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sadprose-auroras · 3 months ago

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'Dulcissima' - Lucius Verus x Fem!Reader SMUT

dulcissima: Latin; my sweetest

A/N: My god. I saw Gladiator 2 yesterday, and this utter filth just came pouring out of me. A major shoutout to everyone who has BEEN writing for this character, I just had to contribute my little part. Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated!

Also take a shot every time I mention his big blue eyes and massive arms like hello I'm sorryyyy can you blame me!!! Also it starts off a bit shaky but trust me stick with it! I just can't not have some kind of backstory y'know

Word count: 3.3k

CONTENT WARNINGS: smut, breeding kink, brief size kink, cumplay, vague oral fixation, brief mentions of colonisation and injury

RATING: 18+. By clicking 'read more,' you are confirming that you are 18+

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Pressing the cloth against his skin made him wince, the muscles in his arm jump, and though you typically would not, you pulled it away.

“I’m sorry, but I must,” you said gently, and it occurred to him that nobody had treated him with such humanity and sweetness in such a long time. “It will be over soon.”

You continued to clean his wound as gently as possible, trying to ignore the heat emanating off his body simply due to your proximity. To distract him, you decided to make conversation. You were no stranger to what it felt like to be a slave. For your home to be destroyed, to be dehumanised in such a monstrous way.

“Hanno, where is your home?” you ask, as you continue to work.

“My home no longer exists,” he said with a level of defensiveness, eyes lowering to the floor. “Not as it once did.”

“My ancestral lineage hail from Aduatuci. My parents, my parents’ parents, have all been slaves. We do not know any different,” you said. “But I have dreams of a free Rome, one of hope. I have heard of it, and I know it can exist. If not for myself, then maybe for my future children.”

The lilt of hope in your voice softened his shoulders immediately, and he finally made eye contact with you.

“Numidia. Numidia was my home. I was taken as a slave as they took our land. I will not know peace until I see the world you speak of.” You nodded with understanding, carefully placing your hand on his knee. His demeanour was completely different to the survival instincts you witnessed in the stadium. He was kind, gentle.

“I believe we can fight for that kind of world,” you reassured.

Once you finished tending to him, you gathered your supplies and stood up to leave.

“May the Gods bless you, Hanno,” you said. He reached out to grab your hand as you turned to leave, a lightning bolt of electricity shooting through you. You turned back.

“Wait,” he said, letting your hand go. “Will you come and see me tonight? Please? I could do with some company.” The vulnerability in his bright eyes made your heart melt.

“Of course.”

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Somehow, yourself and Hanno developed a bond. It became a cycle. Each time he was forced into the arena, you watched with a pit in your stomach, tears welling in your eyes. Each time he was victorious, the relief that flooded through you was incomparable. Afterwards, you would tend to his wounds, talking about your hopes and dreams for the future. He would speak of his life back home, tell you all about his childhood and his father.

Each night, you would sneak into his cell to talk more. It had dawned on you that he was your only friend. The only person who had ever understood you.

One night after a horrifying battle in the arena, you snuck in to see him. Drawing your hood down, you nodded to the guard at the door who allowed you through. He had also become an ally to you both, closing the door behind you and moving away to give you some privacy.

Hanno, or Lucius, as he had recently revealed to you was his name by birth, was sitting with his hands clasped together, gazing thoughtfully at the floor, a crease between his brows. When he saw you, his leg ceased shaking and he stood up to embrace you. His strong arms engulfed you, and you immediately relaxed at the familiar feeling. The prospect of losing the familiarity between you was becoming more and more frightening to you. An air of heaviness clouded this particular visit. It felt different this time.

“I am so happy to see you,” he breathed out, pulling away, caressing your arm. Casual touches between you were comfortable and common, especially considering you were required to touch him all the time when tending to his injuries. And yet, every single time, a shiver ran down your spine. Likewise, every time he pulled away, you could feel yourself physically tense once again. He made you feel like you could breathe.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” you murmured, your bottom lip trembling, with what you weren’t entirely sure. It was like every time you saw him, your inhibitions were lowered more and more. You spoke without thinking, acted without speaking. It was dangerous.

“Oh now, dulcissima.” His hand caught at your chin, raising your head to look at him. Your heart immediately began racing rapidly, face flushing. The endearing term all the permission you finally needed, you gently cupped his face, gazing into his stark blue eyes, his long lashes. They stood out against the dirt on his face, the stained red blood smeared across his forehead. A shiver ran through you as his eyes flickered in pleasure.

“Han-“ you began. “Lucius,” you settled on for now. You could never decide what to call him. Either way, he was still the same. Strong, tender, solid, beautiful. Yours.

“I will always be yours, can you not see? This life and the next. You cannot lose me.”

Unable to come up with any eloquent answer, you decided actions were more powerful. As if your lips had a mind of their own, you raised up ever so slightly on your toes to kiss him, your lips slotting together perfectly. His kiss was soft and gentle as you tested out the feeling with one another, his hands moving to protectively cup the sides of your face, thumb stroking your cheek making you exhale through your nose. Your lips explored his, moving together in perfect harmony, coming up for air every few moments.

Your head was spinning with desire, everything else in the world fell away when he kissed you. His hands had moved into your hair, fingers threading through it, not quite pulling. Your hands seemed to have a mind of their own, running all over his bare back, sides and chest. The feeling of the hard muscle underneath your fingertips, especially when you could feel it jump with sensitivity, made you want to lick your wet tongue all over his body. You wanted, needed, to devour every inch of him.

Hanno’s kisses grew hungrier by the minute, hands massaging and tugging your hair now, pulling it free from its style. You moaned into his mouth, which made him pull away for a moment and press a finger to your lips.

“You must be quiet, dulcissima.” You fought the urge to buckle your knees at the sound of such a sweet term in his rough voice.

“I know,” you murmured against his finger, absentmindedly scratching your nails down his back as you spoke, revelling in the way his mouth opened slightly at the feeling, eyelashes fluttering. “I will be, I promise.”

“Do you?” he asked, finger now teasing at the entrance of your mouth. You nodded ever so slightly, taking his finger in your mouth, swirling it with your tongue. You closed your eyes, coating his finger in wetness, moving your mouth up and down exploringly.

“Mmmhmm,” you moaned as an answer around his finger. The way he was watching you with hooded eyes, bottom lip taken between his teeth, was making the wetness pooling between your thighs impossible to ignore. He gazed at you as if you hung the stars, as if you were a goddess he was worshipping.

You took your mouth off his finger with a pop, and he began to trace it down your throat slowly, leaving a trail of your own spit. You trembled under his touch, lifting your chin to allow him more access. He reached the swell of your breasts, continuing down between them. You pushed your garments down off your shoulders, arched your back to close the gap between you, chest heaving in desperation. You would feel pathetic if it was anybody else. But he made you feel so safe. You could completely be yourself, express your desires.

“My Lucius, my strong one, please,” you breathed, hungry hands now tugging at his hair. “I need you to take me. Make me forget everything. I want to only remember you.”

Without warning, he swept you up in his arms, a gasp escaping your lips, as he expertly laid you down, hovering above you. You took a moment to take him in; his pink, pillowy lips, tousled hair, scruff beard, shining eyes. Not even the midnight sky, nor a sunset, or a shimmering ocean, was so breathtaking.

“My love,” he scanned your face, causing your heart to skip a beat. “My love,” he repeated himself, beginning to kiss down your neck over your shoulder, across the top of your breasts, sucking and nibbling. Your entire body filled with goosebumps, and you briefly considered that you were not being nearly as quiet as you had hoped. It was so difficult when he was making you feel this overcome with ecstasy.

“I need to feel your skin on mine,” you whispered, tugging at his clothing. He lifted himself off you, standing before you. He removed his loincloth, tossing it aside, his erection standing before you. Your mouth watered as you took the sight of him in, face becoming impossibly hot. His manhood was proportionately large and thick, much like the rest of his broad, toned body. It made you feel so delicate in comparison. Various images flashed in your mind’s eye. A large, strong hand coming down hard on your ass. The other wrapped around your throat. His back muscles flexing as he pounded into you from behind, his hand over your mouth to keep you from screaming.

“You are so-“ you began to say, but couldn’t find the right words. Before you could finish your thought, he moved towards you again.

“Can I undress you?” he asked, hands moving steadily down your clothed body. You nodded vigorously.

“Please,” you squirmed, fluttering your lashes at your love. He motioned for you to sit up so he could pull your tunic off your head, placing it on the floor. You were left entirely bare, and if it were anybody else in front of you, you would feel self-conscious. But the way his fingertips gently stroked your sides, his big blue eyes bore into yours with care and understanding, made you feel like a goddess yourself.

“I want to worship you,” he began, covering his body with yours, mouth covering one of your breasts. “Lay you on an altar and pray over every single part of your body,” he murmured as he took your nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue. You gasped, hands gripping his shoulders for stability.

“Tell me what else,” you whispered.

“Well,” he said between wet kisses over to your other breast. “Once I worshipped you, my goddess,” he said as he began to suck on your other nipple, tweaking the first with his fingers, making you arch your back. “I would then ravage you,” he said, not giving you a chance to respond except to moan into his mouth as he kissed you, the kiss all tongue and desperation. His beard was scratching at your delicate skin deliciously. You ached to feel this on your thighs.

You began to grind against his body as you kissed, attempting to relieve some frustration. You could feel his hardness pressing into your stomach, and it made your mouth water.

“Lucius,” you groaned into his mouth, perhaps a little too loudly.

Shhhhhh, he placed his hand over your mouth, tutting at you. He kept his hand there, his other one tracing a line down your stomach. Your entire body was shaking as you spread your legs apart, drops of wetness falling down your thighs.

“Quiet, my love,” he whispered, one singular finger finally, ever so gently, tracing your folds. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, bucking up into his hand. You needed more.

He noticed his reaction, groaning to himself. He couldn’t help but give you what you wanted. He used two fingers to apply more pressure, running up and down your soaked folds, hitting your clit and making your body twitch each time. He watched in amazement as you writhed in both desperation and pleasure, guiding his hand with your bodily movements.

Something switched in you at that moment, and you pushed his hand off your mouth, flipping yourselves over so you were now hovering above him.

“I need you in my mouth, lest I die,” you said breathlessly. He looked amused at your dramatics, but you felt his cock twitch against you.

“We wouldn’t want that, would we?” he said, and you both chuckled. Wordlessly, you turned yourself around so your pussy was over his face, his cock standing proudly in front of you. It was throbbing, looking almost painful. It made you love him even more, that he wanted you this badly.

“So beautiful,” you murmured, using your thumb to swipe the precum dribbling out of his head, licking it curiously. His deep growl was animalistic, and you felt his nails digging into your ass as he took you in his mouth, devouring you just as he promised. Simultaneously, you moaned as you licked a stripe up the underside of him, spitting a generous amount before slowly taking him into your mouth.

Being unable to see him only made you feel closer, as you could feel his mouth reacting to what you were doing. At the same time, his suctioning and licking of your pulsing clit, licking up and down your folds, was making you groan against him, the reverberation contributing to his pleasure. You began to grind your hips against his face in rhythm with your head bobbing up and down, eyes fluttering open and closed in bliss. His beard scratching against your inner thighs was painfully delicious, even more so than your imagination. You could barely breathe with how fast you were taking him in your mouth, but you did not care.

When he took your clit between his teeth and gently tugged, you gasped in pleasure, making you gag. You pulled him out of your mouth, a line of spit following. You felt the vibrations of him laughing against you. You turned around so you were face-to-face again, your legs trembling.

“Did that feel good, my darling?” he asked, unable to help himself from drawing circles on your bundle of nerves with two fingers as he spoke.

“I-Oh-So-G-Good,” you choked out.

“Would you like me inside of you?” he asked, teasing your entrance with his fingers.

“Yes, please,” you begged. He wasted no time in flipping you over once again, using his strength to pull your legs up onto his broad shoulders, your ankles intertwining behind his neck.

“I am yours, yours, yours,” he repeated like a mantra. “Yours,” the last one came out with a groan, as he swiftly entered you halfway. Your breath was taken away in the best possible way, his thickness impossibly stretching you out.

“You’re so big,” you moaned, shaking your head, inadvertently clenching around him. He gritted his teeth.

“It feels so right. So right to be this close to you. I need you every day, every night, all the time,” he rambled, as he pushed all the way into you, bottoming out. You nodded rapidly in agreeance, finding it difficult to speak.

“Is that okay?” he asked, intertwining your fingers together above your head. You nodded again, licking your lips. Your mouth had gotten a little dry from hanging open in pleasure.

“I want you to fill me up like this forever,” you answered, tossing your head side to side deliriously. “I will always need you.”

Something flickered in Lucius’ eyes. He dropped one of your hands, instead pinning both of your wrists down with one hand. He used the other hand to draw circles on your clit, as he began to move inside you. Slowly, gently at first, but not for long.

Before you knew it, it felt as it he was going to split you apart. He was grunting with each thrust, your promises to keep quiet entirely forgotten. The rhythmic sound of your wetness as he moved in and out of you echoed throughout the cell, and it was quite possibly the most melodic sound he had ever heard. You could feel him deep within you, hitting your cervix which took your breath away each time.

Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead, the veins in his arms protruding out. You moved your hands so he was no longer holding your wrists down, and he complied immediately. You needed to touch him. With shaking hands, you ran your fingertips all over his chest and stomach, feeling the muscles flexing with each thrust. You worked your way up over his shoulders, up his neck and into his hair, then back down to his arms. You dug your nails into his biceps, surely leaving marks.

“Fill me up with your seed, dulcissime,” you echoed his sentiment from earlier. “Make me ripe with a child so that we may carry on a hopeful legacy for generations to come.”

He groaned, profanities escaping his mouth in a deep, guttural voice.

“Say that again,” he demanded, fingers still circling your swollen, aching clitoris.

You gripped his hair in your hands, pulling him close to whisper in his ear.

“Get me pregnant, dulcissime. I need your hot, sticky seed inside of me.”

This undid both of you. You reached for one another, mouths slotting together in harmony. You stifled your moans with kisses, as you felt him spill inside you and warm you up. The feeling sent you over the edge, as you pulled his hair even harder to steady yourself. A warmth flowered all the way from your sternum to your extremities, your pussy pulsing around him as you rode out the high. Your entire body felt like it was floating, spots clouding your vision.

“My love, my darling,” Hanno murmured, his stomach rising and falling rapidly as he tried to catch his breath. You kissed again, as he cupped your face gently.

Wordlessly, he gently, achingly, pulled himself from inside of you, and you both watched in awe as the point where your bodies met were no longer together. His seed was dribbling out of you, coating you and making you itch.

“Can I clean you up?” he asked gruffly, barely waiting for an answer as you sighed out, “God, yes,” as he moved down your body so his face was crowding between your thighs. He licked a swipe up you, making your entire body twitch with aftershock. You practically screamed, the overstimulation almost too much to handle. Almost. You shoved your fist into your mouth to stifle the noises.

You watched through hooded eyes as he licked up every drop of his own seed, grinding onto his face, chasing the pleasure. You were delirious, not a single thought in your mind beside Lucius. When he was finished, he wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb, and you moaned out loud at the sight. He returned to kiss you once more, and you could taste the familiar taste on his tongue, making your stomach swoop with desire.

Pulling away for a moment, he rolled over onto his back, pulling you with him so you were folded into his side, leg draped over his, his large arms engulfing you. He pressed a gentle kiss to your sweaty temple, wildly juxtaposing his actions from mere moments ago.

He gazed down at you with those incredible eyes, sighing blissfully. He moved a piece of hair from your face as he spoke his next words.

“I hope you know I meant every word, dulcissima. I want to build a future with you, for you, for our children. I vow to always protect you.”

You pressed a sweet kiss to his lips.

“We will build our home together,” you replied. And for the first time, the future you imagined, a future full of hope and possibility, felt closer than ever before.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months ago

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The House Guest 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Summary: an old acquaintance calls in a favour, leaving you with an unexpected house guest.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“When I said I owed you,” you whisper and look over your shoulder.

“Talk as quiet as you want, he’s got super hearing. Can’t even squeak out a silent but deadly with this guy,” Sam chuckles.

“Wow, that’s gross,” you crinkle your nose.

“I can be a nasty boy.”

“Not better,” you give him an apprehensive look as you face him. “I saw him on the news.”

“Hey, I was there too,” Sam chirps.

“I know that but...”

“He got a bit trigger happy. We’re just waiting for things to blow over. He needs a calming personality.”

“So not you,” you retort.

“No, not me. I’m into choking but not by him,” he snickers.

“I can hear you,” the man leaning on the car hood snaps back as the sucker in his mouth hits his teeth.

“Oh, I know,” Sam shoots a finger gun in his direction. “Also, he’s giving up smoking so he’s a bit testy.”

“No, I spent eight hours in a car with you so I’m pissed off,” the grumbly sidekick hurls back.

You look between them. Sam Wilson, the new Cap, superhero, avengers, comedian, and Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier, assassin, and... mystery. You should refuse. You owe him but that much? A near-fugitive in your house?

“Sam, I don’t exactly got a guest room,” you cross your arms.

“Look, if the dame don’t wanna take me, don’t twist her arm,” Bucky sneers and bites into the sucker, scraping the stick with his teeth. “I can figure myself out.”

“That’s what you said before the explosion. I’m not falling for it again, man,” Sam shoots back and shakes his head. He puts his hands on his hips and faces you. “You’re not just doing a service to me, but to America.”

“Yes, okay, but this is Canada.”

His eyes drift in realisation and his lashes flutter, “right, but we’re allies.” He looks at you again and smiles, “I thought Canadians were nice.”

You roll your eyes. “Goddamnit. Fine.”

“Like I said,” Bucky approaches, “I can go somewhere else. I don’t wanna be a burden.”

“It’s not you,” you assure him. “There isn’t much space, that’s all. If you’re fine with that, so am I.”

“I told him, it’s not a big deal,” Bucky huffs. “But he insists.”

“I have to insist. I’m the Captain now.”

“You keep saying,” he turns on Sam. “So why don’t you get that shield and we’ll see if you’re really up to that title.”

“Alright, alright,” you step between them. You’re not a fan of conflict. Sam knows that and that’s why he brought him here. “No need to argue. You got a couch,” you look at Bucky then turn to the other man, “and you have a long ride home.”

“Wait, you’re kicking me out?” Sam says.

“If you stay any longer, I won’t stop him. I said he could stay, I said nothing about mediating whatever this is,” you wiggle your finger between them.

Bucky snorts. He’s just as bad as Sam. They seem to only know how to goad the other.

“Fair. I mean, you don’t want this guy getting any grumpier. He’s already such a treat,” Sam smirks.

“Enough, I just told you,” you wag your index at him. “Well, nice to meet ya,” you turn and offer your hand to Bucky, “welcome to Canada.”

“Thanks,” he says, though you can sense him staring down the other man.

“Sam, have a safe trip. You need water or anything for the road?” You offer over your shoulder.

“Nah, I think I’m good. A nice ride home alone. With good music. Think I’m set.” He cackles.

“You wouldn’t know good music if it shot you in the face,” Bucky growls.

“Dude, go get your bag out of my car,” Sam snips. “Good riddance, is what I say.”

“Drive safe,” you shake your head as you walk toward the house. “I was in the middle of something.”

You climb the porch steps and leave the inner door open as the screen door snaps shut behind you. Out of sight, you stop to shake off the adrenaline. You only realise then how the unexpected rival stirred you up. You weren’t ready for Sam but especially not a houseguest. Still, the only reason you have this place is because of that man. You can do this.

You take a breath and go back to the kitchen. If Sam trusts Bucky, you can too. You’re not one to welcome in strangers, especially men, but this is different. And even if he asked, it wasn’t much of a choice.

You wash your hands and dry them before pushing your sleeves back up. The striped button-up isn’t exactly your Sunday best. You add breadcrumbs to the bowl of raw beef as you hear footsteps on the porch. The door opens slowly and gently hits the frame. You listen to your guest as he sighs in the entryway.

The house is small. One-floor, a single bedroom, a bathroom, a living room and a kitchen with a small dining table that doubles as your workspace. It isn’t much, but it’s yours. And it’s history. Your family’s.

You sense him hovering just outside the doorway. You glance behind yourself and hang your hands over the brim of the bowl. You still need to chop the veggies but that can wait. It isn’t his fault Sam decided this would be the balance in the scales.

“Let me show you around.” You cross the kitchen as he peers through.

His beard is dark, his hair overgrown and pushed back behind his ears, and tugs at the bottom of his denim jacket. He looks skittish as you approach. He has a duffel bag in his hand.

“Look, sorry if I came off short. You know how Sam can be,” you say.

“I do. He assumes a lot,” he mutters.

“Sure does. So, like I said, it’s not a big house. Kitchen here,” you point over your shoulder, “living room behind you, bathroom down the hall and the bedroom. There’s a back door. Yard’s bigger than the house.”

“Got it.”

“So, you’ll have to camp out on the couch but good news, it’s from 1987 so it folds out,” you squeeze by him and lead the way into the front room.

“Beats a full barracks,” he comments.

You nod and peek over at him. “Guess that makes sense.”

He sniffs, “thanks. Really.”

“Again, not too much,” you gesture to the room. “I gotta finish the meatloaf.”

“Think I can handle it,” he affirms.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #series #drabble #the house guest #mcu #marvel #captain america #winter soldier #avengers

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navybrat817 · 8 months ago

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Puppy Dog Eyes

Pairing: William Miller x Female Reader

Summary: Will feels betrayed by someone he thought was his ally.

Word Count: Over 1k

Warnings: Fluff, humor, established relationship, talk of threats and interrogation, slight feels (it's me, okay?), William Miller (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Inspired by this post @ghotifishreads tagged me in. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Will counted the seconds in his mind as he stared his adversary down. Someone he should've considered an ally. Maybe even a friend. But now? He didn't recognize the beast in front of him.

He was used to people playing dirty behind enemy lines, but this? Betrayal in familiar territory? The sting was like a bullet to the gut.

“Before you test my resolve, I want you to know that I have forty three confirmed kills.”

A huff was the only reply he got.

Crouching down so he was at eye level, he huffed, too. His enemy was much smaller in size, but looks could be deceiving. “Now, I’m not going to hurt you. It wouldn't do either of us any good,” he said, tapping a finger against his thigh. “I just want to know why.”

He didn't get an answer. Only a defiant stare. The silent treatment. That was fine. Nothing he hadn't faced before. He had ways to make enemies talk if it came to that. And the puppy dog eyes wouldn't garner sympathy from him.

Battle had hardened him too much for that.

Shut down. Control. Manipulate. That’s what he did with his human instincts until he completed his mission.

Will continued the staring contest until the smaller one whined. It wasn't an answer, but it was a start. “You made this personal, you know. And I’ll throw you out in the rain if you push your luck,” he threatened, tilting his head to maintain eye contact. “No. You don't get to look away. Not after what you did. After I took you into my home.”

And how did he repay him?

“Honey?”

Your voice pulled Will’s attention away from the task at hand. “Yeah, baby?”

You leaned against the doorway, a smile tugging at your kissable lips. “Are you interrogating Bandit?”

Bandit, the puppy Benny got weeks ago. The puppy you offered to watch since his brother was going out of town for a few days and he didn't want to board him. The same little rascal who chewed up a pair of tennis shoes. New tennis shoes.

And hadn't touched a single one of his chew toys.

Will nodded to his ruined shoes. “You saw what he did.”

“I did and I'm sorry,” you said, though you had no reason to apologize. It wasn't like you chewed them up. “He’s a puppy and they’re going to do those kinds of things from time to time. Is it really worthy of an interrogation?”

“Yes, it is.” Bandit swung his head toward you and whimpered. “No, don’t you-”

“Aww. Is the former Captain bothering you?” You walked over and scooped him into your arms. The light golden puppy snuggled close, but looked at Will like he was taunting him. You had a soft spot for dogs and Bandit sensed that. Used it to his advantage.

“Taking his side?”

“I’m always on your side, Will,” you said, softening his resolve. “Now, Bandit, you know you aren't supposed to do that. Play with your toys, not shoes. Okay?”

Bandit barked. He actually barked for you. How did you do that?

“And apologize to Will,” you urged.

He barked again.

“Good boy,” you smiled as Will stood up and crossed his arms. “And don't worry, we won't throw you out in the rain.”

“I still might just to teach him a lesson,” Will half teased. “Or I can just put him in his cage.”

Bandit whined and hid his face. “Don’t you dare. He’s a puppy, not a soldier. And you were happy with watching him until now. Besides, he said he was sorry,” you said, giving Will your own set of puppy dog eyes.

You had a point. Bandit was a pretty well-behaved puppy, all things considered. He didn't bite. Didn't make a mess when he ate. Went to the door when he had to go outside. And he seemed content to sleep in his dog bed and didn't demand to sleep with the two of you.

