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riddlesb1tch · 5 months ago

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Nature's A Bitch

Azriel x reader

summary: Reader is on her period and amidst the crankiness due to a lack of sleep and her hormones going haywire, she says something to Azriel she doesn't mean. Now, she has to apologise.

warnings: mentions of blood (only once and nothing gory)

You clutched your stomach, groaning in pain as another cramp hit. Earlier in the night, you’d woken up to excruciating pain in your abdomen and had odiously discovered you’d gotten your period. The rest of the night was spent barely getting any sleep, staying in a fetal position in an attempt to relieve the cramping. However, they only seemed to intensify as the night went on. Your only option was to ignore the pain and try to fall asleep.

It was a Saturday morning when the usual knock sounded on the door. You buried yourself under the covers, groaning, trying to drown out the annoying sound of Azriel knocking on the door. Due to having barely gotten any sleep the previous night, you’d rather never wake up again than be awoken at this hour. Especially knowing what waking up entailed.

This was routine for the two of you. You and Azriel had been best friends for decades and somewhere along the way, you fell into a routine where Azriel woke you up on days he was home with a hot cup of coffee. The two of you would sit in bed and drink it then head to training.

Of course, this caused both of you to get teased a lot by the rest of IC about each other but you didn't care. It was fun chatting with Azriel about anything and everything over a cup of coffee. Today, though, you just weren’t in the mood or the physical state to wake up.

By your guess, it was the ass crack of dawn right now, like every single day when he came to wake you. Mother Nature had built a chicken into this male that started cawckawing at the first rays of sunlight. This normally amiable quality of his annoyed the shit out of you today.

The knocking continued on the door but you didn’t respond, doing your best to ignore the sound and sleep again.

“Good morning, sunshine!” Azriel’s voice boomed as he barged into your room. His thudding footsteps approached the bed before he rolled you over to make space for himself to sit.

“Brought you coffee,” he said gently. Extra black as you like it.”

You continued ignoring him, hoping he would take the hint and leave you alone for the day. He did not, however, because you could still feel his knee slightly nudging your back as he sat next to you on the bed. Honestly, his presence felt quite nice because suffering all night felt a bit lonely. It was only his relentless attempts at waking you up that nagged you.

When you didn’t reply, Azriel’s brows furrowed. “Y/n?” He asked, peeling the covers back from your face a little bit.

You didn’t know why this simple act enraged you so much. It was the mood swings that came with a period but the simple act of Az lifting the covers off your face made you snap. You sat up so fast that Azriel jerked back in surprise, spilling some of the coffee on your covers.

“What the fuck do you want, Azriel?” you yelled, furiously glaring at Azriel who looked at you stunned. He had never witnessed an outburst like this from you.

He gaped for a second, then said, “What do you mean? I came to wake you up like I do every morning,” he stated in confusion.

You shook your head in frustration, massaging your temples to relieve the building headache now.

“Yeah well maybe I don’t want your ass barging in here every fucking morning to ruin my day,” you said in frustration, pulling the covers back over your head and trying to fall asleep.

Azriel’s heart dropped all the way to his feet. That was the one sentence he’d dreaded to hear from anyone in the family but it especially stung coming from you. You and Azriel had been there for each other for the longest time. You had been there every single time he felt his inadequacies overtaking his qualities, been there to bring him down from every single nightmare, every reminder of his horrible past. So for him, it felt like having all that information made you realise you didn’t want to be his friend and simply put up with him because you were too kind to hurt him. Well, that had been his suspicion. A suspicion you’d just confirmed.

You didn’t see the pained look in Azriel’s eyes when you said that, completely oblivious to his inner turmoil of emotions. Some part of him knew you didn’t mean it and were probably just having a bad day. Another, bigger part of him though, was chastising him for being a burden, telling him that he was as unwanted as he’d always thought and now the truth was in front of him.

He got up from your bed and set the coffee cup on your nightstand. This time, no thudding footsteps were telling you he was walking out of your room. You barely heard the sound of the door closing behind Azriel before you were pulled back into a deep slumber.

You woke up around noon, still in excruciating pain from your cramps. Some part of you wanted to stay in bed, in the comfort of your blankets and the warmth they provided. Eventually, though, the disgust from the blood overtook your need to be comfortable, and you willed yourself out of bed. You took a hot shower, used some muscle relief balm on your back and stomach to relieve the pain, changed into some shorts and an oversized t-shirt, then guzzled down a couple of painkillers from Madja to rid yourself of some of the misery.

Afterwards, you headed out to eat something.

Because it was the weekend, most of your family was home. Chatter was heard from the living room: sounds of talking, laughing, dishes clinking, and chairs scraping against the floor. A small smile made it to your face. While the scales of your emotions were tilted more to the negative side during your cycle, the bright sounds of chatter and laughter never failed to lift your spirits a little.

“Good morning, everyone,” you greeted in a much more chirpy mood than earlier this morning.

“‘Morning’ ended 2 hours ago,” Mor judged.

You rolled your eyes at the blonde and looked around at everyone in attendance. One person seemed to be missing; the one who was always there if he was home because family mattered to him the most. So when he was absent from family time, you frowned.

“Where’s Az?” you asked.

“I actually…don’t know,” Rhysand replied, brows furrowing. It was weird that even Rhysand didn’t know where Azriel was since due to his prying nature, he always entered people’s heads and found out what everyone was doing. So if Rhysand was unable to do that, that meant Azriel had blocked him out, which could mean only one thing: he was brooding.

Without another word to your family, you turned around and headed straight for Azriel’s room. Honestly, chances were low you’d find him there since his favourite place to brood was either the terrace or the bench in front of the Sidra, but given the rest of the family was home, there was a higher chance he’d stay in his room to avoid the risk of people talking to him.

You gently rapped your knuckles on the door. There was no response, so you tried twisting the door handle. His room was open, as always, so you walked in…into complete darkness. The room was shrouded in shadows running rampant, trying to veil Azriel from whoever may enter the room.

You practically felt the shadows exhale in relief when you entered as if they’d been waiting for you to come and negate whatever thoughts were running around in their master’s head.

“Azriel?” you called into the darkness.

Silently, you closed the door behind you. Azriel would not appreciate more people prying when he was feeling like this. From muscle memory, you took slow and careful footsteps towards the bed. Shadows swarmed you as you walked, brushing your legs as if urging you on.

Finally, you reached the bed. Your shins hit the mattress and you leaned forward to rest your hands on the bed and feel around to see where exactly Azriel was. Your hand slightly brushed the side of his thigh and you exhaled with relief. Immediately though, that turned into a sharp inhale when Azriel jerked away from your touch.

That was weird. He’d never done that before.

Guessing as to which way he was sitting, you settled down next to him on the bed, one leg folded on the bed while the other dangled off the edge.

“Az?” you called, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong, love?” you asked.

Once again, Azriel turned away from your touch. Your anxiety was growing now as you grew more agitated with not knowing what was bothering him.

“Talk to me,” you pleaded. “Tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it.”

“You-” a broken voice came. “You don’t need to pretend to care, Y/n,” Azriel said.

“‘Pretend to care’ what? What do you mean?” you asked. “Pretend to care about what?”

“About me,” he sniffled.

Your heart audibly cracked.

“Azriel,” you said in a stern voice. “You know I love you. How dare you accuse me of pretending to care about you when you know you’re my best friend.”

He scoffed and you just knew he rolled his eyes. “Didn’t sound like it this morning,” he said angrily.

Now you were confused. You thought back to what happened this morning. You recalled Azriel walking in with a cup of coffee. You didn’t like that he was trying to wake you up. And then you said-

Your eyes widened as the realisation dawned on you.

“Oh Azriel,” you said, at a loss of words to excuse your shitty behaviour. “I- I’m so sorry,” was all you could manage.

“Just forget about it, Y/n. At least now I know the truth,” he resigned.

“No,” you stated adamantly. “You don’t know the truth.”

“Then please, enlighten me. Cause where I’m sitting, it looks like you’ve been putting up with me for the past five decades because you don’t have the guts to tell me that you don’t want to be friends with me!”

The pain in his voice killed you.

“Azzy,” you sighed in defeat. “I started my cycle yesterday,” you explained. “I know it doesn’t excuse what I said to you. I just couldn’t sleep the whole night and the thought of getting out of bed was the most painful thing ever so I snapped when you pulled the covers back. I’m sorry, I should have just told you what was going on.”

As you spoke, you noticed the shadows slowly retreating to their corners. Little by little, you could see Azriel sitting in front of you. Bloodshot eyes, messy hair, and tear-stained cheeks. You felt horrible. You brought a hand up to his face, gently stroking his cheek.

“Oh Az,” you sighed.

“Is that true?” he asked, searching your eyes for confirmation.

“Yes,” you nodded earnestly. “Azzie, there’s no relationship I value more than yours and I would never, ever intentionally do anything to damage it. I would especially never intentionally hurt you. I hate myself for saying what I did. I hope you can forgive me,” you pleaded with him.

Finally, a small smile appeared on his face. “Of course.”

You could finally see all of him now. The shadows had completely retreated to their corners save for a couple that remained to stroke your cheek with affection as if thanking you for clearing things up with their master.

“I love you, Azzie,” you smiled at him.

“I love you, Y/n,” Azriel said.

He pulled you into a tight hug, burying his face in your shoulder and clung to you. In that one hug, he communicated what losing you meant for him, and you vowed to yourself to protect this male at all costs.

tags: @berryzxx @thelov3lybookworm @sarawritestories @milswrites

Masterlist

#azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #acotar fanfiction #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #acotar #acotar fluff #azriel x female!reader #azriel imagine #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel x reader angst #acotar angst #azriel shadowsinger angst #azriel shadowsinger x reader angst

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ladythornofrivia · 5 months ago

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SING FOR ME (part one) | REVISED

dark!aemond x septa!tyrell!reader 🌹

summary: a once princess from a noble house took sworn oath for the Faith of the Seven blossomed into a septa with immaculate reputation due to her gift and preserving her virtue until the fate encounters with the one-eyed prince. (Also inspired by Phantom of the Opera).

warning: stalking, r*pe, unprotected sex, non-con, dubcon, dark aemond, manipulation, obsessive, kidnapping, aemond being delulu

a/n: I'm so sorry--I had to revise this. I didn't think it's good enough, so I had to make some changes, even the title--it feels off. Please forgive me.

Chapter One

The Pious Rose

The most beautiful rose was hidden away from the gardens.

The rose meant to blossom, not wither. She wasn’t meant to be tucked in the rest of her life. (Y/n) wasn’t meant to be tucked in the shadows. She belonged in the golden daylight, surrounded with flowers and her companions, her servitude in the Faith of the Seven, a lady with a driven purpose for the greater good to the Gods in the Sept. Her fate is supposed to be hers and hers alone.

Her dignity, her honor, her virtue and morals, one that inspires love and peace.

Within this darkness, how will the bask of sun shine her with comfort—living in suffocation. How will she live?

Rigid walls greeted her when her eyes were open. Where is she? Her stomach ached with a sharp jab. What has transpired for your fate to be trapped in a lonesome room with no sunlight, no candles, no sound and touch of breeze gliding through the windows? The windows were shut—no, you were confined.

Like the light, her hope has dimmed, and the shadows of her qualms and debate within her outlive. In this darkness, no one was present to succor her distress. The tattered clothing on your sleeves dampened from tears she shed.

No mother or father or sisters to guide her back home.

No servant or subject would come to her aid.

No guard to escort her out of the darkened room that has confined her to flee.

No sound of laughter, or talk amongst folks and lively music she had grown accustomed to.

The air is vacant. No one is to hear the voice but hers and the walls. And the door is locked. No way of escape.

The world felt so small and cramped, you weren’t sure if your life has been meaningful. Surely the Gods were testing you in this challenge.

The peace didn’t last when a heavy oak door boomed with long croak shattered the silence, flames pierced onto your sleepy eyes, until you met the eye of a certain shadow looming over her.

Several Months Ago….

It is said that the Gods had given grace to someone holy and pious. But you were the most holy and pious of all.

But it wasn't pious and holiest reputation.

With a gift you possessed, you managed to capture everyone's hearts, even the look of your beauty. But a song is what entranced every noble and ladies and children alike--at every occasion--namesdays, feasts and tourneys, and at every private and bond between families. Lords and ladies in every kingdom requested for you to commemorate on their special day.

Your song was a gift of light. A song in your voice is a gift of your heart and feast for the soul. A heart so pure and ethereal, that even men would swoon with tears.

You sang an eternal hymn, a hymn of love. A stellar performance like yours is not like any other--light and airy and amongst the heavens.

Since the days of wisdom, you are the most beautiful princess in all of Westeros, titled as ‘Golden Rose—the Rose In Winter and Sun’, ‘A Rose Never Wilted’—as you were born under a chilled winter under a golden sun, hence the given title. You’re the youngest of all Tyrell daughters.

Guests and family members of the court showered you with gifts, jewels, dresses and dolls that is twice as heavy and shiny with importance. Since when you were a child, you are cheery and bright; cheeks flush with health, as you grew older, your mind is constant with wit and daydream.

You have it all.

A gifted wit such as you shouldn’t be cast aside for a nobleman—whether handsome or hideous, young or old, sick or healthy—and to decay as a mother and a widow. And with your wit, you were also pious. Pious and cautious. For a young woman such as yourself, you’re wiser than others.

With every letter the suitors have sent have been casted into the hearth. Sometimes when suitors visited the kingdom, they would often asked of your presence, which you turned a blind eye.

Men.

Men are close to define as a unhinged beast.

Men are vile—filthy as if men are created from Seven Hells. Men are creatures that are made of fire and lust. Marriage is the death sentence to women as men being dutiful as killers and swordsmen at Night’s Watch, with their cocks gelded and their flesh smeared in sin. A woman’s body is as holy as the Sept, must be preserved and clean and mustn’t be driven with temporary hunger. The thought of your virtue being soiled by a man disgusts you, almost a phantom pain summoned between your legs, jab like a sharp knife. You shall never be clean again—overripe and tainted.

Undesirable, one which you can’t undo, with a child born in a mother’s belly was a monstrous and vile thing to give from an unmarried and unfaithful man—a beast hungered and scorched, burnt into the ashes of regret, unable to reverse the damage has been done. Frightened of a soiled reputation, as to avoid death, you must remain healthy with vigor.

You witness to all noble ladies, to whoever they consummate or shared pleasure with they’ve spent in secret upon a high nightfall, with their pleasurable sighs and moans, coming on their high, neglecting their noble duties, or how they gave a painful birth, you tend to avoid converse your peers and stayed inside, wandering in the gardens with flowers blooming just for you, as the canary birds chirped you’ve found yourself with reading or sewing or tending the birds in your pass time.

Most noble folks mistook you as shy, but in your heart, its grimace and resentment. At this rate, the noble ladies will likely to gain bastards than those with natural birthright.

No, it was never your destiny to tarnish.

You must remain pure.

With a life like yours, it’s perfect.

Almost.

House Tyrell has thrived since the dawn of time—the Age of Heroes and survived through fiery battles and clashing swords and broken oaths, traitor after traitor. Vows reformed and ruined by the likes of men’s lusty thoughts from their lusty cocks. House Tyrell went through all. How Tyrells became resilience is all thanks to lessons from experience—had been passed down generations to newcomers that breathed their first air.

Through beauty, through grace. Tyrells are clever and winsome and sly. Flower among flowers. But with flower with thorns are all the more dangerous.

It is said that your beauty is the fairest of all fairs. The day when you’re born, it is said you are bestowed by the Gods of Old and New. Since you were a child, all families brought together in peace. With you as a babe in a cradle, you are precious that when you were a child, you tend with animals and planted seed in the garden for flowers to blossom, for the grass become greener and brighter and clearer in the air. Sometimes you even sang hymns to the injured--animals, more particularly, to ease the frantic emotion that has been emulating.

But those are the days of past.

For years, you have not experienced duty, but all is thrive with a command with a snap of your fingers or whines in your voice to command. For someone young, courtship and marriage is not your intention. Your intentions are made clear to all with prying ears: you would never soil yourself to be bind by dutiful marriage and loveless vows.

But you, as of now, you are made to forge your own destiny. With beauty and grace, you remained to use cleverness for greater good. When you have been informed of the lords’ son wanted your hand, you declined his offer—an offer of negligence and ignorant bliss. That is when your mother resented you.

"Selfish," they all said.

"Cold and calculating," others concluded.

"A conceited bitch," the other men--who have once looked at you with admiration, muttered in between gossip.

Like flowers, beauty and life of love never lasts.

"She mustn't do this," your mother objected. "A young girl like her doesn't know what she wants. She preserve her status as a princess until she gives birth to children and cherish--remain loyal to her husband. That is her future accomplishment. Her reputation amongst men will be tarnish for eternity if she does this. Some men are turning away from her. There's still a chance to remedy this! We must remedy, we must!"

"We have other daughters, my love," your father said with a tender smile. "They have potential to be married off to the suitors. All of our daughters are kind and diligent."

"But all are not as pretty and useful at their talents as she," your mother remarked, as the father's smile died. "She can't be spending her days in the Sept for the rest of her life. I have confiscated all of the books, locked them away so she wouldn't suggest or spark an idea. A woman's mind is as clear as a man's mind. One must give as a future mother and wife. What good are the other daughters for, if they cannot be as achievable as she?"

"This is the fate I choose," you reasoned your father, in determinable rage. "I must do this."

And so, you cast aside the crown, the future prospects of awaiting suitors, who constantly want your hand in marriage of great alliances, and transformed as a septa. Like your mother, few other members of the Tyrell family objected, but your father had the last say and committed to a subjugation of your apply for a challenging task. Although your father and older sisters and brothers shared their support, your mother's intentions are quite clear as it did everyone else's.

As the matter has settled, your mother stopped you midway. "You will regret, for that there are many dangers beyond the threshold. You shall die alone, and no one to love you. The knowledge in books meant nothing to a woman. Books will only give you delusions of idea and that inspires no love but the selfish dreams that you're meant to fail," she hissed.

She's no rose, but a serpent that leeches the flesh.

"I always knew that you're an insipid witch who inspires no love but resentment, as of others. I must remain clean and pious, ever virtuous and benign. I hope you remain bitter and ugly, so that you die alone in your bed, no one to love you. You have killed the love from my father and my siblings, for I want no part with the likes of you," you told her, and barged out at the doors.

Perhaps your thorns are sharper than theirs.

