THE MAGICIAN 🔥🦋
This one was hard to choose. My boyfriend wanted Dorian to be the Magician, but the description of the card suits more Tisaanah. I was thinking of drawing Max as the Hermit, but then I came up with this sketch and I had to do them together. If you want a version of the Magician but with Dorian, I think we could do both versions ❄️ There are so many good magicians out there 😫🤌🏻
“My Aran improved dramatically. Still, every so often, I would unleash a string of truly nonsensical words that butchered every conceivable rule of grammar. On one particularly exhausting day, I committed one such crime when asking Max where the Stratagram ink had gone. ('Has gone where... black water?")
Max hadn't so much as paused as he reached into a drawer and produced the ink. At Sammerin's look of somewhat horrified amazement, he shrugged and said, "After a while, you become Alvent in Tisaanah-speak." And we looked at each other and exchanged a small, proud smile.”
the tender small gestures of love (and the way they all add up)
A Max & Tisaanah (The War of Lost Hearts) Fanfic
Summary: Max takes care of Tisaanah after a long day.
Or
“I love you, Maxantarius Farlione,” she said, still breathless. She kissed him again, tasting herself on his lips. “Bed - let’s,” she moaned as he caught her lip in his mouth and bit down, leaving her momentarily dizzy with lust. “Let’s go to the bed.”
“I can’t carry you and step out of this tub without tripping and catching us on fire,” he mumbled between kisses, not ready to part for even seconds.
Tisaanah threw back her head in a laugh, and stepped out of the tub. He followed. She made a show of standing up straight, jutting her chin up and out.
“I’m ready to be carried now,” she announced, erupting into a fit of giggles when he slung her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
Or
3,000+ words of shameless smut with feelings
AN: There were no fanfiction for my favorite book series of all time, so obviously I had to rectify this, while challenging myself to write ✨intimate smut✨
Huge shout out to Carissa Broadbent for writing the greatest books I’ve ever read, with the most amazing characters. Please, never read this if you find it.
Also on Ao3
Leadership revitalized and drained Tisaanah simultaneously. She loved the feeling of power, of knowing that her actions and words would be listened to, but she could live without the constant performance. She had hoped that part of her life was behind her, but nearly everyday she found herself sliding that mask back on, schmoozing with the royals of neighboring nations and the government of the Alliance. She threw herself into it with unflinching brutality, working from the wee hours of the morning until long after the moon crested high in the sky. It was mesmerizing to watch from the outside, and she loved it like a child. But it was in these times that she often forgot to rest, eat, or just stop and breathe.
So it was with dreams of sleep and a quick bite of whatever the kitchens had leftover, that she found herself walking to her room. In the background, she could hear the sound of running water.
“Max?” she called. He came around the corner donning a navy silk robe embellished in a floral pattern, and Tisaanah bit her lip to keep from laughing at the sight.
“The savior returns,” he quiped in butchered Therini. He had been practicing it more lately, small phrases here and there. She silently admitted he was getting much better, but the accent was still…rough.
“All in a day's work. What are you wearing?”
“Didn’t you know these are all the rage in Threll now? I’m a man of high fashion.”
“Mysterious and fashionable snake man?” She hummed, walking up to him and placing her hands on his chest. “How’d I get so lucky?”
“You forgot caring, attentive, best teacher that I’ve ever had.” He lists the attributes off with his fingers. It was a great test of her will not to burst into laughter at the quip, and the energy drained from her. It was the type of bone-deep tiredness that kept her restless, staring at the ceiling and trying to quiet her mind, the list of things she needed to do on a never ending loop. She frowned at the thought of another sleepless night, even if given the time to rest.
“I’m too exhausted to keep up with this level of humor.” She leaned into his touch, the warmth of him enveloping her and settling her in a way that even sleep could not. If she could not sleep, at least she could lay against him and listen to the pitter patter of his heart, his arms wrapping around her in a loose embrace, his knee tucked between her legs.
“About that. . .” He interlocked their fingers together pulling her with him around the corner to -
A bath, illuminated in the flicker of half a dozen candles. The scent of oils, lavender and something else she couldn’t place in her sleep deprived mind, wafted through the air. At the wide lip of the tub sat a tray full of fresh foods - fruits and bread, pork and cheese, and a bottle of wine.