“Fine. No cage,” he relented.

“Thank you. And I’m sure Benny will buy you a new pair of shoes once he gets back,” you added.

“Maybe,” he said. He wouldn't hold his breath to get new shoes or money for the damage done. He may be Benny’s big brother, but Benny adored his puppy and would likely blame him for leaving them out in the first place. He had a routine though. He put his shoes in the same spot after he exercised.

To be fair, he should've been more careful. He would be in the future. If anything, he could try to see the positive side of things and use this as a learning experience. That's what you tried to do when you ran into unfortunate situations.

“Is it a bad time to suggest we get our own puppy?” You asked, smiling as you lifted Bandit up higher and put his cheek against yours. “Chewed up shoes and a scratched up couch aside, it might be nice.”

Dogs did make for great companions. He’d be lying if he said he hadn't pictured the two of you having a kid and a dog for them to grow up with. Someone who would be a friend to and watch over his child.

“What do you think?” You smiled when he stayed quiet for too long.

He softly smiled. Most people couldn't sway him to do anything, but you had a way about you. Maybe it was because he loved you. “I’ll think about it.”

You put Bandit down before you leaned in and brushed your lips against Will’s. “Thank you.”

He went in for another kiss, but stopped when the words fully registered. “Wait.” He narrowed his eyes. “Did you say scratched up couch?”

“...Did I say that? I don't recall.”

“I remember everything you’ve ever said to me,” he told you.

You put a hand over your heart. “That is so romantic.”

“And you said ‘chewed up shoes and a scratched up couch aside, it might be nice’, so what exactly did he do to our couch?”

Your eyes widened as you took a step back. “Run, Bandit!”

And he did.

I couldn't help myself. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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kazumist · 1 year ago

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A BELOVED BIRTHDAY .ᐟ

✩ — in which alhaitham just wants to go home on his birthday.

✩ — alhaitham x gn!reader. fluff. no cws. wc: 602. reader and haitham are married in this. clingy alhaitham (he's just tired from work :(). reblogs and feedback are well appreciated !!

if there was one word to describe alhaitham at the moment, it would surely be tired. although, of course, he wouldn’t make it obvious that he is tired. but seriously? working on his own birthday? it pained him. it pained him to leave you so early into the day on the bed you two shared. instead of getting greeted by a warm birthday kiss from you, he got greeted with a cold kiss from the early morning air.

five minutes.

just five more goddamn minutes—and he’s free.

everyone around him could sense that the acting grand scribe wasn't necessarily in a good mood today. the scowl on his face was good enough to compare it to another scholar in the vahumana department of the akademiya (though please don’t tell either of them that—it might just make their mood go even more sour).

alhaitham’s attention was completely focused on his wrist watch, his eyes following the movement of the hand that indicated the seconds. three minutes. he thought. is it just him or is time just moving faster today?

alhaitham was always a man who kept his composure. although most of the time he’s just really blunt, it was a rare sight to see the acting grand scribe act so… impatient.

two minutes.

two minutes and he’ll be out of here.

meanwhile, on your part, you were currently preparing a simple cake for your beloved husband. of course, the fact that he had to go to work on his own birthday bummed you out (you were originally planning to surprise him with breakfast in bed but alhaitham was the one who ended up making your breakfast before he left).

mixing the icing that you’ll use to spell out the words, “happiest birthday, hayi!” you quickly checked the time. your eyes widened when you realized that you didn’t have that much time left before the clock reached alhaitham’s estimated time of arrival.

swiftly finishing the icing, you poured it onto the icing bag and started spelling out the birthday greeting. surely you could make it in time to decorate, right?

finally.

alhaitham can finally go home. he was personally never the one who was that interested in spending birthdays. that is, until he met you, of course. the first time alhaitham spent his birthday with you by his side, he vowed to never spend his birthday without you.

he lets out a sigh. the exhaustion from all the agendas he had to work on today was taking a toll on him. however, he felt slightly better when your shared place came into his view. he’s finally home.

a knock was heard on your part and you knew it was him. luckily enough, you were already done with the cake. however, you were still a mess with flour and other baking ingredients all over your apron. with hurried steps, you went to the door and fixed your appearance a bit.

well, you certainly expected your husband to be the one on the other side of the door but you didn’t expect him to slump against you immediately. “hayi, i’m still covered in flour.” you laugh at him. he buries his face in the crook of your neck, basking in your warmth. he felt your hands play with the roots of his hair by his nape and refused to move.

“...ally home," you heard him mumble.

“hmm?”

“i’m finally home," he says, standing up properly now. a hand finds its way to his cheek, your thumb caressing his skin. “happy birthday.” you greeted him and pressed a soft kiss on his lips afterwards.

welcome home, alhaitham.

#( writings )#astronetwrk #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin imagines #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham #x reader #happy birthday hayi i miss you

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avifaunaa · 1 month ago

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i tasted ash and knew [ it was you ] [ r.v. ] [ pt.2 ]

Authors Note: Okay -- wow. The feedback was unexpectedly amazing! Thank you guys so very much for the reblogs, tags, likes, and comments. I do not know how many parts I have set for this -- it could end after P.3 or it could go on longer depending on how I go about it. I hope you enjoy this! As usual, please check the content warnings and keep yourselves safe.

More Trivia:

Women could be pharmacists in the fifties! However it was a newer job field. Other new job opportunities for women at the time included: engineering and real-estate.

TV dinners were the first of their kind created and released into the world in 1953 as a quick meal that could be heated up in an oven and reduced the dishes one had to do, and fit onto a "TV tray". Added free fact: The first actual type of dinner of this kind was a Thanksgiving style meal and it was a success!

Milk was ordered through, humorously, a "Milkman" that would come door to door like the newspaper and deliver fresh bottles of milk usually daily and, depending on the company / location, took the empty ones.

Phone lines did use to connect the way they did through an operator and had multiple people trying to connect sometimes. What a tedious job!

Reader grumbling about religious scripture being sent to her home is a reference to Jim Jones — who would start the People’s Temple one year later [ 1955 ] and end up committing one of the most notorious religious massacres in history while murdering a United States official. It was a terrible tragedy and it opened a gateway to other cults who preyed on people just like Jim Jones did.

PART ONE | PART THREE | PART FOUR

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Rio Vidal x Fem!Reader

Summary: Death has caught up with you but she has not come to retrieve your soul as the natural balance demands and has for the near seventy years you've evaded your fate. Rio appears to be seeking some form of stability and control through you, but you are going to make it decidedly very difficult.

Content Warnings: Dark -- use caution and keep yourselves safe, flashbacks that contain period-typical views on gender norms and sexuality, discussions of death and past abuse, Rio making R her housewife, kidnapping, misuse of magic [ Rio ], manipulation, obsessive behavior, really stupid murder attempts [ reader giving lmao ], Stockholm Syndrome beginning to take a tiny bit of effect, READER CRASHING OUT, non-con, face sitting, fingering, ruined orgasms [ all Rio!receiving ], magic strap [ r!receiving ], breeding and possible impregnation [ r!receiving ]

Word Count: ~7.6k

2024

Rio was doing it again.

You did not have proof of it but you could just tell she was.

The stuffed duck at the foot of your bed was taunting you and you wanted to strangle the hell out of it if you weren't on strike right now, willing the fake witch to take her physical form and become visible to you.

After having been chained to her for a period of time you had come to know when she was close. It was the one part of the magic she worked that you had never revealed to her and she hadn't assumed to ask if you could sense her presence like she could yours depending on proximity.

The beady, blank eyes of your companion was the only way you knew she remembered your interests -- or ones you had at one point.

It was an old, much loved thing. Won at a fair back when you had first come to grow closer with her after the death of your husband. She insisted on getting you out of the house and event was only for a week and she bribed you with the promise of a Ferris wheel ride that you'd always dreamed of riding.

It was one of the items she had waiting for you upon setting you up in this bedroom and told you to. "stay put" while she went and did her Deathly duties which you assumed included brooding and prowling ally ways when she was bored.

The bedroom was designed to your tastes and it made your tongue curl into your throat. She had been watching you long enough to get to know you all over again -- how the years had reshaped you so she could adjust to them accordingly.

She had even taken the new cookbooks you'd purchased from your coffee table, price sticker partially picked and all, and placed them in a very noticable way on the stuffed bookshelf in the corner.

Your door creaked open. Your head moved from the stare-down with the duck to the direction but found only Rio's idea for a gift sitting in the doorway with sharp eyes.

She got you a fucking cat.

A large, fluffy thing with a long feathery tail and tufted ears. Dark brown with sharper stripes than most knives you used to cut your ingredients and so standoffish you wonder if she found him in a dumpster somewhere and took him screeching, spitting, and hissing.

Well, tough luck dude. She did that to you too.

She had deposited him onto your lap not even fifteen minutes after fucking you into a stupor and you threatening to kill her with a smug smile. "His name is Billy. I figured you'd need something to take care of while I'm out working."

Billy had hissed, affronted, at Rio and scrambled off of your lap to somehow squeeze under the sofa across from the one she had lead you upstairs to recover on.

"You got a cat," you said, eyes focusing briefly on the spot where the tabby had disappeared before returning to Rio's features.

"We got a cat," she corrected, flopping down onto the couch next to you. "I can't have you getting bored and destructive when I'm gone at work, can I?"

Rage coiled inside of you tighter than a bedspring. "I wouldn't be bored," you started with an attempt to keep your tone steady, "if you hadn't trapped me in a cage."

"Hardly a cage, angel," Rio rebutted, legs stretching and feet crossing across one another on the coffee table. "I gave you the entire house and backyard to work with -- pool and yard included. That's three floors and a basement. An upgrade since the last time we did this, no?"

Her eyes stared holes into the side of your head and you refused to meet her gaze. You knew what you'd find, anyway. You'd find that prodding and incessant glint that she always had when she spoke to you in that fucking tone.

Your rage could only be filtered into one thing at a time and you decided that fighting a battle you couldn't win right now would only succeed in humiliating you further. So you decided to focus your melting attitude onto something you could absolutely control.

"Get your feet," you replied, teeth gritting, "off the fucking table."

That grin became feral in the corner of your eyes but she did as you bid and uncrossed her feet and spread her legs lazily across the floor instead. "Yes, ma'am."

"We do not have things to care for a cat."

She tilted her head at you. "Don't we?"

You blinked and opened your mouth to argue with her, but in an instant you were quickly set quiet. A large cat tree with multiple tiers sat in the floor to ceiling windows of the entry way not far off, cat toys and beds seemed to appear in the house later, too.

Not to mention the random cat food you found in the cabinet when you went to fix something later that night to get away from her.

But now Rio had bid you adieu with a peck to your cheek and a shit-eating grin.

You nearly smacked her and had your fingers flexing as if debating the outcome and if the repercussions would be worth it. Rio laughed and puffed away in an air of smoke before you could so much as lift your hand.

You and Billy now had an alliance of sorts. He had allowed you to put a collar with a cute bowtie and a bell on it so you could hear him prattling about -- only after you fed him a numerous amount of treats.

He also despised Rio and swatted at her if she came near if he was cuddled up to you. It was fun watching Rio ride out the consequences to her actions and she often threatened to make a new hood from his coat or use his teeth in a potion, or went the most mature route and hissed back at him.

But still -- you appreciated his company even if he often times only graced you with it fifty percent of the time.

"What do you want?" you finally asked the feline, who had taken your silence as an invitation to skulk into the room and rub himself across the furniture.

Letting him do whatever it is cats do, you return your attention to the duck and curl your fingers into the bedspread beneath you as the memories start to take over.

1954

Rio had been your rock for the last six months in which she took you in. For the first two you were in a numbed state of shock that barely had you moving about out of bed if Rio hadn't encouraged it.

Perhaps she was right in how she had confronted you so boldly that night you appeared on her doorstep. There was no grief in your heart for your husband as you planned his funeral with the help of your mother and father, sister in tow.

No grief for what "could have been" should he have not been in the accident that took his life when you bleakly watched from a distance as funeral goers left and four men began to lower the cheap casket into the grave.

There was not a drop of regret in you as you approached and dropped a green rose from Rio's gardens into the grave instead of dirt as your past and marriage was buried all in one.

You sold the house like Rio suggested. It was empty without his complaining and too clean when there was no bloody noses to clean up. No beer to restock or work clothes for the next day to be pressed and set out early for him.

Instead you handled well-kept skirts and fine women's wear without being asked.

Rio had found you one day after returning home from her work -- a pharmacy technician, according to her.

"I handle medications that doctors prescribe for people," she told you when asked. "Make sure they get the right dose and that the paperwork is handled. Call doctor's offices if needed and consult with the patient."

You had given her a look that she had memorized for the rest of her life. One of shock, awe, and absolute wonder. "You're able to do that? Isn't that a man's job?"

Rio smiled at you, leaning into the doorway. "This world is starting to become less theirs and more ours, angel. Society cannot run on the basis of the male gender alone and many areas of the workforce are recognizing that."

You had accepted her answer as truth.

She had three white medical jackets in which her name was stitched onto them provided by the drug store in town for her that you made sure to wash by themselves and iron before she went to work each morning.

She would often watch you do laundry -- hers or yours, after you moved in -- even if you were simply ironing in front of the television in the living room while she sipped on a bear in her suspenders and untucked white button-up, eyes focused on you rather than what the current state of the country was.

You had also changed the state of her eating habits in the time you'd been there, as well. You were horrified with what you found in her refrigerator and pantry.

Which was nothing pretty much.

The first night you had stayed over at her home you had also tried to cook. Mostly to have an excuse not to return to that dark, empty house just some stretches away, but also to thank Rio for creating a plan to ensure your comfort would remain.

Only to find she had little in terms of food. She had five TV Dinners stacked haphazardly and you cringed backward. Those were perhaps only good for Saturdays when one could sit in front of the television and enjoy their shows. The thought of Rio eating one every night left you nauseous.

You spotted an empty milk glass and snatched it out to set on the porch to be grabbed and replaced in the morning with fresh milk.

You stomped to the phone dangling on the wall and waited to be connected to the operator on the other line.

"Hello, number please?" the bored drawl asked.

You gave the older woman the number Rio provided and the answering clearing of a throat filled your ears. You heard a few flicks. "Thank you, please wait while we connect you."

"Sure." You held the phone to your ear and waited until the ringing started again.

"Westview Pharmacy."

"Rio," you greeted, wrapping a finger around the curly cord. Your heart paced in your chest at the sound of her voice.

"Hello, angel," she responded back, sounding pleasantly surprised. "What can I do for you on this fine day?"

"You have a sad excuse for a kitchen," you told her plainly, "and had you not taken the car I surely would have myself to go to the supermarket."

"I left some food for you to heat up, angel," she told you, confusion filtering through the line.

You huffed. "That is not -- I wish to cook, Rio. I may be a terrible baker but I am quite good at cooking otherwise and your lackluster pantry is ensuring I cannot do so."

There was a brief silence on the other end and for a moment you worried you'd overstepped, but then Rio let out a breathy chuckle. "Okay, okay. I apologize for any offense my kitchen and I caused."

You flushed. "I should hope so," you grumbled back, "I simply cannot understand how you lived this long. Did you not cook for your husband ever?"

"We weren't homebodies before he was drafted, no," Rio told you. You heard a rattle and assumed she was filling a prescription as she spoke with you. "He had a heart for eating out in diners and picnicking at the park. Every day was a new surprise."

"I see." You bit your lip and tapped the tiled floor with your flats. You regret bringing it up at all. "Well -- I only called to ask if you could run by the store on your way home and grab some essentials. Just enough for me to cook with until I can take the car."

"Of course I can," the brunette agreed instantly without thought. "And on that topic just start making a list of things you think we need so that way the next time we do go out we can grab it."

"I can do that."

"Good girl," the woman said. "Now, thank you for calling and asking me for something you needed. I do have to get back to work though. I will see you tonight?"

"Of course," you agreed, heart fluttering in your chest at the image of her walking into the doorway with that soft grin, "Sorry for keeping you."

"Never apologize, angel." With that, the line disconnected and left a low buzzing tone to tell you the line was dead. You hung up the phone and smiled wistfully to yourself.

It had been the first of many nights wherein you cooked for her and did her laundry and cleaned her house. She never missed a minute of telling you that she was grateful, or pointing out how well the dynamic seemed to be working out damn the gossip you feared would crop up.

Things changed drastically six months in as autumn began taking over Westview in a chokehold with no release.

The leaves were a falling and leaving the ground covered in the dark orange and yellow hues that you loved so and a chill began to sweep and take over the summer heat.

You eyed the calendar up on the wall in the kitchen and noted that Rio seemed to be gone more often in October, November, and December.

You had wanted to ask why but your engrained sense of minding your business and leaving it be kept your tongue stabled to the roof of your mouth for the most part.

"You're burning holes into the wall, sweetheart," Rio called from the kitchen table. She was sitting neatly in the chair reading the morning paper, coffee in front of her as she waited patiently for breakfast.

"I'm sorry," you murmured, returning to the stove and slipping the skillet before the bacon could blacken the bacon completely. The two strips fell onto the plate next to the eggs and you carefully set the skillet back down.

Your plate was empty on the counter next to the stove. Rio had few rules but one of them was that you made yourself a meal first unless you had time to share one together, and then make hers while you ate.

It was odd and very unusual for what was normally expected from most "housewives" in this case, but she was insistent and you were hardly one to deny Rio after she's taken you in and practically cared for you in place of you having to work.

You didn’t protest to her few rules — you obeyed them willingly and dutifully. In turn she ensured you had her company and you were comfortable.

Rio was at work one afternoon before a fair you had agreed to attend together and your mother had come to take you to lunch at a hot new diner.

She was updating you on your sister and her children, and the new car the family had obtained. Though eventually she asked when you’d find yourself a way out of Rio’s home— an opportunity to do something new and get out of the town where it all occurred.

You had simply looked at her questioningly, and asked, “Why would I ever want to leave? Miss Vidal has become my best friend and a dear comfort to me. She knows what I go through.”

Your mother’s lips pursed and her eyes crinkled around the edges in a way that was all too familiar. Like she knew something you didn’t. “Sweetheart, that’s why I wanted to sit you down really. See your father and I have been communicating with the sheriff. You remember Richard Howards right? You were in the same class in grade school.”

A town as small as Westview hardly awarded privacy and the idea of being strangers to others. So you simply said, “Of course.”

Your mother nodded and fiddled with her pearl necklace as she spoke, “After the funeral we went down to settle the business of your husband’s work details. We wanted it done through the sheriff’s office just in case they tried to cause problems for you.”

“Why would they do that?” you wondered as you sipped your coffee and looked out the window toward the drug store Rio was contained in.

Your mother frowned deeply. “Have you not been looking through your mail? I suppose most of it must be trash — a lot of it is advertisements and magazine samples these days — but Eastview Grain Milling wanted to deny wrongdoing. They were going to try and drag his widow — you — through the mud in the process.”

Your eyes flashed back to her, eyebrows shot up high. “Under what grounds? I’ve no money and he certainly didn’t have much after his paychecks. He died in their factory.”

Your mother nodded slowly. “Precisely the issue, isn’t it?”

“Is it taken care of?” you asked hesitantly.

“We handled it. Mostly your father — he’s, well, you know how he is.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Your mother eyed you. “When did you become so uninterested in what happens to you, darling? You used to call your father if you got religious scripture —“

“Shouldn’t it be wrong to send that to someone’s home instead of finding other creative ways to advertise? Who wants to join an indescribable society without merit and has no name?”

“My point,” she interrupted before you could get riled up, “is that you haven’t been . . . You. Not for a while.”

“Well, my husband died.”

Your mother gasped your name out, slamming her cup on the table in shock. You stared back at her with a weak shrug. “It’s true. I’m trying to . . . I don’t know, Mother. Rekindle my desire to live?”

“Then go to the doctor!” she cried, and you paused to note the look of desperation in her gaze, “Come home to your father and I while you recover — you know we’d take care of you. But please, sweetheart, something isn’t right about this woman.”

“You don’t even know her,” you snapped. Then you breathed out, startled at your own tone. You gathered yourself, your thoughts, and said, “She’s my only friend. My neighbors aren’t kindly women, Mother.”

“Have you asked her anything of value?” she demands. “How she came to be widowed? What year she got married? How they met?”

“Why are you so suspicious of her? Do you think she’s a commie? I assure you, Mother,” you bit out, “after the death of her husband she’s never been more drawn to this countries’ ideals.”

“No.” Exasperated, the woman who looked so much like yourself leaned back into the shiny leather booths and rubbed her temple. “Mister Howards did a check on Miss Vidal’s records.”

“Mother, you didn’t.”

“She was never married,” she blurted once again, cutting you off from whatever it is you began to say.

You sat in frozen silence, shock more than anything coating you like a wet blanket. “W-what?”

“Rio Vidal has a completely blank canvas, sweetheart,” your mother told you, eyes softening when she took in your expression, “and I’m afraid that means that no records indicate she was ever married, much less to a man in the service.”

2024

You flipped the page of the current cookbook and steadied it on the stand, dropping a few chives into the soup you were prepping.

You almost destroyed the kitchen in a fury when you saw perfectly tailored apron that you always eyed in the store hanging on the hook near the back door.

You settled for dumping out Rio’s beers instead and getting to work. She allotted you as much time in the kitchen as you requested — but the knives you used were somehow spelled to never turn against her no matter how hard you tried. They would be come heavy in your hands and eventually disappear when you grew defeated.

You had an entirely different plan for her instead of stabbing her to death. Less messy and a lot more manageable in terms of sneaking it into dinner.

You didn’t know if you could kill Death — but you sure as shit would try. She’s kept you cooped up for no less than three weeks so far and any and all attempts were met with mockery and depending on her mood, you facedown and fucked into oblivion.

You hated it.

Fuck.

You emptied your brain for now to keep your attention focused on making this dinner as heavily flavored as possible. You tipped in a little wine for extra flavor, even, and took a giant gulp from the bottle yourself.

You set the table and poured wine for both of you. Your hands shook despite yourself and your body was stiff. You folded napkins just as perfectly as your mother had taught you and set the silverware in order.

You served each bowl a helping of the soup.

At the last second before you knew she would be walking through the door, you opened the box of rat poison and dumped all of the contents in and stirred carefully and hoped there was one thing that could defeat Death.

Your desperation — it was making you sloppy. Perhaps if you had waited it out longer and thought about it you would have decided that fucking rat poison wouldn’t work on her.

But it didn’t cross you — not when you could feel the subtle shift of the invisible chain around your throat that dug in anytime you inched too close to the property line. Not when you tried to make a new design for the rooms and ended up in bed for hours for thinking you could try to enjoy this life again.

Never. Again.

She came in through the garage door with a flourish. For whatever reason you couldn’t grasp, she wore suits when she left and came home as though she were going to a normal nine to five job instead of reaping souls for her jars of whatever the fuck she did with them.

She strides through the house, calling your name and finding you waiting at the table with a fake smile plastered to your face and your chin resting on your palm as you greeted her.

“What a sight,” she drew out as she took her jacket off and slung it over her chair before rounding the table, “and what a beautiful dinner, too,” she added, finger lifting your chin. You let her guide you into a soft kiss, playing your role until you could unleash yourself entirely.

“Mm,” you said, then spread a hand out. “I made something new. It may not be up to my normal standards, considering.”

Rio eyed you curiously as she undid her sleeve cuffs and sat down across from you. Steam was still rising from the bowl and she stretched her arms out to allow her sleeves to ride up.

“I am sure that whatever you’ve made will be as delicious as the things you’ve made ten times before.” She went for the glass of wine first, so you followed in suit.

For once you started to feel like the lioness stalking her prey rather than the prey itself. You knew for sure that Rio could sense your observant gaze — how you kept attention to her over the rim of your wine glass and as you twirled and sipped at your soup.

It sparked curiosity and perhaps even a little suspicion from her end of the enchantment she had on you. Good. It was your turn to play a game with rules she couldn’t possibly follow.

“What did you do today?” she asked, setting the glass down and going to grab the spoon laid pointedly out instead. Dipped into soup, lifted to a mouth.

You smiled as she sipped it, and said casually, “Oh I didn’t get up to much. The house is quiet even with Billy around to keep company. Too big. I pulled some weeds from the garden and harvested some vegetables.”

“Did you now.” Dark swirls of magic in her eyes — an illusion to keep you from reading her. You hated that she used it so often.

“Mm.” You ran your finger around and around the rim of your wine glass. “I think a dog would be nice too. More company and would be enough to keep me busy.”

“A dog,” Rio echoed as she ingested a second sip of soup. “I thought you hated dogs.”

“Until I learned they hated you. Now I think one would be rather nice.”

Eyes locked across the table, and a small smile formed. “My angel wants a dog. As if it would protect you from me.”

Silence filled the room as you prepared for a standoff. Something about her demeanor had grown darker and more pronounced than when she stepped through the door — and if Rio knew you a hundred ways you knew her at least ninety-nine.

