#getting to suddenly own a king/THE MOST beautiful woman is bound to give him a power trip

[somereaderinblue]

Odysseus of Troy is a fic I'd would LOVE to read! Also٫ whats the dynamic between Telemachus and Paris?

I've been mulling this over for a while & Paris....kinda reminds me of Curly from Mouthwashing, if that makes sense?

Like on the surface-level, both are nice guys & in decent positions (one's a captain & the other a prince). However, not only are they people pleasers who lack a backbone, they're also stuck in an environment that doesn't help them. In Curly's case, it's a shitty capitalist company & endless lonely deep space whereas for Paris, he's a pawn of the Gods & Fates themselves. They are multifaceted characters who're victims, enablers/accomplices, stuck in a vicious cycle of authority & lack of autonomy, etc.

So, keeping all this in mind, once Telemachus is old enough, Paris is nice to him. He spoils him, dotes on him, plays with him....but ultimately, it's Ody who knows Telemachus' favourite color, quirks & tells. Telemachus might perk up when he spots Paris, but he'll always go to Odysseus first.

Plus, if you've seen my previous asks, Paris has also used Telemachus' life as leverage against Odysseus more than once. Does Paris regret it? Yes, he does feel some remorse. But it's just more mistakes stacked on many he's already committed. So, he'll make the kid smile. If he smiles, Ody smiles too, and it's something, right?

In conclusion, Odysseus sees Telemachus as his son.

Though Paris would insist the same, he ultimately sees Telemachus as another god-given gift he has to care for, lest he spurns them.

[torchwood-99]

Galadriel's Successor

Two White Ladies

It has always interested me how both Eowyn and Galadriel are referred to as "the White Lady". I decided to dig deeper into their characters, and the similarities they share, to understand the significance between them sharing this title.

The conclusion I drew from this reading is that Eowyn's ultimate role is to take Galadriel's place, and become her successor in Middle Earth.

It is Faramir who dubs Galadriel and Eowyn both as "White Lady". He first uses the title in reference to Galadriel, whom he expresses a desire to meet, after hearing that Sam and Frodo have met her.

"Yet I envy you that have spoken with the White Lady.’ ‘The Lady of Lorien! Galadriel!"

Faramir later gets the chance to meet, and woo, a White Lady of his own, that of Eowyn. While the narrative named Eowyn "The White Lady" on her introduction, Faramir is the first character in the text to do so.

"Eowyn, Eowyn, White Lady of Rohan, in this hour I do not believe that any darkness will endure!"

Appearance wise, Eowyn and Galadirel certainly share some commonalities. Both of them have a predilection for wearing white (hence the nickname), both of them are tall, beautiful, with glorious golden hair.

"Galadriel, most beautiful of all the house of Finwë; her hair was lit with gold as though it had caught in a mesh the radiance of Laurelin."

"Lady of Rohan came forth, golden as the sun and white as snow, and she bore a filled cup to Eomer."

Warriors

Their similarities go beyond the physical. Both of them were known to be skilled warriors.

"she (Galadriel) was then of Amazon disposition and bound up her hair as a crown when taking part in athletic feats".

"But am I (Eowyn) not of the House of Eorl, a shieldmaiden and not a dry-nurse? ....But I am of the House of Eorl and not a serving-woman. I can ride and wield blade, and I do not fear either pain or death.’"

And both Galadriel and Eowyn came to the aid of Rohirric Kings. Galadriel's magic shielded Eorl the Young and the  Éothéod with a white mist, Eorl would go on to be the first King of Rohan. Meanwhile Eowyn famously stood between Theoden and the Witch King of Angmar, sparing Theoden from the Witch King's torment and allowing him a peaceful death, and taking down a powerful enemy herself.

"But Theoden was not utterly forsaken. The knights of his house lay slain about him, or else mastered by the madness of their steeds were borne far away. Yet one stood there still: Dernhelm the young, faithful beyond fear; "

Queens

More than appearance and military skill unite Galadriel and Eowyn. Both of them were proud, and had aspirations of queendom. Galadriel came to Middle-Earth in the hopes of having a realm of her own to rule, while Eowyn wished to marry Aragorn in order to escape what she saw as her dishonourable position in Rohan.

Both Galadriel and Eowyn intended to leave their homelands in pursuit of queendom, and in some ways, their pursuit of queendom was born of a desire to leave their homeland, and the restrictions placed on them there, restrictions on Galadriel's power, and Eowyn's freedom.

In time, both of them come to reject official queendom.

"You will give me (Galadriel) the Ring freely! In place of the Dark Lord you will set up a Queen. And I shall not be dark, but beautiful and terrible as the Morning and the Night!"

"Then she (Galadriel) let her hand fall, and the light faded, and suddenly she laughed again, and lo! she was shrunken: a slender elf-woman, clad in simple white, whose gentle voice was soft and sad. ‘I pass the test,’ she said. ‘I will diminish, and go into the West, and remain Galadriel."

"And again she (Eowyn) looked at Faramir. ‘No longer do I desire to be a queen,’ she said."

However, while they both turn away from their dreams of queendom, and are officially known only as "Lady", they are still viewed as queens or queenly figures by those about them. Their deeds, their goodness, place them as "honourary" queens.

Galadriel is queen in all but name.

"Land of Lórien where dwelt the Lady Galadriel. A queen she was of the woodland Elves"

And while Galadriel turns down the Ring and the power it would give her, she is no less queenly for it.

"he (Frodo) saw her again standing like a queen, great and beautiful, but no longer terrible."

Eowyn's royal lineage is noted upon, and while she does not bear the title of queen, she is held in contrast to her queenly forebears and is not found wanting.

"For she is a fair maiden, fairest lady of a house of queens"

In fact her actions elevate her among the greatest of them all.

"Alas! for her deeds have set her among the queens of great renown.’"

And even as Eowyn begins to heal from her prior despair, which she sought to escape by elevating her position to that of queen, and when that failed, through death, and starts to look towards hope and healing, still she is a queenly figure.

"Faramir had sent for this robe and had wrapped it about her; and he thought that she looked fair and queenly indeed as she stood there at his side."

Equals

Eowyn and Galadriel may reject official queendom, and Galadriel accepts her powers will "diminish" with the destruction of the Ring, yet neither Galaldriel nor Eowyn diminish or submit themselves to the authority of others. Most pertinently, to the authority of men.

Galadriel is noted to be equally (if not more) powerful as her consort.

"They stood up to greet their guests, after the manner of Elves, even those who were accounted mighty kings. Very tall they were, and the Lady no less tall than the Lord; and they were grave and beautiful."

And while Galadriel rules alongside Celeborn, who is a mighty elf, she isn't afraid to criticise him, or show scorn for his judgement.

And if it were possible, one would say that at the last Gandalf fell from wisdom into folly, going needlessly into the net of Moria.’ ‘He would be rash indeed that said that thing,’ said Galadriel gravely. ‘Needless were none of the deeds of Gandalf in life."

Eowyn spares subjecting very characters from the sharpness of her tongue. Even Aragorn, who she holds in high esteem, she does not hold back from criticising.

"And she answered: ‘All your words are but to say: you are a woman, and your part is in the house. But when the men have died in battle and honour, you have leave to be burned in the house, for the men will need it no more"

The Warden, under whose authority and care Eowyn is placed into after being hurt, likewise isn't spared Eowyn's sass, when she thinks his words misjudged.

"It needs but one foe to breed a war, not two, Master Warden,’ answered Eowyn. ´ ‘And those who have not swords can still die upon them. Would you have the folk of Gondor gather you herbs only, when the Dark Lord gathers armies?"

And even Faramir, whom she loves, and who encouraged her to find happiness and hope once more, and turn away from bloodshed in favour of healing, experiences some teasing, when she calls out his people's racism.

"Then must I leave my own people, man of Gondor?’ she said. ‘And would you have your proud folk say of you: ‘‘There goes a lord who tamed a wild shieldmaiden of the North! Was there no woman of the race of Numenor to choose?’’ ’

Eowyn then informs Faramir that before they wed, she must leave Gondor and help Rohan to heal from the aftermath of war. That she is in the position of taking on a quest that will take her away from her love, and he is in the position of waiting on her to return when her duty is done, sees something of a reversal of gender roles between the two (a reversal or mutual combination of gender roles that is consistently seen elsewhere in their narratives, in Faramir taking on the role of gentle caregive and prince(ss) in distress, and Eowyn taking on the role of jaded soldier and valiant knight), and indicates the level of equality that will be shared between them as they take on the rulership of Ithilien.

Gifts

While the "White Lady" title was the first similarity I noticed between Galadriel and Eowyn, it was the act of gift-giving that struck me with the idea that beyond them simply being somewhat similar characters with matching titles, Eowyn was to act as Galadriel's successor after Galadriel has left Middle Earth.

Arguably, one of Galadriel's most significant roles within the narrative, is that of gift-giver. After sharing the cup of parting with the Fellowship (a duty we also see Eowyn regularly fulfil), she presents the Fellowship with gifts.

"We have drunk the cup of parting,’ she said, ‘and the shadows fall between us. But before you go, I have brought in my ship gifts which the Lord and Lady of the Galadhrim now offer you in memory of Lothlorien."

The presents she bestows upon the Fellowship play crucial roles in seeing them through to the end of their quest, particularly the phial she gives Frodo.

"In this phial,’ she said, ‘is caught the light of Earendil’s star, set amid the waters of my fountain. It will shine still brighter when night is about you. May it be a light to you in dark places, when all other lights go out. Remember Galadriel and her Mirror!"

In Eowyn's final scene, she takes the role of gift-giver, and presents Merry with "an ancient horn".

"This is an heirloom of our house,’ said Eowyn. ‘It was made by the Dwarves, and came from the hoard of Scatha the Worm. Eorl the Young brought it from the North. He that blows it at need shall set fear in the hearts of his enemies and joy in the hearts of his friends,and they shall hear him and come to him."

Both of these gifts are marks of friendship as well as tools to be used in times of crisis. Frodo (and Sam) puts his phial to good use when facing Shelob.

"The Lady’s gift! The star-glass! A light to you in dark places, she said it was to be. The star-glass!’ ‘The star-glass?’ muttered Frodo, as one answering out of sleep, hardly comprehending. ‘Why yes! Why had I forgotten it? A light when all other lights go out! And now indeed light alone can help us."

While Merry blows his horn during the scouring of the Shire.

"Come on! I am going to blow the horn of Rohan, and give them all some music they have never heard before." "Then he heard Merry change the note, and up went the Horn-cry of Buckland, shaking the air"

As well as having practical uses, they both do harm to their enemies, using the same qualities that bring solace and hope to the heroes.

Galadriel's first appearance in the Fellowship concludes with her presenting these heroes with their gifts, and by the end of the novel, Eowyn takes her place as gift-giver, presenting Merry with the horn. She does so as Merry prepares to depart with the rest of the Fellowship, following shortly after Arwen has remained in Edoras to bid farewell to her kinspeople, including Galadriel. As Galadriel takes her leave, Eowyn takes Galadriel's place.

Ladies of the Forest

While Eowyn taking Galadriel's place as gift-giver harkens her ascension to Galadriel's succesor, the point of this succession is not to take on the mantle of gift-giver. Eowyn's role goes beyond gifting others with the means to go about their tasks. Eowyn has a task herself, a task that Galadriel once took up, and must now put aside.

Both Galadriel and Eowyn become the ruling ladies of fair forest lands, both of which are noted for their great beauty, and sharing a similar beauty, one described as "fair",

"There lie the woods of Lothlorien!’ said Legolas. ‘That is the fairest of all the dwellings of my people."

"When the Enemy returned our folk were driven from Ithilien, our fair domain east of the River""

"So they passed into the northern marches of that land that Men once called Ithilien, a fair country of climbing woods and swift-falling streams. "

with a particular emphasis placed on the trees that grow there.

There are no trees like the trees of that land (Lothlorien). For in the autumn their leaves fall not, but turn to gold. Not till the spring comes and the new green opens do they fall, and then the boughs are laden with yellow flowers;"

"Before them, as they turned west, gentle slopes ran down into dim hazes far below. All about them were small woods of resinous trees, fir and cedar and cypress, and other kinds unknown in the Shire, with wide glades among them; and everywhere there was a wealth of sweet-smelling herbs and shrubs....Here Spring was already busy about them: fronds pierced moss and mould, larches were green-fingered, small flowers were opening in the turf, birds were singing. Ithilien, the garden of Gondor now desolate kept still a dishevelled dryad loveliness."

While Ithilien has fallen to the enemy, Lothlorien is protected and allowed to prosper by the power of Nenya.

"This is Nenya, the Ring of Adamant, and I am its keeper. ‘He suspects, but he does not know – not yet. Do you not see now wherefore your coming is to us as the footstep of Doom? For if you fail, then we are laid bare to the Enemy. Yet if you succeed, then our power is diminished, and Lothlorien will fade,"

Neyna's powers protects Lothlorien from the evils of Mordor, but when the One Ring is destroyed, Nenya's powers will fade, and so will Lothlorien. After this, Galadriel and her people will be forced to depart Lothlorien. The glory days of this fair forest land will be over.

As one fair forest land fades as its "White Lady" departs, another will blossom and grow once more, thanks to the arrival of another "White Lady".

"I will be a healer, and love all things that grow and are not barren.’"

Faramir, who has been charged with defending Ithilien, who longs to see it restored to its former glory, and who envied Sam and Frodo for meeting the "White Lady of Lothlorien", has his wish come to fruition, when he meets a "White Lady" of his own, who will take on the duty of healing, nurturing and protecting the forest of Ithilien, as Galadriel did the Golden Forest.

"Yet I will wed with the White Lady of Rohan, if it be her will. And if she will, then let us cross the River and in happier days let us dwell in fair Ithilien and there make a garden. All things will grow with joy there, if the White Lady comes."

Where Lothlorien must be allowed to fade if the Ring is to be destroyed, Ithilien can only regain its former glory if the Ring is destroyed and Mordor brought down. In this way, the fates of these two lands are intertwined. One must fall for the other to rise, just as the Age of the Elves must end, to allow for the Age of Man to begin.

Galadriel, the White Lady of Lothlorien, must leave Middle Earth as the time of the Elves comes to an end, and Eowyn, White Lady of Rohan, Lady of Ithilien, takes her place, a mortal White Lady for the Age of Man.

[ventisehe]

crying on their wedding day / genshin impact / part one

this was a request from my old account and i am only transferring it here. there is a part two to this but i got busy with school and organizing my new account, as well as thinking over deleting my old account.

since bennett is fifteen or sixteen, his part will be a little different from the others. with aether, he is hundred years old so his part if just like the rest. this is unedited and i wrote it at night when i was supposed to be farming so please bear with me hehe.

requested by: @bakuhoe-is-my-bakubro

includes: diluc, zhongli, childe/tartaglia, aether, bennett

warning: unedited, not proofread

part two

THOSE WHO WOULD SHED A SINGLE TEAR

     DILUC

       After losing his father and his horrible fall out with Kaeya, Diluc has become a firm believer that a man can truly live as an island, to some extent. As much as possible, he kept to himself and worked alone. Having people share his burdens with him did not appeal to him. In fact, it miffed him, as it made him feel indebted to them.

          He limited his interaction with everyone, especially those who are part of the Knights of Favonius, favoring solitude above else. But of course, this did not entail bad social ethics to others.

    He treated his maids and employees with civility and respect, the same can be said with his patrons whenever he worked behind the counter (it would certainly be bad for his business if he behaved aloof to them) and those he was once close friends with. He always behaved appropriately to them, although he must admit he can be quite insulting to the Knight, he always stood behind an invisible barrier, careful not to cross it and grow attached to anyone.

        He has long given up with amorous relationships. After all, what good would he be as a lover if he could not provide his woman the love and care she deserved? Surely, he cannot let a maiden suffer with his inadequacy as a potential husband. He is aware of how hectic his schedule is (he hardly has enough time for himself so spending time with his lover would be proven difficult) and how poorly he expresses his feelings, thoughts, and emotions. In a relationship, in marriage, communication is the key for it to be successful, and already then, he has failed. He may be a cold man at first glance, but he will not put a woman in s distressing dilemma, not intentionally anyway.

                    Being the richest man in Mondstadt and being considered attractive by many, Diluc was not foreign to having women throw themselves at him, attempting to seduce him. If maintaining a relationship with a woman with his current tribulations was hard, finding a woman who truly love and understand him was even harder. He has no means of deciphering who were pure with their intentions and those who sought him for his money and influence.

     And he accepted his fate without easily, without question. This was the way it was supposed to be in the first place. Diluc Ragnvindr - a lone man, who lived in too big mansion, sleeping on a bed too big for him. It was all he knew. The bright days of his childhood long forgotten.

    But then you came to his life so suddenly.

                          "Master Diluc," Began Jean, a polite smile over her lips. "This is ( Your Name )".

              All it took was for you to give him shy smile to have his walls broken down, and for his heart to yearn for what he has resolutely denied himself of for years. And it twisted him, and not in a way he welcomed.

          Diluc tried so damn hard to push you away. He avoided your presence, and made it his point to show you he wanted nothing to do with you, and made no attempt to cover it and ignored how his heart broke every time your smile fell. He resolutely refused to yield to your sincere advances.

                                     He treated you the same way be treated everyone, to show you how you were no different from everyone. You were just another dot in his life waiting to be erased and thrown in the back of his mind.

                                                       But the harder he pushed, the harder you pulled. In his brightest days and in his darkest days, you have never strayed far and welcomed him with open arms. You always went out of your way for him.

          It was hard not to fall in love with you? Why did you have to make things so difficult?

                        It wasn't too long until he was falling asleep in his bed with you in his embrace, his heart feeling light, warm and content. He hasn't feel like this in a long time - safe, and at home. Diluc found home from someone he tried to push away.

                                      The horror of what could have happened if he had been successful weighed down on him, and it took quite an assurance from you to make him remember that he has failed, and you were his, as he was yours.

                          Back then, he thought your persistence was bothersome. But as he stood at the altar right now, watching you enter with your white wedding dress, he was grateful you never gave up on him.

Diluc cannot describe how beautiful you looked as you graced everyone in the place with your presence.

Your eyes locked with him, and his heart soared in his chest. And when you smiled at him, an excited gleam in your eyes - he cannot help but smile back.

Time cannot be any slower, and the aisle cannot be any longer. And have you always walked this slow? Or were you just teasing him?

Diluc's breath hitched - Perhaps you knew how much he wanted to get this over with so he can have you all to himself in the comfort of his room.

And when he saw you smiling mischievously at him, he knew that he was right.

His words failed to describe how beautiful you looked. His words failed the joy he was feeling. May Barbatos have mercy on him

But the tear that escaped the corner of his eye explained everything.

"Oh, what is this?" His best man whispered beside him, a teasing tone lacing his voice. "Master Diluc is crying. Why, I never thought I'd see the day."

Diluc shot him a glare. "Do not make me regret making you my best man, Kaeya."

Kaeya laughed. "Ah, ah, ah," He chimed. "Your wife won't be pleased if we fight at your wedding day."

A warm and pleasant feeling coursed through him. His wife.

"She's not my wife yet." Said Diluc.

Kaeya looked at you as you walked down the aisle. "And in just a few minutes, I'll have two Ragnvindr to annoy." He patted his brother on the back, smiling a genuine smile for the first time. "Congratulations, Diluc."

     ZHONGLI

       Zhongli, or Rex Lapis for that time, has watched over Teyvat for thousands of years and has witnessed firsthand how kings and tyrants rose and fell, how kingdoms were born, how camaraderie are conducted, how romance makes a man foolish and blinded, how society flourished in the hands of mortals as Archons guarded them from their resting place, and throughout the tales of humans, his eyes has laid upon many beauties.

                   But you? Oh, even the most esteemed bard of all realms could never bring the satisfactory glory to your name and pulchritude.

            How dearly Zhongli missed the unspeakable power, money and authority he had back before he revoked his own position as a deity, keeping a close eye over Liyue and his people. But if ever presented with the opportunity to return to his rightful place as part of the Seven, he shall graciously decline, casting his gaze away and simply returning to your side.

                               After all, what benefit would he gain from it when he already has his heart is content in the possession of a mere mortal, a mortal he loved and adored. He would dream of ever choosing his old power over you, and that can be affirmed when he asked for your hand as the two of you took an evening stroll outside Liyue.

                 He has fallen for you and he cannot rise again. A gentle and kind woman with an understanding and patience which knows no bounds. If not for his revelation that he has accomplished all his duties and has come to decide to resign from his reign, your existence may be another reason for him to take the form or a mortal and ask for your hand.

                      He can still recall that faithful day when he first met you at the harbor. He stood by a high balcony, overlooking Liyue Harbor with arms crossed. The sun beat down against Liyue grounds and his skin, but it also casted an ethereal glow on you as you exited one of the ships that stopoed at the docks. And may he boldly say the sun was outshined that day, and his heart has been taken.

                                         Zhongli can only imagine how many men has chased after you, but failed to woo you.

                   Zhongli understood the concept of love. After all, Liyue and every living being that sought shelter in its walls were close to his heart, but never in his life has he felt the way he felt for you. It was the sort of phenomena he observed between lovers for centuries - unconditional love and care, a sanctuary in the arms of their beloved, an individual to trust and come home to whether the day has been kind or unkind.

           What he thought were trivial matters and the means of mortals for survival he has tasted its sweet flavor, and it was by your hand did he receive it. And he was thankful that you have found him worthy of being with you, and soon, being one with him in the contract of marriage.

And thus came the faithful day, the very day he longed to come ever since you have accepted him as your husband to be, and the day you have dreamt of every night you laid with him.

Zhongli counted the months, weeks, days, and if he had the ability to, minutes until the day of your wedding. He has a calendar in his room and everyday, he enthusiastically crossed out every passing day, watching as his wedding with you grow closer.

And when it finally arrived, Zhongli followed a meticulous routine to prepare himself, using expensive oils and perfume to which the Fatui money has provided splendidly. After all, he wanted to look the best he can for you. You deserved only the best of things, and he shall not hold back on anything to please you.

Though Zhongli, most of the time, was a calm man even under the eye of tribulations, when he stood at the altar in front of his close friends and colleagues, he can't help but feel anxious.

Of course he has no doubt in your love for him. He holds on your every word of love and affection as true, and his love for you was as hard as stone. Rather, it was he who doubted himself and his capabilities.

He wondered if he would be able to take care of you, love you the way you should be, bring a smile to your lips, and a laugh out of your mouth. If he had been Rex Lapis still, he would have easily uphold his duties as your husband. After all, what can an Archon not do?

It would be Childe, his best man, who would console him. He would tell Zhongli he is more than capable to care for you. He has a stable job (not to mention his connection with the Fatui), he was eager to please you and give you about everything if he can, he has a kind heart, he was a man who can manage his time wisely and never choose his profession over you, and above all, he loved you. Not many men can afford the luxury of being this perfect, but Zhongli was no man, not originally at least.

He will be unconvinced of what Childe has said. This unease in him was hard to diminish. Not being enough for you will tear him apart. The thought of it just gnawed at him. Will he make you happy? Will you regret marrying him when you realized life married to him wasn't as you expected?

It was only when the doors opened, and his wide and anticipative eyes darted over to the other end of the place did every little doubt in his mind is erased.

You stood by the entrance wearing the white dress you have fought hard not to show him until this day.

That bright smile on your face, those eyes that shimmered at the sight of him, the faint red on your cheeks - Zhongli did not even notice how love stricken he looked, and nor did he notice a tear cascade from corner of eye.

It was only when Childe stifled a laugh and pointed it out did he feel the dampness at the side of his face.

He forgot how to breathe when you finally stood before him. Even a veil cannot conceal your beauty.

With twinkling eyes, you smiled at him - like he was the only person in the room.

"Are you crying?" You ask playfully.

Zhongli will let out a chuckle, and as he take your hands in his, he said, "In such a beautiful day like this with the loveliest lady in Teyvat before me, how can I not?"

Indeed it was a beautiful day, made better when your lips met his.

He can't stop a few more tears from slipping.

THOSE WHO WOULD BAWL THEIR EYES OUT

     CHILDE/TARTAGLIA

                 Childe understood his duties as a Harbinger even if his playful and flirtatious facade may say otherwise. He kissed hands of women and paid them golden compliments until their mind went hazy with his feigned affection, but he was still a Fatui at the end of the day - a ruthless and greedy scoundrel who had too much Mora in his hands.

              And it was because of his line of work that he decided never to commit himself. If he was to find himself infatuated with a woman and she reciprocated his feelings and desired to pursue a relationship with him, it would inevitably drag her to the dangers entailed to his position.

                                       The last thing he wanted was someone to dear to him to be harmed, not to mention his lover could become his weakness, she could be taken by his enemies and be used against him, thus, making things more complicated and harder for him to fulfill his duties to the Tsaritsa.

             To him, nothing is more important than seeing through his mission with the finest quality of work he can give.

                   So damn you for coming into his life and distracting him. Damn you for bringing another bright to his life. Damn you for taking care of his family when he was gone. Just - damn you for making him fall for you.

      He hated this - the feeling of being weak, of being vulnerable, of laying his guard down. One touch from you and he's no better than the people he despised for being so frail and powerless.

                                              How ever do you possess this prowess to make him so dependent on you, to relish in your voice when you sing to him as the two of you laid together in his bed, how he let his defenses crumble when you whisper his name, the tug of his heart when you he sees you getting along so well with his family.