If she felt tears in her eyes at the chasm of love in her chest, she’d blame it on the smoke from the candles, though it was barely there. This man, who had been working just as tirelessly as her, had prepared this for her. She could feel the heat of the water in the air from where she stood, the perfect scalding temperature. Her jaw dropped open in a choked “thank you.”
“Let me take care of you, my love,” he whispered, his voice reverent as a prayer. “Let me undress you.”
“You never have to ask,” she responded, just as softly. His calloused hands grazed her collarbone, their usual roughness masked by a thin layer of lotion that smelled of eucalyptus. She inhaled it, relishing how it mixed with ash and lilac scent of him as he slowly, so slowly, drew a path down and out, settling his hands on the lapels of her jacket. He removed her jacket first, undoing the buttons with a military trained skill, the thick material swooshing as it slid from her shoulders to pool on the floor. Her breath hitched as his hands went to her stomach, just above her waist. His nails lightly scratched at the soft expanse of skin there, the barest tickle of a caress, before he pulled her shirt up and over her head. As he continued to unclothe her, she watched him with a laser eye focus; the way his throat bobbed with every hitch of her breath, the broken lined-tattooed surface of his muscles straining with restraint, already needing to hold himself back. As his hands moved to the waistband of her pants, her stomach clenched. And when he finally slid her underwear down the length of her thighs, then her legs, the soft cotton tickling at the motion, she felt her breaths unconsciously hasten. And when she stood fully bare and exposed to the chill of the air, his eyes met hers and he smirked.
“I’ve kept it hot for you,” his voice was rough as he spoke, stepping to the side and directing her to the tub with a dramatic flourish of his arm.
She felt too choked up to speak, so she silently walked the two steps to the tub, letting out a satisfied moan as she submerged her body in the water. She dunked her head in, and his hands scratched at her scalp moments later, massaging shampoo into it. Tisaanah hummed in contentment, relaxing under his ministrations. He grabbed a cup and filled it, pouring fresh water atop her head to wash the soap out.
“Stand,” he instructed as he stripped off his robe and stepped in to join her, rubbing soap between his palms before caressing her shoulders, circling them until the soap was white foam upon her fragmented skin. He kneeled down, and she jerked as he rubbed along the back of her knees, up to her thighs, and over her pelvic bone, back and around to her ass. As he worked, he didn’t speak, didn’t need to as she turned to accommodate the warmth of his hands, soap dripping down her body. Gods, being touched this way was. . .She didn’t have words for it, the gentle way he touched her, pouring his whole self into caring for her, cleaning the grime of the day from her skin, and somewhere deeper in her soul too. It wasn’t even sexual, not completely, but it didn’t stop the butterflies from fluttering in her stomach, and a tightening in her chest and her core where desire pooled. The intimacy of it all brought tears to her eyes, but still she didn’t feel like crying - didn’t know if she could stop if she started to release the pent up stress of the past several weeks in that way.
There were other ways she’d much prefer to release it all.
She watched the firelight cast shadows across his skin, the insides of his arms, his shoulders, chest, and legs, as he poured more water over her, washing the suds of soap away. “All clean,” he murmured, after pouring the water over her thrice more. Her eyes locked with his. “There’s food, too. I probably should have asked about that first, actually. I had -”
“I’m not hungry for food.” Tisaanah cut him off, lifting her brow in challenge. It wasn’t exactly true - she knew she needed food. It just wasn’t what she wanted, no needed, most right now. “You’re beautiful,” she breathed, eyes taking in the dark ink encompassing most of his skin, the muscles of his abdomen tightening with each inhale of shaky breath. She hated those tattoos most days, its ink a permanent reminder of the hell he had been through. But they were his, and theirs, and a part of him now, so how could she hate anything that was part of him? She supposed he felt the same way about her scars.
She could see the moment his mind changed course from getting her to eat and sleep to giving into the consuming lust, his already hard cock twitching.
“I’m not either. Let me taste you.” He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around her. She started to kneel before him, but he urged her up and back. The tub sat against the wall, and she sat at its edge. He kneeled before her, looking into her eyes from between her spread legs. She could feel her breath quickening at the sight of him, and he had barely touched her. “This is about taking care of you, Tisaanah, not me. Let me. Just relax, and let me take care of you. You don’t have to do anything.”
