings instead that his voice comes out strong, sounding bored and imperious, as though being chauffeured. Hands sweaty against his elbows, Laurent carefully doesn’t look out the window when the car lurches around a bend.

"What makes you think it's Marlas?"

"Are you asking me to insult your intelligence or my own?"

"Just wondering if you can show your work."

"Wondering if I'm guessing, you mean."

The man shrugs, and Laurent has to tap down a frisson of fear and fascination when he notices that his shoulders are wider than the seat that holds him. He took his jacket off an hour ago and, Laurent had found it interesting to note, his captor took his harness off too, storing his gun in the locked glove compartment as though to discourage the idea of Laurent getting his hands on it. Not that there would have been no point in struggling for it anyway - the man is twice Laurent’s size and that’s in body mass alone, not even taking into account the difference in their musculature. Underfed and out of shape, Laurent wouldn’t stand a chance. No gun necessary. 

Licking his lips, Laurent considers his options, and he does so quickly. It doesn’t pay to be too smart. Being underestimated has advantages. But he isn’t underestimated. Hasn’t been, not once. His captor noticed Laurent squirming his gag off and removed it. Noticed him moving his bonds and tied him differently. There is no advantage here to staying silent.

“You’re driving me through the mountains, but the position of the sun says we’re going south. What’s to the south? A large, politically neutral city-state with a port and its own customs. Ergo, Marlas.”

Quietly he hears ‘Ergo-fuck yourself,’from the man under his breath, and chooses not to comment when he can’t in good faith call it an interruption.

“You’re gentle with me, so either your boss wants the dubious honor of roughing me up themself, or you don’t want me damaged because that will ruin the fiction you’re selling of how I died. Of course the third option is that you simply haven’t been paid to rough me up and why take on more work, but we both know if that were the case it would have been easier to have me unconscious the whole way. You haven’t taken that route, so I am being kept awake and kept well for a reason. Either way, I’m at least making it to Marlas alive. And on the very small chance you’re not going to kill me when we get to Marlas, the same logic applies. I’m to look well cared for, at least for now. So - when do we get to Marlas?”

At first, Laurent thinks he’s being ignored and the spike of impotent rage that hammers through him is enough to have him bracing himself to kick at the driver’s seat with all his might - right before he notices the finger tap-tap-tapping on the wheel.

He is being considered. Can’t lose his head now.

“No possibility of a rescue? Ransom? You can’t think of anyone who might want you safe?”

Laurent laughs. Chokes, really, but he can blame the tape for how tightly he is holding himself.

“You want names?” It’s stupid. It’s so stupid, but Laurent is thirsty and stiff, there’s pain throbbing in time with his racing heart centered behind his left eye and the hunger pangs he’s grown used to in the last year have become gnawing. Even without all that - well, he has nothing left to lose. “Fine. Torveld doesn’t have the money to pay you because all his money is his brother’s money, and all his brother’s money is in his brother’s business. Neither of them would risk angering or alienating Uncle, in any case. If I had my inheritance and he could ensure he would be repaid, that’s one thing. But if I suddenly pop up after Uncle’s raised a fuss about my disappearance, assuming he has, but he’s not one to overlook an advantage that gets him closer to my money, he is going to ensure I look unstable and a danger to myself and I won’t see a dime. So it’s not Torveld. I stopped being able to send bribes to Halvik and her crew months ago, and she’s only an ally when the money is good. So it’s not her. And there really isn’t any use in trying to convince me it’s you. You’re not my rescuer. This is not salvation. And yet, it’s the only chance I have. So I ask again. When do we get to Marlas?”

“You gave up quick.”

Laurent doesn’t know what it means that the man sounds impressed.

“You’re hired for a job, you do the job, you get paid. You’re not being fancy, you’re not deviating from the quickest route. No one comes through the mountains because they’re not safe, but they are by far the most direct route to Marlas.”

Laurent’s stomach rolls. Small mercies there is nothing in it to throw up, and he is able to swallow past the rush of saliva that usually heralds a sickness. He doesn’t want to think about being driven over the same rocky slopes his brother was killed on, so he won’t.

It was called an accident, of course. But Auguste was a driver. He was good. He wouldn’t have - 

Laurent isn’t thinking about it.

“You’re not going to abandon a job for a bargaining chip, not without any means of payment. If you were, you’d have phoned my Uncle before now. So if there is no use trying with you, I’d better be prepared to try with your superiors.”

“Two more hours,.” The man snorts a laugh, more real than any reaction Laurent’s gotten out of him so far. He says it again, almost as if to himself. “Two more hours.”

“Thank you,” Laurent bites out, and can’t help himself adding, “that will be all."

#the laurent interlude #the kidnapping fic needs a name #my fic #OUR fic #Captive Prince #damen/laurent #lamen

[more-comfortable-in-hell]

Thinking of her in her leather and lace

24 hours.

3 CTU agents, plus an FBI agent along for the ride.

2 targets, one of whom is Nina Myers.

And a kink club.

What could go wrong?

Collaboration with the amazing @helena-edits-in-real-time❣️

Read it on Ao3 here.