                          Childe wanted you. He wanted you more than anything and anyone in Teyvat. He was going crazy thinking about you.

             He refused to acknowledge his feelings at first, thinking perhaps he can use you to comfort him and his family in these troubling times. That's all you were supposed to be, a tool for him to make his family feel better whenever he goes off to accomplish his work as a Harbinger.

                              But he couldn't stomach the thought of using you like that. He didn't want you to treat like a toy. And it did not help that one day, when he was returning from a mission, you come rushing to him and blurting out your feelings and your worry for his safety.

               You loved him. Did he hear you right? You love a Fatui, and a Harbinger, no less. Surely, you aren't that stupid to fall for him.

     And yet he smiled a sincere smile at your confession, and he too followed your steps. That night, he was at his weakest. Just relishing in your arms and ridding all the responsibilities over his shoulders. He can forget all his faults for a moment, with you. A peace of mind and heart was found in you.

     Childe watched as you played with his fingers, and then he spoke. “Aren’t you afraid?”

       You hummed. “Afraid? Of what?”

                   Childe shook his head and held your hand which toyed with his digits. You looked up at him, puzzled.

              “Of me.” Said Childe, pulling your hand and holding it close to his chest. He closed his eyes, almost terrified of what your answer can be. “Of what I can bring to your life. I’m a Harbinger, [ Your Name ]. Your life is at stake just being with me. Do you know what you’re in for for loving me?”

                        You gazed at him, and he can’t see anything in your eyes. He let out a small gasp when you leaned in and kissed his cheek.

            “I’m not afraid of you or anything this world can throw at me.” You confessed. “You’re going to protect me, Tartaglia. I know you will. I trust you. I love you.”

                            And fucking hell, did he protect you.

                                          He tried to hide you from his fellow Harbingers, and especially to his enemies. Not because they will use you to get the upper hand against him, a leverage. No, he wanted to hide you, as long as he can anyway (because it won't be long until his secret is out, walls do have ears), to protect you. No one will lay a hand or even get a single strand of your hair. May the Archons have mercy on anyone who dares put you in the middle of the dangers of his job, because he surely won't.

Because of this, you and Childe decided to get married in secret, with no one else but Zhongli, the traveler, and their floating companion to be your witnesses in becoming one. The two of you knew well of the consequences your decision shall birth, but it's the one you're making. Nothing in this can stop Childe from making you his wife, and treating you as such.

Childe could not wait for the ceremony to begin. Even with such a small crowd - very small indeed - he did not hold back to make this day special for you. The finest of everything is what you deserved, and if he could give more, he would. But for now, all he can give you is himself, and he dearly wished he was enough.

The whole time, as he waited for you to emerge from the doors of the small cathedral the two of you chose to be wed in, he kept imagining how his life would be like with you.

Waking up beside you was the thing he looked forward to the most. When the sunrays peeked from closed curtains and cascaded down your slumbering form, a gentle and even breaths leaving your lips, a soft expression of rest - the thought of it filled his heart with warmth, a kind of warmth only you can evoke from him.

Waking up at your side on his bed always reminded him thst you were indeed there, and his. Soon, he'll be waking up beside you with a soft smile on his lips, a reminder that you were there, but now as his wife.

Childe never really considered him emotional. It was part of his discipline as a Harbinger never to let his emotions get the better of him. But when you stepped into the cathedral wearing the wedding dress you personally chose and had hidden from him for so long, a veil over your face but the soft smile still just as bright as the morning sun, it all came crashing down to him.

Childe wanted a lot of things in life. But what he wanted the most was to spend the rest of his life with you - providing for you, protecting you, comforting you, falling deeper in love with your every single day. All this he will do until his dying breath, and he knew you'd do the same.

His dream was walking towards him, never taking her eye off him as she approached the altar.

He can hear Paimon clapping and the Traveler reprimanding her for being a little too loud. He can hear Zhongli saying something to him but he couldn't understand a word he said. But he was too lost in his realization that you're going to marry him.

You chose him, a man with too many faults and imperfections.

Just as you arrived at the small steps leading towards the altar, the tears Childe has been trying to hold back streamed down his face, small hiccups escaping his lips.

You stared at him, worried. "Tartaglia, are you alright?"

Childe would try to formulate an answer but through his tears and hiccups, he couldn't make a single comprehensible word. His posture was regal and proper, as though he was trying to fool everyone that he wasn't crying.

How can you ask if he was alright? How can his heart handle how beautiful you looked right now?

"Excuse me, ( Your Name )," Zhongli interjected as he stepped beside Childe. "It seems that your soon to be husband needs a moment to collect himself. Please, excuse us."

Zhongli led Childe back to his room, and the Harbinger did not fight back. He was still crying even when the doors has closed behind him. Zhongli stood by the door, watching the Fatui sit on his bed, trying to stop himself from bawling.

Childe can feel guilt crawling up to him as he realized what he had done. What was supposed to the most perfect day, your most perfect day, was ruined because of him.

He was scared to think what you thought of him now. Were you resenting him for what happened? Did you still wish to marry him?

If only he had controlled his emotions much better. He shouldn't have let his joy break through him in tears.

"She was crying too, you know," Spoke Zhongli.

Childe raised his head to look at the former Archon. "Huh?"

"Your bride, she - " He smiled at him. " - she was crying too. She's happy to be marrying you."

Childe can feel his heart hammering against his chest in delight at what he said.

"So don't keep her waiting."

Childe bawled his eyes out once more when the words - "I do," - left your lips.

     AETHER

                 When his sister was taken from him, Aether was a lost and wandering soul in Teyvat with the sole purpose of finding her.

              Throughout his journey, he met different people from different regions. He learned their values and cultures, he grew to love the world he used to be a stranger to, he was able to utilize different sorts of Visions, and yet, despite all of this, Aether was lonely. Paimon - bless her pure soul - tried her best to keep his spirits and bring a smile to his face (he assumed she too felt the hollowness inside of him) but it was all futile as he often find himself seeking solitude and gazing out in an open field wondering where his twin could be and how she was fairing on her own.

                He will let the cool breeze comfort him, but all it left was a searing kiss of reality that his search might have been all for naught. That very concept his mind was conjured haunted him in his every waking days. Is he still journeying through Teyvat and reaching out to all Archons with a solid purpose? Was he no wasting his time looking high and low for someone who could not be looking at the sky as he?

                     "And what if she is?"

                                     Your words is what got his attention. Aether met you in the evening when the stars and the moon was absent from the skies. He sat on a fallen log overlooking the city of Mondstadt, alone and cold. Paimon has insisted in him accompanying him, but he had snuck away before she can chase after him. He needed to be alone with his thoughts, and with the scarce time he has for himself, he has to make the most of every night that comes.

                 Lumine was in his mind, and worry was gnashing its teeth at him. He was deep in his own world, sinking to the hands of his tragic thoughts, that he did not hear footsteps trekking the hillock he was at. Nor did he realize he was speaking his own worries in the air, eyes distant and staring blankly at nothing.

       "What if she's not even looking for me?" That's what he remembered saying that time.

                                       Then you made your presence known with an answer that refuted his initial thought. He whirled his head to the side, wide eyes with surprise. You stood next to him with a faint smile, hands behind your back and the moon slowly peeking from the shroud of clouds. A light in the darkness, the moon was. And so you were you to him.

                "Sorry," You apologized, sheepishly giving him a smile as you rubbed the back of your neck. "I didn't mean to interrupt. You were speaking out loud and-and I just had a feeling I needed to say something." You took in a deep breath, and Aether found the pink dusting your cheeks adorable. "I . . . I'll just go now - "

              Aether didn't regret asking you to stay.

                                   Before you came to his life, Aether did not know how much he was dwelling in the own hell he made. His inner tribulations, his worries, his insecurities - he only took notice the torture he was putting on himself when you keep saving him from his own mind.

                   At first, all he thought of you was a precious friend - someone he leaned on and entrusted with everything, whether it be secrets or help with his quests. He told you about his past, his twin, how exactly he was different from the people of Teyvat, how he and sister fought an unknown god, how she slipped from his fingers when he reached out for her, how much he wanted her back. He was terrified of what you may think of him when he told you these things, but to his surprise, all you did was wrap him in your arms and comforted him.

                                      Along with Paimon, you were his dearest friend.

             But as time passed, the longer you accompany him and Paimon in his travels, he noticed something strange. The way his heart skipped a beat when you smile at him, how he can't keep his eyes off you when you laugh at one of his tales, how his heart hammered ceaselessly when you press a chaste kiss on his cheek, the relief that seeps in his system when he sees you unscathed from a battle, how irritated he becomes when someone makes an offense against you, the joy that seizes him when he listens to you talking about something you loved, and how much he adored it when you scold him for being a little too reckless in fighting.

                           Aether, despite being older than he seems, did not know what to make of what he was feeling. It was strange, a good kind of strange - the kind of feeling that makes him feel like he was floating in the sky. All he thought of it was an overwhelming adoration for a friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

                  It wasn't until Paimon pointed it out did he realize what he was feeling for you.

                                           Upon learning his feelings for you, Aether couldn't sleep for many nights. He was plagued with the desires of his heart and his insecurities. It was like falling back to the same hellish pattern before you came along.

              He was in this world for one reason only - to find his twin. And when he does - and he fucking will - he will depart from here with her and continue their travels. Leaving you was the last thing he wanted. He couldn't bear the thought of it. It felt like leaving a piece of him behind in Teyvat, a hole in the shape of your name.

                            The solution he had for this is directly confessing to you. Of course, the blond was a nervous wreck when he approached you and asked for a moment of your time. Paimon knew of his plan and wandered away for the time being, wanting to give the two of your privacy.

              If you did not share the same feelings as he, he can already imagine the pain he will have to deal with, but it'll be much easier to leave. At least then he knows you won't be as hurt as he thought once he takes his leave. He never entertained the idea of you reciprocating his feelings. It would be foolish to - surely you can't find anything appealing with someone like him ; to which you rendered him speechless and a bumbling mess when you pressed your lips against his when he was in the middle of his confession.

                                 Aether shouldn't be this happy with you. He loved you too much to see you hurt when he tells you that he must leave. He was not welcome in this world, he was an outsider, a being not under the authority or influence of any Archons.

     But still, he spent months loving you, caring for you, doing anything to come back to you no matter what is thrown at him. He loved having you in his arms when you slept, he loved watching the stars with you at night, he loved you even with the inevitable arguments you two have - Aether was utterly and hopeless in love with you.

                     And thus, he decided to tell you what will happen after he finds his sister.

                      He knew he would be heart broken in seeing you cry, but it hurt more to see you smile at to him so genuinely and embraced him, saying, "You used to doubt you'll ever find your sister. It broke my heart everyday seeing you so hopeless, and I - " You composed yourself, shaking your head as your tried to gather your thoughts. " - now look at you," You cupped his cheek, the corners of your eyes wrinkling as your smile broadened. "I always knew the day will come when you have to leave me. When you told me you weren't from this world, I knew then I'll have to let go of you someday. But until that day comes - Aether - "

               What a shock it came to him when you got down on one knee and presented to him a glittering ring - there was unconditional love and hope in your eyes. It was like looking back at his reflection. "Marry me, Aether, let me make you happy for the rest of the days we still have remaining until you leave."

                                   Aether can never say no to you.

To his surprise, Master Diluc has already agreed to host your wedding at Dawn Winery. Aether was puzzled as to why he seemed unsurprised by the news of his engagement with you, and the Claymore wielding male answered, "( Your Name ) came to me for help when she planned to propose to you."

Aether knew Diluc, as much as possible, wanted to be alone. A lone wolf, he was. But with gratitude for what he has done, he asked him to be his best man. Diluc was startled by this requests but obliged. The red head might not show it but he was immensely flattered by Aether asking him to be his best now (and now time to subtly show it off to Kaeya).

At the day of the wedding, contrary to what he thought he would feel, Aether woke up with his an ache in his chest. He found himself looking out the window of his room, torn between his happiness and sorrow.

In a few hours, Aether will be able to adorn a ring on your finger, symbolizing your promises with one another. He shall be granted the sole blessing of calling your his wife. It was something he was looking forward to - seeing you in your wedding dress, watching as you walk down the aisle -

But Aether's mind kept drifting back to his sister - She would have wanted to be here. He thought.

Aether felt like he was committing a crime when he decided to take a walk just hours before his wedding. But he needed to clear his mind. Lumine never left his mind. He always thought that they would always be there for one another, or at least in big moments like this.

And yet she was still nowhere to be seen.

Is she still alive? Have I been wasting time? Is she still in danger? Is she lost in Teyvat as well?

"Didn't expect to run into you here."

His body tensed when he heard your voice, and he twirled around only to have his breath taken away.

You stood before him in the white dress he had longed to see ever since you proposed to him. He thought he would see a frown on your face, dismayed for his impromptu walk, but you wore a soft smile - a soft and understanding smile.

Aether did know what to say to you. He just stared at you, overwhelmed.

He opened his mouth to speak but he couldn't say anything. His shoulders slumped, and he sighed.

You approached him and kissed his cheek. He hummed in delight, eyes closing. "I hope you're not having second thoughts on marrying me." You told him.

Aether was quick to respond. He took your hand in his and kissed your knuckles. He looked into your eyes with affirming hues, "There is nothing I'm more sure of than marrying you."

You beamed at him. Seeing your face brighten up is always a beautiful sight for Aether, and it was enough for him to feel enlightened in the midst of his internal crisis.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Of course you can already tell something is bothering him. Aether shook his head. He has already ruined a small part of what is supposed to be a perfect day, he can't risk another mistake.

"I'm not going to push you to tell me anything." You stated.

Aether smiled. "Thank you." He replied. He gazed at you for a little while, taking you in. "Why are you out here anyway? And in your wedding dress too."

Your eyes widened and you looked down to assess his evaluation. "Oh Archons," You mewled. "I forgot I was wearing this." You let out a groan. "Great, now my surprise is ruined. I won't be able to see you cry when you see me walk down the aisle."

He laughed a little. "But still happy as ever to see you." He said. "So why are you outside?"

"Just . . . " You began, and Aether can detect a hint of nervousness in your voice. " . . . picking some flowers."

"I thought we already ordered flowers." Aether thought, frowning. "Did someone forget to deliver the flowers? I can call someone if - "

"No, I just wanted to pick some flowers, randomly. Like how you wanted to take a walk, randomly."

He looked at you with hesitant eyes. He didn't believe you. There was something hidden behind your motive to be out here. But like how you didn't press him with what was the problem, he did the same for you.

"Okay," He breathed out. "What flowers did you pick then?"

Aether's breath hitched when you pulled out a bundle of Windwheel Asters and several more flowers that was all too familiar with him.

He stared at the white flowers that combined with your Windwheel Asters, the very flowers that he remembered adorned his sister's hair.

"Aether? Aether are you okay?"

He stared at you with glistening eyes, his heart blossoming with adoration and gratitude. Without even meaning to, you managed to make everything alright.

"Yeah," He smiled at you. "I'm okay."

Aether thought when he stood at the altar, he would have Diluc trying to soothe his nerves as his insecurities slowly sink in his mind. But it didn't happen. Diluc merely stood by him with a relaxed expression, glancing at him every now and then.

"You don't look nervous at all." Diluc remarked.

Aether chuckled. "This is the only decision I fully know I won't regret."

Aether felt like it was his first time seeing you in your wedding dress. His heart was filled with the brim with utmost joy, but what caught his attention was the bouquet of flowers in your hands.

You told him before that you will have roses as your bouquet, but to his surprise, he can see the Windwheel Asters and the white flowers that reminded him of his sister.

His emotions was all over the place. He had no idea how he could look so calm. Somehow he managed to hold himself together until you finally stood before him.

When you stared at him behind the veil, he couldn't take it anymore. You were too perfect. How could he be so blessed with you?

Tears sprung to his eyes when you reached out to take his hands in yours. He retracted one of them to rub his arm across his eyes, wiping away the wetness that streamed to his face.

Why am I crying like a child in my wedding? Stop it!

He couldn't.

He only cried harder when you leaned forward, removed his arm from his eyes, made him look into your vibrant hues, to give a small peck on his lips - "You're okay, Aether."

     BENNETT

                 Bennett understood his bad luck more than anyone. He had lived with and through it his entire life he graced the surface of the earth. It was almost pitiful to see the boy smiling ever so brightly as misfortune after misfortune comes hurtling his way, but to him? It was an everyday and normal occurrence, nothing he hasn't seen or experienced before. His spirits has never let their roaring flame vanish, however, and if it had not been for his bad luck, everyone would have been drawn to his warm, welcoming, affable, and cheerful soul.

                                 But just because he was used to the constant array of debacle thrown his way, doesn't mean there were never days where he won't be upset over everything it brought to his life, and others as well, and wonder how long it will take until his unluckiness will lead him back to the very situation he was rescued from when he was a mere baby.

          He forgot how long it was when he had experienced something good, miraculously so. The only time he can recall being so was when he encountered the Honorary Knight, convened with them as a temporary adventure team, and found a treasure chest containing items he has only dreamed of in his sleep deep within a domain. However, that was many moons ago, and nothing has ever compared to it ever since. The moment he departed from the Honorary Knight, his bad luck came instantly to bite him.

                 It was far too long ago. Sometimes, Bennett wondered if that would be the only good thing that can happen to him in his lifetime, and thank the Archons he was wrong because the very worst day that came upon him is a day he will never exchange for another - the day he met you. When it was raining, thunder in the distance, lightning striking trees and soil, his bruised and bleeding form hardly covered under a small and flimsy tent, you graced him with your presence, and an umbrella which you used to cover both of you.

                                    He had never stopped admiring you ever since. His eyes always followed you, wide and shining. He remembered the warmth in his chest and the redness tinting his cheeks when you brought him to your abode and treated his wounds with care gentler than the Deaconess. When he told you what happened to him, he anticipated to he shoved out of the house immediately and have your front door slammed on his face, but you did not. When he warned you about his curse, telling you how you will be affected when you spend a little too much time with him, the look of fright did not cross your visage and you even insisted that he not leave your house until you were sure he was capable of moving without pain, even if you had instantly been affected by his unluckiness (you pricked your finger quite badly when you were stitching a deep wound of his. He always felt guilty for that and has not stopped offering his apologies whenever it pricks the corner of his mind).

                   Other than the team of adventurers who had saved him from peril when he was a baby, it was difficult to find someone who will stay with him, through bad times and more of it. One cannot simply imagine and comprehend the confusion and happiness that seized him when he found out you were spending more and more time with him, not out pity but because you enjoy his company (which was weird, but he'll take it).

                              You possessed no Vision, but Bennett never saw you in an inferior light. In fact, it impressed him how you can hold yourself without the aid of any power. Enemies took a little longer to eradicate but ultimately, you were always successful. He held you in high regard, and very much like a certain blond traveler, the poor boy thought it was merely friendship and respect he felt towards you. After all, wouldn't a friend accompany him in his adventures no matter what disappointing or gratifying the outcome is? Wouldn't a friend prepare meals for him before he goes off on a solo expedition? Wouldn't a friend stay up late up waiting for him to return after? Wouldn't a friend welcome him by the entrance of Mondstadt upon his arrival? Wouldn't a friend give him butterflies in his stomach? Wouldn't a friend make his heart pound in a way

                  It had taken the Traveler and his floating companion for Bennett to learn about how exactly he was feeling for you.

           He liked you, and not in the way he liked the traveler or Razor - he liked liked you.

                               When he realized about his feelings, Bennett nearly short circuit every time you go near him. His face flush a rich color of vermillion, his confident posture stripped down to a coy and uncertain stance, his eyes darted and never meeting yours for too long, a sheepish smile painted over his brims - Bennett had never felt this way before. It was foreign to him - liking someone - and it was worse for him because you were his one of his few friends (you, Razor, the Traveler and their floating friend), and having you withdraw from him if you ever learned his feelings frightened him more than any Ruin Guard could.

    He didn't bother entertaining the idea of you returning his feelings. With his bad luck, it was bound to end in a rejection, and he didn't believe he had the heart to accept the hurt that would come.

                 Bennett tried to keep his feeling a secret, he really, genuinely, did. He locked his feelings for you in a box and stowed away somewhere behind his mind. But it didn't take you too long to catch on. Bennett's theatrics wasn't as impenetrable as he originally thought because there was no other reason for you to corner him in a street in Mondstadt after he tried to avoid crossing paths with you, and admit your feelings to him.

                                  "( Your Name )," Stuttered Bennett, eyes darting to the side to avoid your eyes as he pressed his back against the wall behind him. You gazed at him, a tint of red over your cheek.

                 Archon, how are you so adorable?

                   "Uh, hi," He greeted meekly, as he rubbed the back of his head. "I-I was just about to leave for an adventure - "

                               "Bennett," You spoke, and he froze at the tone of your voice.

                   He looked at you properly, gulping. Shy eyes, shy smile, shy, shy, shy - and yet somehow, Bennett thought the worse - that you found out about his feelings and was about to turn him down.

          He almost got down on his knees and press his hands together in a praying position, head bowed, and beg to keep your friendship. It didn't matter if you did not share his feelings. You were more important than his stupid feelings. He can deal with the hurt of rejection that will soon to come, but losing you completely? Can he even come to terms with that?

                                But before he can do such humiliating display, you leaned in and pressed a kiss on his cheek,

                  It was almost too good to be true, and with someone like him, Bennett had to take a moment to comprehend what has happened. His feelings were reciprocated, opposite of what should have been considering his dilemma. How can this be? He was sure your friendship would be put to an end when you learn about what he felt for you. How did you even know that he liked you? Has he been too obvious? Surely not (he was). Perhaps you were merely toying with him, discovering his feelings and choosing to use it as a way to alleviate your boredom -

                                           Horror struck him when he processed the message behind his doubt. How could he think so little of you? Someone as sweet and kind as you would be repulsed by the intention of the actions he thought you were presenting to him. Prideful as this may sound, Bennett believed he knew you enough to know you were sincere in everything you do.

            But even if both your feelings are revealed to be mutual, the two of you agreed to wait until a certain age before forming a romantic relationship. The two of you are young and there are a lot more the world can offer outside Mondstadt. There are countless of opportunities to grow and be mature, to be able to have a set of qualities to take of one another.

                            But that didn't mean the two of you easily managed to hold back showcasing your favor for the other. Bennett will always find himself exchanging secret glances and smile with you whenever a third party joins in on your adventure. He would stick by your side in situations he think could potentially lead you to a major injury. He will attempt (and fail, unfortunately) to whip you up with something delicious when he has free time. And you did the same to him.

                  With you, there was never a time where his heart wasn't beating against his chest. He can't stop himself from bounding recklessly through his adventures whenever you accompany him, although he will still keep a close eye on you just in case something bad happens to you (but it's always him who ends up injured).

                                              But what he liked the most are the kisses the two of you share. Short, chaste, and shy - whether it be behind closed doors, when others are looking away, or when the two of you set of on an adventure.

            Bennett would lay in his bed with a smile on his face, his thundering heart preventing him from sleeping. He'll often find himself burying his face against his pillow, grinning from ear to ear.

                         This smile was different. This wasn't smile that he usually wore, the kind of smile that persevered through hardship after another. No, it was the sort of smile that was too carefree and too full of utmost joy, no worries or doubts in his heart. Everyday he always woke up to the excitement of adventure, but now, the excitement of it and seeing you once again always had him brimming with the want for the night to be over with so he can chase after his dreams with you. Chasing his dreams with you, what a life.

      His world is full of a bad luck, but he thanked the Archons for giving him someone he can depend on in the troubling waters he always he seem to drown in.

Bennett, embarrassing it may sound, often laid on his bed imagining about marrying you.

He can see himself making a fool out of himself when he gets down on one knee and propose to you. It'll be set in the most beautiful place he discovered in one of his adventure, somewhere quiet. Like maybe on top of a mountain overseeing a vast field.

Because of his bad luck, he'll try to prepare for every outcome. To be very sure everything will be saved, he made sure he created a plan B for his plan A, a plan C for his plan B, and so on, and so forth.

He can imagine himself fumbling over his words, blushing a bright red was made prominent because of his white hair, holding a bunch of hand picked flowers a little too tightly, sweat pouring from his face, his suit and hair a little ruffled -

If you say yes (spoiler alert, you will), he will most probably go haywire with shock and happiness, causing him to drop the ring down the mountain, and the two of you will spend quite some time looking for it. But in the end, you two will find it somewhere deep underground or deep underwater (to which you will ask help to retrieve) (Bennett offered to go down to get the ring but you can’t take any chances) and then you can start planning the wedding.

If Bennett had backup plans for his proposal, then expect there'll be much more backups with your wedding. He needed this day to be perfect for you, and his bad luck won't stop him from providing it for you. Even if he had to fight through horde after horde of Hilichurls (please stop him when he does, he definitely will do that for you), making you happy is his top priority.

Bennett will be extremely anxious the day before the wedding. He'll be pacing around his room, and has half a mind of running over to your place and spending the night there to reassure himself that you still want to marry him, and that you’re absolutely sure you want to spend the rest of your life with him. It will be Razor - who the Traveler spent hours teaching the basic information of the role of Best Man to - who will calm his nerves. He’ll stop Bennett from reaching your house and carry him back to his own, and giving him a lecture (he did his best) like the best man he was.

