#day 4 candlelight

[pushing500]

Awww, look at Fafo teaching her son how to be a good friend. Ro is going to be such a lovely kid. <3

Debby and Barghest got into a fistfight while under the curious gaze of Buccaneer the drebbbd, Dallas the baby thrumbo, and Asset the ankylosaurus. Perhaps the most difficult fight we've had to face while starting up the ship reactor. (Debby won)

"This piece shows a knife" might be my favourite RimWorld art description ever.

Then Fafo decided to give Ro another lesson, and... Well, I'm sure Kaz is thrilled by his son's newly expanded vocabulary at least.

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[punkshort]

i know who you are | 4. the others

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Winter begins to wrap its arms around Jackson, filling the town with snow and a nasty flu. Joel takes you to meet Ben and Lisa, and you finally discover more about your past.

Chapter Warnings: language, angst, amnesia, sad!joel, pining, sexual tension, slow burn, jealousy

WC: 9K

Series Masterlist

You looked happy.

Ever since you began working at the infirmary, you seemed happier. Like you were grateful to have a purpose. A way to contribute. To give back to the community that supported you.

You smiled more and you didn't shy away from him as much as you used to and it gave Joel hope. Every time you saw him and greeted him with a smile or said goodbye with a squeeze of his shoulder, it made his heart flutter. It's been weeks. Months, technically. But he was making some progress.

It was the first snowfall of the season and it put you in an even better mood than usual. Your face was pressed up against the window as he tended to the fire behind you, and you watched as the big, fluffy flakes of snow fell from the sky, coating Jackson in a perfect blanket of pure white.

"I didn't get much snow where I'm from," you told him over your shoulder. He knew that already, but he humored you.

"That so?"

"Mhmm. When I was a kid, though, we got hit with this freak storm. No one knew what to do. No one owned shovels or snow blowers or any of that, so we were all stuck inside our houses until the storm ended and everything melted," you said, turning away from the window so you could curl up on the couch, then pausing for a moment before tilting your head to the side. "Did I tell you this already?"

Yes, he thought, but he shook his head, eager for you to continue. He just loved hearing you talk, no matter what you said. Besides, if you were expected to rebuild your relationship, sharing your past would naturally be part of that, so he encouraged you to tell stories, even if he's heard them before.

"So, what happened?" he asked, putting the poker back in the stand and getting up with a groan, his knees cracking a bit before he settled in on the other end of the couch.

"Well, the power went out," you said, and he could hear the excitement in your voice, delighted to be telling him something you thought he didn't already know, and it made his heart swell. "So we didn't have any heat or any way to cook our food. We set up camping tents in the middle of our living room and slept in there with, like, five blankets each. And we lived off pop-tarts and granola bars and peanut butter sandwiches for two days til the power came back on."

"Two days?" Joel repeated, and you nodded.

"Yeah, but it was fun. As a kid, you know? I'm sure my parents were freaking out but me and Matty were excited. We played board games and ate by candlelight and told ghost stories," you said wistfully, your eyes looking miles away. "We talked about that for years," you finished softly, and Joel smiled.

"I didn't get much snow where I'm from, either," he told you, and your eyes met his again.

"Texas, right?" and he nodded. "Did you live there your whole life?"

Something deep inside him sparked with a mix of nerves and excitement. It felt like you were meeting all over again, and while it was under less than ideal circumstances, he couldn't help but feel those butterflies you feel when you first meet someone new.

"Yep, my whole life. Tommy, too, except for when he was in the army."

"Were you in the army?" you asked, but he quickly shook his head.

"Nah. Wasn't my scene. Besides, I had Sarah."

"Oh, right," you said, feeling stupid for asking. You dropped your attention to your hands, which were twisted in your lap, as you thought about your next question.

"How old was she?" you asked quietly, still looking down and avoiding his gaze, but you heard him take a deep breath.

"She was twelve when she died," he told you, his words hanging heavy in the air and he could see the conflict in your face as you tried to figure out a way to learn more about him without reopening old wounds. "It's okay, I don't mind talkin' 'bout her."

"Did we used to talk about her?" you asked him curiously, finally looking up to meet his gaze.

He shrugged. "Sometimes. But not at first. Still hurt too much back then, y'know?"

"Yeah," you breathed, your mind now drifting to thoughts of your own family. Were you together when they died? Did you see it? If so, was it some sort of sick twist of luck that you now couldn't remember?

"What was your favorite thing to do together?" you asked, watching as his eyes found a fixed point on the wall while he considered your question.

"My favorite thing was hiking. Hers was goin' to the movies or the mall, most likely," he said with a soft chuckle. "I didn't mind, though. I was just happy she still wanted to be seen with her old man at that age. Makes me wonder if she felt bad for me or somethin'."

You furrowed your brow, confused. "Why would she feel bad for you?"

He sighed and scratched the back of his neck. "I didn't date much. Had a few poker buddies but I mostly spent my time with Tommy. Just worked so hard back then that I was too tired to do much else."

"And you were a contractor?" you asked, trying to remember the small pieces of information you picked up over the last two months. He nodded.

"Yeah, me and Tommy had our own business. That was a lifetime ago. Can't imagine doin' that kind of work now, not with my back," he said with a smile.

Joel's eyes flicked to the window over your shoulder, watching as the snow continued to come down, the window panes growing foggy in the corners. "Looks like we ain't goin' anywhere for a while," he said, changing the subject. You followed his gaze and nodded.

"What about Ellie? Is she okay back there?"

"Yeah, she'll be alright. She could make it up to the house if she got too cold," he assured you.

So, you were essentially snowed in. All alone.

You could feel his eyes on you as you watched the fire and you wondered if he was thinking about an alternate reality. One where you didn't have an accident. Where you remembered everything. One where you loved him the way he so obviously loved you, and what you might be doing differently in that very moment. You had a feeling your hunch was correct because he stretched his arm across the back of the couch and subtly inched a little closer towards you, the worn cushions dipping from his weight and causing your leg to bob.

Your body stiffened and your heart suddenly felt like it was being crushed in your throat. He was so patient, you had to give him credit. It couldn't be easy for him, and although you could finally admit to yourself that you found him attractive, you still didn't think you trusted him enough to take things any further. Not yet. Not when you still had so many questions. Your eyes drifted up to meet his and as you expected, he was watching you closely. Carefully. Trying to read you the same way you were trying to read him. The problem was, every time he looked at you that way, with his eyes all soft and filled with adoration, you could only think about what he was hiding. What did he lie about? And why was he so hesitant for you to meet Ben and Lisa?

Joel leaned in a fraction and his fingers tightened their hold on the back of the couch. He wanted to kiss you. He's wanted to kiss you ever since that day in the field right before that clicker ruined the moment. And with the soft glow from the fire and the snow falling silently outside, it felt like the perfect moment. He was terrified of making things worse after he finally felt like he made some progress, but it was killing him. He missed having you so fucking much, sometimes it felt like it actually caused him physical pain. Like his chest would explode one day.

He swallowed nervously and inched a little closer and you panicked. Just as he was about to say something, you cut him off.

"Do you wanna play a board game?"

He raised his eyebrows in surprise and you gave him a nervous smile.

"Sure," he replied, watching as you jumped off the couch to look through the games stacked on the bookcase. He groaned inwardly and rubbed his chin when you bent over and he had to force himself to look away before his body reacted, praying you didn't pick Twister.

It took two days but the snow finally stopped. Ellie did eventually make her way to the house by the second day, simply because she was bored, so you helped Joel make a vegetable soup while Ellie set up the Monopoly board in the living room. You didn't have all the pieces, but you had enough, and what you didn't have you supplemented with buttons.

You didn't realize it; too caught up in cooking and the joy it used to bring you, but you and Joel worked together seamlessly in the kitchen. He chopped up zucchini while you diced onion and watched the pot on the stove that was cooking up noodles, slipping past each other to get to the sink and the cupboards and it all just felt so fucking normal that it made his chest ache. He wanted to draw your attention to it. He wanted to take you by the shoulders and say See? See how good we are together? But he didn't. He bit his tongue and bided his time until you came to that conclusion on your own, just like the first time.

But the first time was different. At least back then, you showed him affection. You kissed him and held him and shared your body with him and although you didn't want much more, not at first, eventually you did. And those moments in his bed were enough to hold him over until you opened your eyes and saw what was right in front of you.

He was selfish. He knew it was wrong to want you like that right now, but he wanted all of you, not just physically. He yearned to know what was going on behind your eyes, what you were thinking and feeling. What you thought of him. But if you would maybe just let yourself fall asleep in his arms on the couch while you read in front of the fire, or let him kiss you, just once, then maybe you would see it again. Feel it again.

"What the hell does a purple button mean?" you asked with a giggle, holding up the smooth, round plastic between your fingers.

"It's a hotel, duh!" Ellie said, grinning and rolling her eyes.

"Wait, why am I goin' to jail?"

"You rolled doubles three times in a row!" you told him, and you and Ellie bent over laughing at the confused expression on his face.

He made a disgruntled noise and moved his token to the corner of the board as he watched you and Ellie giggling and wiping tears from your eyes and fuck, it was nice. In another world, he would have made some joke about you being the one in handcuffs and maybe later he would have followed through with it and tied your wrists to the headboard, burying his face between your thighs until you couldn't take it anymore.

But instead, he just watched two of the people he loved most in the world have fun, the orange glow from the fire flickering over your smiling faces while the snow finally came to a stop outside.

Ellie had trekked back to the garage once the game was over. It was late, you looked tired, but he still suggested putting a movie on. He wasn't ready to let you go. He hated going to bed all alone. You seemed to consider his offer for a moment before you shook your head and yawned, and although he knew that would likely be your answer, he still felt his heart sink.

He walked you to your bedroom and as he was about to say goodnight, hoping to minimize the hurt by making it quick, you did something that surprised him. You pulled him into a hug, standing on your tiptoes, your chin resting on his shoulder with your arms wrapped around his neck, body pressed firmly against his and just as quickly as it happened, you pulled away. Joel was so stunned he wasn't sure he hugged you back, even though he stood cemented to the floor well after you went to bed, replaying the hug over and over, all he could remember was how he felt. And he went to bed that night with renewed hope blooming in his chest. Maybe you were finally coming around.

So the next morning when you asked him out of the blue if you could visit Ben and Lisa once the streets cleared of snow, he had a hard time finding a reason to say no. He should have known you wouldn't let it go, but he did hold out hope that maybe you moved on from the idea since it had been a few weeks when you last mentioned them.

He agreed, of course, not wanting to ruin the delicate foundation of your relationship. Besides, he already decided he would go with you and make sure they didn't tell you anything you weren't ready to hear.

The snow had melted enough where the road was visible again, but the snowbanks still piled high around the buildings and houses and you felt strangely nervous as you followed Joel down the street. He had finally agreed to take you to meet Ben and Lisa, and while you were grateful he didn't have the reaction he had the first time you mentioned them, you still wondered what caused that outburst.

You tried to convince yourself that maybe he was just tired and cranky that day, having just gotten back from patrol for the fourth day in a row. But something still felt... off.

"Wow, when Ellie said they lived on the outskirts, she wasn't kidding," you said, realizing you were reaching an edge of Jackson you had yet to explore.

"Yeah, they tend to keep to themselves," he replied without further explanation. He didn't seem agitated, but he definitely wasn't happy about going to see them. He seemed more quiet and subdued than usual.

Finally, you arrived at a quaint looking cottage tucked back from the road a ways. Like Ellie had said, it was small, but it looked cozy. You could see the smoke pluming from the chimney and you couldn't wait to warm up again.

There was no porch. Just a small roof over the front door and a folding chair that looked like it had seen better days. He knocked firmly on the door and after a moment, you heard light shuffling on the other side.

The door cracked open and you were greeted by a short woman around your age with dull, brown hair and bright green eyes. She saw Joel first and, like most people in town, she hesitated. But then she noticed you next to him and her expression changed. A wide smile stretched across her face and she said your name softly, then held her arms out for a hug.

"It's so good to see you," she said in your ear, giving you a tight squeeze before turning around and ushering you both inside. "Come in, come in, it's freezing out there. Ben! You'll never guess who's here!"

You both stepped inside and as you were slipping off your outerwear, you glanced around the small space. It was tight, but it was filled with warmth. The living room had two small, mismatched loveseats on either side of the stone fireplace. Two large bookshelves that were filled with so many books that the shelves were sagging stood on either side of the fire, and curiously you didn't notice a television anywhere in the room.

You heard a man's deep voice behind you say your name and you jumped in surprise. Turning around, you were pulled into another hug by who you could only assume was Ben. He was tall - taller than Joel - and you wondered how on earth such a small house could fit such a large man. He stepped away, his dark eyes glittering with his hands still on your shoulders, taking in your appearance as if you haven't seen them in years.

Maybe you haven't.

You were so focused on absorbing every little detail about the house and its residents that you didn't notice Joel's body stiffen next to you, his eyes glued to Ben's hands. And while Lisa seemed to have the same reaction to Joel that everyone else in town did, Ben, on the other hand, did not seem phased by his presence. In fact, he appeared pleased to see him. Once he dropped his hands from your shoulders, he stretched out a lanky arm and shook Joel's hand, giving him a kind smile which Joel had a hard time returning.

"What a wonderful surprise. Come, let's sit. Do you want coffee or tea?" Ben asked, his eyes drifting between you and Joel. You both shook your heads and Ben smiled warmly at you once again. Even though the living room was just a few feet away from the front door, Ben still rested his hand on your shoulder and guided you to one of the loveseats as if you might lose your way, only dropping his hold on you when he sat down across from you on the other one.

Joel eased himself down on the couch beside you, the space so small that he had no choice but to rest his leg against yours, and Lisa went to join Ben, the crackling fire between both loveseats warming you up right away.

"We heard you had an accident. How are you feeling?" Lisa asked, her voice so small and gentle compared to Ben's booming baritone.

"Better, thanks. But it's kind of why I'm here," you said, glancing over at Joel nervously, but he was staring silently at Ben, who still seemed unaffected.

Lisa tilted her head to the side and wrapped a hand around Ben's forearm, leaning into him a bit as she got more comfortable on the couch. You noticed for the first time a basket on the floor next to her feet filled with different colored yarn and half knitted projects tucked inside. "Oh?" she asked, then it seemed to dawn on her. "Oh! Is it... is it true? Do you really have memory loss?"

When you nodded, you noticed the flicker of pity across both their faces as they exchanged a somber look.

"I can only remember my life before the outbreak. My mom, dad and brother. I don't even remember what happened or how they died or how I managed to survive," you began, feeling yourself growing a little emotional. Joel must have sensed it in your tone because he squeezed your knee reassuringly, and when you glanced over at him, he had finally torn his eyes away from Ben to look at you with concern.

"It's been hard," Joel said, finally speaking up, addressing Ben and Lisa. "Lots of confusion, lots of missin' pieces. But she kept a journal. Turns out, she wrote 'bout you two, so that's why we're here," he finished, narrowing his eyes a bit at them.

"You wrote about us? How sweet," Ben said cheerily, running a hand through his dark blonde curls.

"Yes, but-"

"It wasn't anythin' that detailed," Joel said quickly, and you frowned at him. He sat back into the sofa and glanced over at you. "Right?"

"Yeah," you said slowly, dragging your eyes away from Joel and back to your hosts. "Just that we went fishing and it felt like old times," you continued, and they both smiled at the memory. The only sound in the room was the fire next to you, the wood popping loudly under the flames as you weighed your next question. "So I was hoping you might help tell me about myself before we arrived in Jackson. Is that... okay?"

Lisa shifted in her seat, a small smile still twitching at her lips as she gazed up at Ben, waiting for him to reply. He hesitated a moment and you thought you saw his eyes flicker to Joel before responding.

"Of course," Ben said, slapping the tops of his thighs, jostling loose Lisa's grip on his arm. He quickly picked her hand back up and brought her knuckles to his lips for a quick kiss, but your eyes were drawn to the unfamiliar symbol tattooed on the inside of her wrist, only made visible when Ben picked up her arm and her sleeve hung down.

"Can you tell me about when we first met?" you asked, figuring you should start at the beginning.

"Oh, what was it? Six or eight months after the outbreak, yeah?" Ben wondered aloud, looking to Lisa to confirm. She nodded and scratched her neck.

"Sounds about right."

You allowed yourself to feel a glimmer of excitement. There were two people right in front of you that could help fill in the blanks for the first five years after the outbreak, and you couldn't wait to hear more.

"We met in the Atlanta QZ," he began, but you quickly stopped him.

"QZ?"

"Quarantine Zone. All the major cities had 'em. Was meant to keep people safe from infected but the military ran most of 'em into the ground," Joel explained. "Treated people like cattle. Strict curfews. Barely enough rations to survive."

"It was awful," Lisa added solemnly.

"Was I alone?" you asked them, and Ben nodded. "Did I tell you anything about my family? How they died?"

Their eyes shifted to Joel for a moment before looking at one another.

"I thought you had said the infected got your mom on the first day. But your dad and brother..." Ben trailed off, looking down at his hands sadly. "They got caught out after curfew. It happened before we got there. They... were punished."

You frowned a little, looking to Joel to help shed some light on what Ben meant, but he was staring down at his feet.

"Punished?" you squeaked as your heart began to pound faster in your chest.

"Punishment for bein' out after curfew was death," Joel spoke up softly next to you.

You looked at all three of them, your eyes wide in disbelief. "Death? The military were killing people?"

"It was horrible. It's why we escaped," Lisa replied with tears in her eyes.

"Okay, then what?" you pressed, trying not to dwell too long on the thought of your father and brother being murdered by the very people who were supposed to protect them.

"After we escaped?" Ben clarified, and you nodded. He cleared his throat and averted his gaze. "We survived. Did what we had to do."

There it was again. Did what we had to do. The same thing Joel said when you brought up Lisa and Ben the first time.

You waited for him to elaborate but when it became apparent Ben had finished talking, you pushed him further. "Like what? What does that mean?"

"We laid low. Found some secluded spots in the wilderness and stuck it out for as long as we could," Lisa said, her eyes casually drifting between the two men. You looked at Joel, who was holding a steady glare at Ben and Lisa, but otherwise he was perfectly silent.

"For five years we just laid low? In the woods? The three of us?" you asked, and they could tell you knew they weren't telling you the whole truth. "What aren't you telling me? Did we do something bad? Did something happen?"

Joel shifted in his seat next to you but you kept your eyes pinned on Lisa and Ben, trying to read the expressions on their faces.

Ben was the first to fold. He dragged his eyes up to meet yours and gave you a half smile and shrug. "Yeah. I mean, everyone did bad things one time or another. It's impossible not to-"

"Like what?" you demanded. You could feel your anger building up now. "I'm not a child. Just tell me."

Ben sighed and looked at Joel once again, and this time you had enough.

"Why do you keep looking at him?"

Ben's eyes snapped back to you and he forced out a small chuckle, trying in vain to diffuse the tension in the room.

"You're our guests, so I'm looking at you both."

You weren't going to argue with him when it was clear he was looking at Joel for direction on what to say. It all made sense now. No wonder Joel didn't fight you on coming to visit them. He had planned all along to control the conversation and keep you in the dark and something inside you snapped.

Standing up from the couch suddenly, you looked down at Ben and Lisa, anger brimming in your eyes.

"Thanks," you spat, heading towards the front door. "Sorry to bother you both."

"It's no bother," Lisa said, her voice wavering as she followed you to the door. "Really. Stop by any time, it was nice to see you."

You scoffed and resisted the urge to roll your eyes as you shoved your boots and coat back on, doing your best to finish before Joel so you could get a head start back home.

Flinging open the door without another word, you took a deep breath and stormed down the street, the chilly winter air filling your lungs, trying to cool your anger from the inside out. But then you heard Joel's heavy footsteps crunching in the snow, hurrying to catch up to you, and your rage peaked again.

"You alright?" he asked when he found his place back by your side.

"No, I'm not alright," you seethed, staring straight ahead with your arms wrapped around your middle. "What was that back there?"

"What'dya mean?"

You skidded to a stop and glared at him, his cheeks pink from the cold and his chest rising and falling a little quicker than usual.

"You know what I mean. I'm not stupid, Joel. What don't you want me to know?"

He stared at you, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to figure out how to respond.

"I'm not-"

"Don't bullshit me!" you yelled, and when you remembered you were in the middle of the street, you lowered your voice. "They were clearly scared of you. You didn't want them to tell me something. It was so obvious, Joel! I hit my head but I'm not fucking blind."

"I didn't ask them to say or not say anythin'," he said truthfully.

You stared at one another, both watching as your exhale mixed together, little clouds swirling in between you before rising above your heads and disappearing, each waiting for the other to break first.

"Maybe I should move out," you finally said, voice filled with sadness. His face fell instantly.

"Why?"

"You know why. I don't think I can trust you. How can I, when I can't even get a simple answer out of you?" What did he lie about?

If you had stabbed him in the chest, it would have hurt less. His gaze fell to the ground and he felt his throat begin to constrict. He had to do something. He couldn't lose you. So he told you a half truth.

"You and Ben used to be a thing," he said, and your jaw dropped in surprise.

"What?"

He clenched his jaw and rolled his eyes. "Before you came to Jackson. You and him were a couple."

You looked away from him, taking a minute to wrap your mind around what he just told you. You supposed it would make sense. It would explain why Joel was so weird about bringing you to see them. Maybe you misread the tension in the room. Maybe the tension was about something else entirely.

"That's why you were acting so strange? That's why you were staring him down?" you asked. His answer was still difficult to believe. It explained Joel's behavior, but it didn't explain what bad things you had done and why nobody seemed willing to tell you what they were.

He shrugged and rubbed his hands together. "Can we talk about this at home? I'm freezin'," he said.

The walk afforded you more time to think now that you had this new piece of the puzzle. Ben did seem like your type: he was handsome and kind, but if you and Ben were together in the past, where did that leave Lisa? They were clearly an item now. Wouldn't that have made for a strange relationship between the three of you? Perhaps that's why you didn't see them often.

Joel let you stew in silence for the walk home, fucking praying what he told you would be enough to keep you from following through with your threat. Why did it feel like every time he made some progress with you, something happened that fucked everything up?

Maybe he should have just let them tell you the whole truth.

No, that would have been bad. You didn't trust him enough yet. You said it yourself. And if you were willing to move out over something like this, you certainly would never speak to him again if you knew the whole story.

He needed to earn your trust first but it was so fucking hard when you wouldn't let him in. When you found out the truth the first time, you were already months into a relationship with him. You were already sleeping together, and while it didn't evolve into anything more until later, it still helped build your trust in him when he finally told you the truth.

He didn't have that with you now, and for the first time he began to doubt his ability to make you fall in love with him again.

You huddled in front of the fire after the long walk home, the two of you remaining silent the entire way. Joel was in the kitchen, most likely avoiding you and your questions while you warmed up. You weren't even going to bother bringing up the topic again, but Joel surprised you by doing it himself.

"I'm sorry. 'Bout earlier," he said from the entryway. You turned from the fire to look at him. He looked worried. His eyes were wide and his brow was knit while his hands fidgeted at his sides.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" you asked, and he sighed.

"Dunno. Guess I was hopin' you'd let it go or change your mind," he said, ticking his jaw to the side.

"What would it have even mattered? I don't remember him, I don't remember what we had together. I certainly don't have feelings for him," you told him, sitting down on the couch and tucking your legs underneath you.

He looked around the room nervously as you waited for an answer that wasn't coming.

You sighed and rubbed your eyes. "If this is going to work, you need to be honest with me-"

"I was scared, alright?" he said abruptly. You watched him hang his head between his shoulders and take a deep breath before collapsing into the arm chair next to the couch. "I was scared you'd maybe remember him or..." he trailed off, finding it difficult to put into words what he was thinking. And although it wasn't the whole truth, it still was the truth. He was afraid this version of you would want someone like Ben and not like him.

He was afraid of losing you.

You seemed to understand because you didn't ask him to finish his thought. Instead, since he was opening up, you asked him something else that was bothering you.

"What did I do?"

He looked at you curiously, not following at first until you continued.

"Ben said I did bad things. We all did bad things to survive. What did he mean?"

Joel swallowed and thought about his answer for a moment. You sighed, growing impatient.

"You can't keep the truth from me forever. I'll find out one day, just tell -"

"You killed people," he told you, and you completely lost your train of thought. You searched his face as all of the air rushed out of your lungs, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air.

"I killed people?" you repeated, your voice barely a whisper, and he nodded slowly. You felt the tears begin to well up in your eyes but you blinked them away. What kind of monster did you become?

"Innocent people?"

"Depends on who you ask," he said right away, almost as if he expected that question.

"What does that mean?"

He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully as he stared into the fire. "I told you. Everyone did what they had to do in order to survive. I know it's hard for you to understand what it was like, but there were a lot of bad people out there. A lot of bad fuckin' people. The military was outta control. There were revolutions and raiders and slavers." He paused and sniffed a bit, continuing to stare into the flames while you hung on his every word. "When I say you killed people... it ain't black and white. I killed people, too. Alotta people. When the whole goddamn world ends and all you got left is one or two people you care 'bout, you'll do whatever you gotta do to protect 'em. D'you understand?" he asked, finally dragging his eyes up to look at you.

You blinked, thinking about what he said, his words rolling around your head like pinballs.

"I think so," you said quietly.

He nodded, still pinning you with his stare. "We all made decisions. We made choices based on what we knew at the time and we did our best."

You nodded, your voice wavering a bit when you asked "Am I a bad person, Joel?"

His eyebrows pinched together and he leaned forward in his chair, wanting to reach out to you, comfort you and pull you into his arms, but he refrained. "No, baby. You ain't a bad person," he told you softly.

And you weren't sure why, but you believed him.

The streets were quiet as you slowly made your way to the infirmary. You didn't start your shift until late in the morning and you didn't feel like joining Ellie at the dining hall for breakfast, so you stayed home, only getting out of bed when you heard Joel leave for patrol. He had already warned you the night before that he would be back later than usual due to the storm. Trails would likely be difficult to pass and nobody could predict if there would be damage at any of the outposts, but it was highly likely.

You didn't move out like you had threatened to. You didn't even know what you were thinking when you said that. Where would you have gone? The garage with Ellie? You didn't know anybody else. Not really. But even if you had, you saw the look in Joel's face when you said those words and even though you were so fucking angry with him, you still felt terrible for causing him pain.

On one hand, it seemed like he was just looking out for you, but on the other, his actions often came off as selfish. You had every right to know your past and what you did, and you were growing sick of Joel treating you like a child. Like you were too fragile to understand.

But at least you got it out of him. Even though you had to take extreme measures, you finally got him to tell you something truthful, and that was a positive step forward.

Lost in your thoughts, you weren't even paying attention when a man's voice called your name from across the street. You looked up after the third try and were surprised to find Ben waving to you from the tailor. You raised your hand in greeting and made your way over to the building.