Chapters are posted in real time

#24 #24fox #jack bauer #tony almeida #nina myers #michelle dessler #Larry Moss #Sidra #our fic #tony x nina

[unwillingadventurer]

Raffles Week- day 2- Innocence.

#rafflesweek2024 #raffles #crime and cricket #our fic #was stuck on today's but managed to get something done

[dil-ibaadat]

Hellooo! This is the anon who sent you the West Wing youtube clip.

I was shy and hence posted anonymously but you’re so sweet that I couldn’t help revealing myself! 🙈

Full disclaimer that I’ve never watched the West Wing but have always kinda wanted to because I love that sort of old timey witty American drama, even if it’s politics I don’t fully understand and it is a full testament to your talent and writing prowess that I now really feel like watching the show to get all the references from your fic 🙈Alas, it’ll have to wait since I have an exam but I shall get to it right after hopefully!

I’ve read this first chapter about 5 times ( I am not joking), I can’t even explain why I love it so much! You’ve combined two series’ with such finesse! There’s so much depth and character even within this fanfictiony world and I can’t even begin to grasp how sexy it is? The whole premise and how it’s so befitting for Kanthony and the rest of the Bridgerton clan too!

I love how you’ve not made it just a love story but like an actual world with seemingly real people trying to actually make a difference - that whole bit with Tom saying ‘this is going to be the greatest thing they’ll do’ is just so epic.

I can’t wait to see how the election unfolds now that Kate is almost winning! I wish this was an actual show, that’s how amazingly you’ve pulled me in 😬

I now get your references for the characters and it’s funny how initially before reading, I just assumed Anthony and Kate would be modelled on Josh and Donna (since they were the only two characters I sort of knew from the West Wing) but your interpretation of them contesting for President is way cooler and makes for so much more angst and drama.

Sorry for such a long ask, I’m genuinely so happy and eager to read your wonderful fic and I really hope you write many many more stories because your talent is just astonishing. 😍 Dowry is one of my favourites in the fandom. Shoutout to @folklauerate too as I realise this is both of your time and effort! (My favourite fic of hers is Hold Onto You and the Heist Society one!)

I’d like to end with getting the Chris Traeger reference too! I now know who Sam Seaborn is. 🙈

oh, wow. this is one of the loveliest messages i have ever received. <3 thank you so much for taking the time to send it!!!!! i'm so pleased you like the writing and the general vibe :)))

as for watching the west wing, we're doing our best to make sure it's not necessary to have watched the show in order to get the fic. if you have, you probably recognize some scenes (directly ripped off from scenes and dialogue in the show), and some character sketches, but beyond a few elements of plot, background, and surface-level characterization, this fic universe will feel a bit different from the show. we're borrowing the universe, the idealism, and the feel-good, hard-but-worth-it political reality constructed in the show. it's a wild, escapist political AU, all in good fun. we hope you'll like it! :)

i find it interesting you say you thought the dynamic between kanthony would be a josh/donna type deal, because i did consider that when i began writing it. it was sort of my go-to, but then i realized i've seen the boss/secretary dynamic many times in shows and it's gotten a bit stale for me. i've also noticed that oftentimes, the female love interest is put in the assistant-position, which to me feels a bit antiquated. at the same time, it's hard for me to imagine anthony in donna's position because the power dynamic between anthony and kate was very different in canon, so i ended up nixing that thought because i wanted them to start off as equals.

that said, there are other bridgerton ships that could fit the dynamic really well! josh and donna are interesting because they're introduced as this enmeshed, basically-married duo that are on a slowburn, friends-to-lovers arc. i think polin could work really well with that storyline, with maybe penelope as josh to shake things up (i think colin as her assistant who switched a lot of lanes in college and career-wise could be really, really interesting, and maybe one of pen's sisters could be dead, to give that additional edge of angst to the already complicated featherington dynamics aaaaaand i better stop before i end up writing this too!).

moreover, i originally began writing this fic because i was interested in exploring a kate-tom friendship a la jed and leo. and in order to do that, i had to make kate president. and then the idea grew legs, because i actually adore the idea of kate as a thirty-something, obama-type figure who's pulled in the opposite directions of radical liberal idealism and centrist pragmatism and anthony as a jaded, conflicted, entrenched dynastic political figure who's caught in this quagmire of expectations. in a way, anthony's still conflicted about his relationship with kate in this AU because it directly conflicts with his personal ambitions and his desire to make his dad proud, so that's canon-accurate but also repackaged in a fun, fresh way.

i don't know. i think it's neat. it's a neat AU. and @folklauerate has so many great ideas and juicy bits of characterization and plot and pitch-perfect writing -- it's gonna be so good, i'm gonna scrreeeeaaaammmm.

finally, thank you so much for being here in my inbox and sending this ask. i've been having days on and off for the past few months where i seriously question my writing and purpose and it's comments and messages like this that stop me from giving it all up and moving to kazakhstan and taking up, i don't know, goat-farming (or is it kyrgyzstan ;D, you tell me). i really appreciate it.

#ask on tumblr #promiseoftruth #bridgerton #my fic #OUR FIC