Was he having second thoughts on marrying you? No way! He will just be nervous about how the wedding will go. With his bad luck, something horrible is bound to happen.

At the day of the wedding, Bennett can imagine himself constantly seeking reassurance from his best man.

"What if I mess up?" Questions Bennett to Razor, anxious hands fiddling with his tie.

"Messing up is . . . normal." Razor will reassure him, but Bennett will shake his head.

“But it's me. When I mess up, it's always . . . catastrophic . . . ”

Bennett hoped that at least for his wedding way, everything will go smoothly. A perfect day, for you and for him. He won't embarrass you or himself. He won't forget the rings, he won't have his clothes tucked inside out, he will not spill any food or drinks on himself or on his guests, there will be no random Hilichurl attacks - none of that.

He really hoped for the Archons to spare him from his bad luck. 

He will be able to stand by the altar with confidence and a smile, waiting for you to walk down the aisle.

As Bennett is consumed with his thoughts, his eyes drew to the small table at the side of his bed and caught sight of the picture of the two of you perched on the surface. It was a picture you took with a kamera after one of his adventures. The two of you smiling happily as he showcased the loot of vegetables and wheat he gathered in numerous luxurious chests. It was good day, that picture was. He found more resources than usual. Of course, he learned from the Traveler that most of the chest they found contained treasures but hey, vegetables are better than nothing, right?

Bennett stared at your smiling face and can feel the heat creep on his cheeks as he imagined you in a pretty, white wedding dress, smiling at him so shyly and cute - oh, Archons, help him. May them have mercy on him. Of course, you always looked pretty to him - so, so pretty - but in your wedding day? Archons, he doesn't know if he can take that. It'll be too much for his big heart.

He can only imagine how your wedding will play out, but there is one thing he was sure of and that is that he will burst into tears once he laid his eyes upon you - and not the soft cry most men do in their wedding, oh, not at all like that. His heart is too big with too much love for you, and too soft to control his emotions properly.

Bennett will cry (bawl, actually), his tears of joy coming in streams, and it was loud enough for strangers to think he was grieving over a deceased loved one. He was hiccupping and sobbing, will probably be holding on to his vest tightly as if his entire lifeline depended on the pressure of how he crumpled the fabric. He hoped that in that time, Razor or the Traveler will lend him a hand and calm him down before he can ruin his own wedding.

Bennett, as he happily imagined that fateful day to come in the future (spoilers again, it will) did not feel a tear slip from the corner of his eye as he drifted off to a pleasant slumber with a beaming smile.

The boy absolutely adores you.

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Tell Me A Story

Loki x f(magic reader)

Summary: Stuck in an Asgardian cell for your crimes, you meet an intriguing fellow prisoner who you can’t help but start to feel something for.

Warning: angst, fluff (you’re not leaving sad on my watch)

Masterlist

The ground feels hard. And your head feels incredibly fuzzy, like waking up from a deep slumber by some rude acquaintance who can’t mind their own damn business. Not to mention the throbbing sensation emitting from the left side of your cheek like two annoying disturbances. Were you smacked twice?

What in the bloody shitsticks?

The light in this place is so bright too, you have to squint when opening your irises for the first time to really get a good look at your surroundings. With the light in this awful place too much to bear, you cover your eyes with your fingers to lessen the harshness from above. Soon your gaze trails up witnessed a clean ceiling of pure marble white.

Wait. Are you dead?

Adjusting to the brightness, you slowly bring yourself into a seated position on the equally as shiny clean floor. To your left is a bed and a small nightstand while your right is a see through golden tinged barrier showing the other cells and a single guard walking down the hallway. Cells? Cells!

A prison? You’re in a fucking prison. Shit.

Letting out a dramatic sigh, head in your hands, you suddenly hear a knock on the white section of the confinement hold that turns into loud pounding. Thud! Thud! Thud! And a second later the white disappears, in place shows the same see through golden tinge. A guard on the other side.

“You’re awake.” He says, voice casual as an old friend.

You give him a puzzled look before feeling your face, “I think so.”

He takes a step into your prison where a sword is held in your face, maybe not so much an old friend after all, “As protocol, I must ask you three questions.” Delves the guard, stance never changing.

“Go for it tough guy.”

He remains unfazed, “Do you know your name?” Easy.

“Y/N.”

“Do you know why you’re here?” Uh.

“Well it wasn’t for stealing a child’s favorite toy.” You muse before quickly changing your façade, “But yes.”

He scoffs unamused, “Do you know where you are?”

Now this question you don’t have an answer for so instead do you give him your sweetest most innocent face possible, “uh, maybe you could enlighten me?”

The armored man rolls his dark eyes, “You’re in the royal dungeons of Asgard, placed here by King Odin for crimes against our realm. For that. You will remain until otherwise noted by the King.” Barks the guard, you stare up at him with wide eyes. Shocked and bewildered that you’re stuck in Asgard of all places.

“I didn’t even have a fare trial!” You protest.

“You didn’t deserve one, filth.” He counters before sheathing his sword back into its scabbard and off he goes into the golden tinged door. Out of sight in an instant. Rude.

Leaving yourself very puzzled and irritated at the whole ordeal, you never even got a trial to speak your side of the story. Nothing. Now you’re stuck in this dumb shit of a cell with literally nothing to do and no one around to bother, oh wait who’s that across the room?

Jumping to your feet, you swiftly walk over to the glass; there stands a man in green and black attire, leather bound book in hand as his slender face focuses onto the pages. He’s rather handsome in all honesty, with that dark shoulder length hair of his and the thoughtful expression across his face. You’re now fully intrigued.

Then your mind swirls with a thought, you’re in Asgard. So, this must be prince Loki, the one who failed to conquer Midgard. Soon a devilish smirk crosses your features, “What are you doing down here? I thought princes were the ones to put delinquents behind bars?”

Loki’s face shifts from surprise to amusement as he keeps his eyes onto the pages, “Kings.” Corrects the Asgardian prince.

You smile, “Well this king can eat shit!”

He lets out a breathy snort before finally drawing his gaze up to you, his expression quickly diminishes from amusement into star struck fascination when those beautiful blues land upon your beaming mischievous face. Loki has never seen someone so magnificently enticing in his whole entire life. But here you are, whoever you happen to be.

The raven haired man sets the book onto his nightstand before sauntering over to the glass wall, “And who do I presume you are? My new source of entertainment.”

Waving him off like a blushing maiden, you pretend to get all hot and bothered by his sly comment, “Oh wouldn’t you like to know.”

Loki smirks, “I would indeed.”

You curl a piece of hair around your finger, gifting him a shy smile as you avoid his steely gaze. “Sorry.” You mutter, “I only tell men who can take over whole planets in under three days.”

He immediately loses his humored aurora, replacing it with a slightly taken aback yet somewhat pissed off one. “Ouch. But I can’t image you’re any clever if you happen to be stuck down here with me.”

You point up a finger, “On the contraire, my faults are less hefty then your own. So who really lost here?”

“From the looks of it. Both of us.”

You nod, “That is a truthful observation, but what has gifted us a sentence in exile are two entirely different sides to the relatively same coin.”

“Mine being, failure to conquer and rule Midgard. And yours being?”

“Fine. I’ll satiate your appetite.” He raises a brow as you trail your hand down the buzzing glass, “I may have tried to steal some pretty gems downstairs. Blah blah and I got caught by some lady named Frigga who’s a lot more skilled with magic then I had first realized and now I’m here. Granted I don’t remember getting to said “here” but alas my body remains.”

Loki smirks, “My deer mother got the best of you. How is she up in the real world these days?”

“Oh you know, told me she loves reading, doing the usual witchy stuff, and she hates you so go burn in hell for eternity you shit head little boy.”

Loki could have choked on his own spit, “Pardon me?”

“You heard me, she said she loves you. Is that not what you heard? I really thought I was being pretty clear.”

The Asgardian prince shakes his head, “Forget I asked.” Turning around once again to find his way onto the comfortable looking mattress, new book in hand.

You pout at the lack of attention, what did you say to annoy him? Was it the little shit head boy? Maybe he’s just having a bad day.

——

There he is. That incredibly attractive Asgardian prince of Mischief, just standing there. Reading yet another book in his beautiful greens and blacks and golds as he chooses to ignore you. The insanely gorgeous but deeply irritating woman across the cell from him.

You’ve been in here for about four weeks now and Loki has not cracked once. You’re really trying too! All he’s done is gift you with some telling facial expressions or the wonderful side comment to address your theatrics or harmless shenanigans.

All you want to do is get to know him better. And maybe along the way get the fuck out of here with a little help, and then preferably take the prince along for the ride. If it was only that easy.

Levitating in your cell just because you’re tired of standing all the time, you keep your usual unabashed stare-down with the prince when a random guard marches by. He looks from right to left and forward again before doing a double take over to you.

“Hey! Stop that!” He shouts, lance raised at your smirking face while you continue to float, “You can’t do that here!”

You simply roll your eyes, “Who has made this new rule law?”

The guard pauses for a moment, clearly indicating that he just doesn’t want you floating because he’s a party pooper. He swallows, “By king Odin.”

“By king Odin? Doesn’t his son fly?”

“Huh?” He glances over to Loki who’s not paying attention to you two in the slightest.

“Not that one.”

The guard makes a frustrated grunt before removing his lance away from your face, no matter the safety of the glass, “You can remain afloat but only under my authority.” And with that does he stomp off down the corridor.

Idiot.

You beam a victorious grin as he leaves your sight when a sudden slow clapping can be heard from across the hallway. Immediately do you snap your attention up to the prince who’s already sharing one of his infamous smirks, “Congratulations. You’ll now have an enemy down here. And it only took you a few weeks.”

You scoff, moving yourself to float casually on your back, “It’s about time too. Things were starting to get unbearably dull around here.”

Loki hums, “Ever try reading?”

You snort, “No, no I haven’t. Hmm, but I’d love it if you could read to me, since I don’t happen to have any books within reach. It’s only fair.”

Loki raises a brow, “Only fair?”

“Yes. I have the guards annoyed with me, so, they won’t care much about you. And. You get to read, but also to me as well.”

“That’s a possibly compelling suggestion.” Says the prince, mulling over your words.

“I thought so.”

You close your eyes as a couple moments pass before he speaks again, “But I must decline.”

“What!” You shout in bewilderment as he lowly chuckles, “I might just about die of boredom, you want me on your conscience when I pass into oblivion from lack of entertainment!”

Loki smiles at your adorable face, “Make your own fun.” He teases, though you don’t realize this.

Moving yourself into a standing position, yet still without touching the ground, you press your hands against the golden tinged glass, “Loki! You are a beautifully great annoyance and if I wasn’t stuck in here I would throw all your books about! And then….then I’d knock down your nightstand!”

He smirks, “Charming.”

You pout while your fists clench in irritation, “Fine! I didn’t want to listen to your loathsome voice anyways!” He gifts you with a proud half grin as you turn from him to magically throw your wooden nightstand across the room.

You land, reaching a hand out to launch the nightstand back across the room once more before repeating this action again and again until the whole flimsy thing combusts when it crashes violently into the closest wall.

Breathing heavily, you slowly turn to face the irritation watching you do all of this, “Feel better Y/N.”

Pursing your lips together, you release your tight fists, “Yes.”

He nods, “What would you like me to read?”

“Something joyful…….please.”

Loki shares a handsome grin before giving you a respectfully small bow, “As the lady wishes.” Loki shares a small glance with your curious face before turning to search for a book. He kneels down and soon picks out a book colored in a deep blue, something foreign written in golden cursive on the front.

You slowly return to the ground, this time seated criss crossed as you lean half of yourself upon the glass as you try and get as close to Loki as physically possible. Which is difficult considering the hallway’s short distance keeping your cells apart, but you try anyways. He opens up the book and quickly looks up to catch your gaze before smiling and looking down at the first page.

Loki reveals the smallest blush before clearing his throat, “The Fox and the Raven.” You smirk at his adorable face, how focused and deep in thoughtful concentration he becomes as the words flow off of his sly tongue like molten gold. You could listen to him all day.

“Once there were two beings, equal in skill and game. Best friends since childhood even, but there was one thing that drove a wedge in their long relationship. Another. This beautiful being was beyond compare to that of any god or goddess alike. And the two friends where undoubtedly in love with them.

It began one windy day by the river, the beauty stood, washing their hair by the waters edge with not a mind to mess with anyone in their head. The two friends saw them and smiled. “I shall win their affections.” Claimed the dark haired admirer, Tala. “Not you silly fox, I shall be the one to draw their heart to mine.” Spoke Essek with great confidence, his bestfriend in the whole entire realm.

They looked to each other with clear frustration sculpted into their faces, so, the friends came to an agreement. Whoever failed to win over the water nymphs heart, that friend must stay in their animal form forever while the victorious one could live on as they always have. Maybe it was cruel. Maybe not at first.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months as the two friends would speak with the water nymph as often as they could. Tala in raven form and Essek as a dashing fox. All was going well as they played their little game of love until the water nymph began to grow quit fond of the raven for his talents in the sky and witty personality.

So much so that on the next full moon, the raven revealed himself to his true form before making love to the joyful water nymph on the rivers edge. And so the very next day when the fox arrived to speak with the nymph, he was surprised to find Tala laying underneath a weeping willow with the nymph in his strong arms.

The fox recoiled with jealousy before his heart shattered in two, Tala smiled a triumphant grin as the fox turned away in disappointment before rushing off into the woodland. Never to be seen again.

So that is why you can never trust anyone who is truly dear to you, for love is a fleeting thing and can turn friends into beasts for something as silly and pathetic as a beacon of affection.” Finishes Loki in an almost sour tone as you sit there on the cell floor, feeling a bit off and out of place from that abrupt turn of events.

You frown, “I thought you were going to read me a happy story?”

Loki closes the book, “I did.” Blue eyes on you in an instant.

“No. You really didn’t.”

Loki gives you an almost dumbfounded look, “The raven got to keep his original form and make love to the water nymph what else is there to want?” He questions like it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world. Not.

“The fox is depressed now. That’s not very happy.”

“It was happy for those two, was it not?”

You roll your eyes, “It was. But a happy story should have a happy ending for everyone involved. That’s the point of a happy tale being told.” You counter as he lets out a frustrated sigh.

“Not everyone gets what they want in the end, Y/N. That’s just life, some are fine and persist while others turn and run with nothing of any significance still clinging to them.”

You sit there a moment in bewilderment, soon rising to float threateningly by the glass, “That’s ridiculous! A happy story should be fucking happy! Love is supposed to be kind and beautiful, not this wedge that turns people against one another and supports a game that shifts into jealousy and disdain for one.”

Loki hums, “Well it is just a story after all. Love does that because it isn’t truthful ever, it’s a fleeting thing without any weight that only causes pain and disappointment.”

Your brows soon furrow at these dark words, “Oh and what do you understand about love?” You hotly challenge, voice accusatory and fierce.

“That it isn’t real.” Mutters the prince with a casual shrug, though his face flashes with uncertainty.

You scoff, “Is it now? You think love is a simple lie? A trick from the universe to keep races existing until their worlds collapse?”

“Yes.” Nods the Asgardian, “That’s what I believe.”

You take a breath, feet slowly touching the cool tiled floor as you speak, “You have no idea what it feels like then. So how can you claim it to be false?”

Loki crosses his arms, “True love isn’t real because that just cannot be realistic in any sense Y/N. Same thing as feeling happy or when you sneeze….the feeling is a feeling like butterflies in your stomach when you get excited. But like every emotion given, it leaves and the feelings are dulled or just dissipate altogether.”

“You’re wrong.” You bitterly mutter, voice low and filled with a somber hurt.

“And how would I be wrong then?” He wonders, truly curious to see how on earth you are able to counter this. He doesn’t wholeheartedly believe in love, though his growing affections for you seem to have him conflicted. He still wants to know.

“It is like magic, to be in love.” You reply, a faint smile ghosting your lips as you press your hands against the glass, “It is bright and brilliant and beautiful. It does not come and go like a fleeting spark from a dying flame. Love, like magic, forms from within when let into someone’s vessel. It is a power that always remains no matter where the person travels, or how old they become. Love, in the end and always through existence will remain. No matter what.”

Loki could have shed a tear at your beautiful explanation, yet his stubbornness persists, “A fairytale. Nothing more.”

“A fairytale? A fucking fairytale!?” You shout, voice rising in fury, “You don’t know anything but the lies you tell yourself you heartless bastard! All I wanted was a happy story that made me smile before I’m executed! And you couldn’t even give me that you selfish prick of a man!”

Loki’s heart grows cold as a winters morning, he blinks, forgetting how to properly breath at your heated declarations. He steps closer to the thin glass, brows furrowed in puzzled apprehension, “You’re being executed?” He asks, tone low and thoughtful.

Face falling into a deep frown, you lower your head in shame, “I have been condemned to die for my crimes above. Guess they’re not so simple as I had first claimed.”

“What do you mean?”

You let out a telling sigh, “I didn’t try and take the queens jewels, I tried to murder her..”

“You what?!” Whispers the Asgardian prince, eyes wide in shock, “What do you mean?”

Your gaze keeps trained onto the floor, “I am…well, I was….an assassin. Who, ultimately could not force myself to murder your mother Frigga, so I let myself be caught and taken. It’s the least I deserve for the life I’ve led. This is just how it goes, and I’m ready.”

Loki’s mind races, he never even suspected such a thing coming from you. Sure you’re indeed a beautiful mystery of a person who enjoys levitating in her cell for the hell of it. But your appearance and pose never revealed someone capable of homicide as their profession, least of all you.

And now, his father is condemning you to death rightly so, but Loki can’t help but think you don’t truly deserve this fate. Maybe, just possibly, he’d feel like he was losing a close friend. Someone who he never had any intentions of developing these strange new feelings for.

“I won’t let him end your life.” Suddenly speaks the prince, “You didn’t kill her, you actively chose not to, so I believe he could sway his final decision.”

You let out a breathy laugh, “Wishful thinking.” Just as three guards dressed in their true Asgardian golds walk to the front of your cell. Loki swallows, they dissipate the golden tinged force field, leaving you with nothing but air to keep you from their clutches.

“Y/N.” Softly calls the dark haired prince, voice small and desperate, he didn’t think they would take you so soon but what does he truly know anymore? Your sad eyes lock onto his as one guard snaps metal cuffs against your wrists, and another around your throat before he ushers you out.

Loki can’t tear his eyes from yours the whole time, and even after you’ve been dragged down the hallway and out of sight. He thinks, maybe you’ll return and it was all a big misunderstanding, a simple nightmare and he’ll wake any second now. But he knows this is foolish thinking, you’re never coming back. And he’s beside himself.

Loki bows his head in silent anguish, fists clenched tight as his heartbeat begins to race when suddenly he releases his grip and a small blast of green magic emits in the aftermath. Just enough power to knock some books onto the floor in protest. He doesn’t pick them up.

In the following days, Loki would pace around his cell like a nervous lion. Reading book after book to help pass the time though he couldn’t stop his racing mind from thinking about you. Where were you now? What had they done to you? Did it hurt?

He didn’t know and what’s worse is the guards only seemed to mock him about it, claiming your life was worth more dead then anything else. It stung like a heated iron spear left too long in the hot coals, he missed you beyond compare. How did you make him feel this way? When did that happen?

He missed your mischievous smile, your alluring eyes of curiosity and concealed chaos. The way you spoke to him like a person and not just a prisoner, or even a prince who’s disappointed his whole kingdom. You didn’t care, sure you lived to tease and pester him relentlessly, but you didn’t truly care about his current status.

You drew the attention out of him without even needing to try, brought a smile upon his face weather he was aware of it or not, and made him feel genuinely excited about waking up the next day. You became everything to him and more, and Loki hadn’t even realized this until it was too late.

But now you’re gone. And he will never see another Y/N for as long as he is to live.

Loki sits with his back against the wall, hair undoubtedly a wild mess closely matching that of the room about him. Books, clothing, furniture, and other personal belongings lay around his cell like the aftermath of a furious hurricane. He didn’t mean for this to happen, but when he got word that his mother was injured in the attack by the dark elves and freed prisoners. He new it was his fault, he led them to freedom after all.

With his mother healing from her non fatal wounds, and the loss of his dear Y/N to the axe. Loki has been doing less then tremendous these past few weeks, clearly. The prince now closes his weary eyes, breathing steadily as a new presence makes itself known across the golden tinged glass. He doesn’t care to look.

“Well don’t you look sad.” Teases a familiar voice, not condescending but just enough to make him laugh if he felt like it.

He opens his eyes to find your smirking face, body safe and sound wrapped in a cloak of white and intricately laced gold. How absolutely beautiful you are. His brows furrow as he mutters, “You’re just an illusion.” Voice horse and filled with doubt.

You raise a brow, “So is this?” You ask in reference to the clean cut illusion Loki is controlling, “I think not. I can see right through it.”

He forgot about the illusion he’s been creating since his breakdown, of course you’d see right through it, “You died. And my mother is hurt.”

“So you lost control within yourself and chose self deprecation? And apparently…chaos.” The trickster god rolls his tired eyes which causes you to chuckle, “I see my passing onto greater things has weakened your ego.”

He scoffs, “Your ghost form does not amuse me.”

Taking a glance down the vacant hallway, you step right through the golden tinged force field like it’s nothing more then air. “Loki Laufeyson, I am not a phantom or a dreary pigment of your imagination you foolish prick. I am Y/N, Goddess of Chaos and Magic. And someone who has missed you deeply.”

Loki frowns, blue eyes focused up at your truthful face as he sighs, “I….I don’t think I understand what is happening.”

You approach his side before kneeling down to reach his level, you two have never been this close before, “My tale was true as the forming of this realm itself. But your mother saw me for who I am, not what I have been enchanted to do with my life. So she gave me another chance to live, and so I did. To protect her and guard her until she deems otherwise, that’s why I’m still alive and that’s why your mother still has a beating heart.”

Loki reaches out for your hand that you gladly let him take, “Those prisoners..”

“I killed them. Every last one of those fuckers and the damn dark elves who attempted to crash their ship into the great hall. Let’s just say, it didn’t go according to their plans.” You explain, pausing for a moment to share a longing look with the Asgardian prince.

The corners of his lips rise into a soft smile, a deeply relieved one while you look down at your laced fingers, “Loki.” You whisper before drawing your head up to properly look at him.

“Yes.”

“I’m still counting on a better story.” You muse as he lets out a breathy laugh.

“Unfortunately none of these books happen to provide a decent tale, my dear.”

You gently squeeze his hand, “In that case I’ll bring you all the books stuffed in that giant library. There’s bound to be a good one, something happy.”

“I’d like that.” Nods the prince.

You smile, “But I have to ask you one thing.”

“Of course.”

“Did you miss me?”

Loki squeezes your hand right back, “More then I’d ever missed anyone.” Reveals the dark haired prince as he reaches up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, though his fingers linger on your cheek a moment longer before he slowly pulls them away and into his lap.

You can’t help but snicker which causes his face to scrunch up in puzzled embarrassment. Immediately do you reach up to cup his cheek, “I felt the same way. And I think I might feel a bit more too, quit possibly a lot more. No. Yes definitely a lot more then I first led on from a few weeks ago in fact and all I must admit to you now Loki Laufeyson or Odinson..prince of Asgard I think I’d like to kiss you now if that’s okay with you.”

Loki blinks, did he hear you right? “oh.” He mumbles, clearly unsure of himself or whatever wonderful thing you just said.

You immediately remove your hand from his cheek, “Too soon. Sorry I just thought I read you right maybe I was wrong I can just leav….” You don’t even have a moment to finish your sentence when his lips press pleasantly against yours.

His hands hold your face while your own hands gently grip onto his forearms for support in your awkward positioning, with him sitting and you still crouched. But it matters not when his lips move in time with yours, he feels so lovely, like a hundred roses pressing against your skin.

Giving you that soft velvety feel, you could kiss him all day if he’d let you. Though soon enough the two of you must break for some air, and with that do you pull him to his feet while you float just inches off of the messy ground. Loki never once taking his hand away from yours.

“How can you….how can you do that?” Wonders the prince as he glances from the ground to your face.

You shrug, “How can you move things with your mind?”

He smiles, “I guess, I just can. A terribly lackluster explanation I know, but perhaps I’m not truly certain how either.”

“Well let’s not dwell on the unknown for too long, this moment right now is too sacred for anything else. And though I have to leave, I will return to you…..and next time with more books. Then you will have no choice then to read them all to me.”

Loki hums, “I don’t see a problem there.” Before whispering in your ear, “Maybe bring some wine, I couldn’t think of a better way to spend an evening.”

You share a bright grin, “As the spoiled prince asks, but it will cost you.”

Loki raises an intrigued brow, “Cost what?”

“A kiss. Before and after I do your bidding. Can you settle for those terms?”

Loki’s lips pull into an adorable smile, cheeks almost dusting pink at your new flash of boldness. He’s never met anyone quit like you in all his years alive. “I believe those terms are acceptable.”

You give him a wink, “Good. See you then.” And with that do you crash your lips against his for on more heated embrace before leaving one final kiss to his slender cheek and floating out of the cell you go. Stopping behind the glass to give your new lover one last fleeting look, “Miss me you prick.”

Loki smirks, “Always.”