"Hey," you said a little sheepishly, "about the other day, I'm sorry for how I acted-"

He shook his head and gave you a reassuring smile. "No need to apologize. All of this has to be so confusing for you. We understand."

You dropped your gaze to the frozen ground and dug your boot into the snow. "Thank you, I appreciate that. It's very frustrating, actually. I'm just trying to learn about myself and what's happened in the past ten years and I guess I took out my anger on you guys."

He waved you off and leaned against the doorframe of the tailor. "Don't worry about it. We were just happy to see you again."

And even though Ben was absolving you of your guilt, you somehow felt even worse. He was being so nice and you hardly felt like you deserved it. "Joel explained it to me, by the way. After we left your house he told me about us," you said, waving your finger back and forth between you.

"Ah," Ben said with a knowing smile as he crossed his arms over his chest. "I wondered as much. It was a very long time ago but Joel can be..." Ben trailed off and scratched his chin, "he can be a little protective, I suppose. He never really understood the nature our relationship."

You tilted your head to the side. "What do you mean?"

"It was just casual. He always thought there was something more," Ben said, meeting your eye. "But I promise you, there wasn't. At the time, we were just lonely and scared and looking for comfort. Neither of us was looking for anything more than that."

You nodded thoughtfully. "He did say we were a couple," you said, and Ben chuckled softly.

"I wouldn't even call it that. Truly. There were no hurt feelings. We just never had a connection past... y'know," he said with a shrug. You felt yourself flush a bit at the words he left unspoken and looked away. "But I'm glad he told you."

"Yeah, me too. I know his heart is in the right place, I just wish he would have told me about us and all the shit we did before I came to see you. Probably would have made the visit a little more pleasant," you said with a laugh, but Ben's face fell.

"He told you about what we did?" he asked, his tone suddenly serious. You sighed and nodded.

"Yeah, he told me I've killed people. It's been really hard to wrap my head around, but I'm trying to come to terms with it. He explained the world we live in now is not like the one I remember."

Ben raised his eyebrows in surprise and unfolded his arms. "Wow. I'm kind of shocked he told you about us and the Fireflies. That must have been really hard for you both."

You frowned and searched his face. "Fireflies?"

His body stiffened and his face paled when he realized his mistake. "Yeah. He told you about the Fireflies, right?"

You shook your head. "What are the Fireflies?"

"Shit," he muttered, pushing himself off the wall abruptly and clearing his throat. "I should get back to work. Just please forget I said anything, okay?"

"Ben, wait," you tried, but he disappeared back inside the tailor, leaving you standing in front of the door while more questions piled up.

There seemed to be a bad flu being spread around town because the infirmary was busier than usual. You were grateful for the distraction, especially after your conversation with Ben. You had spent the better part of the afternoon rushing from exam room to exam room, cleaning up after each patient as quickly as you could so Nick could continue treating the revolving door of people coughing and sneezing in the waiting room. Nick had recommended you wear a bandana around your mouth and nose to hopefully keep you healthy, but you had a feeling it would just be a matter of time before you caught the same bug as everyone else. Still, you kept the bandana tied around your neck as you worked diligently. What you didn't expect, however, was the bit of anonymity the mask afforded you.

You were cleaning up exam room six when you heard a woman's familiar voice in the room across the hall. Nick had left the door cracked open after he ushered her inside, and she apparently had another woman in there waiting with her as you started to pick up on hushed pieces of their conversation.

You didn't intend to eavesdrop, but curiosity got the best of you when you tried to place her voice, and when you realized it was Angie, your hands froze and your body stilled, doing your best to not make any noise so you could listen.

"... going down there almost every night... matter of time... him."

"But what about... freak out."

You frowned, inching closer to the door as you tried to fill in the gaps in their conversation.

Then you heard Angie say your name clear as day and your eyebrows shot up. You pressed your back against the wall and held your breath.

"She doesn't even like him. That relationship is a ticking time bomb."

You silently gasped when you realized they were most certainly talking about you and Joel.

It wasn't even true. You liked Joel. You were attracted to Joel. You were even starting to trust Joel a little more, although you definitely had plans to ask him about the Fireflies. But you were still getting to know him and it was taking time. Was this girl talking about trying to steal Joel away from you? The idea made your stomach turn and anger flare deep in your chest.

You shocked yourself with your reaction. Steal Joel away? Since when did you begin to feel some sense of ownership over him? Were you jealous?

You heard Nick's voice leaving an exam room a few doors down and you quickly made yourself look busy. He sighed tiredly in the hallway as he flipped through some papers before pushing open the door to Angie's room. You were changing the bedding on the mattress when you heard Nick call your name and you quickly dropped the sheets to cross the hall.

When your eyes locked with Angie's, giving her a hardened stare, you swore you saw a flicker of fear before she forced a fake smile and coughed into her fist while her friend, one you recognized from the bathroom at the Tipsy Bison, nervously shifted her weight and looked away. You felt a sick sense of satisfaction when it became clear to the two girls that you had heard everything they said, and you were grateful you had your mask on so they couldn't see the corners of your mouth twitch.

"Would you mind grabbing a bag of cough drops and a jar of menthol from the supply cabinet?" Nick asked, completely oblivious to the shift in the air.

"Sure thing," you told him, turning on your heel to leave and allowing yourself to finally smile.

Joel might scare the rest of the town, but you sure as hell scared the shit out of Angie.

Your shift at the infirmary went longer than expected. By the time you arrived home, you were exhausted and the sun was almost setting. So far you weren't feeling sick, but from what you had overheard all day, the symptoms came on quick, so you had already decided to call it an early night and get some rest. When you swung open the front door and found Joel hunched over the kitchen table, your plans went flying out the window.

He looked like he was on death's door. You had never seen him look so run down and pale. He didn't even open his eyes to look at you, he just kept them shut while he rubbed his temples and tried to stifle a cough, his backpack abandoned at his feet.

"Joel?" you called, toeing off your boots and hurrying over to him. You crouched down on the floor and pressed the back of your hand against his forehead. "You're burning up."

He groaned and cracked open one eye. "Feel like shit. Dunno what happened."

"There's a bad virus spreading around, the infirmary was slammed today," you said, pushing yourself up onto your aching feet to get him a glass of water. "Drink this and I'll heat you up some soup," you told him before heading towards the stove.

"You don't gotta-"

"Drink," you said firmly, cutting him off. He winced before picking up the glass and forcing down the cool liquid. Once you got the gas going on the stove, you grabbed an empty bowl and shoved your boots back on. "I'll be right back," you told him. He sat up a little straighter in his chair, about to ask where you were going but you already disappeared through the front door, returning seconds later with the bowl filled with snow.

"Lean back," you instructed, placing the bowl on the table. He did as he was told and closed his eyes, the lights from the kitchen ceiling making his head ache but when you pressed a handful of packed snow against his forehead, he groaned with relief.

"Oh shit, that feels good," he whispered as you tried to ignore the twinge between your legs at his low tone. He released a shaky breath and you watched as the snow began to melt, little trails of water dripping from his hair and down his scruffy cheeks. When it was nearly melted, you took your hand away and dumped the remnants in the sink, grabbing a towel and drying your hands on the way back. You pinched his stubbly chin delicately in your fingers and tipped his head towards you while slowly and gently wiping away the water from his face. When you finished, your eyes found his already boring into you and you felt a tingle shoot down your spine.

"Better?"

His gaze softened as he continued to stare up at you, searching your face quietly, making your heart begin to beat faster in your chest. You swallowed nervously and forced yourself to look away, and it was then he finally realized you had asked him a question.

"Yes," he murmured, "thank you."

You dragged your eyes back to his and gave him a small smile. "More?"

He didn't trust himself to speak. He just slowly nodded and watched with heavy lidded eyes as you scooped up another handful of snow. With your free hand, you slid your fingers behind his neck and through his hair, cupping the back of his head in your small hand before pressing the snow gently against his forehead once again. And even though he wanted to keep looking at you, he couldn't stop his eyes from fluttering shut at the cooling sensation, earning you another deep groan from his throat and causing your breath to stutter.

He heard it and opened his eyes.

You stared at each other, lips parted as the air began to thicken with tension. His eyes flickered over your face, noticing the way your pupils appeared bigger as you gazed down at him. He took a risk and slowly brought his hand up to rest on your side, watching you carefully for any sign that he should stop. He pressed his fingertips lightly into your hip, the fabric of your shirt bunching up slightly from the pressure.

You dropped your eyes to his hand and blinked rapidly, then opened your mouth to speak when you heard sizzling at the stove. You whipped your head around just as his soup began to boil over the pot.

"Shit!" you yelped, dropping the half melted snow onto the towel and racing over to the range. You twisted the knob off and put the pot on one of the unused burners and the liquid immediately simmered back down. "Sorry," you said, refusing to look at him as you started to gather a bowl and spoon, embarrassment burning your cheeks.

"Don't be," he replied, still leaning back in his chair in the same position you left him. He watched you fumble nervously in the kitchen and he had to suppress a smile.

Maybe he still had a chance, after all.

Joel's temperature was a little high but nothing too concerning, so you pushed the fluids and he ate all of his soup and it helped put your mind at ease. You really didn't want to have to ask for ibuprofen unless it was absolutely necessary, especially considering how the same virus was hitting almost every house at the same time. You made sure to check on Ellie from her doorway, not wanting to risk her catching anything since she appeared to be fine, before helping Joel up to bed.

Once you followed him into the room and he turned on the light next to his bed, you realized you hadn't actually ever entered his bedroom before. Sure, you've walked past it when the door was open and glanced inside, but you never really looked. As he gathered some fresh pajamas and began to unbutton his flannel, you turned your back to him to give him some privacy and examined his bookshelf. Your eyes drifted over the titles on the spines of a handful of books, most of which you hadn't heard of before noticing a framed photograph sharing a shelf with his books. It was faded and a little torn, but you could still make out their faces. It was Joel - a far younger version of Joel - with his arm around a beautiful little girl with dark hair and eyes and a stunning smile. You felt your throat tighten when you realized who it was, and if you had any doubt, Joel's voice piped up behind you.

"That's Sarah."

You heard him shuffling his bedding around so you figured he was dressed.

"She's beautiful, Joel," you said, walking over to his side of the bed and popping the thermometer under his tongue one more time. "It's wonderful that you were able to find a picture of her. I wish I had some pictures of my family," you said sadly, watching the hands of the clock on top of his bookshelf tick, counting down the seconds until you could check the thermometer. "I would have loved for you to at least see them. I think you would have gotten along with my brother really well. Maybe too well," you added with a soft laugh, not realizing he was silently hanging on your every word as you continued to stare at the clock. "He was always looking out for me. Always protecting me, trying to shield me and it drove me nuts when I was younger, but as time went on, I understood it a bit more."

You pulled the thermometer out and checked the number. "Still the same," you told him, resting it on his nightstand.

"How much time?" he asked, and you gave him a confused look. "How much time did it take 'til you started to understand?" he clarified, and you realized what he was really asking.

"I don't know," you replied honestly, sitting on the edge of his bed with a sigh. "But I'm starting to... understand," you said, giving him a sideways glance. You really wanted to ask him about the Fireflies but seeing how sick he was, you decided to bring it up another time. His hand slipped out from underneath the covers and gently squeezed your knee.

"That's good," he said softly before furrowing his brow and turning his head to cough loudly into his pillow. You winced at how bad it sounded and rubbed his upper back. When the coughing fit passed, you handed him his water and he took a grateful sip.

"Do you need anything else before I go to bed?"

"Could you stay here?" he found himself asking before he could even think. Your eyebrows shot up in surprise as you struggled to answer. "Just 'til I fall asleep?"

"Oh," you replied, looking awkwardly around his rather sparse room. "Sure, let me just go wash up," you said, standing up from his bed. You were dead on your feet from your shift at work and you knew the next day wouldn't be any better, but you felt bad saying no, so you changed your clothes and grabbed one of the books Joel had found for you before dragging the chair from the corner of his room to the side of his bed.

"You can stretch out over there," he told you, pointing weakly to the other side of the bed before coughing into his closed fist. "I won't bite."

You smiled as you settled into the chair. "I'm alright, thanks," you said, opening your book and leaning back, trying to get comfortable. After a few minutes of reading, you looked up just to find him still watching you. You laughed and said "you need to get some rest if you want to kick this thing," then he grinned and finally closed his eyes.

You may not have been in bed with him, but you were close enough to help him relax and for the first time in months, he fell fast asleep within minutes.

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[thehistoriccemetery]

Honestly I’d beg for prompt 4. Is Tav the one in bed? What’s the vibe lol

BG3 x GN!Reader : “Stay in Bed, Please?”

I try to make the vibe a little bit different for all of them. There are certain characters who definitely sleep later and certain ones that are consistently up before sunrise.

Featuring Shadowheart, Lae’zel, Karlach, Minthara, and Jaheira

I’m really feeling this prompt right now, as it is impossible to get out of bed and go to work so early when the weather is so cold and the bed is so warm.

Shadowheart

You really do try and make as quiet an exit as possible. Shadowheart is a light sleeper.

Regardless, you don’t even make it off the mattress before you hear her precious little whine.

She turns over, sleepy eyes barely opened, looking into yours. Her hair is down and you almost giggle as it covers large parts of her face. “Stay in bed, please?”

It’s a tempting offer, you must admit. But you promised Lae’zel you’d train with her this morning.

You kiss her on the forehead and tuck her back into the blankets. “Go back to sleep, princess. I have to go.”

“My lady gives us a few more hours of her precious moonlight. You would take her gift for granted?” She teases, still not satisfied with your answer.

You roll your eyes and chuckle. “Well, I suppose I don’t want to upset your goddess.”

“Then you best crawl your way back under these blankets, lest you face her wrath.” She lifts the blankets, beckoning you back underneath.

You sigh, curling up back under the sheets. Looks like Lae’zel will be training alone this morning.

Shadowheart curls up into your chest. You feel the smug little smile grow on her face.

Lae’zel

Beg and whine as you wish, Lae’zel is not staying in bed.

She’s got shit to do, people to kill, laps to run.

She’s always up before you are. She sees the time as crucial training hours. By the time everyone else is up she’s already ready to go.

Some mornings she’ll have you get up with her. She has some really interesting of waking you up though.

Most of the time she just stares at you and slowly moves her face closer to yours until you finally stir.

As much as you love her you explain that awaking to someone bent over staring at you isn’t your ideal morning.

Her other methods include holding a knife to your throat, or pouring water onto your face.

One day you’ll learn the importance of these crucial morning hours.

Karlach

It isn’t impossible to sneak out of bed with Karlach, as long as you’re quiet and you replace your place in her arms with a carefully arranged Clive.

You think you’ve succeeded, lacing up your boots sitting on the edge of the bed… until you feel a tail curl around your waist.

You gently stroke the tail, coaxing her into letting you go. It only makes her tighten her grip and pull you closer.

“I know you’re not about to try and sneak out of here before the bloody sunrise,” she mumbles groggily.

As she pulls you closer to her body, you feel the warmth radiating off of her.

How could anyone be expected to subject themselves to freezing winter morning when they have a comfy furnace of a girlfriend begging them to stay in bed?

You sigh, kicking off your half-laced boots and burying yourself back into her embrace.

She yawns and stretches, pulling you back against her chest as she relaxes.

You used to be a morning person, but gods be damned if you’re ever going to crawl out of bed before sunrise again when this is the alternative.

Minthara

Minthara only trances for a couple of hours, so it’s very rare that you get to spend time sleeping, cuddled up to her.

She manages to sneak out of bed impossibly early, and settle down across the room to read a book by candlelight.

She hardly notices when you get up, all groggy and still wrapped in blankets and ask her to come back to bed.

“You can bring your candle and your book and whatever. It’s just so empty over there without you.”

She stares at you a moment before closing the book and grabbing the candle.

You smile and jump back into bed. You were honestly kinda shocked that it worked.

Minthara sat against the headboard, allowing you to rest your head against her stomach and wrap your arms around her thighs. She rested the book on your back and continued reading.

You feel safer and more comfortable than ever as you drift back to sleep. Maybe if you ask really nicely, she’d let you do this more often.

Jaheira

You manage to catch Jaheira before she can get out of bed. You wrap your arms around her, clinging to her and preventing her escape.

“I must go cub, the sun is rising. But you may rest for a little while longer.”

You know she would not put up with your whining, and she’d probably make you get up now if you started. Still, you couldn’t help but at least try to plead your case.

“Just a few more minutes?” You ask, looking up at her with the most endearing eyes you can muster. You keep your mouth and nose buried in her stomach.

She smiles and strokes your hair. How is she supposed to resist that precious little face?

“A little while longer and you get up with me,” she bargained.

“Deal,” you agreed, pulling her back into bed. It was no fun to be in bed without her anyway.

[hyperactively-me]

regency era!ghost x reader au (part 4)

The ballroom was a whirlwind of activity, the air alive with a large bustling crowd and an orchestra. Candlelight flickered off the gilded walls, casting a warm glow over the assembly of guests as they twirled and sashayed across the polished marble floor. 

You stand at the edge of the ballroom, the soft rustle of your gown mingling with the hum of the music. Despite your best efforts to put your little incident in the park with the Duke out of your mind, his words still echo in your thoughts, leaving you feeling unsettled and off balance. 

But tonight was not the time to dwell on such matters. Tonight was about revelry and celebration, as well as matching up with potential suitors. Your parents wanted you to go in on your best foot forward after noticing you’ve been off the past few days. And so, with a determined smile, you set out to enjoy the evening to its fullest. 

You mingle amongst the guests, making conversation with old friends and new acquaintances. You were introduced to many eligible bachelors, all with some title or another. Some were quite good company, while others were less than enjoyable. Each vied for your attention, eager to claim a spot on your dance card. Every so often, you looked over your shoulder in hopes of not seeing Duke Riley tonight. 

Soon enough, you found yourself twirling from partner to partner, each dance becoming more lively than the next. Yet, amidst the hustle and bustle of small talk and witty remarks, there was one face that stood out. 

Lord Phillip Graves, with his slicked-back hair and predatory grin, was one of the most sought after bachelors of the season. He made his way towards you with all the subtlety of a prowling lion. You felt a shiver of annoyance run down your spine as he approached, his eyes alight with a hunger that made your skin crawl. 

This was not the first time he had tried to court you. Despite his persistence, you had made it abundantly clear to Lord Graves that you had absolutely no interest in his advances. His sleazy demeanor and reputation as a notorious womanizer made you wary of his intentions. Yet, undeterred by your disinterest, he continues to pursue you with a relentless determination that bordered on pitiful desperation.

As he drew near, you plastered on a polite smile, steeling yourself for yet another encounter with the insufferable nobleman. 

“Ah, there she is,” he purred, his voice dripping with charm. “The belle of the ball herself. Would you do me the honor of a dance, my lady?”

You resist the urge to smack him in response to his saccharine words, instead offering him a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you, Mister Graves, but I’m afraid my dance card is already quite full for the evening,” you reply, hoping to dissuade him from pressing the issue further. 

But Lord Graves was not so easily deterred. With a predatory look in his eye, he leans in closer, his breath hot against your cheek. “Surely you can spare just one dance for me?” he whispers, his words sending bile up your throat.

Before you could respond, a familiar, and not entirely unwelcome, voice rings in your ears.

“The lady’s dance card is indeed full for the rest of the evening.”  

You turn to see the Duke standing right behind you, his expression as unreadable as ever. His intervention was completely unexpected, and you nearly raised your eyebrow in confusion. 

Lord Graves’ eyes narrow, his irritation evident. “And who are you to speak for the lady?” he demands, his voice dripping with contempt.

Simon’s jaw clenches with barely contained patience, his gaze locked with Lord Graves in a battle of wills. 

“I’m the Duke,” he states firmly, his voice authoritarian. “And I can claim the lady’s dance card for the remainder of the evening if I so desire.”

You watch in stunned silence as Simon reaches out and plucks the dance card from your hand, his movements deliberate and possessive. You hold your breath as he scrawls his name across the remaining slots, his actions leaving no room for argument. 

Your eyes flit up to see Graves’ face twist with barely concealed annoyance, but he manages a tight, mocking smile. “Very well, Your Grace. Enjoy your evening.” With that, he turns on his heel and stalks away.

“Come,” he says, his voice softer now, but no less commanding. 

Simon offers his arm, and you eye him wearily, yet nod politely anyway. As you settle your hand around his large bicep, your mind races with questions. He guides you away from the crowd and into a secluded area of the hall.  

Once out of earshot of the other guests, you pull your hand away from his arm and turn to face him, your eyes now ablaze with anger. “What on earth were you thinking?” you demand, your voice low but fierce. “You have no right to act so high-handed, and in front of everyone, no less!”

Simon raises an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by your outburst. “I was merely trying to protect you from—“

“Protect me?” you cut him off, your frustration boiling over, all manners thrown out the window. “From what? From a man who, insufferable as he is, poses no real threat? You used me to take a jab at Lord Graves. How dare you!”

Simon’s expression hardens, his own temper flaring up. “Graves is a scoundrel, and I will not stand by and watch him attempt to manipulate you or take advantage of you.”

“Oh really? And what about you?” you retort, stepping closer. “Do you think your actions tonight were any less manipulative? You commandeered my entire evening without so much as asking if I agreed to it! You’ve treated me as if I were your property, and it’s unacceptable!” 

Simon’s eyes darken, a flicker of something like regret passing through them. “I did not intend for you to feel like property. My intentions were to keep you safe—” 

“Safe?” you echo incredulously. “And yet, on top of that, you’ve compromised my reputation. A single woman alone with a bachelor in a secluded corner— do you realize how inappropriate this is as well?” 

His jaw clenches, and he takes a deep breath, struggling to maintain his composure. “I did what I thought was necessary.”

“Well, your ‘necessity’ has only created more problems,” you snap, pointing a gloved finger into his chest. “If you truly wanted to help me, you should have asked what I wanted. Instead, you acted according to your own whims, completely disregarding my feelings and my autonomy!” 

Simon’s eyes widen slightly, taken aback by the intensity of your words. He had never seen you this brutally honesty before, and it stirred something within him. He stands there, shoulders rigid, struggling to maintain his stern facade; something akin to shame crosses his face. He was a man used to command and control, not to be questioned, especially by someone of your stature. But here you were, staring him down with a blaze in your eyes that he found oddly captivating. For a moment, he seems at a loss for words, his usually sharp tongue rendered mute by your reprimand. 

“I… I apologize,” he finally admits, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. “I acted without considering your wellbeing, and for that, I’m sorry. It was not my place to decide for you.” 

Your anger still simmered, but his apology, unexpected as it was, gave you pause. You sigh, folding your arms across your chest. “I am perfectly capable of handling myself. If I need your help, I will ask for it. Until then, please, respect my independence.” 

His eyes search yours, and for the first time, you saw something beyond the cold, unyielding exterior— a hint of vulnerability, perhaps. It was something you hadn’t anticipated.

“I will respect your wishes,” Simon says quietly, his voice sincere. “But know that my intentions were never to undermine you. I merely wanted to—“

“To what?” you interrupt, but this time your voice is soft. “To ‘protect me’? From what, exactly? Yes, Mister Graves is intolerable, but I can handle men like him.”

Simon’s jaw tightens. “I merely wanted to protect you from anything that might harm you. The world is full of dangers, seen and unseen. And despite my faults, and no matter how you regard me, I do not wish to see you hurt.” 

You raise an eyebrow, surprised at that admission. “Why do you care, Mister Riley? You hardly know me, and ever since we’ve met, you’ve treated me with disdain.”

A muscle twitches in Simon’s cheek. “Perhaps I do not know you, my lady, but you deserve to be honored and protected. Forgive me for my abhorrent behavior. There is no excuse for it. I am not accustomed to this… world of balls and social niceties. I am a soldier, and in war, we act swiftly to protect.” 

You blink, swallowing thickly. There was a raw honesty in his words that left you momentarily speechless. Slowly, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your anger cooling. His sincerity shows you a different side of him, painting a different picture of the man you thought he was. 

“I appreciate your concern,” you say, your voice soft and slow. “But I am not a soldier on your battlefield. I am a woman who is capable of fending for myself. And, if it ever so happens that I do need your help, I will make it known to you."

Simon’s gaze meets yours again, and this time there’s a depth of emotion there that you haven’t seen before. “You’re capable, and I admire that. But that doesn’t mean you should have to fend off predators alone.”

The words hang between you, and for a moment, the tension eases. You study his face, searching for any sign of deceit, but all you find is earnestness. It’s disarming.

“Thank you,” you say after a pause, “Next time, if you would like to help, ask me first.”

“You have my word.”

You let out a small sigh, nodding your head. “Good.” After another moment, you look at him. "I forgive you."

The tension between you eases slightly, though the air remains charged with unspoken sentiments and unresolved emotions. You turn to leave, but Simon gently takes your hand, stopping you in your tracks.

You look down, his thick fingers closing around your hand. You stare at them for a moment too long, a stray thought crossing your mind. 

“I would like to make it up to you,” he says, his voice hard, yet earnest. 

You remove your attention from his fingers, looking up to meet his eyes. His thumb rubs over the satin that covers your knuckles. 

“Allow me to dance with you.” 

Humming, you raise an eyebrow, skeptical. “And if I refuse?” 

“Then I’ll respect your decision.” He pauses, tilting his head. “But I hope you won’t.”

You feel as though the wind has been knocked from your lungs. The uncharacteristic sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and for a moment, you find yourself at a loss for words. 

You consider his offer, the tension between you still palpable. Yet, there’s a part of you that’s curious, intrigued by this side of Simon you haven’t seen before; you decide to take it slow, to not reveal too much to him. 

With a tiny, hesitant smile, you nod your head in agreement. “Well, since you’ve already commandeered my dance card, we might as well make the most of it,” you state simply. 

A flash of something like relief briefly crosses his features, though he quickly masks it with his usual stoicism. “Thank you, my lady.”

With that, he offers you his arm. His bicep bulges under his dress jacket, and an unexpected heat creeps up your neck. The satin of your glove allows your arm to glide through his with ease, fabrics pressing into one another. You never really noticed how firm his muscle is, causing electricity to shoot down your spine. The heat of his body radiates into you as he unexpectedly pulls you closer into his side, leading you to the dance floor in time for an English country dance. (y’all stay with me here, I’m envisioning the dance Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth have together in P&P 2005)

As you and Simon step onto the marble floor, the orchestra transitions into a lively melody, infusing the air with excitement. 

Simon’s hand rests confidently yet gently on your waist as he leads you through the movements of the dance, his touch sending a jolt of warmth coursing through your veins. At first, you were skeptical of this man's dancing skills, certain he would make a fool out of you on the dance floor, yet, to your surprise, he takes the lead confidently.

For a man as lumbering and large as he is, he is uncharacteristically light-footed when it comes to dancing. You would’ve never thought he possessed the skill. 