She knew.

She finished the entire bowl and let the spoon fall with a clang into it, leaning back into her chair to finish her wine. “Angel, what a delicious meal. I was worried I would never get to taste your cooking again. It’s one of the ways I can understand how you’re feeling without invading you with my. . . Abilities. Your cooking is your tell.”

You held your glass loosely in hand, allowing your features to come across as lazy and uninterested despite feeling as though a bloody battle were about to ensue. You lay your chin on the top of the back of your hand holding the glass.

“Oh?” you say, pretending curious reactions to keep her talking. She would be gone by now if the poison had worked, so you could only hope she couldn’t have tasted it. “What did this meal tell you about me tonight, then?”

Rio takes one of her index fingers and runs it along the inside of the bowl until it comes back with remains. She sticks it onto her tongue and leans forward as if to tell you a secret.

“It means, angel, that tonight you gambled with Death and you were feeling bold and tried something new and out of your usual style. So fucking bold that you thought a mortal poison — a weak one at that — would destroy me.” Something deadly and calm crossed her face, but the smile was something you’ve only seen a few times on her, “I am no rat, angel. All you’ve done tonight is play a little game I indulged in.”

Blood filled your ears. You could hear your heartbeat so fucking loud and you were drowning in the thickness of it.

Then pain pulled you out of it as quickly as it forced you in. You jumped, turning and realizing you’d broken your glass. Wine mixed with blood as shards of glass struck deep into your skin.

The pain didn’t do much to douse the fire that was your rage, your upset, your years of distress.

It lit them all up like gasoline on a volatile fire. You slammed your bloody fist onto the table and shoved it into Rio, who grunted in surprise as her hands flew up to catch it before it rammed into her abdomen.

“I am not your plaything for you to amuse yourself with when you’re bored and can’t find Agatha to annoy,” you spat, shoving the chair with your foot and causing the table to inch deeper into her palms. “I will find a way to destroy you — collar or not.”

Something you said was wrong, or perhaps the way you said it. One moment she was shocked and even bemused at your explosion and next she shoved the table back into your direction. You had to leap out of the way with the speed in which she had kicked it.

Glass and silverware went flying as the table slammed into the entryway and wall, shattering into broken pieces. A piece from one of the bowls snagged your cheek but the pain was minuscule and you grabbed the empty pot from the sink and threw it at her.

“You’re fucking pathetic, sweetheart.” Rio whipped her hand out and caught the pot with a swirl of dark green. She twisted her fingers and you watched in despair as the object was crumbled like a ball of paper and tossed out the window behind you.

You ducked for cover and cursed viciously as she crunched through broken plate ware and kicked aside table-legs for good measure in case you got any ideas.

She knelt down before you and wrapped her hand around the back of your neck tenderly, caressing the spot where her sigil hummed the loudest when she was near.

"You are my only focus now," she told you calmly, then grinned as though sharing a joke, "As long as we don't count the soul-reaping I do. But that's not really something I can simply give up, I'm afraid. I will admit I was impressed by your sad attempt at freeing yourself from me that I rewarded you with . . . enclosed freedom. I decided to decrease the size of your enclosure, really, is all I did. You never left me."

You bared your teeth at her in a meek attempt at having some sort of shield from her mocking. Blood dribbled into your mouth, between your teeth, and soaked into your tongue.

"I will never be complicit to this again," you spat at her. You hoped the droplets wouldn't wash out of her pants. She ignored the staining as though it were a common occurrence. "You can't make me happy, Rio. All of this -- from the day we met -- has been built on a lie that has crumbled around you. You aren't lovable."

The pressure suddenly eased as Rio seemed to process what you said to her. You had hoped to hit a weak spot and get her angry enough to back off, but her next response was the exact opposite.

"If I cannot make you love me," she whispered, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your ear, then your jaw, "then I will give you a part of me that you have absolutely no choice but to love. Much better than a dog."

Dread slapped you across the face as Rio pulled back and snapped her fingers.

You were out before you could process her statement entirely.

You awoke in the bedroom under the cool sheets. You had a distinct throbbing in your head that reminded you of drinking too much or pulling an all-nighter during the nineties when you went to college for the first time.

You sat up slowly to prevent the increase of pain and crossed your arms when the sheets fell. You were naked -- entirely fucking naked -- and there was no evidence of any indication of Rio being around while you were out.

You trembled when you went over the events of the night. The alarm clock said it was five in the morning -- dinner had been at six. you slept for eleven hours straight . . . or were kept in a controlled state of unconsciousness by Rio until she could decide what to do with you.

As if summoned by your loud thinking, the door opened and in came Death herself. She looked rather stern as if you had started a stupid, petty fight and were at fault for it.

You wanted to wring her neck.

She took your silence in, the hostile expression, and swaggered on over to the bed like it was an invitation rather than a warning. She was wearing a silk robe and on closer inspection you noted her wet hair was in a bun.

"Did you get the tantrum out of you?" she asked casually, leaning over to turn on the bedside table lamp.

You curled your lip at her like a tethered animal that's been cornered and whipped.

"Because, you see," she continued, undoing the belt of her robe and letting it slide off her shoulders to reveal nothing but her prone form underneath, "I've decided that despite your outburst to give you a gift."

"I do not want," you breathed, finding leverage and support in the sheets keeping you covered, rage now leaking into your every word, "any gift you think to offer me. I don't want it. Fuck off."

Rio sat down next to you with a pout as she revealed a green rose in perfect beauty to you. "From my own personal gardens. It grew and died for you, my love."

The phantom sting from your thumb where one of her roses had cut you when you first saw one of those damned things in years made you fist the mattress underneath the comforter and sheets covering you.

"I am tired of things dying for me."

And suddenly a palm was on your forehead, shoving it down onto the soft, feather-stuffed pillows as Rio flung a leg over your waist and leaned over you. "Well, isn't that just too bad?" she murmured. "I don't get your love, and you don't get to stop those that lose their lives in your place. A pity all around."

You tried to ignore her, dragging your eyes upward to the ceiling instead as tears threatened to rise. You were so fucking tired -- of her, of living like this, of fighting.

"You're going to make me feel good in return for that stunt you pulled during dinner," Rio told you in a matter-of-fact tone, not minding you not keeping focus on her as she ripped the protection off your body and allowed the cold to sweep over your skin. "And after, I'm going to give you something I've only ever given to one other person."

You did not follow the line of discussion, the branching topic she wiggled in front of you like meat on a string. You told her you did not want it because her gifts always came with unspoken implications.

She moved suddenly and quickly, her body moving upward until she was hovering over your upturned face and she reached a hand down to run fingers through your hair. "Remember to breath, angel," she purred and then lowered herself onto you. Then she tugged when she got no initial reaction, “You’re gonna touch me, sweetheart. Go on. Don’t make it worse for yourself.”

Even as your tongue began to lick upward on instinct, you debated with yourself on biting her. Hard.

She’d probably only be mildly irritated at most and take it as a challenge rather than an attempt to get her off of you.

Your hands shakily reached up instead and with one hand you dug fingers mercilessly into the meat of her hip while a second hand scrunched between you two so you could thrust two fingers upward at the same time as your tongue entered her.

Rio released a moan that was breathy and sweet in essence as her thighs took form around either side of your head. You felt the headboard move and figured she was grabbing onto it with her other hand.

“Fuck — you still remember what I need, don’t you, angel? Good girls always remember even if they don’t want to,” she whispered in unsteady gasps as you found a rhythm. She kept herself from moving at first, instead using built up energy to dig nails into your scalp as your fingers thrusted upward while your tongue created tight friction.

Everything about her made you ache — down to the familiar smell of her and the way she twitched when you thrust slowly in the circular motion that she liked.

She was going back and forth from offering praise to you to being unable to form coherent words for some seconds when you let your teeth graze her clit every so often. Never enough for her to come.

“You’re being a tease,” she told you obviously, grip tightening with warning. However the grip faltered ever so slightly when you found the spongy tissue inside of her and added pressure. She fell into a low gasp and a knock against the headboard made you guess she had dropped her head on it.

“Fuck — right there. Yes, angel, keep going.”

You obeyed for a brief period in order to draw her closer to the edge. She was fiercely grinding her pussy down against your face now as she kept herself balanced.

Her thighs were beginning to twitch around your head and she was getting slicker by the moment. She was entirely vulnerable above you but you now knew not to make the mistake and think she didn’t have some sort of defense ready if you did something really stupid.

Just when you knew she would tip over is when you pull away, allowing your fingers to brush her g-spot one last time and sending her careening over that sharp edge. She let out a choked moan, surprised, as you abruptly removed all stimulation minus the forceful grinding she was giving you.

She panted above you but she didn’t sound satisfied like she usually does when she has an orgasm. She sounded wrung out, like reaching something with no payout.

“You have some goddamn balls,” Rio snarled, slipping away from your face and snatching it in her palm despite the wetness covering it. “You ruin my orgasm and think it’ll go any good for you?”

You stare her down with unwavering contempt. “You still came, didn’t you?”

“Oh, I’m loving this new part of you. The vile rage that seeps from your pores every second you’re around me,” she sneers as she wipes a trail of her slick from around your chin and shoves the appendage in your mouth.

You bite her finger but she does not flinch, does not blink. She only grins at you. “Oh yes, you wild little thing of mine. I am going to enjoy what I am going to do next. It will dampen that fire in your belly — or perhaps it will enrage you further. I cannot wait to see.”

You were grabbed so roughly you hardly at time to fight back. Arms and legs were rearranged and your face was shoved facedown into the pillows this time as fingers drifted gingerly down your spine.

“So pretty,” your captor mused, as if considering a piece of art in a museum. They trailed down even further until they brushed against the backs of your legs and angled them up so your knees and ass rose into the air. “Yes, angel, I’m going to want you to stay like this. Be my muse.”

“I will destroy your entire being,” you vowed as the magical directive took effect and your muscles relaxed without your consent. The weight of the bed lifted as Rio removed herself and murmured something under her breath.

“While you work on that, I think I’ll work on something else more productive,” she mused as she rejoined you a few moments later with her pelvis resting against the very bottom of your ass.

“You say a lot of words but speak such bullshit,” you snarled back, unable to move your hips an inch despite your attempts.

Rio laughed. “Fuck, I love you so much. Which is going to make this all the more fun.” And then you felt it sliding between the crevice where your cunt was.

“Absolutely not,” you jerked your upper body forward in desperation with no prevail, you were unable to get away. To make it worse she placed what she believed to be soothing hand on your now clammy back. “Rio — Rio, stop.”

She ignored you and tested you for wetness, and you were embarrassed at what she found when she sought it out. She leaned her body over your upturned hips and whispered, “So wet and yet you claim you want me to stop?”

“That’s how consent works, Rio,” you panted, jerking your shoulder but gaining no traction as she moved just out of reach in time. “I say stop and you stop.”

“I’m afraid that’s not in our contract, my love,” she sighed as she fingered the area around your neck and somehow managed to pull tight. Your airflow was restricted and you gasped out for air. “I own you entirely and have for a very long time. I decided you were mine the second I was called to take you away. I’m gladly taking others instead — and you’re granted a lifelong advantage on top of that. It’s time we add to it — don’t you think? Keep that destructive, wandering, little brain of yours busy will do wonders so I don’t have to dumb you down with my magic.”

She released you and your head fell back down as you gasped and inhaled for breath, fingers flexing into the sheets as dizziness swirled around you.

The tears started then. Rio crooned as she kissed gently down your back and entered you with an ease of a lover who actually cared would.

“Oh, angel, there is no need for those,” she murmured as she sucked bruises where each kiss was left. “Tears are a waste of your energy when considering why you’re crying.”

“Fuck you,” you sniffled, the emotions overwhelming you too much and your brain filled with an overload of pleasure chemicals to say much else.

“I’m so trying,” she promises followed by a very deep thrust. “Do you know what I’m doing, love? Why I chose to wear the cock?”

You didn’t answer her, too wrapped up in your own feelings to play her game and amuse her as she fucked you like her life depended on it.

“It’s because,” she continues like she was discussing the weather with you, “I’m going to breed you. I’ve put some thought into it — you’d be impressed how much time I spent thinking instead of acting on innate desires.”

Your body shuddered when the ridges of her specially designed cock rubbed your walls, followed by one of her arms reaching around so she could cup your breasts. “You never liked being bored, did you?” she grunted as she found a better angle and upped her speed.

You let out a sob-filled moan and suddenly you could move your hips again — and the first thing you found yourself doing was thrusting them back in time to meet her.

“Good girl,” she whispered, kisses lining your jaw, down your neck as she squeezed your breast and kept you in a constant state of physical overstimulation and unable to clearly think. “You’re doing so fucking good despite how fucking difficult you’ve been lately. That’s okay — we’re going to fix that aren’t we?”

Suddenly you were drawn upwards until you sat on her thighs, with her chest pressed against your back as she rolled her hips as deep as they would go and held you up with the arm holding your tits.

“I’m going to make sure you stay, angel. I’ve lost — I’ve lost too much already.” Through the fucked out haze you thought you detected despair and need within the tone she used — but she didn’t allow you long to process it as her other hand reached down and started rubbing your clit with harsh beats that met her thrusts.

“I’m going to — I’m going to give us a better life, okay?” she whispered just as the build up continued to grow with no possible escape in sight.

You gave in — at least for this — and closed your eyes and leaned your head back against her shoulder as she kept her pace violent and unyielding, seeming to have a goal to achieve.

It didn’t take much longer — not for you or Rio. Both of you were thrown into orgasms that had you rocking forward back down into the bed, your groan and gasps eroding away at any belief she would ever let you go.

A tingle that you came to associate with her use of magic started rippling across your skin like electricity until Rio stopped moving inside of you, growing briefly still.

You were shaking and trembling, biting your tongue so hard that blood filled your mouth as you contained your devastated cries and curled your legs into you.

Rio brushed some hair away from your neck and rubbed at your back in an effort to comfort you. Perhaps she thought you were overwhelmed in the way she was — you weren’t entirely sure ever what Rio thought most days.

“It’s going to be okay,” she tried to soothe, her touch like burning oil as you tried to flinch away from her. “Angel? I promise. It’s going to be okay. We’re going to be a family. I am Death. Nothing will take us away.”

But who was Death really when she was able to create life? The very thing Rio had once claimed was against her rules.

Rio and Reader will return in Part Three.

Taglist [ holy shit I remembered ]: @girlsgotissues ( it won’t let me tag u im so sorry )

PART THREE

#rio vidal #rio vidal x reader #agatha all along #dark fic #itaakiwy

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misswynters · 8 months ago

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Tempestuous Alliance

Gwayne Hightower x Baratheon! fem!reader

[a/n: i had to make a short drabble and cheesy for gwayne cuz there is a lack of. enjoy!

[note | pls don’t just like, reblog & give me feedback. i don’t want to get shadowbanned

The storm raged outside Storm’s End, but within the castle walls, warmth and laughter echoed. You stood by the window, watching the waves crash against the cliffs. You had always loved the ferocity of the sea, finding it a kindred spirit to your own tempestuous nature. Yet tonight, your thoughts were not on the storm, but on the man who had arrived unexpectedly at your family’s stronghold.

Ser Gwayne Hightower, heir to the Reach, had come to Storm’s End on a diplomatic mission, or so he claimed. You suspected there was more to his visit than the pretense of strengthening alliances. The Hightowers were known for their strategic minds, and you wondered what plans were brewing behind Gwayne’s courteous facade.

You turned away from the window as the door to your chambers creaked open. Gwayne stood in the doorway, his tall frame casting a shadow across the room. His silver hair, a mark of his noble lineage, caught the firelight, giving him an almost ethereal glow.

“Lady ___,” he greeted, his voice smooth and calm, a stark contrast to the storm outside.

“Ser Gwayne,” you replied, inclining your head. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “I wished to speak with you privately. There are matters of importance we must discuss.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Important matters? In the middle of the night?”

Gwayne smiled, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Sometimes, the most pressing issues cannot wait for the light of day.”

You motioned for him to sit by the fire, taking a seat yourself opposite him. “Very well, Ser Gwayne. Speak your mind.”

He settled into the chair, his expression growing serious. “House Hightower and House Baratheon have long been allies, but we live in uncertain times. The realm is fractured, and we must secure our positions. I believe a stronger bond between our houses would benefit us both.”

You studied him, your keen mind considering his words. “And how do you propose we strengthen this bond?”

Gwayne leaned forward, his gaze intense. “A marriage, my lady. Between you and me.”

You were taken aback by his directness. “You propose an alliance through marriage?”

“Yes,” he said firmly. “You are known for your strength and wisdom, qualities I greatly admire. Together, we could unite our houses and ensure our families’ futures.”

You looked into his eyes, searching for any hint of deceit, but found none. Gwayne Hightower was a man of honor, and his offer was genuine. Yet, the thought of marrying for political gain rather than love troubled you.

“You speak of duty and alliance,” you said slowly. “But what of love, Ser Gwayne? Can a marriage founded on strategy truly thrive?”

He reached out, taking your hand in his. “I do not offer you a loveless union, my lady. I believe that in time, we could come to care deeply for one another. Respect and admiration are strong foundations upon which love can grow.”

His touch was warm, and you found yourself drawn to his sincerity. “You have given this much thought,” you remarked.

“I have,” he admitted. “For I see in you a partner worthy of standing by my side, not just in name, but in spirit.”

Your heart softened at his words. You had always been wary of suitors seeking your hand for your family’s power and influence, but Gwayne was different. He sought a true partnership, one built on mutual respect and shared goals.

“Very well,” you said at last. “I will consider your proposal, Ser Gwayne. But know this: I will not be swayed by mere words. You must prove your intentions through your actions.”

Gwayne smiled, a look of relief washing over his face. “I would expect nothing less from you, my lady.”

You sat in silence for a moment, the crackling fire providing a comforting backdrop. Despite the storm outside, a sense of calm settled between you.

“I will prove myself to you,” Gwayne vowed. “And together, we will weather any storm that comes our way.”

You felt a flicker of hope. Perhaps this alliance could be more than just a strategic move. Perhaps, in Gwayne Hightower, you had found a partner who could match your strength and spirit.

As the night wore on, you spoke of your dreams and ambitions, discovering a shared vision for the future. By the time the storm subsided, a new bond had begun to form, one that would shape the fate of your houses for years to come.

And so, amidst the lingering echoes of the storm, a promise was made. Not just a promise of alliance, but of a partnership forged in the fires of mutual respect and growing affection.

taglist: @benjicotblckwood

#house of the dragon #gwayne x reader #gwayne hightower #hotd fanfic #hotd imagine #hotd season 2 #hotd x reader #house baratheon #house targaryen #hotd smut #hotd greens #gwayne x you #ser gwayne

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gardenofhearts · 7 months ago

Text

From a seed grows

Chapter II: Petunia

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

Synopsis: To claim a dragon one must be prepared to give up their life, yet this is the one thing you never wished to give up.

Wordcount: 9.6k

Warnings: Canon divergence!! This will not follow canon completely and will mix book with show canon (because I can ❤️), bastardphobia, mention of death and killing, yelling, Jace is a bit hot tempered but so is reader.

Author's note: I'm a bit insecure about this chapter with all the recent happenings in the Jace, plus it's my first really writing this much for one chapter. so I hope you'll like it. Also feedback is super duper appreciated as well as likes and reblogs!

(Future chapters will most likely also be around this lenght)

English is not my first language, apologies for any mistakes.

Happy reading <3

♡Chapter I: Thyme♡

Dragon fire burned hotter than anything else known to man. Bards all throughout Westeros have sung of how the dragon fire of Balerion the Black Dread melted together thousands swords and create the Iron Throne. A testament to the strength of dragons and their riders. It was meant to intimidate enemies and inspire reverence in allies.

Everyone knew that dragonfire burned hot, and now you would experience just how hot firsthand

A most horrid end, yet one fitting for a bastard of Targaryen Lineage most would say. No pyre would be made for you, your body instead burned to ash on the cold beach of Dragonstone, with not a soul to mourn you.

Your eyes were closed as those thoughts surged through your head. It terrified you to be of so little consequence, to be so mortal.

Someone once told you that when death was near you would think back onto your life and all your most important memories.

You would be filled with happiness of your most joyous moments before the Stranger would give you their kiss. Death would be warm, warmer than your bed in Flea Bottom, warmer than a mother's embrace.

At the time you had smiled and cheerless smile , eyes looking into the distance as your hands gripped a black shroud, “that would be nice” you had whispered.

Now you cursed them quietly in your mind. There were no memories drowning you in happiness, no memories to distract you from the ice cold terror that had settles in the pit of your stomach and spread throughout your body. You waited with abated breath for the beast to devour you, you waited for low rumbling followed by a bright burst of flames and then indescribable pain would consume you until there was nothing left to consume.

Silence.

Slowly, you opened your eyes, expecting to see large teeth and open mouth waiting to devour you. Instead, you were met with an intense gaze from emerald eyes. The creature’s gaze was locked onto yours, and for a moment, you could have sworn there was a flicker of recognition, almost as if the dragon was studying you, trying to understand. You didn’t know what to do, lying there, coarse sand digging deeper into crevices of your body and etching more scratches into your skin.

The dragon remained unmoving, letting out an occasional snort as it studied you intensely. Trapped partly underneath its snout you do nothing but observe the creature in similar fashion. Both of you started at one an another, a weird feeling flourished within your chest.

“Why aren’t you killing me?” you whispered, voice hoarse and exhausted. The dragon only coked it’s head slightly, as if to convey they did not understand. You tried to stand up, slowly, with uncertainty tainting every move. First you scooted further away from the dragon’s snout, careful not to touch it and startle it, then you pushed you against the sand to try and stand.

Unfortunately you overestimated your own strength, because as soon as you stood you could feel the unsteadiness of your legs. In a matter of seconds you feel them give out. Out of instinct you reached for something to hold onto.

Callused hands met rough, burning scales. The heat beneath your fingers felt like touching a warm bowl of soup, hot enough to startle but not enough to burn. You let out a shaky breath when you realised what you had done, leaning on the snout of the dragon.

Once again the beast let out a loud snort, much like a horse would make. It startled you, making you release its snout the moment its hot breath engulfed your body.

Your cold body felt cold no more, heating up just from being close to the dragon. Your brows furrowed, confusion settling in your mind. What had happened to the intense fear and terror you were feeling mere minutes prior, yet now you felt a strange comfort wash over you. As if this creature would never hurt you, as if they liked you.

Something primal hidden within you took over, as if centuries of dragon riders that had come before you took your hand and put it on the dragon's snout. First it burned, seared beneath your finger and then it shifted. Fear ebbed away from your being, slowly being replaced with a feeling much like veneration and somehow, you knew what it meant. There, in the dragon’s emerald eyes glistening in the late afternoon sun, you saw yourself.

A bastard with silver hair.

A dragonseed.

A dragon rider.

Beneath your fingers the heat had dissipated, yet there was still power beneath them. You were able to feel it's breathing, knew that with one wrong move your life would be forfeit. Power reverberated beneath the scales, dragon fire of unknown heat was now yours to command.

The longer you held the dragon into submission, the more you felt yours souls intertwine. A rumble resonated from deep within its chest as if acknowledging this newfound bond. Your feelings became more than your own, the paranoia from growing up in Flea bottom became shared with a fear of being hunted by other dragons. Everything you once felt now held a dragon counterpart. You were no longer your own. You were one half of a whole.

And for the first time since gods knows how long,

you were not alone.

The moment did not last, for soon you heard a distant roar much softer, and higher pitch than the one that came from the dragon before you. You whipped your head around towards the direction of Dragonstone castle. There beyond the sand dunes that covered much of the castle from view, you saw a dragon flying towards. Although a much smaller dragon, it was a dragon nonetheless. Behind you your dragon rumbled, raising its head and standing tall behind you. You were but a mere speck in comparison once it stood to its full height.

The dragon roared loud, a warning or a threat, you did not know. The other dragon landed in the distance, far enough not to be immediately eaten and far enough that it would not be consumed by fire.

To see that far you squinted your eyes, the afternoon sun low and bright making it difficult to discern what the dragon looked like or who the figure was walking towards you. As the figure got closer, you readied yourself, hand near your dragon in an attempt to keep it calm.

“Who are you?!” you screamed, your dragon let out a loud snort, dipping its head. The figure did not reply, instead they kept walking closer, their features becoming clearer the closer they got. You saw some hesitation as they got closer, their head turned towards to dragon’s snout. Gauging whether they could get closer or not. You looked to the dragon, “stay calm,” you said, turning back to the man in front of you.

“He won’t understand you,” the man said, his face not an unfamiliar sight. His brown curls were more ruffled than how they had been hours prior, the wind most have messed them up. His hands were once again crossed over the pommel of his sword and his tunic still the same black and red. Jacaerys Velaryon stood there just as arrogant as before, yet there was a fear within his stance.