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Death & Dowries

Summary: The Iron Bank of Braavos will always have its due. But dowries make things…complicated and the pride of men knows no bounds. A bargain is struck between a Keyholder of the Iron Bank and Tywin Lannister and the life of an adventurous woman is suddenly uprooted as she is made the newest Lady of Casterly Rock. But the wedding of King Joffrey Baratheon and Lady Margaery Tyrell brings a familiar face to King’s Landing and a Braavosi woman always has a backup plan.

Pairing: Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand/F!Reader, (arranged) Tywin Lannister/F!Reader, Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand

WARNINGS: Spousal abuse, death, murder, lite smut, my over-use of italics, mentions of child birth and babies (please DO NOT read if any of this will upset you)

Word Count: 12.1k (heavy sigh)

(banner by my love @starlight-starwrites​ )

A/N: The italics denote the “present” time. Circa Season 7 Episode 7. I’m going to throw a lot of ASOIAF lore at you so, if you have ANY questions, please just ask! 

You can read this on Ao3, if you prefer!

She had hoped to never step foot into this wretched city again. But Cersei had called and she knew she must answer to keep the unstable queen from looking too closely. And, of course, she wanted to see a dragon.

What she did not expect to see was a familiar shade of yellow and orange while a recognizable laugh rang in the tense air. She froze at the entrance and her handmaiden smacked into her back. “I am so sorry, my lady,” she whispered.

The sudden noise drew attention and soon Oberyn and Ellaria were standing from their seats, kind eyes locked on her.

**

Westeros was nothing that her father had promised when he set her on the ship and sent her away from home. It was supposed to be exciting and new and beautiful and everything she wanted in a home. Instead, she had been gifted a cold castle filled with portraits of a woman who she was supposed to be replacing and an old man for a betrothed.

But even the Keyholders of the Iron Bank of Braavos knew of Tywin Lannister. "He is a powerful man. You will be well-cared for and loved by the people you govern, my sweet," her father said, his smile not quite touching his eyes. "That is all I want for you."

It was a lie. A pretty lie, but a lie all the same. Her father and a handful of other Keyholders all had daughters of the marrying age and had created a terrible, unspoken game between them. Everything had a price. Especially to the men and women who controlled the keys to the Iron Bank.

Dowries for their daughters were boasted and bartered. Whomever paid the most, bragged that their line was as coveted as a princess.

It was all ridiculous. A stupid game. Especially for people who usually wanted to protect their coin.

Y/N was thankful she had no sisters so that they would not be subjected to this prick-measuring game, too.

Whispers had spread through Braavos when her father had set her betrothal.

It was a dowry worthy of four princesses of old, surely.

But Tywin Lannister would not see a single coin.

An almost flawless plan, Y/N thought. Her father would pay half of the Iron Throne's debts to the Bank in exchange for Y/N becoming the new Lady of Casterly Rock. For as large as her dowry was, Y/N was only slightly amused at how small her wedding festivities were when she arrived at King’s Landing. A handful of people, mostly Lannisters and their bannermen, and the three handmaidens she had brought with her from Braavos. The furnishings were fine and the food was almost salted correctly but it was small. Tywin wrapped her in a crimson red cloak and kissed her with unmoving lips and she had become Lady Y/N Lannister, a lion of the rock.

And that was it. Little fanfare and her life was completely uprooted. And as the days continued to pass, she doubted she would ever find a bit of happiness in her new station.

She had to keep herself from yawning as Tywin rutted above her, grunting like an old boar. But he finished soon enough and rolled off of her and grabbed his robe. As soon as it was fastened around his waist, he strode out of her chambers without a look back.

The door opened soon after and her small horde of handmaidens quickly entered, already bringing her a steaming pot of tea and a balm for her skin where her lord husband always clutched too tight.

She had given up on telling him it hurt after the first fortnight and considered herself at least a little lucky that the old man still knew how to move his hips.

“How do you fare, my lady?” One handmaiden asked in the lilting tongue of the Braavosi dialect of High Valyrian. She quickly pressed a cup of tea into Y/N’s hands.

“Better, now that you are all here with me.”

One took to changing the bed coverings and another helped her stand and quickly began to wash her skin with steaming water scented with roses. The tea was bitter on her tongue but she quickly drank it and let another handmaiden take the empty cup from her hand as soon as it was finished.

“Have the kitchen maids asked what the tea is again?”

“Not since we told them it was a magical potion to guarantee a boy and that it was filled with the blood of a calf and ash from the Doom.” One of them smiled, remembering how the nosey maids nearly fainted at the sound of their lie. It was an ingenious ruse, if she was being honest. Y/N knew that most of the servants in Casterly Rock reported to Tywin about her movements and the company she kept. Thinking she was a witch who relied on bloodmagic easily discounted anything they whispered to her lord husband. And it also kept them from truly investigating her tea—not that anyone on this stupid continent would be able to name it anyway. The root her handmaids boiled for her every time Tywin visited her chamber was not anything magical or arcane.

It was an old recipe from the famed pleasure houses of Braavos—to prevent pregnancy. And it was working remarkably well. The maester had confirmed her fertility so she knew Tywin was probably doubting his own ability as the months continued to trickle by and she was yet to become pregnant. The thought made her laugh. As did the truth that Tywin would never get he had anticipated with the betrothal agreement he had signed with her father. She had decided that as soon as he had sneered at her on their wedding night and said, “I suppose you will do,” before taking what he needed from her body without care for her at all. And whenever he visited her bed, his hands were always too tight, too rough and would not relent even when tears pricked at her eyes and slid down her cheeks. He never stopped. He never cared. Even when his dislike of her as a person evolved to curling his hands into her arms and leaving her with swollen eyes and tender skin. He always made sure they were alone when he raised his hands to her, but he seemed fond of doing so whenever she ever disagreed with him.

She knew that other Keyholders thought her father foolish for her hefty dowry—a steep price to pay for pride. But her mother once said that while blood will open the door, clout will get you a seat at the table.

Her father had the gold to spare, she supposed. And she always wanted a kingdom of her own.

Now…now one was finally within her grasp. Even if it came with such a poor consort. That was what she told herself, anyway.

Just as she was dressed for the day, her chamber door opened again and a servant strode in, eyes darting around the gaggle of women as if searching for something to report. His mouth opened and he informed them all that Lord Tywin had been called to the Riverlands and left her in charge of Casterly Rock. She had heard whispers of the War of the Five Kings from high and lowborn alike. It was a shame that she was kept so far from the action she was so accustomed to at least witnessing with a spyglass from her chamber windows. The Keyholders often had a stake in the wars fought around Westeros and Essos. Having allies in positions of power meant they were in positions of power—and funding their successes meant that they had bargaining chips in collecting debts. Plus interest.

She almost smiled. Finally, a bit of intrigue.

**

Y/N took her seat under the canopy after dismissing her handmaidens and guards, telling them to treat themselves to a well-earned drink at a nearby inn as she noticed the incoming crowd of Dothraki, ‘escorted’ by a band of knights. She only let her eyes move to see Oberyn and Ellaria, the Dornish envoy, for a moment. Their reaction to her arrival had been just as unexpected as their presence. Dangerous. Dangerous.

This whole game was dangerous. And now the King in the North and the Dragon Queen had called for a temporary armistice for some strange reason.

“They tell me that the Westerlands have been flourishing.”

The voice at her side almost had her jumping. It was Tyrion, looking far more bristled than the last time she had seen him, when he had been carted away to the Black Cells. “Yes, well. Apparently I’m quite suited for the task.”

Tyrion’s answering smile was small and he nodded just once. “Yes, I suppose my father would have taught you well-”

“He had nothing to do with it.”

**

Casterly Rock was a delight to have to herself. Even the servants who would whisper her movements into her lord husband’s ear seemed to breathe a sigh of relief when each raven stated Tywin would be away from his seat of power for another fortnight and then another and another. When the Westerlands were being raided by Northmen, led by the adorably pugnacious King Robb Stark, she was happy to open the gates to allow some of the children and ladies of sworn houses to take shelter in the fortress and to give food and water to the knights and bannermen who made camp outside their walls before setting off toward battle.

She arranged marriages between houses and presided over small disagreements brought before her to settle. It reminded her of the time she spent with her dearest friend Bellegere at her famed pleasure house in Braavos and how Bellegere managed each and every bit of everything under her roof and made it all seem so effortless.

That was her kingdom.

And now Casterly Rock was Y/N’s, and she would let no one take it from her.

No one.

“You are happy, my lady,” one of her handmaidens said as they retired for the night. It had been two moons since Tywin had left her to play at war. “I have not seen you this happy since before we left Braavos.”

Y/N hummed and let her wipe the day’s dirt from her skin with a roll of silk dampened with cold cream. “I suppose I should start finding some sort of happiness, no?” She sighed. “Are you happy here?”

Her handmaidens nodded, varying degrees of smiles on their faces. “You know that we had no happiness in Braavos. You have given us hope, just as you have given these strange people hope, too.” They helped her into her sleeping gown and Y/N remembered the places she had plucked her handmaidens from. Cruel noble homes, cruel lowborn homes, temples with dark corners, merchant shops filled with bright tapestries, pleasure houses. Each of them found a new place beside Y/N. And she found friends with them, security and safety.

“We can find a home here,” Y/N whispered to each of them before bidding them goodnight. And she hoped it was true. She needed it to be true.

When the raven came, telling her to come to King’s Landing, she was hesitant to pack her trunks and arrange for the castellan to oversee the governance of Casterly Rock. But she had duties. And, despite knowing she was actively keeping herself from completing one of them, she knew she could not refuse Tywin Lannister. Especially after the Realm (or at least part of it) was hailing him as a hero for breaking the siege on King’s Landing and managing to gain the allegiance of the Reach—such a stupid name for a kingdom—for the Crown. So, she had her trunks packed with her fine gowns and made sure the guests she had allowed to stay in Casterly Rock would be looked after before having the traveling party readied for the trek across the continent. One of the knights, a man who reeked of strongwine and needed to trim his beard, spoke animatedly about the battles Tywin won across the Westerlands and Riverlands on behalf of his grandson, Joffrey. “For the betterment of the Realm,” the knight would finish each story. She doubted it. But she pretended to listen anyway. Y/N truly did not care to listen to the finite details or commit most of them to memory. What she did, however, notice was the distinct smell of piss and soured bread as soon as her wheelhouse and travelling party crested the hill just outside the city gates after several weeks of being confined to the wheelhouse or stuffy inn rooms.

“My lady,” one of her handmaiden’s muttered, “we are going to suffocate.”

Y/N patted her hand with a sigh before spilling a bit of perfume onto each of their kerchiefs to hold under their noses. “Perhaps they will have a garden where we can escape the stench.”

When they arrived at the Red Keep—and such an unimaginative name—she was almost pleased to see that most of the royal family and quite a few courtiers and servants had come to welcome them. Cersei, a face she knew well from the many portraits in the halls of Casterly Rock, only offered a quick sneer and an insincere, “welcome, Lady Lannister, to King’s Landing,” before she quickly left. Joffrey, the brat-boy-king if the whispers were true, looked suspiciously like his mother and also offered a sneer. Tommen was far kinder and offered to show her to her chambers but she declined, knowing that having a prince show her around like a servant would only gain her more ire from the queen dowager.

And then that left…

“Lady Stark,” Y/N said, stepping to the redhead’s side. Yes, she knew of Sansa Stark. The sad little Northern girl who saw her father’s head put on a spike—and apparently one of her brothers was one of the Five Kings running around causing amuck. How fun.

The younger girl curtseyed and murmured a soft hello. “I hope you find the capitol pleasing, my lady.”

She hummed and reached out to take Sansa’s and, wrapping it into the crook of her arm. “I doubt I will. But I shall like it if we were to become friends.”

Sansa’s blue eyes flittered across Y/N’s face and then to the small hoard of handmaidens behind her. “Whatever you wish, my lady.”

Weeks trickled by and Y/N found herself actually enjoying the company of the little wolf pup. She detested the Lannisters and had a quick but sweet wit when she was not in the company of Cersei or Joffrey who seemed to terrify her to no end. Y/N found it funny that Cersei assumed she would report anything and everything Sansa did while in her company. “What would you have her do other than enjoy a bit of tea and some lemon cakes? It is not as if you have given her duties beyond looking pretty.” Her handmaidens even told her that Cersei requested they report back anything they heard Sansa say.

“The poor girl,” they mused. “She is alone here.”

“Yes,” Y/N agreed, “and so are we.” And they were. They were still whispered about by servants and courtiers alike, their movements watched like a mummers’ performance and then hissed into the queen or the new Hand of the King’s ears. The only time they found themselves truly alone was when they were in the company of the Tyrells. Margaery and Olenna were gratuitous social climbers but at least they were smart and she did not feel the need to continue to play the dutiful Lady Lannister in their presence. They had no real love for the Lannisters aside from realizing that the golden lions were the true power in this stupid kingdom and knowing that they needed to at least have a few of them on their side. And Sansa seemed a little relaxed in their presence as well. After her betrothal to Joffrey was broken in favor of Margaery and the Tyrell gold, the young redhead was a tiny bit more…unclenched, especially after being pressed to detail the abuse she survived at the hands of the brat king. Y/N remembered gently wiping the tears away from Sansa’s cheeks after they left the Tyrells. Sansa had recounted her abuse at the hands of Joffrey and his mother. “It is over now, little pup. He shall not harm you again. I promise you that.”

Sansa only nodded and was still very guarded and it was smart to be so but Y/N was happy to see her smile a little more freely.

The smiles stopped when Tywin announced that Sansa was to wed Tyrion.

The girl cried and cried and cried. But only when they were alone and the lemon cakes she’d taken from the kitchen were only crumbs. Shae, Sansa’s handmaiden, always lingered after being dismissed. Y/N was sure she was another spy—but not for Cersei. But it did not matter. What mattered was the crying wolf pup in her arms.

“I can’t do it. I can’t,” Sansa cried, tears wetting Y/N’s dress.

Y/N could only shush her sobs, knowing that Tywin always had his due—well, almost always. “I will make sure you are safe, pup. I promise you that.”

**

Y/N stood, as she was expected to do, when Cersei entered the Dragon Pit and curtseyed as Cersei moved in front of her to take her own seat. The air was tense. Everyone was staring at each other, measuring threats with bated breath.

Y/N had been surprised to see Theon Greyjoy present—after all, it had been a Greyjoy fleet that had destroyed the ship that was carrying little Princess Myrcella back to the Red Keep from Sunspear. It had been a Greyjoy that had given the final push for Cersei to descend into her carefully curated madness. But, then again, Cersei had a Greyjoy of her own, too. Verbal volleys were made and Y/N might have enjoyed listening to the traded barbs but she continued to feel someone’s gaze on the side of her face.

She knew who was looking at her—it did not take any stretch of imagination or serious thought.

She knew.

And a dragon roared overhead.

**

“Take this, pup.” Y/N curled Sansa’s shaking fingers around the small bottle with an even smaller smile.

“What is it?” Sansa was beautiful in her golden wedding dress—beautiful and sad. Handmaidens had just finished twisting her hair into the ridiculous braids Cersei was so fond of and then scattered when Y/N and her flock of Braavosi women arrived. They had taken to dashing away when the Braavosi women arrived after Y/N had all but screamed at them when they would not let Sansa have a moment alone after news of the tactlessly named Red Wedding had reached King’s Landing. Her entire family—gone. Y/N would not see the little pup suffer for another moment.

It had earned her a busted lip and a sore wrist from her dear husband.

“It is a gift.” Y/N patted Sansa’s hand. “One drop will give you a night’s reprieve from your husband. The entire bottle will give your husband…a reprieve of his breath.”

Sansa turned and turned and turned the bottle in her hand. “Poison?”

“Yes, pup. And it is merely a precaution. I would not have you fear for your life in your marital bed.”

“Do you think Tyrion would hurt me?”

“He is the gentlest of his siblings, but it is never unwise to have a dagger up your sleeve.” Y/N stood and took Sansa’s hands in hers after watching her carefully tuck the bottle away into the folds of her dress. “Come, I am allowed to escort you to the Sept.”

**

“We’ve been here for some time,” Cersei said through gritted teeth.

“My apologies.”

Y/N almost snorted at the complete lack of care in the Dragon Queen’s tone as she addressed Cersei for the first time but held a finger under her nose, attempting to hide her smile instead. But Oberyn did openly laugh, only stopping when Ellaria placed a hand on his thigh. When Y/N looked at them, eyes drawn to the pair like a moth to the flame, their smiles grew.

The sound around her died to a low roar. Y/N knew she should be paying attention—the meeting had been called with the premise of saving the Realm—but all she could see was them.

**

“I am not some lowborn trollop, husband. I will not be seen in anything other than the color that denotes my station.” Y/N stared down at the garish red and gold dress that her husband’s servants had placed on the featherbed just a few moments ago.

“Your station is cemented as my wife—Lady Lannister. You will wear your house’s colors and you will never fight me on something so frivolous again.”

“Oh? And what am I allowed to fight you on?” She retorted, feeling her upper lip curl in a sneer. “If not my clothes, what else? You have decided every bit of my life since I have arrived. Am I not allowed one bit of my home?”

Tywin reached out and struck her across the face. Pain bloomed from her eye to her jaw, throbbing in time with her hammering heart. “You would do well to hold your tongue. I have had enough of listening to your ungrateful words. You are the Lady of Casterly Rock—not a sniveling brat. You will wear this gown and I will not hear another word of it. Am I understood?”

Y/N only nodded, hand cradling her cheek and then Tywin swept from the room.

Silence washed over her like a wave in the big room. She stared down at the red dress. Gold lace lined the sleeves and there was even more of the gaudy lace around the neck—it would probably reach just below her chin.

It was a collar. Soft and expensive. But a collar, she realized.

“My lady?” She turned to see one of her handmaidens stepping in, a frazzled look on her face. “Are you ready for us to help you prepare for the wedding?” The girl’s eyes searched her face as if knowing something was wrong. “My lady?” She asked again when Y/N did not answer.

Y/N sucked in a breath and nodded. “Yes. And I believe we are running late.” She removed her dressing gown and let them start to tie her into the hideous gown. It itched. It did not move like the soft silks of Braavos. It was stiff and uncomfortable. It felt like a cage.

Perhaps that is what it was—a cage and a collar.

But she said nothing as she met Tywin outside his chambers and allowed him to grasp her hand and tuck it into the crux of his arm as he escorted her to the Sept. She said nothing as she took her place in the crowd. She said nothing as the stupid vows were exchanged and Joffrey named Margaery as his queen. She said nothing as she was led out to the grounds for the wedding feast. But she plotted. And her cheek throbbed.

She was seated on the raised dais at Tywin’s side but found herself slightly and strangely comforted by the fact that Sansa was within eyesight. When Tywin left her side to speak with someone—and she truly wasn’t listening nor cared who it was—Y/N quickly stood and walked to Sansa’s side, taking Tyrion’s vacated seat.

“How are you, pup?”

Sansa almost smiled. “Alive.”

“And that is half the battle, no?” She reached out and touched the girl’s hands. “Has he been kind?” Her head tilted just so to indicate Tyrion.

Sansa nodded. “I have no use of your gift yet.” They both sighed and looked out over the crowd. “Weddings are supposed to be happy occasions.”

“Yes, I suppose they are. But we have yet to attend one that is capable of making us smile.” She sighed again and looked back at Sansa, eyes catching the pretty, purple necklace around her throat. The jewels glinted…

“Careful with those, my love,” her mother chided as she pulled the little vials from her daughter’s childish fingers.

“What are they, Mama?”

“It was a gift,” Sansa said, providing an answer for the unasked question.

“From whom?”

“Lord Baelish.”

Y/N hummed and twisted one of the jewels between her fingers before letting it drop back against Sansa’s throat.

**

Y/N listened to Jon Snow blather on about saving the Realm, about how an army who doesn’t leave corpses was coming and could not be bargained with. Cersei had a few quips of her own and Y/N pondered if she truly needed to have shut herself into a wheelhouse for weeks to travel here just to listen to Cersei complain and foreign monarchs hardly disguise their contempt. But then Sandor Clegane emerged from the underground tunnel with a large crate on his back and the Dragon Pit grew quiet.

He set it down and…nothing happened, even as he removed the lid.

But then he circled back and kicked it over. With a scream, a creature emerged and ran at Cersei. Bone and dried skin and glowing blue eyes. That was all it was.

That and the terrifying scream.

**

“You look exquisite, child,” Lady Olenna said as she approached Sansa. “The wind has bit at you though.” Olenna glanced at Y/N in acknowledgement, bowing her head just a fraction before focusing on Sansa again, tugging at the ends of her pretty red hair. “I haven’t had the opportunity to tell you how sorry I was to hear about your brother. War is war, but killing a man at a wedding? Horrid. What sort of monster would do such a thing?” An aged finger traced against Sansa’s cheek. “As if men need more reasons to fear marriage.”

Y/N snorted into her chalice of wine and earned a wink from Olenna over Sansa’s head. But it was the next movement that truly caught Y/N’s attention. Olenna fiddled with Sansa’s necklace before inviting her and Tyrion to Highgarden just as the lion in question approached. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it is time to enjoy this food I paid for.”

Y/N pulled Sansa back into conversation as Olenna departed and noted that one of the strange little gems was now missing from the necklace. What was Olenna planning? Whatever it was, it was sure to be more entertaining than the pretention of this wedding feast. She stood and had Sansa do the same. “Come, pup. It is time we acted like Lannisters, no?” She linked their arms together and led them toward the obnoxiously decorated grounds filled with more food and entertainment.

They both found little enjoyment in the contortionists or the musicians who insisted on playing and replaying The Rains of Castamere on a variety of instruments. But the food was mostly seasoned well.

“Tyrion tells me that a Dornish Prince is in attendance. He’s traveled all over Essos, perhaps he has been to Braavos?” Sansa asked as Y/N found her some lemon cakes and they sequestered themselves away in a dark corner while Y/N sipped on a bit of sweet wine.

“Oh? It would be nice to hear of my home from someone who knows it.” She almost smiled. “I must take you across the Narrow Sea, introduce you to my home. And maybe I can know Winterfell, too.”

Sansa’s smile was small but genuine. “I would like that.”

“But tell me, what is this prince’s name? Perhaps I’ve met him when my lord husband was parading around.”

Sansa wiped the crumbs from her face. “Prince Oberyn Martell.”

**

Jon Snow was a bigger idiot than Sansa had ever said he was in her missives. Openly proclaiming that he had sworn the North and bent the knee to the Dragon Queen while trying to broker a tentative agreement with an unstable lion was very, very stupid. He could have, should have lied and just agreed to the terms Cersei had laid out, keeping her in the dark about his true allegiance.

But no.

Apparently he had more Stark in him than sense.

Everyone had separated after Cersei had stormed away and Y/N found herself walking toward one of the few places she hadn’t seen anyone retreat to but then-

“Mama!”

Y/N turned and caught the child that had leapt into the air, knowing his mother would catch him.

A soft murmur of her name had her freezing.

**

He looked so similar. Barely anything had changed since the last time she had seen him, all too briefly nearly a decade ago. The same self-assured gait. The same sparkle in his eyes. The same charming half-smile that had her mirroring the expression without a thought.

“Hello, little Titan.”

And with the next breath she was younger, visiting her friend Bellegere on her mother’s fine barge, evading her duties for the day. “You are not who I was expecting,” came a voice behind her.

Y/N turned and arched a brow at the young man looking in the doorway. “Nor was I expecting you.” He was either lost or an esteemed guest if he had found his way to Bellegere’s private rooms. With his fine clothes and self-assured smile, Y/N wagered he was the latter. “Who are you?”

He introduced himself with a growing smile and kissed her on the back of the hand before turning her hand over and pressing another kiss to her palm. And the first time in months, Y/N giggled.

The prince was eventually greeted by Bellegere’s mother and he was just as flirtatious with her but did not seem too preoccupied with bedding the famous courtesan as many of her other clients had been lately. In between meetings with the captains of the Second Sons mercenary company, Oberyn was found frequently upon the barge—and Y/N always found herself invited, too. Whether it was by Bellegere or Oberyn, they always seemed eager to pull her away from her duties again and again.

Bellegere had been calm, as she always was with her mother’s clients (Bellegere knew she would one day be the Black Pearl of Braavos and took her training very seriously), but Y/N saw how the Dornish prince had her smiling into her hand after whispering something into her ear, a far cry from the demure tilting of her lips her clients usually coaxed from her while buying her attention and company.

Anyone who could make Bellegere, with all her practiced manners and carefully curated gestures, smile like that was truly a force to be reckoned with. But even when he was on Bellegere’s arm, he took care to include Y/N in their conversations, wanting her opinion. “I like the sound of your voice, little Titan.”

And that wretched, silly nickname. While he called Bellegere by her name, or “my Pearl,” he called Y/N his “little Titan,” a play on how Braavos was known for the hulking statue of a titan at its gates. She was not sure if she loved it or loathed it.

“Have you two been introduced?” Sansa’s question pulled Y/N from her reverie.

“Yes,” Oberyn answered for her with a wink. “We met years ago in Braavos.” It was an understatement. Every time the Second Sons were within a handful of leagues of Braavos, Oberyn made it a point to visit Y/N and Bellegere. There was nothing overtly carnal within their relationship. In fact, they all seemed to be closer friends than anything else. Bellegere was free to be herself in his presence and Y/N was, too. Oberyn was always happy to be their escort around the city and pay for their attentions as if he were any other client, but largely they spent their time laughing and speaking of the world beyond Braavos. He disappeared a few years later only to return to Braavos, older and angrier, to meet with Illyrio Mopatis on business he could not discuss with them. But he had been just as kind with them as he always had been—always a dutiful friend. The last time she had seen him, he had whispered about the death of his sister and her babies, of how she was cruelly killed while trying to protect her children.