And so, the raven sent a word from the capital, and by dawn—days later—your status is disposed and born anew as Septa (Y/N), and said your farewells and head off, afar from Highgarden with a single tear dropped on your face, as you recalled your grandmother’s words.

Growing strong.

"Farewell, my family, my home, my life, my garden, my comfort..." is all you uttered.

~*~

In King’s Landing, the capital since the dawn of time—has reconstructed and instructed under Aegon I, the most well-known infamous dragonlord that one day overshadow Westeros with a dragon and fury, as well as Visenya with her stubborn grit, and Rhaenys with her peace and wit. Once upon a time, King’s Landing used to be called Aegon’s Fort, but before Aegon’s Fort, it simply used to be a giant forest. Until all three of the dragonlords’ combination of their superb qualities and giant beasts, they’re unstoppable. Therefore, it’d be wise to bow down and surrender, if not, you’d be burn with dragon flame.

Rumor has it when living in King’s Landing, you can afford all the things and wealth and status you desire, even for being a prostitute in one of the inns at Street of Silk, but you intended to avoid filthy things altogether.

Other whispers you’ve heard is the Green Queen, Alicent Hightower, often visited in the Sept. Queen Alicent shed her blood through heretics on praying to her gods for salvation, whatever it may be, prayers to Gods are as sacred as a woman’s maidenhead. Somehow you felt it was out of duty to remain clean, or rebuke the filth to remain clean.

Since the days you have resided in a newfound residence within a glorified kingdom, you immersed your time on tending the orphans and the sick, you tend to your prayers and studies, sometimes tutoring the commoners and bastards and nobles alike—sunrise until sunset. Sometimes the children liked it when you sang them to keep them distract in daytime, or when you sang to them in sleep, for they have no parents to guide them in the land of sin.

In your private quarters, you summoned the belongings you treasured in your luggage—several books, a ring and a doll. There are times where you have missed your family dearly in your heart. Dresses exchanged with robes, your shining hair draped and tucked by veil.

Every once in a while, in your sleep, when an overwhelmed perception intruded in your blank state of mind, you pressed the porcelain glass doll in between your breasts, stroking it’s stringed hair and embraced it tightly.

Somehow, you felt the doll is alive each time you spoke to it, sometimes sang, pretending to be as your family member. You are alone in the capital, but you will outlive the loneliness. But that feeling of loneliness spread, tears dropped, your heart hitched and clenched as if someone’s fingers pressured onto the bleeding organ in your chest after ripping your ribcage open.

"Please stay close to me, stay close to me, my beloved, for the garden has grown cold without you," as you sang to the doll.

Each time your heart beats, the bell tolled in your ears and head on a slumbering nocturnal hour. In an otherworldly place, on the vast side afar from your former homeland, the bells reminded that King’s Landing is your new home.

Every now and then, you sent letters to your family. Every letter they sent gave you a sense of pride and joy--mostly your father, but only to be address as "Your Lord" instead of "Your Father". And every letter, there was a trinket of love that your father shared. And each time you lay on your bedside, you read their letters repeatedly until you lulled to slumber.

But as of late, you gained no response from them. For whatever reason, you kept on writing letters to them.

To think of a good and peaceful life, think of prosperity and glory to your prayers, guidance to a fulfilled wisdom and grace and flourish as the purest soul to fly within Seven Heavens above is the only way after passing on from a life of blood and lust and wretched souls that are beyond saving.

Days had been busied, and days had been hectic and tedious. Shutting your eyes in prayer in front of a grand statue, mouthing prayers in your mouth that you knew by heart. Each time you utter another thought, tears threatened to spill once more.

But you hardened your consciousness and pressed on.

~*~

One day, when dismissed from duties, you ought to find time a seclusion away from books and scriptures—lessons you have dealt with rambunctious children and spiteful elderly on the other side of city. You attended there, tending needs and care for animals, as well. Tending to endless hours seems forever, no way of escape for isolation.

But alas, you found solace under a spare time on a new night--and you have done this several times in several night previously. The area is empty but the walls adorned in fresh red roses and outgrown vines, reminded you of your garden. It was perfect. Surrounded in a garden, light of moonlight pooled behind the tree. On a marbled bench you sat, you resumed with your stitching of a canary, and sang a song from a book you've last read.

The birds chirped alongside yours, as it remain peace, but melancholy. But with the company of feathered friends, you remain your heart steady and true. You have chosen this life.

But as of late, you grew self-conscious, wondering if anyone was spying on you, in case you didn't do your duty to serve the Gods. Therefore, the passing hour has grown dark and departed from a secluded area.

~*~

The underground tunnels of King's Landing was all but darkness. But with a torch placed upon the walls stirred a bit ease to your liking. You ought to company other sisters back to the main ground.

As of now, you didn't like walking alone, as your thoughts remained at the last converse with your mother.

"You will regret, for that there are many dangers beyond the threshold. You shall die alone, and no one to love you. The knowledge in books meant nothing to a woman. Books will only give you delusions of idea and that inspires no love but the selfish dreams that you're meant to fail."

Immediately snapping out of your dreary thoughts, you marched onward with a sewing fabric clutched to your chest. Tunnels rumbled and echoed from your footsteps, as you saw a glimpse of small light above you.

You were almost there.

The air in your breath held in as you felt a large hand grasp your mouth and waist, dragging you back in the dark part of the tunnel. Struggle you as fought your way out, your needlework dropped, dragging and trapping you, wedged between the rustic bars. Biting off his fingers, you scurried off, but caught in between his hands again. You bit again and again until he yanked the veil back, released a sharp wail as the scalp on your golden brown hair has tugged in brute force.

As you attempted to turn around, but a lithe and large retaliated by you turning back around. Behind you, the shadow of someone's trousers dropped, and bent you forward. With large hands gripped tight on your waist, felt a hot tip, his hips grinding you, and plunged it all the way in, blood trailing down on your legs.

You cried aloud as the cock jabbing in your slick cunt.

No, no--not my virtue. Anything but my virtue.

A man groaned in satisfaction as he plunged into you, positioned your wrists behind you, hearing the wet splat as his hips snapped harshly to your entrance.

"Please...no..." you begged, cried.

But the man ignored you, a guttural moan pressed onto your ear, a man’s breath panted.

As he reached his high, hot semen spilled, leaving you breathless and beaten. Bruises on your skin swollen with numbness and your hair--the veil undone, your tucked hair loosened with tangle. Leaning forward with your shaken hands support from fall, you didn't spare a moment to shed your tears, as your final thoughts head straight to the culprit. Your eyes dazed in confusion and hurt. Why would someone hurt the person who was trying to heal the weak, and to preserve a restoring peace?

In your last moments of awake, your eyes glimpsed of a shadow strutting down at your direction, and passed out before a chance for you glimpse and run away.

Heavy footsteps caved in.

And the breath withhold loosened as a pair of hands reached you.

Like every flower, they wither.

~*~

In the next hour, you woke up, surrounded by darkness on cold bedside. You trudged at the door, finding out it was locked. Your fists banged against the door, screaming, "LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT!"

Each time you screamed, your tears formed and stuck between your lashes. The tight, cold air caved into your chest, breathing harshly as your hands reached its exhaustion.

Then a pain between your legs had swollen each time you stride vastly back and forth, unsure to grasp the circumstances. It was then you realized one conclusion. Therefore, you tried to find another path, but how could you when you don't know its secrets to where you're standing now? Everything is dark and you're buried with stoned walls, nowhere to run to, or to hide or to tell someone to help you escape and flee from a wretched prison.

Leaning upon the wall, relying on a dimmest light of candle flame, you rested as your back slid downward, pressed against the wall, cuddled your knees to your chest and wept.

Weeping went on, but your hope wasn't lost.

But months went by, as the consciousness in your heart was trying to cooperate, to survive at least for tomorrow and the upcoming of days. You've been fed and clothed and sheltered. But it's not to your content; you yearned for more. There are times where you have sang to yourself, but still ended in tears with no one to hear but your own.

Oh the Gods have been cruel, but the god in your heart sets alight of hope for freedom, finding its way, but you must find a way within a perfect time.

Until one day, in your confined chambers, the dark room lit up until you faced the tall shadow casted before you with a sapphire glinted under the heavy cloak.

A shiver ran down on your neck, knowing who it was.

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brain-rot-central · 2 months ago

Text

Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal, Ch. 9

A/N: *YELLS "GOOD LUCK, BABE!" FROM THE ROOFTOPS*

WE MADE IT TO THE GALA, HOLY SHIT

Thank you to every single person that has liked, commented, sent anons, or showed any kind of support in any form for this silly little story. These last two months have been some of the shittiest of my life and I'm so happy be here with ya'll. I love you all so much. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Rating: Explicit (due to the themes, really. No smut this chapter.) Word count: 9.9k (I love you guys SO MUCH I'M SORRY) Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Tav (DU, named) Warnings: 18+, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, pregnancy, implied alcohol abuse, trauma, past abuse, PTSD themes, depictions of physical abuse, unhealthy relationship, death mention, depictions of murder and gore

Summary: It's the night of Wyll's charity event. Will Tav receive the answers she seeks from the Duke, or will more present themselves?

♥ Previous Chapter ♥ Link to Ao3 ♥ Playlist

They descend the master staircase, Tav drawing in a shallow breath as she hits the final step. As they turn the corner, arm in arm, she realizes how unsettled she is. Astarion was so close to saying it. Admitting to what they both know to be true, only to tear himself away at the last moment.

Her throat feels tight as she tries to swallow. Should he have said it, there's no doubt in her mind as to how the night would end up. Possessed by the urge to say it back, over and over, spending half the evening wrapped in each other's arms, making up for lost time. She'd guide his hands to her stomach, foreheads pressed together, and speak softly against his lips of what lay within. Of what will be, soon enough.

None of that will happen, now.

The thick aroma of the hors d’oeuvres being served wafts through the air, pulling Tav from her thoughts. The subtle sweetness of wine is complementary, surely free-flowing like waterfalls into the mouths and bellies of those gathered within the grand hall. She can hear muffled chatter from within the ballroom, along with the occasional clinking of glasses. Drawing in a breath, Tav dares herself to stare ahead.

Astarion turns to her, and she catches him from the corner of her eye. But as Tav raises her head to meet him, he quickly adverts his gaze. He’s silent for some time beside her, save for a conveniently timed clearing of his throat. Finally, he asks, “Are you ready, my dear?” Although he continues facing forward, Tav catches stolen glances from his periphery.

She's still so very raw from their earlier bout, and the booming depth of Astarion's voice causes a shiver to run down her spine. Despite its seriousness, Tav can hear the concern laced within his tone. Her body jerks involuntarily as her nerves alight. “Yes,” Tav replies, forcing a smile to materialize on her face. She now dares herself to look upon him.

Astarion simply grunts in acknowledgement, refusing to meet her. He can't even look at me, now? she ponders to herself. A pit forms in her stomach, alongside a sharp cramp that leaves her wincing. She rests her free hand over her lower abdomen, closing her eyes as she draws another breath through her nose. Pursing her lips together, Tav breathes out. The tension pitted high within her chest unravels as the breath leaves her lungs.

But when she looks at Astarion again, she's awash with emotion once more. His jaw is taught with tension, threatening to snap. There’s a sheen over the reds of his irises, highlighted by the dull light of the candelabras lining the hallway. Tav knows this look. And as much as she'd like to blame the drink that lay heavy on his breath, she knows that isn't the only cause.

He looks far away.

Astarion only wears a distant expression when he's desperate to remove himself from the current. When his mind is elsewhere, shielding him. Protecting him until it’s safe to come back out. As if a switch has been flipped – the mask of the entertainer, the people pleaser, is falling into place. The actor is almost stage ready. To give the people what they came here to see.

The dissociation is taking root.

He's uncomfortable. Tav’s entire body shakes from the realization. What's worse is that he's forcing himself to do this. Putting himself on display for everyone, strutting around like some proud peacock for all to fawn over. Astarion once told her that a handsomely crafted face can open any number of doors. She wonders how many times he’s been forced into opening those doors. What prizes lay behind them.

Tav shutters again at the thought of all he's been made to endure. A deep ache settles within her chest, her gaze falling to the floor in front of her.

It's obvious now that Astarion was hoping for a better outcome to their earlier discussion. Perhaps a kiss or two, maybe even something more. Anything to help soothe the ache within him, knowing he was sending himself out to perform. Instead, he got the complete opposite – Tav backing him into a corner, pushing him to admit something he clearly isn't ready to share.

Doubt begins to rear its ugly head within Tav’s heart.

Maybe she should have gone easier on him. His history is complicated. Of that, she knows. There are things Astarion doesn't understand due to two centuries of indentured servitude, like emotion, and how to coexist alongside another. Perhaps she should have been more patient with him. Perhaps she shouldn't be so demanding of him. He’s trying, afterall. Isn’t he?

Her heart skips heavy in her chest – a defiant thud, then a pause before resuming its normal rhythm. Pressure mounts once more and she suddenly finds herself choking back tears as her vision clouds.

No, Tav reassures herself, screwing her eyes shut.

Astarion isn’t an innocent child needing protection behind her skirts. He’s taken lives – many, to be frank. He, himself, has died. He understands the delicate balance between the life before and thereafter, better than any mortal being could ever dream to. When Tav reopens her eyes, she lifts her head and looks straight in the direction of the ballroom. All sound drowns out from her ears. She clenches her jaw.

I deserve more. He should be more.

It's been a process, learning to give herself the grace to truly feel. Tavaria has taken the lives of so many people without second thought. Faces that are no more than blurs behind her mind’s eye, barely able to decipher one from the other. All she recalls is the incessant chanting within her mind. Scleteras’s shrill voice echoing, encouraging her to kill, kill, kill. The voices only grew louder when she found the others. Daydreams of what pretty corpses they'd make.

Especially Astarion.

She'd gotten close, one night. Did her best to warn him before the urge took her completely. All Tav remembers is writhing against her restraints as Astarion looked on. Concern clouded his visage, mixed with the smallest drop of fear. Visions danced behind her eyes, of how beautiful his flesh would look laid out within the palm of her hand as she fileted it clean off his bones. How delicious his blood would taste on her tongue. Would it run hot, she wondered? Smell of rot and decay? She'd bathe herself with his entrails, feeling impossibly close to him, but not before successfully copulating with him. A high offering to her Father, securing the next generation of cursed Bhaalspawn.

Bhaal must be furious, looking upon her now.

But that was all months ago, and she rejected her birthright. Refused to be her Father’s vessel of chaos and murder. The day she turned her back on him is the day Tavaria chose life. And to her surprise, the chanting stopped. The urge stopped. She could breathe for the first time in what was likely years.

Since then, Tav has tried her best to walk the path of redemption. She can never bring back those who have fallen victim to her sins. The young tielfing bard’s face haunts her daily, smashed beyond recognition. But she's vowed to do better with however much life she has left. To be kinder. Show the compassion she was never given to others.

She’s chosen to be a good person. That should be reason enough as to why she deserves to hear him say it. To hear from his own mouth that he loves her and not have it be a figment of her imagination.

And it's perfectly fine that she does. There's no reason to feel guilt for wanting what you deserve.

At this very moment, Tav stands next to a man that feels more like a stranger to her than ever before, all while their child grows within her. A man who wears the same face of the one she loves, yet acts so foreign to her.

She deserves to be loved in a way that is befitting of her, and she will not settle for anything less than what she deserves.

Without so much as another word, Astarion steps forward. Tav follows almost seamlessly, their arms still interlocked. They cross the threshold into the ballroom and are immediately greeted by copious pairs of prying eyes, all focused on them. Music swells from the band as they travel to the middle of the room, neither of them missing a step.

As Tav looks out into the crowd, she recognizes a few faces from her short tenure in the City Watch – noblemen and ladies all dressed in their evening best. Their silk dresses and velvet frock coats are dyed in various elaborate colors and patterns. Jewelry adorned with precious gems hangs plentiful from their ears and necks. She nods and smiles as she passes, catching more than a few people ducking their heads after making brief eye contact. Their lips move in silent chatter to one another, but Tav can imagine their conversations: one of Baldur Gate's most eligible bachelors arriving arm-in-arm with the city's hero. The same hero who left him at the moment of their triumph.

How terribly poetic.

The band suddenly cuts out as they reach the middle of the room. Astarion retrieves his arm from around hers rather swiftly, and Tav steps back. The vampire takes a quick breath, wiping his head up. Applause rings out as he then turns to address the crowd. Astarion bows repeatedly, each time in a new direction, the reception growing louder. Tav again surveys all in attendance and decides to clap in tandem, all the while retaining her best face.

The vampire lord then raises a hand – a gesture to signal the quieting of the crowd – and the applause slowly dies off. A smile is etched across his face, but it isn't his usual smile. Not the one he reserves for her. Tav shivers.

“Thank you all for such a warm introduction!” Astarion exclaims, boisterously. His open-mouthed smile stretches now across his face from ear to ear, the tips of his fangs gleaming in the light.

Do they know of his true nature? Tav wonders as his teeth catch her eye. It's a question that hasn't dawned on her before this moment. He’s not necessarily trying to hide it. Many in the city knew of Cazador, but only as an aristocrat, bred from a long line of wealth. If they do know the truth about Astarion, it doesn't seem to bother anyone much.

Tavaria again looks out among the crowd, studying them intently. Many of the ladies have fans covering their faces, though the ones who do not, Tav easily catches the barest glint of a blush sitting upon their cheeks as they watch Astarion swish about the floor. A single thread of what must be jealousy pulls tightly within her. It fades as quickly as it comes, dissolving into vapor as she releases the breath she’s holding.

Signs of Astarion's vampirism are so obvious to her, now that she's looking at him. Pointed fangs just peeking over his bottom lip as he smiles, ruby red eyes that glimmer in the light of the chandeliers, Cazador's bite scarred into the column of his throat. His complexion used to be ghastly, like that of one raised from the dead. But since the ritual, he's as pink as any mortal being. He blushes, even.

And, gods, is he handsome. More so than any other man in existence. The sharp lines of his face, the subtle bump along the bridge of his nose. Tavaria understands all too well why the women, and even some of the men in attendance, look upon Astarion with such hungered stares.

Astarion clasps his hands together. He turns again to the crowd and says, “I'm sure we all know why we're here tonight, yes?” He gives them a moment to murmur an audible response before continuing, “And, no, unfortunately it's not just for my handsome face.” The room erupts into laughter. The vampire then raises a sharp brow, mouth curling into a sly smirk.