“what do you want?” He cocked his head to you, perhaps not used to such a blunt way of speaking, “Her grace wishes to speak to you about your”- his eyes went from you to the black scaled beast-”dragon.” He spat the word dragon out as if it was a curse, as if it was something he did not want to say. “What does her grace want with us?” “The queen does not need to explain herself.”

His tone was clipped and you watched as he tightened his grip on the sword. You let out a snort, at the same time your dragon did. Eliciting a most lethal stare from the crown prince. There was no point in arguing you found, he did not like you and he would come to like you any day soon. Besides, you were fatigued, hungry and in pain.

You could not return home to Flea Bottom with a dragon in tow, nor could you stay here on the beach. “Apologies, my prince” you smiled an overtly polite smile as you empathised the words. “I shall gladly speak to the queen.” Sacarsm dripping with every word, even if there was some sincerty in them. His sour expression did not change, he only nodded in response.

“Follow me then,” he said and turned around. You bit your lip to keep laughter a bay, for some reason, you were terribly amused by the sour mood of the prince. “What of the dragon?” you asked as you looked back at the magnificent beast, a part of you already feeling wistful at the notion of parting from it. “Leave it,” the young prince said, “it can fend for itself.” He did not await a response, instead taking off to the same place he came for. “I will see you soon,” you whispered to the dragon, hand reaching out to caress the part of its torso that was closest to you.

The dragon let out a rumble, and in your mind you felt that it was trying to reassure you. With one last pet, you took off to join to prince who had already walked quite far. “Wait for me!” you shouted, and you only got a look of utter annoyance in response.

The prince had walked with you all the way to castle, his dragon flying above you both. His sour disposition did not change, even as you tried to engage him in conversation his replies would be short and clipped which irritated as much as it amused you. “So... what did you mean earlier?” he looked at you with cocked brows, “when you said my dragon could not understand me?” He rolled his eyes as if the answer was as obvious as saying the sky was blue.

“Dragons don’t understand the common tongue.” “Then what do they understand?” you asked, genuinely curious, yet you were able to see that it annoyed him from the way his jaw was set, “They only understand Valyrian.” “That old language?” “Yes," he gritted out.

You hummed in response, “can I learn Valyrian?” He looked sideways as if pondering it before saying, “Perhaps,-” he looked to you, looking over your frame, scrutinising you no doubt-” in due time.” You nodded slowly, not knowing how to respond.

The conversation ended like that, and although you were brimming with questions, you knew that he was not likely to entertain him. Instead you opted to continue forth in silence. Dragonstone grew larger and closer with every step you took. Soon enough you would have others who might be able to answer your questions answers.

Upon entering Dragonstone various guards had flocked to the young prince, awaiting commands, yet the prince turned them all away. He declared that he must escort you himself as the queen wished. You had to restrain yourself from rolling your eyes, all this pompousness was not something you were fond of.

This constrained way of talking, hiding all that you really felt behind petty facades and poisonous words. In Flea Bottom things were brutal, harsh, dangerous, yet when someone disliked you, they made it known. Here it felt as though every step you took was a tender balance between chaos and peace. One wrong word, and you would be ousted from the castle forever. You knew that within these walls you would need to be careful. Play the game, or die.

Your second time walking through Dragonstone felt much different than the first, now you knew what happened underneath the stone floors, knew the bodies that laid in the Dragonpits, perhaps not by name but you had seen their faces. Hope, fear, pride, all human, all mortal and most were now dead.

You wondered how to prince seemed to unaffected, knowing the lives taken. One more reason to add onto your list of “royalty sucks.” The prince walked in front of you which allowed you some leeway to openly gawk at the tapestries and statues you were not allowed to gawk at previously. Death payed well you thought.

Candles illuminated the hallways, casting shadows that danced around your feet as the wind blew the flames into every direction. A storm was brewing the young prince had muttered under his breathe, not meant for your ears to hear.

Storms didn’t scare you, not when you found yourself sheltered between ancient stones that had withered centuries of storms, yet anxiety was a funny feeling. It started clawing its way from the back of your mind all the way to the front. Haunting your mind with the most horrific of scenarios, from the castle collapsing in on itself to a deluge bursting through the heavy doors, drowning all within.

As you passed the occasional window you saw the weather worsen, at first the sky clouded over, the next window you passed had already been stained by drops of rain, and at last window you could no longer clearly see the outside, the rain pouring down hard enough to obscure everything.

Soon the prince came to a standstill in front of large oak doors, opening it with little effort, and you see now how much strength the young prince had. He stood there, in silence, looking at you. Beyond the doors were long, spiralling stairs, the end of them you were able to see from where you stood. You stepped forward with some hesitation, eyes looking up a head to see where the stairs led.

“You are expected on the top floor,” he said, closing the door behind you both. Here within this tower, you could clearly hear the thunder and rain raging outside, adding to the terrifying nature of this place in particular. The prince stepped around you and made his ascent, not bothering to look back to see if you were following. After the prince turned around the first round corner, you snapped out of you slight reverie, quickly hurrying after him.

The walls of the tower were bare, no tapestries or intricate carved design, the only thing you saw were old stones. It was a long ascent, occasionally the stairs would halt and change into even floor and on those small patches of floor there would be two heavy doors. The prince told you those led to private quarters, the higher up the more important the inhabitants.

“Where do I sleep ?” you asked as you passed what you assumed to be the fourth floor, the prince looked to you, down his nose and truly looking down on you., “the queen shall decide that.”

You hummed in response, a part of you not to keen on the prospect of residing in this looming tower, with the way the thunder roared here in a way you had never heard thunder roar.

Soon the stairs came to an end in front of a small door, leading into a hallway with only candles to light your way, the hallway was not long and at the end of you were once again faced with a set of doors. Two Queensguards, silver armour shimmering in the candlelight, stood on either side of it. As the prince moved forward, the guards rushed to open the door. The doors creaked and groaned, alerting all behind them of the impending intrusion.

A grand chamber was revealed to you as the doors opened. In the middle of it stood a large table in an unusual shape, candles were scattered on top of, coating parts of the table in wax. It was a marvellous piece of craftsmanship, with intricate lines and drawings carved into it in way that allowed for them to be illuminated by placing candles underneath it.

The prince stepped forward, “I have brought her, your grace,” he said before making his way towards his mother’s side. Sparing a single glace to you which you replied to with a smile, something the young prince seemingly did not appreciate for all you got in return was a scowl.

The queen extended a soft smile to her son as he made his way to stand closer to her, bypassing all the other lords in the chamber. The mother and son pair whispered briefly amongst themselves, eyes occasionally glancing to you while you pretended you didn’t see it.

Their eyes weren’t the only ones on you, the entire room had made you their object of intrest. Some wore scowls of displeasure, others regarded you with intrigue. After growing up in Flea Bottom where shadows were you best friend, being this visible was unsettling. They looked over your entire garb, your entire being. Examined you silver-blond here, unruly and no longer in the shape of a braid, they scrutinised your lack of violet eyes and most of all, detested that you were not of high born blood. They did not need to speak it aloud, their gazes were enough.

“My lords,” the queen raised her head, her quiet conversation with her son over, “I kindly ask that you leave this chamber.” The words left the room abuzz, some muttered protests under their breaths, other had no such shame. “We shall reconvene on the morrow,” she smiled once again, but it was not a smile of affection, but a smile that screamed not to oppose her, “enjoy your evenings.”

You stepped away from the doors as the hoard of lords approached, talking amongst themselves while glancing at you and the queen. No doubt they felt spurned for not being allowed to be present for the upcoming conversation.

The queen approached you, as her son stood back, eyes watching your every move. “Please sit,” the queen motioned to one of the chairs scattered around the weird table. “My son told me something quite fascinating,” you furrowed your brows, sparing a quick look to the man in question. “He told me that The Cannibal approached you,” as she spoke she filled two goblets with a ruby red liquid, most likely a very expensive sort of wine.

She placed one goblet in front of you, afterwards, taking a sip of her own. All the while her lilac eyes observed you. You had never found yourself in such a scenario and were admittedly at a loss. Before uttering any words, you decided to take a sip of the wine, you couldn’t remember the last time you had any beverage that was not sea water. It tasted sweet, thick and sweet, unlike any other wine you had ever tasted.

As the wine warmed your body, and softened the aches of your bones you spoke up, “If by The Cannibal you mean the black dragon I met, then yes, it did approach me.” The queen looked at you, nodding and taking another sip, then placing her goblet on the table. Her son still boring holes in your figure from where he stood.

“What was the encounter like?” She eventually asked, her eyes brimming with curiosity. Her kindness and patience were unusual to you, for her, the queen, to speak to you with even the tiniest bit of respect was unheard of. It is no wonder she commanded the other lords to take their leave, they would not stand for this familiar sort of talk.

They would pass out to know that you sat on their honourable chairs, imagine what they would think if they knew you had the opportunity to partake of their wine. They might die on the spot. You had to keep yourself from letting out a chuckle at the imagine your mind conjured, instead bringing yourself back to conversation at hand. You looked towards the queen, the awkwardness palatable as she looked at you with expectation.

“The encounter was life altering,” in the distance you heard the prince clear his throat, commanding your attentions. You raised your brow at him, as did his mother. “you are to address the queen by her rightful title,” he said, looking at you as if you had committed the greatest of offence, which you suppose, you kind off did. You huffed out a breath, “Apologies your graces I am not used to the manners of court.” The queen nodded in response, “It is alright,” she picked her goblet back up and drank of it once more.

God you hated this, the silence, the awkwardness, the forced politeness. It made you feel stifled, trapped. However you persisted, there was something they wanted, you could feel it hanging in the air like you could feel the heat from the heart. “So,” the queen continued, “we are to understand that you claimed that dragon?”

You gulped, and nodded, “I suppose that is what happened your grace,” you chuckled lightly after having said it, the notion of having claimed a dragon was still a bit foreign. The queen nodded, as she casted a look towards her son. You looked to her and saw that she was clearly mulling something over in her head, debating and weighing the options in front of her. As she thought, you took another sip of the wine, letting the liquid further ease your mind and buddy. The queen’s eyes soon turned back to you, her mind made up,

“You understand that we are fighting a war,” she asked, looking at you with a gaze full of expectations and a lingering hurt,”we need fighters.” You nodded slowly, knowing where the conversation was going.

“I want to you to fight for my claim with your dragon.”

The words were spoken, the proposition laid bare on the table. You took another sip of the wine, the sweetness of it had faded, coating your tongue in bitterness. Placing the goblet on the table, the thud echoing in the empty room as the queen and her son looked at you, one with expectation, the other with a dull fury.

“What would be in it for me your grace?”

The queen smiled.

Night had come early, partly thanks to the storm that still raged outside your rooms. Rooms that were placed two floors down from those of the royal family, in the middle of the tall tower. A show of gratitude from the queen, you were far enough up in the tower to be respected but not too far up that it would be deemed inappropriate. It suited you perfectly.

The goose-feathered bed was a comfort to your sore, aching and bruised body. The medicinal oils the maids had used for your bath had helped, but now it was up to you to heal yourself.

Being aided in your bath was a most unusual experience, hands different from yours rubbing and scrubbing the dirt off. You soon excused them, feeling to exposed for you liking and although they did an excellent job, you were not one who particularly enjoyed the lavish attention. By now the maids had already come to empty the bath and put it to the side, before asking you whether you desired anything else.

You had sheepishly asked for some food, and they happily obliged. Some moments later you were laying on your bed, with a tray of food placed on your nightstand; bread, cheese, grapes, a goblet and small carafe of water were there to fill your very empty stomach. As you laid there munching on a piece of bread, the events of the day truly dawned on you. What you had done, what you witnessed, the promise you had made.

You closed your eyes, savouring the piece of bread, remembering a time where the only bread you ate was either stale or partly mouldy, gods things have changed. The moon shone throught

With your old dagger you cut through the hard bread, trying your hardest to cut off the part of it that had been tainted by mould. The boy at your table eager to finally have something other than gruel for food. “How were you able to get bread?” he asked as you put a plate in front of him, alongside a bowl of bland soup that was more lukewarm water than anything of sustenance.

You weren’t too keen on replying, knowing that what you did wasn’t exactly lawful. “The baker no longer wanted it,” you replied clipped, as you dipped the bread in the soup. The boy didn’t reply, to busy devouring his bread. Hunger was a nasty feeling, and he had known too much of it. You smiled softly at him, and although the bread wasn’t procured honourable, it was able to feed him which is all that mattered to you.

“The madam has another job for me,” he said in between bites, causing you to pause your eating. “Really?” you furrowed your brows,” she was happy then? With your performance?” He nodded proudly, “very happy.” You smiled at him again, this job would surely put more money in both of your pockets. Money you desperately needed.

“She asked if you considered her offer,” he looked at you, soft lilac eyes filled with expectation. Eyes you never could resist. “I did,”- you took another bite-”I think I’m going to accept.”

You awoke the next morning with knocking at your door, the maids from the previous night entered your room. They carried clothing, fresh water to fill a small basin, and tray of food. First they helped you out of your bed, in your tired state you didn’t say anything as they helped you out of you night shift and into what they described as riding clothes.

They sat you down at the table in front of the hearth, the food to break your fast that was on the tray now laid spread out before you. As you ate, one maid started to straighten your bed, as another cleaned up the tray you had requested the night before. Soon you were left alone, rubbing sleep from your eyes as you took a bit from a piece of bread with jam.

It tasted amazing. You had seen jams in the homes of others, had even been able to taste it years ago yet you never had the luxury of affording it for yourself. Even the juice that accompanied your breakfast tasted expensive, especially due to the fact that the goblet you drank it from seemed to have gold embellishments. If you took one of those goblets and sold it, you would be set for life.

Your mind flashed to the little boy with lilac eyes, how much he would have loved all of this. You took a deep breath and tried to change your train of thought, a difficult tasks but one you had to undergo if you wished to leave the room with your sanity in tact. You grasped at the necklace you found yesterday, tracing over in an effort to soothe yourself and it proved effective. Soon you were out of your room, headed off to chamber of the painted table as the queen had requested last night.

It did not take you long to reach said chamber, having memorised the path when you were traversing it with the prince yesterday. Guards opened the door for you once more, and inside you were met not with councillors, but with three man of various age, the queen, the prince, a knight and men you remembered from the dragonpit. You were the last to arrive.

“My apologies for my later arrival,” you bowed your head, eyes darting up to meet ones of a soft brown. ”your grace.” you added as you saw the fiery glare form, he looked away with you with anger set in his jaw and you had to resist the urge to roll your eyes. The queen nodded, “Apologies accepted.”

you hurried to join the other three, standing next to who you thought to be the youngest. He was a handsome young man, tall with ebony hair and dark hair, and with a beautiful smile he extended towards you as you stood next to him. “Now that you are all gathered here, I thought it imperative we discussed some things.” The man furthest from you with hair half up and a messy beard nodded dutifully, while the one next to him looked bored out of his mind.

The prince standing next to his mothers looked at the man as though he wished to have him burned with his gaze. “You are to train with your dragons, learn the commands so that soon you will be ready to fight.” You gulped, a sliver of anxiety settling in on the bottom of your stomach.

“Y/n,” lilac eyes looked at you, “you will train outside with prince Jacaerys, a dragonkeeper and a few knights. I trust my son will be a great teacher to you,”she smiled as she continued to discuss and divide the roles of the others, however you’re attention was taking. The brown haired prince stared at you, his attention equally diverted. His gaze on you made you want to thwart your own, however your pride would not let you.

Instead of averting your eyes, you looked him in his beautiful brown eyes and smiled. An action that angered him for he immediately looked away, back to his mother. Anger rolled off him in waves, hands clenched on top of the pommel of his sword, lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed. A small victory for you, but a victory nonetheless. The meeting concluded shortly thereafter.

;With some words of caution and well wishes you were dismissed. Your anxiety had momentarily settled thanks due to your little staring contest, but now it was back tenfold as you followed the prince. “Where are we training?” you asked as you tried to keep up with his fast pace, “somewhere far away from the castle with enough space.” You nodded, “will you be the one to teach my Valyrian?” He looked at you with an annoyed expression, his new role as teacher must not have been one he accepted with much happiness.

“Only the most basic commands.” he looked you up and down,” I doubt you will have much use for more.” At his words you scoffed, “Perhaps I wish to write Valyrian poetry, I can’t very well do that with only basic words” you spat at him in rebuttal, causing him to laugh in disbelief, “Someone like you is not capable of that.” Your nostrils flared at that, “And what is that suppose to mean?!” “It means that you are not a Targaryen” he spat the words out, looking at you as if you were a stain on his shoe. “So what?! You think the non Targaryens don’t write poetry?” “Perhaps they do, but it certainly isn’t in Valyrian.” he stated as though it was a fact,

“And how would you know that my prince?” you asked sarcastically, “I doubt you spent enough time with any non Targaryens to know.” At that he tutted his lips in response, angry at your response. “I don’t need to spend time with them to know,” he said and it made you laugh. “You people have no education. What would you know of poetry, let alone Valyrian poetry?!” You stepped closer to him as a challenge, “And who’s fault is that,” you looked him straight in the eyes, “My prince.”

He did not reply, stunned at your actions. He retreated, seething and walked away from you. What a waste of a gorgeous face, you thought, for it to be wasted on such a personality. You looked to him and saw the distance he had already put between you, anger was a great motivator apparently. You took a deep breath to calm yourself before following in his direction.

“Drakares!” you shouted with full confidence, and the prince tsk’ed at you once again. “Wrong. it’s Drakarys, it has a y sound not an e,” he was annoyed as he tried to teach you the commands, growing more impatient with every mistake you made yet you tried again.

“Draakarys!” He sighed and tsk’ed again, “wrong again, your first a vowel should be shorter, listen closely,” he looked towards where Vermax stood, a safe distance away from you both “Drakarys!”

He said it with great confidence and you both watch as Vermax released fire upon the ground, burning away the grass and insects. The prince looked towards with a smug smile, before saying you should try again. You turned towards where your dragon stood, even further away from you both and also a safe distance from Vermax. You took a deep breath and readied yourself,

“Drakarys!” you commanded, and you watched with pride as the cannibal unleashed a large fire onto the field, you had not felt the heat of Vermax’s flame but the heat of the cannibal’s was unavoidable. You let out a gleeful laugh, proud to have finally done it.

“Did you see that?” you looked at him with happiness and pride, “It worked!” he only spared you a small glance before saying, “it took you long enough.” In an instant, your happiness and pride were trampled upon, and anger surged within you.

“Well fuck you,” you said, walking away towards your dragon, eager to be away from the prince. He stormed after you, “How dare you?!” he shouted as he neared you, “Need I remind you that I am a prince of the realm?!”

You turned to face him, rolling your eyes. “Do not roll your eyes at me!” He shouted, eyes filled with a burning fury. “Why not?” you asked as you stepped closer to him, so close that you were nearly touching his nose with your own, breaths becoming mingled. Your heart beating ferociously due to the proximity, “Will you chop off my head? Feed me to your dragon?” You knew it was reckless, to taunt him so, but this man brought out the worst within you. He did not reply. “Thought so,” you said, ignoring your racing heart.

Breaths uneven as you stood there so close to him, looking into his eyes. His beautiful brown eyes, framed by gorgeous brown curls. Gods, he was unfairly beautiful. It made your heart race and your mind desire things it should not. You almost reached out to tuck away a stray piece of his hair that had blown in his face. The moment broke however when he cleared his throat and took a step back, “perhaps we should take a break for now.” You dropped your hand, hoping he hadn’t noticed what you were thinking of doing.

“Perhaps that’s for the best,” you agreed and walked towards your dragon, as did he. You patted the part of the Cannibal you were able to touch, cooing to him as you felt him growing restless. He was unused to this, the sitting stil, being commanded, everything. It had been a great challenge to get him saddled, it had almost ended with one of the dragonkeepers dying. Yet the bond you shared, however short, was strong. You felt the fear that he held within, and knew it well.

“Just a bit longer big guy,” you smiled up at him, but couldn’t not look him in the eye “I’ll ask if we can try flying now. ” You could almost swear that he responded when he let out a few clicking sounds and rumble from within his chest, near your hand, “Good boy,” you whispered as you gave him one last pat before making your way to the prince who was in deep conversation with his own dragon. “ziry amīvindī nykēla Vermax.”

The language he was speaking sounded strange in your ears, and you knew it must by High Valyrian because he spoke it to his dragon. His tone sounded annoyed, and you thought that whatever he was talking probably pertained to you. “ugh Issa kesīr,” he muttered as he noticed your approaching.

“The Cannibal wants to fly,” Jacaerys looked at you and sighed, ”Very well, let’s try flying.”He walked with you to your dragon and he was even so kind as to stabilise the netting you had climb up. Before you had started training the commands, you had practised sitting on the dragon, when the saddle was still on the ground. He had showed you how to strap in, how to use your buckles and the best way to hold your reigns, even if it was often with annoyance, he still did it.

He had told you to wait for him to fly to you before you were to even attempt the fly command, but you couldn’t wait. Anticipation bloomed within you alongside anxiety and you could feel the dragon brimming with a fiery energy. He wanted to fly, did not even wait for a command before reading himself. As he stretched out his winds you exclaimed “Sōvēs!”

You felt your heart hammer within your chest as the beast moved beneath you, breathing in and out at a rapid pace. It almost felt as though your heart would move so fast as to rip out of your chest. It was exhilarating. The moment your dragon set off, you let out a loud shriek before falling into a fit of hysterical giggles. Soon you were above the sky, holding onto the reigns for dear life as your mighty beast flew through clouds.

A smile was plastered on your face, your heart still beating miles per second. You felt invincible. With a few deep breaths you tried to steady your heartbeat, but it didn’t help much. Adrenaline filled your body and you could feel your hands shake slightly because of it. This ride you let yourself be guided by the cannibal, forgetting the young prince who had just saddled himself.

He was hurrying to get himself in the air, and although he didn’t personally mind if you fell to your death. His mother certainly would. Soon he was chasing after you, his small, young dragon much faster than yours, but you didn’t care. He saw you as he rose above the clouds. Beautiful silver blond hair shimmering in the sun with a wide smile unlike any he had ever seen.

For a moment he allowed himself to look at you unashamed, no other eyes observed him. There in the sky on top of the mighty beast, with the sun shining on you, you looked ethereal. There on his own dragon, he could momentarily shed the burdens on his shoulders. He could almost see all his worries and duties drift away in the wind. His eyes were focused on you, your gleeful laughter, your beauty, and for a moment you were not a bastard and he was not a prince.

You were dragonriders.

Yet reality never waited long to crash back down, he saw your head turn towards him but was not fast enough to turn his own. You were looking at him, and it felt like he was falling through the sky. Your smile fell and you waved at him awkwardly, which he reciprocated equally before turning to face forward, hiding the small hue of pink now dusting his cheeks.

Both dragons flew relatively close to the other, not too close you would be touching on another, but close enough that the riders could see each other. Your heartbeat had calmed down quite a bit, but you could still feel it beating furiously. Never had you ever been so free. If you so desired you could take your mount and fly away, away from this war, away from the arrogant prince. You could fly to Braavos, or Pentos. Anywhere and everywhere was now within your reach.

You looked back to the castle and knew that those thoughts were pretty dreams, you had made a promise. A promise that you would fight in this war, that you would fight for the queen and you knew you couldn’t not break it for it was a promise made to more than Rhaenyra Targaryen, it was also a secret promise you made to him.

“I wonder if you were looking at me now,” you whispered as you looked up further into the sky, hands tight on the reigns, “what would you say?”

No response came.

You had underestimated the strength that dragonriding demanded. The moment your feet touched solid ground, your legs started wobbling whether because of the leftover adrenaline or the simple fact they used more muscle than expected. Jacaerys Velaryon had descended with every grace expected of a prince, and made his way over to you.

No doubt to scold you over your disregard of his direction, or because you didn’t fly as pretty as he did. Whatever it may have been, it didn’t matter. The moment he reached you, your legs gave out and simple fell to the ground with a loud thud. All the scolding he was going to do was forgotten as he tried (and failed) to surpass a laugh at the scene.

“Ha Ha very funny,” you said as you looked up to him, slightly embarrassed at your predicament. “Could you help me up?” you asked, extending your hands to him. He nodded while trying to suppress a smile. He looked pretty like that you thought, he had looked prettiest in the sky with his curls flowing in the wind, the sun casting a glow around him like a halo.

He helped you up quickly, even holding your hands as you steadied yourself. Although both your hands were hidden beneath leather, you could’ve sworn you could feel their warmth. The moment the thought crossed your mind, you pulled them back. “Thank you,” you said, turning away to look at The Cannibal, as he was being unsaddled by a few dragonkeepers, with great effort on their part. They were terrified of the beast, and he was equally as terrified of them.