It would not be until Y/N reached King’s Landing that she learned that it was believed that Tywin gave the order for his loyal dog, Gregor Clegane, to kill the Princess and her babes.

If Y/N had known that, she would have taken Bellegere’s offer of working on her barge instead of allowing her father to barter her away to Tywin. She never would have betrayed Oberyn like that if she had known. Truly.

But it was too late.

Y/N noticed the beautiful woman at Oberyn side. Surely there were songs sung about her gentle eyes. “But I have not met your lovely companion, my prince.”

Oberyn’s smile widened and he took the woman’s hand and pulled her forward just a bit, obviously filled with pride to have her at his side. “This is Ellaria Sand, my paramour.”

Ellaria curtseyed, “my lady.”

Y/N returned the gesture. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Ellaria.”

The woman glanced at Oberyn with a smile. “It seems you are one of the few who share that sentiment.”

Y/N waved it away. “The Westerosi have strange conceptions of honor and status.” She made sure to pat Sansa’s hand. “But there are a few who make it bearable.”

But then a noise drew all of their attention. It started with Queen Margaery screaming, “he’s choking!”

Joffrey heaved with stuttering breaths before collapsing. And the pieces were falling into place.

“You idiots! Help your king!” Olenna shouted. She was a good actress.

Movement at the corner of her eye caught her attention and she watched a poorly dressed fool grab at Sansa’s arm and try to lead her away. Without moving her head, Y/N reached out and snatched Sansa’s hand. “Stay, pup. You know not what you do.”

Sansa’s blue eyes flittered between the Fool and the Lion on her arm and then pulled out of the man’s grip.

Satisfied, Y/N turned to watch Cersei scream and scream and scream as her firstborn turned purple in her arms and Tyrion was carted away by a pair of white cloaks. What a pretty painting that would be. She took another sip of wine.

**

“It is almost as if you were avoiding me, Little Titan.” He still smiled as if no time had passed since their last meeting. But the easy expression faded as he looked down to the small boy in her hold.

Slowly, Y/N set her son down and brushed a bit of dirt from his cherubic cheek. “This is my son, Morgan Lannister.”

Oberyn’s hand shook as he reached out a hand toward the dark haired boy. “Pleased to meet you, little lord.”

Morgan smiled up at Oberyn, bright-eyed, as Oberyn’s finger traced over his brow. “You are Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell! Mama tells me stories about you—about your adventures across the Narrow Sea. And how you slew a mountain!”

“The Mountain, my dear boy,” his mother gently corrected.

“Hardly appropriate bedtime stories,” Ellaria chuckled.

“He likes to know when the hero prevails.”

**

Little Tommen looked so small when he sat on the throne. He was so…kind. So little. That stupid chair was too rough for his gentle soul. But she clapped when he was proclaimed king and smiled when his bright eyes caught hers, a nervous smile on his lips.

“He will be a fair king,” she heard someone whisper as the clapping and cheering continued. “Kind.”

He would be ruled by Tywin. Y/N knew it to be true. The young king was far easier to manipulate—and perhaps Olenna was anticipating that detail, too. Hm. Olenna versus Tywin in a battle of wills. That would be interesting to watch.

“You are contemplative, Little Titan.”

Y/N smiled at the sound of Oberyn’s voice whispering in her ear. They had frequently sought out each other’s company for the last handful of days, meeting in the sunny gardens to reminisce about their time together in Braavos and learning of their adventures during their time apart. Ellaria had proven to be a true, steadfast friend and Y/N was grateful to know her and hear her stories of her childhood at Hellholt in Dorne. And she wanted to hear what Oberyn thought of this newest pretentious display of power but her eyes darted to see Maester Pycelle and Lord Varys far too close for her liking. While she could rely on knowing where the various servants and Westerosi handmaidens to always whisper the ludicrous stories she had concocted into Tywin and Cersei’s ears, she was not sure how to handle the two men who were arguably more intelligent. “We have a new king,” was all she said. “Long may he reign.”

Oberyn’s nose wrinkled for a moment, confused by her response, but nodded as he noticed Pycelle glance in their direction. “Yes, long may he reign.”

She wanted so badly to simply speak with him. She was alone in the capital. Tywin had dismissed her handmaidens and sent them back to Casterly Rock, replacing them with women from the Westerlands who had once been Princess Myrcella’s maids. He was making sure she was alone. Y/N rolled her shoulders as she watched Tywin approach her. He held out his hand for her to take and she dutifully placed her hand in his, letting him guide her up the small set up steps and dais toward the ugly throne. Tommen’s face broke into a smile as she approached and curtseyed. “Lady Lannister.”

“Your Grace,” she replied. “May the Seven bless your reign,” she repeated the words she had heard droned over and over, knowing the little king found comfort in them even if she thought it ridiculous.

“Thank you, my lady.”

Tywin squeezed her arm and she bit back a wince as he led her away. His grip only tightened the further away they were from the mass of celebrators and they only slowed to a stop for a moment, in a dark corner of the hall for him to hiss in her ear, “you will retire to your chambers, immediately.”

Over his shoulder, Y/N spotted Oberyn slipping into the hall, his dark eyes narrowed at the scene. “Of course, my lord.”

But his grip only tightened. “I will not have you making a spectacle of yourself and my house’s name.” Tywin’s long fingers finally pulled away from her skin and he signaled for two white cloaks to flank her on each side. “Make sure she is waiting for me. Do not let her leave the Tower of the Hand until I have come for her. Am I understood?”

Y/N could only gape at her husband as two pairs of unfamiliar, armored hands grasped at her arms and started to pull her away.

And when she was all but shoved into her chambers in the cold tower, Y/N knew she would be facing the old lion’s wrath.

Time trickled by slowly. The tower she had been told to call home was quiet. No servants. No handmaidens (she would not be surprised if they had been told to vacate that morning). No lower-ranking Lannisters begging for a bit of attention.

She was alone.

And she waited.

A glance outside her chamber’s window let her know that the two guards were still standing sentinel at the entry to the tower. Maybe she had become a character from one of those songs children were so fond of—a princess in a tower, waiting for a knight to rescue her.

But she was not a princess.

She was a daughter of Braavos. And she was tired of waiting for something to happen to her, for continuing to allow things to happen. She was going to make it happen.

**

“My lady, I am so sorry,” an out of breath handmaiden sprinted to her side and looked down at the little lord. “He ran off when I turned for just a moment.”

Y/N looked down at Morgan who offered a guilty smile. “I missed you, mama.”

“I was only gone for a moment, little one,” Y/N murmured before pressing a kiss to his cheek and winking at the handmaiden, letting her know there was no harm done. Her son was hard to contain on the best of days. “We have talked about being patient, no? I will never leave you alone for long.”

“But Septon Martyn said you were…umm…” his little face scrunched up, searching for words. “I forget.”

“That’s okay, little one. You’ll remember later.”

“But did you see a dragon?” He nearly screeched, dark eyes lighting up.

“I did. And it was beautiful.” She bent and set him back on his little feet. “But you have to promise mama something, yes? You have to stay with Septon Martyn and Tyanna until I am finished.”

Morgan’s bottom lip jutted out and his gaze moved to Oberyn who was looking down at him with an intense fondness that made her sigh. And Ellaria was at his side, a gentle and curious affection in her gaze. “But what if I want to stay with Prince Oberyn?”

**

Y/N knew to protect her head even before she passed the first stone step. Down, down, down she fell, limbs smacking against the stairs and bannisters until she came to an abrupt stop on the cold ground. The ceiling swam as she finally opened her eyes.

Within a handful of pained breaths, blood coating her teeth and tongue, she watched Tywin loom over her. He had leisurely walked down the winding stairs, uncaring of how he had tried to kill her just moments ago. But perhaps he knew she would survive. This was simply a warning.

“You are a disgrace. You are my wife. I will not be made a fool of any longer. You will not be seen dallying with some Dornish tart prince or his whore. You will not cavort around as if you truly belong here. You do not. You have not earned your place yet.”

“What do you want?” She asked, tongue heavy in her mouth and blood coating her throat. “What do you want?”

“What was promised to me. I do not know what potion you’ve conjured or trick you have conceived, but I will be given an heir. Or I will have your head on a pike.” His thin lips curled into a sneer, the closest she had ever seen to him smile, before he stepped over her crumpled form and out into the sunlight.

And she let herself wallow for just a moment, only until the ceiling stopped spinning and then she rolled onto her side with a wince and grunted as she pushed herself up onto unsteady feet.

“If you want an heir, I’ll produce an heir.” The vow was snarled into the quiet air of the tower.

**

Y/N watched little Morgan toddle away, his hand firmly clasped in the handmaiden’s, babbling excitedly about dragons and princes. And then her eyes once again found Oberyn and Ellaria, both also watching the little lord walk away.

“He looks like you,” Ellaria said with a smile.

“Yes. A small blessing, I suppose.” She watched Oberyn’s smile widen and he unsuccessfully hid it behind his hand.

A sudden movement caught their gaze and they realized that Cersei had come back, apparently ready to parley with the Dragon Queen.

**

A cold cloth was pressed to the swelling of her cheek.

“How cruel, to hurt someone so beautiful.”

The scent of the pleasure house was almost comforting; filled with expensive perfumes and burning incense, it was a welcome reprieve from the stench of the city. But all Y/N truly cared about was how soft Ellaria’s touch was and how gentle the other woman was, even after Y/N had bodily climbed in through the window of their room and collapsed onto the floor.

In a strange stroke of luck, the pair had not been entertaining themselves with another person’s (or multiple people) talents and time. And perhaps she truly did look worse for wear if the pained looks and surprised noises they let out when she lifted her head were any indication.

Ellaria had quickly called for a servant to bring what she needed as Oberyn easily hid Y/N’s crumpled form in their warm bed from any prying eyes.

“I am sorry…” Y/N said, “I am so sorry.”

“Whatever for?” Oberyn asked as he took a seat beside her. Gentle fingers pressed at broken skin at her hairline and he frowned. “You escaped your gilded cage and sought safety with us—there is nothing to apologize for in this instance, Little Titan. You have trusted us. There is no higher honor.”

Ellaria hummed her agreement and continued to clean the cuts and calm the swelling around her face. “But how you managed to evade all those gold and white cloaks is surely a tale to tell.”

Y/N smiled but regretted it when pain bloomed across her entire face and Ellaria tutted as a bit of blood bubbled from a scab. “I do doubt it is anything worthy of repeating. Just a bit of Sweetsleep in some wine and hoping for the best.”

“It took you five days to think of Sweetsleep?” Oberyn teased but there was still a clear undertone of concern in his voice that made her heart clench. They cared.

She had a plan, true. And if they agreed vengeance could belong to all of them. Tywin had taken enough from them. “It took me five days to muster the courage to come to you.”

The simple sentence took the air from the room. Ellaria’s gentle touch paused and Oberyn grasped her hands, careful of the injuries. “Tell us, Little Titan. Tell us what you need.”

Y/N looked to Ellaria first and then Oberyn. “It is my lord-husband.”

“I knew it,” Oberyn said, looking to Ellaria who nodded. “I knew he would. He destroys everything he touches. Everything.”

“And I need to let him think he has—just for a few moons longer.”

“Why? Why wait? I can kill him now and be done with it-”

“I want to kill him,” Y/N said, voice steady. “But I want to take away everything he has created. Everything he has worked for, killed for. I want it all. And you are the only ones who would be able to truly take it from him, the only ones I trust.”

Ellaria and Oberyn looked at each other again before turning back to her. “What is your plan, Little Titan?”

**

She knew Cersei was lying when she said that she would send the Crown’s forces to aid in the fight against the Night King. But it seemed Jon and Daenerys would take her at her word.

Stupid mistake.

As the small crowd dispersed and Y/N continued to play the dutiful peon with a final curtsey, her mind churned. While Cersei had most of the Westerland armies at the capital, some had been allowed to keep to their posts in their homeland. They were Y/N’s to command. And she knew they would listen.

She would not stay in the capital. She did not care if Cersei had expected her to stay. She did not care if the polite thing would be to at least graciously decline the rooms probably readied for her presence.

She did not care.

Her son was in the city. And a war was coming.

The Dragon Queen and Jon Snow were trustworthy. Y/N did not care if the wrath of Cersei was turned on her after this—she could handle Cersei, if needed. But the Realm needed Dragons if they wanted to survive. Daenerys seemed much more reasonable and willing to listen than Cersei ever did so she would not mind if the petite Valyrian sat on the Iron Throne after the dead were dealt with. But that came first.

The small entourage Y/N had arrived with was waiting dutifully by her wheelhouse, also tired of the city, it seemed.

“My lady,” A soft voice said, gaining her attention.

Y/N turned to see Ellaria waiting patiently just outside the Dragon Pit. “Yes?” She took a moment to glance around and see that they were largely alone. Everyone was too preoccupied with their own retreat to pay them any mind.

“We must speak with you.”

Y/N gave one last look to her son, watching him laugh so easily at something a handmaiden whispered into his ear. For now, he was safe.

Y/N turned and linked her arm through Ellaria’s, once again finding an easy comfort in the other woman’s warmth. “I am all yours for a few moments, my lady.”

**

“Lady Lannister, what a sight you are!”

Y/N bit back the snarl at Maester Pycelle’s exclamation. Despite tending to her bruising, swelling and broken skin for nearly a fortnight, she still looked a fright. She knew it. But it was another thing for an old man in tattered rags to announce it so loudly.

“It is nothing. A servant spilled a bit of wine near the stairs and I did not see it. A careless mistake.”

Pycelle nodded. “Yes. Careless. But you should thank the Seven that you are still able to fulfill your earthly, wifely duties.”

Y/N felt her hands curl into fists and tucked them behind her back, ignoring the ache the movement caused. “Yes. Duties.”

Tyrion’s trial had finally started and Y/N was expected to attend. She retrieved Sansa from her locked chambers—a stark contrast from the Black Cells where Tyrion was kept—and had escorted her to the Great Hall, half a dozen kingsguard surrounding them. She had only a moment alone with Sansa in her chambers before she knew she would draw suspicion from the guards waiting outside the door. “You will need to lie, pup.”

“But-”

Y/N grasped Sansa’s chin in a loose grip but her eyes were hard. “You will lie, Sansa. Your life depends on it. I can only keep you safe if you do.”

“What would you have me say?”

“That you knew of Tyrion’s hatred of his nephew but you did not think he would go so far as to poison him.”

Sansa’s blue eyes watered but she nodded. “I can do that.”

“Good, pup. Then you shall be just fine.”

The entire Great Hall was packed with spectators and she took a seat toward the front, near the dais as Margaery’s side, and Sansa had been relegated toward the back, being treated like another accused instead of a witness. The whole thing smacked of Cersei’s bias.

But Y/N held her tongue, watching as Tyrion was escorted into the hall in heavy chains, and stood as Tommen did, following the rest of the crowd. Tywin briefly looked at her, a smug look on his face as he saw the black and red gown she wore—the stupid garment had been the only garment in her chambers that morning. He was not subtle.

“I, Tommen of the House Baratheon, first of my name, King of the Andals, First Men, and Rhyonar, lord of the Seven Kingdoms, hereby recuse myself from this trial. Tywin of the House Lannister, Hand of the King, protector of the realm, will serve as judge in my stead. With him, Prince Oberyn of the House Martell, and Lord Mace of the House Tyrell. If found guilty, may the gods punish the accused.”

As Oberyn moved to take his seat, he caught her eye for just a moment—and that look was all she needed to remember to breathe.

As person after person provided “evidence” against Tyrion, Y/N started to wonder if she would ever be able to leave this stupid hall. There was a slight reprieve in her sheer boredom when Sansa was called forward and she gave testimony that Tyrion did not care for Joffrey but she could not be sure if he truly poisoned his nephew. Her blue eyes glanced toward Y/N for her final words, “but I would not be so bold as to completely clear him of guilt or conspiracy.”

And that proved enough for Tywin to dismiss the little pup and let her retake her seat—without the small troupe of guards surrounding her. Sansa had been deemed innocent.

But this farce of trial was far from over. It continued on and on—and even included an appearance from Shae, who was apparently Tyrion’s lover. How quaint. Oberyn easily saw right through her lies and made nearly everyone present squirm with a double entendre. Y/N hid her smile behind her hand and ignored the blood bursting from her healing lip.

But the joy was short lived when Tyrion exclaimed, “I demand a trial by combat.”

**

Oberyn was waiting in a dark hollow of the dragon pit’s crumbling walls and drew both Ellaria and Y/N into his arms. He kissed Ellaria slowly and then pressed his warm lips against Y/N’s pulse. It sent familiar shivers down her spine.

“You are planning something, Little Titan.”

“As are you, my prince.”

Ellaria sighed. “You two are impossible.”

Y/N ducked her head with a smile. “A fair assessment, my lady, but I do not think you would enjoy us half as much if we were not constantly scheming.”

“You know the lioness will not honor her word,” Oberyn cut in quickly. His grip tightened around them.

“Of course not. She will wait for the Night King to both wipe out her enemies and then try to fight him herself, or attack after the battle is won and their numbers are depleted.” While Cersei thought herself Tywin’s true heir in manners of warfare and plotting, the only true manner she had inherited from her father was her inability to forget a slight. “I will not stand by and wait for the dead to reach Casterly Rock. Not while my son is…” the words died on her tongue.

But Ellaria grasped her hand and squeezed it tight. “You have something to fight for. We all do.”

“Dorne will fight beside you. We will fight for the living.”

**

“It is for luck,” Y/N said with a small smile. “Even the bravest in Braavos drink it. I have not seen a single man who drank this fall to his opponent.”

“I do not need to drink your potion to kill the Dornishman.” Of course, Ser Gregor Clegane would say something like that. His reputation and his (stupid) moniker of The Mountain might have been well earned but that did not mean Y/N any higher of him. In fact, his inability to think for himself when Tywin gave an order only made him smaller in her eyes.

Easy prey.

But that did not mean she would let Oberyn handle him on his own.

Y/N raised the cup a little higher, pressing a worried expression to her face. “It is more for my nerves, my lord, I assure you. I have heard of your prowess even across the Narrow Sea. But please,” she reached out to place a hand on his arm, a pretty picture of genteel worry, “calm my heart.”

Gregor nearly sneered as he took the cup and drained it in one gulp. “For you, Lady Lannister.”

Y/N reached out to take the cup back with a quick dip of her chin and another smile. “I thank you, Ser Gregor.”

She handed it off to a handmaiden and then let herself be escorted to her seat under the canopy, sitting aside her husband. She watched Oberyn and Ellaria speak to Tyrion under their own canopy, happily drinking wine and eating berries. The confidence they had in Oberyn was palpable—and for good reason. But Y/N never did like to watch an even match.

It was too boring.

Pycelle prattled on about how the gods would decide the fate of the trial by combat and soon the two men were engaged in battle.

Oberyn delighted in each blow and catch of his spear into the Mountain’s hulking form and made sure Gregor knew who his opponent was. “I am the brother of Elia Martell. Do you know why I have come all the way to this stinking shit-pile of a city? For you.” Another catch and parry. “I'm going to hear you confess before you die. You raped my sister. You murdered her. You killed her children. Say it now and we can make this quick.” Another clash of blades. “Say it. You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children.” Y/N watched Clegane stumble, nearly fall to his knees, as Oberyn landed a kick to his hulking form.

“You murdered her! You killed her children!” Each word out of Oberyn’s mouth grew louder and louder.

Even over the din of the crowd starting to roar, Y/N heard Gregor’s shuddering breath as he struggled to his feet and his grip seemed to loosen on his broadsword.

Oberyn sank the end of his spear into Gregor’s side and quickly gave another, dodging a loose-gripped swipe of The Mountain’s sword at his neck. He stepped back only to watch the giant of a man stumble with a smirk. Oberyn charged at the Mountain to give him one final blow. Blood spurted out of Gregor’s mouth as Oberyn pulled his spear back.

The earth itself seemed to rumble as Gregor finally fell to his knees.

“Wait. Are you dying? No, no, no. You can't die yet,” Oberyn mocked. “You haven't confessed. Say it. Say her name. Elia Martell. You raped her. You killed her children. Elia Martell. Who gave you the order? Who gave you the order?!” Oberyn lifted a hand and pointed toward Tywin.

And for the millionth time since Oberyn had arrived in the city, Y/N had to hide a smile.

“Say her name! You raped her! You murdered her! You killed her children. Say it. Say her name. Say it!”

Y/N did not move her gaze from the ring, uncaring of Tywin’s reaction. She would remember how the crowds gasped and started to murmur. In a single moment, the rumor that had almost been forgotten had been reignited. She was not surprised to learn that Oberyn had declared himself Tyrion’s champion when Gregor was called in for the crown.

And she wanted to make sure Oberyn was given at least a small bit of justice.

But Gregor could not answer. He fell forward, more blood pouring from his mouth, arms shaking to keep him from completely collapsing.

“Tell me!” Oberyn roared. “Tell me!” He leaned down to listen to something The Mountain said, whispered only for him to hear. But when he stood, Oberyn swung his spear and buried it into the Mountain’s head.

**

Y/N, Ellaria, and Oberyn plotted to move their loyal forces for only a little longer, keeping both the Dragon Queen and Crazed Lioness from overhearing. But soon-

“Mama! Mama!” And for the second time that day, Y/N was nearly leveled by her son throwing himself at her legs.

“We must work on your patience, my love. I was nearly finished.” She hauled the squirming boy into her arms and kissed his cheek. “We shall have supper at the inn but the hill when I am finished, hm? They have that pie you like.”

Morgan happily nodded and squirmed again, wanting to be let down. As his little feet hit the broken stone, he turned to look up at Oberyn and Ellaria, smiling wide. “Hello again, Prince Oberyn!”

Oberyn smiled and leaned down to Morgan’s level before gesturing to Ellaria who smiled fondly down at him. “This is Ellaria Sand, the love of my life.”

Morgan’s little hand reached out to Ellaria and he pressed a quick peck to her fingers, much to her delight. “My lady.” His following bow only continued to earn giggles.

Y/N watched Oberyn as he observed the little scene. His face was serene yet sad. And she knew why.

“You have a viper’s eyes, little lord.”

Morgan preened at the compliment despite not knowing what it meant. “Thank you, Prince Oberyn!”

**

King’s Landing was a powder keg.

After ‘the gods’ deemed Tyrion innocent, he fled in the night. But Cersei continued to rage and rage and rage, still offering a hefty sum for Tyrion’s head on a platter. Tommen and Margaery were married in another lavish ceremony and the Tyrells continued to press their influence over their city and the new king, only pushing Cersei further toward the edge. Tywin would hold daily meetings with the Small Council and with Lady Olenna, trying to keep the precarious balance of power decidedly in his favor.

And all that distraction proved very fortuitous for Y/N.

“Oh please, please,” she gasped as Oberyn continued to move.

Ellaria chuckled above her before moving Y/N’s mouth back to between her thighs. Y/N had always been very talented with her tongue. It was something Ellaria was happy to learn.

“Patience,” Oberyn said in a breathy huff. “You are always so greedy.”

But Y/N simply buried herself further into the soft patch of curls between Ellaria’s thighs as Oberyn canted his hips just slightly, letting her feel him nearly in her stomach.

They had done this every day—and almost every night—as Tywin was distracted.

Oberyn’s warm, calloused hands curled over Y/N’s thighs, anchoring them around his waist as his pace grew faster and faster. And Ellaria sighed, holding Y/N’s head still as she found her high and coated Y/N’s lips with her release—sticky and sweet.

“Are you nearly done, my love?” Ellaria’s voice was raspy and she did not move from her seat on Y/N’’s mouth, even as she shook with overstimulation. Y/N was greedy—Oberyn had rightly branded her so. And Ellaria tasted so good. “You do have a meeting to attend.”

Oberyn huffed but his pace did increase and the coil in Y/N’s belly wounded tighter and tighter, for the third time that morning, and then finally snapped as Oberyn groaned before leaning forward to press a kiss to Ellaria’s kiss-slick lips. Warmth bloomed and Y/N shook.

Yes. King’s Landing was a powder keg. But it was delicious.

And when Y/N passed the Small Council chamber later that morning she nearly snorted as she heard Tywin say, “You look tired, Prince Oberyn.”

And Oberyn, ever the viper, responded, “yes, my lover and I are trying for another child. I have heard you are trying for another heir, too, no?”

When the next morning came and Tywin left her bed, let him be for a moment before readying herself for the day. She slipped into his chambers and put on her dutiful-wife mask, one she had worn so well for the past handful of moons.

“I will be speaking with the Maesters this morning.”

“Oh?” Tywin responded, buttoning his tunic.

“Yes, I have been feeling poorly and I have missed my last moon blood. I am hoping I will have good news for you soon.”

Tywin was quiet for a moment before he hummed. It almost sounded happy. “You will tell me immediately what they say. Do you understand?”

“Of course, my lord.” She pulled his Hand of the King pin from atop one of his trunks and handed it to him. “I would have Sansa as a ward. King’s Landing has only made her a scared little thing—she will cow in front of the Northmen she’s supposed to rally to your grandson’s cause.”