A horrid realization comes over Tav: These people could easily be sacrificial lambs, ripe for Astarion's picking. And he knows it. Worse yet, loves it. Loves having fools wrapped around his finger.

This is Vampire Lord Astarion, the entertainer. The socialite. The deceitful. Pulling from his past life as an at-will aristocrat; as many times as his master made him perform. It's such a well-practiced act that Tav can hardly tell when her Astarion ceased and this version took over. The transition occurred seamlessly right before her eyes. And if she didn’t know him better, she’d be thoroughly convinced that this is what he truly consists of. Tav watches in awe as Astarion flits across the floor, continuing to address all before him. Not a drop of worry remains present on his face, his countenance bright and inviting.

It makes her gravely uneasy.

He lets the room swell for a moment, continuing his speech once it dies back again. “My dearest Lords and Ladies,” Astarion’s tone sends another shock wave down Tav’s spine. He speaks with the same sweetened vitriol as when they first met. Bile builds near the back of her throat, her mouth turning bitter.

“We come together tonight to celebrate one man who surely gets the job done,” the vampire continues. Astarion looks out into the crowd, lifting a hand to wave one finger. Tav follows his eyes. “One man, who puts honor and duty before all else.” Suddenly, he halts, having found his intended target, and he extends his hand. And as Tav traces his arm, she finds the man in question on the other end.

“Esteemed guests,” Astarion boasts, “it is with great honor that I introduce our man of the hour.” Astarion hesitates for a moment, the room eerily silent. He glances toward Tav; her breath hitches. She can see the contempt within his eyes, but he continues, loud and prideful. “Wyllyam Ravengard, your Grand Duke!”

Thunderous applause erupts from the crowd. Wyll, surrounded by the other members of the Watch, tilts his head politely in acknowledgement, giving several small bows. Servants then descend upon the guests, holding silver trays lined with glasses of sparkling liquid.

“And as such,” Astarion says, choosing a glass off the tray a servant presents to him, “may I propose a toast to our young Duke, who does oh so very much for his belovéd city.”

Tav retrieves a glass from a servant, giving the contents a quick whiff. Champagne, and a damned good one, too. Astarion then holds out his glass, those in attendance following suit. Silence befalls the ballroom – the only audible sound being the fizzling of champagne. All eyes are on Wyll, who stands with his own glass, ready to receive his due.

“To Wyll,” begins Astarion, “for I could have not asked for a better traveling companion during our plight against the Absolute.” His eyes are thin slits as he speaks, expression forcibly strained.

He's lying. And so brazenly.

Astarion despised Wyll during their journey. Teased him about being the golden boy, only agreeing to be a dog for Mizora due to a subconscious desire to bed the she-devil. Some, if not all in part, influenced by Tav and Wyll’s short-lived romance. Astarion’s quips escalated in intensity not soon after, and remained sour right up until the end of their adventure together.

It's unsettling to her just how easily Astarion can slip into the mask of a perfect gentleman. Play any hand to his advantage, win over even the most suspicious of individuals. Is that what he's been doing to her this entire time, she wonders? Playing a game? Is there even still a line between what's real and what's for show?

Who is this man that wears the liar’s grin so unashamedly? He wears her lover's face, but this is not him.

Unless… their dynamic has changed?

Tav finds that difficult to believe, but perhaps they've come to an understanding. Perhaps she shouldn't be so quick to judge their relationship. The men are partners now, after all. That demands some level of mutual respect.

…Right?

Raising the glass to his lips, Astarion drinks his champagne. The other occupants of the ballroom soon follow suit, as if following orders from a leader. Placing the glass to her lips, Tav tips it back just enough to make contact with her mouth before bringing it back down. She quickly scans the room – hardly anyone is looking at her. Likely no one has realized she didn't truly drink, and she sighs in relief.

Wyll then steps forward, glass still half full. He wears a white satin full suit with golden trim. His long locs are pulled back behind his shoulder in a low ponytail. A rapier sits upon his hip, swishing gently as he steps forward. “My sincerest gratitude, Lord Ancunín,” he says, taking his place by Astarion's side. The ballroom is silent again as the men stand eye-to-eye. Only the occasional sound of someone clearing their throat travels through the air.

“Truth be told, I had my doubts about Astarion when we first met.” Wyll then turns toward the crowd before continuing, “but now, through his gracious donations towards the restoration of the Lower City, I can tell his heart lies in the exact same place mine does.” He begins nodding his head, as if agreeing with himself. “The abundance of love he has for this city and her people rivals my own.”

The patrons begin clapping and Tav furrows her brow. Idiots, she sneers to herself. Astarion would sooner watch this city burn than save it, especially if it meant protecting himself. How can Wyll not see that? How can they not see it?

“And so I also propose a toast,” Wyll exclaims, holding his drink up in the air. “To Lord Astarion Ancunín, the rogue-turned-hero. An undeniable asset to this city, and someone I am grateful to call a true ‘friend.’” His face is tightly guarded, wearing a well-practiced expression. Diplomatic in nature.

The room tips their glasses once more to their lips, and Tav does the same. Again she only allows the liquid to grace her lips for a moment before bringing it back down. Her stomach lurches as she watches the two men then embrace one another.

The discontent on Astarion's face is clear to her: He wishes for nothing to do with Wyll and this entire affair. And then Wyll – precious, gracious Wyll who makes the best out of every situation – smiles brightly, genuinely welcoming of the vampire's embrace. If Wyll has any reservations surrounding their current situation, they're well hidden.

The men separate, eyes locked to one another, and Astarion raises a hand to Wyll’s shoulder. He gives it a pat, and then the two men turn toward the crowd. Applause rings out again and Astarion speaks, “I say it's about time we start this thing!”

Wyll nods, taking a quick sip from his glass. “Agreed, friend.” Their voices are loud and echo throughout the room. “Everyone!” Wyll states, “Please, enjoy the festivities! This is a night for all! Thank you!”

Astarion's hand then slips from Wyll's shoulder and he departs, but not before managing to squeeze out another smile. The band resumes playing, chatter resuming within the ballroom. Tav loses sight of the silver-haired vampire as he blends within the crowd. She bites at the inside of her cheek – Astarion is unhappy. But she can't worry entirely about him, at the moment.

Her eyes find Wyll as he crosses the room, back to the small gathering of people he was initially with: Marceline, a half-elven paladin of Lathander; Oliver, a human fighter like herself; and Lester, a high-elf who is a cross between a fighter and a mage. Together, they make up Wyll’s personal division of the City Watch.

Admittedly, Tav had found Lester’s skill quite peculiar. ‘I'm somewhat of a battle mage,’ she recalls him saying. Tav had initially laughed at the insinuation, though she soon found it to be true. One afternoon, Lester used his magic to hold his enemies in place, and then proceeded to bring his mace down hard over them. Needless to say, Tav found a new respect for the man, after that.

Tav places her still-full glass of champagne on a tray held by a servant, then smooths out her dress. Astarion had suggested speaking to Wyll, should she wish to know more about their arrangement. And as she makes her approach toward Wyll, Marceline is the first to notice.

“Tavaria!” the half-elf exclaims. She bolts over to Tav, raven hair lifting off her shoulders from the momentum. Marceline hugs her, warm and tight, nuzzling her face against her hair. Tav returns the hug, raising her arms to encircle the woman. As Marceline steps back, she says, “Gods, we were all so worried about you!”

Tav raises a brow, allowing Marceline to take her by the hand and lead her back toward the group. “What ever do you mean, Marceline?” she asks, curiously.

Marceline stops, as does Tav. As she looks at her, Tav can see the slight pull in her bottom lip. “...You didn't show up for work yesterday, Tavaria.”

Tav’s eyes grow wide with surprise. “I… I what?”

“We were going to send a patrol to your flat,” Marceline explains, resuming her initial course, “but Wyll refused to grant it.”

Tav feels herself being brought closer to Wyll; watches as his eyes land on her. Though, her mind is a million realms away. Has she really been so preoccupied that she forgot her duty?

…Has she forgotten herself?

“Ah, there she is!” Wyll states jovially, a smile stretched across his face. His demeanor is warm and welcoming. It hints nothing of him being cross with Tavaria, despite her most recent transgression.

“Your Grace,” Tavaria says with a bow. “I am so–”

“Oh, Tavaria, please,” Wyll interjects, huffing out a laugh. “We know one another far too well for formalities. Please, speak to me as you would a friend.” He brings the champagne glass to his lips. “That is what we are, yes?”

A calm falls over Tav. One would think she'd grown used to it by now, but Wyll's patience and understanding always surprises her. “Of course, Wyll,” she agrees, giving him a smile of her own. “But I am still so very sorry for abandoning my post yesterday.” She shakes her head. “I fear that I don't know what's come over me, as of late.” Not necessarily a lie.

“You ’n this fancy lord fella have history, don't ya?” asks Oliver, outwardly. He's a stoutly man, bald and fills out his dark blue suit with hardly an inch of give. His words are slurred, his cheeks red and flushed. The tone he uses is somewhat accusatory, though Tav knows him well enough to be certain he means no harm.

Despite herself, Tav cocks a questioning brow in his direction. “We do… but how do you know about that?”

“Aye, Tav,” Oliver answers with a haughty laugh, “there are sonnets written ‘bout the two of ya.” He points his glass in her direction. “Down in the brothels, the bards sing of a young woman fallin’ in love wit’ an evil prince.” Oliver nods his head. “Pre’ty sure that’s you ‘n lover boy, no?”

A scowl settles on Tav’s face. She can feel the anger rising within her. It's on the tip of her tongue to inform the man that Wyll was once the closest thing to an actual devil, though she manages to hold off. No reason to throw him under the table. “Oliver, they've sung for ages about that,” Tav bites back. “I doubt it's just Lord Ancunín and myself they refer to.”

Lester then snickers quietly, turning away as he brings a hand to his mouth. The blond is a man of few words, a stark contrast to Gale and other mages she's met. Yet when he does speak, his words carry heavy meaning. He and Tav share a sly grin. It's obvious to both that Oliver is full of drink and hardly worth the argument currently mounting.

“It's more than fine, Tav” says Wyll, finding an opportunity to break the tension. “I figured you needed a day off. You haven’t been yourself, as of late.” Wyll takes another sip from his glass. “But what I didn't expect,” he says, lowering his glass as he tips his face up toward Tav, “was to find you here.”

The fine hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Gooseflesh breaks out over her arms, quickly glazing around the room. This isn't a conversation she wants to have out in the open, especially with Astarion lurking about. Tav dips her head and asks quietly, “Wyll, may we speak privately?”

The group exchanges glances, their expressions flat. They then nod to one another, and soon Marceline, Oliver, and Lester depart toward the refreshment table at the far side of the room, each giving Tav an uptick of their head as they walk past.

“Why are you here, Tavaria?” Wyll asks sternly once the others are out of earshot. He turns his whole body toward her. “I can only assume this means you're both–”

“It's complicated,” Tav answers, quickly. Wyll’s face then falls, an exasperated sigh escaping him. She feels her stomach nearly drop through the floor. She should have expected slack from Wyll about this. Or, really… from anyone.

“I see,” he remarks, placing a hand on his hip. Wyll chokes back the rest of his champagne just as a servant passes by, and he places the glass upon their silver tray. “Are you sure you want to do that?” he asks Tav, nodding politely to the servant as they depart. “Should I remind you of what he's done?”

Tav meets the questioning gaze of the servant looking back, and they quickly duck their head. Astarion has eyes and ears throughout the entire manor – not a detail she's forgotten. Though, she screws her eyes shut and draws a deep breath in.

Wyll speaks of the ascension.

The moment Astarion, the rogue, fell and Astarion, the vampire lord, took his place. Tav still hears them, even now – the shrieking of over 7000 souls perishing from this realm, banished to the depths of the Hells.

She remembers the fire behind Astarion's ruby red eyes as he rose, as if born anew. The manic laughter that tumbled forward from his chest as he confronted Ulma, slitting her throat. The pulsing artery of her carotid bathing him in blood, flowing freely into his mouth.

She remembers the moan he let out as the woman's blood hit his tongue. The gurgling noises arising from her throat as she grew limp, falling into his arms. His body rocking in time with her twitching form as he finally sealed his lips over the wound, drawing more and more blood into his mouth.

And within moments, it was over. Ulma grew still, and Astarion dropped her to the floor in an unceremonious heap, completely lifeless. Astarion stood still for what felt like ages. The Gur who arrived with her soon fled when Astarion finally lifted his head, vowing to return with stronger numbers. And all the vampire lord did was laugh.

In the immediate aftermath, Tavaria and the others were horrified. The chance of Astarion turning on them next ran through each of their minds. Wyll vowed to stake him through the heart should he draw closer; Gale promised to cast spells to hold Astarion in place. Tav had never feared Astarion up until that point. Even with his fangs seated deep within her neck, she still trusted him to take just enough. Though, as he turned to face her, blood smeared across his face, dripping down his chin… A chill ran through her heart.

His smile is what did it. Wide, almost goofy. It was as if he expected her to be as proud as he was. Finally, after two centuries of horror, he was now the cat who got the clotted cream. And, by the gods, did it feel good.

“I remember well enough what he's done,” Tav remarks solemnly, opening her eyes. She shifts her gaze away from Wyll. “And all he continues to do.”

Wyll cocks his head upward, narrowing his eyes. “So you know?” he probes, cautiously.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Tav confirms, moving her head in agreement. “In fact, that's the entire reason I stand before you now. Astarion suggested I speak with you about what happened.”

Wyll is stoic for a moment, unwavering. Tav questions for a moment if she somehow misread the situation, but Wyll bursts into a sudden fit of laughter, placing a hand on his chest. The duke then shakes his head. “At least he's still a character,” he says, continuing to laugh. His arms fall back down to his hips. “But petty, no less. The man doesn't even have the common decency to wear a suit.” He then gestures toward Tav, hand waving up and down. “Though, he made sure you look the part.”

Heat floods her face. “H-how do you know I didn't choose this myself?” Tav argues. How embarrassing, she thinks, for it be so obvious that Astarion clothed her. Like his personal doll.

Though, much to her relief, Wyll only chuckles. “Tavaria, you are capable of many things,” the Duke says, reassuringly. “But this?” He waves his hand up and down her form again. “I don't think you'd ever choose this for yourself.” And just as Tav's heart begins to sink, Wyll adds, “It's not necessarily a bad thing.”

“Wyllyam!” she scolds through gritted teeth. Tav then scans the room, silently praying no one is eavesdropping on their conversation. “Mind yourself, please!” She can feel how brightly her cheeks now burn, and before she turns back to Wyll, Tav catches Astarion's scowling at them from across the ballroom. “I-I’m your subordinate, Wyll,” Tav states within a hushed tone. A cold chill passes over her, and she finally meets the Duke's gaze once more.

Curse Astarion's attuned hearing. He's likely heard everything they've said.

“Of course, of course,” Wyll agrees. “My apologies; I may be a bit deeper in the drink than I realize.” He shakes his head. “Right. You're here to talk about my agreement with my lovely friend, Astarion.”

A jolt of pain shoots through her chest as she feels her cheeks flush. Their performance earlier was exactly that – an act. There's still no love lost between the two men. However, it sounds even more strained, now.

Tav gives Wyll a sullen glance. “I'm sorry, Wyll. When I found those men laying in the crypts below, I demanded answers from him.” She clasps her hands over her stomach, looking down. “But he refused to tell me everything.”

“Of course he did,” Wyll is quick to remark. He shifts his weight onto one hip. “Because your opinion of him is the only one he cares for, just as it's always been. Wouldn't want to sully that, now, would he?”

Tav raises her head to meet Wyll. How much of what Astarion told her is the truth? Perhaps she knows nothing at all. Would that be so out of the realm of possibility? “Wyll, what happened that night?” she asks, plainly. “Why was Astarion even with those men?”

Wyll sighs, casting his gaze to the floor before looking back up. He clicks his tongue, placing his arms over his chest. “When I became Grand Duke, I knew one of the first things I had to do was keep an eye on Astarion.” He wags a finger in the air. “The Szarr family has been around for centuries, and is considered one of the wealthiest in all of Baldur's Gate. For Astarion, in all of his unpredictability, to inherit such an estate, alongside boundless physical powers…” Wyll seems lost in thought for a moment before he continues, “...It’s a recipe for disaster.”

Tav nods in silent agreement. She knows he isn't wrong to assume as such. Only minutes after ascending did he test the boundaries of these new abilities, much to everyone else's horror. Mere hours after the ritual is when he demanded her mortal life be given to him. Wyll was absolutely correct to not trust Astarion. A fact that's difficult to argue against.

“So,” Wyll explains further, “I invited him to Wyrm’s Crossing one afternoon and proposed an agreement: Astarion aid me in cleaning up Cazador's morally questionable affairs, and I give Astarion his privacy. No meddling in his records, nor his personal business. And he agreed.” Wyll then smiles. “But only after I made good on my promise to position patrols outside of the palace, ready to move in should I give the word.”

Tav’s eyes widen in shock. “You would have laid siege upon him?” she asks, voice quivering.

“Without question,” Wyll answers, sternly. “Tav, I know of your history with him. I can only imagine how complicated it is now.” He leans in closer to Tav, nearly face to face. “But heed my words – the man is a devil masquerading as a man.” There's a sharp bite to his words that sends a shockwave shooting down her spine. Wyll shakes his head again. “He is not the Astarion we knew. Not even close.”

“...How can you be so sure?” Tav’s lips pull into a quirk. Astarion can't be all that horrid… Could he? Surely, she would know by now.

Wyll draws a deep breath in, releasing it with forced effort. “Cazador's depravity ran deeper than I thought. I knew the man would be involved in terrible business, but never did I think it would include the trafficking of humanoid creatures.” The Duke swallows, taking a moment of respite before adding, “I used this as leverage to broker a deal with Astarion. He'd continue business as usual, gathering sensitive information to help me build a case. And I stay out of his other affairs.”

“You used him?!” Tav exclaims, worriedly. “And with slavers, no less? Wyll, that's low! Even for you.”

“Is it crueler than Astarion forcibly taking half the city as his spawn?” responds Wyll, coldly. “I needed an in, Tav. Surely you can understand why.”

Just then, the leader of the band speaks, welcoming all to gather for their next song. Tav meets Wyll’s eyes, and he gestures toward the dance floor, holding out his hand for her. Reluctantly, Tav accepts, and they both head toward the floor.