You could feel it, and even hear it in the tone of his shrieks. “Where will he go now,” you asked to the prince, eyes focused on your beast. “If he wants he can follow us to the caves, but most likely he has his own cave somewhere,” he looked at the beast briefly before turning his eyes to the back of your head, “perhaps he will take you to his lair someday. “

You turned to him, catching his eyes. “I hope so.” He was about to say something when a loud gurgling interrupted him, embarrassment crossed over your features when your realised that it was your stomach. Whatever he was going to say was lost as he laughed once more. “Don’t laugh,” you say, hardly able to suppress your own smile, “Dragon riding is hungry business!” A sentiment that caused him to laugh even harder.

For a moment, all previous hiccups were forgotten and only laughter remained. However the moment did not last long, a knight came from the castle summoning the both of you for supper. Perfect for your gurgling stomach, less perfect for what you thought was a budding friendship between you both. His laughter and smile faded, leaving behind the stoic prince from before. “

We should get going,” he said, “the queen does not like to be kept waiting.” You nodded and followed after him, his shoulders were tense and from the way his lips pursed you could assumed his jaw was equally as tense.

Dinner with the queen was a grand affair. The moment you set foot in your chambers the maids pounced on you to get you ready, your riding garb was thrown off and replaced with hot bath water. They did not give you time to protest, as they scrubbed your body clean and replaced the smell of dragon with the smell of lavender. They then dressed you in a fine dress of dark red fabric, with small dragon details around the cuffs and neckline.

“Curtsy from princess Baela,” one of the maids had said, before starting on your hair. By the end of the full makeover you looked unlike yourself. Dressed in such fine clothing, your hair was let half up and half down, a small braid in the back keeping long tresses out of your eyes. They tried to adorn you with a beautiful necklace made of small rubies, but you refused in favour of the silver necklace you brought from home. A reminder of your humbler beginnings, yet also a harbinger of the new things that came.

Soon you were seated at a grand table, not remember how you even got here with how fast it all went. On your right the seat was empty, on your left was the tall handsome man from this morning. In front of him was another dragonseed, with his hair in a half up ponytail and in front of you was the man with the beard.

“Good evening,” you muttered as you looked to them, your fellow dragonseeds. “Good evening,” the man on your left said, smiling brightly. The man in front of you smiled as well, “Good evening.” However the other man was too occupied with his cup to ever pay attention to the other. The man to your left leaned in closer to you, “my name is Addam,” he said, then motioning towards the man in front of him, “That’s Ulf, and the one next to him is Hugh,” You nodded, “I’m Y/N,” nice to meet you,” Addam smiled even brighter at you, “You’re the one that claimed The Cannibal right? We’ve all been very eager to meet you.”

You nodded at that, “Indeed. And what about you? Who did you claim?” “Seasmoke,” he said, his voice filled with pride, you looked towards Ulf, who now had tuned into the conversation. “I claimed Silverwing! Fast little thing she is,” he smiled smugly at you.

You turned to Hugh who had looked at Ulf with annoyance, before turning to meet your eyes. “Vermithor,” he spoke and he saw as your eyes widened. “The bronze one in the dragonpit?” You asked, bewildered that someone managed to claim that ferocious beast. He smiled a little shyly and nodded, “Yeah that’s the one.”

The conversation came to standstil as the doors opened to reveal the queen herself, wearing her golden crown. Behind her were her son and a young girl you didn’t know, with white curls and dark skin. She was pretty and as she walked you could tell she was a princess. You, Addam and Hugh immediately rose to your feet, whereas Ulf was still to busy examining his cups.

You gave him a pointed look as Hugh muttered “get up.” With clumsy feet he rose from the chair, almost knocking it over. All bowed before the queen and her entourage, although it was with little grace and wobbling knees.

As the queen was seated you were all allowed to sit down once more, servants delivered plates of food. Fruits and vegetables you never had to opportunity to taste, there were even these little bird like things. You had seen them before, but no longer remembered the name.

Ulf was quick to dig in, not waiting for anyone, or for a prayer. A part of you felt slightly annoyed at his rudeness, another part of you wanted to follow his lead. Never in your whole life had you seen this much food. He ate messily, yet you could not really blame him. It was not as though there were schools of etiquette back in Flea Bottom.

Due to Ulf’s impatience the order of things had been slightly altered and you noticed how it didn’t go over well with the royals at the table. The prince looked as though he would rather be dead, and the princess in front of him tried her hardest to remain neutral. The queen smiled tensely as she asked everyone to please dig in. On your plate you had stacked a variety of food, a little bird, beans, some potatoes. You wished to have a taste of everything, to savour every piece, because you knew that this opportunity was a rare one.

“You’ve got to taste the fish,” the man next to you excitedly said with a warm smile. You smiled back at him, “I will,-” you motioned towards your small bird-”but first this.” He nodded, before nudging your shoulders, “Look’s like Ulf is enjoying them,” he laughed along with you as you both watched Ulf absolutely devour the birds. Your laughter drew the stare of the prince, his big brown eyes focused on you and Addam as you conversed with one another.

The staring resulted in a nudge to the foot by the princess in front of him who looked at him with puzzled brows. “More wine here!” Ulf proclaimed, interrupting the conversation between Addam and you, “taming a dragon is thirsty work.” As he said that you rolled your eyes, but you soon regained your composure as you saw the queen grab her cup and stand. Your eyes turned to her, but not for long for Ulf once more spoke up “Oh, and some of these little bird.”

You looked at Addam who was looking at his food, head bowed slightly letting out a sigh. You could tell his was embarrassed in Ulf’s place. You eyes then went back to the queen who looked most displeased.

“A toast,” the queen spoke, “to our new riders.” The whole room fell silent at her words, eyes upon her, cutlery laid to rest. “The four of you are not of noble birth but you have done a thing never dreamed of before now,” All at the table rose their cups, some more enthusiastically then others you noticed as you finally dared to sneak a glance at the prince.

The queen sat back down, and drank the wine, a silent permission of all to do the same. She was however not done with her speech, “I have entrusted you with a power only few have known. And I charge you to take it up with fealty and respect,” she smiled at the four of you, “Serve me well and I will you knights and lady of the realm.” All eyes were on her, before Ulf opened his mouth, much to everyone’s annoyance. “Huh? What do you think of that, boys?” he asked in a slightly mocking manner, “We’ll be knights…just like that.”

The smile on his face made you uncomfortable, the food visible in his mouth. Hugh and Addam did not respond to his words, the later responding only to the queen, “we will not fail you, my queen,” he said, looking away from Ulf and instead towards her.

After Addam, Hugh also spoke up, “What must we do?” He asked nervously. The queen darted her eyes to the side, thinking over her words before responding, “I had thought that the mere fact of you might stay the enemy’s hand.” Her eyes roamed over you all, a slight tone of regret seeping into her voice, “but lord Corlys is right. We must strike while we have the advantage,” she looked briefly towards her son, before returning her gaze to the other, ”and end this war.”

You nodded at her words, knowing that she was right. The enemy might be deterred for but they won’t be for long. If you didn’t strike now, they will. You looked to others, saw as the princess leaner forward slightly in her chair. Her features were covered in slight surprise as the queen continued, “learn your beasts and your commands. You will fly in two days time.”

You took a deep breathe in, gnawing at your bottom teeth. The appetite you had suddenly disappeared with growing anxiety taking its place but she was not done speaking yet. “The strongholds of the usurper, Oldtown and Lannisport, and their armies, all must be subdued,” she put great emphasis on the last words, as she looked each of you in the eyes.

“Alone, without allies, he will have no choice but to surrender.” You understood her reasoning, yet her words implied you would be putting to death hundreds, thousands of people. Innocent people. A thought you apparently shared with the princess, “you wish for us to kill innocents.” “And so many,” Hugh added, a look of disbelief on his face. “It is hard,” the prince interjected,”but it cannot be helped.” The way he spoke about it so calmly made you mimic’s Hugh’s look.

You were no stranger to death, nor to what causes death, yet to have such a responsibility upon your shoulders. It was nauseating. You didn’t speak up, you knew this was expected, you had made a deal after all. In the background you could hear Ulf grunt as the prince and queen exchanged a look. “We must break the will of our enemy,” the queen spoke, “or more will die in a struggle that stretches on without end.” What she said was true, but didn’t ease the guilt that was already weighing on you.

“What about Vhagar?” Addam asked, knowing that none of your dragons were a match for her, safe for maybe The Cannibal but he was not battle trained, not in a way that Vhagar was. The queen leaned forward a slight smile on her lips in an effort to reassure him, “she is fearsome… but she is one dragon. The prince regent cannot defend against all of us.” You wanted to say something, ask about who should face her. You were readying yourself to speak up, but were too late. “I’ll take him on myself,” Ulf said, drunk on wine and good food, “Silverwing’s a goer, she is.”

He waved around his finger to mimic a dragon flying, “we’re afraid of nothing.” Addam looked at him disapprovingly, but Ulf continued, “even if you are.” A sentence that you knew agitated Addam, you could see it in his posture as he spoke, “there will be time enough,”- he turned his head to look Ulf directly in the eye-”to see which one of us is a coward.” Ulf only smiled in response, before turning towards where the servants stood, raising his cups and demanding once more that they bring him more little birds. An act that greatly displeased all the others at the table. The queen tried to reprimand him softly by stating, “A knight will comport himself with grace at the queen’s table.” It didn’t work on Ulf however, who responded, “best make me a knight, then.” A statement that earned him sharp glares from the princess.

“You forget yourself,” the prince stated, “friend.” It was said in a tone that indicated he did not want to be messed with, his jaw was set once more. However the statement had another emotiong to it, as if it was a follow up to a conversation none of you were aware of excpet the prince and Ulf.

Ulf scoffed in response, grabbing his goblet. “ Sense of humour would do you all good,” he said before taking a big swig. You could cut the tension in the room with a knife, and you hoped that the dinner would soon come to an end. A prayer that was answered quickly when the maester entered to room to whisper something into the ear of the queen.

The queen rose from her seat once more, but this time it was not to give a toast. You glanced towards the prince who was staring at his mother, for the first time this evening you really looked at him. His curls had been styled, his tunic a different one from before. This time he had no cape nor any red embellishments.

He looked handsome you thought, and as soon as the thought crossed your mind you looked a way. In the meantime the queen was in deep conversation with the maester and you could only pray that the new was good, but from the looks on either faces, that did not seem the case.

The queen soon turned back to the table, “Addam,” she called, the man looked startled upon hearing his name, “come with me.” In silence Addam followed after her, and you watched them both leave. Ulf finally received his birds, yet your appetite was long gone.

You pushed yourself off your chair, and bowed to the prince and princess, you knew was expected. “I wish to retire to my room,” you said, watching the both of them exchange glances before they nodded. The princess smiled at you, “you may go,” she said and you nodded to her in response.

You walked towards your rooms, your stomach twisted and turned as you mulled over all that had just happened. The inevitable was soon to come. Westeros was at war, a war in which you swore you would participate. A promise you had perhaps made too quickly, yet could not take back.

Blood was already on your hands, were you truly ready to add more?

Tagslist (open)

@madame-fear, @/corruptedcruiser, @rav9n-16, @/blackravena, @kaymej, @burningwitchobject, @/vee-mage, @thenotesapppoet, @benjinotes, @/kitkat1sstuff, @/cxcilla, @alyssa-dayne, @i-padfootblack-things, @seaheaded

(A dash after the @ sign means that I wasn't able to tag your blog for some reason. Sorry💔)

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itgirlgyu · 2 years ago

Text

how txt would embarrass you!

۪ 𝆬 ೀ ot5! txt x fem! reader! ◌ ⃘ ₊ 🛸 mini hcs!!! this is me soft launching myself ㅎ_ㅎ

YEONJUN!

comes to your formal office party in a nick from zootopia furry costume WITH A FLUFFY TAIL because he misread your text and thought it was a costume party not a custom party. tries to play as fashion faux pass, not one believed that it's faux passing. he will go home and cry about it.

SOOBIN!

was caught trash talking a toddler in an arcade game like a loser after he lied to your friend that he was feeling sick and couldn't come to her birthday bash. had the audacity to fake barf later on, before going back to finish the game. didn't even let the kid win.

BEOMGYU!

started doing dougie with you when the host asked for all the couple on the dance floor. it was okay with that too until he finished his moves and then leered at you to show your moves. yeah he thought it was a couple dance off.

TAEHYUN!

began the first date by calling women "females," and light misogynist remarks because he wanted to see how you react before he could drop his intensive collection on feminist books, dw baby girl he's an ally he's just testing you. honestly you embarrassed yourself by getting angry too quickly but on the other hand, you passed the test.

HUENING KAI!

openly says Internet slangs that have expired 2 years ago to everyone, and doesn't get the hint that slangs that are okay in the Internet, like rizz king or w, doesn't translate well in real life. especially in front of your parents.

COPYRIGHTS RESERVED TO ITGIRLGYU 23'. FEEDBACKS AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!

PERM' TAGLIST: @impureperhaps @full-sunnies @ox1-lovesick @jisungsdaydreamer @wonioml @1921choi @forever-in-the-sky2

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imjustasimpxd · 2 years ago

Text

My Angel (Part Two)

➬ Reiner Braun x Fem reader

Part One | Part Three | Masterlist | Blog Home | Aot Masterlist

Summary : Reiner was always taught that the devils of Paradis were vicious creatures, but what is he supposed to do when he soon finds himself reluctantly falling for one? Or when he is forced to go back to Marley and leave her altogether?

Word count : around 5, 200 words

Warnings : Again, very angsty. Reiner feels guilty about what he’s done, reader is angry with him. Crying, mentions of heartbreak. Spoilers for season 4 part one.

Author’s notes : reblogs are appreciated!! I appreciate all feedback on my writing so that I can know what you guys liked and what you think I should improve on😊

Disclaimer : this is a work of fiction and should in no way, shape, or form, be taken seriously.

Side Note : this fic, and everything else I’ve written on my blog, is mine and only mine. I work very hard on everything I write so do not, under any circumstances, modify, copy, or steal my work.

❗️Important Note❗️

There will in fact be a part three! While I was writing part two, it ended up becoming so long that I just decided to split it up. That’s why this chapter leaves off on a cliffhanger (and that’s also why it took me so long to post this one). But I thank you all for your patience. If anyone else wants to be tagged for part three then let me know in the comments! :)))

“Can I please ask where exactly we’re going?” Reiner questioned, his voice lacing with a hint of annoyance as Falco gripped his arm, anxiously pulling him towards the city’s back alleys.

“I told you it’s a surprise! A friend of yours wants to say hi before the show starts!” Falco explained, glancing backward at his superior with a cheerful smile as he continued to pull him in the opposite direction.

“Is that right?” Reiner spoke sarcastically, scoffing quietly to himself as he took in the boy’s words.

What was Falco really up to?

Surely the whole “a friend wants to say hi” explanation was made up; because Reiner Braun wasn’t exactly a man you would think of as having friends.

Sure, he was surrounded by people a lot of the time, and he even had allies with whom he got along pretty well with. But even so, Reiner knew he was nothing more than a comrade to them; nothing more than a vessel to wield the armored titan.

But that was okay, because they were nothing more than comrades to him.

With being born Eldian as well as being a warrior for Marley’s military force, Reiner Braun didn’t exactly have the time, luxury, or frankly, the mental strength to seek out any social interactions beyond strictly work-related ones.

Well, at least, not anymore.

He made that mistake once, and in doing so, it cost him the demolition of a poor woman’s heart; as well as his own.

In fear that opening up to another person again might cause that beating vessel in his chest to truly see itself past repair, Reiner Braun had decided to close himself off from others, refusing to repeat those tragic events of his past.

So, with that in mind, who exactly was this “person” that Falco was happily dragging him by the arm to see?

It couldn’t have been anyone he was genuinely close with; there wasn’t anyone like that for him, not anymore at least. Any authentic connections he once had with people were now severed, collapsed by the calamity he caused back on that forsaken island.

So who on earth was he being forced to see?

“It’s just in here!” Falco said excitedly, his finger pointing toward a wooden door as they rounded the corner; one that lead to a basement stationed under an older apartment complex.

From the outside, the place looked dim and run down, its location secluded to a quiet and unfrequented street.

The very sight had Reiner scratching his head in confusion. Of all places, why here? Why pick such an isolated area to meet with him? Not only that, but why would this person send a naive little boy to escort him to this place instead of just contacting Reiner directly?

Was this a trap he was walking into?

Should he leave?

Like a flame set to brush, panic began spreading through Reiner’s veins. His free hand was gripped into a strained fist and his eyes darted in all directions, watching out for any surprise attacks.

If this really was a trap, if someone was anticipating charging at him, then he’d be ready for it.

Suddenly, the wooden door opened. Loud groans from the beat-down hinges filled the air, followed by the sound of footsteps; footsteps that belonged to a dark, hooded figure.

Reiner’s eyes widened at the scene before him, an eerie feeling twisting in his stomach as he watched the mysterious person walk out the door; heading in his direction.

Whoever it was, he thought about fighting them off, even going as far as raising both his hands in the air to assume a defensive stance.

However, that’s when he caught a glimpse of Falco next to him. The little boy had started to head towards the figure, almost as if he was acquainted with the human; if it even was human.

“Falco wait!” Reiner quickly followed in the boy’s footsteps, gripping his arm before he could walk any closer to the person. “We should leave.” He suggested, anxiously tugging on the boy’s limb in hopes to urge him back in the opposite direction.

“It’s okay Mr. Braun,” Falco smiled, quick to reassure his superior. “This is where he said to meet him.”

Who’s he? Was it that person lurking around with the cloak draped across their face? Or was there someone inside as well?

Reiner didn’t have any answers, nor did he have a definite resolve on how to react in this situation. Should he trust Falco’s judgment and allow this “meetup” to happen? Or should he grab the boy and run while he still had the chance?

The latter seemed like the best option, especially considering the fact that Falco was just a child, and therefore could’ve easily been manipulated into something dangerous.

He wanted to trust Falco’s words, but it was too risky. If something happened, the boy’s blood would be on Reiner’s hands; and he couldn’t bear the weight of any more sorrow, or any more guilt.

“We’re leaving, Falco!” Reiner insisted, readjusting his grip on the boy’s arm to forcefully pull him away from the situation.

Although, just as he’d turned around to take those first few steps, he heard something that made his body freeze, and his heart clench.

“If you’re done arguing you can go on ahead. He’s waiting for you inside.”

That voice. Reiner knew that voice.

It was the same one he used to hear nagging at him to wake up in the early mornings. The same voice that used to comfort him whenever he was feeling disheartened.

It was… the same voice he never thought he’d have the pleasure of hearing ever again…

All he received was one simple sentence, but that was all the verification he needed. There was no doubt in his mind, the voice he heard: belonged to you.

“Y/n?!” His body immediately turned around to face the hooded figure. His eyes then squinted, trying to see more than just the gentle silhouette of a pair of lips and a jawline that was exposed by the moonlight’s glow.

The figure froze at his words, saying nothing in response; almost as if they didn’t anticipate being recognized.

“Y/n, is that you?” Reiner asked again, hoping to earn a response this time.

However, there was none; at least, not a verbal one.

All he gained was a sudden flinch that occurred once he spoke that name a second time, followed by the subtle shaking of fingertips that poked out from the sleeves of the cloak.

You must’ve been scared, embarrassed; perhaps even both.

And who would blame you for it? The last time you saw him he had slaughtered more than half of your comrades. Who knows what he’s capable of now after four years have passed?

“Falco?” Reiner finally broke the silence, glancing down at the boy he was still holding on to. “Why don’t you go on inside, I’ll be with you in a minute.”

However, before the boy could open his mouth to speak, he was quickly interrupted. “There’s no reason for him to leave! I’m not staying to chat.” A stern voice echoed past the cloak covering your face, but that didn’t phase Reiner.

He knew it was you from the moment that first syllable left your lips, even more so now that you’d spoken a second time.

Your tone was serious, added with a hint of aggression in order to scare him off, but he wouldn’t be turned away by that. Not when this was the chance he’d been silently praying for ever since he left that island four years ago. The chance to finally see you once again, even for just a moment.

Now that this chance was finally here, standing in front of him, there was no way he’d let it slip away; regardless of the tone you used with him.

“Just a few minutes?!” He insisted, taking a few steps forward in case you were preparing to run away. “Please?” He asked in a much quieter tone, his eyes practically begging for you to give in, to grant him even the smallest portion of your time.

Even after all these years he still knew how to persuade you, didn’t he? He must’ve, otherwise, your mouth would’ve never opened to let out a frustrated “Five minutes and that’s it!”

Reiner’s shoulders quickly relaxed at your words. His head then turned towards Falco subsequently, giving him a quick nod of his head: which apparently was his signal to “get going.”

Falco’s gaze switched between Reiner and the person he was apparently dying to speak to. The boy was unsure of what was going on, or who that unidentified person even was, but nevertheless, Falco knew better than to argue with his superior; so he’d comply with the orders given to him.

“S-sure…I’ll just, be inside then…” Falco spoke hesitantly, slowly backing away to walk toward the wooden door. He stopped momentarily after placing his fingers on the handle, almost as if he was waiting for Reiner to change his mind. But after receiving no signs of a change of heart, Falco reluctantly opened the door and stepped inside; closing it behind him.

The moment that wooden door shut, an unpleasant silence filled the air. Instead of partaking in the “conversation” you were supposed to have, the two of you just stood in silence.

You didn’t dare speak up. Reiner was the one who made you stay after all, if anyone should be the first to start this conversation it was him.

Your eyes were fixated on him with a calloused glare, your lips refusing to part even the slightest bit.

Reiner on the other hand, wore an expression more timid and anxious than yours.

He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, fingers fidgeting with each other as he contemplated the best way to start this conversation.

“I uh…” He tried to speak, but the words fumbled in his mouth, leaving just as quickly as they came.

It’s ironic, just a moment ago he was begging for you to stay so that he could have the chance to talk to you, but now that his chance had finally arrived, he couldn’t think of anything to say.

As he stood there, overanalyzing a potential response, he noticed the way you scoffed, clearly annoyed at his delay in response.

You were growing impatient with him, and if he didn’t take the opportunity to speak with you now, you’d most likely never allow him another chance to waste your time again.

So, after what had seemed like hours of silence, when in reality was more like 1 minute, Reiner finally spoke up.

“Can you take off the hood?”

Your eyes quickly narrowed in confusion at his odd request. Out of everything he could’ve asked, everything he could’ve apologized for, this is the first thing he says?

“Why?” You questioned, still unsure of his intentions on the matter.

“I just…” He began, but his words quickly started to fade out, almost as if he felt unworthy to be asking in the first place.

Nevertheless, you were persistent.

“You just what?!” You snapped, frustrated at his apparent dedication to withhold information from you; a recurring dedication at that.

“I just…” he inhaled shakily before speaking, “I want to see your face.”

You paused at his words, taking a moment to process what he’d just said. After expecting something pitiful, or perhaps even bitter coming from him, it was quite a shock to receive this: a fairly tender request.

He wanted to see your face? Why? What difference would that make?

It’d be the same one he saw four years ago, nothing’s changed; at least, not to you.

Despite asking for something which would require him to look upwards, Reiner kept his eyes glued to the ground, as if he felt undeserving to see you again. It wasn’t until he heard the heavy sigh that jerked past your lips, along with the quiet “fine” you gave in response to his request that made him finally look up.

As his gaze lifted, watching you pull that gloomy hood off your head, Reiner was met with a flashback of memories.

It all reappeared in an instant: the sound of your adorable laugh, the way your hair looked when the sun glistened across it, even the small little habits he’d discovered about you as time went by; they were all coming back, recollecting in his mind clearer than if it all happened a day ago.

Reminding him, painfully, of a time when things were simpler, when he was happier, and, most regretfully, a time when he had you.

Pulling off that hood allowed him to finally lay eyes upon a face he hadn’t seen in ages. A face he used to watch soundly sleeping next to him at night, placing gentle kisses all over when no one was around.

It was the same face he used to stare at in fascination; taken back by the beautiful way your lips would curve upwards into a smile, or even the way your eyes radiated the most alluring shade of color when the sun shone across your skin.

That face was one he had desperately longed to observe once more for the entirety of four long years, and coincidentally, it was the same face that now stared him down with an irritated glare.

Absent was the sparkle your eyes once held for the man standing before you, and gone was the loving countenance you were never hesitant to grant him.

Now your face lay still, your features refusing to move even the smallest bit in case it were to form some sort of pleasant expression towards him accidentally.

Who was this woman?

If not for the fact that he had easily identified her face, Reiner wouldn’t have recognized her.

Where was the kind and loving woman he fell in love with? Was she not the one standing before him now?

No, this woman was different. This one seemed to hold an inkling of abhorrence towards him, easily provoked by just his presence alone.

Was this… the product of his own making?