“And you believe you may shape her into something-”

“Someone who will command respect and is loyal, my lion. Your daughter, for all her charms, was not suited to mold someone as gentle as Sansa. Her children were born with a steel core. Little Sansa needs a gentle, shaping hand.” Y/N slipped her arms around Tywin’s shoulders as he adjusted the pin over his heart. “I know you have an allegiance with Lord Bolton who you have named the Warden of the North in the Starks’ absence. The Northmen’s loyalty to them is tenuous at best. I know you strive for peace. If you could arrange for Sansa and the Boltons to find common ground, I know it would give you a small bit of reprieve to know you no longer had to worry about the North revolting. Again.”

Tywin froze—just for a moment. “Perhaps you aren’t as useless as I had been beginning to suspect.”

Y/N only smiled.

And after having the Maesters confirm that she was with child, she knew Tywin would come to her bed chamber again. She offered him a cup of wine in celebration and watched him drain it as he smirked. And she let him undo the laces of her dress. She let him pull her chemise over her head. She let him press her down into the pillows.

And then he paused. His eyes screwed shut with a pained groan. Tywin fell to the side and Y/N happily climbed over him.

“What…have you done?”

Y/N felt the slash of a smile grow across her face. “I have taken everything from you.” Her hands folded over her stomach. “You have only moments to live. But life grows within me. And your line has ended.” She watched the light fade from his eyes before forcing tears into her own. She let a few trickle down her cheeks for maximum effect before climbing off her husband’s lap and pulling on a dressing robe before dashing to the door and flinging it open. “My husband, please! Please someone help my husband!”

**

“Does he know?” Oberyn asked quietly as he helped Y/N lift little Morgan into the carriage. The child had fallen asleep at the table, nearly tipping over his prized pie. A day full of excitement had worn him out. He had caught a single glimpse of a dragon as their traveling party departed the city and had animatedly recounted the story to anyone and everyone who would listen. Oberyn and Ellaria had quietly followed.

“He knows his father is a brave, strong man. Who is loyal to his word, devoted to his family, and a hero for the ages.”

“Does he believe it is Tywin?” Oberyn asked, his fingers brushing the dark hair away from his son’s forehead.

“I believe he is smart enough to understand it is not.” She paused. “He is heir to the Lannister seat of power. He will hold everything Tywin worked so hard to build and protect. But the Lannister bloodline has ended. Yours will continue—yours will hold his seat of power until the gods deem this world finished. House Lannister is now your blood—your son.”

“But will he know the truth? Will he ever know me as his father?”

“Of course,” she said with a small smile. “When the time is right, and I know he can keep this secret, he will know your name as his true father. He will know you, love you.”

“And you? What of you?”

“What of me?” She repeated. “What would you need of me?”

Oberyn and Ellaria locked eyes for a moment before their penetrating gazes moved back to her. “We will want you as well.”

“Me?”

“We will always want you.”

Y/N sucked in a breath, trembling for the first time in decades. “Will you ever forgive me?”

**

Gone were the washes of gaudy crimson fabric and she was once again permitted to drape herself in black. She was a widow now. Perhaps that suited her. And now that Tywin was dead, she saw no reason to stay in King’s Landing. Tywin, before his tragic death of a bad heart, had announced to the court that Y/N was with child. It had only cemented her status as the true ruler of Casterly Rock.

Before she departed, Cersei called her into her chambers for tea. It was the most civil Cersei had ever been toward her and it was still laced with unsubtle threats and verbal barbs.

“The newest Lannister. A new brother,” Cersei mused, her eyes pointedly looking at Y/N’s stomach. “I hope they look like father.”

“I do doubt they will look like Lannisters.”

“Oh?” Cersei said, mouth tilting just so. “Are you so sure?”

“I do not look like a Lannister, your grace. Anyone with eyes can see that.”

“Yes, but the seed is strong-”

“Not strong enough. I assure you. The babe will look like me. After all, it seems you have taken all the luck and used it on your children—all of them, green-eyed and golden-haired. What are the chances? Hm?” Y/N finished her tea and stood. “I thank you for the company, your grace. But it is time for me to leave.” And Y/N turned and left without being dismissed, a smile on her face all the while.

And she left. She left without saying goodbye to Oberyn and Ellaria—her only friends in the city. She left knowing it would hurt them. But trying to find a moment to find them, to explain, would only cast suspicion on the paternity of her child. Because she knew she would not be able to stop herself from falling into their arms one last time.

Sansa gave her a small smile as they both settled into the wheelhouse and soon they were off.

Months slipped by and the pregnancy was largely uneventful.

She had kept her distance when she had heard of the Greyjoy attack on Myrcella’s boat and the princess’ death. She kept all the sword hands she could within the borders of the Westerlands when Cersei seized power from the Tyrells after the mysterious death of Tommen. She declared herself queen and threw Margaery into the Black Cells, threatening to send her head to Olenna if the Reach rebelled. She had played the part of careful, dutiful Lady of the Rock very well. She had kept Cersei’s eye off her kingdom and focused on the threats she perceived from across the Narrow Sea or the North.

Sansa had been a dutiful student. When Lord Bolton asked if Sansa would be willing to marry his son, Ramsey, she accepted, even knowing the boy’s reputation to be cold and cruel. Crueler still after the mysterious and suspicious death of his father.

But he never touched Sansa. No. On their wedding night, Ramsey fell ill and then never woke.

But Sansa was the Lady of Winterfell again—a Stark was in the North.

And it was so easy for the North to rally to her cause and the North rose up in revolt again. It made Y/N laugh.

But soon the baby was coming—far sooner than she had anticipated. With a final scream, it was over. A baby’s cries filled the air and a bloody, squirming infant was placed in her arms, wrapped in black silk.

“A boy, my lady. A healthy boy. Have you thought of a name?”

Y/N felt tears start to gather in her eyes as she looked down at her son—her beautiful son. The spitting image of her—but then his eyes opened. And he had his father’s eyes. Viper eyes. “His name is Morgan.”

**

Y/N’s lips still burned from the kiss Oberyn and Ellaria left her with before they departed.

And her heart was lighter, too. They had forgiven her—had said there was nothing, truly, to forgive. “You were protecting your child. My child.”

Morgan stirred in her arms as the wheelhouse rode over a bump. “Mama?”

“Yes, my love?”

His viper eyes opened and she smiled, seeing them shine in the low light of the evening. “Will we see Prince Oberyn and Lady Ellaria again?”

Her smile widened. “Yes. I can promise you that.”

-

Please let me know what you think! 

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @huliabitch​ @revolution-starter​ @starlight-starwrites​

[fific7]

Cold Day in Hell - Part 1

Logan Delos x Reader

A/N: This does not completely follow canon, it’s mainly lemon zest 🍋 because the world needs more Logan Delos.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW due to sexual content, including oral, between consenting adults* in future chapters. Drinking and swearing.

*Irl, please don’t go wild in the country without protection.

(My GIF)

Logan Delos was bored. Mind-numbingly, screamingly, terminally bored. He was rapping out an irritated drum solo on the arm of his chair with his long fingers. He was shifting in his seat, constantly crossing and un-crossing his long legs. He was moving the papers on the conference table in front of him from side to side, then backwards and forwards.

The businessman who was talking through the main presentation had a voice that was flatter than roadkill and had only one tone... monotone.

Logan leant forward and propped his elbows on the conference table in front of him, using his fingers to physically hold open his eyelids as they kept closing of their own accord. He felt a yawn coming on and fought to stop his mouth opening to accommodate it... but failed.

He was aware of the door to the conference room opening behind him but didn’t even have the energy to turn and see who it was. This asshole is draining the fucking will to live out of me, he thought. He vaguely heard said asshole saying something about his colleague talking through the next section of the presentation.

Logan sat right up in his seat as he spotted a beautiful - no, stunning - woman making her way to the front of the room. She was dressed in ‘business smart’ but even those sensible items couldn’t hide her curves. Her hair was pinned up, and he had already started fantasising about loosening it and running his hands through it. He wished he’d paid attention when Asshole had said her name. Or had he said her name? Logan had no idea.

He heard her starting to speak, a melodic voice... he had to know her name! Logan tutted and picked up the meeting agenda, riffling back and forth through the pages to get to the correct one, but wasn’t even sure what page he should be on. Suddenly the folder tumbled from his hands and clattered onto the floor. The talking stopped and he became aware of everyone’s eyes on him, including hers. In fact, she was kind of glaring at him.

He gave an apologetic wave to the room in general as he retrieved the folder from the floor. She began speaking again, and he resumed his page-riffling. Finally he found the current one, and there was her name in black and white. A melodic name to match her voice, he thought.

He started paying attention to what she was actually saying.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You’d just started your part of the presentation when some asshole dropped his agenda folder, the sharp noise bringing you to a screeching halt. When you saw a hand waving around in the air, your eye followed the arm down to its owner and noted that he was in fact a very good-looking asshole. But he was still an asshole.

You cleared your throat, trying to collect your thoughts and then launched back into your presentation. The asshole was now staring at you relentlessly; every single time your eyes swept the room, his dark eyes were on you. Like... always on you. Not like the others, who were at least glancing down at the handouts occasionally.

The section you were presenting drew to a close, and you now took an empty seat at the table. It was diagonally opposite the handsome asshole. Who was still staring at you.

Now that you were much closer, you could see that his eyes were a dark chocolate brown, with a wicked gleam in them. They matched his shining dark hair, which was immaculately swept back from his forehead. You boldly met his stare for a while, before breaking eye contact to listen to your colleague Craig deliver the final part.

At the end of the presentation there were a few questions which were duly answered, and then everyone was gathering up their paperwork and milling around prior to leaving the conference room. As you tucked your folders away in your document bag, in your peripheral vision you became aware of a pair of long legs making their way to you. You knew who it was bound to be so you didn’t bother looking up. A throat cleared next to you but you continued packing away your items, and then you heard your first name being spoken in a low, husky voice. This time you did look up - it would be rude not to - and yup, it was Handsome Asshole. A hand was proffered to you and by reflex you took it, your hand being crushed in a strong grip. “Logan Delos,” said that suave voice, “...it’s an absolute pleasure to meet you, sweetheart.”

“Sweetheart?” you scoffed, “...how original!” while thinking, oh... so this is the infamous Logan Delos, whose name you’d heard all the time in connection with the projects but never actually met before. He had a reputation of being a bit of a diva. You heard him give a deep chuckle. “Yeah, that’s me - an original. Unique, in fact I’d say.” “Well, you’re super confident, that’s for sure!” You picked up your document bag and headed for the door, saying “Nice to meet you, Mr Delos,” as you started to leave. His tall frame scooted round in front of you before you could reach it, “Oh, not so fast.... I can’t let you leave before you agree to have dinner with me.” You tried to sidestep him but he blocked your way, and then a little ‘step to the right, step to the left’ dance ensued. Finally, exasperated, you stood still and put your hands on your hips. “Mister Delos! Will you please let me past!” He copied your stance, “Not until you say you’ll have dinner with me. Or lunch. Or.... breakfast, if you prefer?!” wiggling his eyebrows at you. You huffed, “I don’t date business partners!” He still stood in front of you, seemingly immovable, “We’re not business partners - technically speaking. Boring Asshole is my business partner, not you.” Your mouth dropped open but before you could stop it, laughter bubbled out.

You hastily silenced it, saying, “I admit, Craig may not be the most inspiring public speaker, but he really knows his stuff,” trying to cover your somewhat indiscreet reaction and save your colleague’s honour at the same time. “But that’s beside the point, Mr Delos, because we are business partners despite what you’re trying to say.” Logan had moved slightly aside while you were speaking and you took this opportunity to brush past him, calling out, “Goodbye, Mr Delos,” with the emphasis on the goodbye as you went.

If you’d bothered to look back, you would’ve seen Logan Delos watching you go, a very determined expression on his face.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Juliet looked up from her laptop as Logan breezed into her lounge, tossing his car keys onto the coffee table and throwing himself onto the sofa, long legs spreading out in front of him as he did so.

“Good meeting?” she asked, seeing that his head had gone back onto the cushions and he was staring up at the ceiling. He hummed, “Good and bad. The presentation was the single most boring thing I’ve ever heard in my life, but on the other hand one of their staffers.... wow! It was like an angel came down from heaven and found her way into that conference room.” She sighed, “Logan... by all that’s holy... do not try to screw one of our business partners for god’s sake! Dad will go ballistic if you mess up our working relationship with them.” Logan looked offended, “Who says I’d mess it up?” Jules gave a big sigh and shrugged, “Me, for one. Dear brother, I love you with all my heart but you’re fucking awful at relationships. You’d just fuck her and drop her like a hot potato. Who is it that caught your roving eye this time anyway?” Logan said her name in a dreamy tone and Jules rolled her eyes heavenwards, “Oh, no, no, no!... no way, Logan. I know her, she’s a lovely person and also does a fantastic job - she’s one of their top software engineers, specialising in middleware.”

Logan smirked, “She can engineer my middleware anytime she likes.” “Oh, shut up and get your mind out of your pants, Logan. Stay away, okay?!!” He huffed, “Hey! You can’t tell me who to pursue or otherwise, Jules!” “But that’s it, right there - you’ll chase her, catch her, bang her and drop her! I really like her as well as respecting her work, so you better just be damn careful!”

Logan sighed. He loved his sister but god, she was a king-size pain in the ass sometimes.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

A week or so later, and you’d almost forgotten about that handsome asshole at the presentation. You couldn’t deny that he’d popped in and out of your thoughts since, but you’d googled him the day after you’d met him and had also made some discreet enquiries amongst those colleagues who’d worked with him before on projects. What you’d discovered had not endeared him to you.

He was a world-class player, that was obvious - and not fussy about which gender he played around with either. Not that that put you off, it was just the sheer volume of men and women he was pictured out on the town with. And alcohol and substance abuse had been there in the mix too, with some stays in rehab mentioned although the last one had been over a year ago. So no... you’d decided you wouldn’t be entertaining any further thoughts of the undeniably attractive Mr Delos.

You turned your thoughts back to the current middleware solution you were constructing, in fact it was for Delos Corporation, involving various scenarios for their Westworld hosts. You were immersed in code and structure when your phone rang, and you saw your boss’s extension number on the caller ID. Hmmm... what could she want? She usually gave you free reign when you working on a project, catching up with you every couple of days at team meetings. Answering it, you heard her assertive voice asking you to pop along to her office and so you set off on the short walk there. You knocked on her door and heard her say ‘come in’, so in you sailed and then came to an abrupt halt. Logan Delos was sitting opposite your boss; he was half-turned towards you with a somewhat triumphant smirk on his face. Your boss indicated the chair next to Logan and you quickly sat down, wondering what this was about and why Logan looked so smug.

Your boss launched into a mini-summary of what you were currently working on, and all you could do was nod. Eventually she finished up with, “So all your current projects are for Delos.” It was a statement not a question, so you just nodded. “Mr Delos here...” she levelled a hand towards Logan, “....has come up with a suggestion, and I happen to think it’s a good one.” She smiled at Logan, before looking back at you and continuing, “He thought it would be beneficial to have the person working on most of his projects - that’s you, just to clarify - to be based at Delos Destinations for the next three months, to facilitate progress.” You knew you were looking completely dumbfounded as she hurried on, “Obviously I’d like your input on this, but I’m sure you can see that it’d be very helpful for you to be on-site with our partners while you’re working through the projects?” Meanwhile you were desperately trying to come up with reasons to remain in your own office, but truthfully you couldn’t. It would be helpful to have instant access to their engineers when you needed an answer on something, you couldn’t deny that. Reluctantly you nodded, “Yes...I can appreciate that. But couldn’t we just have me spend maybe one or two days a week over there rather than be actually based in their offices?”

Logan spoke for the first time, his expression business-like now, “That wouldn’t really fulfill the brief though, would it? Because we’d be back to having a slight delay in receiving and giving responses for the time you weren’t at our offices. And I’d ... we’d... make you very welcome. There’s an office waiting for you... right next to mine.” He couldn’t stop that smirk reappearing as he finished speaking. You forced a smile, “Well, I can’t really refuse an offer like that, can I Mr Delos?” You looked back to your boss, “I guess that’s agreed then. When does this take effect?” Your boss beamed at you, “Excellent! I don’t see any reason for it not to commence immediately, do you? How about as of tomorrow?”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Logan walked onto his office the next morning, whistling a happy little tune. He’d had a small glass of wine the night before at Juliet’s place when he’d dropped in on his way home, knowing he had to break the news to her that evening about the cunning plan he’d come up with. He was happy for two reasons; firstly, visiting Jules and his niece Emily and not having to see William’s stupid damn face any longer would never get old, and secondly, his little scheme to get closer to that gorgeous woman was coming together. As Jules worked partly from home and partly at the office, he had to let her know that a new face would be around for at least the next three months. It would give him a much better chance to persuade her to go out with him - she wouldn’t really be able to escape him given that she’d be right next door to him every day. Predictably, Juliet had issued a stern warning about what would happen to certain parts of his anatomy should he overstep, but had reluctantly accepted that it was a fait accompli. (Privately, she was looking forward to working more closely with her and also warning her about the usual antics of her beloved brother, that’s if she wasn’t already well aware of them).

He’d been racking his brains for ideas on how best to pursue her ever since she’d turned him down flat at that conference. Logan wasn’t used to being turned down. He’d had a brainwave a couple of days later and had checked into who was handling the Delos projects at her company - after all, surely she wouldn’t be at the conference in the first place if she wasn’t involved somehow? He’d been overjoyed to find out that she was handling just about all of the current open projects (so why on earth had they allowed Boring Asshole to give the majority of the presentation?! he’d thought incredulously) and had then begun to put together a plan to somehow get her into his close orbit. He was really quite proud of what he’d come up with.

His secretary knocked on his doorframe and announced that his visitor had arrived. A big smile appeared on Logan’s face.

Here I go! he thought, the thrill of the chase coursing through his veins.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

The secretary smiled at you over her shoulder as she leaned against Logan’s office doorframe, “Please, go right in,” before stepping aside so you could enter.

The man himself was lounging back in his fancy office chair, which to you looked more like the type of padded seat you’d get on a private jet, waving you into the office before getting up and striding over to you. He held out his hand which you took but instead of shaking it as you expected, he pulled you towards him and kissed your cheek very softly. A waft of delicious and no doubt expensive cologne reached your nostrils before he stepped back, “Welcome on board!” he said, “...I’m so glad you’re joining us here at Delos Destinations.” You smiled, “Thank you, Mr Delos.” “Logan!” he said immediately, waving his hand and saying your first name. “Logan,” you said dutifully, “yes, thank you for the welcome ....of course I do still work for my own company.” He smiled at you, still holding onto your hand and beginning to lead you to the door, “Well, for now you do. I’ve a mind to steal you away for myself, you know. Or, sorry... for Delos Destinations, I should of course say.”

OK... seems like he’s still interested, even if that wouldn’t last longer than a heartbeat once you’d gone out (and especially if you slept) with him. You knew this secondment was going to be trouble, you thought. Three whole months of trying to resist Mr Player of the Decade. But you were convinced that you could do it.

As he lead you from his office to what was going to be yours, you were suddenly very aware of his tall figure beside you, your hand in his (he still hadn’t let go of it) and a hint of that beautiful cologne of his again. He looked across at you, dark eyes gazing into yours and gave you a mischievous grin. Annoyingly, your stomach did a little flip.

Yeah, really convinced.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

(Not my GIF - credit to owner)

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (5) || atz

“You need to eat.”

Seonghwa nudges a bowl of fish stew towards you. It's piping hot and steaming, you cradle it gratefully with your fingers.

Since you’ve woken up in San’s cabin a few days ago, you’ve taken a few days under the Treasure’s healer’s care to recover from the fever brought on by your infection. San has been nothing but kind to you, even allowing you to sit in the sickbay and watch him while he tends to patients.

Many of the pirates come in and out for check ups on previous wounds, a healing sword gash, an amputated finger. You watch the healer bustle about at work, speaking in a soft, quiet tone when tending to them and making silly jokes to distract them from the pain. His dimpled smile and silly behaviour is somewhat familiar to you now, you can even recognise his whistling from the cabin. Maybe it’s because he is the only person you have on this ship, so you stick to San’s side as much as possible.

The Treasure has already left the cove, sailing out into the open sea once more. San tells you that they are sailing along the coast of Hispaniola to reach Tortuga, but these waters are close to the pirate town Tortuga and the Royal Navy fleets patrol the area to sink any unsuspecting pirates. Their captain has chosen to stay further from land, where the Navy’s fleets can conceal themselves from sight and carry out an ambush on them.

When San brought you onto the main deck the last few days so you could stretch your limbs and breathe some fresh air, all you’ve seen for miles is blue, unending ocean. Being able to walk freely on deck with San’s conversation instead of Mingi’s watchful eye is one of your few joys on this ship.

Today, however, San wants Seonghwa to bring you onto deck.

Your chest is bound, of course, and San swears that no one else on board besides him knows that you are a woman. Women are considered bad luck on ships, and even though San has reassured you that Hongjoong doesn’t believe in silly superstitions, you’d rather not give him another reason to toss you to the sharks. San has agreed to keep your secret, but still, with Seonghwa supporting you, he might notice something.

“Seonghwa’s smart, but when it comes to stuff like this, he can be pretty blind. Don’t worry about it too much.” San had told you in the morning. You decide to trust him on this.

So you take the fish stew in your hands and drink it. You were surprised at first, you thought pirates would have terrible cooking skills, but Seonghwa’s food has always been rich, hearty and filling. With his intense stare on you as you eat, however, you find it difficult to swallow the food.

“Is there something you need?” You ask after narrowly avoiding choking for the third time. Seonghwa’s expression is unreadable, unnerving. You don’t expect anything good to leave his mouth.

“I’m sorry.”

At that, you do choke and Seonghwa immediately panics, grabbing a cloth from his pocket and offering it to you. You wave it away, hacking and thumping your chest, careful to avoid where the tiny crystal rests underneath the oversized tunic San lent you.

“What for?” You cough as you set down the bowl, reaching for a mug of green tea on the table. As much as you disliked the drink at first, after being force fed it by San so many times, you’ve come to enjoy its mild, earthy flavour. Seonghwa inhales deeply, as if preparing to say something life altering.

“I’d like to apologize for not noticing your wound sooner.” He bows his head in genuine apology, much to your shock. “I should have realised that you were injured and reported it to Hongjoong earlier. If I did, you wouldn't have fallen ill-”

You're so dumbstruck that you simply stare at him with your mouth hanging wide open. Yeah, he didn't notice, but it wasn't his fault at all. Even if he had noticed, and hadn't done anything to help you, you couldn't blame him. He wasn't obligated to help you in any way.

“It's alright.” You try to cover up your confusion by taking another spoonful of fish stew. “It wasn't your fault. I don't blame you.”

“I wanted to make it up to you, so will you allow me to walk you around deck today? I saw San helping you and thought I might be able to assist in the same way.”

What on earth is wrong with this man? He owes you nothing. How can anyone be so… kind? You were literally nothing more than a stowaway he found on ship, not someone he needed to repay a debt to. But from the determined glint in his eye, he wasn't about to take no for an answer.

“Thank you, then.” You manage to reply hesitantly. It's probably the fastest way to get this done and over with.

Draining the stew, you rise to your feet, and you see Seonghwa move to support your side. He gives you a kind smile. “Are you ready to go?”

Holy shit, this man…

“Yeah…” You clear your throat uncomfortably as he slings one of your arms around his shoulders. They're a little broader than San's, more muscled under his black shirt, and one of his hands come to rest on your side.

Step by step, he carefully moves you towards the door, nudging it open with his foot. The sunlight hits you in the face, and you blink rapidly to clear your sight.

“Clean the cannons properly! I don't want to see a single speck of gunpowder on them, understood?”

“Trim the sails, wind from starboard!”

You're bombarded with activity the moment you step onto the main deck. Pirates rush about, some cleaning out the long barrels of the cannons, some scrubbing down the deck and some mending torn sails. It's strangely domestic, and you can't help but snort at the image of these so called bloodthirsty pirates. Then you remember their captain and you shiver.

“Are you feeling cold?” Seonghwa's concern unnerves you. You shake your head desperately.

“No! I just uhhh…. felt some wind!” You're tempted to smack yourself in the face for your blatant stupidity. “Let's continue moving, shall we?”

He brings you to the front of the ship, where you can see sea waves crashing against the ship's wooden plants in sprays of white. For a moment, you look up and forget that you’re on a ship, all you see is the sun hovering over the horizon and blue sea rolling onwards. You close your eyes and breathe in the warm, salty air, it brings you peace.

“The Treasure is a beautiful ship, isn’t it?”

Your eyes snap open to look at him. Seonghwa has turned around to watch the crew at work on the deck, the smile on his face soft and fond. You know next to nothing about ships, but you do admit she’s very graceful with her pale blue sails and the sheer size of the ship is undoubtedly impressive. You nod.

“I think it is.”

Seonghwa smiles warmly at you then, leaning against the rails of the bulwarks with a happy, content gaze. “She’s a three masted frigate ship, a hundred and three feet long and thirty feet wide. It was one of the Royal Navy’s prides, until Hongjoong single handedly stole it from them without force and repurposed it into a pirate ship of his own.” He gestures at the other end of the ship.

“That’s called the stern. We’re at the bow. When you’re facing the bow of the ship, the right is called the starboard and the left is called port.” The cook tells you. That clears things up from you. Every time you hear someone (especially Mingi) call out ‘wind coming from port’, you think that you’re finally approaching land, but no.