They stand before one another, one set of hands interlocked adjacent to their waists. Tav's free hand rests atop Wyll’s shoulder, while he places his on her hip. The band then kicks in – a slow, melodic song – and the two begin to sway. Tav remembers the night they danced around the campfire together. A soft smile comes to her face, but it’s short lived.

“I'm the reason Astarion was present that evening,” Wyll continues. “But I never instructed him on how to act.” The two part as Wyll stretches out their conjoined hands, and Tav twirls under both of their arms. She returns to him, and the two spin as they glide across the floor, the hem of her skirts swaying as they go.

“He told me he had no choice but to kill them,” says Tav within a broken breath. “That they would have gotten him first.”

Wyll then chuckles, throwing his head back. “And I'm sure he's expecting me to tell you the same. But that would be too far from the truth.” Wyll then separates from her again, releasing their hands to lay his palm flat against hers. Tav then follows his lead, moving so their bodies are parallel to one another, and they walk in a circle together. “You're a smart woman, Tav. I know that as fact,” Wyll states, confidently. “Do you really think the vampire ascendant is so defenseless? That he’d find himself trapped?”

Wyll then drops his hand, holding up the opposite, and Tav does the same. They mirror their previous formation, circling now in the opposite direction. “He had every chance of escaping, had he any desire to do so,” Wyll continues, facing Tav.

Tav meets his eyes, her body almost on autopilot. A chill runs down her spine as her mind makes sense of Wyll's inference. “Wyll, are you implying–”

“That he murdered those men on purpose?” Wyll interrupts, almost emphatically. The band then slows, music winding down, and Wyll comes to stand before her. “Yes, Tavaria. That is exactly what I'm implying. Because that's exactly what happened.”

Applause rings out around them as the music cuts out, but Tav can hardly hear it over the sound of her heart hammering away in her ears. Her blood runs cold.

Wyll speaks sense; Astarion always had control of the situation. His life was never in danger. He killed those men for no reason other than he could.

A game. A way to test his new powers.

The smell of iron dancing beneath her nose pulls her violently from her thoughts. Saliva pools thickly in her mouth as she scans the room, desperately searching for the source. She gasps aloud when she finally finds it.

There, in the far corner of the ballroom, stands Astarion. His eyes are fixed on her as he raises a silver goblet to his mouth. They share a glance long enough for Tav to watch the goblet then fall away, a small bead of crimson liquid dripping down his stained lips. Astarion is quick to snatch it up with the side of a finger, bringing it to his mouth.

The smell is intoxicating, and Tav’s vision grows fuzzy. She's suddenly hungry, starved for something she knows not what. It's what happened to her at the butcher shop, but it’s worse. So much more intense now than it was then.

Astarion's tongue darts from his mouth to envelop the digit, swiping the liquid from his finger. His eyes have yet to leave hers, and Tav feels an enigmatic pull overtake her.

Is that… blood?

The urge to lick the essence from his lips swells within her. To bury her tongue as deeply as possible within his mouth, savoring every last drop of blood. To swap their tainted saliva back and forth, until the taste all but fades into nothing.

Astarion then smiles, as if privy to her thoughts. Her mouth falls open with sudden realization.

…Has she grown a hunger for blood?

“Tavaria!”

Her concentration is broken as Wyll’s voice bellows in her ears. She whips her head in his direction, staring wildly. “I'm sorry,” Tav says, rushed. She sucks in a sharp breath and screws her eyes tightly. “My mind was elsewhere.”

Wyll’s gaze shifts to the far corner of the ballroom, where Astarion stands. The two men exchange deep scowls. “I don't want to get between whatever business you have with him, Tavaria,” he says, shifting his eyes back to her. “But if I were you, I’d run.”

Tav huffs out a laugh. She then looks to Astarion and finds that despite the women who have now joined him, he's still focused entirely on them. “What do you mean?” Tav asks innocently, turning her head to Wyll. “I don't think Astarion would ever harm me.”

“You have no idea who Astarion is anymore. None of us do.” Wyll states with finality. “And I'm deeply concerned by what may become of you should you stay.” He lifts his hands then to Tav’s shoulders, and she shudders under his touch. “There will come a time when he grows bored of this game.” Wyll tightens his grip. “I don't think I have to tell you what happens next.”

Tav’s eyes grow wide.

It's… a game. Their entire dynamic is a game of cat and mouse – who can outsmart the other first. How could she have been so blind? There's no love in this. No, this is about possession. Control. Deep down, a part of her always knew that. But she didn't think it was evident to anyone else.

“Your neck, Tav – I see it.” Wyll's eyes draw tightly together, his voice dropping an octave as he tilts his head. “He's already marked you.”

Bile pools in the back of her throat again as a sudden wave of nausea rushes forward. A hand flies to her neck, covering the remnants of Astarion's bite.

Tav wants to vomit. She wants to run, scream, forget she ever let Astarion back into her life.

The realization dawns over her that Wyll is right: Astarion will inevitably force her hand, should she stay long enough. He will never let her live out a mortal life. Tav will become his puppet, his trophy. His most prized possession, completely dependent on him for sustenance. Astarion will keep her sealed tightly within this palace, never to see the light of day again. She will be expected to lay with him as he commands, satisfy him as he commands… To become completely subservient to all his desires.

She was right, and has been right this entire time. Astarion has only given her the illusion of choice, hoping that she gives into him willingly.

She feels hollow.

Tav stares blankly at Wyll, placing both of her hands over her lower belly. Her mouth struggles to form the words racing through her mind, unable to grasp them. She wants to tell Wyll everything. About her and Astarion, about the baby. He could hide her, far away from Astarion's reach. So that he could never find her or their child ever again. She knows he would.

But the aroma of a certain spiced cologne distracts her, and as Tav turns her head toward that particular corner of the ballroom again, she sees Astarion drawing closer.

Panic grips her throat, and almost instinctively she's ripping herself away from Wyll. “I–I need some air!” she shouts in his direction, briefly looking back. Wyll moves to speak, but Tav is beyond earshot.

The urge to run consumes her, but to where? She scans the room desperately, tunnel vision beginning to set in. Finally, she finds large window pane doors leading out into the garden.

Tav dares to look back and finds Astarion now chatting with Wyll. Their expressions are taut, strained – she can see Astarion's fangs under the curling of his upper lip. Her heart skips strongly within her chest, and she looks again to the French doors.

It may be futile, as Astarion can simply sniff her out should he choose, but anything is better than staying here. She may as well try. With that logic in mind, Tav makes a desperate dash towards the doors.

—----------------------------------------

Bursting out into the courtyard, Tav barrels down the stone steps. She runs into the hedges, stopping just short of a rose bush. The sound of tearing fabric rings in her ears, but she doesn't care. All that matters is keeping away from him right now.

Fearfully, she dares herself to look back to the top of the stairs. Astarion soon comes into view, surveying the garden. Though, he makes no effort to follow her. Instead, he turns, wine glass in hand, and heads back into the ballroom.

A choked sob then escapes Tav's throat. Her body is overcome by violent shaking as she drops to her knees, clutching herself. How could she have been so blind? Was she charmed? Has Astarion been whittling away at her subconscious this entire time?

Just as she feels her resolve begin to shatter entirely, Tav catches the silhouette of another standing where Astarion just was. Brown hair tied into a high bun atop the man's head, the rest flowing down his shoulders. Mauve and midnight blue evening dress, complete with a vest and jacket. He seems to be searching for something.

“Gale?” Tav questions tentatively, poking her head from beyond the bushes. “Is that really you?”

The wizard looks out into the garden, his face lighting up as he finds her. “Tav!” he exclaims, running down the steps to meet her. “I knew I saw you talking to Wyll earlier! Though, I must ask…” Gale then extends a hand to her. “...are you hiding?”

Tav pouts as she takes his hand, letting Gale pull her up. “It's a long story,” she deflects, patting herself down. There's a small tear in the dress just below her left breast, and she scowls. “I'm surprised to see you here. I wouldn't think of Astarion inviting you.”

“Well, fortunately for you, the guest list wasn't his to command.” The magician places his hands on his hips, staring intently at Tav. “But really, why are you out here? You all but ran from Wyll.” Gale then searches her up and down, bending forward and sideways. “Are you hurt? Did he say something unkind?”

Tav sighs and shakes her head. “No, no. It's nothing Wyll said.”

A blatant lie – it's everything Wyll said.

“I just needed some fresh air, that's all.” She tries her best to put on a smile, but she knows Gale doesn't buy it.

“Tav,” he states, sternly. “What's wrong? You look beautiful, yes, but I can also see that you're shaken.” He dips his head to stare up at her from under his brow. “I'm your friend, Tav. You can talk to me.”

She looks at him. Emotion swirls within her chest, and she begins to heave with heavy breath. Tears well up within her eyes, and it's not long before Tav rushes forward, throwing her arms tightly around Gale’s neck. She sobs, heavily, messily, into his shoulder.

It's cathartic – like a dam finally giving way after keeping a rushing river at bay for far longer than ever intended. She feels arms encircle her and realizes they're Gale's, prompting another rush of tears to flow down her cheeks. For the first time in months, she feels safe. She hadn’t realized she'd forgotten what this feels like, until now.

By the time Tav lifts her face, the shoulder of Gale's jacket is horribly stained. She must look like a child's painting right now, make-up askew. But Gale simply gives her a reassuring look, reaching into the pocket of his jacket to retrieve a handkerchief. “Here,” he says while holding it out for her.

And for a moment, Tav wishes she could have fallen in love with him instead.

Tav accepts his offer, muttering her thanks as she lifts the kerchief to her eyes. “I'm sorry for not having answered your most recent letters.” She then blots the skin over her cheeks, scowling as her foundation stains the cloth. “There’s so much I have to tell you, Gale. So much has happened in such a short period of time, and I've no time to process it.”

“I'm here now,” Gale states triumphantly, placing his hands on his hips. “No better time to start than the present.”

She gives a soft laugh, sniffling before she says, “I suppose you're right.” She swipes the handkerchief under her nose. “Well, for one… I'm pregnant.”

Gale doesn't answer. Instead, he cocks his head slowly to the side, eyes growing wide with surprise. “...Whoa,” he musters. “Well… That's… certainly one way to start.” He then rights his posture, shifting his weight to one side. “I… wasn't aware you were with anyone.”

“That’s because I'm not.” Tav stares at the ground, sticking out a foot to run her shoe mindlessly over the small stones that make up the garden’s pathway. “At least not officially.”

The wizard crosses his arms over his chest. “I see. Is it someone that you know?”

“Oh, yes, indeed,” Tav answers quickly. “We both know him quite well.” She then pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, adding, “Or, we did.”

“I think I'm beginning to understand,” says Gale with a snicker. “I can see how tensions may run high in your line of work.” Tav quirks a brow but remains silent, curious as to where Gale is taking the conversation. “And how your superior may seem like the best person to relieve them with.”

And then her mouth hangs open for a moment, dumbfounded, though she quickly gathers her thoughts to argue. “Gale, I don't think you–”

“You know,” he continues, sticking up a hand to wave a finger, “when I was at the academy, I had a professor who–”

“Gale!” Tav shouts. Heat floods to her cheeks in embarrassment. “Gods, no! It's not Wyll!” Placing her face in her hands, Tav begins to pace back and forth. A groan escapes her as she drags both hands across her face, further smearing her make-up. “Why does everyone assume I'm still infatuated with Wyll?”

Gale shrugs his shoulders. “I don't think he's that hard on the eyes.”

“He isn't!” Tav shouts again. “But, sweet Hells, he's my boss!”

“Alright, alright,” Gale holds up his hands in defeat, then crosses them over his chest. “So, if not him, then who?”

Tav sucks in a breath through her nose, exhaling slowly through her mouth. Her heart pounds against her chest as Astarion's name dances across her mind. She wants to say his name, but her mouth won't cooperate. Instead, she slowly lifts her hair, turning her head to expose the healing bite mark on her neck to Gale's curious eyes.

“That… looks like a recent bite wound,” comments the wizard, pupils dilating.

“And you would be correct,” Tav confirms, flatly.

His squints, leaning closer to Tav, then stands upright. “Judging by the spacing of the marks…” Gale says, hesitantly, “...I would say that's the bite of a vampire.”

Tav nods, lips drawing into a thin line. “Right again.”

“Huh,” huffs Gale. “But, there's only one vampire we both know.”

Her heart is pounding again, so loud it's drowning out any sound in her ears. “Indeed,” Tav agrees, willing herself to continue despite her discomfort. “And we happen to be standing in his garden.”

She watches Gale's face as it contorts, the phases of acknowledgement written clearly for Tav to see. The magician's face ranges from confusion, to shock, to acceptance, back to shock again. “Oh, Nine Hells,” Gale mutters. “...How? When?!”

Tav throws up her arms, laughing to herself. “Not sure, Gale! Because if I did, I certainly wouldn't be in this mess!”

Shame settles in. Tav’s face burns again, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. Hearing these words said with her own voice somehow makes this real. Makes the empty hole within her chest ache, once occupied by Astarion. The desperate desire to be held by him, to disappear into the night and fall in love all over again.

“Gods, Tavaria… I don't even know what to say.” Gale lowers his arms to his sides, holding one hand to his hip. “How did he react when you told him?”

The air is knocked from her lungs, and Tav sucks in a desperate breath. “...I haven't,” she says, quietly.

“What?!” exclaims Gale. “Tav, you have to tell him!”

She glares at him, balling her hands into fists, shame quickly warping into anger. “Gale, if I tell him, you can kiss ever seeing me again goodbye.” She's shaking now, emotions boiling over.. “I will be his, forever, whether I want to be or not! I will no longer have a choice!”

“Oh, poppycock,” says Gale with a wave of his hand. “If there's one thing we both know about Astarion, it's that he'd never let any harm come to you. Especially by his doing.” Gale moves closer to Tav, voice dropping in decibel. His gaze remains glued to her. “Is this what you were discussing with Wyll? You know how he feels about Astarion, Tav,” says the wizard.

Tav swallows thickly. Her jaw is clenched tightly, teeth grinding against one another. “Gale, he's not the man either of us think he is,” she states, boldly. “Not anymore.”

Gale leans back with a laugh. “I somehow doubt that,” he argues, raising a hand, then both. “Sure, he's grown to be a bit of a recluse over these last few months.” With a shrug of his shoulders, Gale adds, “And the Gods only know how familiar I am with such a state. But it doesn't seem his heart has changed, when you're concerned.”

“What are you talking about?” Tav retorts in frustration. Does he mean to mock her? It's unlikely, but still infuriating how wrong he is at this moment. “Gale, he had fucking bodies in the crypts, what are you–”

“Did you ever think that perhaps Astarion sought you out again because he knew he was losing control?”

Tav’s eyes grow wide, shocked by the wizard’s declaration. “...What?” The whispered sound that escapes her throat is foreign to her. “I don't…” She shakes her head slowly in disbelief. “What do you mean?”

“You're the only one he's ever felt safe with, Tavaria,” explains Gale. “Astarion never spoke to us the way he spoke to you. You two had a language all your own.”

…He’s right. Tav’s gaze wanders off toward the French doors of the ballroom. Astarion confided in her like no other. Spoke to her in a tone that was reserved strictly for her. His hardened edges gave way to a soft, pale underbelly after a time. And never to another.

The panic in his eyes as Cazador rendered him utterly helpless, entrapped within an enchantment. Desperate pleas to free him ripping through his throat. Astarion shook violently within her arms as she broke the spell, his body collapsing against hers. His nails nearly pierced the thick leather of her armor from how tightly he gripped her, and when it came time for them to separate, Astarion refused to let go.

‘Please,’ he cries softly, pupils blown wide. He's shaking something fierce, as if reliving the worst moment of his life on repeat. He clings to her forearm as she tries to stand. ‘Please, I can't, he's going to, to you, he's going to–’

‘Hush now, Astarion,’ Tav coos, trying to soothe him. She runs a hand gently through his hair and kisses his sweat-soaked brow. ‘We’re here. He can't harm you.’

Astarion turns to her. He lifts a trembling hand to her face, cupping her jaw. ‘...I don't care about what happens to me,’ he says, voice hoarse. ‘I don't want him to have you.’ His jaw cinches tight, spitting through gritted teeth, ‘He has no right.’

The magician sucks in a deep breath and brings a hand to his face, exhaling as he begins stroking his beard. “Look, if Astarion wanted to harm you, he would have done so already.” He then tosses his hand to the air, lips molding into a soft pout. “I think he's asking for help in the only way he knows how.”

Heat crawls across her skin, and suddenly the air is too hot. Tav draws in a deep breath, fanning herself with her hands. Her eyes sting from the threat of fresh tears and she once again begins to pace back and forth.

“I never wanted any of this,” she admits to Gale, looking up at him each time she passes. “Gods, sometimes I wish I chose my Father.” Tav chokes back a sob. “At least then I would never have to think or feel again.”

A moment passes before Gale says solemnly, “Pain, happiness, sorrow, bliss – emotions remind us that we're alive, Tavaria.” He shakes his head. “To deny them is to deny life itself.”

“I don't wish to argue that,” Tav replies. “I just mean–”

The words die in her throat as her eyes catch a glimpse of someone standing by the French doors.

At the top of the marble stairs is Astarion, glass of wine in hand. As he descends the steps, Tav swears there's an additional button undone on the crimson dress shirt he wears. The fabric ripples across the pale plane of his chest, moonlight glinting off the golden amulet hanging around his neck. He reaches the bottom step and takes a swig of wine before sauntering over.

“The Wizard of Waterdeep!” Astarion bellows, almost mockingly. “Fancy seeing you here.” As he comes to stand next to Gale, Tav can smell the alcohol on his breath and notes that his eyes are slightly glazed over. He fidgets to find a comfortable pose, inevitably settling on leaning to one side with his free hand on his hip.

He's… drunk. Reminiscent of the night he helped himself to a cave bear within the Underdark.

“Astarion,” Gale replies with a nod of his head. “Good to see you, too. Love what you've done with the place. It feels so much more–” Gale rolls his wrists, as if to stimulate a response, “–alive, than it did before.”

The vampire gives a soft grunt before saying, “Well, yes. That was the entire point, no?” His eyes then land on Tav, and she feels the small hairs on her arms and neck stand on end. “I hope I'm not interrupting anything?” Astarion inquires with a grin.