He never let you mis-step, keeping his gaze locked on your face the whole time. With every meeting in the middle, you swore his face inched closer and closer to yours. With each turn and twirl, you find yourself inching closer to Simon, the space between you narrowing until there's nothing left but the heat of his body pressed against yours. His hand slides lower on your waist, toying with the sash thats wrapped around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as the room falls away, leaving only the two of you locked in a rather sensual embrace.

And in that moment, as the music reaches its end and the world fades into oblivion, a terrifying realization dawns upon you: there's no place you'd rather be than in the Duke's arms.

part 3 < > part 5

[juuuulez]

bearblr promptober + kinktober 2024

this october i’ll be doing half of each! on alternating days, i’ll be posting the corresponding bearblr prompt (created by the almighty @carmenberzattosgf), and then a kinktober drabble of my own choosing.

here’s the lineup, fics will be updated and linked next month! kinktober is (obviously) smut, and prompts marked with 🍂 indicate non-smut/fluff.

🍂 bearblr #1: scary movie -> sydney adamu

💌 incomplete

kinktober #2: nipple play -> carmen berzatto

💌 incomplete

🍂 bearblr #3: apple picking -> carmen berzatto

💌 incomplete

kinktober #4: throat fucking -> steve harrington

💌 incomplete

bearblr #5: vampire -> richie jerimovich

💌 incomplete

kinktober #6: cockwarming + under the desk -> keys mckey

💌 incomplete

bearblr #7: orgasm control -> carmen berzatto

💌 incomplete

kinktober #8: hate fuck + semi-public sex -> steve harrington

💌 incomplete

kinktober #9: body worship + on film -> veronica fisher

💌 incomplete

🍂 bearblr #10: rain soaked -> richie jerimovich

💌 incomplete

kinktober #11: spanking -> lip gallagher

💌 incomplete

kinktober #12: subspace -> steve harrington

💌 incomplete

🍂 bearblr #13: hot cocoa + baking -> carmen berzatto

💌 incomplete

bearblr #14: somnophilia -> richie jerimovich

💌 incomplete

kinktober #15: edging -> keys mckey

💌 incomplete

🍂 bearblr #16: bonfire -> richie jerimovich

💌 incomplete

bearblr #17: dumbification -> richie jerimovich

💌 incomplete

🍂 bearblr #18: candlelight -> michael berzatto

💌 incomplete

kinktober #19: possessed -> steve harrington

💌 incomplete

🍂 bearblr #20: slow morning -> carmen berzatto

💌 incomplete

kinktober #21: orgasm denial -> steve harrington

💌 incomplete

kinktober #22: squirting + competitive -> lip + carmy

💌 incomplete

bearblr #23: dacryphillia -> carmen berzatto

💌 incomplete

🍂 bearblr #24: haunted house -> richie jerimovich

💌 incomplete

bearblr #25: size kink -> carmen berzatto

💌 incomplete

kinktober #26: breeding + overstim -> lip gallagher

💌 incomplete

kinktober #27: wet dream -> carmen berzatto (solo)

💌 incomplete

🍂 bearblr #28: sick day -> michael berzatto

💌 incomplete

kinktober #29: dry humping + high sex -> steve harrington

💌 incomplete

🍂 bearblr #30: sweaters (sharing clothes) -> carmen berzatto

💌 incomplete

🍂 bearblr #31: trick or treat -> richie jerimovich

💌 incomplete

[icyg4l]

PAC: What Will Your Next Date Be Like?

Hello beautiful people! As promised, this is the second PAC regarding love that will be indulged in. Tonight, I will be giving insight on what you can expect from your next date. I will be using my True Heart Tarot Deck and my handy dandy Romance Angels Oracle Deck. Don’t forget to tune into Five Dollar Friday and please book a reading with me if you are interested 🫶 Without further ado, please select your pile!

Left-to-Right: (1-4)

Pile One: When I was shuffling for your pile, I started singing and being really goofy. I feel like you could be going on a date with a Gemini, Aquarius or a Leo. This person is gonna make your inner child come out! You might be a little uptight at first on some ‘I Don’t Dance’ (Chad and Ryan type shit) but this person is gonna make you put your ego aside. I also channeled Suit and Tie. You guys could go karaoking, go to a dance class, or you could be someone’s date to a wedding. Or it could even be a bar date! I feel like you really need this, Pile One. Your energy feels stiff and stagnant. You deserve a night out. Maybe this person isn’t your usual type or they’ll have to grow on you but by the end of the night, you’ll want to be around them. You don’t have to push this person away because they’re not who your parents/family would approve of. Your family could be going through some issues right now. Maybe you aren’t going to be feeling them because you don’t want to break your celibacy. Your energy seems new like you’re young and inexperienced or you’ve taken a pause from dating to focus on yourself. Now you feel refreshed. I also channeled the song ‘Not Used to It’ by Kehlani. I feel like this person will be very well-mannered and that’ll throw you off. Maybe you’ve had partners who were very rude and disrespectful in the past and now you feel suspicious. Feel them out! Don’t knock it until you try it! I pulled oracle cards from you and got the following messages:

“You deserve love: You are lovable.

Healing family issues: your love life benefits you as you forgive your parents.

Attraction: You attract romantic love by enjoying this moment fully

Religious factors: Your love life is influenced by your religious upbringing and spiritual path.

Love yourself first: Your self respect makes you more romantically attractive

Honeymoon: Enjoy the bliss of holiday time together”

Cards Used: The Hanged Man (RX), 10 of Discs, 7 of Wands, 3 of Cups, The High Priestess, Queen of Wands, Death, Ace of Cups.

extras: ‘no more drama’ by mary j blige. breath of fresh air. new bras. emptying out the trash. haute couture. piercing gaze.

Pile Two: I feel like this pile will be very nervous for this date. For one, there may be some things that make you feel like you shouldn’t be going on this date. For instance, it’s last minute and you would have to move your schedule around or you get a traffic ticket. I also feel like somebody will be late to the date because of traffic. But when the actual date starts, I feel like it’ll be dark. Perhaps in a movie theatre or a candlelight dinner. Or maybe the date will be late at night. I get the feeling that you will meet this person off of Tinder or some dating app. When you meet them, you’ll be stunned by how attractive they are. The sexual tension will be strong. I am seeing lace and the colors black and red in my third eye. I feel like some of you will get dolled up after a long, hard day of work and you’ll agree to go because you have a feeling that this is something you’re supposed to do. And you should because being all work and no play is draining! Perhaps some of you are single moms or work with children. I wouldn’t be surprised if a child tried to get involved with your dating life, lol (a child trying to play matchmaker with you and their dad). “It’s been a long time coming” is something I’ve heard. Maybe it’s been a minute since you’ve been on the dating scene, welcome back! Also, this date could end in great pleasure. Please stay prepared and protected, lol. Scorpio and Capricorn energy. I pulled some cards and got the following messages:

“Children: Your love life is being affected by children.

You deserve love: You are lovable!

New love: A new person has stirred your romantic feelings

Attraction: You attract romantic love by enjoying this moment fully

Finances and career: Financial issues are a factor in your love life right now

Passion: Allow your heart and soul to sing with joy!”

Cards Used: Nine of Wands, The Empress, 10 of Swords, The High Priestess, 7 of Cups, The Devil, 2 of Cups, 4 of Discs.

extras: oklahoma. channing tatum. body-to-body. aura.

Pile Three: You’ve been waiting for this for a long time, haven’t you, Pile Three? I feel like you’ve been manifesting a date but everytime you get close, it falls through. You might be socially awkward. I think your date will be able to tell this through the date. Don’t start off too intense, you don’t want to scare the hoes! I feel like during this date you will both be intoxicated, or high to be specific. It feels like this will happen at nighttime. Perhaps y’all will be at a hookah lounge, bar, or a restaurant where edibles are served. Perhaps going to the planetarium (while high) I feel like you could even get high with this person after the OG date (be careful, lol). This feels really intimate. They might find a reason to touch you like fix your shirt or tuck your hair behind your ear. I think you’re going to be seeing this person on the low as well. Don’t plan on telling your friends about this person. I’m not going to lie, I feel like you’re going to get ghosted. But at least you got what you wanted! Either that or you guys will end up together but there will be some distance between the two of you. Or you will get along so much but personal goals aren’t aligned fully and you two will wish each other the best. Taurus and Pisces energy is very significant here with this person. I pulled some cards from my oracle deck got the following messages:

“Religious factors: Your love life is influenced by your religious upbringing and spiritual path

Worth waiting for: Divine timing is at work in your love life.

It is safe for you to love: Open your heart to give and receive the highest of all.

Heart-to-heart conversations: Honestly discuss your feeling with each other

Calling in your soulmate: Your prayers, affirmations and visualizations help bring you together

Separation: Time apart from your partner is on the horizon”

Cards Used: Death, The High Priestess, Four of Wands, Seven of Swords, Queen of Wands, Queen of Swords (RX), 7 of Discs, Ace of Wands, Two of Wands, The Moon, 4 of Discs, 2 of Cups (RX).

extras: saturn. determination. “you can do it!”. anthropology major. sacrifices. nathan from insecure.

Pile Four: Okay last and final pile! Your pile felt very different. I feel like this pile is religious or has strong religious roots. I think that you’ll be going on a date with your ex, lmao. But I think this will be the goodbye date to be honest or it’ll be a signifier of the end. I think that you’ll be going to a carnival, a festival, a concert, go-karting, zip lining or something of the sort. Somewhere that’s high energy and will have your blood pumping. I think you’re going to realize you no longer want them as much you wanted them in the past. Whoever they are, they’re a huge flirt! You have a lot of chemistry with this person and it will be easy to talk to them (per usual). Big Aries & Libra energy. I think you’re going to see them differently because of a conversation that you have. You’re on two different wavelengths and that’s okay. Maybe y’all have spent some time apart and they aren’t the same. This is also okay. It’s all apart of the learning and growing process. Learn when to walk away. I think this person is going to step on your toes on accident and make you mad or make you cry. They’re going to comfort you but this is going to make you realize that y’all don’t need to be together. But at least you’ll know where this person’s head at from the last break y’all took. They seem immature. I pulled some oracle cards for you and got the following messages:

“Love yourself first: Your self-respect makes you more romantically attractive.

Forgiving and Learning: As you release and heal the past, you experience more love in your present moments.

Flirt: Extend your lighthearted energy to others

Reconciliation: Someone from your past is returning to your life

Chemistry: There’s a strong magnetic attraction here

Pay attention to the red flags: The signs are cautioning you”

Cards Used: The Star (RX), Ace of Swords, 2 of Swords, 5 of Cups, 3 of Wands, 4 of Wands, Death, Queen of Wands (RX).

extras: CVS. valentine’s day. last christmas by wham. church by bj the chicago kid. “get into it, yuh.” bald cap method. “cori.” empty condom boxes.

[caffeinewitchcraft]

Cinderella Doesn’t Believe in Fairytales (pt 7)

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3). (Part 4) (part 5) (part 6)

This, Cinderella thinks, is a fairytale.

The nobles are bowing to the Prince, to her, and the air smells like the desserts on the table to her left. The music is still going, a sweet flute that serves a placeholder until the greetings to the prince are done. Over the bowed heads of the dancers nearest them, Cinderella can see her stepfamily curtsying to the arrival of the Prince.

Curtsying to her.

“I am glad that my tardiness did not hold up the festivities,” the Prince says. He inclines his head to the dais where the Queen and King sit. “We should resume.”

The Queen and King.

The Queen is as beautiful as the rumors say. Her long, black hair, streaked with grey, falls around her shoulders like vines, pinned into curled shapes against her violet gown with pins that sparkle like the night sky. She wears a simple gold circlet that glitters in the candlelight. Is it encrusted in jewels?

The King wears a heavier crown in burnished copper. His eyes remind her of the Prince’s, hawkish and knowing when he looks at them. He’s dressed completely in black except for the sash that crosses his chest. That is the same violet as his wife’s cape and his son’s jacket.

Cinderella is prevented from curtsying by the way the Prince presses her hand against his arm. She bows her head as best she’s able, heart thundering in her chest. Somehow looking at the Queen and King reminds her of the rainbows in the meadow. They swim in her vision as if obscured by power.

“Hold your head high,” the Prince whispers to her. His breath is hot against the shell of her ear and when she glances at him out of her peripherals, his eyes are warm. “You’re with me.”

Cinderella has never been with someone. She’s always been trailing behind, packages in hand, or at their knee with a hairbrush and sewing kit in hand. Even as a little girl she was never with her parents. She always felt like she was a step behind them, watching as the distance between them grew into an ocean.

She doesn’t feel like that now. The Prince’s arm is warm under her fingers and the gaze of so many people makes her face hot even if she knows the Prince’s magic protects her from being recognized. Cinderella has never felt so keenly in her own skin as she does in this moment.

Cinderella pulls her shoulders back and looks right over every noble to the blooming mosaic on the other side of the hall.

Well done, the voice in the back of her head purrs. There’s satisfaction curling in Cinderella’s stomach that feels foreign and heavy. She likes standing tall. She likes feeling bold and confident. Very well done.

“I know I promised you champagne,” the Prince says. He waves his hand and the music begins to play again. The nobles don’t resume their dance right away, their eyes fixed on the Prince’s every move. Expectant? Hopeful? Envious? The Prince only has eyes for her. “But I am jealous your first dance wasn’t with me.”

“Perhaps if someone had been on time it would have been,” Cinderella says. The Prince snorts and Cinderella’s smile widens. “Your highness.”

The Prince leads her onto the dance floor. The band is gently coming together again, string instruments rising underneath the lonely flute, the pianist adjusting on their bench in preparation. The nobles part for them like water, sliding back into their places without a word.

The Prince comes to a halt in the center of the dancefloor. If he notices the way the nobles stare, it doesn’t seem to bother him. He slides his arm out from under Cinderella’s hand, but doesn’t relinquish it. He kiss the back of her hand and asks, “May I have this dance?”

Cinderella must be beet red. She breathes in through her nose and smiles on the exhale. “Yes.” Then, because he is her friend, “You’ll be the first to have a dance from me, if that makes you feel better. The rest only shared one with me.”

Does the Prince’s gaze soften? Candlelight catches in his eyes, setting them ablaze. “Having or sharing, it doesn’t matter,” he says. “As long as it’s with you.”

Cinderella is speechless. The Prince takes the opportunity to sweep them into their first dance together, one hand on her hip, the other still holding her hand aloft. She’s not ready or at all prepared for it and has to rely on his grip for support when she stumbles.

“Where on earth did you learn to talk like that?” Cinderella hisses. She kicks at his shin and scoffs when he evades it easily. “Ugh.”

“I’m fairly certain that’s not how this dance goes,” the Prince says, tone mild. He’s smiling when she turns her glare on him. He whispers, “You’ll need to be faster if you want to kick me.”

Laughter bubbles in her chest. Cinderella fights it down. “You’d better show me how this dance works before I give into the temptation.”

“My pleasure.”

Dancing with the Prince is better than any of the other dances, though she doesn’t think she can bear to tell him that when he’s grinning like he knows it. He doesn’t guide her like Cy, her first masked partner, pulling and navigating her through the steps like a teacher might. He doesn’t make it a competition like Iz did, doesn’t change the rhythm whenever she manages to catch up to his pace. He isn’t considerate like Morrigan, waiting for her to catch her breath after a particularly tricky step.

Dancing with the Prince is like…it’s like being in the meadow. It’s like laying underneath the oak tree and watching the sun through the leaves, his gentle voice in her ear and the feeling of his magic chasing the chill away. It’s the feeling of being together where anything she says or does will be welcome or celebrated.

She doesn’t know when the other dancers join them, but she notices when the Prince nearly runs into a pair. She neatly takes the lead, spinning them to avoid a collision. The Prince startles and then scowls.

“I would have noticed,” he says. His gaze is dark on the dancing couple as if he’d like to curse them for the near accident.

“But you didn’t have to,” Cinderella says. Somehow she knows he isn’t that irritated. She thinks about spinning him but decides against it. She’s never tried spinning her partner before and is afraid of throwing him into the swirls of skirts and tailcoats that now surround them. She follows him away from the couple who nearly collided with them, surrendering the lead easily. “I did.”

“You did,” the Prince says, an inscrutable look on his face. It only lasts for a moment before he’s quirking an eyebrow at her. “Another song?”

Cinderella doesn’t feel tired at all. “Yes.”

They dance.

-----.

The night is a dream.

Cinderella holds onto it even after the Prince escorts her back to the Emerald Castle, after Helga pulls the pins from her hair, after she gulps down water and fruit before climbing into bed. They never did manage to have a glass of champagne. Cinderella can’t bring herself to regret the missed opportunity.

I’ll just have to try it tomorrow, Cinderella thinks with a thrill. Tomorrow. She’s going to the ball tomorrow.

She danced with the Prince all night. He delighted in each song with her, always keeping up with her mood and inviting her into faster steps or higher leaps. They talked and they laughed and, looking back, they must have seemed like children to everyone else. Cinderella felt like a child, free and excited in a way that she hasn’t been allowed to be in a long time.

She closes her eyes and can’t wait for the Prince to come pick her up for the ball tomorrow.

-----.

The carriage lurches and jumps as it transitions from the smooth Royal Road to the rougher cobblestones of the royal town. The silent occupants seem to wake up from their stupors all at once, the jostling as good as cold water on a dreamer.

“Mother,” Drizella whines. She doesn’t understand what went wrong. She did everything her mother said to do! She curled her hair and wore her lilac dress and didn’t dance with anyone other than the Prince. Except— “He only danced with her all night!”

“I have never been so embarrassed,” Anastasia says. She bites her thumb. Visions of the woman in green spin across the back of her eyelids every time she blinks. “We wore the same color! How dare she?!”

Baroness Ramsey doesn’t answer her daughters. She promised herself when she married the Baron that she would never allow anyone to guess at her non-noble past through her conduct. So she lets her face remain impassive and thinks carefully before she speaks.

Inside she is seething.

“That woman was in the wrong,” the Baroness says at last. She lays her hands daintily over her lap. “A ball like this – well. It’s for all noble ladies, isn’t it? The Prince was meant to dance with others. I’m sure the King and Queen will talk with him tonight. Tomorrow…”

She trails off. Her girls misunderstand as she meant them to. They perk up at the mention of tomorrow and the idea that the Prince will be different then. Anastasia begins debating what jewelry she will wear to compliment her gown tomorrow, going over the pros and cons of each one (“That woman wore gold tonight and won’t tomorrow, so the gold necklace might be the safest choice. But the prince wore silver tonight and might again and if I wear silver we could match.”) while Drizella pulls at her curls, lost in the daydream of what tomorrow could bring.

Inside the baroness is not so sure.

“A second invitation will be sent to those the Prince has taken an interest in. Expect news by dawn.”

They are not high nobility. It is only through the baroness’ hard work and clever deals that they’re nobility at all. Perhaps it would be different if her husband were better at networking like her, but he’s not (if he’s still alive at all) so they have no advantage through title alone. Their only advantage lies in her daughters’ beauty being recognized and – thanks to that woman – that didn’t happen.

Maybe I was hasty to leave Cinderella at home, the Baroness muses. Cinderella would have caught the Prince’s eye. There’s always been something…unsettlingly compelling about that girl. To be honest, the Baroness has always been a little afraid of Cinderella. Even as a child she always seemed to look through the Baroness rather than at her. With her golden hair and odd, light eyes, Cinderella would have been enough to compete with the woman who had captured the Prince’s attention. Then, when the second invitation arrived, the baroness could have kept Cinderella away to leave the real work to her girls.

She eyes her daughters. No. She could not have chosen any differently. It’s been hard work ensuring her daughters never grew afraid of their strange stepsister. Imagine if they were forced to watch the prince be bewitched by her? The baroness was right to leave Cinderella at home, dressed plainly, rather than allow her daughters to see through the soot and rough clothing to the strange, menacing woman beneath.

“We will stay up all night until the invitation arrives,” the Baroness announces. She won’t be able to sleep anyway. “I want each of you to go over every detail of tonight. Who did you notice? What could you have improved on? We will need to be even better tomorrow.”

Anastasia and Drizella complain, but the Baroness tunes them out. She knows what’s best for her daughters. If she says that they need to go over noble greeting they say, every pin, every broach, every conversation, they will.

It will come, she tells herself. The Prince may not have noticed her daughters, but the Queen was certainly interested in them. She seemed particularly interested in Drizella. Perhaps she will be the one to choose the prince’s bride. Yes, that must be it. She was too attentive to my daughters for that not to be the case.

The second invitation will come. The carriage squeaks to a halt outside of their inn and the baroness waits impatiently for the coachman to open the door. Yes, her earlier concerns were born from anxiety. Obviously the Prince won’t choose his own bride. Clearly! He’s a prince and princes must marry based on their parents’ wills. She, a baroness, wouldn’t allow her daughters to choose their husbands. Certainly the Queen, a fellow noble mother, feels much the same.

Cheered, the Baroness doesn’t yell for the coachman to hurry up helping her daughters down from the carriage. Anastasia does it instead and her Capital accent is even beginning to sound convincing! Drizella nearly falls when the coachman supports her step down too weakly, but her recovery is much quicker than it would have been two years ago.

Yes, the baroness must not lose herself to anxiety. She’s raised her daughters well and that will all pay off when she sees one of them married to the prince. Perhaps she should talk to the Queen herself tomorrow? Mother to mother?

Yes, that’s the best plan. She’ll leave her girls to the business of catching the eye of the prince. If they prove successful, wonderful. If not?

The Baroness hides her smile. There’s a reason she came to the ball despite the invitation not including mothers of the potential brides.

-----------.

Three important invitations are delivered at dawn.

One is snatched by the Baroness who breathes a sigh of relief that she must hide from her daughters.

The second is handed to Helga who rolls her eyes at the redundancy and promises to deliver it to her charge once she wakes.

The third is delivered via raven to a lone man on the road on horseback. He holds his arm above his head as soon as he recognized the purple ribbon tied around the bird’s neck, barely flinching when its talons cut through his thin, traveling shirt.

“A summons?” the man asks. The bird does not answer. It takes off as soon as he unties the message from its leg. He flips the letter over to examine the seal. His stomach lurches. “From the Queen?”

He can’t ignore a letter from the Queen. With a sigh, the man turns his horse gently before even breaking the seal. The Queen only accepts replies in person. A bitterness coats his tongue.

Another letter has brought him back to his ancestral home. A very important letter from someone he’s been forced to leave alone too long. And now, barely four days’ ride from the sender, he’s forced to ignore her once again.

I’m coming, Cinderella. Just a little longer.

Baron David Ramsey has been away from home for too long.

If you’d like to read more parts of Cinderella a week earlier, please consider checking out my Patreon (X)! On top of posting all my stories a week earlier there, I also post Patreon Exclusives.

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

Dress Up Part 4: Last Preview

This will be the final big preview for y’all, I’m hoping to have this finished by Sunday! Luci’s here! There is one little nod towards some naughtiness~

You laughed to yourself, now slightly more worried. Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea after all, but you’ve already come this far. You sauntered through the front door and made your way towards Lucifer’s workshop, right where you left him. You knocked on the large wooden door. No answer. You slowly opened the door and realized Lucifer was not at his work bench. There was, however, a small handwritten note on top of his desk. You made your way over and picked up the beautiful hand written letter.

Welcome back, my love! If you're looking for me, I'll be in the kitchen! I have a surprise for you! ♥

~ Your Luci

You smiled sweetly at his letter. Before you made you made your way to the kitchen, you took a small detour to your bedroom, hiding Asmodeus's gifts under one of the large pillows on the bed. The gears were turning in your head as you formulated a plan. Finding your way to the dining room, you were greeted to the site of a lovely set table complete with a large vase full of pristine red roses with petals decorating the tablecloth beneath, flickering candles, and golden cutlery that glistened in the candlelight. Lucifer always knew how to go above and beyond, the view was nothing short of perfection. You took a few steps more and pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen, at last laying eyes on your husband across the room. He mustn't have heard you as he hadn't turned around. The sweet familiar smell of chocolate chip pancakes permeated the air as you watched him effortlessly flip one of the pancakes back into the pan. Ever the showman even when no one was watching. Or, at least he thought as much.

"It smells delicious in here," you called out to him.

"GAH!" Lucifer exclaimed in surprise, losing grip on the pan which clattered to the stove top. He turned around, his face softening and flashing you his signature toothy grin. "Oh, honey, you're back!" Quickly, he turned the dial on the stove to the 'off' position and discarded his 'Kiss The Cook' apron, tossing it to the floor and wrapped you in a tight embrace, his lips pecking every inch of your face before stopping at your lips. "You startled me! How dare you sneak up on me, and on our anniversary of all days!" he said playfully, placing another quick peck to your lips.

You could only giggle in response. "I'm sorry, Luci. I didn't think I had the power to frighten the devil himself, though. You're lucky I didn't try to give you a hug just now!"

"Oh, it would have been an unmitigated disaster, I assure you!" Lucifer joked. "But don't worry, all is forgiven. You're just in time too! Go have a seat out there and I'll be right behind you."

He gave you one last kiss on the forehead before releasing his grip on you and making his way back to the stove. You did as he asked and took a seat in one of the two empty chairs. Less than a minute passed before Lucifer threw his hip into the door carrying two huge stacks of pancakes in each hand, placing them down ever so delicately in front of you. With a quick snap of his fingers, your pancakes were doused in a cacophony of strawberries, bananas, and syrup.

"Bon appétit," Lucifer chuckled. He took his seat across from you, outstretching his hand to hold yours while you indulged in your perfect breakfast for dinner. "So tell me," Lucifer started to say after swallowing a mouthful of pancakes, "where did you disappear to today?"

You stopped chewing for a moment and swallowed the bits of banana that remained. "O-Oh, nowhere special. I was just...looking for a special gift."

"A present for moi?" Lucifer feigned surprise. "Do I get to know what it is?"

"Soon, love, I promise," you reassured him, "I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise too soon. We haven't even gotten to dessert yet!"

Lucifer leaned down an placed a small kiss to the back of your hand. "Unfortunately, I didn't have enough time to prepare anything. Please forgive me," he looked up at you with a small seductive grin. "But there is something sweet I've been dying to taste all day, my darling, and it's sweeter than any dessert I could ever conjure. I'm practically starving!"

You felt your cheeks burn as you smiled back at him coyly. After patting your face with your napkin, you stood up slowly and took a few steps towards your insatiable husband. You bent down, pressing your soft lips against his ear. "You need to learn to control that sweet tooth of yours, Luci," you teased him. Lucifer let out a shallow breath. You took a few steps back, placing your hands on your hips. "If you want dessert, you’re going to have to earn it." You snapped a portal open behind you without so much as a warning. “Come find me!” You sprinted through the portal, finding yourself in the adjacent hallway across from where you left your ravenous lover. You heard the dining room doors crash open followed by an amused laugh.