“Thanks for telling me.” You tell him and he nods. You’re not sure why he’s telling you all this, but you suppose that’s his way of trying to make up for something he didn’t do.

“We’re currently on the forecastle deck, and that’s the main deck.” He points a finger at where the main activity is happening. “Above the captain’s cabin is the quarterdeck.”

“Where the captain is.” You mutter under your breath. “I’ll be sure to steer clear of it.”

You didn’t intend for Seonghwa to hear it, but he does anyway. He pauses for a moment, chewing at his bottom lip, eyes flicking between you and the quarterdeck. You start to worry if Seonghwa is unhappy that you’re almost insulting his captain, but then he speaks.

“Don’t take captain personally.” He tries to reassure you, putting a hand on your shoulder. “He does believe that you’re one of the Royal Navy, so you can’t blame him for being cautious. A few years ago, we bargained for one of the most accurate nautical charts in the navy’s possessions and the Navy has been after us ever since. Hongjoong’s worried about it, so he’s cautious of any new stranger on board. Deep down, he really is a kind person at heart.”

Seonghwa’s eyes are so pleading, as if he’s genuinely upset by the thought that you could dislike his captain. You can’t find it in yourself to outright tell him you think his captain is a menace who wouldn’t so much as bat an eyelash if you were tossed overboard this moment and got eaten by sharks. In fact, he might even find it in him to dance a little jig.

“Umm...” Is all you manage in reply. You’re such a smooth talker, you could cry. Seonghwa looks a little disappointed that you don’t believe him, but he gives you a small, understanding smile.

“It’s alright if you don’t see it now.” He says gently, turning to look at the waves with you. “I’m sure you will, eventually. That’s what happened to me too.”

You raise an eyebrow. From what you can see, Seonghwa is nothing like his captain. Even as a pirate, he’s kind hearted, gentle and compassionate. His captain, on the other hand, is exactly like the scourge of the seas.

Then you hesitate for a moment, eyes flickering over to the man beside you. He notices it before you can drop your gaze.

“Is there anything you want to ask? I don’t mind.”

You ask away.

“Do you know who brought me to the sickbay?”

Seonghwa frowns, racking his memory. “It wasn't San? If that's the case, I don't have any idea either. I'm sorry I don't have the answer to your question.”

“It's alright.” You rush to reassure him. “Actually, I have another question. Why did you become a pirate?”

The man suddenly tenses at your question, fingertips digging into the wood of the bulwark railings until his knuckles turn white. You can see his eyes darken ever so slightly and in a single breath he looks like he’s aged a decade, barely restrained pain dancing across his face like the result of a reopened wound.

“You don’t need to answer if you feel uncomfortable.” You rush to amend. The air feels like it’s turned to ice, goosebumps racing over your skin. Seonghwa shakes his head, his tightly wound muscles slowly relaxing under his dark shirt as he eases his grip on the railing.

“No… It’s just a bad memory.” He exhales, but you can hear the lump in his throat. “I didn’t join out of choice.”

Your eyes go wide. “The captain kidnapped you?”

“No!” Seonghwa rushes to stop you, biting his lower lip. “When I was young, my family was killed on suspicion of hiding pirates by the Royal Navy.”

Ahh, the Royal Navy which you’ve heard so much about. The bane of the pirates… who you’re supposed to be.

“That’s sad.” Is all you say.

Seonghwa gives you a weak smile that doesn’t seem quite real, but continues his story anyway. “I managed to escape onto a ship in the harbour… which happened to be the Treasure.”

So it’s somewhat similar to what you’ve experienced so far. Maybe that’s why he’s been treating you more kindly than what you’d expect.

“I’ve been with Captain and the crew ever since.” Seonghwa adds seriously, but there’s a happier, content spark to his eyes. You can hear the little bounce in his voice when he speaks of the crew and the ship. They must be close.

The feeling in your chest that has been there ever since you’ve stepped aboard this ship only grows. It’s alien, unnerving. You don’t recognize it.

You turn away from Seonghwa to stare at the horizon in the distance. For some reason, every time you look at the sea, you’re immediately calmed, the storms of your heart ceasing to nothing but white noise at the back of your mind.

But this time, a small niggling feeling encroaches on your usual sense of calm.

Something cold creeps over your lungs and heart, an unexplainable anticipation and fear. It only grows bigger, more real, and for some reason, you feel like the reason of your distress is only growing closer.

Your head jerks to the left. Your eyes furiously scan the sea you are travelling upon, the dark blue that rushes underneath the ship, but you can’t see anything. Then your breath catches in your throat.

There’s a low groan. It starts off soft at first, but grows in volume gradually until the sound is ringing in your ears. It’s soul wrenching, full of anguish and so desperate like a crying child calling out for his mother that your chest throbs painfully in response to the sound.

Then you hear it.

Come back…

You almost jump in terror. The words aren’t in any language you speak, but you know their meaning clear as glass. The one behind the groan is searching for something, no… someone.

Where did you go?

Your breath suddenly shorten into pants. For another second, you’re heart wrenchingly terrified, almost as much as the time you were running for your life from the Royal Navy. Seonghwa must notice something, because he taps you on the shoulder, his face worried.

“Is something wrong?”

You stare at him in shock. “Do you not hear that noise?”

At your words, his brows furrow. “What noise?”

Why did you leave?

You almost squeak with fright, your hands clapping over your ears. “That noise!”

Seonghwa frowns in concern, reaching out to support you once again. “You must be hearing things because of your head injury.” He tries to reason with you gently, pulling you towards the sickbay. “Come on, let’s get you back to San so he can give you a check up-”

Where are you, Sǣr?

The last word is a scream, a cry of fury and distress. What is Sǣr? Then all of a sudden, you see it.

“There!” You drag Seonghwa with you by the wrist to the bow of the ship, as far as you can go, all blood draining from your face. “Look!”

He strains his eyes, peering out into the horizon and shielding his eyes from the sun. The glare reflecting off the ocean waves make it difficult to see and he doesn’t notice anything different than usual. No ship sails on the horizon, no cause for danger. When he wants to turn around and ask you what you see, you point into the water, right into the distance.

“It’s in the sea!” You shout at him, almost hysterical with fear. Why can’t he see it? “It’s coming!”

Thank the heavens for their grace because Seonghwa doesn’t call you crazy and toss you into the sickbay. He stares in the direction you direct him for a few long, agonizing seconds, before you see his eyes going almost unnaturally wide with horror and his mouth falling open.

The sight might have been comical if you hadn’t been on the verge of wetting your pants in terror.

It’s a massive, dark shape moving underwater, right beneath the surface. It’s still a considerable distance from the Treasure, but at the speed it’s moving, it’ll be upon you in mere minutes. You have no idea what kind of monstrous beast it could be, but you definitely don’t want to find out. Neither does Seonghwa, apparently, because he turns around and sprints across the main deck for the captain’s cabin.

You watch, adrenaline pumping through your veins, as he snatches up an iron bar and hammer, wasting no time in striking it with all the force he has.

The sound rings across the ship and immediately the whole ship ceases activity, waiting in anticipation for a command. Mingi leaps down from the quarter deck in one smooth movement, not even bothering with the stairs. Seonghwa shouts something at him that you can’t quite hear over the distance and the quartermaster dashes up to the forecastle deck to you, boots pounding on the wooden planks.

“Where is it?” Is all he rasps out, eyes scouring the horizon for a glimpse of it. This time, you have no problem locating it, your eyes almost instinctively drawn to its shape. You point at it, and it must be a lot closer and bigger than before, because Mingi sees it almost immediately and his face goes ashen.

“All hands on deck!” Mingi bellows at the crew, who leap into action at once. “Raise the mizzen sail and ready the cannons! We’re going to sail a port beam reach to the wind!”

In front of you, a flurry of activity breaks out over the ship. Along the bulwarks, you see men rushing to untie the cannons which had been previously secured to the main deck, powder monkeys running out from below deck with small white bags of what you assume to be gunpowder. There’s a snapping sound as the massive square sail of the third sail comes down, and you grab for the railing as the Treasure almost flies forward at a speed that seems impossible for such a massive ship.

“Yunho, trim the sails!”

The tall man slides down from the crow’s nest on one of the sheet ropes, landing as nimbly as a cat on the deck. He leads a team of men in hauling on the sheets, tightening them as them prepare to sail perpendicular to the wind.

San joins you at the bow. “It’s big.” He comments about the growing shape dryly. “Probably about two or three times bigger than the ship.”

He’s understating. The monster looks like it could eat the Treasure for breakfast.

“We're travelling at six knots!” You hear someone call from the other side of the ship. Mingi shakes his head furiously.

“Tighten the sheets! We need to move faster than twenty knots!”

“What's a knot?” You ask San.

“A nautical mile per hour.” The healer answers, never taking his eyes off the sea monster. “We measure the ship's speed with  a device called the common log.The speed of the ship is said to be the number of knots counted.”

“And do you know what's chasing us?”

San eyes you with a disgruntled stare. Even the ever calm healer seems a little unnerved. “You could always go overboard and find out.”

“We're gaining in speed!” A man at the starboard shouts, leaning over the rail. “Nine knots now!”

There's a groaning of rope as the sails pivot on their masts to catch the wind, Yunho shouting commands to the sail trimming crew. The ship angles to the left, diverging from its original course.

“Where are we headed?” You swallow uneasily. San shrugs, no more knowledgeable than you.

“Yeosang is trying to find somewhere along the coast we can go ashore or hide from the monster.” He squints at the dark shadow as the ship continues to sail away from the monster. “It may not even be chasing us specifically.”

The dark shape changes course as well, moving right for the ship.

“Well that's a reassuring thought.” You gulp. There's a intent to the massive creature, in the way it moves. No doubt, it's heading for the ship and from how it looks even bigger than before, it's gaining on them.

“Thirteen knots!” The same man bellows, his voice almost breaking in fear. Mingi curses under his breath.

“We're losing ground.” He swears rather colourfully. “Hongjoong-hyung needs to sail a beam reach or we have no chance of outrunning that thing. I predict it's moving at about twenty five knots and that's nearly impossible for us even with a strong wind.”

“What happens if the wind gives out on us?” You mutter to yourself, but Mingi hears you.

“It won't.” The quartermaster replies with a sort of assured confidence, as if he is stating fact. “Not with Captain around.”

You want to argue that the captain can't control the skies, but it seems insistent on proving you wrong. The ship suddenly surges forward with a burst of speed, the bow slicing the sea before them. You're thrown off balance for a moment but manage to hang onto San for dear life. He barely notices your added weight on his arm.

“Hongjoong-hyung has the blessing of a sea god on him.” Mingi tells you bluntly as his eyes continue following the movements of the sea monster. “Usually we rarely encounter any threats of nature on the ocean, but I suppose there's a first time for everything.”

“A sea god?” You repeat skeptically. San nods seriously.

“Even Hongjoong-hyung himself didn't believe it. But there's a pulse around him, a positive, protective energy that reflects the sea and keeps him safe from most storms. Someone drew power from it to place a blessing upon him.”

“Let's hope it's enough to save us.” You mutter nervously as the dark shape draws even closer. The ship is almost skimming the waves now, flying with the wind as it angles towards the left.

“Twenty six knots!”

There's a massive cheer from the ship, but their happiness is cut short when the dark shape puts on a burst of speed, moving towards them with some kind of sinister intent.

Mingi lets out a growl.

“Wooyoung, fire the cannons!”

A young man with striking purple hair leaps to a cannon, as do the rest of the gun crews. He adjusts the cannon, moving it about a swiveling platform before locking it in place with a lever.

“Fire!” His voice rings out and one of the crew hands him a piece of burning slip. He touches it to the cannon.

“Fire in the hole!”

“Cover your ears.” San advises you serenely, his own hands clasped over his ears. You follow suit just before you hear a sound like a massive thunderclap that threatens to split the sky in half.

Jumping into the air, you yelp as you feel your ears ringing at the noise. Your eyes, however, trace the almost too fast flight of the cannonball as it streaks across the sky and smashes into the ocean with incredible force.

There's a moment of silence.

Then a pained roar, so loud and so enraged  that every pirate on the deck almost quakes in fear. Then you hear Yunho call from the rigging.

“Land sighted!”

Your eyes follow his, and you spot a cove with narrow opening, likely too small for the sea monster to enter. So that was their plan.

“This is a dangerous plan.” San murmurs to himself. You look at him worriedly.

“Why? From what I see, it's our best option.”

The healer exhales, frowning. “Yes it is, but we're in Navy infested waters and now we're heading for land, where it'll be difficult for us to catch wind and leave. After that cannon shot, every ship in a ten mile radius would have heard us.”

“But we don't have a choice.” You try to reason. San nods reluctantly.

“That's the problem.”

The ship nears the tiny cove, a narrow passage surrounded on all sides by rocky cliffs. The captain, once again, steers his ship through without the slightest bit of fear, as if he's one with the ship. The sides of the ship barely scrape the walls of cove opening, and once you're through, the crew let out a ateezmassive cheer of relief.

The dark shape presses against the mouth of the cove for a moment, as if trying to squeeze it's way in. You watch with bated breath as the monster hovers there, before letting out an immense roar that shakes the very masts of the ship and causes the treasure to rock back and forth unsteadily, a quivering shadow in the deep.

For a brief second, you suddenly see it and your breathing cuts off in a gasp of realization.

It's staring at you, just like before. A colossal shape that glows a brilliant crimson, the colour of blood.

There's another seething roar that causes the sails to shake in the wind and the crew to rush to cover their ears before the shadow vanishes into the depths, as abruptly as it has come.

The crew aboard the ship break out in cheers and hollers of excitement, but you merely slump against the rails of the bulwark, hands trembling as you try to come to terms with what you have just realised.

It was the eye from your dream.

[pomegranates-and-blood]

νοσταλγία (Chapter 12)

νοσταλγία  Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: This is a retelling/romantization of the Greek myth of Persephone’s  abduction with Ivar as Hades and you as Persephone. The Reader character is a Byzantine woman, follower of the Greek Pantheon/Religion, and a devoted follower of Persephone. This takes place after 5A, but the universe of this is a little changed in relation with the series, of course. Thank you for giving it a chance, hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 4.2k  

Warnings: The usual

A/N: Hi, so...either in this chapter I completely dissapoint you or I pleasantly surprise you, I’m very much hoping for the latter lol. I would love to hear your thoughts on this, cause I’m an insecure little fuck and I’m very afraid you’ll all hate this chapter and where the story goes from now on lol

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius​ @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me​

Decided to post this a day earlier cause ffs, between the fucking election and minks with covid and destiel and putin, the world doesn’t make sense anymore. So fuck it, have some Ivar :)

“Word has it that the King has made you a free woman.” The girl whispers, handing you a piece of bread and sitting beside you, looking out at the stars.

“Mhm.”

“We’ve known you were more than a prisoner since the moment you arrived, though.” She quips quietly.

“Oh.” You can only mutter, but the surprise is written in your face.

Freydis smiles, warm and a little cold at the same time, “It is written in the way you walk, witch. You were never a slave, were you?”

“If you are asking if the Saxons kept me a prisoner, the answer is no. That privilege seems to be reserved for your King.” If your last words drip with venom and anger, she does not mention it. You dare think she understands.

“I was. But now, like you, I am free,” Freydis sentences, and this does bring your attention back to her eyes. Depthless blue eyes, perverse and innocent, relentless and broken. When the girl leans closer, you don’t move. Her words are barely a whisper, but carry the strength of the vow you hissed at Stithulf, “Neither you or me will die slaves to men.”

“To whom, then?”

“The Gods. Yours or mine, I do not know,” She answers simply, fierce when she hisses the words at you, “But we mustn’t settle with mortal men. What we have suffered, it has to…mean something. It has to mean we are destined for more, that we are more.”

“Sometimes pain is just pain, Freydis.” You offer quietly, but her mind is set. You wonder for a moment if these thoughts were what made her spirit survive her time as a slave.

“No,” She shakes her head, stubborn, “We are broken because our fate is to be strong, we are…we are defiled because we are to rise above it.”

You roll your eyes, and even if the conversation remains quiet in the dead of night your voice is strong when you argue, “Did Freyja release you from your binds? Will Despoina release me from mine?” The pain lacers at your heart, but you insist, “No. I shall not be thankful for an unending fight to survive.”

“Yet you survive.”

She is not talking about surviving the Byzantine warriors’ almost successful attempt to silence you like they did your mother. She is not talking about surviving the pain of years, centuries, that marks your soul, a pain that Freydis may not know about but understands regardless.

No. She’s talking of the ‘freedom’ you have garnered here in her homeland, of what it means to be a free woman in a world that steps over the ones that cannot fight like men. She is talking of surviving Ivar the Boneless.

As your eyes meet, different stories, different agonies, and different destinies meet as well; but you feel she understands, better than almost anyone, what guided your words, your steps, your promises, that made an army be laid at your feet, to make a mad King set you free.

“King Ivar was the one to free you.” You say quietly, leaning away from the girl. It is not even a question, is a realization. All her words, all her advice…she spoke from experience, more specific experience than you thought.

“He wasn’t a king then.”

A hopeless laugh leaves your lips, “What men like Ivar the Boneless need you to be, you become.” You repeat her words from a few weeks ago, a new meaning to them altogether.

The girl laughs as well, the sound dainty and musical even if it carries iron beneath, “Although now I realize you may have been too arrogant to lie.”

All you can offer her is a shrug and a sigh as you say, “I die on my own terms, with my own face, Freydis.”

“But you didn’t. Die, that is,” She insists, smile on her pale face that you find yourself starting to return in kind. Her hand settles on your knee and she squeezes and you wonder if it is in comfort or something else. “Whatever you are, he wants to keep for himself.”

You say nothing else, turning your gaze back into the sky outside, suddenly reminded of the circumstances that brought you here, of the invisible chains that still remain on you, of how you have failed to become what you ought to.

If we must, we will die. Resisting, like your mother and I taught you.

And yet you cower and accept scraps of freedom at the first chance you have. Shame and resentment fill your heart, and your mother’s favorite piece of jewelry hanging from your neck feels like a noose when your fingers toy with the old metal.

“Did you seduce him?” Freydis starts suddenly, dragging you away from your thoughts so quickly you find yourself disoriented.

You blink a couple of times before you can answer with anything other than a wordless sound to her question.

“What?”

She shrugs with one of her shoulders, drinking from her own cup of warm milk before explaining, “You earned your freedom, or whatever measure of it that you don’t seem to be happy with. Did you bed him for it?”

It should be insulting, but her clear eyes tell you she does not shame you for it. She seems almost…impressed. It still makes something churn at your insides, and you find yourself hating the world that bound her and made her a slave a little bit more.

“No,” You say, slowly, “Was I expected to?”

Did you? Is what your words whisper but you don’t dare voice, although you have an inkling that she hears it regardless. Her eyes remain on you for a few moments too long, and the start of a knowing smile curves at her lips.

The girl still shakes her head in response, “I was curious.”

“Why?” If you sound harsh, if what Sieghild calls your ‘Athenian nobility’ is heard in your tone, Freydis does not mention it.

“He wants you, you know that. Half of Kattegat wants you.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

She shrugs, “Word runs that he has never taken a woman to his bed. Earls have even gifted him noble women and slaves, but he never accepts them.

A part of you wants to ask why she is aware of all this. You remain silent however, looking back out at the stars and wondering why does she believe the King’s cock and its use or lack thereof is something you are interested in discussing.

“It’s not about beauty, the women brought in were the most beautiful I have seen,” She continues on, talking to herself as she recalls, “It’s also not about…power. Most I have seen wouldn’t be sharp-witted enough to try to get something out of him either.”

She seems to be willing to babble on, but a sharp voice interrupts you, no matter how quiet it is.

“Girl,” One of the older women chastises, gaze set on Freydis. “Eyes and ears follow the witch. Be careful.”

You are stunned into silence, as is the girl next to you, and when the quiet of night settles upon you, you can hear the rustling of leather and the deep breaths of soldiers set outside your door.

His guest. You guess to them being a guest just means a looser set of chains, or invisible shackles.

True fear settles in the girl’s pale eyes, and you reach to place a hand in her knee, placating her. The older woman, you do not know her name, motions so that you both move closer to the crackling fire and away from the windows.

“It will do you no good to gossip like this about any son of Ragnar, especially Ivar,” She advices, but a glint in her eye tells you of times in her youth spent just like this. She leans closer, and whispers, “And also, despite the rumors, you must remember he is a hot-blooded young man commanding an army, you oaf.”

“Maybe it’s about control,” The blonde ponders, side-glance directed at you. After a breath, she shrugs, “Maybe you were brought all the way here just to be fucked, witch.”

Freydis ends her sentence in a giggle, her voice quiet and eyes shining. The young girl behind the past suffering and fear.

The old woman smiles, and points towards you with her head, “She speaks like one of our own, she better fuck like one too.”

Her jest is well-meaning even if insulting, and used already to Sieghild’s equally brash humor, you only roll your eyes with a laugh.

The three of you continue exchanging secrets of this land and its people till the moon is high up the sky. It helps with the feeling of shame, the feeling of having betrayed your purpose; it helps, but it doesn’t quieten the voices that demand to know why you get the right to spend the night next to a warm fire laughing and exchanging stories while your people’s corpses are still fresh, while the survivors await the embrace of the incoming winter to let go of their strength.

When the whispers quieten, when the city sleeps, when you are left alone with your thoughts; you realize what a mistake you have made.

You were taught to fight, you were taught to resist. The Gods made you smart and ambitious, and it was for a reason. It may be Fate you are to cross paths with the Varangian, but it is not written that you are to be bound to him, you refuse to believe so.

You have fought with claws and teeth before, you have lied and kissed and promised to avoid bindings. There is no reason why you shouldn’t now, no reason why foolish thoughts and feelings should stop you from doing what you have before.

Fight. To return to your people. To remain free. To overcome.

And so, letting go of the guilt of not trying enough but with a new sort of guilt and shame settling upon you, you depart the apothecary towards the main hall in the dead of night.

You are not stupid, you know the Viking wants you, at least slightly, at least begrudgingly. And he knows he cannot get any political advantage from making you his wife, he may even lose power by making you queen. There aren’t many things he can force out of you, so that leaves your body.

So, if it is your body he wants, you will let him have it, in whatever way he sees fit.

When it is done, when the foreignness is no longer mysterious, when you make the allure of whatever it is dissipate; then it will be easier to make him see that this was not ordained by the Gods, not his and definitely not yours.

You thank the warrior that leads you to the quarters with a nod and a silent smile, wondering in the back of your mind when or how these men got directions that you are to be allowed in the King’s chambers when he hasn’t called for you.

It surprises you that he hasn’t yet gone to sleep, makes you wonder what he has entertained himself with. A foolish thought of it being a someone that entertains the King at night makes you clench your jaw.

Still, you stand in wait, letting curious eyes wander over the spacious room. When the uneven steps reach your ears, followed by the fainter footsteps of two slaves, you straighten your back and face the doorway.

King Ivar’s eyes widen when he finds you in the room, quickly moving over your form in the red dress before he dismisses the slaves with a gesture of his hand.

You keep your eyes on his, but there has never been a time you have shown less in your gaze. He sits down, discarding the crutch at his side, and you walk closer even though your legs shake and your hands tremble.

Playing games kept you from your freedom, but…playing games may keep you from chains this time.

You’d prefer iron shackles on your wrists and ankles for a thousand years if it meant not having to be an unwilling wife before Gods that, although you don’t worship, you respect and believe in.

Your steps falter, and your heart remembers the consequences of the last time you lied in exchange for freedom. The words in your head are promises that this is no different from Narses, even if Narses was kind, and sane, and you cared for him.

What men like Ivar the Boneless need you to be, you become.

You reach up, keeping your eyes on his, and let the dress drop down to the floor, leaving you bare to hungry blue eyes that immediately trace over your body.

His lips part before he speaks, and he seems to stammer for a moment before he asks, “W-What are you…?”

“I know you want me,” You offer, a little entranced by the desire, the fear, the struggle for control that you see written all over his face; taking a small step forward before you realize it. You shake yourself off your stupor, standing straighter. With what feels like your last breath before a defeated descent to Hades, you whisper, “You don’t have to make me your wife, whatever you want you can get without marrying me.”

Any wonder, any trace of desire and boyish vulnerability you could see written all over his face, shining in his hungry eyes; it all disappears with your words.

His expression hardens and his nose furrows on a snarl, his voice gravelly and almost disgusted as he motions dismissively towards you.

“Get dressed.”

You startle, and resist the urge to cover yourself with your hands.

“W-What?”

“I said get dressed. I do not want your pity.”

Your brow furrows along with your nose, and although with trembling hands you grab onto the linen and cover yourself, you still grit out,

“It’s not pity. It’s…desperation.”

“Desperation?”

“I cannot be bound to you, I cannot be made into your wife.” You try, and the pleading tone of your voice makes disgust at yourself churn at your insides.

“Are you ashamed you will have to be the wife to a cripple, hm? Disgusted?” He taunts, the flip of a coin and back into the cruel rage you have faced before, although with a different, more raw edge to it as he presses, “Is that it?”

And as before, the glimpse of something real, the victory of drawing something human out of the monster that bears the crown makes your own back straighten, your own voice turn into steel.