Was this… what he’d turned you into?

As if he wasn’t tormented enough by his decision, now he was witnessing the consequences of his actions unfold before his very eyes.

“How.. how are you here?” Reiner stuttered, still in shock over the fact that you were actually standing there; that for whatever reason, his prayers to see you again had finally been answered.

“I’m only here in service of a friend; nothing else.”

Your response was so vague, so cold; nothing like the endearing way you used to speak to him.

“Which friend?”

“It doesn’t matter,” You replied forbiddingly. Your tone sounded so distant, so unfriendly towards him.

To think, the last time he heard your voice, it had told him “Goodnight, I love you.” But now that voice was harsh as it spoke, probably regretful of saying those very words after waking up to find out he’d abandoned you that next morning.

The difference in your tone was beginning to eat away at Reiner, straining that beating vessel in his chest more and more with each look of your indignant expression. As if you’d just picked up a shovel and started digging, deepening his guilt further than it already was; if that was even possible.

“Your minutes are up by the way, and I have to leave.” You suddenly spoke, hoping your statement was bleak enough to end the conversation, meaning you could finally leave; finally be free of him.

“Wait!” Just before you could escape, Reiner quickly reached forward and grabbed your wrist, clinging to it as if his life was hinging on it. “Wait please, don’t leave…”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

He deserved that. Honestly, he deserved more than that.

Call him whatever names you could think of, and he would let you, he’d allow every single one of them, no matter how excruciating, because he knew they were true; because deep down he knew he deserved them.

“I’m not interested in what you have to say, Reiner.” Your words were like knives to his heart, causing the already aching organ to shudder yet again. “Whatever it is you should’ve said it four years ago.”

Was that true?

If he really did explain it to you before he left, would things be different now? Would you have understood his situation? Understood why he had to do it?

Why he had to leave?

“Please,” he implored, desperately maintaining that grip on your wrist. “Please, just let me explain it to you.”

It was pathetic, how he was begging like this, pleading for you to stay and hear him out as if he wasn’t the one that left you in the first place.

“Nothing you say will change what happened.”

He knew that was true, but in spite of that, he still refused to let you go again without telling you, without apologizing at the very least.

“I know,” he admitted, a glossy haze shimmering in his eyes as he looked at you. “But please, I want you to know the truth.”

A part of you wanted to leave, to deny him any further chances to cause you more pain with an explanation. However, another part of you wanted an apology. You wanted to hear his side of the story; to hear whatever excuse he had for abandoning you. No matter how twisted, or pitiful, his reasoning was, you couldn’t deny you had questions you wanted him to answer.

“Fine then. Tell me.” You quickly adjusted your posture, staring at him with your eyebrows raised; a gesture he remembered you only used when you were serious about something.

“Why did you betray us?”

Here it was, the moment he had been waiting for since this conflict arose: his chance to finally be understood, to be seen as more than just the traitor he was made out to be.

“I was given orders,” he started, retracting his hand from your wrist now that you’d clearly abandoned the option to run. “I had no choice but to follow them.”

“And what were your orders?” Your voice sounded heavy, almost as if it was hurting to bring all this back up again; like a wound that was still fresh, still desperately trying to heal itself.

Reiner’s mouth remained shut, his head lowering as he closed his eyes, not wanting to answer your question. He knew he’d be made to look like the villain no matter what he said, no matter which way he worded it.

Did that mean he really was the villain?

In your eyes, maybe.

Perhaps you’d never accept his side of the story, never be able to see past the wretched sins he’d carried out. But regardless, even if he never got the forgiveness he so desperately wanted from you, he couldn’t hide from the truth any longer. It was time to embrace it, all of it.

“They told us to sneak in and make allies first, that way we had the people’s trust and no one would suspect us.” He sighed, his eyes refusing to look up at you in fear of the face you’d make upon hearing his confession. “Once the time came, we were ordered to steal the founding titan by whatever means necessary. And if anyone tried to stop us, we had permission to silence them, using whatever tactics we deemed fit.”

Reiner’s heart felt tight as he let those words out, his shame growing stronger now that he was remembering it all, remembering what he’d done.

How did things end up like this?

He was just trying to do what he was trained to do: save the world from ruin; that’s all. But here he was now, that mission an embarrassing failure as he reminisced on his actions; the same actions that caused such sorrow for so many people, including himself.

And as if things weren’t bad enough, as if Reiner wasn’t feeling guilty already, he heard a sudden change in your breathing that could only mean one thing: you were beginning to cry.

“No, wait!” His head quickly lifted to look at you, instantly regretting it as your distressed face came into view. “Please, don’t cry.” He begged, using his thumb to wipe away the liquid collecting on your skin; which you surprisingly allowed him to do without putting up a fight.

“Don’t cry, okay? Not for me.” He demanded, despite his own eyes welling up with tears as well.

He just couldn’t bear it, knowing he was hurting you yet again.

It was almost as if nothing had changed, even after all those years. As if he was reliving those horrors of his past once more, reliving that anguish he saw imprinted across your visage when you found out he was the armored titan; the same armored titan that had killed so many of your friends.

You didn’t understand it, even now.

Was the man who used to dote on you really the same person as the one who carried out such violence and hatred against your people?

How could that be true? How could he have done such a thing, committed such betrayal against the woman he loved?

What changed? Was it something you did?

Or perhaps a more gut-wrenching explanation: he never loved you to begin with. Maybe that’s why it was so easy for him to give you up, maybe, this was his plan all along.

“What else?” You asked, your voice trembling in the process.

Reiner’s face quickly scrunched in confusion, unsure of what you were getting at. “What do you mean?”

“Were those your only orders?” Tears quickly began trickling down your face faster than Reiner could stop, your gaze looking more despondent than ever. “Was there really not anything else?” Your lips parted to let out a stinging sob, one that seemed like it’d been held in for too long.

It was obvious you were waiting for some sort of answer from him, and every second he delayed with a response was only tormenting you further.

But, even so, it didn’t change the fact that Reiner didn’t understand what you were asking of him; or what you wanted to hear so badly.

Your eyes stared at him in sorrow, more tears absorbing into your skin before you asked your question one last time; phrasing it differently now.

“Was falling in love with me a part of your mission too? Was I just another means to accomplish your end goal?”

Reiner’s heart convulsed at your words, his mouth agape to let out a pained gasp.

Did he just hear that right?

A tool?! Is that really what you thought? Is that really all you assumed you were worth to him?

As if you could ever be such a thing.

Granted, he understood how you may have assumed that, given the matter of his betrayal and all. But, despite that, he never expected such an absurd accusation.

There was a wide range of names you could’ve called him: a traitor, a liar, a monster; anything, and he would’ve accepted it; He would’ve owned up to it.

But this: questioning whether or not his affection towards you was genuine; that was one accusation he’d never admit to.

You were never a tool, you weren’t even a part of his plan to begin with. Falling in love with a woman of Paradis wasn’t exactly one of the orders he received when he was assigned to that mission. In fact, getting involved with you went against the sole purpose of him being there; the sole purpose of his assignment.

He was sent there to exterminate the Eldian race, to wipe out every last one of those despicable beings so that the world could finally be safe.

Falling in love wasn’t an order laid out in his job description at all, much less with a woman of Paradis. And yet, he did.

Reiner was a strategic man, he wasn’t one to easily abandon orders, no matter how difficult they may be. That in itself should’ve been enough to prove his affection toward you; because he never would’ve done such a thing had he not felt it was worth it, had he not felt you were worth it.

Nevertheless, here you were, teeth gritted in frustration as you impatiently awaited his answer.

Your face spoke only of torment, and it pained Reiner to have to witness it. The way your eyes were slanting together in an unsuccessful attempt to subdue your tears, your fingers curling into fists to help better contain your irritation, all of it was a clear sign of the repercussions his decision to abandon the woman he loved had caused.

It was just like the last time, you were falling to pieces over him once more, and Reiner couldn’t stand the sight of it.

Your gentle cries may not have been as loud and mournful as they were four years ago, but it didn’t matter; the fact that you were even crying in the first place was enough to make that twisting sensation return to his stomach; possibly becoming permanent at this rate.

Reiner stretched his arm out to grasp your hand, hoping to console you, however, you quickly backed away, refusing to let him touch you.

“I don’t want your pity!” you spat, your fragile body trembling from both the anger and suffering fueling inside. “I just want the truth! Did you ever love me?”

Was that even a question?

Yes, he was fully aware that it would’ve been hard to believe the authenticity of someone who’d abandoned you; someone who so easily decided to turn against you, as if doing so didn’t phase them in the slightest.

But regardless, ignoring the heinous crimes he’d committed, did you still believe he never loved you?

Were his actions before this messy conflict never enough to convince you of his sentiments?

What about all the times he’d hold you in his arms, whispering to you about how happy you made him feel? Did you really not believe any of that? Was he pouring out his heart’s inner-most secrets for nothing?

Or what about the times he’d surprise you with food, despite rations being low? He almost got caught stealing food for you so many times; which was unwise of him considering the fact that it could’ve possibly had him kicked out of the survey corps: meaning his whole plan to infiltrate the military would’ve gone up in flames.

Or, perhaps how he’d always try to keep an eye on you during missions, making sure you never encountered something too dangerous for you to handle. You always complained that he was being too paranoid, but it was only because, unlike you, he was aware of the kind of power titans held; the kind of pain they could’ve, he could’ve, inflicted upon a tiny human being.

All he ever wanted was to protect you, to do what was best for you. Did you really never realize that?

Even after he made Annie and Bertholdt promise not to lay a hand on you during their countless fights with the survey corps, even after all the times he put your saftey before his own mission, was it still never enough?

Even when he left you behind, did you really never consider the fact that he could’ve been doing it because he thought it’s what’s best for you?

You would’ve never been safe with someone like him, so he spared you from that danger by leaving.

Even though he caused you much pain by doing so, did you still never put that together?

“I understand if you don’t believe me when I say this,” Reiner began, “But I never stopped loving you.”

Even before any words left your lips, the doubtful look stringing along your face was enough to tell Reiner that you didn’t believe him; or were highly skeptical at the very least.

“If that’s true, then why wasn’t that enough for you to stay?”

He’d asked himself the same question so many times before. Why didn’t he just give up on his mission and stay with you? It’s not like he wouldn’t have preferred that option in comparison to the one he chose.

Why didn’t he just let the Marleyans presume him dead, forgetting his life in Marley and starting a new one with you on Paradis?

He wanted to, he considered it even. But there was one factor he was forgetting that made all the difference; one tiny reminder that convinced him to abandon that option in the end: you deserved better.

If he stayed behind like you would’ve wanted him to, like he would’ve wanted to, then he would’ve been living a lie; deception would’ve been rooted at the heart of your relationship.

He would’ve never been able to fully open up to you because doing so would mean he told you the truth about his past, about where he’s from and why he came here in the first place. He’d have to fabricate every detail about his life up until this point; tricking you into believing he was born inside the walls just like you. He’d need to have an excuse for everything: why his parents weren’t around, where he was born, what his home life was like, everything.

Nothing about his life would be real anymore, from the moment he’d wake up, to the second he drifted off to sleep at night, he’d be living a lie.

Every time he’d look at your innocent expression he’d be reminded of the secrets he was keeping from you, the lies he was tricking you with; and he couldn’t live like that. He refused to live like that.

“Staying would’ve only put you in danger, so I left, taking the danger with me.”

“I see.” Your voice was strained, as if you were having trouble processing everything. The shock from seeing him again so unexpectedly still hadn’t exactly worn off yet, and with the addition of all this new information piled on top, you didn’t necessarily know what to say; or how to react.

So, instead, you remained silent, hoping some ideas might materialize inside your head as you waited.

However, you weren’t kept waiting for long because Reiner quickly took an initiative to speak once again, asking something that left you stunned,

“Is it okay if I kiss you?”

Your head quickly flung upwards to look at him, contemplating whether or not you heard him right.

“What??” You asked, aghastly, desperately hoping you misheard his question.

“Is it okay if I kiss you?” He repeated, unfortunately proving that your ears were working just fine, and that you did in fact hear him correctly the first time.

He only meant it as a farewell, nothing more.

He knew this might very well be the last time he ever saw you again, so, with that in mind, he wanted to leave you with something pleasant to remember him by.

He had every intention of letting you go, he’d walk away and you’d never have to see him again afterward.

Just one last memory with you, that’s all he wanted. One last moment to reminisce on the merriment of his past before he let you go for good.

That’s what he wanted at least, but, when you finally uttered a response, he realized it might’ve been too much to ask for.

“I’m with someone else now, Reiner.”

Part One | Part Three | Masterlist | Blog Home | Aot Masterlist

(YES THERE WILL BE A PART THREE. So comment below if you want to be tagged).

Tags : @thebadbatch @mvteria @nervouslad @ah-finally @usagikookiejams

This fic, and everything else I’ve written on my blog, is mine and only mine. I work very hard on everything I write so do not, under any circumstances, modify, copy, or steal my work.

Keep in mind that commenting to tell me what you liked, what you don’t, how I can improve, and any suggestions you have helps me A LOT more than simply liking my posts. If you’ve had the time to read my story, how much longer does it take to leave me some feedback on it? 😊

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thatbanditqueen · 7 months ago

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Louisiana Saturday Night Chapter 2

Hot Button Baby

Warning: Consensual smut, fingering, boys talking about sex and being crude.

Summary: Elvis and the guys get into Shreveport late one Friday night and he runs into Freddie. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Elvis takes her out for dinner as he hopes for something more.

Read it here

Thanks to my alpha @whositmcwhatsit for reading multiple drafts of this chapter and to all my Elvis fic friends @vintageshanny @from-memphis-with-love @shakerattlescroll @be-my-ally @missmaywemeetagain @powerofelvis @peskybedtime @lookingforrainbows @ellie-24 for helping me get through the summer and keep hope a live. xoxox

Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist, and thanks for reading. Reblogs, comments feedback and corrections desired and encouraged

@i-r-i-n-a-a

@artlover8992

@atleastpleasetelephone

@returntopresley

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@ab4eva

@louisejoy86

#elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis x oc #elvis #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis smut #banditqueenwrites #baby elvis #1954 elvis #louisiana hayride #Spotify

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pixel7777 · 2 months ago

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A Star(ion) is Born

🎤🦇Open mic night takes an unexpected turn when Astarion's "vampire schtick" hits a little too close to home, leaving the crowd spellbound and a certain wizard surprisingly tender. Truth, trust, and some smoldering vampire performance art lead to revelations—and a connection Astarion never saw coming. 🎭✨

Not an AU/modern fic - I made the open mic thing work in-canon, I think. Probably.

Starts dark but there's fluff, feels, and medium spice smut to look forward to on your way to a happy ending.

Content Tags: During Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Past-Non-Consensual Sexual Encounters Spoken of In Public, Angst and Fluff and Smut

Read here below the break or on AO3!

If you enjoyed this mix of angst, smut, and vampire theatrics, please reblog, reply, or leave a comment and kudos on AO3! Your feedback keeps the stories flowing.

The lamps of the Laughing Lantern cast dancing shadows across weathered tables, their wrought-iron faces mocking Astarion with their permanent grins. The common room buzzed with the sounds of plates clattering and patrons laughing—a jarring contrast to the quiet roads they'd traveled. Their ragtag group had claimed a collection of mismatched chairs near the small stage.

Karlach's booming laugh drew his attention to where she chatted with Wyll, while Shadowheart rolled her eyes and sipped her wine. Lae'zel stood guard by the hearth, clearly uncomfortable with the press of bodies around her. Halsin and Jaheira had retreated to a corner table, heads bent in discussion over some dreary druidic matter.

But Astarion's gaze kept drifting to Gale, who'd positioned himself deliberately between Tav and an empty chair—the last remaining seat at their table. Perfect.

"Mind if I join you?" Astarion slid into the chair, letting his knee brush against Gale's thigh.

Gale shifted away, eyes fixed on the spellbook spread across the table. "By all means. Though I doubt you'll find much entertainment in advanced theoretical transmutation."

"On the contrary." Astarion leaned closer, speaking just loud enough for Gale to hear. "I find your particular brand of magic quite fascinating."

"Do you?" Gale turned a page, still not meeting his gaze. "Strange, considering how quickly your eyes glaze over whenever I discuss magical theory."

Astarion masked his irritation with a practiced smile. "Perhaps I simply prefer watching your hands when you cast. The way they move, so precise, so... controlled." He traced a finger along the edge of Gale's spellbook.

Gale closed the tome with a sharp snap. "What do you want, Astarion?"

"Want? Can't I simply enjoy your company?"

"You never 'simply' anything." Gale's eyes finally met his, sharp with intelligence. "Two weeks ago, you made your intentions quite clear—or rather, your lack of them."

"Ancient history." Astarion waved a dismissive hand. "And here I thought wizards were supposed to be forward-thinking."

"We are. Which is precisely why I'm focusing on my studies rather than whatever game you're playing tonight."

The rejection stung more than it should have. Astarion glanced toward the bar, where the bartender was arranging bottles with far too much enthusiasm—clearly eavesdropping. He lowered his voice. "No game, darling. Just thought we might... reconnect."

"Reconnect?" Gale's laugh held no warmth. "Like we 'connected' in that abandoned farmhouse? Or perhaps you mean like our 'connections' in the Underdark?"

"Those were lovely connections, as I recall."

"Until you vanished before dawn. Every time." Gale reopened his book, effectively dismissing him. "I'm not interested in being another midnight treat, Astarion."

The words hit closer to truth than Astarion cared to admit. He needed Gale—needed his power, his knowledge, his... whatever this feeling was that made his chest tight whenever Gale looked at him like that. But more pressingly, he needed allies. His messy feelings were secondary to survival Baldur's Gate loomed ahead, and with it, Cazador's shadow.

"What if—" Astarion started, then caught himself. He couldn't afford to sound desperate. "What if I told you there was more to those nights than mere... sustenance?"

"Then I'd say prove it." Gale didn't look up from his book. "With something other than silver words and stolen kisses."

Astarion drummed his fingers against the table, studying Gale's profile. Damn the man's perceptiveness. Most marks were content with the surface—the charm, the mystery, the promise of pleasure without complications. But Gale wanted more. Expected more.

Gale had seen through his performance from the start, recognized the calculation behind every touch, every whispered word. And still he'd responded, until he hadn't.

Time was running out. They'd reach Baldur's Gate within days, and Astarion needed someone powerful in his corner before then. Someone who could match Cazador's magic. Someone like Gale.

But Gale had clearly been hoping to evolve the game into something more, and Astarion didn't know if he could go there. Two centuries of survival instincts screamed against it. Even if he wanted to—and he didn't, absolutely didn't—what would Gale do with the truth? With the full scope of what Cazador had made him do, had made him become? Whatever paltry "more" Astarion had to offer, it was nothing in balance to all the ways he was so much less than what Gale believed him to be.

No, better to maintain the dance, find another way to—

"Good evening, loves!" A cheerful halfling woman in an apron appeared at their table, breaking his spiral of thoughts. "I'm Penny, proprietor of this fine establishment. We've got a bit of a situation—our regular entertainment, Marigold, is down with a nasty cold, and I haven't spotted a single bard in the crowd tonight." She glanced hopefully around their group. "Any of you fine folk interested in taking the stage? I'm offering a significant discount on rooms for anyone willing to provide a bit of entertainment."

Astarion relaxed back in his chair as the party murmured their apologies to Penny. No bards here—thank whatever dark gods might be listening. He'd endured enough mortal entertainment for one evening.

"Actually," Gale's voice cut through the disappointed silence, "my friend here does the most fascinating performance."

Astarion's head snapped toward him. "I what?"

"Oh yes." Gale's eyes sparkled with mischief. "He has this brilliant routine where he plays at being a vampire. Tells the most thrilling tales."

The halfling's face lit up. "A vampire act? How delightful!"

"I assure you, there's been some misunderstanding—" Astarion started.

"He's just modest," Gale continued, ignoring Astarion's sharp look. "But I've seen him hold entire taverns spellbound with his stories."

"I don't recall ever—"

A familiar tingle brushed against his mind, and Gale's voice whispered in his thoughts through the tadpole connection: Play along. Do this, and you can drink from me tonight.

Astarion's words died in his throat. He stared at Gale, who met his gaze with calm certainty. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing—knew precisely what to offer.

"Well?" Penny asked, practically bouncing on her toes. "What do you say, dear? We'd love to hear your stories."

The room seemed to shrink, all eyes turning toward their table. Shadowheart's eyebrows had disappeared into her hairline. Karlach wasn't even trying to hide her grin.

And Gale... Gale watched him with that infuriating mix of challenge and promise in his eyes.

Well played, Gale. The wizard's little trap was admittedly clever. Still, if Gale thought this would force some grand revelation, he was sorely mistaken. After two centuries of servitude, Astarion could spin pretty lies from ugly truths in his sleep.

"Very well." Astarion flashed his most charming smile at Penny. "How could I possibly disappoint such an eager audience? Though I should warn you—my tales tend toward the... darker side of entertainment."

"Perfect!" Penny clapped her hands. "What name shall I announce you by?"

"The Midnight Magistrate." He ignored Shadowheart's poorly disguised snort. It was theatrical enough to suit the occasion. "Give me a few minutes to prepare?"

Through their shared connection, he sent his counteroffer to Gale: Your blood, and you spend the night in my room. I'll be a perfect gentleman... unless you'd prefer otherwise.

Gale's mental voice carried an edge of amusement. Agreed, with one condition: no lies tonight. Embellish for entertainment if you must, but speak from truth.

Astarion's fingers tightened on the edge of the table. That wasn't part of the original deal.

Neither was sharing a bed. Take it or leave it.

Damn him. But fine—Astarion had centuries of material to work with. He could craft a performance that would satisfy Gale's conditions without revealing anything truly damaging. After all, the best deceptions were built on kernels of truth.

Deal, he projected back, already mentally sorting through which stories could be shaped into suitable entertainment.

Penny mounted the small stage, tapping a spoon against her tankard until the tavern quieted. Her enthusiasm practically radiated across the room. "Friends, travelers, distinguished guests! Tonight we have a special treat—a 'vampire' who walks in shadow and speaks of secrets best whispered after dark. Please welcome... the Midnight Magistrate!"

Astarion rose from his chair, letting his cloak swirl as he crossed to the stage. The lantern light caught his silver hair, casting dramatic shadows across his face. Perfect. He took position center stage, surveying the crowd with practiced disdain.

"Good evening, my delectable friends." He paced the stage's edge, making eye contact with select members of the audience. "Oh, don't look so shocked. I can see it in your eyes—that delicious mix of fear and fascination. You may claim to despise creatures like me, may arm yourself with stakes at the mere mention of vampires—" He flashed his fangs in a predatory smile. "But we both know the truth that lurks in those dark little hearts of yours."

A woman in the front row clutched her companion's arm, but her eyes never left Astarion's face.

"After all," he continued, voice dropping to a seductive purr, "what could be more alluring than a creature of the night? Immortal. Powerful." His gaze found Gale's in the crowd. "Insatiable."

Several audience members shifted in their seats. Even the usually stoic Lae'zel looked intrigued.

"Tonight, I'll lead you into that darkness you secretly crave. Share the naughty little secrets you pretend not to want to hear." He leaned forward, conspiratorial. "And trust me, darlings—I have centuries worth of secrets to tell."

The crowd hung on his every word, their attention a heady rush better than blood. How long had he hidden in shadows, when commanding the light felt this magnificent? Even Shadowheart had set aside her wine to listen.

He straightened, spreading his arms. "So what do you say? Shall we dance with darkness together?"

A murmur of anticipation and agreement rippled through the room. But it was Gale's steady gaze that caught and held him—those keen eyes that saw past the performance to the truth beneath. Well, if Gale wanted truth, Astarion would give him truth wrapped in such dark spectacle that even he might struggle to separate one from the other.

Astarion clasped his hands behind his back, pacing the stage with measured steps. "Let's start with the fundamentals, shall we? Blood." He paused, letting the word hang in the air. "Come now, don't shy away. We've all tasted it, haven't we? That little paper cut, that nicked finger while cooking—" He demonstrated with a delicate mime of bringing a finger to his lips. "The instinct to soothe the sting with a quick taste. Am I wrong?"

A few nervous chuckles rippled through the crowd. He had them.

"But how many of you have tasted someone else's blood?" He scanned the room, catching guilty shifts and averted gazes. "No? Just me then? Well, allow me to enlighten you—everyone tastes different."

He pointed to a burly merchant in expensive clothes. "You, my friend, would taste of black pepper and old money." The man's companions elbowed him, laughing. "And you—" He indicated a young barmaid. "Sweet honey and summer rain, I'd wager."

His gaze landed on Lae'zel, who met it with her usual scowl. "Now there's an interesting question—what does a gith taste like? Something exotic and dangerous, no doubt. Metal and starlight, perhaps? Or maybe just extremely spicy. I've never dared find out."