“So that’s how you want to play it, huh?” Lucifer’s voice carried, “Alright, then…”

[valkyriepirate]

Newt Scamander x Reader One Shot- Lean On Me

Summary: You wake up in the middle of the night and notice Newt's absence. You go searching for him in his suitcase to find him passed out over his papers and try to bring him back to bed.

Warnings: fluff, fluff, and more fluff :)

Word count: 1.3k words

A/N: I wrote this simply to satisfy my Newt craving. He is an adorable little cinnamon roll that must be protected at all costs.

#4- Lean On Me

You pried open your eyes and squinted in the darkness. The other side of the bed was vacant; you knew it without rolling over. Newt’s presence had become so familiar to you that when he wasn’t there, it was as if part of your heart had gone missing.  

You sat up, rubbing your face groggily. There was a light on somewhere in the house. You slid your feet into your slippers and padded toward the source, hugging your thin nightgown to your body. It had begun to get chilly, especially at night, and oftentimes Newt found you cuddled up in bed, shrouded by a multitude of blankets.  

The suitcase was propped open on a table in the foyer. A dim light glowed from within.  

Yawning, you stepped over the rim and descended into its depths. The creatures weren’t exactly aware of the passage of day and night in the suitcase, but most had seemed to settle once the sun had set in the outside world. A few of the nocturnal ones hooted and hummed as you entered.

“Newt?” you called sleepily, lighting a candle from the cabinet. “Are you awake?”

You turned a corner to his study, a small nook by the stairs crammed with bookshelves and creature care appliances. There he was, sleeping sprawled over his desk, stray papers from his latest endeavor strewn about, hair ruffled and mouth open slightly. You smiled at the sight of your husband. You’d given up urging him to go to bed months ago, realizing that he all too often tried to heed your words but became so swept up in his work that he lost track of time.  

You came up behind him, sliding your hands over his shoulders. “My love,” you kissed the top of his head. “Won’t you come up to bed?”

He started awake, blinking sleep from his eyes. “(Y-Y/N)?” He had a line imprint on his cheek where he’d fallen asleep on the table. He looked at his papers in confusion and began gathering them together. “What time is it?”

You ran your hand down the length of his arm and slipped your fingers into his ink-stained ones, preventing him from touching his work. “Time to go to bed,” you whispered, lips brushing his ear.  

He stopped and leaned into your touch as you ran your thumb over his knuckles. He trapped your fingers, brought them to his lips, and nodded.  

You helped him to his feet and sneaked a hand around his torso as you led him up the stairs. Newt, of course, was wholly capable of climbing the stairs by himself, but you wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to close the physical distance between you two.  

Newt didn’t seem to mind. You were the bolder one when it came to affection, but he always caught your touches and held you closer as if he could make them last forever. Often he would absentmindedly caress your arm or twirl a curl of your hair between his fingers. It was in the little things that you knew Newt showed the most care; sometimes a single touch from him said more than a thousand words.  

You tugged him into the bedroom you shared and released your hold as you went to fold an extra quilt over the bed. Your tendency to hog the blankets on cooler nights left Newt searching for warmth, you knew, though it didn’t escape your thoughts that his lack of cover usually led him to snuggle closer to you. Perhaps that was part of your subconscious plan.  

He stood on the other side of the bed, framed in candlelight. The fire shone around his hair just so, making it appear that he was crowned in a rubicund halo. He was unraveling his tie, his sluggish movements betraying how sleep-deprived he truly was.  

You flattened the quilt and came to stand by him. “Allow me,” you said, taking the tie from his hands. Deftly, you undid the knot. You had made Newt’s tie for him countless times each day before he headed off to work to the point that you could do it with your eyes closed. You tugged it from his neck and tossed it to the dresser.  

When you looked back up, Newt’s eyes were locked on you. When you first met, you found his inability to look you in the eye odd and yet a little endearing. As you two grew closer, he would hold your gaze for greater lengths of time, as if he had gotten lost in your eyes and was physically incapable of tearing himself away. Even now that you were married there was something vulnerable about it. It was like you were each seeing a hidden part of each other’s soul, like you were baring your hearts before each other and were unafraid of what it could expose.  

Not breaking his gaze, you allowed your hands to trail down his chest, grasping the buttons at his vest. His heart was racing underneath your palms. Yours skipped a beat. You were melting under that look. Gently, you unattached each of the buttons and slid the vest off his shoulders, leaving him in an undershirt that was already popped open at the collar. On the undershirt you let yourself undo only the first three buttons; you knew if you went any farther your hands might never stop exploring every inch of his skin.

You pressed on his shoulders and eased him to sit on the bed. He reached up to hold your hand, but you knelt to untie his shoelaces instead. You set his shoes aside and he drew you back to your feet, slowly wrapping his arms around your waist.  

“I don’t deserve you,” Newt mumbled, eyes flitting away and settling on your mouth.

You cupped his face in one hand and ran your fingers through his fluffy hair with the other. “The world doesn’t deserve you, my love.”

He closed his eyes and leaned into your hand. “But you deserve the world.”

Your heart seemed to liquefy in your chest, sending warmth trickling all over your body. You leaned forward to kiss his brow. When you pulled back, his eyes- half-lidded and aglow with the candlelight- were once again fixed on your lips. He pulled you closer. Softly, as if it demanded the utmost care in the world, he tilted his head up and pressed his lips to yours.  

He kissed you like he couldn’t believe you were his, as if you would disappear from his arms at any moment. It was delicate and utterly sweet and ended far too soon.  

“I love you,” he murmured against your mouth. His voice was shaky, and he was looking at you like you were a dream.

In reply, you kissed him again. You lowered yourself to sit on his lap and he scooted back, tugging you with him, your hips curved into his body. Your hands stroked his neck and once more found their way down his arms. He shivered under your touch. You smiled against his lips and moved the kiss deeper.  

Newt leaned back and pulled you both onto the bed. You fell against his chest and dipped into the crook of his arm. Running the back of your fingers over his cheek, you whispered, “I love you too.”

Sleep was quickly claiming him, and you could feel its steady hold on you too. You kissed him once more, then rolled over and blew out the candle. You snuggled underneath the blankets, feeling Newt’s warm arm slip around your waist, his ankles entwining with yours.  

You were entering a world of blissful dreams when you felt his soft lips on the crook of your shoulder. You cuddled closer to him, your back up against his chest, and smiled into the night.  

“Good night, my love,” you said.  

“Good night, my darling,” he said as he drifted off to sleep once again.

Masterlist

[marshmallow-phd]

A Manor of Shadow and Blood

Genre: Regency Gothic AU

Pairing: EXO x Reader

Summary: A stormy night brought you to the manor in the middle of the woods. Nine strange men occupied its halls. They won’t let you leave. A dangerous secret haunts this estate. Learning it might either be your saving grace or it could lead to the last breath you ever take.

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5

**

The grand hall was lit as bright as midday. Every surface was polished to perfection, reflecting the candlelight at a greater force. Brilliant brass and gold surrounded you as you made your way through the dancing couples, their movements in perfect sync. Wrapped in each other's arms, they spin around without a care for your wandering presence. 

While all who surrounded you were decorated in blacks and whites, your own dress was the color of freshly spilled blood. The heavy skirts that hug from your waist made it difficult to navigate the ballroom. Their fullness was of an older fashion, one that maybe your grandmother would have worn in her youth. The dropped shoulders left you exposed, your skin chilled despite the amount of bodies in here. 

You kept navigating the dance floor, on the look out for something, though you didn’t know what. Then you felt the familiar burn of eyes boring into your back, which sent a shiver down your spine. You whirled around to find the source, the dress brushing at your feet with the sudden motion. Through the crowd, you spotted Baekhyun leaning against the wall. With a single finger, he beckoned you over. And you obeyed. 

Breaking through the sea of dancers, you took in his elegant suit, the hems lined with gold thread that shimmered against black velvet. 

"You shouldn't dance alone," he purred. Arms crossed over his chest, he smirked at you with a grin even the devil wouldn't wear.

"I have no partner," you retorted. He held out a lazy hard. Hardly the romantic gesture. "No, thank you." 

"How about me?" asked a sweet voice in your ear. 

You turned your head to find Junmyeon at your back. He laid a soft hand on your hip to keep you from escaping out of propriety. When you didn’t shove him away, the hand slyly moved to your stomach, pulling your bare shoulder blades into his chest. With the fingers of his left hand, he tilted your chin towards him. 

"Am I a suitable partner?" 

No answer passed your lips. You could think of nothing to say. The thought of him twirling you around the dance floor was not… unpleasant. 

Junmyeon neither needed nor cared for a reply. He dipped his head to your shoulder and pressed a kiss to the skin. A small gasp passed your lips. And then he pressed another. More and more as he climbed up the curve of your neck. Heat rose from every inch of you as you sighed into the affectionate touches. You relaxed into his touch, welcoming each new contact of his lips. 

"It's rude not to share, Junmyeon.”

Your attention snapped back to Baekhyun, who you had forgotten was there. He pushed himself off the wall and stepped closer to you so he stood in front of the minor. 

No, not a mirror. There was no reflection. 

Except… there was. The mirror reflected the floor, the ceiling, the candlelight. You. 

But not Baekhyun. Not Junmyeon. And not the dancers still spinning behind you. 

Fingers snaked through your hair and pulled your head back, your vulnerable neck exposed. From the gallery above, Kyungsoo watched as elongated fangs flashed behind Junmyeon’s lips and plunged into your neck. 

*****

You woke with a start, the blanket flying off of you as you sat up in a fury. Sweet drenched every pore of your skin. Your day old dress clung to your skin in a way that felt suffocating. Each breath was a struggle for your lungs. 

Vampires. The nightmarish tale that had kept you up as a child until you were convinced they weren't real turned out to be true. But how could they be real? 

Creatures of the night. Blood drinkers. Horror stories meant to keep children from wandering about after dark. 

Curling your legs to your chest and encasing them in your arms, you tried to think of a way out. To escape. With what strength you possessed, you slid off the bed and walked over to the window. The sun, so bright and full of life, was just beginning its descent towards the horizon. Night–their domain–was hours away. If the legends were true, then they would all be asleep at this moment. Any risk that was to be taken had to be taken now. 

After changing into a sturdier dress, you retrieved your still mud-covered boots and, keeping them in one hand, you carefully pushed away the pathetic barrier and snuck out of the room. 

Each step was taken with unmatched caution. You tested every board with your foot before fully committing. Any squeak of a floor or stumble down a stair could alert them to your escape. But by the grace of a miracle, you made it to the front door. Fingers trembling, you pulled on the boots and tied up the laces before opening the door only wide enough for you to slink through. 

The next breath taken outside was like the first breath of life. But there was no time to take it in. 

Gathering your skirts in your grip, you took off into the trees. The dirt was dry and sturdy under your feet. Branches and leaves crunched with the weight of your boots. A lady’s delicacy was out of the question as you ran without abandon. You didn't know what direction you were running. But vampires needed blood to survive and they weren’t drinking yours. And Jongdae had brought those buns from a bakery, not their own kitchen. You doubted any of them knew how to cook. That meant a village or town had to be nearby. Junmyeon had lied about the isolation of the manor. If you just kept going, you could find freedom. 

However, your stamina was running out. This was never your preferred activity. Your lungs and throat burned in an unfamiliar way. The sun still shined above. A short respite could be spared. 

You leaned against a tree trunk for support. In your boots your feet pulsed. Only now did you realize that you had run away without food or water. Not knowing where the kitchen was located, you didn't have time to waste on it. You could survive, you told yourself. Just a little farther. The town couldn’t be too far. Unless you were headed in the wrong direction. 

A rustling rippled through the silent forest. You snapped to attention, trying to find the source. 

“The wind,” you gasped between ragged breaths. “It had to be the wind.” 

A low, rumbling growl said it wasn't wind. 

In the distance, large silhouettes emerged. Wolves. Nearly a dozen of them. 

You ran as fast as your crying legs could take you. With their superior nature built for the hunt, the wolves caught up to you within seconds. Their growls and howls grew louder and more threatening behind you. Running from the manor had been easy. Running from the wolves was to be your end. 

Powerful paws slammed into your back. You were thrown to the ground, rolling across the ground as a scream ripped at your throat. The momentum stopped you on your stomach. Hair covered your face, but you could still see your death through the strands. 

Wolves of gray and black gathered in a half moon circle. They had their prey in perfect position. The middle wolf pounced. All you had time to do was throw up your arms to protect your face. Claws raked across your forearm. Another scream echoed through the merciless trees. The wolf landed on the other side of you with pride. Now you were surrounded. A second wolf leapt. 

A blur appeared in front of you and collided with the wolf midair. The two bodies tumbled across the forest floor. A human and the wolf. 

Not a human. 

Chanyeol. The wolf trapped within his grasp, Chanyeol tightened his grip–

Crack. 

The wolf fell limply to the ground, its tongue hanging from its jaw. 

The others appeared seconds later. Not understanding what they were up against, the wolves let you go to attack the newest threat. 

"Are you alright?" Junmyeon knelt down in front of you. His hands were outstretched as if you were the wild animal on the verge of attack. Behind him, snarls and whimpers told of the fight–and who was winning. Despite not answering him, he caught sight of your bleeding arm. "We need to get back to the manor." 

He didn't ask permission before picking you up into his arms and sprinting through the forest. Everything blurred past you, your loose hair whipping at your face. He burst through the manor doors and didn't stop until he was able to set you down in the largest chair. Once you were safe, he fell to his knees, only his palms keeping him upright. The others soon stumbled in behind him, heaving and collapsing onto the floor. Only then did you notice the smoke floating up from each of their backs. Patches of burnt, red skin sizzled on their knuckles and faces. Anything that had been exposed to the sun. 

"Baekhyun," Junmyeon gasped. 

"I already have it." Kyungsoo came into the parlor with bottles stacked in his arms. He quickly passed them around, waiting until the others were quenching their thirst before pulling the cork out of his own bottle and chugging the contents. 

With his bottle empty, Junmyeon tossed it to the side and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Red smears stained the ivory fabric. You shrank back in the chair as he turned towards you. 

"What hell were you thinking!" He growled. "I warned you about the wolves!" 

"Junmyeon, she's shaken up enough," Jongdae defended. Before your eyes, his burnt skin healed to be like new.

"She could have been killed!" 

Your head was pounding. He was… concerned about your life? The legends said that the sun was a vampire's deadliest enemy. It was why they thrived in the darkness. But they had all risked a final death to come after you. 

"Did you hear me scream?" you whispered. You could barely feel your own lips moving. All heads tuned to you. 

Yixing was the one to answer. "Yes. We all heard you." 

"Why were you out there?" Sehun asked aggressively.

You sucked in a sharp breath. There was no escaping the truth now. You stared at Jongdae. "I figured it out.” 

Baekhyun laughed. "At least we don't have to walk around delicately anymore." 

"When exactly did you do so?" Minseok mocked.

"Then you should remember what I said to you before was true. Harm would not come to you within these walls." Junmyeon crouched down next to the chair. His eyes... there was something behind the darkness that tugged at your still wildly beating heart. "I know you were running away. And if you're desperate to get away enough to get yourself killed, then the choice can be yours. We can send you on your way with every provision. Or," he cleared his throat, "you stay here. With us." 

A choice? He was giving you a choice?

Your gaze drifted over the faces that stared back at you. Even Kyungsoo refused to look away while he waited. There was almost a plea in his expression, a subtle beg. But was it to stay? Or for you to run as far away as possible? 

Junmeyon took your attention away when he picked up your wounded arm with delicate fingers. His pleading was much more clear. 

To leave would be the better choice. The more sane choice. But what would happen afterwards? You could claim being lost in the woods. With evidence of the carriage and the missing driver, what else could they believe? After a few days on bed rest, you would be back by your aunt's side, following her every whim. Including indulging her on a "perfectly adequate" suitor because you had no other option, no other path. That suitor who would then become your future. But you didn't want it. You refused to give in to it. 

Already within these few days, you were… changed in a way. They might not be human, but these men would forever be burned into your memory. Who could move you with music the way Chanyeol had? What silent strength could match the aura of Junmyeon? You had been promised that none of them would harm you. The chance for something extraordinary was right in front of you. The kind of chance you had only read about. It just had to be taken.

"I think… I think I want to stay."

*****

The moon became an ever changing friend. You hardly saw the sun anymore. Like the men you had given yourself over to, you lived under the stars. It was oddly beautiful. This time was often forgotten about by you and many others. The night was only a background to your time within your dreams. But now it was your entire world. 

Every evening, you awoke to the dying orange light of the day. Breakfast always waited for you outside the door. It was the rule that no one broke; none could enter your room without explicit permission from you. Those walls remained your safe haven when things grew too overwhelming. 

Despite your decision to stay, discovering that other creatures walked the earth required a step away once in a while. Especially now, with you aware of their true nature, the men were refusing to hold back. 

Dropping from the roof, running around with spectacular speed, and lifting objects that ten men couldn't hold. It was remarkable. Except for the diet and inability to walk in the sun, the… condition seemed more like a blessing.

"You're rather thoughtful this evening,” Jongdae commented. He walked beside you like he did every twilight. 

After you finished your breakfast, you met Jongae at the front doors to go on a walk around the manor grounds. Often others would join you as well. Junmyeon was the most frequent, though Yixing, Changed, and Jongin made many appearances over the past week and a half. Boundaries were constantly tested, but one word from you and they retreated.

"I guess you could say I am thoughtful tonight," you finally sighed. You hadn’t realized that you were being so obviously quiet. Funny, since you would have thought Jongdae would enjoy the silence. You typically had many questions or comments of your own to make. 

"Should I go steal a penny from Sehun?" 

You laughed. "I'd like to think my thoughts are worth more than a single penny.”

"They must be if you've become so skilled in deflecting from them." He crossed over to block your path. Gaze narrowed, he studied your carefully guarded expression. "What are you thinking about so hard? Regretting your decision to stay already?" 

"No," you insisted. "Not at all."

He raised an eyebrow that simply asked, "Then what?" 

"Do you always stay here?" you countered. "At the manor, I mean." 

"We travel," Jongdae answered with a nod. "Not too often. It’s a bit difficult, you see."

"But we like traveling north.” Minseok dropped from who-knew-where, landing with barely bent knees and hands folded behind his back. "In the winter, the night lasts longer. Junmyeon has a small hunting lodge up there. 

A hunting lodge? "Then why do you stay here?" 

Minsoek shrugged. "This manor is bigger." 

"Having nine of us in one household can be a bit volatile,” Jongdae added. He stepped aside to continue the stroll. "We need the room to separate so we don't level a building." 

Your foot caught on an invisible lump in the grass. "You could destroy a building while fighting?" 

Minseok snickered as he caught your stumble and helped steady your stance. His hand lingered at your waist until your sharpened glare made him remove it. "We haven’t crumbled a wall in a few years."

You scoffed at the casual tone. "What sort of fight caused that?" 

"I can't remember." Minseok leaned forward slightly to look at Jongdae for help. But he didn't seem to recall either. 

"Who knows what started it between Chanyeol and Kyungsoo.”

Your mouth dropped open in shock. Kyungsoo and Chanyeol had fought over something to the point of destroying a wall to crumble? It didn't feel plausible. Neither seemed like the hot-headed sort. You wanted to know the igniting incident so desperately. 

Both Jongdae and Minseok suddenly whipped their heads towards the front of the manor. 

"What is it?" you asked when neither offered an explanation. 

"Junmyeon's calling for us." Jongdae scooped you up into his arms without warning. At your confused expression, he explained, "We're not leaving you alone out here." Remember your last adventure in the woods lingered in the silence.

The short lived wind whipped at your hair that you still wore loose to cover your neck. As soon as he stopped running, you wiggled out of his arms to be back on your feet. Everyone else was already gathered just outside the door. Several eyed you and Jongdae with suspicious and annoyed glares. You took a step away from him for some separation. 

Clearing his throat, Junmyeon called everyone to attention. "We have to go hunting–real hunting. Now, normally, we all go together, but now that we have our guest," he nodded towards you, "some will have to stay behind with her until the first party… comes back." 

"If you all need to go,” you couldn't quite speak the word feed, "then I'll be alright. For a few hours, at least." You weren't sure how long this excursion would take.

Junmyeon's features softened. "No. We'll go in groups. Chanyeol, Kyungsoo, Minseok and I will go first. We shouldn't be gone long." He reached out and patted the top of your head before disappearing into the trees. Kyungsoo gave no goodbye as he followed suit. The last two playfully shoved each other while taking off. 

"Come." Yixing took hold of your hand and started pulling you inside. "I want to show you something."

"But–" You had wanted to ask Jongdae a question, but the traitor was already gone, off somewhere to do something he would never tell you about. So, you let Yixing take you into the manor and up the main staircase at the end of the hallway. At least he let you stay on your own feet instead of insisting on going at his speed. 

Going down an unfamiliar hallway, you were reminded how big this place was and how much you still had to explore. The men occupied most of your time, vying for your attention and pulling you this way and that so you didn’t have much time on your own. It was odd and overwhelming at times. 

During your seasons in town, you were hardly a well-sought after prize. There were prettier girls with grander dowries. You had accepted that fact. Now you were the center of a courting dance to which you knew none of the steps and possessed endless partners. 

Yixing paused in front of a door that looked identical to all the others. He kept his fingers tight around yours as he slowly turned the knob with his free hand. The door swung open. 

The gasp inhaled through your parted lips wasn't enough to convey your awe. 

Maps of all the places you'd heard of and dozens more you hadn't covered the walls like homemade wallpaper. Slipping out of Yixing's grip, you walked further into the study, spinning slowly around to take it all in. The maps were varying degrees of tan, some as light as his skin, others as dark as animal leather. 

Instead of bookshelves, doorless cabinets waist high lined three of the walls. Their squared shelves were stuffed full of parchment and ink and quills. A lone sketcher's desk sat in the middle, an unfinished drawing laying against the tilted surface. 

"What is this place?"

"It's my personal study," Yixing answered as he laid a hand on the edge of the desk. "Kyungsoo gave it to me after I had accidentally taken over one of the parlors." 

Your awe increased ten-fold. Your initial assumption was that he was a collector, not the original artist. "You drew all of these?" 

He nodded almost... shyly. "I did. I was a cartographer. Before." 

"Before?" You understood what he meant, but you didn't know how to ask for the story. 

Turning his eyes to the parchment, he pinched it between his fingers. "I didn't just love traveling. I loved capturing it on paper. I wanted to make these places into art, but not like every other painting. I wanted them to be perfect. Exact replicas as if you were staying at them from God’s point of view. And I wanted to be the best. I couldn't be, though. I wasn’t good enough." 

You moved closer to him, entranced in the story. "What happened?"

A rueful smile tightened at his lips. "I was given a chance to become perfect. What I didn't know was that I traded everyone knowing my maps for the talent to make it happen." Sorrow rolled from him like the tide warning of an oncoming storm. 

Feeling the pull to comfort him, you reached out and covered his fidgeting hand with your own steady fingers.

"People will be able to know your work some day," you whispered. "I’m sure of it." 

Perhaps you had been a bit too forward, a bit too open. 

Yixing moved gracefully forward to eliminate most of the space between you. A smooth thumb that once must have been calloused when it was human caressed the edge of your jaw. His flickering eyes made intentions obvious. 

Clearing your throat, you stepped out of the touch. "Why isn't this one finished?" You pointed to the drawing on the desk. It was an aerial view of the manor, with the top half of the parchment containing the beginning edges of the garden hedges. Disappointed, Yixing sighed and went along with your distraction. 

"I'm still working out the maze. It is intricate. Much more than I was prepared for." 

"Goodness." You were thankful that you hadn't wandered in there yet, especially on your own.

"Yixing.” 

Both of you turned towards the door to find Sehun standing under the frame. 

"Yes, Sehun?" Yixing said through somewhat gritted teeth. The young vampire wasn't phased. 

"I need to speak with you." 

"Fine." None of you moved. 

Sehun looked at you with a pointed glare.

You received the hint loud and clear. "I'll leave you, then.” 

With more relief than you cared to admit, you scurried out of the room and down the hallway. 

Around the corner, you pressed your back against the wall and forced yourself to take deep breaths that filled your lungs to capacity. Panic had been the response at Yixing's closeness. You didn't mean for that to be the response. You didn't want to be closed off to any of them. But you couldn't help it. Maybe it was merely the closeness of the situation. 

Giving yourself a small amount of grace, you pushed off the wall and made your way downstairs. So used to your time being absorbed by the men that you weren't sure what to do with yourself. Two of the ones that remained behind were currently occupied. As for the three others, they could have been anywhere. 

You wandered around the main floor with a fleeting hope that one would come to find you. Then you saw them. A row of grand doors evenly spaced along the north wall called you forward.

The grand ballroom took your breath away. Not so dissimilar to the one in your dream, though this one’s lack of warmth and light left you heartbroken. Memories of dancing figures and lively music haunted these walls. In the corner, you could imagine a small orchestra strumming their instruments in delight. 

You walked to the center where dozens of pairs used to twirl and bow and embrace each other in time with the melody. Ghostly laughter echoed in your ears. What had once been  bright and golden and full of life was dull, dark, and covered in cobwebs that swayed in the breeze of unknown origin. 

Glancing around, you confirmed that you were truly alone before closing your eyes, lifting your arms, and began a soft hum. 

You danced with an invisible partner in the fashion that your grandfather had taught you as a small child. It was more intimate than the choreographed dances currently popularized. You had always imagined your first ball like this, instead of the disappointment you really experienced. You had pictured a boy you didn’t know catching your eye. As the music was struck up, he laid a hand on your waist.

Just like now. 

Hm. Your imagination was running wild, even pretending the weight of a palm was there on your lower back. And now in your lifted left hand. 

No. That wasn’t your imagination. 

Your eyes snapped open. 

Jongin had taken the place of your imagined partner. He smiled down at you with a feline smirk as his hands tightened around you, refusing to let you slip away. There was no choice in leaving this musicless dance. You had stopped humming but he continued to whirl you around the marble floor. He controlled the dance, in charge of every step. He led with an expertise he shouldn’t have possessed–if he were a man of this age. 

In one final move, he slipped his arm fully around your waist, pulling you so close that no room remained between you. Without breaking the spin, he lifted you from the floor as if you were no more than a kitten and whirled you around like the heroine from your favorite novel.

When the spin came to a close, he set you back on your feet, but didn’t let go. Your lungs heaved from the exercise–and from the way your bodies pressed together. Each rise of your chest brought you even closer to Jongin. He kept your gaze like a stablehand trying to calm a wild horse. His right hand slipped from your fingers, softly tracing the delicate inside of your arm. The touch left behind a fire you couldn’t explain. A cold, simmering fire.

He cupped your jaw as his eyes drifted down to your lips. This was a different reaction to Yixing’s wandering gaze. Not panic, but something similar. 

Jongin held you in place as he leaned down, his lips pressing gently into the corner of yours. The thin breath in your lungs hitched. He lifted his lips only to find a new patch of skin. The delicate skin covering your pulse. Every muscle in your body froze. He kissed the skin softly. Surely, he could feel the race of your blood. 