The ruby red of his irises burn into her despite their sheen. “Not at all,” Tav manages to reply, turning her head to Gale. “Gale and I were just catching up. I've admittedly been a poor friend,m neglecting to answer his letters.” She makes sure to give a laugh after her sentence; Astarion is studying her.

The magician’s gaze flits momentarily between Astarion and Tav before settling on Tav. “Oh, no, of course you're not,” Gale says with a chuckle, “it's no issue, really. Just happy to know you're doing well.” Tav gives him a small nod of her head, thanking him for having taken her lead. Gale returns the gesture.

“Splendid,” Astarion states flatly, albeit sarcastically. “Then I'm sure you wouldn't mind if I borrowed this lovely lady?” He brings his glass again to his mouth, throwing the rest of the wine back. As the cup drops from his face, Astarion meets her eyes again, brow drawn tightly together. “I’ve been looking for her.”

Again Tav and Gale share a look, and Tav nods approvingly. “N-no, of course not,” Gale stammers. “I think we're sufficiently caught up.”

“Indeed we are,” Tav comments, moving closer to Astarion. “It was a pleasure to see you, Gale. I'll do my best to be better about answering your correspondence.” She then slips her arm around the vampire's, only to feel Astarion flinch against her. “Shall we?” she then asks Astarion, giving his forearm a pat. He's tense alongside her, though he returns her gaze.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening, Gale,” Astarion says to Gale, turning toward the palace. His voice edges on bitter, but there's still enough pleasantry about it to be considered cordial.

Tav waves to the wizard, then follows Astarion's lead back toward the ballroom. Her stomach is in a mess of nerves and her heart is practically in her throat. Drawing a deep breath in, she manages to blink away any hint of tears forming within her eyes. The signature scent of Astarion's cologne envelops her and she clings tighter to his arm as they ascend the stairs.

Before entering the ballroom, Astarion gives Gale one final glance as he ushers Tav beyond the French doors. He then follows swiftly behind her.

“Huh,” is all Gale can mutter to himself.

#sotlc #cw: gore #pregnancy mention #tw: gale #astarion fanfic #astarion x durge #astarion x female tav #ascended astarion

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popjunkie42 · 5 months ago

Text

Painted Blind - Chapter One

Amazing commission done by the brilliant, beautiful and talented @witchlingsandwyverns!!! (thank you I love you!!!)

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind. Nor hath love's mind of any judgment taste; Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste: And therefore is love said to be a child, Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd. -William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream

What Feyre Archeron wants is simple: enough food, gold and safety to take care of her family. But when a terrifying fae beast crosses the wall and enters the human lands, she finds that simple, safe life slipping out of reach.

Part one of an ACOTAR re-telling inspired by the Greek myth of Psyche and Eros.

Read on AO3

Thank you to @witch-and-her-witcher and @rosanna-writer for the beta reads and encouragement. I have been working on this for a long time...over a year...and the support has been amazing!

It's here! I haven't built it up too much or anything and am now nervous! Don't look at me!

I hope you enjoy...this will be a journey <3 Snippet of chapter one under the cut!

Unhappy the land that is in need of heroes.

-Bertolt Brecht, Galileo

Woodsmoke and stale ale hung heavy in the air as I gently shut the back door to the tavern.

The noise of the place hit me like a jolt. I was used to the twilight quiet of the forest, and the cold and empty winter streets outside. The deep boom of men’s laughter and shouts, the clatter of the kitchen, the drowned out sounds of a fiddle in the corner. Wood groaned under my feet, the floor sticky and worn as I edged around the walls in the shadows, angling towards the roaring fireplace.

This was not a place for young women like me. Certainly not my first choice of accommodations for the night. The brazen, lingering stares running up and down my body reminded me of that every step of the way. But the heat of the fire along with the surrounding warm bodies was worth it when I began to feel the tips of my fingers again.

Ten minutes ago I had been elbows-deep in blood and entrails, the squelching sound drowned out by the laughter and warm light of the tavern behind me as I worked. One dunk of my bloody hands into a frozen bucket of water to wash off made me rethink any fearful self preservation I might have had left.

Survival was like that. Blurring the edges of what should be a simple, safe decision.

But I wasn’t making cautious decisions these days. Outside, chill winds whipped up the fresh frozen snow and threw it against anything in its path. My cheeks smarted and burned with it even now. The cold had taken the easy prey and then the difficult prey, and now I was forced deeper and deeper into the woods every night to find something, anything for my family.

My fingers and toes started to ache as the frozen digits warmed back to life, tingling with pain. I knew the barkeep’s goodwill would only last so long once he saw me and knew I wouldn’t be purchasing anything. Even if the growling of my stomach battled the sounds in this loud room, as the smells of fresh bread and ale and mutton wafted through the room amidst the more unpleasant scents.

But it wouldn’t do to leave the deer unattended for long, not when there were desperate men and other predators just as hungry as me and attracted to the scent of blood. I had more of the deer to skin, and it would be hours until the dawn sun touches this place.

Cracked skin, split nails, a cramp in my stomach. Usually that was all I had to show for my nights buried in snow up to my knees or huddled in bare tree branches. But tonight, at dusk, luck was with me and I had taken a deer as it crept towards the half frozen river.

It had walked directly under my tree and straight ahead of me, presented like a ready gift from some long forgotten god. I was so weak with cold and hunger my hands shook as I readied my bow. But my arrow hit true.

Still, the deer had been larger than I could usually handle. I spent too much time with my feet buried in new snow, making a rough bower, then gutting it and finally taking the head before it was light enough for me to carry back in slippery sprints.

My body was screaming with exhaustion by the time I spotted the low night lights of the village. But there was nowhere in our family’s small cabin to keep a bleeding body. Certainly not if my sisters had anything to say about it.

More eyes shot to me as a glass smashed and I jolted like a spooked rabbit. I rubbed life back into my hands, trying to calm my nerves. Now that I wasn’t shivering and fighting the cold, exhaustion threatened to set deep in my bones. It was almost two o’clock in the morning. Nesta and Elain would be fast asleep, cuddled together for warmth in our shared bed.

The anger in me burned, like the bitter nettle tea Elain brewed to keep our stomachs warm in between meals.

Two men had been watching me, talking low and close to one another for too long. I wove between bodies and chairs to find another spot further away from their gaze.

My life was always like this, for as long as we had been in the cabin. Forced out of our richly appointed manor by my father’s debtors, the old place now just a dreamy blur in the fading memories of my childhood.

The days were never dull, that was for certain. I ricocheted between life and death, forest and hearth, starvation and sustenance. I walked the woodland paths that fed and sheltered me, forests that held monsters or the stark winter seasons of starvation. Poisons and fanged beasts and untrustworthy men. Fruit and herbs, glistening springs, growth and life and death. Three pathways: death, bare survival, or thriving life, all converging to a crossroads, and sometimes I ran so quickly between them I got whiplash.

Sometimes, in the twilight hours between sleep and waking, I remembered when it wasn’t always so. I remembered a childhood filled with dresses and lavish meals and even stolen cookies with petal pink icing that smeared all over my face. I couldn’t recall, now, the last time I tasted sugar. Or had days on end with a full belly, without a care in my heart. That life was over now, and this new one demanded sacrifices. Like drawing the attention of unsavory drunk men in order to stay warm enough to bring breakfast to my family.

My eyes cast over the crowd. I wasn’t entirely alone. Isaac Hale was here, with his father and brothers, doing an excellent job of ignoring me completely. Old Hobb, at least, had given me a tip of his floppy felt cap from his station at the bar, several tankards in tonight. He had already reached the next stage of his drunkenness and would doubtless start a fight or an oddly unslurred lecture soon.

I didn’t mind - I had been subject to many of those lectures, and sometimes found them helpful. The old hunter was one of the few men in the village who had ever shown me kindness, catching me some years back when he caught me slicing through the intestines of my rabbits as I tried to skin them.

The cold, snow-burned skin on my cheeks was now hot and burning on my face as my blood ran warmer, waking from its sluggish sleep.

If I was lucky tonight, Isaac would continue to ignore me and the rest of the bar would be too drunk to notice or remember me. And if they did focus on me too long, I had been practicing since I was fifteen - the stance I had, one that was quiet but not small. Forcing the tiredness from my face the best I could, setting my jaw and keeping my hunting knife in easy reach.

I wouldn’t be prey tonight. I was the hunter. And if anyone chose to test me, my hunger and desperation would only make me more fierce.

At least, that’s what I told myself, to keep from breaking apart.

Just as I was thinking about moving back into the cold to finish my butchering, the front door of the tavern swung open with a blast of cold wind.

And silence fell.

Read the rest on AO3

#acotar #feysand #acotar fanfiction #psyche and eros #acotar retelling #canon divergence #acotar fanfic #greek myth inspired #my writing

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cloudyskydreams · 27 days ago

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SO on period UT,UF,US,HT!

Ive had this sitting in my notes for awhile wasn't super proud of it still ain't but I wanted to post something, I just had to slap the HT brothers on and boom new post.

Also I've been wanting to write swapfell but I don't know the difference between that and fellswap or really their personalities cause it's so different for each fanfic so if someone could pls explain 🙏

Anyways here y'all go hope you enjoy!

Undertale:

Sans: I feel like sans is pretty knowledgeable so you didn't have to explain it to him. He takes it pretty maturely it's a natural part of life. The puns the horrible puns. He has so many specifically for this time of the month. He's always got your comfort snack on hand in his jacket pockets. He doesn't really change much he'll get off his ass if you ask him to but he sticks by your side mostly and lazes out cuddled with you while watching shows. Pretty good at getting products and snacks you might like he likes to get you some new snacks to try with him and he's good at guessing what you might like.

Papyrus: This man is prepared. After you tell him what it is he researches it and WOWIE he wishes he just asked you to explain but now he's over prepared with knowledge! He has hot water bottles and weighted blankets at the ready. Any snacks you want, heck you want a whole meal? He's on it and it's prepared with extra love. He carries around your products for you and always has pain medicine in his bags. Pretty good at picking them up from the store too and has no shame getting them.

Underfell:

Red: You gotta explain it to him and this man is bewildered for a bit. ya bleed from there for how long??? every month?! He's a little impressed?? Last he checked humans weren't supposed to lose huge amounts of blood but you're treating it like it's a normal thing. After he gets over his initial shock he'll try and help the best he can which is a little awkwardly. He makes a little nest for you out of blankets and pillows and makes sure you're comfortable. He and his magic run warm so he'll lay on your stomach and cuddle to help with cramps, pet his head and he might purr. He's pretty confused about products def one to send Babe what's your pussy size.

Edge: He's aware, he's done his research on his own when you were ovulating about the human "mating cycle". Not a fun experience but he takes it in stride. He listens to what you need and trys to deliver. Massages for sore muscles and heating pads for cramps. He'll make you comfort food while you relax watching a show and join you afterwards for some cuddles. He's pretty good at getting products for you and takes the ones you like into consideration but he's always looking for better healthier alternatives for you.

Underswap:

Stretch: Knows about it (blue taught him when he found out and Stretch showed interest in humans)and is a little awkward(traumatized from the talk with Blue). Hate to say it Stretch doesn't really know what to do he's not grossed out he just doesn't know how to handle it. He tries his best to be comforting giving snacks, heating pads, and cuddles. He's so awkward going to the store to get products plays it cool but has no idea what he's doing and definitely gets the wrong thing after his mind blanks while staring at all the products for too long. You just gotta train him he'll get better.

Blue: Also knows and he's handling it alot better. He takes it in stride and understands the biggest part is you're uncomfortable and he's going to do his best to help with that. He takes care of chores you don't want to do, makes you comfort meals, and always has a heating pad ready. Has so many two player comfort games lined up for you guys, he has stuff to do but most of his work stuff can be done at home! Which means he'll just be a shout away if you need anything . Pretty good at getting products and is one to carry some around in his bag just in case when you guys go out.

HorrorTale:

Axe: You have to explain it to him… Multiple times. He's confused as to why you smell like blood, he likes the smell but he's confused for a bit until he writes a note about it. He will not remember which products to get unfortunately. He's so confused staring at them you'll have to instruct him very clearly over a call and he still probably grabs the wrong one. Cuddles are supreme he's a giant so he'll engulf you in his form and his purrs practically shake your whole body. It's like a free massage chair whenever you want. He sticks closer by your side during this time of month knowing blood means your wounded and his protective urges flare up.

Willow: You'll also have to explain it to him and he's extremely worried when he smells blood. Even more so when he learns how long you bleed, he knows how much blood a human can loose and it worries him you're losing so much. After you explain it's a normal thing and a part of life he calms down slightly. He cleans and cooks a lot when stressed or worried so you constantly have something to munch on and you don't have to worry about any chores. He stays over stocked up on supplies, he doesn't like going out in public very often but for this he will because he deems it important enough. It's why he stocks up so much when he goes out. Mother hens over you hard and you might have to pull him into cuddles to get him to relax for a bit.

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thebearer · 1 year ago

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we need a carmy imagine for when she goes into labor with willow!

"Hello?"

"Hey, Carmy." You sweet voice flooded through the phone from the other line, making him relax, pen tapping against the order forms for new produce, a few more replacement dish ware.

"What's goin' on, beautiful? You alright? Teddy ok?" Carmen asked, cradling the phone between his shoulder and ear.

"We're good. I'm on my way to drop Teddy off at Aunt Sugar's." Your voice lilted, rising to that cooing high octave that had Teddy squealing with excitement. "She's gonna watch her for a few days."

"What?" Carmen frowned, looking at his calendar. You didn't have anything planned, not that he could remember. "Why-Why would Sugar be-"

"Oh, I'm in labor." You said, plainly, a simple little hum like it was nonchalant.

"What?" Carmen boomed, dropping the phone and pressing it back against his ear.

"Yeah, my water broke about an hour ago." You hummed. "I packed the bag and called the hospital and Sugar, and-"

"-You called Sugar before me?" Carmen snapped. He took a deep breath, snatching his keys and jacket before bounding out of the office. "Are you driving right now?"

"Carmen, they're not that bad right now." You rolled your eyes. "They're still really far apart. We've got a long way to go. God, I hope it isn't as long as it was with Teddy. I thought I was gonna die-"

"-Listen. You get to Sugar's and-and stay there." Carmen said fiercely. "I will be there in a few, ok?"

"Alright, Carmy." You sighed gently. "I already-oh." You hissed gently a deep breath pulling out of your throat and out your nose slowly.

"What? What's goin' on?" Carmen was already in his car, shouting something to Richie about you being in fuckin' labor before peeling out into the street.

"Just a little contraction. It's alright." You sighed, your grip on the steering wheel tightening.

"Pull over, right fuckin' now." Carmen's voice was tight and commanding. "Now. And tell me where you're at."

"Carmy, I'm almost to Sugar's. I'll just-"

"I'm not doin' this with you. Pull over, now." Carmen hissed. "Please. Don't fight me on this, ok? I don't want anything to happen to you or Teddy or the baby, ok? Pull over. Tell me where you're at. I'll be there soon."

So you did, of course you did. Your brain going foggy when he used that tone, rarer now that you had a baby, but still clouding your brain into submission. "We're at Target. The one on the corner before Sugar's neighborhood." You put the car into park, running a hand over your stomach trying to rub out the cramp. "Carmen, I'm so close and I'm fine. I can just-"

"-Stay." Carmen's voice quipped with an edge that had you pouting lightly. "I'm five minutes away, baby. I'll be there soon."

Sugar and Carmen pulled in around the same time, Carmen fussing over you while he got you out of the car, tossing the keys to Pete to take. You peppered Teddy's face in kisses, soft coos and promises of a baby sister while Carmen drove you to the hospital.

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ramsayxme · 10 months ago

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The Bloody Bastard

TW: per!od sex, blood kink!

AO3 Link

••••••

You tossed and turned in bed, your lower back aching and your stomach cramping. You had been serving the Bastard of the Dreadfort for 3 weeks now and time passed painfully slow. You had barely had time to mourn your previous life before Ramsay Snow began forcing you to do every minuscule duty for him. You drew his baths, folded his clothes, cleaned his leathers, washed his sheets, made his bed, and served him meals. Ramsay didn't care enough about you to even ever make eye contact with you while you served him. He had never spoke more to you than a demand. You were exhausted to say the least, but you didn't dare push back with your duties. You witnessed another servant girl try to argue with Ramsay in your first week. She was flayed and displayed outside your window; a reminder to obey your master.

You rolled over in your bed, trying desperately to get comfortable in the time you had left before you had to rise. It was very early and the sun was starting to peel back the fog; a threat in the form of another passing day. The sun never quite shone brightly though, it only lit up a grey sky full of clouds. Your stomach cramped as you sat up. When you sat up, you realized the reason for your pains. You felt the familiar sensation that you had completely forgotten that was bound to happen. You felt the warmth of blood trickle out of you and immediately stain your nightgown. You felt your heart race as you began to panic.

The thought hadn't even crossed your mind in the time you'd spent at the Dreadfort, but it was inevitable. You had started your period. You cursed at your body under your breath as you stood up and attempted to avoid staining your sheets. You felt the blood trickle down your thigh as you walked over to the door. You weren't allowed outside the main walls of the Dreadfort, but you had free roam inside. You had to have the ability to fetch things for Ramsay, so you were quite familiar with the hallways and rooms scattered about.

You creaked the door open and stuck your head out to look down the hallways. The only things you could see were the flickers from the torches casting dancing shadows on the stone floors and walls. You ducked out of your room and scurried to the largest washroom that Ramsay frequently used. You had drawn him many baths in this room. You knew there were a lot of extra cloths, blankets, and fabrics in the wooden chests stored in the corner. You rushed over and opened one of the chests, digging around for some loose fabric you could somehow tie around your waist.. Something. Anything. You were crouched on the floor as you dug elbows deep through the loose cloths desperately. Suddenly, you heard the door scrape shut behind you.

You craned your neck over your shoulder to see Ramsay standing in front of the door that he closed. "I thought I heard someone in here." He groaned, clearly having just woken up. His voice was raspy and tired, his eyes had a slight bag underneath them. His hair was messy and overgrown, gently curling underneath his ears to meet with his slight stubble. He wore a dusty grey long sleeve, knitted loosely and clearly worn frequently as the neck was stretched out and the sleeves were a bit too long. "What do you think you're doing, hm?" He asked in a cooing tone.