The crowd's laughter grew more comfortable, even as Lae'zel's hand twitched toward her sword.

"But this one—" He turned to Gale, who tensed visibly. "This one I know. Bitter as wormwood when he was... shall we say, under the weather?" He caught Gale's warning look and smiled wider. "But now? Like the finest aged brandy. Complex. Intoxicating." He winked at the wizard, whose ears had gone slightly pink.

"So tell me, my delectable audience—" He leaned forward, dropping his voice to a stage whisper. "If you had to choose, right now, who would you drink from? The person you hate? The one you desire? That interesting stranger across the room?" He straightened, spreading his hands. "Don't worry, I won't ask you to share. Some secrets are best kept in the dark."

The crowd's energy buoyed him, their rapt attention better than any standing ovation. Astarion prowled the edge of the stage, reveling in how they tracked his every movement.

"Now you're all sitting there, imagining the taste of blood, aren't you? Wondering what your neighbors might taste like?" He tsked, wagging a finger. "But there's just one tiny detail you're forgetting—you'll need permission first. No, not your target's permission—that is optional, and we will get to that later. You, my thirsty darlings, will need the permission of your owner."

He affected an exaggerated bow. "You see, your master owns your will entirely—must permit you every drop you drink. And most masters? They're not exactly generous with their allowance." His lip curled. "Mine certainly wasn't. No thinking creatures for his precious spawn. Just rats." He mimed catching one. "And bugs." He pretended to pop something in his mouth, then grimaced. "Absolutely dreadful texture, by the way. The legs get stuck in your teeth."

A few people laughed nervously. Perfect.

"So all those delicious thoughts you're having about that irritating merchant who cheated you last week? Or that fetching barmaid who keeps catching your eye?" He shrugged elegantly. "Better forget them. Unless—" He paused for effect. "Unless you find some miraculous way to break free. Like I did."

His gaze found Gale again, and a wicked smile spread across his face. "Speaking of which—you see that handsome wizard over there? My first taste of freedom." He pressed a hand to his chest, batting his eyelashes. "Oh, I was so nervous. Had no idea what I was doing. Two hundred years of fantasizing about proper meals, and when I finally got my chance to lose my vampiric virginity—" He fanned himself dramatically. "Completely fell to pieces. Hands shaking, fangs catching on everything but the vein."

The audience chuckled, and he let his voice drop to a conspiratorial whisper. "Thank the gods he was patient. And skilled. And rather experienced with... first times."

Gale's ears had gone properly red now, but Astarion caught the slight upturn at the corner of his mouth. Even Shadowheart was trying not to smile.

"Of course, now I'm quite accomplished at it." He straightened his cuffs with exaggerated precision. "But that first time? Absolute disaster. Though still better than rats."

Astarion paced the stage, letting his steps fall into a predatory rhythm. "So there you are—you've picked your prey, gained your freedom or permission. But now comes the real question." He spread his hands. "How will you feed?"

"You hunt!" Lae'zel's voice cut through the tavern.

"Ah, our gith friend gets right to the heart of it." Astarion turned her interruption to his advantage. "But what kind of hunter will you be? There are options, you know."

He slipped into the shadows at the edge of the stage, voice dropping low. "You could embrace the monster they expect—strike from darkness, leave cooling corpses in alleyways. Use that delicious strength and speed to run them down like the predator you are."

His eyes swept the crowd, noting the farmers and merchants who tensed at his words. "But then they'll hunt you, won't they? Just like they hunt wolves that raid their sheep." Several heads nodded. "And trust me, darlings, there's nothing quite like being the quarry in a hunt. Hearing those torches and pitchforks getting closer, closer..."

He emerged from the shadows, straightening his cuffs. "Or you could be clever about it. Why chase when you can charm? Why fight—" His gaze locked with Gale's. "When you can seduce?"

Understanding dawned in those clever eyes, and Astarion's lips curled into a sharp smile. "Make them want to give you what you need. Make them beg to give it to you." He traced a finger along his own neck. "Until they're practically falling over themselves to offer their throats."

The smile slipped from his face as memories surfaced unbidden. His shoulders tensed, the practiced swagger faltering. "But seduction—it's a peculiar form of hunting, isn't it? You're the powerful creature of darkness, feared in legend, immortal..." His voice turned bitter. "And yet there you are, batting your eyes at some merchant who reeks of cheap ale, laughing at his terrible jokes, letting him paw at you with his sweaty hands."

The tavern had grown uncomfortably quiet. He could feel Gale's gaze burning into him, but he couldn't stop now.

"There was this one—reminded me of someone here, actually. A wizard, thought himself quite clever." Astarion's fingers traced the edge of his collar. "Met him in a tavern much like this. He bought me drinks I couldn't even taste, told me how beautiful I was, how exotic." His lip curled. "As if I hadn't heard it all before. But I smiled, didn't I? Leaned in close when he grabbed my thigh under the table. Followed him upstairs like a good little pet."

Someone in the audience coughed nervously. A chair scraped as someone left. His heart thudded, but he couldn’t stop the words coming. Maybe the spotlight was making him reckless. Maybe he wanted them to hear. Maybe he wanted Gale to know.

"He wasn't gentle." Astarion's voice had gone flat. "Didn't ask if I was comfortable, didn't care if I enjoyed it. Why should he? He'd paid for his pleasure with those drinks, hadn't he?" He laughed, sharp and hollow. "But afterward, when he was spent and stupid with satisfaction, that's when I fed. Drank deep while he lay there, helpless as a babe."

His eyes found Gale's in the crowd. The wizard's face had gone pale, his expression a mixture of horror and heartache that sent a thrill through Astarion's chest.

"So tell me, my delectable friends—" He spread his arms wide. "Who was truly the predator that night? The powerful wizard who used me for his pleasure? Or the vampire whore who drained him until he could barely walk straight?" His smile showed too many teeth. "Who do you think got the better end of that bargain?"

The bitter words spilled from Astarion's lips like poison. "But here's the punchline, darlings—I didn't even get to keep the blood. That last bit was a lie. A tease, really." His laugh had the edge of hysteria, but his fingers curled into fists behind his back. "No, every drop went to my master. Night after night, spreading my legs for whatever mark caught his fancy. Nobles, merchants, sailors—" He barked out a laugh. "I stopped counting how many. Had to make it convincing, you see. Had to make them believe they were special. Different. The one who'd finally captured the beautiful creature's heart."

The tavern had gone deathly silent. Even the usual clink of tankards had ceased. But Astarion couldn't stop, couldn't stem the flood of acid truth pouring from his mouth.

"And then I'd lure them to my master's lair like lambs to slaughter, still tasting their sweat on my skin, still feeling their—"

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Penny's voice cut through his words like a knife. She bustled onto the stage, practically radiating forced cheer. "What a thrilling performance from our Midnight Magistrate! Such... intensity! Such commitment to character!"

The halfling's small hand gripped his arm with surprising strength as scattered, uncertain applause filled the room. Astarion barely noticed. His gaze remained locked with Gale's, seeing the horror and understanding warring in those clever eyes. The wizard hadn't moved, hadn't flinched away. He just... saw. Saw everything Astarion had tried so carefully to hide behind wit and seduction.

Penny was still talking, still trying to salvage the evening, but Astarion couldn't hear her over the roaring in his ears. She tugged him toward the stage steps, and he followed mechanically, unable to break that connection with Gale even as his feet carried him away from the stage.

The room felt distant, muffled, as though he watched it all through clouded glass. Had he really just—? No. Surely he hadn't exposed quite that much of himself. But the silence in the room told a different story.

His hands trembled. He clenched them into fists, focusing on the bite of his nails against his palms. Movement caught his eye—Gale rising from his seat. Of course. Anyone with sense would flee after that display of depravity. Astarion's chest constricted, an old, familiar ache.

But Gale didn't run. Instead, he cut through the crowd with purposeful strides, reaching Astarion's side in moments. A warm hand settled at the small of Astarion's back, steady and grounding.

"Let's get some space," Gale murmured, already steering him toward the stairs.

Astarion let himself be guided, mind whirling. What had possessed him to share those particular stories? He'd meant to be clever, to dance along the edge of truth without falling in. Instead, he'd vomited his shame all over the tavern floor like a drunk after too much cheap wine.

They reached the upper landing, and still Gale hadn't pulled away in disgust. Hadn't even loosened his grip. The warmth of his hand burned through Astarion's shirt like an accusation. Or perhaps absolution? No—he didn't deserve that. Not after everything he'd done. Everything he'd been.

Gods, what must Gale think of him now? The wizard had wanted honesty, but surely not like this. Not this raw, ugly truth spilled out for strangers to gawk at. He'd ruined everything, hadn't he? Destroyed any chance of—

"Breathe," Gale said softly.

Astarion realized he'd been holding unnecessary breath in his chest, an old habit from life. He released it in a shaky exhale, feeling the tremors start to work their way up from his hands to his shoulders.

Gale's room swam into focus as Gale guided him inside, closing the door with a soft click. Astarion found himself perched on the edge of the bed, though he couldn't quite remember sitting down. The mattress dipped beside him as Gale settled close—not touching, but near enough that his warmth radiated between them.

"I'm so sorry." Gale's voice cut through the fog in Astarion's mind. "I never meant—gods, I had no idea. If I'd known what memories this would stir up—"

Astarion stared at his hands, still trembling slightly in his lap. Why was Gale apologizing? Why was he even still here? The wizard should be running for the hills after that disaster downstairs, not hovering beside him with such genuine concern.

"—completely thoughtless of me," Gale continued, running a hand through his hair. "I just wanted you to open up a little, not force you to relive—"

"You're still here." The words slipped out before Astarion could stop them.

Gale fell silent mid-apology. After a moment, his hand settled cautiously on Astarion's shoulder. The touch felt impossibly warm, impossibly gentle.

"Of course I'm still here."

Astarion's throat tightened. He couldn't look at Gale, couldn't bear to see pity in those clever eyes. But he couldn't seem to pull away from that steady touch either.

"I shouldn't have pushed," Gale said softly. "It was meant to be fun, mostly, not... this. I'm sorry."

The words washed over Astarion like warm rain, too kind, too sincere. He waited for the other shoe to drop, for Gale to remember exactly what kind of creature he was comforting. But Gale just stayed, his thumb moving in small circles against Astarion's shoulder, anchoring him to the present.

"Back in the beginning…. When we… I didn't mean to make you—" Gale's words tumbled out. "Gods, I was so caught up in my own fears about being fed upon, I never considered... You shouldn't have had to seduce me just to—"

"Stop." Astarion's voice came out sharper than intended. He softened it, turning to face Gale at last. "You think I didn't want you? That I was just playing the whore again?"

"After what you just told everyone downstairs—"

"What I told them was about having no choice." Astarion caught Gale's hand as it slipped from his shoulder. "Do you know what you were for me? My first choice. The first time I decided for myself who to take to bed since—" He frowned. "Well, my memory before turning is rather spotty, but I'm quite certain it was the first in a very long time."

"But you were manipulating me. The flirting, the seduction—"

"Of course I was." Astarion's lips quirked. "I wanted something from you. But I chose how to get it. I chose you." He squeezed Gale's hand. "And I rather enjoyed making that choice."

"I don't understand." Gale's brow furrowed. "Why aren't you angrier about having to manipulate me at all? Why am I the one feeling guilty when you're the one who—"

"Because I'm not some helpless victim in this, darling." Astarion released his hand to gesture expansively. "Yes, I used my old tricks. Yes, I played on your desires. But I did it because I wanted to. Because I saw you, wanted you, and decided to have you." He leaned closer, voice dropping. "Do you have any idea how intoxicating that was? Making my own choices? Even if they weren't particularly noble ones?"

Gale's hands moved restlessly as he spoke, his usual eloquence fractured into stuttering explanations about trust and manipulation and feelings. The wizard's distress radiated off him in waves, and Astarion found himself caught between amusement and an unfamiliar urge to comfort.

"I pushed you away because I wanted—but then you wouldn't—and now I understand why, but still—" Gale ran both hands through his hair, leaving it standing at odd angles. "Gods, I'm making a mess of this."

"Darling." Astarion caught one of those fluttering hands, stilling it. "We're both making rather a spectacular mess of things, wouldn't you say? I just aired two centuries of dirty laundry to half the countryside, and you're having what appears to be an existential crisis over whether you should feel guilty about accepting or rejecting my advances."

Gale's mouth opened, likely for another round of stammering explanations, but Astarion pressed a finger to his lips.

"Since I've already humiliated myself thoroughly tonight, perhaps we might salvage something from this disaster?" He let his hand drop, fighting the urge to fidget. "You wanted me to be honest with you. Well, now you know more about me than my own vampire siblings ever did. Hardly the way I'd have chosen to tell you, but..." He spread his hands. "There it is. My sordid history, laid bare for your judgment."

"I don't want to judge you," Gale said softly. "I just wanted to know you. The real you."

Astarion's chest tightened. "Well, now you do. Lucky you."

Gale's expression softened. "I am lucky."

Astarion's carefully crafted smirk faltered. He searched Gale's face for any hint of mockery, but found only earnest warmth.

"The things you survived," Gale continued, "the wit and intelligence you maintained through it all—" He shook his head. "You're extraordinary."

"Flattery will get you everywhere, darling." The words came automatically, but his voice lacked its usual polish.

"It's not flattery if it's true." Gale's hand found his again, thumb tracing absent patterns across his knuckles. "Though I confess, I'm not entirely sure where this leaves us."

Astarion tensed. "Ah. Having second thoughts about getting involved with damaged goods?"

"No," Gale said sharply. "That's not—" He sighed. "I'm worried about doing this right. About not..." His free hand gestured vaguely. "About ensuring whatever happens between us is truly your choice. That I'm not inadvertently—"

Astarion stared at their joined hands, at Gale's thumb still tracing those maddening patterns across his skin. The wizard was trying so hard to be careful with him, as though he might shatter at the wrong touch. As though he hadn't already been broken and remade a thousand times over.

"You're nothing like him," Astarion said softly. "The wizard from my story. Or any of them, really."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because you're here, fretting about my choices instead of taking what you want." Astarion shifted closer, letting his knee brush against Gale's. "Because you pulled away when you thought I was just using you, even though you wanted me. Because—" He huffed a laugh. "Because you're making this infinitely more complicated than it needs to be."

What was the point in holding back now? He'd already spilled his darkest secrets to a room full of strangers. Gale had seen the worst of him, heard the ugliest parts of his past, and still hadn't run. Still sat here, warm and solid beside him, worrying about Astarion's agency of all things.

"I chose you," Astarion said again, more firmly this time. "Not because I had to. Not because someone commanded it. I saw you—brilliant, powerful, frustratingly noble you—and I wanted." He lifted their joined hands, pressing his lips to Gale's knuckles. "I still want."

The gesture seemed to catch Gale off guard. His breath hitched, and Astarion felt a small thrill of satisfaction at finally silencing that clever tongue.

"So stop trying to protect me from myself," Astarion murmured against Gale's skin. "I've had quite enough of other people deciding what's best for me, haven't you?"

Tired of words, Astarion grabbed Gale's collar and pulled him into a fierce kiss. When he broke away, Gale looked pleasantly dazed and his own lips burned. "There. Was that clear enough for you? Or shall I write out a formal declaration of consent?"

"I just want to be certain—"

"That this is what I want?" Astarion's lips curved. "Darling, doing the right thing with the complicated mess that I am is as simple as trusting me to choose for myself, for good or ill."

Gale fell silent, his expression thoughtful. The quiet stretched between them, and Astarion fought the urge to fill it with chatter, with deflection, with anything to dispel the raw vulnerability still clinging to his skin. His performance downstairs played through his mind on endless loop—every sordid detail he'd spilled, every secret exposed.

His carefully laid plans lay in shambles around him. He'd meant to keep Gale at arm's length, to seduce and manipulate until he had the wizard's loyalty without risking his own heart. But he'd gone and vomited truth all over the tavern floor instead, and now—now what?

The warmth of Gale's hand felt like an anchor, keeping him from drowning in his own thoughts. It would be so easy to lean into that warmth, to let himself believe in this acceptance. To trust that someone could know his darkest parts and still want him.

Dangerous. Foolish. And yet...

"Are you trying to think your way out of our bargain, darling?" Astarion's voice came out playful, though slightly strained. "After all that, I'd say I've more than earned a taste, wouldn't you?"

Gale winced at Astarion's words. "You haven't 'earned' anything. That's not—" He ran a hand through his hair. "I want to stay. With you. Tonight. And yes, I still want you to feed from me, but not because you've earned it or because we made a deal."

A smirk tugged at Astarion's lips as he cocked his head. "Do tell me precisely why you want that, darling."

"Because I want you." Gale's voice was soft but firm. "All of you. The sharp edges and the hidden parts. Even the ones you showed everyone downstairs."

The simplicity of it struck Astarion like a physical thing. His throat tightened. "Well. That's... terribly inconvenient of you."

"Is it?" Gale's hand found his cheek. "What do you want, Astarion?"

The touch burned. After everything he'd revealed tonight, Astarion's skin felt raw, oversensitive. He wanted to pull away. He wanted to press closer. He wanted—

"You," he admitted, the word barely a whisper. "Here. Now."

Gale nodded, rising to dim the lantern. The room fell into comfortable shadow, and Astarion heard the rustle of clothing being removed. His own fingers moved to his laces, oddly clumsy.

"Let me," Gale murmured, stepping close again.

Astarion let his hands fall, allowing Gale to undress him with careful movements. They slipped beneath the covers together, and Astarion found himself drawn to Gale's warmth like a moth to flame. This wasn't how he'd planned their night to go at all, but as Gale's arms encircled him, he couldn't quite remember why that mattered.

Astarion fell into the kiss, Gale's lips urgent against his own. The wizard's beard scraped his skin, a pleasant contrast to the softness of his mouth. As Gale pulled him closer, Astarion luxuriated in the sensation of their bodies slotting together. He tangled one hand in Gale's hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss, relishing the feel of that scruffy jaw against his palm. His other hand roamed, mapping the contours of Gale's back and shoulders, the muscles moving smoothly beneath sun-kissed skin. He had missed this.

Their bare skin touched everywhere, and Astarion bit back a groan at the relief of having Gale close again, at the simple comfort of Gale's skin against his own. Gale's body heat seemed to radiate straight through him, a fiery brand against his ever-cool flesh. He felt the shift and press of muscles as Gale moved above him, the coarse hair of his chest teasing against Astarion's smooth skin.

Hands roamed, exploring, until Gale's fingers found his length. Astarion arched into the touch, his breath catching. Gale's hand tightened around him, and Astarion's breath hitched. He was used to using his lovers' desire against them, but now, he found himself at the mercy of his own want, the rush of blood surging past his control. Still, it was a heady sensation, feeling Gale's own erection pressing against his body, their mutual desire a silent rhythm between them.

Astarion shifted, thrusting gently into Gale's grip, his eyes sliding closed at the pleasure of it. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt such hunger. Cazador had denied him this—the choice to take or give pleasure, the freedom to simply want. Even his meals had been orchestrated to keep him in a constant state of half-starvation.

But now, with Gale's body pressed against his own, he could finally feel something other than the ever-present gnaw of hunger. He rolled his hips again, chasing the spark of pleasure that flared along his spine.

A ragged groan escaped Gale, spurring Astarion on. Astarion thrust again, harder this time, his fangs aching as his body responded. He pressed closer, his body aching for more contact, his fangs sharp against his tongue. Gale's scent filled his nostrils, rich and tantalizing. And then, with a soft sigh, Gale rolled onto his back, inviting Astarion to take control.

Astarion's breath caught. The power in that simple act—the implicit trust and surrender—hit him like a slap. He met Gale's eyes, searching for any hint of hesitation, but found only desire and certainty. The offer hung between them, unspoken but undeniable: You can have me. All of me. If you want it.

Desire flared, sharp and hot. Astarion forced himself to move slowly, tracing a lazy path of kisses along Gale's jaw and throat, tasting the salt of his skin. He took his time, savoring the moment, the scent of desire thick in the dark. He tasted like the sea, like sunshine and mysterious spice.

Astarion shifted, slotting himself between Gale's thighs. The wizard spread his legs willingly, a soft noise escaping his throat as Astarion pressed closer, grinding their erections together and against each other's groins. They both moaned at the sensation, and Gale wrapped them both in his hand. Gale's free hand came up to tangle in Astarion's hair, holding him close as he continued to stroke them both in time with their movements.

Astarion nipped at Gale's throat, feeling the pulse flutter beneath his lips. Blood sang in his veins, his fangs aching as he traced the path of the wizard's lifeblood beneath the skin. As he kissed along the throbbing pulse, Astarion felt Gale's body respond, the rhythm of their movements growing faster, more urgent.

With a soft groan, Astarion pressed his fangs into Gale's neck, drinking in the sensation as much as the taste. Gale gasped as his body jerked, hips stuttering briefly before resuming their rhythm. Astarion drank slowly, reveling in the warmth spreading through him, sparks of pleasure dancing along his veins. He savored Gale's unique flavor, feeling the wizard's pleasure in the heady richness of his blood, a drug he could happily drown in.

He drank his fill, leaving Gale's neck marked with twin punctures. Carefully, he sealed the wounds with his tongue, kissing the marks he'd made. Below, their hands and hips still moved in time, thrusting into Gale's fist, slick with precum.

As he drew back, Astarion pressed his thumb lightly against the punctures, his eyes never leaving Gale's. The wizard's breath hitched, but he met Astarion's gaze directly, his eyes dark with desire.

Astarion kissed him then, slow and deep, as they moved against each other in a steady, relentless beat. The sensation of Gale's body beneath his, of their cocks sliding together in his wet, tight grip, was almost too much.

Gale's fingers tightened in his hair, tugging him closer as their mouths fused. Astarion moaned into the kiss, his body on fire. He wanted to brand this moment into his memory, Gale's eyes dark with lust, the scent of their passion filling his nostrils, their bodies moving as one. It was too much, and not enough.

Astarion thrust his tongue into the wizard's mouth in time with his hips, chasing the spark of pleasure that built along his spine. He could feel Gale's heart racing against his thumb, taste the tang of his need on his tongue. Their rhythm stuttered, growing faster, more frantic, pleasure sparking through him with each thrust.

With a final groan, they tumbled over the edge together. Astarion bit back a shout as pleasure flooded him, his body pulsing with release. Still, his mouth never left Gale's, swallowing the wizard's cries as his body arched.

Panting, Astarion pressed his forehead to Gale's, their lips still fused in a breathless kiss. His skin, usually cool, flushed with stolen heat, and he felt feverish with the rush of blood. He felt like he'd just woken from a long sleep, like the last two hundred years had been a dream. Or perhaps he was dreaming now. But no, Gale's heartbeat still pulsed beneath his palm, his skin still burned deliciously under Astarion's mouth, their spend mixed on their bellies as they pressed together.

He pulled back slightly, searching Gale's face. The wizard's eyes were dark with pleasure, his lips swollen from kisses.

"Hello," Gale murmured, a soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Hello," Astarion echoed.

They kissed again, slower this time, the heat between them smoldering in the wake of their release. Astarion's lips curved against Gale's. Gods, he could get used to this—to being seen and yet cherished.

He settled closer, enjoying the warmth of Gale's body against his own. The wizard's arms encircled him, fingers tracing idle patterns on his back. Astarion closed his eyes, reveling in the sensation.

"This is unacceptable," he declared.

"Mmm?" Gale hummed, his breath ghosting over Astarion's skin.

"Clearly, we are far better suited to one another than we realized." Astarion nudged Gale's nose with his own. "We should never have stopped doing this."

"Well, I tried," Gale said, his voice muffled by Astarion's neck. "You kept pushing me away."

"Yes, well." Astarion paused, considering his next words. "I suppose I was... occupied with other concerns at the time."

"Playing puppet master to the entire party, you mean?" Gale's tone held an edge of reproach, but his fingers continued their idle dance on Astarion's spine.

Astarion stiffened. "It was necessary."

Gale sighed. "I know, love. Does it really need saying?"

Astarion fell silent. They both knew the score. Hadn't they both done whatever was needed to protect themselves and the party? But something had shifted tonight, some invisible line crossed. And now... Now they lay here, spent and satisfied, with Astarion's darkest secrets hanging between them.

"We're a mess, aren't we?" Gale murmured, as if reading his mind.

"Speak for yourself." Astarion nuzzled Gale's neck. "I am absolutely flawless, as always."

"Hmm, yes, a perfect picture of emotional stability." Gale pulled him closer. "I, on the other hand, could definitely use some work."

Astarion chuckled, the sound rumbling through both their bodies. "Well, I'm certain it was worth the wait."

"Mmhmm." Gale's lips found his again. "Much better than before."

Astarion considered this as their mouths moved together in a slow, languid dance. "I suppose it was a bit of a mess."