“Whenever you need a partner,” he said in a hush against your neck, “just whisper my name.”

And then, he was gone. 

You stared off at the empty path left behind Jongin. The sheer hubris.

His name lingered on your lips, wondering if he would really come back like he said. But you kept the whisper inside and left the ballroom just the same. 

[verbenaa]

opus 4 (nothing compares to the sighs that fall from your lips)

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:

“Have I mentioned how absolutely divine you look, darling?”

“Well, you did make the gown.” Your hand tangles in his hair, pressing him closer as you arch into him. He buries his face into your chest, kissing and licking at the skin bared to him above the low neckline.

“It’s quite easy when you have such a lovely muse.”

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𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: Astarion/Reader

𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: smut, 18+

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 6.9k

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: exhibitionism, frottage/thigh riding, clothed sex, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, vampire bites, blood, soft dom astarion, tailor astarion strikes again

𝑎/𝑛: if larian can't give us a masquerade, then i will! welcome to my current fixation which has been this masquerade ball fic. idk there is no rhyme or reason to this, its just fun and indulgent and glittery. i hope you enjoy and please like/comment/reblog etc ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

MDNI, 18+ CONTENT

ao3 here

masterlist

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The chandeliers twinkle brightly from the cavernous ceiling above as you float across the polished ballroom floor, slippered feet moving swiftly as your dance partner twirls you around, an arm wrapped tight around your waist while the other grasps your hand as he leads you through the elegant steps of a waltz. 

Wine burns through your veins as it sings a siren’s song, the sanguine liquid slipping down your throat with ease this evening, the vintage aged to perfection. Melted wax drips from the tapers decorating the room, their flames no more than whirls of shining light as you spin around and around, gown fluttering with every elegant movement.

It wasn’t often you attended these sorts of events, despite the amount of invitations you’ve received over the years. Being the most recent hero of Baldur’s Gate had its occasional perks it would seem, and this ball was certainly one of them. 

It was the same routine every time. You would open the frequently ostentation envelopes, perfect calligraphy written with expensive pots of colored ink on the front and oversized wax seals in golds and reds and blues on the back. Inevitably, after a passing glance at whatever solicitation lay inside you would feed it to your hearth, letting the fire gobble it up as it burns to black.

This particular invitation, however, had caught your eye. The envelope itself was nothing of particular elegance, though the black of the envelope and silver lettering did stand out among the others in your post box that day. The matching silver wax seal on the back opened easily with a quick flick of your letter opener, and a singular word on the thick vellum piqued your interest in a way that few ever did on these inane things.

Masquerade.

You can easily recall the way the word made your heart jump, mind moving to the imagined scenarios of your younger years, the adventures of storybook heroines always featuring stories of flowing gowns and glittering masks.

Your own gown flows around your form as you dance the steps, soft fabric laying perfectly against your curves as braided straps of silk rest over your shoulders. The skirt flows down around a high slit up the thigh, velvet the color of the deepest ivy brushing against the marbled floors with every movement. 

The metallic threads glow in the candlelight, embroidered designs of liquid silver cascade in small clusters down the bodice and onto the skirt like little groups of stars falling from the sky. The low back of the dress leaves you uncharacteristically bare, almost everything above the line of your waist exposed, though the air is warm against your skin with all the bodies present this evening.

Your dance partner cuts a dashing figure, a vision of velvet and quicksilver in his own right. He looked made for the part—like some dark hero from a storybook come to life in front of your eyes.

Gods, he looked so handsome. 

Your cheeks flush as you watch him, following his lead as his hands tighten around you, that familiar knowing smirk decorating his elegant features even with the dark mask he wears obscuring the top half of his features, claret eyes framed with black and silver.

You pull yourself closer to Astarion, filling your senses with his familiar and comforting scent as he continues to lead you through the steps with sleek perfection, footsteps confident and head held high under his disguise.

The dance ends, orchestra moving on from the dreamy waltz you had just turned about to on the floor, a lilting concerto taking its place after a brief respite. Astarion leads you to the side of the dance floor, a hand poised on your waist as you walk to the fringes of the room. 

You touch his velvet-covered shoulder, the intricately embroidered doublet matching the color of your own gown to perfection, down the same argent threads. The two of you were certainly coordinated this evening, if nothing else.

It had taken little to convince Astarion to agree to join you, his own love for overdramatic and lavish debauchery too much to deny something like a masquerade ball. He had certainly wasted no time designing outfits for the two of you, spending extra moments throughout his evenings constructing and embroidering them until every detail was as perfect as he had envisioned.

“Astarion!” You whisper into a delicately pointed ear, an emerald earring glinting in the candlelight as you rest your hand on his bicep, leaning your weight into him. “Go get us more wine!”

“You absolute lush.” His smile is fond as he leans over to press a kiss to your forehead, careful not to disturb the delicate lace mask resting over your eyes, satiny ribbon tied behind your head in a pretty, perfect bow.

It was hard to deny his comment, especially when there was that delightful fuzziness that occupied your every sense, clouding everything in a wonderfully warm haze. You had easily lost track of the number of glasses you had imbibed over the evening, though you are fairly certain you simply misplaced some still half full goblets on the random trays of servers who wandered through the space.

Your thoughts swirl as he walks away from you in search of more spirits, his retreating figure a vision. He really was too handsome, dressed in his finery like this. Maybe you were wrong all these years to give your regrets to so many an occasion, if seeing Astarion dressed in the rich velvets and silks he deserved to wear was to be your prize.

A hand on your shoulder draws your attention, and you turn a moment later, reactions slowed by the alcohol still dancing in your veins. Behind you is a man, handsome enough—if only in a rather ordinary way—his warm brown eyes looking out at you from behind a mask of bright crimson as he gives you a friendly smile.

“I must ask how such a lovely gem such as yourself is simply wandering around alone on a night like this?” The words are meant to be suave and charming, though you ignore them, as uninterested in the man now standing before as you are in his words or the meaning behind them. Your eyes draw instead to a overflowing vase of flowers on a table behind him, a downright gaudy display of cultivated blooms bursting from an equally ostentatious vase.

“Do you happen to know what type of flowers those are behind you?” You point at them, not addressing the man’s prior words to you. He turns to look behind him with befuddlement, taking in the large arrangement with barely a blink of his eyes before he turns back, scanning up and down your velvet-clad figure.

“I’m afraid flowers aren’t my specialty.” His answer is short and no-nonsense, he was clearly a man uninspired and uncreative if that was the best he could come up with, the roll of your eyes mostly obscured by the lace covering your face.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting you before, may I ask your name?” He sidles ever a bit closer, and you take a measured step back in response as you cross your arms casually in front of you, head tilting to the side as you observe him.

“How could you know? We are masked, after all.”

“It would be my honor, my dear mysterious Lady, to have your next dance?” His words are polite, even with such blunt forwardness. 

You are saved from having to answer by an arm wrapping around your waist from behind, that wonderfully delicious scent of bergamot and brandy filling your senses with his presence.

The man across from you looks affronted at Astarion’s arrival, eyes falling to the arm wrapped tightly around your body and the angular face pressing against the crown of your head.

“Darling, won’t you introduce me to your new friend?”

“Oh! My love, you’ve returned!” Your smile is beatific as you turn towards him, eyes meeting his own you look for your promised goblet of wine.

“You never mentioned you were…partnered.” The man—what was his name again?—says before you two, a frown etched onto his features. 

“Well, you never asked. This is my—” Astarion cuts you off before you can finish.

“Husband.” There’s a prideful possessiveness to his words that strike your interest, though you fight the urge to roll your eyes all the same. You and Astarion may be life partners, but married you were not.

“Here you are, my sweet.” He holds the full goblet towards you as it dangles between his elegant fingers, wine threatening to spill from its silvered edges. “Now, let us continue our fête elsewhere, hm?”

You give the man a bored look before turning away, downing your wine quickly before moving to place the empty silver on the table behind him, the overlarge bouquet towering over you. Without a second glance, Astarion takes your hand in his, pressing a kiss to the back before stepping away with you into the crowd beyond.

He leads you to a secluded corner, the area obscured by the shadows of the lofty space. Astarion’s footsteps finally slow as you near the wall and he notices your raised brow, an expectant expression on your face.

“Married, Astarion? When exactly was our wedding day, just so I don’t forget the anniversary.” You speak wryly, an amused smile on your lips. “I’d hate to not get you a gift.” 

“Well, we may as well be married. Don’t you agree?” 

“I certainly don’t see a ring on my finger.” You make to look at your hand, a playful smile old your lips as you tease him. Astarion’s frown deepens, a look of childish petulance crosses his features, obvious even with the mask hiding his expressive eyebrows.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous that another man was simply talking to me?”

“Darling, I think he would have done more than simply talk to you if you’d let him,” He rolls his eyes, exhaling a huff as his hands come to rest above the swell of your hips, bracketing your waist with those talented, nimble fingers.

“Besides, he wasn’t talking, he was flirting with you.” You could swear he was pouting, amusement building with every passing minute as you bite your lip to hide your growing smile.

“I hadn’t noticed, honestly.” Your shrug is a touch too put on, the casualness of the action at odds with the finery you wear as the smile you try to hide escapes, painting your features with a certain cunning that Astarion knows all too well.

“Oh, I think you knew exactly what you were doing, darling, letting that man flirt with you.” Astarion’s hands on your velvet covered waist tighten as he walks you backward, not stopping until your back meets the intricately wainscoted wall, the two of you partially obscured by the heavy drapery of a nearby balcony.

“You’re far too smart, my sweet, to be so unaware.” The rest of ball swirls on obliviously around you both, dizzying in its opulence as music from the orchestra begins its climb to a rousing crescendo.

A coy smirk is the only answer you give him, the incline of your head daring him to continue as the lace covering your eyes only adds to your mystique tonight. The wine running through your veins turns your body hot, your confidence brimming with the help of the alcohol.

“And so what if I did, Astarion?” His ornate mask does little to hide the spark flaring to life in his crimson irises, thumbs tracing circles dangerously high on your ribcage as he steps closer into your space, the flowing skirt of your gown brushing against his own finery as he pushes close.

“Then I suppose you leave me no choice but to give you a little lesson, dearest.” 

One of the hands at your waist skates up, passing over your breast before brushing up the column of your neck, hand wrapping lightly around your throat as you lean your head up to look at him. His fingers brush over leftover scars from feedings past, and the sudden pressure on your throat has your body on high alert, heat licking at the bottom of your belly as you inhale a shaky breath.

Astarion’s mouth crashes down onto yours, stealing your breath as he kisses you with abandon. You answer his kiss with your own hunger, opening your lips to welcome his tongue. Your free hand comes up to brush against his chest, fingers tightening in the fabric to pull his body closer as your lips and tongue move against his own.

Your back is pressed hard against the wall behind you, the molded wood cool as Astarion crowds you, his chest pushed tight against your breasts. You widen your legs slightly and he quickly fills the space, a covered thigh coming to rest in between the slight spread of your own.

Astarion’s lips move to your jaw, your head tilting for him as the hand on your neck gives one last squeeze before brushing down your side until it finds your hip. The thigh between your legs presses in harder, and you thank the Gods that Astarion had the wherewithal to design a gown with such a high slit as you feel the fabric of his pants against your bare skin of your upper thigh.

The hand on your hip pushes you slightly forward and your covered center makes contact, the hard muscles of his leg rubbing deliciously against your core. You choke on a moan, and you can feel his smirk against your skin as his lips caress that spot behind your ear you love so much. 

“Do you think you can do it? Ride my thigh with all these people milling about?” His words are spoken low into your ear as your eyes fall shut at the tone of his voice, the devious lust that permeates every word sending a shiver through your body.

You bite your lip as you tug him closer, burying your face into his neck. You move your hips, starting with a slow movement, barely enough to provide any relief. But you feel it, all the same, cheeks flaming as you focus on Astarion and his leg, the alcohol drowning out the noise of the rest of the ball around you. 

What must you look like, you wonder, to anyone who happens to look on? You hope that the image of you together is only that of a pair of lovers embracing closely, too lost in their own world to care about anything else.

You can feel your wetness growing with every pass over his thigh as your hips undulate in soft motions, Astarion’s body pressed as close as possible to your own, shielding you with his form as much as he can from your place in the shadows. 

The feeling is wonderful, enticing in such a public arena, but it is far from enough. Your arousal grows, the dampness seeping through your underwear and onto the dark velvet of his pants as his cock twitches against you, his length hard as it strains against the fabric.

You feel his hand come down from your waist to brush against the slit where it falls against your thigh, his fingers tracing up and down your skin in teasing passes.

Those fingers slide inside the skirt of your gown, grazing the outside of your thigh as they make their way towards your ass. Your skin is hot where his cool fingers touch, a blazing line of heat marking every movement they make as he caresses the flesh barely hidden by your underwear.

“How wet are you, darling?” His words are sinful as he whispers them in your ear, hand easing under the line of your panties to rub against your bottom, his fingers creeping ever closer to the place where your aching cunt connects with his leg. 

“Astarion,” You whine in his ear, hand gripping the collar of his doublet. “Please.”

You don’t even know what you are begging for, but as Astarion’s fingers finally find your wetness you are unable to conceal the moan that falls from your lips. His fingers move, just enough to gather evidence of your arousal on his fingertips. 

“Oh, you sweet thing. You like this, don’t you?” You can hear the smirk in his voice as his hand trails away from the center of you, brushing back past your underwear and out of your gown. He brings the fingertips up to press against his lips, tongue sneaking out to lick at the slight sheen that coats them. 

Your mouth goes dry at the sight, your breathing hard as your eyes trace his features.

Astarion’s hand covers your own where it grips at his collar as his other adjusts himself in his pants, hiding his erection as best he can from sight. He pulls away from you, helping you adjust your dress with quick fingers. Your eyes catch upon the sight of your arousal on his pants, catching the light as he turns. You cheeks burn at the sight, your swallow audible.

“Follow me, love.” You don’t question him on where he is heading as he makes a line for the closest set of ballroom doors, pace quick as he weaves the both of you through the sea of bodies that make up the cities’ finest members of society. 

“Are we going home?” You whisper quietly as you follow, unsure if you were ready to commit the incandescent aura of the evening to memory alone quite yet.

It had taken hours to get ready, time spent bathing together before pampering each other—applying scented oils on skin and through hair, Astarion helping you pin your hair into its complicated updo this evening taking almost an hour alone, his fingers applying the rouge to your cheeks and lips with care as he admired your features with the utmost affection. No, you certainly weren’t ready to leave quite yet.

“It would be a shame to end the evening so early, don’t you think?” Relief and joy spills through you in equal measure at his words, eager to continue tonight’s festivities, whatever they may be.

You walk through the main hall, hand in hand with Astarion, the wine still buzzing in your head as he draws you up the large, elegant staircase of swirling marble. Your presence goes unnoticed as you pass others dressed in their own finery, shimmers of glitters and gems, silks and tulles flowing past as you climb step after step.

You make it up the rise of the large staircase, skirt twirling as you spin around momentarily to take in the scene of the party now beneath you. Its a world of luster that takes your breath away, everything filtered with the heady glow from the candelabras and wine flowing aplenty. 

With a tug on your hand, Astarion leads you away from the center of the room, breaking off to go down a smaller corridor to the side before cutting aside on one or two more until you are isolated, the noise of the orchestra below now faraway and faint.

The hallway feels hushed and hidden away, safe from the prying eyes of society as the candlelight sconces adorning the walls flicker, dancing fragment of light illuminating the narrow corridor. Astarion walks you back with hands on your waist until you feel the half-paneled wall against your uncovered back, the wallpaper ornate with scrolling vines and berries, vibrant reds and greens contrasting against the darkness of your gown. 

Astarion’s head bends to your chest, pressing a tender kiss onto the swell of your breast, over the place your heart beats in three-quarter time.

“Have I mentioned how absolutely divine you look, darling?” 

“Well, you did make the gown.” Your hand tangles in his hair, pressing him closer to your breasts as you arch into him. He buries his face into your chest, kissing and licking at the skin bared to him above the low neckline.

“It’s quite easy when you have such a lovely muse.” His nose nuzzles at the flesh of your breast, breathing in your scent as he groans against you, pressing his hips against your own so you can feel the evidence of his prominent erection.

Astarion bites down into the flesh of your breast that rises above your gown without warning, fangs piercing the tender skin that heaves with your breath as he drinks in the sweetness of your blood. It flows thick in brightly colored streams, a surprised moan ripping from your lips at the sudden action.

He sucks from the swell above your gown, blood dripping to stain the bodice as he licks and tastes the rich claret of you made all the sweeter from the wine, his hand drawing down your belly before dipping lower. 

He finds that slit on your thigh, hand working its way underneath before moving to cup around your wetness as you cover your mouth with your hand, hiding your moans behind a palm as your eyes flutter shut.

Astarion moans at the dampness he finds there, fingers quick to push aside the gusset of your underwear to run his fingers through your slick folds, collecting your arousal on his fingertips, spreading your wetness up and down the expanse of your center. You can feel his erection pressing against you, still hidden by his pants as he relishes your body’s reaction to his actions, lips still licking and sucking at the skin of your breast.

The fingers at your core move to rub your clit, the light pressure a relief as you bite your bottom lip to keep quiet, eyes glancing to the side quickly before closing once more to indulge in the feeling, his mouth not letting up as he savors your lifeblood.

“Astarion, what if someone sees us?” Nerves make their way into your soft voice, barely a whisper as your body tenses slightly with unease at the prospect of being seen by another. Astarion’s head lifts away from your breast, fangs leaving twin pinpricks on your chest, blood pulsing from the wounds in time with your heart as his eyes draw up to your own.

“No one will recognize us, my dear.” A finger circles your entrance, and your knees threaten to buckle under the pleasure. “Though we can stop if you want to.”

You hesitate and Astarion’s fingers pause to give you time to think, his mouth still drinking from the blood leaking from your breast, tongue licking at any stray drops.

“No,” You shake your head, needing little time to ruminate on the decision. “Please, don’t stop.” You let the desperation you feel run into your hushed voice as you give him your consent to continue, your hands in his hair brushing through the strands as you buck your hips into his hand.

“Thank the Gods.” His finger pushes in, working its way into you with sinfully slow movements, your head hitting the wall behind you as you let out a hiss at the feeling. You can hear your wetness as his finger dives deep, the sound of it obscene in the otherwise silent hallway.

“Gods, you’re so wet,” He kisses against your collar bone, nuzzling into the skin there as he breathes in your scent. “Who knew you were such an exhibitionist? Absolutely filthy of you, sweetheart.”

You whine at his words, Astarion coaxing more quiet moans from your lips as his finger pumps deep inside you. His free hand trails up to your shoulder, pushing off the delicate strap of your gown before moving down to pull at your bodice. 

Taking care not to rip the velvet, Astarion succeeds in freeing the breast he had fed on, hand coming up to weigh it in a palm as his mouth licks at the exposed nipple. 

He sucks on the hardened peak as his finger pulls out of you only to be joined by a second a moment later, the stretch barely noticeable with your wetness aiding his smooth thrusts in and out of your cunt.

His fingers curl against your walls as his tongue licks at your nipple, laving the peak as he finds that special place, deep inside your body and presses into it.

He’s relentless as his mouth works your breast and his beautiful fingers fuck you, his other hand squeezing the breast still covered, fingers working underneath the fabric to brush at the nipple.

It would be so easy to come like this, a fact Astarion does not miss as he can feel your body’s reaction, the telltale tension building inside you. Slowly his fingers leave your heat, brushing up against your clit with slippery motions as you whimper at the loss of them. He presses one last kiss to the tip of your breast, still wet with his lingering saliva, before he lowers to his knees in front of you.

“Astarion, what are you doing?” Your words are breathless as your hands run through his hair, the mask on his face slightly askew.

“I still seem to be a bit peckish still, though for a slightly different taste.” Warmth rushes to your cheeks as they flush, the alcohol still floating through your body painting everything in that same warm haze that has surrounded you through the night.

Astarion’s hands glide up your legs, brushing over soft thighs as he grabs at either side of the underwear where it rests low across your hips. His eyes flick up to yours as he pulls it down, guiding the thin, lacy fabric down your legs. He’s unhurried, clearly not worried about being caught or seen as he takes his time while his eyes never leave yours. He steadies you as you step out of the panties, pocketing the damp lace with a roguish smirk and raise of his brows.

His hand wraps around your thigh, pushing it up and pinning it against the wallpaper as he holds you open to his gaze. Your pussy is absolutely dripping for him, the sight of his otherworldly beauty as he stares at the center of you, open for him, takes the breath from your lungs.

There would be no mistaking what was happening if someone were to come upon you now—Astarion kneeling before you, supplicant, as he bares you to himself—unmistakable to anyone gifted with eyesight.

Astarion leans in to press a kiss to the thigh he has pinned, lips moving across the smooth skin with the lightest of touches before skipping over your weeping core to kiss the opposite thigh. You whine at the blatant misdirection of his mouth, hips bucking in indignation with as much motion as you can manage.

“Oh, I’m sorry—did you want something, darling?” He moves his face away from your body to shoot a look upwards, his features smug as he sees the abject desire in your gaze tempering the glare you shoot down at him.

“I thought you were still hungry, dearest.” You keep your words sweet, not letting the aching want you feel bleed into your voice as your eyes narrow. 

“Patience, sweet thing. I’m sure I’ve taught you about it once or twice before, have I not?” His head dips forward once more, breathing in the scent of your essence with a performative sigh. “Now, ask nicely. And do use your words and tell me what you want.”

“Astarion!” You start, exasperation building as you contemplate the words to say to appease him. He could be so demanding at times like this, a trait you found yourself caught between loving and hating in equal measure, though ‘loving’ did usually win out in the end.

You briefly debate making him wait for your words, watching his own impatience grow as you play coy, but this certainly isn’t the time or place for what could be a long, drawn out battle of wills on who would break first.

“Fine. Pretty please, Astarion, will you do me the honor of licking my cunt until I come? Preferably before we get caught?” Your frustration mounts as you say the words though you find the strength to keep your tone as breezy and unaffected as his own, despite the slight embarrassment beginning to creep in as the elusive power of the wine fades ever so slowly with every minute that passes.

Astarion grants you your wish with a wide, feline smile, licking a stripe up the center of you, his tongue running through your folds before brushing lightly against your clit as he savors the taste of you.

“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

His tongue laps at your folds, taking his time to move up and down in languid strokes, never focusing on any one place. It’s a maddening feeling, a whine slipping from your throat as your hips roll, asking for more.

His tongue dips into your entrance, whorling around the opening as he tastes you, his moan against your cunt matching the one that leaves your mouth. Your hands tighten in his hair, hips writhing as his tongue thrusts inside you.

Astarion is eager to taste your essence, tongue flicking deep in your waiting wetness as hushed cries fall from your lips with every brush against your walls. You could sob from the feeling of the lightning hot pleasure that works through your body in time with every push of his tongue. He eats you out like a man starved, his mouth moving against your entrance as he works to plunge you closer towards ecstasy.

His motions are fast-paced, quicker than normal as he works to bring you to your peak, and you whine once more when he tongue leaves to lave at your folds instead. Two fingers are quick to replace his tongue inside you as he circles your clit instead, flicking the pearl simultaneously with perfectly timed thrusts of his fingers, curling up into that special spot.

“You really are so good when you set your mind to it, love.”

Your pleasure ratchets higher, a tremor running through your body as the leg supporting you grows weak with your impending orgasm, muscles in your thigh shaking slightly.

“Astarion, please don’t stop,” Your begging only serves to spur him on, tongue moving faster and his fingers curling faster with a repetitive motion that has your body tightening around him.

“That’s it, darling, come for me.” Astarion’s words are reverent, and you embrace them as you hurtle over the edge, euphoria rushing through your body, the feeling enhanced by the leftover wine as your fingers grip tight in his hair.

You come on his fingers and tongue, Astarion working you through the waves of your completion as they flow through your body, your cunt spasming tight as his tongue doesn’t stop licking at your clit. You bite the flesh of your lip, the delicate skin splitting under your teeth as you keep the sounds of your orgasm at bay, tiny dots of red spilling over your lips.

You uncurl your fingers from his hair, smoothing out the curls as your breathing evens out and your orgasm leaves you in a sense of pleasant euphoria. Astarion presses soft kisses against the skin of your inner thigh as his fingers finally slow inside of you before pulling out. He places one last kiss to your entrance, licking up the remnants of your come before he leans back and places your leg back down onto the ground.

He rises from the floor with a graceful motion, hands skating up your curves as his mouth crashes against your own. You can taste yourself on his lips and tongue as he kisses you, the flavor of your own blood and come dizzying. 

Astarion licks at the blood on your lip, sucking on the mark as it bleeds. You open your mouth to him, his tongue tangling with your own as he deepens the kiss. Your hands work in a frenzy with his own to loosen his pants, the button finally coming free in your rush to free his cock from the confines of his clothing.

Astarion pulls his hardness from his underwear and you pump him, the velvety feel of his shaft warmer than normal as your blood courses through his veins. He moans into your mouth, hips pressing closer to you as you work his cock up and down, his precome shining in the light of the sconces as you spread the fluid on the heat of him.

His hands move down from your hips, brushing over your bottom as he grasps under the curve of your rear, squeezing.

“Up.” You are quick to obey, eager to feel him inside you as you jump up, Astarion catching you as his hips pin you in place against the wall, his hands supporting your weight in a tight hold against your ass. 

The half paneling of the wall presses into your back as you push your dress out of the way, the skirt easily parting around the slit as you guide his cock to your waiting cunt, still wet with your come. Astarion stares at your mouth as you lick at the precome that coats your fingers, pupils blown wide as you take a finger into your mouth and suck.

“Like the taste, darling?” Astarion’s erection finds your entrance, your wetness coating the crown of his cock as he bucks in shallowly, the head barely pressing inside you.

“Always. I think I’d like to have a little more.” Your arms wrap around his neck as you roll your hips against his cock, taking him slightly deeper inside your waiting warmth as you lick at his lips.

Astarion lets out a low growl as he pushes inside you in a single thrust, gliding home as hips meet your own. You both moan at the feeling of him inside you, the satisfaction of Astarion finally filling you euphoric as you wrap your legs around his waist. 

“Did you design this dress thinking about how you would fuck me in it?” Astarion sets a steady pace as he moves his hips, your own meeting his thrusts as best as you can with such a limited range of motion.

“Of course I did,” He licks at the blood drying on your lip. “I thought about how beautiful you would look coming on my cock wearing it, too.” 

He pumps his cock harder, hips rutting against your own as your arms around his neck tighten, bringing him ever closer to you. Your lips meet once more, pressing against one another’s to silence the noises of pleasure breaking from your throats with every thrust. 

“No one can make you come like I can, can they?.” His words come on an quiet exhale of exertion, tinged with the smallest bit os what sounds like possession, his lips brushing against your own with each syllable that leaves his mouth.