"I...I..." You stuttered over your thoughts. Ramsay's glare was so intense. He had never looked at you before, and you felt yourself shrinking under his gaze. "Speak up!" His voice boomed through the quiet room as you shifted your weight, still crouched by the chest. "I'm looking for something." It was all you could squeak out. His eyes were wide as he stared deep into you, almost beckoning you to say more. He stepped forward and you felt yourself shrink even more. "Perhaps I can help you. What are you looking for?" He crouched down on the ground next to you. You felt yourself hold your breath as his body was next to you. You had never been this close to Ramsay before. You quickly studied him.

His hair was tousled but not tangled. His facial hair was stubbly but not harsh. His eyes darted over at you, and he watched you study his face. His pale eyes widened when you looked into them, a grin slowly spreading across his closed lips. "Now, what can I help you find?" You looked down at your nightgown, it was wrapped under your legs so Ramsay couldn't see the stain. "I can find it myself, My Lord..." You whispered as you looked back inside the chest. You were embarrassed and didn't want him to notice the blood that was trickling down your thighs. You heard him snicker as he exhaled. "I think I know what you're looking for."

You felt your stomach twist with anxiety as he leaned backwards. You watched him lean and reach behind you, his index finger wiping against the stone a few inches behind your body. When he pulled his finger up, there was a drop of blood smeared across the tip of his finger. He held it up to show you and your face immediately grew hot. "Something to help with this?" You realized you had dripped before you crouched down. How did he see it?? He kept his finger held in the air before his thumb met his pointer finger, rubbing the blood between his fingers. You knew your face was red and flushed as you turned your attention back to the chest and shuffled your hands through the cloths inside.

"I'm right, aren't I?" Ramsay whispered, leaning in closer to you, his hands reached out and grabbed your shoulders. He turned you to face him. You balanced on your feet, your knees under your chin as you pivoted to face him. You hid your body with your nightgown, the stains were too obvious to hide at this angle. His eyes slowly moved down your crouched body and he saw the stains. "I was right." He reached out to touch your nightgown, gently pulling at the fabric. "Sit down on the floor." He pushed your shoulders slightly and caused you to fall backwards on your ass. You still held your knees close to your chest.

Ramsay sat on the floor directly across from you. His sat criss cross and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He placed his chin in his hands as he hunched forwards. "Let me see." He cocked his head to the side, gently coaxing you with his gaze. You were frozen, unable and unwilling to lift your nightgown. Ramsay sighed and rolled his eyes before staring at you again. "This is a demand, you know." He lifted his chin and reached his arms out. His hands pried your knees apart, spreading your legs slightly. "Now, hike your dress up and show me." His words hung in the air as you hesitated, but you knew you had to listen to him. You had no choice.

You gently pulled your nightgown up and over your knees, allowing it to fall down your thighs and rest at your hips. You felt the cool air on your thighs as you exposed yourself to him. He reached out to your hips and pulled them closer to him, forcing you to slide down further into the floor. Your hips now turned upwards and facing him, he spread your legs apart with his hands on your knees. You stared at his face as he took in the sight of your bloody center and slick thighs. His eyes widened slightly as they skimmed over your flesh. His lips parted and he exhaled gently as he stared into your core. "I knew it." He breathed, his hands grabbing and kneading at the soft flesh of your thighs. The man who wouldn't even glance at you the past few weeks was now fixating on your bleeding cunt with hungry eyes. It made you squirm with discomfort.

You clamped your legs shut once more, the humiliation making your skin hot. "No, no." Ramsay scolded you, quickly yanking your legs open for him. His hands were forceful, but you knew he was being gentle with you. He was capable of much more than what he was doing. His hands wandered up your thighs and made contact with the slick inners of your thighs, nearly brushing against your folds. You exhaled a moan of concern as his fingers began swirling circles in against the bloody slick of your upper thighs. His fingers teased at your folds by gently stroking up and down, collecting the wetness and the blood. You had never been touched like this.

Without warning, Ramsay slid two fingers inside your slit. The blood made it easy for him and you let out a whimper. Ramsay's eyes lifted again to look at your face. He clenched his jaw as he stared intensively at you. "You're a virgin, aren't you?" He asked through his gritted teeth. You gently nodded, the feeling of his fingers slowly sliding in and out of you made you feel a warmth in your core that you didn't recognize. You didn't want to speak. You were afraid if you opened your mouth, you would beg for more. "I can tell you are..." Ramsay whispered. He leaned forward on his knees and pressed his lips against yours into a needy kiss.

You felt his warm tongue slide into your mouth, his lips moving slowly on yours. You leaned back even further, allowing your body to rest on your elbows. Ramsay leaned over you, one hand still working at your bloody core and the other hand on the floor holding himself steady. He fluttered his fingers inside your swollen walls, causing you to inhale sharply. He grinned into the kiss as his mouth pushed onto yours even harder than before. Ramsay pulled away from the kiss and slid his fingers out of you, leaving you trickling blood and arousal. You arched your back softly, a gentle beg for him to not go. You didn't even mean to, but your body was aching for more. He grinned when he realized your body making attempts to keep his fingers inside you. "You quite liked that, didn't you?" He chuckled softly.

He sat back, pulling himself up to a standing position. Your blood was still covering his glistening fingers as he brought his hand to his own trousers. You could see that he was aroused, the trousers grew tight around his crotch. "Look what you're doing to me." He grinned as he pulled his trouser waistband down just barely, releasing his hard cock. He peered down at you, you felt like a pile of arousal, flesh, and blood crumpled on the floor. He took his hand that was still wet from your cunt and wrapped his hand around the base of his cock. He squeezed it gently and wiped your blood off of his fingers and onto his veiny shaft. You watched as he stroked himself, gently exhaling a strong breath as he stared at you. "You can't leave me like this, you know." He gestured to his hard cock. "And I can't let you go to waste like that... bleeding and warm. I'll have to figure out what to do about this, won't I?" He teased, still stroking himself.

You were nervous and unsure of what his next move would be. He grinned as he yanked you to your feet by your arms. "Follow me." He demanded, tucking his hardness back into his trousers. You slunk behind him, ashamed and dripping. He led you out into the main hallway that was still empty and crawling with the early dawn. He grabbed your hand and pulled you down the hall to your chambers. "This one's yours?" He asked before shoving the door open. He pulled you inside and shut the door behind him. When he turned around, he had a grin spread across his face. His eyes flickered with a dark obsession as he faced you and spat out a demand. "Take off your clothes."

You slowly pulled your nightgown off of yourself. You wanted to resist him, you really did... but your body was excited for this. You hated yourself for it, but you were interested in seeing what was going to happen next. You let the nightgown fall to the floor and allowed yourself to stand naked in front of Ramsay. He inhaled deeply as he scanned you with his eyes. You felt the blood dripping from you still, well it was a mixture of blood and your own wetness. It was trickling down your thighs, nearly to your knees. Ramsay didn't stop staring at you as he pulled his shirt over his head. His hair lifted and fell as he tore it over himself and threw it on the floor, stepping closer to you. He pulled his trousers down and kicked them off so he could stand naked with you.

He was within arms reach, his pale and muscular chest rising and falling with his deep breaths as he admired your body. His eyes slid up and down your nakedness before he stepped closer, closing the gap between your bodies. His hands cupped your breasts. He harshly caressed them and squeezed them, causing you to let out a whine. They were quite sore, a symptom of your period. "Does that hurt?" Ramsay whispered, squeezing harder. You nodded softly and mumbled a response. "Yes, My Lord." He smiled, kneading and squeezing before he pinched your nipples between his fingers. You inhaled sharply, gasping at the feeling. "Good." He assured you, squeezing your nipples even harder. Your mouth opened with the pain and he nearly growled.

He spun you around and sank his face into your neck, biting and kissing your soft skin. His hands found your hips and he began pressing his erection against your ass. His hands were kneading at your hips and waist eagerly. "I cant believe I never paid any attention to you before." He whispered into your ear before biting your neck once more. "Now that I know what a whore you can be for me... you don't have to worry anymore, I'll have plenty of time for you." You whimpered as you gave in to the feeling, knowing that you were about to entirely belong to Ramsay Snow. His teeth grazed your ear as he sighed a moan, his cock pressing against your bare ass. He pushed on his cock with his hand, allowing it to slip between your legs. He wasn't fucking you yet, but he was sliding his cock between your legs and against your bloody cunt.

He rhythmically pressed his hips forward and back, allowing his cock to slide against your folds and your clit, making you crazy for him. You wanted him badly. You started moaning and it made Ramsay chuckle. "You're whining! You want me that bad, don't you?" He reached his hand up and wrapped it around your throat. He wasn't using much force, but your breathing was slightly altered. "Say you want it." He growled into your neck. You swallowed before you opened your soft lips. "I want you..." He tightened his grip on your throat, gently shaking you. "Louder." He groaned.

"I want you." You said a bit louder, your body arching and pressing against him, matching his rhythmic humping. "Louder!" He barked into your neck before biting down. "I want you!!" You cried out, reaching your own hand between your legs and feeling his cock, slick and coated in your blood. He pulled away from you and turned you around to face him. You couldn't resist as you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a passionate kiss. Your tongue entered his mouth and your lips locked in a desperate kiss. You were floating with desire as you ran your fingers through his hair and down his shoulders. "Please..." You begged between kisses.

Ramsay shoved you backwards, forcing you to fall onto your clean bedsheets. You knew they would be stained and ruined but you didn't care. You only cared about what it would feel like when he pushed his cock inside you. He opened your legs and lowered himself, kneeling at the edge of the bed. He pulled your body closer, your ass hanging off the bed. Before you had any idea what was happening, you felt his tongue sliding between your dripping folds. You gasped as he began kissing your cunt, slowly sucking on your clit and kneading at your hips. He hummed with pleasure as you reacted, arching your back and digging your fingers into his shoulders. You looked down at him to see his eyes shut softly and his face buried in your thighs.

Ramsay swirled his tongue around your clit as he slid those same fingers inside you again. You felt electricity jolt up your body when he licked your clit, slowly sucking on the nub. His fingers swirled inside you, the slurping noises coming from your core were loud and would likely be embarrassing if you weren't so desperate for him. You stared at him with bliss as your lips parted and allowed for each and every whimper and moan to escape easily. His eyes flickered open and they stared up at you. His eyes were full of obsession. He was loving every moment of this, perhaps even more than you were. You pushed his head into your core as you gently began rocking your hips against his face.

You were feeling an overflowing need, a deep desire for more pressure inside you. You wanted to be filled by him. You gently tugged at his hair, trying to signal him to fuck you. He kept nuzzling his face into you, sucking and licking you perfectly. You groaned loudly, "Ramsay please..."

He pulled his face from between your thighs, his face covered in slick arousal and blood. He exhaled loudly and grinned at you before wiping his face on the bedsheets. "You filthy girl..." He groaned as he admired you lying on the bed, legs spread open and begging for his cock. He stood up and grabbed your hair, yanking you up the bed further. You squealed in pain as he did so, making him chuckle. He climbed on top of you and pressed his lips against yours. You could taste the metallic lingering on his tongue. You groaned into his mouth, pressing your hips up against his body. Ramsay's hands were exploring every inch of you. He was grabbing and pulling at your skin and his tongue was desperately swirling in your mouth. He couldn't get enough of you to satiate him.

He reached one of his hands down and grabbed his cock. He held it firmly as he pressed the head against your entrance. You moaned, steadying your hips for him. He grinned as he teased you, rubbing the head of his cock up and down your soaked cunt. He would push against your hole just to torture you. He wouldn't enter you yet. "I want you to really beg for me." He breathed as he slowly began stroking his cock, resting the tip at your entrance. "Make me need you."

You whined, your fingertips digging into his shoulders. "Please, Ramsay, I want you to fuck me." You were desperate. The only thing that mattered in the world was getting his cock to plunge inside you. "Mm..." He hummed with pleasure as he listened to you mewl. He stroked himself at your entrance. "More." He demanded. "I need you inside me... I want you to fuck me... please." His eyes widened for a moment as he listened to your pleading. "That's right. You need me." Ramsay smiled as he allowed his hips to finally give in, pushing his cock deep inside you.

He filled you snuggly, your walls stretching to fit him. You whined as he entered you, his eyes fluttered softly before flashing open again. "Does that feel good?" He asked as he began thrusting in and out of you with force. The way his hips moved made you crazy, the way his cock dipped in and out of your soaking cunt made you want to scream. "Fuck, yes!" You groaned as you allowed your body to fully swim in the pleasure that he was bringing you. "Do you love it when I fuck your bloody cunt?" Ramsay whispered as he bit your neck. "Yes, yes, I love it, please..." Your brain was floating. He kept his pace steady as he lifted himself with his arms. You watched him fuck you, his hair slightly bouncing with his thrusts, his eyes obsessed and focused on you, his muscular arms on either side of you.

Ramsay looked down at his cock, he was enjoying watching it pump in and out, disappearing in your soaking core. He growled as he watched, the sight making him even harder than he already was. "You feel so good, you tight virgin whore." He groaned, his eyes making their way back to your face. He could sense your pleasure as he studied your facial expressions. His eyes were glued to your face as he thrust hard, watching your eyes roll back into your head. He was breathing heavy out of his mouth and pulled his lips into a grin as he flashed his teeth. He was truly enjoying this.

You sensed a warmth rising in your center as he continued to fuck you at a constant pace. He must've noticed your face changing, as he exhaled between breaths. "You're going to come on my cock soon, aren't you?" He bit your bottom lip before you could answer, twisting the flesh between his teeth. You groaned as you felt the warmth rising higher and higher. "Do it." He whispered as he let go of your lower lip, your mouth filling with your blood from the open wound he just created. You were allowing your body to teeter over the edge. He took your bottom lip in his mouth again and sucked hard. The pain was mixed with complete ecstasy as you fell into the pool of pleasure, the waves crashing across your midsection as you orgasmed.

Ramsay didn't slow his pace while you came, he fucked you through it. Your lower lip still in his mouth, he started bucking his hips a little harder and a little broken in pattern. He let go of your lip as he groaned, blood trickling down his chin. He grit his teeth together and stared into your eyes as he bucked his hips for the final few strokes. You watched his face as his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes fluttered. You watched Ramsay cum, his mouth slightly open and blood dripping from his chin onto your breast and face. He was breathing heavy as he moaned, allowing a guttural release from his throat.

You felt his cock twitch inside you, filling you with warmth. His breath caught in his throat as he finished, gasping for air as he slowed himself. He quickly rolled over, his cock sliding out of you. You realized what a bloody mess you both had made. Ramsay caught his breath, his chest quickly heaving as he wiped his chin off with the back of his hand. He looked over at you. You were in orgasmic bliss, in pure awe of the creature beside you. You felt your body slowly sink into itself once more, back to reality. The room smelled of sweat and metallic. Ramsay reached over and kissed your forehead before standing up. "Well. That was lovely." He helped you stand up, your knees buckling underneath you. "Yes, you'll likely be shaky and sore." He nodded at your realization.

He handed you a dress and motioned at you to put it on. "You still have to draw me a bath this morning." He grinned. "Just because I fucked you doesn't mean you stop being my servant, pretty thing." He laughed as he pushed your hair behind your ears. "And don't think this will be a daily occurrence. I am a busy man, you know... But perhaps when you're bleeding, you can let me know so I can come and pleasure myself." He laughed as he walked towards the door, throwing cloth across his hips to hide his body. "Wipe yourself off and come draw my bath!" He left the room. You stood there, stunned. Ramsay only wanted to fuck you when you were on your period. You chuckled to yourself at the realization that you were now not only his servant, but his fuck toy that he would use when it pleased the dark creature that lived inside him... and somehow, you were okay with it.

#game of thrones #ramsay bolton x reader #got #ramsayboltonsmut #ramsay snow #ramsey bolton #ramsaybolton #smut #ramsey snow #ramsay bolton #p!sex #oneshot #bloodkink #periodkink #periods #period sex

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suavemania · 1 year ago

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Second place

pairing: leon kennedy x work partner!reader summary: we all dont have to be frontrunners, and in this one you won't be. your casualship with leon is beginning to end, but you think you know why. words: 1122 in total notes: slight heads up that this is pretty heavily geared into unrequited love territory and.. um. hi sorry for not posting SO TAKE THIS!! not totally happy with it, but it will do- for now.

No messages, no calls, nothing.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise anymore, and perhaps a part of you had grown accustomed to the absence of Leon’s presence. It was quiet, and the soft sighs that would be his doesn’t fill your small bedroom. No longer was his breathing there to lull you to sleep, or to ease your heart. You reach a hand to the other side of the bed; as if hoping someone on the other end would take it, to keep you warm.

It’s been cold for a while, that spot, his spot.

You had noticed that he had grown distant as of late. False promises tugging at your pattering heart, pooling at the heels of your feet. Texts barely read, scattered voicemails soaked in half-baked apologies. You reach for your phone, sitting up in your empty bed as the distant noise from the city keeps you company. There was a pit in your stomach, swirling into a loud noise as you felt the booming beat in your chest. You had picked a stupid fight with him earlier at work, over something both you and him knew were stupid.

But you wanted his attention, and you wanted him to see you. To see that you actually still care for him, that you still make your bed every day and tidy up in hopes that he would come home with you. And that you still stock up on his favorite food in your cramped fridge.

So, in an attempt to make him react you pushed the stupid work issue on him. You figured if you could rile him up he would at least show you that he still had some feelings left for you, some type of hurt or.. Anything, really. Leon practically lived at your place weeks ago, but now his stuff in the back of your closet had become clutter, instead of belongings from someone who frequented.

A single message stares back at you as you swipe through your phone to look at the text history between you and Leon.

[Leon]: I’ll be better

[Leon is typing]...

…

[Leon]: Sorry

It was small, barely anything really. But to you it was enough for now. You knew that Leon used to be much more active in the texting department, writing a bit more than just one-liners every now and then. But you can’t be picky. His message was an attempt to soothe the burning sting in your chest. Somehow, even his bare-boned apology was enough to make you feel like a dick.

[You]: Can we talk? About everything

[Leon]: Can’t right now

[You]: We can talk at my place tomorrow if you want

[Leon is typing]...

You know better.

But you’re in love, and you make constant excuses for Leon; the man who you are so hopelessly in love with. It’s hard to not think of the dark-blonde locks between your fingers, the perfectly placed beauty mark by his nose, his weary yet warm eyes. It was hard to not think of him, but you do, oh, you do. And you feel selfish for wanting to ask more of Leon’s time, to be more important in his life.