“How can I say no to that, my mysterious snake man?” her voice was raspy, breathless, and she felt giddy with it. Drunk on the feel of his damp skin against her wet skin, the erratic beat of his heart against her flesh. Max groaned at her words, and she felt the vibration of it against her torso. He took one nipple into his mouth, biting then sucking before smoothing it over with his tongue. Rivulets of water still streamed down her skin, and he licked each droplet as it touched his lips, moaning as she bucked her hips up.
“You taste -” he repositioned himself, so that his head was level with her entrance, breath hot against her. “So fucking good, Tisaanah.” His tongue traced a path up her folds and back down again, stopping just before he reached her clit. Gods, she was going to explode at the slow, euphoric torture. “You work so hard, harder than anyone I’ve known, just trying to make the world a better place. It’s so -” his words cut off on a groan, her hips rolling to meet his mouth. “Sexy. I love you so, so much.” He spoke the words into the wetness of her sex, sucking her into his mouth between words.
Gods, she was burning for him. With him. Utterly and completely burning.
She needed more, needed him closer, needed his hand inside her, circling her clit with his thumb while he pumped his fingers in and out. She needed somewhere to put this overwhelming love that was burning within her.
As if he could hear her thoughts, he pumped two fingers inside of her, throwing his head back in a moan.
“You’re so tight, so ready.”
Her back arched and she cried out as he found his rhythm, heat building and coiling as his pace picked up. A dozen curses tumbled from her mouth, a nonsensical mix of Therini and Aren and his name, a plea and a prayer. It was too much and yet not enough, never enough even as she felt as if she would burst from her skin, layers of masks and walls disregarded for him and leaving her at the barest, most vulnerable version of herself. Always for him. Only for him, her equal, her home. As much as he teased her about being savior, he saved her too in more ways than she knew how to articulate, or will ever know how to express.
“Harder,” the word came out as a whimper, and his thumb obliged, pressing against her clit as he pumped his fingers harder, faster inside her, curling inwards.
“Come for me, love. Let me feel you come, let me taste you as you come.” And fuck, she didn’t know if she could stop now if she tried, tension coiling with each thrust of his fingers, every swipe of his thumb.
Gods, oh gods, she couldn’t - “Max I - I -” Her breath stuttered out as her orgasm shattered, seconds or minutes where she was nothing and no one and everything all at once, her control leaving as she rode wave after wave of pleasure.
As she came down, she felt his kiss at the side of her mouth, her cheek, whispers of sweet nothings - I’ve got you, you’re so fucking beautiful, so good to me, my love - into her damp skin.
Her clit throbbed in the wake of her pleasure, and already she wanted more of him. Her hunger for him had only grown, not been sated. He was a drug she’d never not need, a question and an answer, his heart a place for her soul to rest.
“I love you, Maxantarius Farlione,” she said, still breathless. She kissed him again, tasting herself on his lips. “Bed - let’s,” she moaned as he caught her lip in his mouth and bit down, leaving her momentarily dizzy with lust. “Let’s go to the bed.”
“I can’t carry you and step out of this tub without tripping and catching us on fire,” he mumbled between kisses, not ready to part for even seconds.
Tisaanah threw back her head in a laugh, and stepped out of the tub. He followed. She made a show of standing up straight, jutting her chin up and out.
“I’m ready to be carried now,” she announced, erupting into a fit of giggles when he slung her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
Tisaanah’s laughter turned to moans as he placed her on their bed and kissed a line down her neck to her breast, toying with the peak of her nipple. Already, she could feel her orgasm building again.
It didn’t matter that they’d done some version of this a hundred times before - making love or fucking or just basking in the presence of one another, drowning in it until all she could feel or think or breathe was Max, Max, Max - it undid her. She was a thread, unraveling and wrapping around him until there was no beginning or end to either of them - a quilt sewn together in the deepest recesses of her soul. Shocks of pleasure shot up her spine, and she felt like she could combust with its heady feeling.
“Tisaanah,” Max moaned, as the tip of his cock teased her entrance. “You feel so fucking good. Like,” He slid in, just barely, and then out, his erection grazing the tip of her clit. She whimpered at the sudden loss of him inside her, of the too light hardness against the bundle of nerves. “Like home.” Her hips bucked up to meet his, and he bit at her earlobe, sucking it into his mouth. “You’re so wet for me.” The words were a vibration against her jaw, and her back arched.