“Don’t tell me you’re still jealous, Astarion?” You can still feel the leftover fog from your orgasm, hands playing the hair at the nape of his neck, the strands soft against your fingers as you try catch your breath in vain, every thrust of his cock making it harder and harder to breathe.

“I want to hear you to say it.” The hands on your ass squeeze, cock hammering harder into your center. “Say: ‘No one can fuck me like you’.”

There’s a familiarity to the veiled desperation in voice, though its been years since you’ve heard it. You would know the sound of it anywhere, the cadence of his longing to be wanted and loved and cared for burned into your mind for eternity, settling there like a haze over your vision.

Your heart grows tender at his words, and you hold onto him tighter, pressing a kiss to his lips before giving him the words you know he needs to hear from your rouged lips.

“No one can make me come like you,” A kiss to the tip of his nose where his face rests close to your own. 

“No one can fuck me like you,” A kiss to one cheek, then the other. 

“There is no one for me but you, Astarion. Only you.” Finally, his lips—your love and passion pouring out onto him with the simple press of your lips against his, a hand coming to brush his cheek.

“Gods, I love you.” His thrusts grow sloppy as he grips your hips harder, mouth falling open against your own as his pleasure builds.

“I love you too.” You lips part with the tilt of your head backwards as Astarion hits a particularly deep place inside you, fingers curling hard into the fabric covering his shoulders. He thrusts faster, making sure to hit against the same spot on every push forward.

Astarion’s hand sneaks from behind you to press against your clit, rubbing quick circles as his thrusts grow frenzied, losing their rhythm as he chases his impending high, intent to bring you with him over the edge.

“Will you come inside me? I want to feel you.” You press a kiss onto the shell of his ears as you whisper the words, your tongue darting out to tease at the sensitive skin of the elegant point.

“Is that what you want, darling? My come?” His hips stutter at your words spoken so intimately as you clutch at him, the warmth of your cunt drawing him closer and closer to his peak.

“Gods, yes. Please!” You aren’t afraid to beg as his fingers strum fast on your clit as his thrusts hit deep, your vision clouding over as another orgasm nears.

“Then take it, love.” Astarion buries his face into your neck as he comes, hot spurts of his spend spilling deep inside your body as you ride him through his completion. The feeling of him coming is exhilarating, and his fingers don’t stop until you crest over with him, the contractions of your cunt drawing him in tight as you take all you can of him as he hides his moans into your skin.

You roll your hips on his still hard cock as you work yourself through your orgasm, Astarion still pumping his own shallowly inside you as he comes down, breath hot against your neck. 

Slowly, the world settles back down, both you coming back to yourselves from where you stand against the wall, breathing slowing. 

Astarion’s cock is soft as he pulls from you, his come sliding out with it to make a mess onto your thighs. Astarion watches as his come collects at your entrance, the fingers on your clit moving downwards to push it back inside you with a gentle motion.

“Waste not, want not, my love.” Astarion’s finger curls one last time to press against your walls as you squirm, your body overly sensitive in the aftermath of your orgasm.

He presses a kiss to your forehead before removing his finger, moving his hands to help you stand back on the floor with steady feet. 

He pulls your panties out of his pocket, bending down onto a knee as he helps you back into them, gently lifting one ankle after the other as you still catch your breath, before he raises the ruined lace back up your legs.

He adjusts the skirt of your gown, making sure the velvet falls perfectly before he presses a soft kiss to your covered stomach. He rises, fingers tracing your form as he does, dragging the long forgotten silk shoulder strap back where it belongs as you work your breast back into the bodice.

“Astarion.” You touch at his cheek, capturing his attention as he looks back at you. His gaze is clear as his eyes meet your own, the beautiful crimson red of them soft as he searches your face.

“You really are the only one, Astarion. You are the only one I will ever love, until my dying breath. There will never be anyone else.” You watch as your words settle over him like a balm, the love you feel radiating into him as he accepts them into his own heart.

His features soften even as he scoffs at your words, his hand coming up to cover your own on his face despite himself.

“Oh, I know. Maybe I just wanted to hear you say it.” You let him lie, willing to let him keep this facade in tact.

“I’ll say it as many times as you wish.” Astarion’s hand takes your own where it rests on his face, pressing a kiss into the palm before lowering your joined hands.

“I’ll be sure to let you know, darling.” Astarion adjusts his own finery, settling the velvet back to rights as his eyes draw to the bodice of your ruined gown.

“Did you account for potential bloodshed when you designed the dress too?” You remark as you eyes follow his own line of sight, looking down at the blood staining the velvet dark with wet, sticky blotches. 

“Let’s just be thankful that blood and wine look similar.” 

“Nothing we can do about that bite mark though.” You sigh as you attempt to pull up the neckline slightly higher to no avail.

“Everyone will simply have to be left to wonder, then, won’t they?” Astarion bends down to press a fluttering kiss over the marks decorating your chest, squeezing your hand.

“Think you have another dance in you?” You squeeze at his hand back in response.

“I suppose we still have a few more hours before sunrise to wile away.” Astarion walks, gently pulling you after him as the pair of you make your way back to the glittering ballroom below. “Let’s go have some more fun.”

[ltsokaylove]

“Endroit Sûr” Safe Place

A Regulus Black x Reader

Summary: After a long summer of not being able to write to one another, you reunite in his dorm at the beginning of sixth year.

!Tw!

Scars, very brief mention of abuse

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The amount of relief that flooded her system on the first day of sixth year was astronomical to say the least. Leaving Regulus alone in the company of his family was the last thing she wanted to do, but as a half blood, she didn't really have the option to go with him.

The fall air felt amazing on her face as she walked into the train station. After walking through to platform 9 3/4, her eyes betray her and search the station for Regulus and his family. Her eyes catch on Regulus and his parents before Shes startled out of her staring.

"Y/n!'

She turns and is met with the mischievous face of Sirius.

"Make it any more obvious and my mother will probably come hex you,"

Her face heats up immensely. "Shut up Siri," she mumbles into his chest as he embraces you lovingly. You feel the rumble of a chuckle as it breaks out through his chest. "Missed you idiot,"

"Missed you too chéri," he says with a childlike glint in his eye.

She rolls her eys playfully, pushing herself out of his grasp.

"I know, I know it'll always be my brother," he dramatically sniffles and grabs his arm as if he's physically wounded.

"Oh toughen up Padfoot!" James yells from behind her, tackling them both simultaneously and pulling her into a warm hug.

They find Remus and Peter before retreating into your usual compartment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hogwarts felt a little different this time around, colder maybe? Or maybe the only thing that was bothering her was the fact that she couldn't get Regulus to look at her once throughout the entire feast, and he wasn't in his usual compartment on the train.

Her heart ached for him, and it wasn't a feeling she liked. The entire walk back to the Gryffindor common room her mind spiraled on how she would get James to lend you his cloak.

The second the boys ventured up the stairs to their dorm you were on their tails.

"Y/nnn, what do you want? To see us naked? Were gonna change."

She snorts, "Fuck off James I need your cloak".

James is laying stomach down on his bed facing her, his legs kicking up like a schoolgirl. "What for dear Y/n?" He teases with a smirk.

She rolls her eyes at his antics. "You know,"

"Fine"

"Thank you so muc-"

"But you're doing my charms homework for a week"

Her smile dissipates, "Fine, James, give it".

He smiles mischievously tossing it at her head.

"You little-"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You threw the cloak over your body, cradling it close as you stealthily navigated the hallways to the Slytherin common room like you had so many times before.

She creeps into his dorm silently, praying his roommates aren't there, even though she knows they're definitely out partying with the Ravenclaws since its their first night back.

The first thing she sees is beautiful, Regulus laying on his side with his back to her. The candlelight perfectly illuminates the muscles in his back. The breath is almost stolen from her as she admires the candid beauty of him, until she almost has a heart attack as she notices the scars running at his lower back.

She drops the cloak immediately, "Reg?" He doesn't even have a chance to be surprised before you're on the bed next to him cautiously examining his body, or the parts of it that aren't shielded by the black satiny sheets of his bed.

"Mon chéri?" he asks cautiously looking at you, as if its you that should be breaking down instead of him. "Why are you here?"

"God Reg, I've been so worried about you".

His stoic expression immediately drops when he sees the look on your face, he takes a slightly shuddering breath before exhaling.

"And when I couldn't find you on the train, or get you to look at me during dinner, I thought I messed it up somehow-"

He sits up, "You didn't do anything, wrong, I promise-"

She sighs, gently running a hand through his dark curls. "I don't even care about that right now, Reg. What happened?"

He looks at her with a heartbreakingly vulnerable expression, like he's ready to beg her for mercy. But for what? She doesn't know.

He's shaking, "Remember I love you so much, I would never hurt you or let anyone else-"

She swallows, "What is it Reg? I can take it,"

After a few beats he breaks the silence, "I got the mark- I didn't want to-" he swallows, "I just don't want to die yet".

He studies the expression on her face, "Please don't leave me," his voice is so tiny and desperate that you almost didn't hear the small plead.

"No, no. Of course I'm not leaving you- I'm just a little shocked as all," she immediately pulls him into her arms. As she does so she gets a view of the rest of the scars along his torso and chest and she starts to tear up, heartbroken. "What did they do to you,"

He seems pained but sounds unbothered when he answers you, "Oh you know," he laughs lightly, "Just mother".

She doesn't laugh with him. "I don't want you to stay in that house.."

"Its not that easy-"

"I know its just- I worry. I couldn't fathom losing you".

"You've got me," with says with finality, leaving no room for argument or dismissal.

She embraces him tighter.

"Stay the night love?" he asks looking down at her with hope filled eyes.

She grins hesitantly, "I was just about to ask".

He walks over to his closet and tosses her a sweater and sweatpants. “Here get comfy”.

She nods thankfully before quickly changing, ignoring the heat pooling in her stomach as she feels him watching her intently.

“Take a picture it’ll last longer,” she giggles throwing her old shirt at him.

He rolls his eyes playfully, and pulls her by the waist back into bed. His arms tighten around him and he pulls her closer, all the tension in his body disappearing the moment she touches him.

“You really are my endroit sûr, mon chéri,“

“Endroit sûr?” She asks quietly, face buried into the crook of his neck.

“Safe place, your my safe place darling”.

[moonlits-ocean]

Long Way Home [Part X]

[Azriel x Reader fanfic]

Synopsis: Y/n is the daughter of a healer in the city of Velaris. After a small incident, she moves to the House of the Wind to work for the High Lord, Rhysand. Everyone in the house seems to welcome her except Azriel, the second in command. Even though he is just blankly polite and does not acknowledge her much, she can't help but fall for him. Does Azriel return her feelings or remain unfeelingly aloof?

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Read Part 1 here. Read Part 7 here.

Read Part 2 here. Read Part 8 here.

Read Part 3 here. Read Part 9 here.

Read Part 4 here.

Read Part 5 here.

Read Part 6 here.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Part X

My father had taught me that most illnesses could be broadly classified into two: diseases that had a tendency to spread, and the diseases that did not. 

While treating a patient with a spreadable illness, there was a high risk of the caretaker getting ill. To combat this, we had made some discoveries like: covering the nose and mouth while in contact with the patient, washing hands with soap frequently and general personal hygiene. It didn't make the caretaker infallible, but it did lessen the risk of spreading. 

Azriel didn't have a cold or any other illness that spread, so I was pretty safe from that. He had an unusually high temperature paired with aches, dizziness, tiredness, and a minor stomach issue. 

Rhys and Cassian winnowed Azriel to my bedroom and I helped them get him under the covers. Father had fetched a couple of bags of his clothing and other supplies which I'd need. They promised to visit frequently and left. 

I sat beside him on the bed, tears threatening to spill over again as I took him in. His skin had lost its colour, his wings looked limp and he was murmuring deliriously as we settled him in. Now he looked like he was in some kind of fitful sleep, his arms and torso jerking now and then. I leaned over and kissed his forehead, sending waves of reassurance through the bond. His body instantly relaxed and the jerking stopped. 

I let him sleep until I finished making lunch, consisting of steaming vegetable broth which was both light on the stomach and masked the taste of the bitter medicine he had to take. I toasted some bread for myself and took a tray upstairs. 

When I gently woke him up to eat, he had trouble staying conscious at first, but when he figured out that it was me, he fought hard to stay awake. I cradled his head against my collarbone and fed him the broth from a small bowl. He hadn't eaten in days, and I didn't want him to throw up the food. I let him lie back down after wiping his mouth with the hem of the shirt I was wearing. Then, I placed a cold compress on his head to ease some of the temperature.

The medicine started working after a few hours. His body started sweating and the temperature reduced to a manageable level. It was just as Cassian had said: it was quickly healable illness, but it had come to this level because he refused any medicine. I gently wiped the sweat away with a damp cloth, then applied a soothing balm to help restore some moisture to his dried skin and lips. 

As the sun dipped in the west, the villa's magic lit the candles and sconces for light. Azriel's ever present shadows weren't there, and his beautiful wings looked brittle and fragile in the candlelight. 

His temperature rose a bit, though not to the previous unmanageable state. After I made him have another bowl of the medicine spiked broth, I stayed up all night trying to keep him cool with damp cloths and cold compresses. Throughout the night, there were a few times when he seemed to have awoken, but it was just his delirium talking. He was far more relaxed now, and I stayed beside him and held his hand as he mumbled my name. 

I was waiting for the fever to break, which might help him return to proper consciousness. I kept a careful watch to make sure it was reducing and there were no sudden spikes in his temperature. 

Somewhere in middle, he also had a nightmare, I think. I couldn't get him to wake up, so I held his hand physically and also reached out through the bond. 

Finally, the fever broke on the cusp of dawn, just as the morning birds were getting ready to herald a new day. His nightmare also seemed to have eased, and he was now calm. I had the sensation that he had reached out to me through our mating bond, as we were holding each both mentally and physically. 

After another round of wiping sweat, I laid down next to him for a quick nap before breakfast. I had to take care of myself too to take care of my sick mate properly. 

My body was tired from the all the work, and the nap turned into two hours of sleep. The morning sunlight was spilling through the open French windows when I opened my eyes. Cassian, Rhys, and my father were on the other side of the bed, and Azriel seemed to be awake. He was propped by pillows and talking to my father in low tones. 

They stopped talking and turned to me when I sat up and stretched. Azriel looked better now, not like a dead body as I had seen him yesterday. His eyes showed apprehension as he watched me. 

I merely stood up and walked to the door. There was a long conversation to be had, but first, Azriel had to get healthy. It could wait until that. 

"I'm making breakfast, hope you three will stay for that," I nodded at the others and made my way downstairs. 

I made some savoury vegetable oats, buttered toast and put the kettle to boil water for tea. Rhys, Cassian and father made their way down just as I was finishing up. They looked a bit suspicious to me, glancing at each other and then telling me that they'll serve themselves, and I should go just ahead and take a plate to Azriel. 

They wanted us to talk and clear it out. Sighing, I carried a tray upstairs. 

Azriel was lying back down when those three had left, but he raised his head at my entrance. When he noticed it was me, he started to push himself upright. I moved to help arrange the pillows behind his back so he was comfortable and sat down next to him. 

His body was still weak, and his hands trembled, so I fed him the food I had brought. 

"How are you feeling?" I asked after a couple of spoons. 

Instead of answering the question, he looked me directly in the eyes. "From the first time I saw you, I haven't had a proper night's sleep."

I exhaled audibly, returning the spoon to the bowl and waiting for him to go on. 

"You were alone and nervous during Rhys's treatment without your father present. But still, you never showed it on your face and saved him. And when you shifted to the House, you were a ray of sunshine that brought a smile to everyone's face."

I looked away from his intense gaze. "Never on your face, though."

"You've made me smile and laugh so many times that I've lost count."

I wasn't buying it, and raised an eyebrow at him. "Really? And somehow I happened to not see even one of those alleged smiles?"

He replied to this statement with a goddamn smile. 

I wasn't amused. I wanted to smash the bowl I was holding into his face.

I reined in my rising anger. Maybe I wasn't ready for this conversation yet. I needed more time to sort out my thoughts. 

I shoved another spoonful of oats into his mouth before he could say another word. Placing the bowl back on the tray, I pushed it onto his lap and stood up. He could eat on his own. 

"Finish eating and take rest," I started towards the door. 

"Y/n, please, wait. Listen to me—"

I whirled on him so fast that he instantly stopped. "Say another word and I'll poison your next meal and shove it down your throat. You can't just ignore me for months, giving uninterested replies to my attempts at conversation, then reject me when we found out that we were mates. As if that wasn't enough, you have the fucking audacity to FALL SICK AND HAVE ME TAKE CARE OF YOU! JUST FUCKING SHUT UP AND LET ME BE!"

I banged the door shut behind me and stomped down the stairs, breathing heavily from my outburst. 

Rhys, Cassian and my father were at the base of the stairs, trying to eavesdrop on our conversation, I guess. They scattered like mice when they saw my murderous expression. Rhys started wiping down the table, Cassian was furiously scrubbing at the dishes and father was straightening things up. 

I was amused at Rhys and Cassian. Never thought the High Lord and his commander would be doing a domestic chore in my house out of fear. 

Fetching a bowl from a cabinet, I scooped some food in it and sat down at the table after Rhys was done. I set the bowl down hard enough to make the table rattle. The anger was still present. They all started inching towards the front door. 

"You're welcome to my house anytime," I said in a low, controlled voice, making them stand still. "But the next time you even attempt to patch things up between me and Azriel, I'll poison your food and turn your dead bodies into compost for my fruit orchard. And that includes you, father."

They all nodded wordlessly and tripped over each other trying to hurry outside. 

Well. 

Good thing to know that my anger rattled even the best of the High Lords in Prythian.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Tags:

@kalulakunundrum @thelov3lybookworm @hnyclover @impossibelle @sourapplex @brujitafantomatico @venuseuripedis @darling006 @fightmedraco @lees-chaotic-brain @thesunloveschips

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Read Part 11 here.

This fanfic can also be found in Wattpad, along with other exclusive parts like playlists and pictures. Here's the link: https://www.wattpad.com/story/358573037-long-way-home

Happy reading! <3

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

[Thank you for your patience as I know I was late in uploading these parts. I love you all very much <3]

[novaursa]

Part 2

- Note: This work was fully published on AO3, so expect steady updates. I'll post regularly to engage more readers.

- Title: zōbrie ānogar

- Rating: Explicit (18+)

- Romance: (Aegon II/OFC)

- Warning: All flags are up for this work. Aegon is also a warning on his own.

- Summary: It was written by Archmaester Gyldayn that on the day Princess Vaella Targaryen was born she was supposed to die. Until she fed upon her twin, Baelon. And when she turned one and five, she sought her end in the lair of Cannibal, in Dragonmont. But instead of feasting upon her, the dragon wept with her. And Archmaester had written a lengthy thesis on how wild dragon recognized a kindred soul in the Princess, as they both dined on their kin.

- Word Count: 9 000+

- Parts: 1, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, Final

In the quiet sanctum of the Red Keep’s library, the flickering candlelight illuminated rows of ancient tomes and scrolls. Aegon, Aemond, Helaena, and Vaella sat around a large wooden table, listening to Maester Mellos. The rare presence of Aegon in such a studious environment, with Kingsguard standing watch nearby, was an unusual sight. However, Aegon paid little attention to the lessons, his focus entirely on Vaella. He sat beside her, absentmindedly playing with her long, pale hair, winding it around his fingers.

Maester Mellos, already irked by Aegon’s lack of interest, glanced over and cleared his throat pointedly. "Prince Aegon, please pay attention. This is important history."

Aegon gave a dismissive shrug, his fingers still entwined in Vaella's hair. "I’m listening," he lied, though his eyes never left Vaella.

Vaella cast a sidelong glance at Aegon, her lips curving into a small, amused smile. She had grown used to his antics, even if they occasionally annoyed her. The atmosphere was tense, broken only by the rustling of parchment and the occasional exasperated sigh from Maester Mellos.

The door to the library opened, and Alicent Hightower stepped in. She looked at her three children and said, "Aegon, Aemond, Helaena, come with me. Your father wants to speak with you."

Alicent’s gaze lingered on Vaella, her expression unreadable. Vaella sensed a hint of disappointment, though she knew it wasn't directed at her. She remained seated as Maester Mellos resumed his lesson, clearly uncomfortable with Vaella’s presence but bound by duty to continue.

Aegon looked at Vaella, his expression one of reluctance. He seemed ready to protest, but Alicent’s stern gaze silenced him. He hung his head and reluctantly stood, following his mother and siblings out of the library. Vaella watched them go, a sense of unease settling in her chest.

Alicent led her children to King Viserys’s chambers. The King, looking more frail than ever, sat propped up with cushions, his face lined with weariness. He smiled weakly as his children entered, though the gravity of the moment was clear.

"I have come to a decision," Viserys began, his voice thin but firm. "Aegon, you will marry Helaena. This union will strengthen our family and bring stability."

Aegon automatically stiffened, his face contorting with anger. "What?" he barked, unable to contain his outrage. "No, I will not marry Helaena! She should be wed to either Aemond or Daeron, call him back from Oldtown. I will marry Vaella."

Viserys opened his mouth to respond, but Aegon continued, his voice growing louder. "I will not marry Helaena. Vaella is the only one I will wed." He turned to his mother for support, but Alicent averted her gaze, her expression pained. It was clear her voice had not been heard, and she disagreed with her husband's decision.

Viserys sighed weakly, his eyes closing briefly as if summoning the strength to continue. "Vaella will be wed to a noble lord to further our House's standing. This is my final decision."

Aegon's face flushed with fury. "I will not wed anyone besides Vaella," he shouted, his voice echoing through the chamber. He turned on his heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by Viserys’s labored breathing. Alicent looked at her husband, her eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and resignation. "Viserys," she began softly, but he raised a hand to silence her.

"This is not up for debate, Alicent," Viserys said, his voice tired but resolute. "The decision has been made."

Aemond and Helaena stood quietly, their faces a mix of confusion and concern. Aemond glanced at Helaena, who looked pale and uneasy at the prospect of her new betrothal. Alicent gathered her composure and turned to her remaining children.

"Come, let us leave your father to rest," she said gently. She led them out of the chamber, her mind already racing with the implications of Viserys’s decree.

…

Alicent found Aegon in his chambers, pacing furiously. His anger was palpable, the air thick with his frustration and hurt. As she entered, he turned to her, his eyes blazing with fury.

"How could you let this decision stand?" he demanded, his voice trembling with emotion. "You’re my mother! You should have stopped him!"

Alicent sighed deeply, her own frustration mingling with sadness. "Aegon, I tried. I have spoken to your father many times, but he is adamant about keeping Vaella away from you."

Aegon’s face twisted with anger. "I will not wed Helaena. I won’t do it."

"Aegon, please try to understand," Alicent pleaded, stepping closer. "Your father believes this is what's best for our family."

"I don't care what he believes!" Aegon shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. "He doesn't understand what this means to me. Vaella is the only one I want to be with."

Alicent’s expression softened with empathy, but she knew the futility of arguing against Viserys’s decision. "Aegon, I know this is hard, but you must try to accept it."

Aegon's panic grew, his eyes wide with fear at the thought of being separated from Vaella. "What if they marry her off to someone else? What if she's taken away from me?" He began to hyperventilate, his chest heaving with panic. "I can't lose her, Mother. I can't!"

Alicent reached out, trying to calm him, but he recoiled, his fear turning into blame. "This is your fault!" he yelled, his voice cracking. "If you had fought harder, this wouldn’t be happening!"

The accusation stung, and Alicent’s patience snapped. She slapped Aegon across the face, the sound sharp and shocking in the quiet room. Aegon stood frozen, his hand slowly moving to his cheek where her palm had struck.

"Aegon," Alicent said, her voice trembling with a mixture of anger and sorrow. "You do not understand the complexities of ruling, the sacrifices that must be made for the good of the realm. Your father’s decision is final. You must learn to accept it."

Aegon’s eyes filled with tears, his anger momentarily eclipsed by the shock of the slap and the depth of his despair. "But I love her," he whispered, his voice breaking.

Alicent’s heart ached for her son. She stepped forward and took his face in her hands, forcing him to meet her eyes. "I know, Aegon. I know how much she means to you. But you must find a way to be strong, to honor your father's wishes. This is the burden we bear as members of the royal family."

Aegon closed his eyes, a single tear slipping down his cheek. "I don't know if I can do this, Mother. I don't know if I can live without her."

Alicent pulled him into a tight embrace, her own tears threatening to spill. "You are stronger than you think, my son. And no matter what happens, you will always have my love and support."

Aegon clung to his mother, the anger and fear slowly giving way to a deep, abiding sadness. The future seemed bleak and uncertain, but in this moment, he found a small measure of comfort in her arms. 

As they stood there, wrapped in a silent embrace, Alicent prayed for the strength to guide her son through the difficult times ahead. 

…

After her studies, Vaella wandered through the winding corridors of the Red Keep, her mind still preoccupied with the events of the day. She turned a corner and spotted Aemond and Helaena standing together in a secluded alcove, their expressions troubled and somber. Concerned, she approached them, her brow furrowing with worry.

"Aemond, Helaena, what happened?" she asked, her voice gentle but filled with urgency.

Aemond glanced at Helaena before meeting Vaella’s eyes. "Father has decided that Aegon will marry Helaena," he said, his tone flat.

Vaella’s eyes widened in shock. "What? When did this happen?"

"Just now," Helaena replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Mother and Father called us to his chambers. Aegon was furious."

Vaella was left speechless, the weight of the news settling heavily on her shoulders. She turned to Helaena, her concern deepening. "Helaena, what do you think about this?"

Helaena sighed, looking down at her hands. "I don’t know, Vaella. I never imagined marrying Aegon. He’s always been so... difficult."

Aemond scoffed softly, shaking his head. "Difficult is putting it lightly. He’s impossible."

Vaella nodded, her thoughts racing. She knew how possessive Aegon was of her, and the idea of him being forced into a marriage he didn’t want was troubling. But her immediate concern was Helaena. "Are you okay with this?" she asked, her voice gentle.

Helaena looked up, her eyes meeting Vaella’s. "I suppose I don’t have much of a choice. It’s Father’s decision. But it feels... wrong."

Vaella reached out and took Helaena’s hands in hers, squeezing them reassuringly. "I’m here for you, Helaena. We’ll get through this together."

Helaena gave her a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, Vaella. That means a lot to me."

Aemond sighed, his expression conflicted. "I hate seeing Aegon like this. But at the same time, I can’t help but feel relieved that it’s not you who has to marry him."

Vaella nodded, understanding his feelings. "It’s a difficult situation for all of us. But we have to support each other, no matter what."

Helaena nodded, her eyes filling with determination. "We will. We’re family, after all."

Vaella smiled, feeling a surge of affection for her siblings. Despite the challenges and uncertainties ahead, she knew they would face them together. "Let’s go for a walk in the gardens," she suggested. "It might help clear our heads."