You were only work partners who had found solace in each other, because truly: is it even possible to date anyone outside of your line of work? Not that you were dating, but the two of you found comfort in each other, sharing warmth and casual comfort when it was needed. It’s only human, you excuse yourself. It’s okay to seek that in someone who can actually relate to the heavy responsibility you both share. People outside don’t know what it’s like to not be able to sleep, to aimlessly wander until duty beckons you back.

“It’s not going to be that serious”, that was the first promise.

“It’s just casual”, was the second promise.

But it wasn’t that surprising that when he holds you just perfect with his warm hands, kissing you so softly like he always does, you would hold out just a tiny smidge of hope that he would feel stronger for you. Although somewhere behind those blue eyes, you knew that in the deep crevices of his heart was someone else. You knew very well that Leon’s heart had someone else living there, another woman who was tucked in so neatly, gently, and lovingly inside his beating heart.

What was her name again?

Who are you kidding, you know exactly what her name is.

Ada Wong.

You had an idea of where she was held. Leon had called out her name in his sleep (when he actually does fall asleep, that is), and you had picked up quickly that she wasn’t just someone he could go his separate ways from. He spoke extremely little about her to you, only mentioning her cryptically when probed about it. But you knew that he was hopelessly stuck to her. They were forever imprinted into each other’s mind like ink etched into deep tissue. But as he calls for her in his sleep, he still proceeds to wrap his strong arms around you, and you let yourself fall into the idea that maybe this is fine for now, that maybe you will be fine, for now.

It has to be fine, for now.

Maybe this is what second place is all about. Some would say you lack a little bit of self respect, and you would agree. The self awareness is not beyond you, in fact- it is staring right at you every single time you tuck yourself closer to Leon, letting his warmth pool over to you; even if you know that his heart that beats so peacefully in his chest is not because of you, but rather the thought of the other woman. She, who is clad in red, pumps his very veins. Yet he can never have her, always yearning but never actually reaching her. At least there you have something in common with him.

Hoping for something more.

But that is okay. You’re fine with tending to his broken heart, even if Ada may have the majority of him; you’re okay settling for the corner. As long as you are allowed a small tender piece of him, a piece of Leon– then it’s okay to share. You will have him for as long as he allows you, and you’re fine with that. To hold his heart so tenderly in your hands is a privilege, and until he finds himself confident enough to chase after her again. You promise him that you will make him feel loved. That is all he deserves, after all. To feel the petals of the soft rosefields.

That’s what partners are for.

...

[Bzzt-bzzt]

[Leon]: I cant. See you tomorrow at work

#suavemania #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #unrequited love #resident evil leon #leon kennedy fanfic

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hd-junglebook · 9 months ago

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Neutral

Part 1 : In the Shadow of Greatness

word count - 3,813

You stand in your mother's room, the familiar surroundings offering little comfort as you contemplate your future. Your eyes roaming over the family mementos lining the shelves - relics of a simpler past.

The weight of her expectations hangs heavy in the air, a suffocating reminder of the greatness you're expected to live up to.

You're tempted to change your mind, to refuse the mission and defy your mother's wishes. But before you can voice your doubts, she interrupts your thoughts with a sharp command.

"You have no choice but to go," she declares, her voice leaving no room for argument. "Our people need you. You must do this for them."

Her words strike a chord deep within you, stirring a sense of duty that you can't ignore. Despite your reservations, you know she's right. You may have doubts, but you also have a responsibility to your mother.

You drew in a shaky breath, gathering what courage was left in your body. "I just don't know if I'm ready for this..."

Before she can respond, the door swings open, and a guard enters the room, their presence a reminder of the reality of your situation.

"It's time," they announce, their voice devoid of emotion.

With a heavy heart, you follow the guard out of the room, your mother trailing behind you. As you make your way through the corridors of the Ark, you can't help but feel a sense of finality settling over you.

Outside the drop ship, the guard motions for you to board, their expression unreadable. You hesitate for a moment, a thousand thoughts racing through your mind.

A flicker of movement catches your eye, and you turn just in time to see a curly-haired guard slip onto the drop ship in front of you, but before you can react, they vanish into the shadows of the ship's interior.

Ignoring the nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach, you push the unsettling sight to the back of your mind as you glance back at your mother, her eyes filled with determination, you know there's no turning back.

With a resigned sigh, you step onto the drop ship.

You may be Diana Sydney's daughter, but you're also so much more. You vow to make your mark on the world, to carve out a legacy of your own, one that shines as brightly as the stars themselves.

---

The drop ship shuddered as you and the other prisoners were herded aboard. The floor trembled beneath your feet as you were strapped into your seat, the metallic clang of restraints echoing through the cramped compartment. You were the last one to board the ship.

The hatch closing behind the guard echoing in the cramped space. You found yourself seated beside Clarke and Wells, their expressions mirroring your own mix of apprehension and determination.

Chancellor Jaha's voice boomed over the intercom, his words heavy with gravitas as he addressed the assembled prisoners.

"Prisoners of The Ark, hear me now. You've been given a second chance, and as your Chancellor, it is my hope that you see this as not just a chance for you, but a chance for all of us, indeed for mankind itself.," he declared, his tone solemn.

“We have no idea what is waiting for you down there If the odds of survival were better, we would've sent others. Frankly, we're sending you because your crimes have made you expendable."

The significance of his words hung heavy in the air as the drop ship's engines roared to life, drowning out any further explanation. With a lurch, the ship lifted off from the Ark, hurtling towards the distant planet below.

Clarke leaned in closer, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Return to Earth? But how?"

Jaha's voice swept over the group once more. " The drop site has been chosen carefully. Before the last war, Mount Weather was a military base built within a mountain. It was to be stocked with enough non-perishables to sustain three hundred people for up to two years. But make no mistake, this is a one-way trip. There will be no return journey."

The turbulence of re-entry rattled the shuttle around you, sending a jolt of fear through your body. Shocks from the atmosphere shook through the vessel as it descended through Earth's atmosphere, jostling you and your fellow prisoners in your seats.

Clarke gripped the armrests tightly, her knuckles white with tension, while Wells tried to maintain a facade of calm despite the worry etched into his features.

Abruptly Wells broke the silence speaking to Clarke as the ship continued its descent, “Clarke, there's something I have to tell you. I'm sorry I got your father arrested.”

Just as turbulence around you reached its peak, Clarke's voice cut through the ship, sharp and accusing. "Don't you talk about my father, Wells!" she spat, her eyes blazing with anger. "If it weren't for you, my father would still be alive!"

Wells flinched at her words, his expression pained. "Please, I can't die knowing that you hate me," he shot back, his voice tinged with regret. "You know that."

Their argument filled the compartment, adding to the already palpable discomfort as the drop ship hurtled towards its destination.

Despite the chaos around you, you couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of the challenges you would face on Earth.

Wells reached out and squeezed your hand, his eyes locking with yours in silent reassurance. "We can do this," he said, his voice steady despite the chaos around you.

And as the drop ship hurtled towards the surface of Earth, you couldn't help but wonder what awaited you below.

With a final jolt that sent a shockwave through your body, the drop ship touched down on the planet's surface, kicking up a cloud of dirt that enveloped the vessel in the patch valley on earth.

---

**On the Ark**

The sterile walls of your mother's room felt suffocating as she laid out her plan, her expression grave and determined. She spoke with a fervent intensity, her eyes shining with determination as she sat in front of you.

"Our society is facing a crisis unlike any we have seen before,” she began, her voice echoing off the metal walls of the cramped quarters. "The Ark can't sustain us much longer. We need to find a solution, and we need to find it now."

You listened in silence, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to comprehend the magnitude of what she was proposing. To be sent to Earth, the very planet that had been deemed uninhabitable for generations, was a death sentence. And yet, there was a glimmer of hope in your mother's eyes,

“We have no choice," she Diana declared, her steely gaze boring into yours. "You must be the one to lead this mission. To sacrifice yourself for the greater good."

You shook your head weakly, "You're asking too much. I can't...”

“I know it's a lot to ask, but you are the only one who can do this for me. You must get arrested and be sent to Earth.”

Her words hung heavy in the air, and you felt the weight of your mother's expectations bearing down on you. To be the one to leave the safety of the Ark, to journey to Earth.

“I can't”

She gripped your shoulders firmly , her nails digging into your shoulders. “You can, and you will. Think of the legacy you will leave behind, the hero who saved humanity from extinction.”

You jerked away from her. "I don't care about glory, Mom! I care about..." you faltered, emotions choking your voice.

Her eyes darkened. “About what y/n? About your own selfish desires? This is bigger than you. This is about the future of our people, about ensuring that generations to come will have a chance to live.”

You stared at the floor, despair and frustration simmering within your body. "There must be another way..."

"There is no other way," she interjected harshly. "Either you accept this mission, or you condemn us all to oblivion."

You finally met her piercing gaze again, anger inside your chest. "And if I refuse? What then? Will you cast your only daughter out like garbage?"

“Refusal is not an option y/n.” she snapped at you, struck by your defiance.

"But why me?" you finally managed to ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Diana's expression softened, a mixture of pride and sadness crossing her features. "Because you're the bravest person I know," she replied, her voice catching in her throat.

"Because you have the strength and the intelligence to succeed where others have failed.” She lifted your chin gently. “Because... because I believe in you."

Her words stirred something deep within your soul. Despite the fear and uncertainty gnawing at your insides, you knew that your mother was right.

“You don't have a choice, my dear. You are my daughter, and you will do as I say. You will accept this mission, or you will be condemning our family to death.”

"I'll do it," you said, your voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside you. "I'll go to Earth."

Diana reached out, taking your hand in hers, her grip tight with determination. "Thank you, my child," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. "You're the best hope we have."

Squaring your jaw, you gave her a single firm nod.

---

Consciousness slowly seeps back into your mind, you find yourself disoriented, the lingering effects of the drop ship's bumpy descent still echoing in your senses.

Blinking away the haze, you realize you're still strapped into your seat, the unfamiliar restraints digging into your skin.

Pushing yourself upright, you glance around the compartment, noting the absence of your fellow travelers. Panic grips your chest as you realize they must have already disembarked, leaving you behind.

With a sense of urgency, you unstrap yourself and stumble to your feet, swaying slightly as you brace yourself against the nearest surface. The drop ship is eerily quiet now, the only sound the faint hum of the engines as they slowly wind down.

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you make your way to the ladder that leads down to the first floor. The sound of your rings clanging off the metal of the bars.

You jump off the ladder searching the crowd for any familiar faces when your eyes catch sight of someone unexpected—a guard stationed at the door, his gaze fixed on the approaching delinquents.

Despite the disorder unfolding around him, he remains calm and composed, a striking figure amidst the turmoil.

For a moment, time seems to stand still as you lock eyes with the guard, his presence commanding your attention in a way you can't quite explain. There's something magnetic about him, something that draws you in despite never seeing him.

You begin to push through the crowd, your eyes catch sight of the guard speaking to a raven-haired girl by the doors. Their exchange is terse, tension simmering just beneath the surface as they trade words.

Clarke's voice rang out in warning from her place in the crowd, her concern evident as she spoke. "No, we can’t just open the doors.” She continues, “stop! The air could be toxic."

The guard dismissed her concerns breezily, his confidence unwavering, “If the air is toxic, we’re all dead anyway.”

“Do you mind? I haven’t seen my brother in a year.” The raven-haired girl snaps back at Clarke, her words sharp with frustration

A ripple of dissent passes through the crowd as the delinquents anonymously challenge her claim, “No one has a brother!”

“That’s Octavia Blake, the girl they found hidden in the floor," someone explained.

The pressure threatens to escalate as the delinquents continue to pitch in, but the guard intervenes, his authoritative voice cutting through the chaos,

“Octavia. Octavia no. Let’s give them something else to remember you by,” he says as he smiles at his younger sister.

Reluctantly, the raven-haired girl nods, her defiance tempered by the realization that she has little choice but to comply. “Yeah, like what?” she bites back.

The guard's voice swelled with pride. “Like being the first person on the ground in a hundred years.”

Octavia considered this for a second, the gears turning in her head as she headed to the door with a determined stride, her hand outstretched as she prepares to step onto the unknown surface below.

The crowd watches in silence, holding their breath, the girl's boots makes contact with the ground. For a moment, nothing happens, the world holding its breath in anticipation.

“We’re back bitches!” Octavia exclaims, sending a ripple of relief through the crowd.

You're greeted by the sight of your fellow delinquents racing ahead as your feet touch solid ground, their figures disappearing into the distance.

---

You and Wells climb down from the top of the dropship while you both discuss the concerning state of the wires atop the Ark, Clarke approaches with urgency etched into her features.

“We got problems. The communications system is dead. We went to the roof. A dozen panels are missing. Heat fried the wires.” You remark, voice tinged with worry.

Clarke wastes no time in redirecting the focus to their immediate priority. "Well, all that matters right now is getting to Mount Weather," she asserts, her voice resolute as she gestures to the map spread out before them.

"See? Look. This is us. This is where we need to get to if we want to survive."

You exchange a glance with Wells, a knot of worry tightening in your stomach at Clarke's words.

Wells, though concerned about the malfunctioning communications system, is quick to acknowledge the urgency of Clarke's point. "Where'd you learn to do that? Your father," he muses.

Jasper, ever the optimist, interjects with a lighthearted remark, eager to lighten the mood despite the gravity of their situation. "Ah, cool, a map. They got a bar in this town? I'll buy you a beer," he quips, a hint of humor in his voice.

"It's not about beers, Jasper," you say with a wry smile, trying to inject some levity into the conversation. "It's about survival." You admired his positive attitude in such unfortunate circumstances.

Wells, however, remains focused on the task at hand, his expression serious as he turns back to Clarke. "You mind?" he asks, seeking permission to take a closer look at the map and join in the planning for their journey to Mount Weather.

Before you can respond, Bellamy Blake inserts himself into the conversation with his characteristic rudeness. "We're on the ground. That not good enough for you?" he challenges, his tone dripping with skepticism.

Wells, undeterred by Bellamy's hostility, presses on. "We need to find Mount Weather. You heard my father's message. That has to be our first priority."

Clarke, however, refuses to be drawn into their petty squabbles, ending their fight.

"Do you think we care who's in charge?" she retorts, her voice cutting through the tension. "We need to get to Mount Weather because the longer we wait, the hungrier we'll get and the harder this'll be."

Bellamy, ever the provocateur, offers his own suggestion with a sneer. "I got a better idea. You three go, find it for us. Let the privileged do the hard work for a change."

Without a second thought, you step forward, closing the distance between you and Bellamy until you're mere inches from his face.

"Privileged? You think we're privileged?" you shoot back, your voice sharp with indignation. "We're all in this together, Bellamy. Every single one of us has to do our part if we want to survive."

Bellamy's sneer only fuels your anger. "We're alive. That’s what matters, that not good enough for you?" he retorts, his tone dripping with disdain.

"You have a better idea, Bellamy? Or are you just too afraid to get your hands dirty?" you retort, your voice laced with equal parts anger and defiance.

The tension between you crackles like electricity, the heat of your argument fueling an unexpected and undeniable attraction.

In spite of the gravity of your situation, there's a palpable energy between you that neither of you can ignore.

Bellamy's jaw tightens, his gaze challenging. "You think you know what's necessary? You think you're the one in charge here?" he scoffs.

Before your argument can escalate further, a voice interrupts from above. "Enough!" Finn's commanding tone cuts off your voice as he jumps down from the dropship, his presence immediately shifting the dynamic.

Clarke steps in, her voice firm. "We don't have time for this, Bellamy. Finn's y/n's right. We need to focus on finding Mount Weather."

Wells nods in agreement. "Let's get moving. The longer we wait, the harder this'll be."

Jasper, ever the optimist, chimes in. "I'm with you guys. Let's find that place and get some answers."

---

Your group ventured deeper into the unfamiliar woods, you couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the sheer vastness of nature surrounding you.

Towering trees stretched their branches towards the sky, their leaves filtering the sunlight to create dappled patterns on the forest floor. The air was thick with the scent of earth and pine, and the sounds of birdsong and rustling leaves filled your ears.

Clarke led the way, her eyes scanning the underbrush for any signs of danger as finn followed closely behind. Jasper and Octavia walked side by side, their laughter and banter breaking the quiet of the forest.

"You know, I've never seen anything like this," you remark, taking in the scenery with wide eyes. "It's like something out of a storybook."

Monty nods in agreement, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "It's amazing, isn't it? I never thought I'd get to see something like this."

As you continue along the winding path, you stumble upon a picturesque lake nestled among the trees. Its surface glimmered in the sunlight, inviting and serene.

Octavia's eyes light up at the sight, and before anyone can stop her, she's stripping off her clothes and diving into the cool, clear water.

“Octavia what the hell are you doing?”

You watch in awe as Octavia swims gracefully through the lake, her movements fluid and effortless. She's like a mermaid, ethereal and otherworldly in her beauty.

The water around her glistened in the sunlight as she continued to glide in the Lake.

But your admiration is short-lived as a sudden commotion erupts from the water. “Oh… Octavia, get out of the water! Get out of the water now!” Jasper screams from beside you, you run towards the edge contemplating jumping in. Octavia's joyful laughter turns to screams of terror as a snake slithers out from the underbrush and strikes at her.

Without hesitation, Jasper springs into action, leaping down the rocks to reach Octavia's side. You watch in horror as he runs to save Octavia from its grasp.

"Jasper, be careful!" you shout, your heart pounding in your chest as you scramble down the rocks to join them.

Jasper focused solely on the task at hand, his face a mask of determination. With a final, desperate push, the group manages to push a boulder into the other side of the clear water, sending the serpent away from Octavia, it’s large figure slithering back into the water.

You rush to Octavia's side, helping Jasper pull her out of the lake and checking her for injuries. She's shaken but barely harmed, thanks to Jasper's quick thinking and bravery.

"Thank you, Jasper," Octavia says, her voice trembling with emotion. "You saved my life."

Jasper smiles weakly, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Just doing what anyone would do," he replies, his gaze never leaving Octavia's face.

"Note to self, next time, save the girl."

---

** On the Ark**

The air in your room on the Ark feels heavy with tension as you watch your mother enter. Without a word, she fixates on you with a piercing intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

Diana's expression is dark as she strides towards you, her movements calculated and precise.

There's a fire in her eyes, a dangerous spark that sends a shiver down your spine. "Well, well, well. Look what we have here. The daughter who thinks she knows better than her own mother."

"Mom, what's wrong? Why are you here?"

"Why am I here? Why do you think y/n? Because of you, that's why."