"A bit?" Gale's eyes sparkled with amusement. "I thought that first time we got together was going to be our last."

Astarion sobered. "As did I."

"But this," Gale slid his hand down to rest on Astarion's hip, his thumb stroking gently, "this is..."

"Yes?" Astarion held his gaze, searching for words to fill the sudden silence.

"This is real," Gale finished, his expression almost shy.

Astarion's heart thumped once, heavily, in his chest. He swallowed, his throat clicking. "If you like, I could make it a little less real."

Gale smiled, running his thumb over Astarion's hip bone. "No, I think I like it just the way it is."

They lay together, silent save for the soft susurrus of their breath. Astarion traced slow patterns on Gale's skin, savoring the warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart. It would be so easy to simply fall into this quiet moment, to forget everything but the two of them, entwined in the dark. He'd tell himself it was just for tonight, that come morning, he'd be back in control. But for now... just for now, he could pretend that this was real. That he was allowed this affection, this tenderness.

The moment stretched, and Astarion found himself reluctant to shatter it. But duty called, and he couldn't afford to be distracted. Not now, with Cazador's forces no doubt searching for them even as they lay here, sated and lazy in each other's arms.

Astarion's fingers stilled on Gale's skin as his thoughts drifted to strategy, to the inevitable confrontation looming ahead. He needed to consider their resources, their tactical advantages—

"I can hear you plotting from here." Gale's voice cut through his thoughts. "The moment's barely passed and you're already tensing up and drifting off."

"Someone has to think about these things," Astarion said, trying to keep the edge from his voice. Surely Gale understood the gravity of what lay ahead. The wizard was brilliant—he had to see that they couldn't afford to be unprepared. And speaking of preparation, having Gale's power on his side would be crucial. The pleasure of his company was... unexpected, but ultimately secondary to—

"Stop." Gale propped himself up on one elbow. "Whatever schemes you're crafting, whatever angles you're calculating—just stop. For one night."

"Cazador won't simply vanish because we've had a pleasant evening," Astarion snapped.

"No, but we're ready for him." Gale's casual tone brought Astarion up short. "Well, nearly ready. Still need to track down a Sunbeam scroll, but otherwise—"

"What?"

"The holy water's sorted. Tav's been stockpiling it for weeks. Between that and my repertoire of daylight spells and Shadowheart's radiant damage..." Gale shrugged. "We'll keep him burning while you get your pound of flesh."

Astarion stared at him. "You've been planning this? Even after—"

"After you pushed me away?" Gale's expression hardened. "Did you really think we'd abandon you to face him alone because we weren't fucking anymore? That I would?"

"I..." The words stuck in Astarion's throat. He'd been so focused on manipulating, on ensuring their cooperation, that he'd never considered they might help him willingly.

"You impossible man." Gale's voice softened. "We're with you in this. I'm with you. No schemes required."

Astarion's chest tightened, an unfamiliar pressure building behind his eyes. He turned his face away, but Gale's hand caught his chin, drawing him back.

"The whole time?" His voice came out rough. "You've all been—" He broke off, cursing the tremor in his words.

"Of course we have." Gale's thumb stroked his cheek. "Did you think Shadowheart was practicing those radiant spells for fun? Or that Halsin's been brewing healing potions by the dozen because he's bored?"

A hot tear escaped, rolling down Astarion's cheek. He tried to pull away again, mortified, but Gale's arms tightened around him.

"Shh," Gale murmured, drawing him closer. "It's alright."

But it wasn't alright. Everything Astarion had carefully constructed—every manipulation, every calculated move to ensure their loyalty—crumbled like sand. They'd already chosen to stand with him. Had probably known what he was doing, watching his desperate maneuvering with patient understanding while they prepared for the battle ahead. Mortifying. Mortifying and marvelous.

More tears fell, and Astarion pressed his face into Gale's shoulder, unable to stop them. Gale's hand moved to the back of his neck, holding him steady as the sobs wracked his frame.

"I've got you," Gale whispered, his other hand rubbing circles on Astarion's back. "We've got you."

And those simple words broke something loose in Astarion's chest. Two centuries of careful control shattered as he wept, clinging to Gale like an anchor in a storm. All the while, Gale held him, murmuring quiet reassurances into his hair.

***

Astarion blinked awake, disoriented. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. He lay curled against Gale's chest, the wizard's arm draped over his waist.

Strange. He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually slept rather than tranced. The familiar meditative state had eluded him entirely, replaced by true unconsciousness. Even stranger—he felt rested, peaceful.

Gale stirred beside him, pressing a sleepy kiss to his temple. "Good morning."

"Is it?" Astarion stretched, catlike, against him. "I actually slept."

"I noticed." Gale's fingers traced idle patterns on his hip. "You looked so peaceful, I didn't want to wake you."

Astarion turned to face him, drinking in the sight of tousled hair and warm eyes. Their lips met, soft and unhurried. No manipulation, no calculation—just the simple pleasure of being close.

They spent the next hour trading lazy kisses and gentle touches, rediscovering each other in the morning light. When passion overtook them again, it was different from the night before—slower, deeper, more tender than Astarion had known possible.

After, they dressed slowly, stealing glances and touches. Astarion borrowed Gale's comb, working it through his curls while the wizard straightened his robes.

"Ready?" Gale asked, offering his hand.

Astarion laced their fingers together. "Lead on, darling."

Astarion descended the stairs with Gale close behind, noting how the common room buzzed with late morning activity. The rest of their companions lounged around their table, and Shadowheart's raised eyebrow spoke volumes.

"Quite the extended breakfast," Wyll said with a knowing grin.

Astarion smoothed his collar, refusing to look sheepish. "Some meals are worth savoring."

Penny bustled over, her face bright with excitement. "There you are! I've been holding onto this since last night." She produced a hefty coin purse that clinked promisingly. "Best performance we've had in months! The way you had everyone believing the act—pure genius!"

"The act?" Astarion accepted the purse, pleasantly surprised by its weight. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Oh, you know." She winked. "All that business about the cruel vampire master and the torments. So dramatic! The bit with the wizard had half the room in tears."

"Quite the interesting clientele you have," he said smoothly, though his fingers tightened on the purse.

A debate had broken out at a nearby table. "It had to be real," insisted a merchant. "You can't fake that kind of pain."

"Course you can," his companion argued. "That's what makes it art. The way he played with our expectations—brilliant!"

"You simply must consider making it a regular performance when you're passing through," Penny said. "The crowds would love it."

Astarion caught Gale's eye, finding both humor and understanding there. "I'm afraid it was a one-night engagement. Though I'm flattered by the reception."

He settled at the table with his companions, determinedly ignoring how the room still buzzed with discussion of his 'performance.' Karlach slid a glass of breakfast wine his way, and he accepted it gratefully.

"So," Shadowheart drawled, "a performance artist now, are we?"

"What can I say?" Astarion took a long sip. "I contain multitudes. And, honestly, this face was made for the stage."

The conversation around them continued to drift between reality and performance, but Astarion found he didn't mind. Let them debate. The truth had served its purpose, whether they believed it or not.

Under the table, Gale's hand found his, and Astarion allowed himself to hold on as the party ate and gossiped.

Under the guise of fetching more wine, Astarion slipped away from the table, Gale following close behind. They found a quiet alcove near the cellar steps, away from prying eyes and curious ears.

"'Pure genius,' she called it." Astarion leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "I should take my act on the road. Perhaps start a theater troupe: 'Astarion's Authentic Vampire Experience.' We could sell merchandise."

"Oh?" Gale's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Little toy coffins, perhaps? Wooden stakes with your signature?"

"Don't forget the commemorative rats." Astarion's lips twitched. "For that authentic spawn dining experience."

"Naturally." Gale stepped closer, voice dropping. "Though I must say, your method acting was remarkable."

"Yes, well." Astarion's smile turned sharp. "I had excellent source material to work with."

"And here I thought you were just naturally dramatic."

"Darling, I'm wounded." Astarion pressed a hand to his chest. "Everything I do is completely authentic. Even my artifice is genuine."

Gale chuckled, reaching out to straighten Astarion's collar. "Of course. How could I doubt?"

Their eyes met, and something shifted in the air between them. Astarion caught Gale's hand, holding it against his chest.

Astarion traced his thumb over Gale's knuckles. "I think I'm done with performances for a while." He met Gale's eyes. "Both for tavern crowds and... well." He gestured between them with his free hand. "Though I can't promise perfection. Two centuries of habits and all that."

"Perfection would be boring." Gale's smile reached his eyes. "I'd rather have you, schemes and all, than some sanitized version."

"How fortunate, since that's likely all you'll get." Astarion's lips quirked. "Though I suppose I could try being marginally less manipulative. As a treat."

"How generous of you."

"I know, I'm practically a saint."

Gale laughed, the sound warming something in Astarion's chest. "The patron saint of reformed schemers?"

"Reformed is such a strong word. Let's say... temporarily retired."

Their bodies drew closer, as if pulled by some invisible thread. Gale's free hand came up to cup Astarion's cheek, and Astarion leaned into the touch.

Gale kissed him. It was soft and sweet and achingly real, and Astarion found himself melting into it. No calculations, no ulterior motives—just this, just them.

"You know," Astarion murmured, "if reality can be this pleasant, perhaps I won't miss the artifice quite so much."

"Hah! I live in hope."

"Hope looks good on you, darling." Astarion stole another kiss.

"Better on you, my love. Much better."

"Well, everything looks better on me, but thank you." Astarion trailed his fingers down Gale's jawline, savoring the rough stubble beneath his touch. "You're staring again."

"You're beautiful." Gale caught his hand, pressing a kiss to his palm. "Especially when you stop trying so hard to be."

The words caught in Astarion's chest, and he covered his reaction with an exaggerated eye roll. "I never try, darling. Natural perfection requires no effort."

"Of course not." Gale's thumb traced circles on his wrist. "Though we should probably get moving. Cazador isn't going to vanquish himself, and I, for one, have plans that require a distinct lack of ancient vampires lurking about."

"Oh?" Astarion arched an eyebrow. "Do tell."

"Later." Gale stepped back, though his fingers lingered on Astarion's arm. "After we've dealt with your maker. Then we can focus on more important matters."

"More important than destroying the monster who tortured me for two centuries? Do enlighten me."

"Living." Gale's expression softened. "Actually living, rather than just surviving."

Something warm bloomed in Astarion's chest, dangerous and bright as sunrise. He swallowed hard, fighting back the urge to deflect with humor or spite.

"Well then," he managed, proud of how steady his voice remained. "We'd better get on with it, hadn't we?"

#bg3 #astarion #bg3 fanfic #bloodweave #myfic #gale of waterdeep

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months ago

Text

So I

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Summary: your casual arrangement turns a bit too serious.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

There’s a knock at the door. You huff as you don’t need to look through the peep hole to know who it is. No buzzer but he always finds a way.

You pick up your phone and open the chat, ‘told you I’m tired.’

The little check mark flicks down. Read. No reply comes, only another knock on the door.

‘Long day.’ You send another message.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

“You really want me to knock the door down?” Bucky chuckles through the wood.

You inhale and roll yourself off the couch. You drop the phone on the square end table as you pass and drag your feet to the door. You lean on the inside and yawn as loudly as you can.

“It’s after curfew,” you jeer. He wiggles the handle. “Go home.”

“You’re gonna leave me out here like a stray cat? Come on. I came all the way down here,” he pleads.

You turn your back to the door and shrug, “told you not to. Besides, not all of us have a soft spot for alley cats.”

“Alpine is not an ally cat. Come on, I brought beer.”

You scoff, “thought that piss didn’t do anything for ya?”

“No, but it makes you a lot of fun.”

You huff and push off the door. You turn and slide back the chain. You flip the lock back and open up. You arch a brow at your uninvited guested.

“Thank you,” you trill and grab the six pack from him. He catches the door before you can swing it shut. He tuts and steps forward, pushing his elbow into the wood until you let it go.

“Don’t play games. You know, I can tell when you’re in need of a good fucking. You don’t send any emojis.” He snaps the door shut behind him as you retreat with your prize.

“Or maybe I was trying to get you to stop texting so I could enjoy my new toy in peace. Ever think of that. Sometimes It's about efficiency, not passion.”

“Passion?” He scoffs as leans a hand on the wall and lifts a foot to undo his boot.

“Probably not the right word for this,” you free a can from the plastic rings and shove the rest in the fridge.

“You and your goddamn toys. Let me guess, this one has blue tooth.”

“Does yours?” You strut out of the kitchen and flick his arm in passing.

“No but it’s got all the features you need and you know it.” He taps your ass before you can elude him.

You crack the can of beer and take a deep gulp. The TV continues to blare the reality show retrospective you’ve been feeding your time to. You flop on the couch and sigh. You suck down the grainy brew and swallow a gulp before it can escape your throat.

Bucky looms behind the couch and grips the back. He leans over you. “How many of those until those hideous pajamas come off?”

“Ha? What? You don’t wanna fuck me in my Spongebob jammies? They’re vintage.”

He snorts, “you really are good a killing the mood, aren’t you?”

“You’re a real Squidward sometimes, you know that?” You slurp another mouthful.

“I have no idea what that is,” he says flatly as he tickles along your shoulder.

You hate it. You hate him. Just a touch and you’re ready to go. Minutes ago, you were ready to pass out but now you’re wide awake. And fucking horny.

“BPM going up, body temperature rising,” he runs his vibranium knuckles along your cheek and you wince away from him.

“I hate when you do that.” You pull away and stand, plunking down the can. You huff and peel off your tank top. “I have an interview for a promotion tomorrow so hurry up.”

“Romantic? Do you still wanna use the new toy? You know I don’t mind filling your mouth when you get like this.”

You stick your tongue out at him and point to the bedroom. He rolls his eyes and strides off. You pause the television and take another swig of beer. You need to sleep and he’s good at fucking you into a coma.

As you reach the bedroom, he’s already naked. His broad shoulders are etched in scars, the left one mottled with aged burns along the border of vibranium. His muscles cord down along his rib cage and sides.

A year ago, you would never expect a man like this to be standing naked in your bedroom. A super soldier. Bucky Barnes.

He turns to you and wiggles the little square between his two fingers. The wrapped condom reflects the overhead light with its flashy packaging. He flexes his chest as you reach to undo your bra.

“Should I pop it on now or can I get a taste first?” He asks with a flick of his tongue.

You march to him and swipe the condom from his grasp. You jab his chest and he staggers back to the bed, his legs pressing against the frame. He teeters as he smirks down at you.

“I’ll give you a ride, cowboy.”

He falls back and spreads his arms wide. The bed squeaks beneath his weight. You push down your pajama pants and climb over him. You toss the mattress to the top of the bed as you raise yourself on your knees, hovering over his head as his thick hair fans out beneath.

He turns to graze his beard against your thigh. You purr and lower yourself to smother him in your cunt. He hums and laps at you eagerly.

Mmm. This is exactly the stress relief you need.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #series #drabble #winter soldier #captain america #so i #marvel #mcu #avengers

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itsthesinbin · 5 months ago

Text

Sins in Stardust [Chapter 7: First Day on the Job] (Bill Cipher/Reader/Stanford Pines)

Nothing rly to say this chapter! Beyond I'm still ill over this fic.

Just the usual: feedback welcome :3

Read the fic on AO3 here!

If you like it, reblog it!

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You didn’t know if this was a good idea. Bill was clearly not liked by the people here. The gnomes were one thing, but then two people actively being terrified of him to the point of murder should’ve set off alarm bells. Well, it DID, but you also thought back to your dream before you met him. Holding hands with him as kids, as the Axolotl fled back to the stars. You felt he was left with you for a reason. You had to see where things went, at least.

You pulled on the green tshirt, big black question mark front and center. You didn’t deny that you needed work. With no car, you were stuck here anyway- and hotel rooms weren’t cheap. Just the two weeks you had bought in advance ate a good chunk of your savings, which were already dwindling by the time you arrived here. Not to mention having to buy things for two people, which you didn’t plan on doing.

If you ever wanted to leave Gravity Falls, you needed a job. So, after a lot of bickering back and forth with Bill, you two agreed to work at the Mystery Shack. Bill was too small to have a uniform yet, so you slapped your hoodie back onto him for now. You agreed to keep Bill by your side for a while, just until Soos determined he was safe to wander. You two would be cleaning up after tour groups to keep out of sight.

Bill was, understandably, not happy about the arrangement. He bitched all the way back to the hotel. And until bed. And now, as you got ready to get picked up by Wendy. You’ve had it. You turned to Bill, hands on your hips. He had his arms crossed and was sitting on his little window bench.

“Bill. For the love of GOD, listen to me,” you stressed. Bill rolled his eye but motioned for you to continue. You gave him a look before you spoke again.

“Even if you weren’t possibly a dictator-criminal that tried to enslave and kill humanity, clearly you aren’t meant to be in this WORLD,” you snapped. Bill’s eye narrowed at you. You stepped closer.

“We both need their help. I need money- by extension YOU need money. And you need allies. These people are willing to at least give you a chance. Just… go along with it, til those Pines guys show up. Please,” you begged. Bill would sneer if he had a mouth. He knew he had no choice, really. As much as he hated it, he was at the mercy of the people around him. At your mercy. Stupid fucking Axolotl.

“Fine, fine! But once I get my power back I’m burning that entire shack to the GROUND!” He put the hoodie on with a huff and sat down like a pouting baby. You sighed as you brushed your hair out.

“If you do this, maybe I’ll reconsider a deal.” You were completely lying. You were just gonna wait it out as long as possible, and let the people who knew this guy handle him. You just needed to get enough money to get out of town. Maybe you can check out that discount car shop later and see how much you’d need to save. Your lie seemed to perk the triangle up, though.

“Oh you will NOT regret it if you do, kid! We can get Weirdmageddon 2.0 going in NO time! Just wish I remembered the first one.” He jumped down, grabbing your bag for you in an attempt to seem more cooperative. He even went as far as batting his eyelashes at you when you grabbed it. You huffed out a laugh. Your phone went off with a text from Wendy. You could see her truck parked out front through your window. Bill was out the door before you were.

“Hi Wendy- thanks for the carpool,” you greeted, helping Bill into the back seat. He was pissed about it, but she had one of those big trucks you had to climb up into. Poor guy was like 2 feet tall. Wendy gave him the stinkeye through the rearview as you got into the passenger’s seat. Wendy drove off without waiting for you both to get your seatbelts on. Teenagers.

“Just because I’ll be in the gift shop doesn’t mean I won’t be on high alert, cyclops,” Wendy warned, glaring back at Bill. He put a hand on his chest as if shocked.

“Me? I’ll be on my BEST behavior, thank you! I can’t even do anything fun like this, anyway! Stupid, undeveloped frog had to have done something to me.” He grumbled the last part. You shrugged. You didn’t even know what the Axolotl was. Maybe you could ask Bill when you were alone, later.

The ride to the shack didn’t take near as long as the walk. Thank fuck, cause it was so awkward with Bill and Wendy glaring at each other whenever she took her eyes off the road. She directed you to the part of the building that hosted the tours, and showed you where the cleaning supplies were.

“Tour schedule’s here- steer clear of the place when a tour’s going on. If anything else needs doing, Soos’ll flag you guys down. Good luck,” was all she gave, before hurrying out of there. You sighed when she left, glad it didn’t feel like someone was one word away from killing you. Bill also seemed a little relieved she was gone.

You pushed out the little rolling cart that had all the supplies. You were supposed to dust everything off and make the tour area presentable before the first group arrived. You handed Bill a duster, telling him to get the low areas for you. He just stared at you like you were a fucking idiot.

“I’m not doing chores! That’s YOUR job, I just agreed to come along for safety reasons! My own safety!” You dropped the duster into his hands. He gave you a nasty look as you walked ahead.

“Bill, the deal was WE work here ‘til the Pines get back. ‘We’ includes you. At least I’m not making you try to use the mop.” The broom and mop were bigger than he was. He let out a pissed, near animalistic growl as he slapped the bottoms of displays with his duster. It was ineffective, but you figured you’d work up to doing it properly. At least he didn’t try to stab you with it.

“... Who’s the Axolotl?” You asked after about 10 minutes of silent cleaning. You had been debating asking, and felt like it was a bad decision when you saw him tense and freeze. He let out an exaggerated groan. In a rare moment of seriousness, he sighed.

“It’s… a powerful deity- more powerful than me, and I don’t say that lightly. It HAS to be the one behind this. You all having dreams about it and then me losing half my memory? No coincidence. It’s the only creature that COULD do that,” he explained, reaching up to scratch at his upper point in confusion. His irritation faded slightly and he began to pace back and forth.

“I just… don’t know why,” he mumbled. “If it has enough to wipe my memory and send me to this dimension freely, why not just kill me? To torture me?” You twisted your hands around the plastic pole of the broom. If what he- and Wendy- has told you was true, maybe he deserved to die. Or be tortured. But…

“That dream I had didn’t seem like it was… telling me to torture you, or anything like that,” you said quietly as you headed for a cobweb in the corner. It had actual insect carcasses in it, so you figured it wasn’t a prop to make the place creepier. Maybe. You’d apologize to Soos if you were wrong. Bill watched you for a minute.

“What DID you dream about? I just woke up there,” he asked, leaning against the Sascrotch display. You frowned. It was odd that apparently everyone involved with Bill- including you, who only just met him- had some kind of dream.

“Well… I was floating in space, and it appeared as a bunch of stars. Moved its tail and suddenly you were there as a kid, I guess. I was a kid too. It left, you asked if I wanted to watch the stars with you, and then I woke up.” You cringed at the webs caught in the broom. You grabbed a glove to pull the bits out to throw them into the trash.

“As a kid-? What the hell is it thinking? Is it trying to give me a pity party?” Bill paused. “... I wish I’d thought of that.” You shook your head, a little exasperated and amused. You couldn’t help but laugh a little at him.

“Either way, you’re here now. Might as well make the most of it.” Bill hummed, crossing his arms as he watched you. He definitely would make the most of it- you were already making it easy. He could tell you had some sense of good will toward him. Combined with just breaking it off with a clingy ex, he could smell the savior complex. His memories may be gone to an extent, but he didn’t lose his edge. He knew he could get you wrapped around his finger, easy. So, he’d play along.

He went back to dusting and wiping down the parts of displays he could reach. All this shit was stupid looking. A bunch of taxidermied animals stapled together. That severed hand was real, though. That was kinda neat.

“So, about those powers you’re supposed to have…” you started, a little embarrassed to pry into his personal business. But then you remembered he was an obvious egomaniac. He practically lit up at the fact he got to talk about himself.

“Oh-ho, what COULDN’T I do? I could read minds and memories, invade and manipulate your dreams- If we make a deal, I could rewrite your vision to let you see colors no human has! It’d be fun!” You couldn’t say you HATED the idea of seeing shrimp colors. The fact you didn’t immediately reject the idea was a good sign to him.

“You wanna see Brown 2?” You made a confused noise. Bill was grinning at you, hands behind his back mischievously. You leaned against the wall, a small smile on your face.

“Really? Brown 2?” “Really! It’s more brown! You’d love it, Stardust. And True Magenta. The magenta you humans got is NOTHING like the real deal,” he exclaimed proudly. You snorted a little, getting off the wall so you two could continue your work.

“Okay, you got me. Seeing more brown and real magenta sounds cool. I can show you how to start a fire with a soda can and some toothpaste.” Bill stopped. That… was actually interesting. You could tell he thought so.

“My parents were survival nuts. We went camping every year. They wanted me to know how to live off the land completely- fire-making, foraging, purifying water… All that fun stuff.” You smiled, remembering those starry nights and long hikes fondly. Learning what tracks belonged to which animal and what kind of mushrooms were edible.

“So, what do your parents think of you skipping town and being out here? They the “leave home and disown you’” types or what?” Your smile fell. Your hands tightened around the broom again, matching the way your chest squeezed.

“They’re… long gone. Dad died first, then my mom later. I’m sure they’d… be proud I left, though,” you said slowly. Bill was silent. You didn’t notice the way his eye trailed to the floor. The grip he had on the duster tightened.

“Do… triangle demons have parents?” You turned to him, and you only caught him staring downward for a split second before he laughed.

“I had to have come from somewhere, wouldn’t I? You said you saw me as a kid!” You flushed, embarrassed. Of course you did- you just told him you did. He waved it off, though.

“Are they still around, then?” He was uncharacteristically quiet. Something flashed across his eye. You could’ve sworn it was despair. His only answer, after a long silence, was a simple “no”.

“... Guess we have something in common, then, huh?” Bill let out a humorless laugh, turning back to a display that held a jar of eyes. All the eyes seemed to stare him down.

“Not as much as you think, Stardust.”

#gravity falls #bill cipher #ford pines #stanford pines #bill cipher x reader #ford pines x reader #stanford pines x reader #bill cipher x reader x stanford pines #bill cipher x reader x ford pines #sins in stardust

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