The three of them made their way to the gardens, the fresh air and the scent of blooming flowers providing a much-needed respite from the tension within the castle. As they walked, they talked about their fears and hopes, finding comfort in each other’s presence.

…

Later that evening, Vaella sat in her chambers, trying to find solace in the quiet after the tumultuous day. She was lost in thought when the door creaked open, and Aegon stepped inside. His face was a picture of despair, his eyes red and swollen from crying. He looked utterly broken.

"Aegon," Vaella whispered, her heart aching at the sight of him. She knew Alicent had forbidden them from sharing a bed, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn him away. She stood and walked over to him, wrapping her arms around him in a comforting embrace.

Aegon clung to her desperately, his body trembling with sobs. "Vaella, I can't do it. I won't wed Helaena. Father is trying to keep you away from me," he cried, his voice breaking. "He thinks I'm not good enough for anything, let alone you."

Vaella tightened her hold on him, her heart breaking for her brother. "Shh, Aegon. It's going to be okay," she murmured, stroking his hair gently. "We'll find a way through this."

She led him to the bed, and they sat down together. Aegon buried his face in her shoulder, his tears soaking through her gown. Vaella held him, her own eyes filling with tears as she felt his pain.

"I can't lose you, Vaella," Aegon whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "You're the only one who understands me, the only one who cares."

Vaella kissed the top of his head, her heart aching for him. "You won't lose me, Aegon. I'm here, and I'll always be here for you."

Aegon’s sobs gradually subsided, replaced by deep, shuddering breaths. Vaella continued to hold him, offering silent comfort. Eventually, they lay down together, Vaella cradling him in her arms.

"Father just doesn’t understand," Aegon muttered, his voice hoarse from crying. "He’s always thought I was a disappointment. But you, Vaella... you're the only one who makes me feel like I'm worth something."

Vaella’s eyes filled with tears as she listened to him. "Aegon, you are worth everything to me. Don’t let Father’s words define you. We’ll find a way to be together, no matter what."

Aegon sighed, his breath warm against her neck. "I hope you're right. I can't imagine my life without you."

Vaella stroked his hair, her heart full of love and determination. "We'll make it through this, Aegon."

As they lay there, the room filled with a sense of peace and comfort. The world outside their small sanctuary felt distant, and for a moment, all that mattered was the bond between them. Aegon’s breathing slowly evened out as he drifted into sleep, his tears finally spent.

Vaella watched over him, her heart heavy with the weight of their shared burdens. She knew that the road ahead would be difficult, but she was determined to stand by Aegon’s side, no matter what. As she closed her eyes and held him close, she whispered a silent promise to herself: to protect him, to support him, and to fight for their future together.

And so, they fell asleep, wrapped in each other’s embrace, finding solace in the one person who understood and loved them unconditionally.

…

A few days later, Vaella found herself in the presence of her stepmother, Alicent Hightower. The interactions between them had always been awkward, strained by the complicated relationships and the familial tensions that seemed to pervade the Red Keep. Vaella knew that Aegon’s attachment to her was a point of contention, something Alicent had long tried to break but had recently begun to accept, realizing that Vaella’s presence had a stabilizing effect on Aegon’s more destructive habits and impulses.

The two sat in a quiet chamber, the air thick with unspoken words. Alicent was working on some embroidery, her movements precise and measured, while Vaella sat nearby, her hands folded in her lap.

"Vaella," Alicent began, her tone formal yet not unkind, "how have you been finding your studies?"

Vaella looked up, meeting her stepmother’s eyes. "They have been well, thank you, Mother. Maester Mellos has been very thorough."

Alicent nodded, her focus returning to her needlework. "That is good to hear. Your education is important, especially in times such as these."

There was a pause, the silence growing heavy. Vaella took a deep breath, deciding to speak her mind. "Mother, I wanted to thank you."

Alicent looked up, surprise flickering across her face. "Thank me? For what, child?"

"For taking care of Father all these years," Vaella said softly. "I know it must have been difficult, especially with everything that has happened."

The stern lines on Alicent’s face softened at Vaella’s gratitude. She set aside her embroidery, her hands resting in her lap. "I only did and do my duty, Vaella. As a wife, as a queen."

Vaella nodded, her expression earnest. "I know. But I am thankful nonetheless."

Alicent studied her for a moment, her eyes thoughtful. "You have a kind heart, Vaella. It is a rare quality, and one that I hope you never lose."

Vaella smiled faintly, the warmth of Alicent’s words comforting her. "Thank you, Mother. I try my best."

After a moment's silence, Vaella’s expression turned somber. "I often think about my twin brother, Baelon."

Alicent’s gaze sharpened, her interest piqued. "Do you, now?"

Vaella nodded, her voice tinged with sadness. "I feel responsible for his death. If I could, I would change places with him. Perhaps then, Father would be less miserable, and he would treat everyone better. Even you."

Alicent’s face softened with understanding, her stern demeanor giving way to compassion. "Oh, Vaella. You mustn’t blame yourself for what happened. It was a tragedy, but it was not your fault."

Vaella’s eyes filled with unshed tears. "But sometimes it feels like it is. If I had cried when I was born, if I had been stronger…"

Alicent reached out, placing a gentle hand on Vaella’s. "You were a newborn, Vaella. There was nothing you could have done. Your father’s sorrow is his own, and he carries it for many reasons. Do not take that burden upon yourself."

Vaella nodded, grateful for Alicent’s words, though the weight of her guilt still lingered. She stood, feeling the need to leave before her emotions overwhelmed her. "Thank you, Mother. For everything."

Alicent watched her stepdaughter leave, her mind swirling with thoughts. She recalled the words of Maester Mellos, the strange circumstances surrounding Baelon’s death. Vaella had not cried until after her twin brother had passed, and there had always been an air of mystery and unease about that event.

As Vaella’s footsteps faded down the corridor, Alicent sat in the quiet chamber, her needlework forgotten. Her thoughts drifted to the past, to the fateful day when Baelon had been found lifeless in his crib next to Vaella. The Maester’s words echoed in her mind, speaking of omens and strange occurrences.

Alicent sighed, feeling the weight of her responsibilities and the complexities of her family’s history pressing down on her. She had done her best to navigate the treacherous waters of court life, to protect her children and secure their futures. But some burdens, she realized, could never be fully laid to rest.

As the evening shadows lengthened, Alicent resumed her embroidery, her fingers moving deftly through the fabric. The quiet chamber was filled with the soft sounds of needle and thread, a moment of calm amidst the storm of their lives. In her heart, she carried the hope that somehow, they would all find a way to heal and move forward.

…

As Vaella made her way down the dimly lit corridor of the Red Keep, she was lost in thought about her recent conversation with Alicent. The weight of her family's turmoil pressed heavily on her shoulders. Her mind was filled with worries about Aegon, Helaena, and her father. She barely noticed the figure approaching until he was right in front of her.

"Princess Vaella," Otto Hightower's voice was smooth but commanding. He was the Hand of the King, and his presence always demanded attention.

Vaella stopped and looked up, her expression polite but guarded. "Lord Hightower."

"Have you seen Alicent?" Otto asked, his piercing eyes scrutinizing her.

"Yes, my lord," Vaella replied, maintaining her composure. "She is in her chambers, attending to some letters."

Otto nodded, his expression unreadable. As Vaella turned to leave, he spoke again, stopping her in her tracks. "My son, Ser Gwayne, has been asking about you."

Vaella's heart sank, but she kept her face neutral. "Oh, has he?" she replied politely, her tone carefully controlled. "Please send him my regards."

Otto's eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to gauge her reaction. "You should consider speaking with him more often. He is quite fond of you."

"Thank you for letting me know, Lord Hightower," Vaella said, eager to escape the conversation. "I will keep that in mind."

With a polite nod, she turned and walked away, feeling Otto's eyes on her back until she rounded the corner. The moment she was out of sight, she quickened her pace, her heart pounding in her chest. She didn't want to think about Ser Gwayne or any potential suitors. The idea of marriage, especially after her conversation with Alicent, felt like another weight pressing down on her.

Vaella finally reached her chambers and closed the door behind her, leaning against it with a sigh of relief. The silence of her room was a stark contrast to the chaos in her mind. She crossed the room and sank onto her bed, feeling the tears welling up in her eyes.

Everything felt overwhelming. The responsibility of supporting Aegon, the tension with her father, the absence of Rhaenyra—it all pressed down on her, making it hard to breathe. She missed her sister terribly. Rhaenyra had always been a source of strength and guidance, and without her, Vaella felt adrift.

She curled up on her bed, hugging a pillow to her chest as the tears finally spilled over. "Rhaenyra," she whispered into the silence, her voice trembling. "I need you. I don’t know how to do this without you."

The room offered no answers, only the quiet sound of her own breathing and the occasional creak of the wooden beams above. Vaella closed her eyes, trying to find some semblance of peace. She thought of Aegon, of his broken expression when he had come to her that night. She thought of Helaena, who faced an uncertain future with a strength Vaella admired. And she thought of her father, a once-great king now frail and weary.

"I have to be strong," she whispered to herself, wiping away her tears. "For them. For our family."

With renewed determination, Vaella sat up and took a deep breath. She knew the path ahead would be difficult, but she was a Targaryen. She had the blood of the dragon in her veins, and she would face whatever came her way with the strength and resilience that defined her family.

As she prepared for the night, Vaella felt a small flicker of hope amidst the darkness. She might be young, and the world might be filled with trails, but she was not alone. She had her family, and she had herself. And that, she decided, would be enough.

…

The news of Lady Laena Velaryon’s death had arrived in King's Landing like a dark cloud, casting a shadow over the royal family. The raven brought with it the grim details of her passing, having died giving birth to her third child. Preparations for the funeral at Driftmark were underway, and the Red Keep was a flurry of activity as servants rushed to ensure everything was in order.

Vaella, Aegon, and Aemond were together in one of the quieter rooms, away from the chaos. Vaella was seated at a small table, carefully finishing the painting of a dragon model that Viserys had helped her create. The dragon was a tribute to her twin brother, Baelon, a way for her to feel connected to him despite his absence.

Aegon, restless and bored, lounged nearby, watching her with growing irritation. "Why are you fussing over that thing, Vaella?" he asked, his tone sharp.

Vaella didn’t look up from her work, her focus intent on the delicate details. "It’s a dragon for Baelon. It helps me feel close to him."

Aegon’s reaction was immediate and harsh. He had grown tired of hearing about the brother who had never lived, the one who seemed to hold so much of Vaella’s affection. "Enough about this dead twin of yours," he snapped, striding over and snatching the model from her hands.

Vaella’s eyes widened in shock and fear. "Aegon, please give it back," she pleaded, reaching out for the dragon.

Aegon examined the model with a sneer, his jealousy and frustration boiling over. "This is rubbish," he declared, flicking it away carelessly.

The dragon hit the stone floor with a sickening crack, breaking into several pieces. Vaella gasped, her eyes welling up with tears as she dropped to her knees, frantically trying to collect the broken parts.

Aemond, who had been quietly observing, sprang to his feet, fury in his eyes. "Aegon, how could you?!" he yelled, his voice filled with outrage.

Vaella’s tears spilled over as she gathered the pieces, her heart breaking along with the model. "You didn’t have to do that," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion.

Aegon, still fueled by jealousy and now regret, crossed his arms defensively. "You’re just being dramatic, Vaella. After all, you’re the one who killed your precious brother."

The words hung in the air like a curse, stunning everyone into silence. Vaella’s head snapped up, her eyes burning with a mixture of pain and fury. Aegon realized his mistake too late, the weight of his cruel words sinking in.

Vaella stood abruptly, her face a mask of anguish. Without another word, she rushed out of the room, her sobs echoing in the hallway. Aemond turned on Aegon, his anger palpable. "What’s wrong with you? How could you say something so vile?"

Aegon’s bravado crumbled, replaced by guilt and self-loathing. "I didn’t mean it, Aemond. I was just…"

"You were just being a selfish, jealous brat," Aemond interrupted, his voice cold. "Vaella’s done nothing but care for you, and this is how you repay her?"

Aegon hung his head, the enormity of his actions hitting him hard. "I’m sorry," he muttered, but the apology felt hollow even to his own ears.

Aemond shook his head, his disappointment evident. "Sorry won’t fix this. You need to make it right with Vaella. She doesn’t deserve this from you."

Meanwhile, Vaella fled to her chambers, her heart aching with the weight of Aegon’s words. She collapsed onto her bed, clutching the broken pieces of the dragon to her chest. Her sobs wracked her body as she mourned not just the destruction of the model, but the harsh reminder of her brother's death and the blame she had carried for so long.

The memory of Baelon, the twin she had never truly known but felt deeply connected to, was a wound that never fully healed. Aegon’s words had torn that wound open, and she felt the raw pain of it all over again. The one comfort she had, the one thing that helped her feel close to Baelon, was now shattered, just like her heart.

As the night grew darker, Vaella’s tears finally subsided, leaving her feeling hollow and exhausted. She knew she had to be strong, but in that moment, she allowed herself to grieve, clutching the broken pieces of her dragon and whispering a silent promise to Baelon that she would find a way to heal, for both their sakes.

…

Aegon stumbled through the dimly lit corridors of the Red Keep, his heart pounding with a mixture of guilt and desperation. The realization of what he had said to Vaella weighed heavily on him, and he knew he had to find her and make things right. His steps were uneven, his emotions a chaotic storm within him.

As he rounded a corner, he saw Ser Criston Cole speaking with his mother, Queen Alicent. The knight's stern expression contrasted sharply with Alicent's worried gaze. Aegon considered approaching them but decided against it, knowing that his mother would likely scold him rather than help. He pressed on, determined to find Vaella.

"Vaella!" he called out, his voice echoing through the stone halls. He received no response, only the distant murmur of servants going about their duties.

Eventually, he encountered Haelena, who was quietly observing a tapestry depicting a dragon's flight. "Haelena," Aegon panted, his breath short from the hurried search. "Have you seen Vaella?"

Haelena turned to him, her eyes distant and dreamy. "I haven’t seen her, Aegon. But you should watch out for Vaella, as something might eat her."

Aegon sighed, used to his sister's cryptic ramblings. "Thanks, Haelena," he muttered, not really listening. He continued his search, feeling the weight of time pressing down on him.

As he walked, he passed a platter of wine goblets left by a servant. Without thinking, he grabbed one and drank deeply, the wine burning his throat and dulling the sharp edges of his panic. He repeated the action with another goblet, feeling the effects of the alcohol quickly. His steps became more unsteady, but he was determined to find Vaella.

Eventually, he found her in a secluded corner of the castle, sitting on a stone bench near a small garden. She looked up as he approached, her eyes red from crying. The sight of her made his heart ache even more.

"Vaella," he called softly, stumbling slightly as he approached her. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any of what I said. Please, you have to believe me."

Vaella looked at him, her expression a mix of hurt and resignation. "Aegon, you can’t just say things like that and expect everything to be alright. You broke my dragon, and you blamed me for Baelon’s death. How could you?"

Aegon fell to his knees in front of her, his eyes pleading. "I know, Vaella. I know. I was jealous and angry, but I didn’t mean it. I’m so sorry." His voice broke as he spoke, the wine and his emotions making him almost incoherent.

Vaella sighed, tears welling up in her eyes again. "You always do this, Aegon. You say hurtful things, and then you apologize, and I always forgive you. But you have to understand how much it hurts."

Aegon reached out, his hands trembling. "I’ll do anything, Vaella. Just please forgive me. I can’t stand it when you’re upset with me."

They argued back and forth, Aegon’s desperation clashing with Vaella’s hurt. The conversation grew heated, their voices rising in the quiet garden. But eventually, as always, Vaella’s resolve softened. She saw the genuine remorse in Aegon’s eyes, the way he was truly sorry for his actions.

She sighed deeply, her shoulders slumping. "Alright, Aegon. I forgive you. But you have to promise me you’ll try to control your temper. We can’t keep doing this."

Aegon nodded vigorously, relief flooding through him. "I promise, Vaella. I’ll be better. I swear it."

Vaella gave him a small, sad smile. "You need to get yourself together. We’re leaving for Driftmark soon, and we need to be strong for our family."

Aegon rose unsteadily to his feet, his heart lighter but still burdened by his guilt. "I will. I promise, Vaella. Thank you."

They embraced, Vaella holding onto him tightly as if to reassure herself that he was truly sorry. As they stood there, the sounds of the Red Keep faded into the background.

Eventually, they pulled apart, and Vaella looked into his eyes. "Let’s go back. We need to prepare for the journey."

Aegon nodded, the alcohol in his system making him slightly unsteady but determined. Together, they walked back towards the heart of the castle, ready to face the challenges ahead. 

…

The funeral of Lady Laena Velaryon was a somber affair, the sky over Driftmark heavy with clouds that seemed to echo the sorrow of the occasion. The sea breeze carried the scent of salt and mourning as the royal family gathered to pay their respects. Vaella stood between her father, King Viserys, and her half-brother Aegon, who barely concealed his boredom. She nudged him discreetly, hoping to remind him of the gravity of the moment as Vaemond Velaryon began his speech in High Valyrian.

Vaella listened intently, her eyes fixed on Vaemond as he extolled Laena's virtues and spoke of the purity of their bloodline. When he reached the part of his speech that touched upon blood purity, Vaella’s gaze shifted to her uncle Daemon, standing apart from the rest of the mourners. Daemon’s quiet chuckle drew several curious and disapproving glances, adding an undercurrent of tension to the solemn ceremony.

As Laena’s body was prepared for its final journey into the sea, Vaella felt a mixture of sorrow and unease. The circumstances of their gathering were dark, but she was grateful to see her sister Rhaenyra after so long. Once Laena’s body was committed to the depths, the guests began to move, offering their sympathies to Daemon, Laena’s parents, Corlys and Rhaenys, and her twin daughters.

Ignoring Aegon’s insistent nagging not to leave him alone with Aemond and Helaena, Vaella slipped through the crowd, her heart set on finding Rhaenyra. She weaved her way past grieving nobles and courtiers, finally spotting her sister standing with her sons, Jacaerys and Lucerys.

“Rhaenyra!” Vaella called out, her voice a mixture of joy and relief.

Rhaenyra turned, her face lighting up as she saw her sister. “Vaella!” she exclaimed, opening her arms for an embrace. The two sisters hugged tightly, the warmth of their reunion a small comfort amidst the sorrow.

“It’s so good to see you,” Vaella said, pulling back slightly to look at Rhaenyra’s face. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Rhaenyra replied, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “These have been difficult times.”

Vaella nodded, then turned to her nephews. “Hello, Jace. Hello, Luke,” she greeted them warmly.

“Hello, Aunt Vaella,” Jacaerys said, managing a small smile despite the somber occasion.

Lucerys nodded, his expression serious but pleased to see her. “Hello.”

Vaella ruffled Lucerys’s hair affectionately, then turned back to Rhaenyra. “How have you been holding up?”

Rhaenyra sighed, glancing at her sons before answering. “It’s been hard, but we’re managing. The boys have been a great comfort to me.”

Vaella squeezed her sister’s hand. “I’m glad you have each other. And I’m here now, too.”

Rhaenyra smiled, though it was tinged with sadness. “Yes, you are. And it means the world to me.”

They stood together, drawing strength from their reunion, even as the mourners around them continued to offer condolences. Vaella felt a sense of peace being with her sister, a small respite from the constant pressures and tensions back at King’s Landing.

Meanwhile, Aegon stood with Aemond and Helaena, casting anxious glances in Vaella’s direction. He wanted to follow her, to ensure she was safe and to draw comfort from her presence, but he knew better than to disrupt the sisters’ reunion. Aemond, noticing his brother’s discomfort, smirked slightly.

“Miss her already, Aegon?” Aemond teased, his tone light but knowing.

Aegon scowled. “Shut up, Aemond.”

Helaena, lost in her own world, looked up suddenly. “The sea takes and the sea gives, but the heart remembers always,” she murmured, her voice distant and cryptic.

Aegon sighed, his frustration growing. “I just wish this was over.”

Back with Rhaenyra, Vaella felt the need to address the elephant in the room. “Rhaenyra, I heard about what happened with Harwin and Lyonel. I’m so sorry.”

Rhaenyra’s expression darkened briefly, but she nodded. “Thank you, Vaella. It’s been a challenging time, but we must carry on.”

Vaella nodded, her heart aching for her sister. “If you need anything, anything at all, please tell me.”

Rhaenyra smiled gratefully. “I will. Thank you, Vaella. Your support means more than you know.”

As Vaella talked with Rhaenyra, their father, Viserys, joined them, his presence lending an air of solemnity and gravitas to their conversation. They discussed the funeral and shared memories of Laena, finding comfort in each other's company. Nearby, Aemond took the opportunity to address his brother, Aegon, who had already managed to snatch a goblet of wine.

"Aegon," Aemond said sharply, his voice low but firm, "you should at least try to spend some time with Helaena. She will be your wife."

Aegon scoffed, his gaze drifting over to Vaella, who was deeply engrossed in conversation with their father and Rhaenyra. "I've already told you all, I will not marry her," he said dismissively, taking a deep drink from his goblet.

Aemond's eyes narrowed in frustration. "You have no choice, Aegon. You can deny it all you want, but it is Father's decree."

Annoyed, Aegon retorted, "Then you marry her, Aemond, since you defend her so much."

Aemond's face hardened. "If she were given to me, I would marry her. I would do my duty."

Aegon rolled his eyes, the word "duty" like a bitter pill. His mind flashed back to a conversation with his mother a few months ago, a memory that still stung. Alicent had found him in the gardens, her expression stern and her tone urgent.

"Aegon," she had said, "you must understand your duty. As the firstborn son of the king who should’ve been named heir after your birth, you are a threat to Rhaenyra’s claim. By simply living and breathing. You need to start behaving more reasonably."

Aegon had looked at her, his eyes filled with a mix of confusion and frustration. "I don't want any of that, Mother. I just want Vaella."

Alicent's reaction had been swift and harsh. She had slapped him, the sound echoing in the quiet garden. "You will do your duty," she had said, her voice cold and unyielding.

After that confrontation, Aegon had left, seeking solace in Vaella's chambers. The memory of that slap and his mother's words haunted him now as he stood in the dimly lit Driftmark hall.

"Do you even understand what duty means, Aegon?" Aemond asked, his voice cutting through Aegon's reverie. "It's about more than just what you want. It's about the family, the realm."

Aegon glared at his brother, his frustration bubbling over. "I understand more than you think, Aemond. I just don't care."

Aemond shook his head in disbelief. "You are hopeless."

Aegon took another deep drink, his eyes once again drifting to Vaella. "Maybe. But at least I know what I want."

Meanwhile, Vaella was deeply engaged in conversation with Rhaenyra and Viserys. They reminisced about happier times, their shared laughter and stories a brief respite from the grief that hung over the funeral.

"Father, you remember how Laena used to challenge us to races on the beach?" Rhaenyra asked, a wistful smile on her lips.

Viserys nodded, his eyes brightening at the memory. "She always had such a fierce spirit. It's a great loss for all of us."

Vaella listened, feeling a sense of warmth and belonging in their shared memories. She glanced over at Aegon and Aemond, noticing the tension between them but choosing to stay focused on her conversation.

Rhaenyra placed a comforting hand on Vaella's shoulder. "It's good to see you, Vaella. We need each other now more than ever."

Vaella smiled, feeling the love and support of her family. "I'm glad to be here with you all."

The conversation flowed, a blend of sadness and comfort, as they found solace in each other's presence. The evening wore on, the weight of their responsibilities and the loss of Laena ever-present, but the bond between them offered strength and hope for the days ahead.

Aegon, feeling the effects of the wine and the emotional toll of the day, finally made his way over to Vaella. "Vaella," he said quietly, his voice tinged with vulnerability, "can we talk?"

Vaella looked up, concern etched on her face. "Of course, Aegon." She excused herself from Rhaenyra and Viserys, leading Aegon to a quieter corner of the hall.

"I'm sorry for everything," Aegon began, his voice trembling slightly. "For what I said about Baelon, for not supporting you the way I should."

Vaella's expression softened, her heart aching for her brother. "Aegon, I forgive you. But you need to understand, we all have a duty to our family."

Aegon nodded, his eyes downcast. "I know. It's just... so hard."

Vaella reached out, taking his hand in hers. "We'll face it together. But you need to be strong, for all of us."

Aegon looked up, meeting her gaze with a mixture of hope and determination. "I'll try, Vaella. For you."

They embraced, finding comfort in each other's presence. As they held each other, they knew that no matter what lay ahead, they would face it together, united by their love and loyalty.

…

As the evening gave way to night, the royal families began to retire to their chambers. The air was heavy with the weight of the day’s sorrow and the undercurrent of familial tensions. Otto Hightower, ever vigilant, was overseeing the last of his family’s attendants when he caught sight of Aegon, clearly drunk, clinging to his half-sister Vaella. His face twisted with anger and embarrassment at the sight of his grandson bringing shame to their family.

Otto strode over, his expression severe. "Vaella, get him out of here," he ordered sharply. He then turned his ire on Aegon, his voice a harsh whisper. "You are an embarrassment, Aegon. Pull yourself together."

Vaella nodded, gently pulling Aegon away from the gathering. "Come on, Aegon, it’s time to go to bed."

Aegon, his steps unsteady, leaned heavily on Vaella as they made their way through the corridors of Driftmark. He muttered incoherently, his words slurred by the wine. Vaella remained patient, her grip on him firm but caring.

When they reached the chambers designated for Aegon, he suddenly pulled Vaella inside with him. The door closed behind them with a soft thud, sealing them in the dimly lit room.

"Aegon, what are you doing?" Vaella asked, her voice filled with concern.

Aegon, his mind fogged by the alcohol, didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled her onto the bed with him, his movements clumsy but insistent. He pressed his lips to hers in a fervent kiss, his desperation palpable. Vaella tried to break the kiss, pushing against his chest gently.

"Aegon, stop," she murmured against his lips. "Mother will be furious if she finds us like this."

Aegon dismissed her words, his focus solely on her. "I don’t care about Mother," he muttered, his voice raw with emotion. He pulled back slightly, his violet eyes searching her indigo ones. "Vaella, do you love me?"

Vaella’s heart ached at the vulnerability in his gaze. She looked into his eyes, seeing the depth of his longing and the pain he tried so hard to mask. Her own feelings were a complex web of love, loyalty, and the heavy burden of their family’s expectations.

"Aegon…" she began, her voice trembling. She cupped his face in her hands, her thumb brushing gently over his cheek. "You know I care about you deeply."

Aegon’s eyes pleaded with her, his hands gripping her waist as if afraid she would slip away. "But do you love me?" he pressed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Vaella took a deep breath, her emotions swirling within her. She felt the weight of their shared history, the unspoken bond that had always connected them. She knew that her answer carried immense significance, a promise of loyalty and support amidst the chaos of their lives.