You recoiled at the venom in her words, the accusation hanging heavy in the air between you. "Because of me? What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb with me. You know exactly what I'm talking about. It's because of you that I've been removed from the council." She continues.

“It's because of your disobedience, your insolence, that I've been removed from the Council."

"Mom, please, you know I would never intentionally hurt you," you plead, your voice trembling with emotion. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

Her voice rises with each word, a crescendo of rage and frustration that threatens to consume you whole. You shrink back, feeling like a small, insignificant creature in the face of her wrath.

"Oh, I don't want to hear your pathetic excuses. You think you're so clever, so independent, but you're nothing but a fool. A foolish child who thinks she knows better than her own mother."

You feel the sting of tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. You refuse to give her the satisfaction of seeing you break.

“You've always resented me, haven't you? Resented the fact that. I'm more powerful, more influential than you could ever hope to be." Her words cut through the silence like a knife, each syllable dripping with scorn and resentment.

"That's not true!” You feel frustration and anger bubbling up inside you. "I'm not responsible for your mistakes, Mom. You brought this upon yourself."

"Don't make me laugh. You've always been jealous of me, jealous of my success, my power. And now you've finally gotten what you wanted, haven't you? You've finally managed to bring me down. Just like your father."

The mention of your father's name sends a pang of sadness through you as Diana's jaw clenches, her fists tightening at her sides. "You've always been so quick to shift the blame onto others. "

Her accusations hung in the air, poisoning the space between you as you struggled to find the words to defend yourself.

"He would never have wanted things to end up like this," you retort, your voice tinged with sorrow.

Diana's expression softens for a moment, a flicker of regret crossing her features. But then, just as quickly, it's replaced by a steely resolve. "It doesn't matter now.”

---

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hystixia · 1 year ago

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SHAMEFUL ACTIVITY.

FEATURING 、JEFF THE KILLER X F!READER

WARNINGS 、NONCON, DRUGGING, PUBLIC SEX, ALCOHOL CONSUMPTION, MENTIONS OF WEED, PARTYING, BLOOD, SLIGHT CUTTING, DEGRADATION, KNIFEPLAY, CHOKING, SLIGHT BREATHPLAY, CREAMPIE, THREATS OF KILLING, KIDNAPPING

You knew it was a bad idea to come to this damn party before even getting dressed up for it and yet here you were, in a cramped hallway just trying to find somewhere you could actually breathe and not inhale the scent of weed or alcohol on someone’s breath. Your heels pained your poor feet as you took steps down the hall, lightly shoving drunken fools out of the way with quiet huffs before the sight of the backdoor to this damn house came into view. If you could go back in time and not come here alone or at all, you would in a heartbeat.

You stumble through the crowded kitchen with a groan, stepping over half filled and spilled cups of all sorts of drinks before pushing the backdoor open and taking a breath of fresh air. The cool air and light breeze that passes by leaves goosebumps rising along your exposed arms and legs as you wrap your arms around your waist in a feeble attempt at staying warm and sigh contently. It was quiet, as quiet as it was going to get with the muffled sounds of the bass in songs playing inside of the house booming and making the house practically vibrate as people cheered and hollered inside. You close your eyes and relax your shoulders, taking in each moment you had to yourself with a content smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

You don’t even notice anyone’s there until a chuckle rings out and your eyes shoot open at the sheer deepness of the voice and you become increasingly aware of your surroundings as your heart skips a beat momentarily.

“Enjoying yourself?” A rough voice speaks out and you turn to look off to your side only to realize you’re practically face to face with a hooded male. A really tall and well built male at that. A mask hides the lower half of his face as he gives you a teasing look, his hands rest in the pockets of his black jeans and he faces the dark woods ahead of you both. “Shouldn’t you be inside partying like the rest of ‘em?”

Where the hell did this guy come from?

You shake your head, your lips turning down into a small frown at the mere mention of joining in on that disaster occurring inside. “Not really, I don’t go to these sort of things that often.”

“You don’t say?” There’s a hint of playfulness in his tone as he raises a brow at you before shrugging. “Partying ‘til you’re drunk out of your mind isn’t everyone’s type’ve thing.”

You hum in response, not really keen on keeping a conversation with the stranger. Your hands squeeze at your sides as nervousness bubbles in your stomach and leaves you feeling rather paranoid about the man’s intentions. You didn’t like this guy one bit, something about him was unnerving and you knew you didn’t want to be here too long or alone with some guy you didn’t know. Anxious thoughts about the worse situations happening if you stayed here any longer flooded your mind but his voice is quick to pull you out of that blackhole of panicky ideas and speculations.

“Wanna drink?” He suggests, hands coming out of his pockets as he crosses his arms over his chest and tucks his hands into his armpits as he leans against the side of the house. He’s really fucking tall and practically looms over you even if he’s a few steps away but the way he’s looking at you is almost unsettling and makes you feel small and vulnerable under his gaze. “‘s not alcohol if that’s what you’re thinking.”

You try to gulp down your worry. Surely he wasn’t so bad right? You’re just anxious from being overwhelmed by so many things at once. He hasn’t even advanced onto you like a majority of the dickheads inside, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to give the mysterious man with an attractive voice a chance, right? Who were you kidding, it wasn’t even a chance it was just a drink offer before you finally dipped from this party and went home for the night. You might as well try to enjoy the night while it lasts.

You breathe out a small laugh, offering a nervous smile, “As long as it isn’t alcohol.”

He smirks but it’s hard to notice due to that mask being in the way. The only signs that he is making an expression is the way his eyes seem to crinkle slightly as he narrows them a bit as if teasing you somehow. You wonder what he looks like under the mask for a moment. The dark lighting of the night sky isn’t much help at even seeing his eyes or the dark hair that peeks out from under his white hood. Even the pale moonlight above doesn’t help you learn more about this man’s appearance but the mystery behind him seems to make you even more curious.

He steps inside after saying he’d be back and shortly afterwards he comes back out with two plastic cups in his hands, handing one to you that’s holding a transparent drink inside with a few ice cubes swirling in the liquid as the cup shifts in your hold.

“Water.” He says, gesturing towards the cup in your hand before turning away from you and looking off to the side as he tugs the mask down and takes a sip from his own cup. A part of you wanted to sneak a peek of his face but the other part of you wanted to respect his privacy and so you refrained from trying to get a good look at him. Maybe he was insecure about his face so he hid it from view of others including himself? It wasn’t rare to see someone wearing a mask nowadays anyways and part of you could understand if that were the reason behind him wearing the mask.

You look down at your own cup and think about it for a moment, lips resting against the rim of the plastic cup before you ultimately think ‘fuck it, it’s water.’ and take a sip. You’re greeted by the cold liquid that holds little to no taste to it. He didn’t lie about it being water.. maybe you really were just paranoid after all.

He’s watching you when you aren’t aware, cold ice blue eyes staring intensely at your face as you take generous sips from the red plastic cup in your hands. You’re warming up to him whether it was a conscious effort on your part or not. He can tell you’ve grown more comfortable by how much more relaxed you’re behaving now than when he had first spoken to you. You’re so blind to his advances on you it’s laughable. Perhaps the other dumbasses in the house were too straightforward and didn’t plan their advances on you beforehand. He’s used to this though. He knows how to get someone to warm up and feel drawn to him without realizing what they’re truly getting themselves into.

Your thoughts become a blur shortly after finishing the drink. When did you exactly finish it? You don’t remember. It’s so foggy all of a sudden as you lean against the wall for support while your knees buckle beneath you and your eyes fail to focus on anything around you.

What was happening right now? Where even are you?

“Aw, too strong?” A voice coos lowly by your ear, warm breath fanning over your face and you hear a chuckle ring out and echo into the woods in front of you as you struggle to stand against the wall. Who was talking to you? Your head feels too fuzzy. “Poor thing, can’t even think straight, can you?”

Strong arms grab you by the waist, your nose scrunching up as your brows furrow. Your small hands fail to push against the broad chest of whoever is grabbing you, an upset sound falling past your lips as your head lolls forward against the stranger’s torso. Another laugh greets your ears but it sends a chill down your spine when you hear the manic edge to it.

Your vision is almost cross eyed and everything seems so slow but fast at the same time. Struggling is pointless, your body feels so fucking tired you just want to sleep. Being pressed against rough bark on a tree pulls you out of your nearing unconsciousness though. When were you moved? Where is the house you were just at?

“Don’t pass out on me,” A voice speaks behind you, cold hands pulling your arms behind your back and keeping them there while one hand slips down to pull your hips back as you struggle to stand correctly. “haven’t even played with you yet.”

Large and cold hands grab at the fabric of the skirt you had on, flipping it up as the male stares right at your ass making you squirm uncomfortably yet still in that foggy haze.

Your face goes slack against the tree and your arms relax against his tight grip that’s sure to leave bruises but you’re too disoriented to say anything about the pain tingling where his hold stays.

His free hand slides over the round of your ass, squeezing wherever he chooses and likes before grabbing at the hem of your panties and beginning to tug them down with growing impatience. That’s when your eyes widen and your body stiffens while alarms go off in your head.

You pull away from him, his loosening grip on your arms growing tighter than before and it’s enough to have you reacting to the pain as a yelp leaves your throat and you try to pull away from him again. Your fingers balling into fists as you try to get out of his grip but he simply cackles maniacally at your attempts and it’s a sound you don’t want to hear ever again for the rest of your lifetime.

“Think you can run away now, sweetheart?” You recognize his voice now, the fucker that gave you the drink! He fucking drugged you! And just as quickly as you had felt that surge of energy it’s gone again and your mind slows down and you’re pulled back tight against his chest. Something cold rests against your throat now and it feels uncomfortable but you can’t form words only a small huff leaves you before you’re being pressed against the tree again with that object tight against your throat.

“If you move again, I won’t hesitate to cut that pretty throat open.” He hisses by your ear, the anger radiating off this man is terrifying now and if you were coherent you’d be begging for your life but you’re not so with half lidded eyes you turn your head and stare back at him as he hastily rips your underwear off your legs. A whine of protest bubbles in your throat but you don’t make a sound as he spreads your legs and makes sure you’re secure in his grip before pulling down the dark mask covering his lower face.

You wished he had kept it on before violating you.

You take back the thoughts of him being attractive under that mask, it was the only thing making him look attractive to begin with. The nasty scars adorning his cheeks make you feel nauseous and the crazed look he gives you is a silent warning. You swallow and feel that cold object against your throat again when it clicks.

He’s got a knife to your throat. He’s going to kill you after this.

Tears cloud your already unfocused vision as pain tears through your lower body up to your chest that tightens as you fight back a scream at the excruciating pain. He hadn’t even warmed you up to it? That was cruel but how could you think so logically about a guy that’s willing to drug you to get what he wants.

“Shit, you’re tight. Relax f’me, yeah?” He groans by your ear, leaning down to rest his forehead against your shoulder as he struggles to push his length into your tight and hot pussy. He should’ve slipped something else in that drink, it would’ve help way more than putting you on the brink of passing out.

His hand comes around to flick at your clit and that gets a sound from you that he likes to hear. No more uncomfortable noises or whines of protest. Only the soft sound of you warming up to his touch as your walls flutter around him struggling to accommodate to the intrusion of his thick cock.

“There you go, doll,” He breathes in your scent, intoxicating as he sighs and moves to stand back straight and stares down at where your needy cunt tightly sucks him in before thrusting forward hard leaving all his length to be stuffed completely inside you. “Wasn’t so hard, right?”

You whimper against the rough bark of the tree, fingers digging into the palms of your hand as the knife presses dangerously into your throat with each experimental thrust he does and you hate how it makes heat pool in your lower belly, how when his blunt head presses against your cervix it makes your mouth water and your knees buckle beneath you.

He builds up a pace, rough and almost too fast for you to keep up. A moan that you tried to swallow down slipping past your lips when he rubs against a gummy spot that has stars clouding your vision and tingles rolling down your body in waves.

“Right there? Is that your spot, doll?” He’s teasing, nudging the knife against your neck with a wide grin you can’t see before he’s ramming his dick into that spot only and it’s good he did it, the sounds that leave you repeatedly are addicting to listen to he can’t get enough of you.

“You’re best like this,” He releases the grip he had on your arms, enjoying the way he sees red marks against the poor skin as he grabs at your hip. “Just obediently taking my cock like the dirty whore you are.”

Your eyes roll back into your head as he pounds into your gummy walls, you can feel the sticky coat of your arousal smeared against your thighs and the base of his cock as you rock against the tree trying to muffle your loud whimpers and moans the best you could.

“You like that don’t you? When I call you a whore,” Your walls squeeze him tight and he laughs as he grabs your plush hip tighter. “Such a slut f’my cock, hm? Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

A mumble of what he can only assume is the closes thing to a needy ‘yes’ turns his grin into a smirk. Your velvety walls spasm around him and usually by this point he’s already cumming and killing off whatever is left of the poor drugged out victim, but the way your pussy has him in a trance keeps him from doing so to you and leaves him dragging this out longer than he would any other time.

“It’s like you were fucking made for me, doll.” He hisses out between gritted teeth. Something warm trickles down your neck with a sting and you realize his knife has dug into your skin, cutting it just enough to draw blood. You whimper at the intense wave of nausea overwhelming you as he digs his fingers into your soft skin and his cock drills into your soppy cunt.

“Fuck! haah, ‘s too much..” You slur, eyes dropping close as you let all your weight lean into the tree, too weak to hold yourself up and it feels like the world is spinning and churning just like your insides. His pace hurts and you swear you’re gonna bleed down there and be left raw soon if he doesn’t slow down but you’re choking on your own moans and can’t protest against him.

“Too much?” He echos, fake concern laced in his voice before he’s moving his blade from your throat finally seeing the fresh red color that’s staining the newly cleaned metal and he lets out a low growl as he wraps his hand around your throat and presses the knife to your arched back. “You’ll take what I give you, slut.”

The knife digs into your skin through the thin fabric of your shirt but it’s not enough to cause alarming pain, it’s merely a prick that occurs with each thrust into you.

His large hand around your throat squeezes tight enough to close off your airway completely, silent gasps for air leaving you as your trembling hands grab at his forearm and wrist. Tears cling to your lashes and your lungs scream at you to take a breath right before he loosens his grip a few seconds afterwards. He lifts you back and forces your head to turn and face into a different direction with tears threatening to fall down your face.

“Look at ‘em,” He whispers by your ear, never stopping his brutal thrusts that bump your sensitive cervix. Your eyes struggle to not roll back as you train your gaze on whatever was in the distance, eventually seeing the blurry outline of a house a little ways away from you.

The house that damn party was being hosted at.

Desperation clashes with the warm feeling of being stuffed full repeatedly in your stomach and tears freely roll down your cheeks at the sight of four people looking around for something or someone. You hope they’re looking for you, even though you don’t recognize them. The idea makes your chest tighten at the sight of potential help being just out of your reach.

The male laughs above you, squeezing at your neck again as your hands still cling to his wrist more for support than to pull him away now.

“They’re lookin’ for you.. Such a pretty little thing you are. S’shame you’ll never see them again, y’know.” He lets a sinister chuckle rumble through his chest and a growing knot in your lower belly begins to feel overwhelmingly tight.

“Gonna cum? Really?” He’s mocking with a smirk on his scarred face, gripping your pretty throat just a little tighter as he feels your pulse thump wildly against his finger. “You’re a real whore, getting turned on by this.”

You whine out a choked protest that’s half a sobbing beg but you don’t know what you’re begging for at this point as your mind clouds over with just him and his thick length that rams into your sticky walls.

He releases your neck and reaches down to rub at your puffy clit, rolling rough circles onto the poor thing causing a half silent yelp to escape you. It’s so much, too much at once and you can feel his dick twitch inside of you when your walls flutter around him.

“Gonna ruin this pussy, g’na fill you up an’ keep you full so everyone knows who ya belong to,” His thrusts have grown a bit out of rhythm and he groans from above you, your hands grabbing at the tree in front of you for support as he uses you like a fucking fleshlight.

“Don’t cum cuz of this, doll.” He laughs at the way your moans raise in pitch and how breathy you just got as he continues to circle your sensitive bundle of nerves, your climax growing closer by the second and you want to stop him so you don’t reach that heavenly peak but it’s just too good. You don’t want it to stop, you don’t want any of it to end and you’re disgusted with yourself.

He leans down over your shoulder, hot breath fanning over the shell your ear. “If you fuckin’ cum you’ll never make it outta here.” He whispers lowly, breathing ragged as his hips stutter. He’s close. “If you— ngh, cum around my cock you’ll never see the light of day again, doll.”

You whisper out ‘no’s in protest, sobbing against the rough bark that irritates and pokes at your skin. His threats scare the logical part of your brain that screams at you to start fighting back but the incoherent and aroused part of you is begging for more, more, more.

Your walls spasm and flutter as you cream around him, his hips stilling as warmth fills you up and he dumps his load into your cunt. A soft whine leaves your hoarse throat while he pants over your trembling form that struggles to stay upright even with his hands holding you by your hips.

One thing was for certain in the front of his mind; He was never going to let you go after this.

“Good little slut.” He pants, leaning back until he’s pulling out and staring down at the mess he left behind, his claim of your body. He smirks and slides two digits up and down your drooling slit as you bite the inside of your cheek over the sting of overstimulation. He pushes the mixture that leaked out back into your quivering hole with a satisfied hum before pulling your skirt back down and over your ass before fixing his jeans.

He grabs your arm and pulls you into his chest before lifting you up and over his shoulder like a sack with little to no effort needed. He grins sinisterly to himself as his mind races with all the plans he has in store for a pretty little doll like you to keep all for himself. Well, until he grows bored of you at least.

The sight of the house grows farther as he walks deeper into the woods, you lift your head and you raise a shaky hand up reaching for the house and the very distant people still searching around the backyard, the flashlight of their phone waving around but never coming anywhere near you. They probably never assumed you’d go out into the woods at a time like this. Oh if only they’d just check in case of that possibility and then save you.

“I told you, you’d never see them again.” Your head falls limp against his shoulder blade and there’s no longer a sparkle in your eyes as you stare past the barely visible trees and accept your fate with one last tear that falls to the ground covered in leaves.

“You’re going to be such a good toy for me aren’t you, doll?” It isn’t a question, it’s an expectance that you obey him or bad things would come.

He squeezes your thigh as the leaves crunch under his boots. “‘m Jeff by the way. Don’t bother telling me your name, I don’t care to know it.”

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