It hurt, Tisaanah decided, to be loved this tenderly. To love this tenderly in return.
“Maxantarius, please,” she begged. She was not above begging now. Her desperation, her need for him had reawakened her, renewed in the fire of passion all the energy she had lost.
His hand gripped the inside of her thigh, tight enough to bruise. She smiled at the thought of bearing his mark from this moment.
“Fucking hell, Tisaanah,” he groaned, sliding in fully. He slowed, planting soft kisses along every surface he could reach, her temple, her collarbone, her jaw, her hairline, her neck. He gave her body time to adjust to the size of him, and the weight of him above her, before slowly, so slowly, beginning to move.
“Beautiful,” he said. Each thrust was punctuated by her cry of ecstasy, her whole body trembling as he continued his slow, sensuous fucking.
Too slowly. She needed him deeper, a mindless desperation crescendoing through her with shocks of pleasure.
Hooking her leg behind his, she shifted her weight and flipped him to his back. The jarring motion brought simultaneous moans from them both, and she rolled her hips harder, faster, than the pace he set.
“I want to feel you against every part of me,” she growled between kisses, sucking at his neck as he sucked at hers, his nails leaving red half crescent marks where he gripped her hips. “I want you to fuck me until it hurts, brand the thrust of your cock between my legs.”
“Fu-” he moaned, a full body shiver wracking his body. “Fuck!”
“Exactly, just like that,” she encouraged, unconsciously rolling her hips and sending him deeper with each thrust.
She could taste the salt of her tears she had been keeping at bay before she even realized she was crying, overcome with the intensity of this, and him, the feeling of rightness in being with him, his cock pulsing against her walls. Tisaanah basked in it, as pleasure coiled and tingled throughout her whole body, drowning in the feverish, frantic sounds of their ragged breathing, flesh pounding into flesh.
“Max, oh gods, Max -” It was too much, too much, too much -
She let herself go just as he did. And together they fell.
As her awareness came back to her, she felt the heaving rise and fall of Max’s breathing beneath her, his arms wrapped around her pulling her towards him.
“Are you okay?” he asked, kissing a tear from her cheek.
She laughed, a short joyous breath, “Never better, now.” She smiled as she said it, peppering kisses along his jaw and down his neck. “I think I will stay right here forever.”
“You won’t hear any complaints from me.”
“We will be like cement people.”
“Statues?”
“Statues! Yes.”
“Well, that sounds considerably less fun.”
In response, Tisaanah rolled her hips, moaning at the friction where he was still inside her.
“That’s not very statue-like of you,” he growled out. But before he could continue, she lifted up and off him, and turned to face him.
“Maybe not a statue then, just-” she waves her arm in the air as if to encompass everything, something. “A thing that sleeps and fucks.”
He bursted out laughing, a full body cackle with his head thrown back.
“How poetic,” he added as his laugh subsided, smiling broadly at her.
“I am an amazing poet, Max.”
“Clearly.” He brushed her hair behind her ear with his finger, the sweetness of the touch sending goosebumps to the surface. “Stay right here,” he said.
She watched his retreating form, appreciatively staring at his ass with a glazed look. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of smoke wafting from the bathroom as he blew out the candles and returned moments later with a wet washcloth. The coolness of it against her entrance startled her as he wiped the stickiness of their sex away. After setting the washcloth aside on the bedside table, he rolled back over and pulled her atop him.
“In case I haven’t told you recently, I love you, Tisaanah.”
She relaxed into him, thinking back to the bath he had run for her, the food that now sat cold at its edge, and the reverent way he touched her, held her, made love to her. She thought back to the war, and how he’d fought for her when no one else had.
“I know. You say it with your actions everyday. You show me with more than words, better than words.” She wished she could bottle it, this bone deep contentment and bliss that overwhelmed her when she was with him. She could pour it in drops, soak in its perfume when the hard days won. She had never felt more fully known, and loved in every crevice of her damaged soul, than when she was with him. And when it felt like she could never do enough, be enough, for the world pulling her in a hundred directions, shouting its opinions in her face, she came to him. He made her feel cherished and safe. And in his arms, she let herself sleep.