She looked into his eyes, her own filled with a mixture of tenderness and resolve. "Yes, Aegon, I love you."

Aegon’s relief was palpable, his tense body relaxing slightly as he leaned into her touch. He kissed her again, softer this time, his desperation giving way to a deep, abiding need for reassurance and comfort.

As the night deepened, Aegon muttered into Vaella's neck, his voice filled with despair. "Nobody else loves me, except for you. You heard what Grandsire Otto said—I’m a disgrace."

Vaella held him tighter, her heart aching for him. "Aegon, you are special to me. Don’t listen to them. They don’t understand you like I do."

Aegon buried his head further into her neck, savoring the closeness before he began kissing her again, his childhood rivalry with Rhaenyra resurfacing. "I won’t let Rhaenyra take your attention again," he murmured between kisses.

Vaella closed her eyes, choosing silence over words, not wanting to ruin the moment or send him into another spiral. She cherished the connection they shared, a bond they had to hide more and more as they grew older. She wasn’t naive; she had heard the whispers of the servants comparing her to Rhaenyra’s rumored promiscuity in her younger years. It was one of many rumors she had learned to ignore.

As Aegon's kisses trailed down her body, Vaella's soft moans began to fill the room. His kisses were eager yet familiar, evoking sensations she had come to know well. When his kisses reached her thighs, her breathing grew shallow with anticipation.

Aegon lifted his head, quickly undoing his own attire. They shared a look filled with longing and determination, a silent understanding passing between them. Just as they were about to join, the chamber doors burst open. Commander Harrold Westerling, alarmed and taken aback by the scene before him, stood in the doorway.

Aegon and Vaella scrambled to disentangle and cover themselves with the sheets. Harrold averted his eyes, his voice urgent. "There’s been an incident. The king demands your presence in the throne room immediately."

Their intimate moment shattered, replaced by a cold dread. Vaella nodded, her heart pounding. "We’ll be there right away."

Harrold turned and left, leaving the door ajar. Aegon and Vaella quickly dressed, the urgency of the situation sobering them. They exchanged a final glance, their connection momentarily overshadowed by the gravity of the call.

As they left the chambers and approached the grand doors of the throne room, the faint murmurs of the gathered nobles reached their ears.

Aegon squeezed Vaella's hand, a silent promise that they would face whatever came next together. She squeezed back, drawing strength from his presence. The heavy doors loomed before them, the threshold to yet another challenge in their complex lives.

…

Aegon and Vaella walked into the throne room, their hearts pounding in their chests. The sight that greeted them was one of chaos and bloodshed. King Viserys stood fuming, leaning heavily on his cane, his face a mask of fury and grief. Jacaerys and Lucerys were standing in front of the angry and tearful Baela and Rhaena, both boys bloodied and battered. But the sight that shook Vaella the most was Aemond, sitting in a chair with the Maester just finishing his work. Aemond's eye was gone, replaced by thick, bloody stitches that adorned the empty socket.

Before Vaella could fully comprehend what had happened, Aegon was suddenly struck hard across the cheek by Alicent. The force of the slap sent him stumbling back a step. Alicent's face was a mixture of rage and despair as she hissed at him, "Where were you?"

Commander Harrold, who had followed them in, spoke up hesitantly. "Prince Aegon was in bed... with Princess Vaella."

Alicent's eyes flicked to Vaella, giving her a pained grimace and a look that promised a severe conversation about the broken promise they had made to the Queen. Turning her fury back to Aegon, she accused him bitterly, "While you indulged in your desires, your little brother was attacked and maimed!"

Aegon, holding his stinging cheek, looked around the room in a daze, his eyes wide with shock and guilt. "I didn’t know, Mother. I didn’t know," he muttered, his voice breaking.

Vaella stepped closer to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and holding his head against her. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Viserys's attention shifted briefly to Aegon and Vaella, his expression one of deep disappointment and sadness. "Aegon, Vaella, we will discuss this later," he said, his voice heavy with emotion. "Right now, we must address this grievous injury to Aemond."

Vaella's heart ached as she looked at Aemond, who was staring blankly ahead, his face pale and drawn. She wanted to go to him, to offer some comfort, but she knew that her presence would only complicate matters further.

Just then, the doors to the throne room opened again, and Rhaenyra entered with Daemon following closely behind her. Her face was a mask of alarm as she took in the scene before her, her eyes widening in shock and fear.

"What happened?" Rhaenyra demanded, rushing to her sons and inspecting their injuries. "Jace, Luke, are you all right?"

Jacaerys and Lucerys nodded, though their faces were marked with cuts and bruises. "We're fine, Mother," Jacaerys said, his voice steady despite the pain.

Daemon's gaze swept the room, taking in the blood, the tension, and the wounded Aemond. His expression darkened, and he stepped forward, his presence commanding and intimidating.

"Who did this?" Daemon asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Alicent, her eyes filled with tears, pointed a trembling finger at Rhaenyra's sons. "They did. They attacked Aemond."

Rhaenyra's eyes flashed with anger as she turned to her sons. "Is this true?"

Then all hell broke loose just as Rhaenys and Corlys arrived, their faces etched with concern and confusion. Jacaerys and Lucerys began to shout, their voices rising above the din. "Aemond attacked Rhaena and Baela!" Jace cried.

Baela, her face flushed with anger and tears streaming down her cheeks, yelled, "He stole our mother's dragon! It was Aemond who attacked first!"

Aemond, bloodied and battered but defiant, shouted back, "I did not attack them! I claimed the dragon because no one else had the courage!"

Alicent, her eyes blazing with fury, stepped forward, her voice ringing out. "It should be my son telling the tale! Look at what they've done to him!"

Viserys, his face a mask of anger and desperation, banged his cane on the floor, his voice booming, "Enough! Silence, all of you!"

The room fell into a tense, uneasy silence. Aegon clung to Vaella, who looked around the room with desperation. Helaena stood nearby, looking lost and bewildered, her usual serene detachment shattered by the chaos. Vaella noticed that Laenor was absent and her sister Rhaenyra had entered earlier with Daemon, his presence a silent threat to anyone who might harm her sons.

Rhaenyra, her voice trembling with controlled fury, said, "It was my sons who were attacked. Heavy insults were levied against them."

Alicent scoffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "How does an insult justify my son losing an eye?"

Viserys turned to Alicent, ignoring her outburst, and asked, "What insults?" His voice was calm but laced with barely restrained fury.

Luke, his voice barely above a whisper, said, "He called us bastards."

A heavy silence descended upon the room. The weight of the accusation hung in the air, everyone feeling its implications. Rhaenyra stepped forward, her voice strong and clear. "I am the heir to the throne, and to question the birth of my sons is the highest treason."

Viserys turned to Aemond, his eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and anger. "Look at me, Aemond," he commanded. "Who told you these lies?"

Vaella noticed Aemond's gaze shift briefly to Alicent before he quickly averted it. "It was Aegon," Aemond said, his voice steady but his eye betraying his fear.

Vaella stiffened, her heart pounding. Aegon lifted his head from Vaella's embrace, his face a mask of confusion. "Me?" he asked, his voice incredulous.

Viserys quickly turned his attention to Aegon, who still clung to Vaella. "Why do you spread such lies about your nephews?" he demanded, his voice filled with disappointment and anger.

Aegon looked at his mother, then at his brother, and finally at his father. "Everyone knows," he said, his voice low and resigned. "Just look at them."

Vaella's grip on Aegon's hand tightened. The truth was undeniable and dangerous, a reality that could destroy Rhaenyra's claim to the throne. Vaella hung her head, unable to defend her sister. It was all up to their father now.

A long silence filled the room, everyone waiting for Viserys's response. The tension was visible, the future of their family hanging in the balance. Viserys, his face lined with pain and sorrow, finally spoke. "This fighting must stop," he said, his voice trembling with emotion. "If not for my sake, then for the sake of this old man, who loves you all so much."

The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, the silence deep and oppressive. Vaella felt the tension in Aegon's body, the fear and uncertainty that mirrored her own. They could only wait and hope that their father would find a way to hold their fractured family together.

Alicent's eyes blazed with fury, her voice trembling as she spoke. "That's insufficient!" she declared, her anger boiling over.

Viserys, his desperation evident, asked, "What would you have me do, Alicent? Children fight."

Vaella could see Alicent's rage reaching a dangerous peak. "I demand an eye for an eye," Alicent said, her voice cold and merciless. "I want an eye from one of Rhaenyra's children in return."

The room erupted in shocked gasps as Rhaenyra quickly moved to shield her children. Alicent turned to Ser Criston Cole, her voice a command. "Bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon."

Ser Criston, his expression conflicted, shook his head. "I am sworn to protect you, Your Grace, not to carry out vengeance."

Viserys, his face contorted with a mix of anger and sorrow, hissed at Alicent. "This matter is closed, Alicent."

Vaella watched in horror as the scene unfolded before her, almost as if she were in a dream. She saw Alicent's eyes narrow in determination as she grabbed Viserys' dagger from his belt as he turned away. With a cry of rage, Alicent rushed towards Rhaenyra's sons. Everyone in the room backed up in shock, and Vaella screamed her sister's name, her voice piercing the chaos. "Rhaenyra!"

Aegon's grip on Vaella tightened, his own fear palpable. Rhaenyra, reacting quickly, blocked the dagger with her hand, the blade drawing blood as she halted Alicent's advance. Otto yelled for his daughter to stop, but Alicent continued, her eyes wild with fury.

Rhaenyra and Alicent faced each other, the dagger between them, their faces inches apart. A tense silence fell over the room as everyone held their breath. "You would destroy this family for your pride," Rhaenyra hissed, her voice low and dangerous.

Alicent's eyes were filled with tears of rage and frustration. "And you would see it torn apart for your lies," she retorted, her voice shaking.

Suddenly, Alicent pulled the dagger back, slashing Rhaenyra's arm. The blade clattered to the floor as Rhaenyra clutched her bleeding arm, her face a mask of pain.

Aemond, who had been silent until now, spoke up, his voice steady and resolute. "Do not mourn for me, Mother," he said, turning to Alicent. "It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon."

The room fell silent once more, Aemond's words hanging in the air. The weight of his sacrifice and the implications of his gain settled over everyone present. Vaella felt a mix of fear, sorrow, and a strange sense of admiration for her half-brother's resilience.

…

As the chaos in the throne room began to settle down, Vaella slowly let go of Aegon, who called softly after her, "Vaella, don't go."

But she gave him a reassuring squeeze before stepping away. "I need to check on Rhaenyra," she whispered, her eyes filled with concern. Aegon nodded reluctantly, watching her go.

Vaella moved through the crowd, her heart pounding. She found Rhaenyra surrounded by their family, with the Maester already working on her wound. Rhaenyra winced as the Maester cleaned and dressed the cut on her arm. Vaella knelt beside her sister, gently touching her shoulder.

"Rhaenyra, are you all right?" Vaella asked, her voice filled with worry.

Rhaenyra managed a strained smile, her eyes softening at the sight of her sister. "I'll be fine, Vaella. It's just a scratch."

Vaella stayed with her until the Maester finished his work, offering quiet words of comfort. Once Rhaenyra's wound was tended to, Vaella turned her attention to Aemond, who had moved to stand closer to Aegon. She approached him cautiously, her heart aching at the sight of his injury.

"Aemond," she said softly, "does it hurt?"

Aemond, trying to put on a brave face, shook his head. "It doesn't anymore," he replied, his voice steady.

Vaella smiled gently, her admiration for his strength evident. "Congratulations on claiming Vhagar," she said, her tone sincere.

Aemond nodded, a flicker of pride in his remaining eye. "Thank you," he said softly. "Rhaena told me I stole her mother's dragon."

Vaella frowned slightly, shaking her head. "Dragons can't be stolen, Aemond. They choose their riders."

Aemond's lips curled into a small smile. "I know. I hope you get a dragon soon, too, Vaella."

She returned his smile, feeling a warm sense of connection with her younger brother. "I'm content for now, Aemond," she said, her voice gentle.

Aegon, who had been watching the exchange, stepped forward and placed a hand on Vaella's shoulder. "Can we go back to bed now?" he asked, his voice laced with fatigue and longing.

Vaella nodded, giving Aemond one last reassuring smile. "We'll talk more later," she said softly.

As Vaella and Aegon turned to leave, she exchanged a final look with Alicent. The Queen's eyes were filled with a complex mixture of emotions—pain, regret, and a touch of resignation. Vaella held her gaze for a moment, silently acknowledging the unspoken understanding between them. Then she turned and walked away with Aegon, their footsteps echoing through the now silent throne room.

As they made their way back to their chambers, Aegon leaned into Vaella, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice filled with gratitude and exhaustion.

"For what?" Vaella asked, glancing up at him.

"For being here. For always being here," Aegon replied, his eyes softening.

Vaella smiled, resting her head against his shoulder. "Always, Aegon."

They reached their chambers, the tension of the night's events still hanging heavily over them. But as they settled back into the familiar comfort of each other's presence, a sense of peace began to wash over them. The world outside their small sanctuary was filled with turmoil and uncertainty, but in this moment, they had each other.

As they lay down, Aegon pulled Vaella close, his arms wrapped protectively around her. "I don't know what I'd do without you," he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity.

Vaella looked up at him, her indigo eyes meeting his violet ones. "You'll never have to find out," she replied softly. Aegon sighed, his tension slowly melting away.

They closed their eyes, the warmth of their bond shielding them from the harsh realities of their world. And that, for them, was enough.

[remy-lupin]

Theme: non-sexually themed prompts for when you're just chilling with a good friend, a lover, etc and getting to know them slowly/better, etc.

1. person A and person B build a fort out of blankets and pillows in the living room. They spend the night inside, sharing stories and dreams until they fall asleep, surrounded by the soft glow of fairy lights.

2. During a quiet evening, person A teaches person B how to paint. They sit side by side, brushes in hand, as person A guides person B's strokes, their hands occasionally overlapping in gentle guidance.

3. person A has a bad day and person B creates a calming playlist for them. They listen together in a dimly lit room, not speaking, just feeling the music and each other's presence as a comforting silence envelops them.

4. On a chilly morning, person A wakes up to find person B has draped a warm, heavy blanket over them. person B joins under the blanket, and they share a cup of hot cocoa, watching the sunrise in warm silence.

5. person A reads aloud from their favorite book while person B rests their head on person A's lap. person B listens, closing their eyes, completely engrossed in the sound of person A's voice and the cadence of the story.

6. person A reveals to person B their collection of secret recipes from their grandmother. Together, they spend the day cooking these family dishes, sharing stories about their ancestors and the memories tied to each recipe.

7. During a long drive, person A lets person B pick the music. They end up singing along to every song, laughing and sharing anecdotes about what each tune reminds them of, strengthening their bond with every mile.

8. person A notices person B looking overwhelmed and silently takes their hand, leading them to a quiet garden. They sit together on a bench, watching butterflies flit among the flowers, enjoying the peace without needing to speak.

9. After person B mentions missing the stars in the city, person A sets up a projector in their apartment to display a night sky. They lie on the floor together, pointing out constellations and making wishes on artificial shooting stars.

10. person A surprises person B by setting up an indoor picnic when plans to go to the park are ruined by rain. They spread out a blanket and have a cozy meal on the floor, complete with soft music and candlelight, making the best of the stormy day.

[dtrghost]

closeness and proximity part.3

pairing: ghost x f!reader

synopsis: callsign is sunshine, because you're anything but. team 141 thought ghost was bad? at least they could crack a smile out of the guy from time to time, you? you were stone faced, all day, every day. until one day you're not, not with a certain someone anyway.

warnings: inaccurate military language and sequences, angst, allusions to mental illness (reader has sociopathic tendencies) you get the gist. Finally some fluff and emotional stuff between them so yaaayyy.

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT:

word count: 2.6k

The drive back was quiet. Price drove back with Gaz and had Soap drive Ghost and Y/N. He sat in the backseat next to her, growing genuinely concerned for her mental wellbeing. The more she thought about it, about the sudden flood of emotions from a small moment in a dirty, humid bar, the more she remembered. The quicker she'd sent herself back into that room to relive those moments again, the ones she never told a soul about.

Simon had to pull her out once more in the duration of the car ride, talking with Soap and forcing her into the conversation to take her mind off of it by asking her weird, off topic questions that she answered. They got back to base and she attempted to split away from the group to her room, only to be yanked back with a serious look from her comrade.

They sat her down at the dinner table, and she suddenly felt small. She felt like she was being interrogated with the eyes of 4 staring at her intently, waiting for her to say something. Yet she didn't, she stayed quiet for 3 minutes, glancing around the room and sighing irritatedly.

"Well. Are you going to tell us or not." Ghost pressed, leaning forward in his chair next to her. She scoffed, chuckling out of anger, the sound running shivers up their spines.

"What the hell is this. You're not my fucking therapists, so quit trying to act like it." She spat, her eyes full of fire and rage.

"You listen here muppet. It's one thing for you to be angry and violent out on missions, but it's a whole other when you lash out at us." Her eyes narrowed at him, watching the flames of determination and vexation dancing, growing. She was lost in them for a moment, the others completely confused about the sudden moment they were sharing. Simon couldn't describe the urge to help her, to get her to open up to them.

Maybe he was just too curious, but what about the slip up in the bar?

love?

She had none, that he felt sure of. Sympathy maybe, a simple attempt to ground her, that's all it was.

He saw something as he read past her rage, it was small and fleeting, a light. A flicker of a candle, but this one wasn't out of anger, it was soft, gentle.

The phone rang, interrupting them as Price pulled out his phone.

"This is Price how copy?" He listened before his eyes landed on her, and just like that, the candlelight disappeared, blown out and left like it was a figment of his imagination. Now there was a void, a shell of human ready to serve and follow her orders. All of her anger dissipated as she rose from her seat. "Rog." He hung up and sighed, looking at her with a sorrowful look, one that she didn't register nor care for.

"You and Ghost have orders to be shipped out to a distribution hub in Amsterdam, you'll fly in a heli and drive the rest of the way. Your chopper will be here in 20 minutes."

"Affirm." She stormed out after that, pissed off by what had just occurred. She angrily threw her civilian mask off to the side and yanked on her work one, strapping on her vest and clipping her gear.

"This is Sunshine, Bravo 0-7 confirm channel." She spoke into her radio, adjusting her gear to her liking, making it tight and in hands reach.

"Bravo 0-7 confirmed." His voice echoed in her room, earning a sigh of irritation as she turned to look at him. He was geared up, making him look thicker than he already was with the extra padding. Instead of taking him she shoved past him, earning a 'tch' as he grabbed her arm, yanking her back to look at him.

"What the fuck is your problem?" She was angry at him. Not at the team, not at headquarters, at him. Why after all these years he suddenly cared. After all the missions they went on together, all the looks she didn't understand or the fleeting moments where she felt something more than anger or a void nothingness. He could see her confusion, making him sigh and put a hand on his hip as a hand lifted to try and sooth her down.

"I'm just trying to help-"

"I don't need your fucking help. So back off." He watched her stomp away.

"Bloody Americans." He muttered, falling into step with her. She remained silent the whole ride there, from when they landed, she was to carride. He watched her, watched as flickers of emotion passed through her gaze. 6 years of pent up feelings did something to people, he knew that better than anyone, and because of that he knew she was going to crack soon, and it was going to be his fault.

He would continue to push until one day she snapped, whether she'd cry or scream or throw a punch at him, he would be there, he had to be. He recalled the nights he'd spent with her in the last few years, where they barely talked but rather absorbed each other's presence as they cleaned their weapons or read through mission briefs. When they did talk it was meaningless, it served no benefit, no new information learned about each other, but it was comforting. He felt comfort in her coldness at the time, maybe because there was someone just as fucked up as he was.

She thought about it often too, the time they spent together on missions, how it ran smoother with him around. She didn't understand the sensations she'd get around him, the heat that burned in her chest, her face. How if she thought about him at night while he slept on the hard floor next to her, she'd press her legs together because of the heat that festered there too. She knew what desire was, she was aware of the need for pleasure, but she never indulged. What was the point if it were not with him? And in her mind she would never be with him, she wasn't good enough for that, she wasn't there, enough for something so intimate.

She knew that maybe she could live a more normal life if she had let him help her, but everything was so on and off. During the ride there she'd think, maybe she would let him help, that wouldn't be so bad. Then she'd snap out of it and be angry with herself for even allowing that thought to cross her mind. She watched a safe house appear from beyond the trees.

"We're stopping here for the night. Intel says the shipment doesn't come until tomorrow." Their driver informed them. They filed out of their cars and distributed themselves to their assigned rooms, and lo and behold, she was forced to share with Ghost. Simon watched her sigh deeply and nod, following her to their shared room.

"Go shower first." He commanded, and she obeyed without a word. She was too exhausted to fight with him. She'd spent the whole way there trying to figure out her shit before it began to affect her performance, and it killed her. She was far off the mark, easily irritated, snappy. She hoped it would wash off in the shower, and she took deep breaths while staring at herself in the mirror, hoping to turn it all off like she did before.

But she couldn't, she'd look and see anger, or a foreign feeling she didn't have a name for. Sadness? No, she had nothing to be sad about. So she huffed, exiting the bathroom to see Simon waiting patiently on his cot. She didn't spare him a glance and laid down on hers, staring up at the ceiling as he analyzed her for a moment, getting no reaction to his intense stare.

He left for his shower, and she listened to his clothes drop, letting her mind wander to what he looked like underneath them.

It was a better distraction than negativity, it made her feel something more enticing, until she was left sexually frustrated. She listened to him shower. The way the water would hit the floor in ripples, imagining how his skin shined and dripped, the coolness of the substance and how they hit his scars. Yeah, this was a better thought. She stayed there, in that moment, even after he walked out.

He snapped his fingers in front of her face, earning a glare from her.

"What're you thinkin' about now then?" He questioned, grunting as his big frame hit his bed. She didn't respond, and he didn't expect her to, likely because she was still mad at him.

"You in the shower." His head turned to her slowly, flabbergasted by what he was hearing. He listened to the melody of her voice as her shoulders shook. For the first time since they met, she laughed, truly. She found his reaction hilarious, how wide his eyes got in horror and... hope? She found that funny too, so funny she doubled over the side, cackling like a mad woman.

"Jesus fuckin' christ." Simon sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose for a moment before laughing himself. He couldn't help it, she just had one of those laughs that forced you to laugh too, the wheeze, the gasps for air as she hit her stomach and fell onto the floor.

"Sunshine, you're gonna die of a heart attack at this rate." He spoke to her, watching her wipe the tears forming in her eyes as she took a deep breath, sitting on her floor.

"I hate you, ya know." She confessed suddenly, surprising him as he looked at her curiously.

"You piss me off, you fucked me up. Don't understand anything anymore. Spent the whole day trying to put myself back together and it's just-" She mimicked an explosion, her hands dropping heavily onto her lap. He sat up, sitting down on the floor in front of her with his knee facing up to rest in his arm on.

"Well if you tell me about it, maybe I can put some things into perspective for you." He offered. He watched her mental battle, the conflict blazing through her skull. He could practically see them floating around her head like a thunderstorm.

"Oh fuckin' hell, just say it. You're thinking too much." She huffed, letting her head fall back as she stared at the ceiling for a moment.

"I can't. I can't explain it. After I got out, I didn't understand much of anything, they tried to wipe me, break me in a way others couldn't by making me forget myself and replace it with what they wanted. But I was rescued before that could happen. I was thrown back in before I could fully recover, because I had a skill set others didn't."

"Things came back in fragments, pieces of my past came back to me, and I realized that maybe it was better that I didn't remember. That if I stayed a shell I wouldn't have anymore emotion burdens than I already did. But it was too late, and it all came back to me one night in shambles. From birth to that moment, everything. I couldn't handle it, so I turned it off, I reverted back to this technique I learned while I was kidnapped, and from then I could never turn it back on." He knew what she was referring to.

Autopilot, where your mind went blank and your body operated on it's own. You couldn't feel anything, you just did what you had to.

"Then I met you. And at first that was fine. You were just another soldier that I had to work with, and then we talked that one night, and talked some more the next. And feelings began to surface on their own. I don't know what it is, excitement maybe? All I knew was that I wanted to talk to you, I looked forward to it, I got these weird feelings in my gut whenever I did."

Was she confessing to a crush... on him? She didn't care. What she did or did not confess to wasn't a concern. He asked and he was receiving.

"And then you started caring, out of nowhere. Years went by and suddenly a few days ago, after I skinned someone alive and you found out some rough shit happened to me, you changed. It made me angry, because I hate feeling, especially things I can't understand."

He noticed that too, that he cared more.

"New information can change your approach, and you have to adapt and improvise." He explained vaguely. He saw something reaching out in her, even through this dump of emotion and information, he noticed the cry for help deep inside her. The part she buried underneath years of mistreatment and being used.

"Stop talking to me like a soldier." She snapped, earning a soft gaze from him that she hadn't received before. It made her chest feel weird, and he could tell by how she grabbed at the shirt covering it.

"You're pissing me off."

"No, I'm breaking you." They made eye contact. All the breath left her lungs in that moment, from his gentle tone and low volume to the look in his eyes that made her eyes water, it was too much. She couldn't take it. Her stomach lurched, and before another word could be uttered between them she scurried to the bathroom, emptying the contents in her abdomen into the toilet.

He was by her side in an instant, shushing her quietly and rubbing her back. His heart sank at the feeling of her shiver and the sound of her retching.

"I gotcha Y/N. Always have right?" She could feel her mind cracking, tears welling in her eyes from the pressure of the vomit and being an emotional wreck.

"I can't." She muttered weakly, sitting against the shower door, grimacing as the air entering her lungs burned with the raw feeling in her throat.

"You can. In all my years being by your side, there's nothing you can't do love, you and I both know that more than anyone." Her eyes met his, seeing his seriousness and true belief in his words. His hand came up and brushed away her tears before her mask absorbed it, the rough pad of his thumbs leaving sparks in the areas he touched. She didn't say anything at first, taking his hand into hers and giving it a squeeze of reassurance, more for herself than for him.

"After our mission. Please." He couldn't say no to a plead like that, so with a curt nod he agreed and held out his other hand to her. He watched her hand envelope his, finding the size difference amusing as his basically swallowed them in his grasp.

"Let's get some sleep yeah. You've done enough for today." She let him bring her to bed, his arm secured around her shoulders, feeling her hand on his waist. He sat next to her until she fell asleep before laying on his own cot. He looked at her for most of the night, making sure she didn't wake up, pondering about what she could be dreaming about as her eyelids flickered ever so often.

He followed her steady breaths to lull him to sleep, praying that tomorrow would go by without too much of a struggle so he could have another moment as intimate as the previous with her, even if it was small.

And that's part 3!! Finally some fluff and opening up, but I wouldn't get too comfortable with it just yet. I have some plans, not sure how I'll execute it but we're getting somewhere. Thank you so much for reading!!