“That you think your legs are the reason I would have for not wanting to be your wife, King Ivar, tells me all I need to know about you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” He spits out, and even as his raised voice puts you on edge, you still run your hands through your hair as you start placing, “Do not walk away from me!”

You turn back to him with wide eyes and quickened breath. But it is not fear, it’s rage. For a moment when your eyes meet you want to dare him to make you fear him, but the arrogance beats the desire to prove your foolish heart wrong, and you spit out,

“You have had me chained and humiliated; you have forced me to become something I do not want to!” Your nose furrows and your eyebrows crease, but your voice lowers and you settle the fury in your voice as you answer his question, “And you thinking me being against all this charade has anything to do with your legs makes me realize in your mind all of this,” You gesture around you, “is somehow alright.”

His nose furrows, his lip curls in a snarl before he argues, “It is Fate!”

“Why!? Because you say so!?” You shake your head, “Impressive a man as you may be, you are not yet a Manteion.”

“A what!?”

Of course he doesn’t know, how could he, how could anyone in this cold and foreign place know at all what you mean when you speak in your tongue, to your Gods, about your world.

Letting all the breath leave your lungs, you let yourself fall to the ground, hiding your face in your hands.

“Our worlds are so different, Ivar, how can you think that-…” You sigh, “I do not belong here, I do not belong here with you.”

“Well, you are here.”

You are here with me.

And his arrogance as he says it, his pride, his power, you have known those for a long time, you have seen them in familiar faces and strangers. You have been forced to accept them, accept their rule over you simply because of the way the world is, for too long now.

Your calves grow warmer before the fire, but even if you put your legs above the burning wood it wouldn’t feel as stinging and as burning as the red mark now on your cheek.

The reminder, the thought of it alone, makes your weak hands tremble and your eyes fill with useless tears.

“Tis your pride hurting more than your face, little one.” Sieghild starts, but even if there is the start of a jest in her words, there’s gravity in her voice.

“He had no right to-…”

“He did,” She interrupts. And it is the truth, and it makes you clench your jaw and look away from her green eyes. “You wounded his pride, most men don’t take kindly to that offense.”

You stay silent, because you know. And you know you spoke out of place, you know you acted like a child, wanting things out of your reach. You know you should have lowered your eyes, shut your mouth.

Still…

“Is what he said true?” You ask meekly, feeling the burn of shame at the base of your throat. “That they can…take me?”

“As a prisoner?” The Viking leans back on her bed, a crooked smile on her inked face, “They can try.”

“As a concubine.”

Your mother focuses on you, “You are my daughter, little one. They can force no binds on you.”

“What do you mean?”

Sieghild smiles, with that same smile that speaks of a world of liberties women where you come from could never even fathom.

“You need me to say yes!” You yell before you can stop the words from leaving your lips, and you can only watch with widened eyes and a hand over your treacherous mouth as Ivar the Boneless turns to look at you again, the arrogant ire shining in his clear eyes. You scramble to stand, your eyes wide and hand still somewhat covering your mouth.

“What?”

He heard you. This would be your opportunity to take back your words, to take back your resistance, to accept surrender. You waged war against the very Empire the last time you were asked to surrender, though.

“You need my consent for us to be married, Varangian,” You state instead, the words fast and your breath also. You stand up, hands tightened to fists. A flinch of anger passes over the King’s expression as he presses his lips together, irritated that you are apparently so bent on being free. Yes, truly scandalous of you. You swallow your own irritation down and insist, “I am a free woman, you can’t force me.

He considers you quietly for a moment, and before he has a chance to argue, you remind him,

“You won’t break a promise, so you won’t make me a slave,” Even if your voice shakes, you continue, “I-I know of your ways, of…of your Gods. This wasn’t arranged, and since I’m free you need me to say yes.”

He hears the words you don’t say: And I will say no.

After a moment of stubbornly considering you, the King merely shakes his head.

“You have already been given to me.”

“That Christian has no claims to me, and you know this.” You tell him, speak ing of Stithulf and his useless chains.

“I’m not talking about him,” Ivar says, cold smile on his face as he leans on his crutch and serves a goblet of mead. He lifts the cup to you in offering, but you remain in your spot. With a sigh of both disappointment and irritation, the King gulps down the drink and clarifies, “I’m talking about your mother.”

“My mother is dead.” You say without hesitation, although a pit of fear starts opening at your stomach.

But he shakes his head, lifting a finger from his hold on the cup and pointing to you as he corrects, “I don’t mean the Greek one.”

“You are lying,” Is all you say as you look into Ivar’s eyes, your voice trembling as much as the rest of your body. Your nails dig into your palms but you cannot help it, you cannot tell your body to uncoil, not until you hear the truth. “You are lying to play with my head.”

“How would I know Sieghild Vorsdottir, King Rorik’s wife, famed shieldmaiden from the Danes, is the woman that raised you?” He offers, and with each word the ground under your feet dissolves more and more, “She came to me, told me she gave me your hand. I have witnesses.”

No, no, she would never. All those years, telling you to stand tall, teaching you not to bite your tongue, it cannot all have been for her to ditch you and sell you off to the first king you encounter.

You want to think this rationally, you want to remain calm and look for the truth but…

A part of you that will always be her child, that will always love her like the mother you lost too soon; that part of you leaves you with your hands shaking and your throat clogged with only one word.

Móðir…

“She would never do that, she…” You close your eyes with a deep breath, “If she did such a thing, she told you why.”

“She said she had to, that it was fate.”

“You are lying.” The words are choked, the last grasp of a dying hope.

“Would you stop with that? I am not lying.”

Sieghild’s sad and loving eyes on you, her hand holding your face, “I have asked Freya for help ever since we arrived in Scandinavia. She has answered.”

Frantic questions leave your lips, but in her smile there’s the same resignation you saw when she said goodbye as you readied to face the Byzantines for what was supposed to be your death, “The Seer’s words-…it does not matter anymore.”

“She said-…she knew all this time,” You choke out, wide eyes searching the nothing before you for answers, “Her visions, the Seer’s words, she…she knew.”

There’s a strange moment of hesitation, a breath of uncertainty where you think the Viking is trying to find a way to comfort you.

“Prophecies, visions…it is usually too late to change the result when we realize what the Seer’s words mean.” Is what he finally settles on saying.

Foolish, stubborn tears sting at your eyes, and it is with a shaky hand you reach to hold on tight to your mother’s necklace, despair cursing through your veins.

The Völva offers you a small smile, equally mocking and apologetic, “Run if you want to, fight, kick, scream. Fate will drag you home by the wrists, child. You know how this tale goes. The chariot’s pace will tear the world asunder as darkness goes looking for you.”

Your eyes trace over the skyline, almost frantically searching for an answer you know you will not find there.

“This…this place,” You look over the sea, feeling your chest tighten. “This was Ragnar’s pride. Sieghild’s tales…this is Queen Aslaug’s home. The empty throne.”

“You are not making any sense.”

“I was supposed to come here, before I even returned to Greece. I was-…Sieghild, she knew we were to return to her homeland, to that place ruled by a witch from the Danes.

You turn to him with wide eyes, a manic laugh bubbling up in your chest at the realization. For once, the King stays silent, watching you raptly.

“She knew it was fate. We ran from it, I ran from it.

It is with wide eyes and parted lips you look at the man before you, now in a new light, now with a new weight over your shoulders and heart.

“I have no choice,” The revelation is stealing the air from your lips, but with cracked tones you whisper, “I am…I am to be here. It is fate I become your wife.”

Fate. You never thought a word that once brought you so much comfort would make you feel so devastated.

“I will not be a bad husband for you,” He promises after a moment of silence, voice as uncertain as his eyes searching yours, “You will want for nothing, you will be respected by our people, I...I will take care of you.

You nod, but stay silent as the weight of it all settles upon you. You don’t know what is expected out of you now, what fight can you conjure up, what you can try -and see fail, again- to try and escape these…these invisible shackles.

There’s a moment of quiet, and the man moves in his seat, settling back in place with a posture that in anything other than a monster would make you think he’s sheepish, awkward.

His voice is low, almost hesitant as he offers, “You can ask for anything you want.”

You look at him out of the corner of your eye, “I do not ask for things I do not deserve, my King.”

Maybe it is time you stop asking for freedom.

____

Kay so Ivar’s words at the end are inspired on Hades’ speech to Persephone in the Homeric Hymns: “(…) feel kindly in your heart towards me: be not so exceedingly cast down; for I shall be no unfitting husband for you among the deathless gods, that am own brother to father Zeus. And while you are here, you shall rule all that lives and moves and shall have the greatest rights among the deathless gods: those who defraud you and do not appease your power with offerings, reverently performing rites and paying fit gifts, shall be punished for evermore."

Anyhow, I would love to hear what you think of this chapter and of where the story has led. I hope I haven’t dissapointed you, honestly.

Thank you so much for reading and I hope to see you next Tuesday!! Love you all :)

[honourablejester]

Well that got my back up right off, oof.

I was browsing through the TV Tropes character page for Ravenloft, because it gives a nice intro to older lore, and I came across this entry on Addar, Darklord of the Phantasmal Forest:

“Mentioned in the writeups for the Shadow Unicorns, Addar was promoted to Darklord status in the Kargatane's Book of Sacrifices netbook. Hailing from a sylvan forest on an unknown Prime world, Addar chafed against the traditions of unicorns submitting to elven maidens as bonded steeds, seeing such an act not as a bond of partnership and purity, but a symbol of humiliation and servitude. Though the other benevolent fey spirits of his forest recoiled from such bitter, poisonous prejudice, darker spirits rejoiced in it. Most prominently, a female nightmare, who began to contact Addar in his dreams, seducing him with stories of a new forest, far away, where he would become a great champion and worshiped like a god, much like the guardians of his own forest. Even as Addar's ego grew on this noxious fuel, the elder fey strove to break him of his arrogance; they arranged for an elven princess of unparalleled purity and grace, a mighty paladin-in-training, to be given his name and told she was to invoke the pact with him. When she came to summon him, however, Addar fought with all his might, recoiling against what he still saw as an attempt to enslave him and reduce him to a mere beast of burden. His defiance allowed the nightmare to slip between the worlds and attack the elf-maid, setting the forest alight with her burning mane and hooves. Free of the spell, Addar began to flee, only to realize the elf-maid was caught by the flames; choked by the smoke, she couldn't hope to escape on her own... but Addar's pride would not allow him to let her ride to safety on his back. Instead, he turned and abandoned the screaming princess to her death, following the nightmare into the mists. Upon her, he fathered the first Shadow Unicorns, and became ruler of the Phantasmal Forest; a foul and dismal place of dead, dying trees whose black, noxious soul nourished only weeds and evil plants, inhabited only by dark fey and predatory beasts.”

So, okay. I just gonna … I’m gonna side with the Darklord here? Yeah.

Not on the whole ‘seduced by a dark spirit with promises of being worshipped like a god’ thing, that’s fair enough as a villain origin. Carry right on. But the bit where he saw being bound to someone as servitude, and the response of the people around him to that …

Right. So. To sum up. Addar saw being bound to an elf as being bound into servitude, and the fey around him saw this as possibly racism and definitely pride, and their ‘benevolent’ solution … was to send someone to punitively and magically bind him into said servitude against his will, specifically for the purposes of ‘breaking him of his arrogance’?

Um. Explain to me how that’s not slavery?

It doesn’t matter how pure and beautiful a paladin she was. It doesn’t matter that the bond is normally not slavery because (I’m assuming) the other unicorns consented. In this case it absolutely, one-hundred-percent was slavery, because Addar did not consent to it and they tried to magically force him anyway, and I feel like every ‘benevolent’ fey involved in the decision should have slipped immediately over into Lawful Evil, for valuing their tradition over the will and consent of one of their own.

Like, this is phrased in such a hostile way to his interpretation of what was happening to him? I just … I love how this frames him as entirely unreasonable here. That his wanting not to be bonded to anyone is ‘bitter, poisonous prejudice’, that his recoiling while being bound against his will is only struggling against what he saw as an attempt to enslave him, as if he’s wrong about that and it was blindly willful of him to fight. That this binding is explicitly meant to correct him of his arrogance, that he’s being bound to someone to humble and punish him, and somehow this is not slavery? That it’s his defiance that allows a dark spirit to slip into the world, but if you didn’t force him against his will, maybe he wouldn’t have to fight and let nightmares into the world? It’s his ‘pride’ that causes him to abandon the woman who attempted to enslave him to her death, not an entirely reasonable unwillingness to help someone who just tried to force him?

Sorry. I had a surprisingly strong reaction to this, is all.

But. This is just the TV Tropes summary of the story, so I went to look up the original, in case TV Tropes was leaving stuff out or putting a slant on the story in the process of repeating it. And … sort of. The original does gentle a few things:

Addar was not aware of the nightmare’s nature at first

The fey spirits were not aware of the nightmare at all, since she was only approaching the unicorn in his dreams

The spirits could feel a corruption in his soul as a result of the nightmare’s temptations, and without knowledge of her presence, his hatred of ‘servitude’ was the only thing they could tie that corruption to. This doesn’t make their ‘solution’ any better, but it explains a bit why they were so adamant, if the nightmare was having a tangible magical effect for the worse on him

The spirits didn’t think of it as ‘breaking him of his arrogance’, they thought of it as teaching him ‘a lesson about the virtue of sharing and partnership’

The elf they chose had no knowledge whatsoever of any of this, she was just told that Addar was a unicorn who wished to bind with her and was given permission to perform the ritual

She spammed the ritual repeatedly despite his resistance because she didn’t know what was happening and thought he might be trapped somewhere

He realised she was in danger, and turned away from her truly because he didn’t want to bear any elf, and he thought another unicorn for whom that wouldn’t be a problem would reach her in time

Things the original story doesn’t help, though:

It still seems to imply that a unicorn must bind with someone pure, whether they want to or not, and everyone is apparently fine with that

“Such bitter thoughts, coming from an average person, would normally be seen as mere prejudices, and might even go unnoticed by most others. But it was no less than an appointed guardian of Goodness and Nature who was spitting those poisoned words, and that was seen with concern by some inhabitants of the forest, and with joy by others. These last were, of course, creatures of darkness and foul spirits, who were barely tolerated by others as part of the natural balance.” Virtue and goodness mean surrendering your right to autonomy, but for other people wanting to not bind yourself to someone is okay?

“She was training to be a noble warrior-priestess, and the ancient spirits dictated that Addar should be her steed. So, she was told Addar's name and given permission to tame him. The spirits thought he would finally accept the noble partner and once again become true to his nature, leaving the perverted ideas behind forever.” She’s beautiful and virtuous, so she deserves to ride him, and he should leave all ‘perverted ideas’ of bodily autonomy behind him

The ritual is still explicitly a forceful spell, an enchantment that does not require the consent of the unicorn, and can wear away their strength to resist: “Addar, who was finally losing his powers to resist the enchantment, suddenly felt free once again, when the nightmare took his place.”

“As he turned around one last time to see the princess choking to death, he knew in his corrupted heart that he was never going to allow anyone to ride him, under no circumstances. He would be king of his own forest.” This is meant to be the heart of why he’s a Darklord, the epitome of his corruption, and yes it’s extremely selfish to refuse to carry someone out of a literal fire that was burning her to death, and yes to the whole ‘prideful desire to be king and ruler no matter the cost’ thing, but on the other hand is it really meant to be evil to not want people to feel free to use your body against your will just because of your species?

I just … this whole thing sort of rubbed me completely the wrong way. It’s an odd thing to get riled up over, I know. But the whole … Ignore bodily autonomy, ignore consent, take someone’s species as license to bind them into service, declare them evil for not wanting to allow that, if they object too many times just magically force them anyway …

Look. The base fact is, the binding of the ritual is slavery and is not a ‘partnership’ and ‘a prize and honor for both beings’ in this case, for the sole and simple reason that Addar did not consent and everyone else ignored that and tried to force it on him anyway. Partnership requires consent on both ends, and forcing someone into servitude against their will is sort of the definition of slavery.

I just … I’m gonna side with the Darklord here. Not on the whole ‘allow myself to be corrupted and move to my own world where I’ll be king’ part, but on the whole ‘refuse to allow someone to use my body against my will and rebel when they attempt to magically force the issue’? Absolutely yes. The spirits were completely in the wrong there. The elf maiden not so much, because she didn’t know and acted in innocence towards someone she thought had consented, and it’s definitely tragic that she died for that, but I’m mostly going to put the blame for that on the spirits as well. Addar maybe should have helped her when he saw her dying, but they’d given him literally every reason not to by tricking her into, essentially, trying to enslave him and override his will. If someone tries to magically enslave me no matter how hard or long I fight, and winds up in mortal peril because of it, I’m not going to be too pushed about helping them out of that mortal peril either. Gonna be honest.

I reacted really strongly to this. Oof. Sorry.

It’s just … is it just me, or does D&D sometimes have some problems with consent, particularly when it comes to issues of magic, as well as some really dodgy views of ‘virtue’ and ‘evil’, particularly when it comes to magical species and what’s expected of them?

[mrsalwayswrite]

Aes Sídhe (Finan x Reader) Part 1

This is my first time writing for The Last Kingdom fandom! I have adored the show since it came out but have always been too nervous to try and write for it. This idea came to mind though and would not leave me alone...so here it is.

Can be read as reader or OFC since there is no real description given. 

I want to thank @geekandbooknerd​ and @medievalfangirl​ for your own amazing Finan writings. I am slightly embarrassed how many times I have gone back and reread them.  

In regards to the title: from my understanding (granted I could be very wrong), an aes sídhe is an Irish term for a supernatural race in Irish and Scottish mythology, similar to fairies and elves.

Warnings: None

Words:2k

PART 2

Finan rose from his spot near the campfire. The sun had not yet set but Uhtred decided to make camp early. Not that Finan was complaining. They had been riding hard for days, heading back to Wintanceaster with news for King Alfred. 

 "Where are you off to?"

 Finan glanced over at Osferth, who was laying on his side across from the campfire. "I'm going to wash my hands."

 "You'll need to wash more than your hands to not smell like a pig sty." 

 "Oi! What was that, baby monk?" Finan tossed his blanket at the lad, the others around the fire smiling. "Do not lament my absence too much!" He started walking towards the nearby creek, away from their campsite. 

 "What would we miss? Life is quieter without you."

 "I HEARD THAT, SIHTRIC!" 

The sound of laughter followed the Irishman as he carefully made his way down the steep bank to the creek. Only a few paces of rocky sand separated the creek from the steep bank, which surrounded and kept the creek easily hidden. The last of the sunlight peeked through the trees all around. The forest was quiet, the only noises were the bubbling creek and the distant sound of those still around the campfire. 

 They had decided to camp above and some paces from the creek. It would have been impossible to maneuver the horses down the steep banks and being camped above allowed them to stand watch unencumbered. The only downfall was having to carry water up for the horses. Yet having watched Osferth douse himself when he tripped was worth it. The memory still made Finan chuckle. 

 Dropping down the last part of the steep bank, he moved to the edge of the creek. The small rocks and sand gave way under his boots. He splashed the cool water over his face and hands then took a moment to watch the droplets fall from his beard back into the creek. If the water had been deeper, he would have stripped down to fully cleanse himself. Alas, it was too shallow but even just cleaning what he could felt refreshing from the dust and sweat of the road.  

 With a sigh, he allowed the memories he venomously ignored to come forth. This place, the creek bed and the trees, the stillness and the sunlight...it reminded him of a favorite spot from his childhood. Where his brother and himself would sneak away to go looking for faerie mounds or kelpies, much to their mother's dismay. A lighter time. An easier time...before betrayal. 

 Harshly, he shoved the memories back and closed the lid on them. It did no good to think about them. He was here now. He was happy here. Uhtred was a brother he was bonded to and would readily give his life for. Sihtric and even Osferth were like younger brothers he looked out for. Clapa was a good friend. It was better he was here. 

 A soft plop in the water made him look up. He knew it was most likely an animal coming to drink or a rock sliding to cause the sound but long years of being a warrior and always on alert forced him to constantly be aware of his surroundings. 

 What he saw forcibly drew the breath from his lungs in a gasp. 

 A woman knelt on a large stone, several paces away and across the creek from him. With one hand dipped in the water making slow circles, she watched the ripples as if lost in thought. Her hair was draped over one shoulder, a yellow kingcup flower tucked behind her ear. With her face exposed, her ethereal beauty was on full display for him to bare witness to. There was nothing about her that would not cause the darkest envy in other women and the strongest lust in all men. She was beauty incarnate. A creature not of this world. 

 He was unable to remove his eyes, nor move or call out, spellbound to only her. 

 Suddenly she looked up and locked eyes with him. A noose around his neck would have had less of a binding hold on him. Her eyes both pierced and soothed his soul. Her very being a vision that summoned him as a man possessed. Yet he could not move nor break her enchantment. They stared at one another; eyes locked from across the creek. 

 Ever so slowly she stood up and it was only then he took into account what she was wearing. A thin, white shift covered her, but with the fading sunlight behind her, it was almost transparent. Her outline and curves caressed by the fabric, an enticement and illusion. Never had he witnessed a woman more perfect. 

 "Are...are you alright, my lady?" His words broke the spell, his tongue finally recalled how to function. But as soon as the words were released, he would have given anything to return them. 

 After one slow blink of those captivating eyes, she fled. Moving as silently and quickly as a shadow, she jumped off the rock and hurried away on the other side of the creek. Neither rocks nor sticks hindered her bare feet. 

 "Wait!" He cried out, stumbling over himself as he gave chase. He ran opposite of her, trying to keep her in his sights lest she vanish and he awaken from this dream. 

 She followed a bend in the creek, darting between two trees that stood sentry on the edge. Uncaring of his clothing, he darted across the creek, the water only reaching mid-calf.  When he crossed over and rounded the bend, desperate for a glimpse of her, only the tranquil sight of the forest and creek lay before him. His eyes scoured everywhere, trying to catch a glimpse of her. There were no footprints his trained eyes could see, no markings that anyone had passed by. He scratched the back of his neck as he turned around once again, hoping he had missed something. 

 Yet there was nothing. She had vanished. 

 With a reluctant sigh, he turned to head back to camp. He had been gone long enough the others would question him. A bright spot of color amongst the dull colors of the rocks caught his eye. Moving closer he found a small bush of the kingcup flowers. Gently he stroked one of the many flowers' petals, remembering how they looked in her hair. On a whim, he plucked three and walked back to the stone she had knelt on. 

 "For you, aes sídhe." He whispered laying them down reverently. The bright yellow stood out on the gray stone, like the sun shining through on a cloudy day. 

 Looking around him once more, he crossed the creek and headed back towards camp. The further he walked, the more he began to question what he saw. A pinch to the arm proved he was not dreaming. Could it have been some kind of vision? He doubted that. He was not holy enough nor had enough drink to induce one. 

 "There he is!"

 "Thought you had finally drown."

 Finan threw himself on the ground next to his pack, ignoring the teasing of Osferth and Sihtric. He rubbed a hand over his beard and stared at the sky as the first few stars appeared in the sky. He could not get the image of her out of his head. So beautiful and pure. 

 A tickling in his ear brought his attention back to the present. He swatted at his ear and looked over to discover Uhtred next to him, a long blade of grass in hand and hovering over his head. 

 "What is bothering you?"

 Finan sat up, his arms over his knees. "Aes sídhe."

 "What?"

 "Nothin'. Thought I had seen somethin' at the water."

 Uhtred's brows furrowed slightly, trying to decipher his friend's meaning. "Well while you think, you have first watch. We drew straws earlier and you lost." He slapped Finan on the back. 

 "Sihtric rigged it."

 "Lies!" Sihtric threw a clump of dirt at a chuckling Osferth. "It was Fate that chose."

 "Why are you always throwing stuff at me?" Osferth whined, wiping the dirt mark off his robes. 

 "You deserve it."

 Uhtred spoke. "It would seem we need to work on your reflexes."

 "Yes, lord." Osferth sighed, eyes downcast. 

 "Don't worry, baby monk, I know what will help. We will take turns throwing knives at you. Eventually you'll dodge them."

 Osferth groaned. 

 With a clap on Uhtred's shoulder, Finan got up to settle against a tree nearby that offered a better spot for watching the camp and its surroundings. In truth he did not mind being on first watch tonight. With memories of her, clinging to him like summer's heat, he knew sleep would elude him. He tried to push the thoughts of her aside but to no avail. In truth he doubted he would ever be able to forget her. 

 ***

 The next morning, a rough kick to his back woke him. He groaned, attempting to rub the sleep from his eyes as he sat up. 

 "I never thought you one for flowers, Finan." Sihtric said, walking to the other side of the camp. 

 "What?"

 Osferth piped up, head swiveling, looking from Finan to Sihtric. "Or perhaps it is from a special lady?"

 "What lady is around here besides the horses?" Sihtric snorted. 

 "Maybe it is a horse?"

 "What are ya fools talkin' about?" Finan eyed the smirks on the faces of those around him. His mind refused to fully abandon the land of dreams. There had been something... something on the edge of his consciousness but he could not recall it now. 

 "Behind you." Uhtred nodded towards Finan's pack. 

 Unsure, he looked to his pack on his other side…and froze. The kingcup flowers lay next to where his head had just been, but this time, a thin white strip of fabric bound the flowers together. Hesitantly he reached out and touched the flowers then fabric, in awe when he could feel their texture beneath his fingers.

 She was not a dream or vision. 

 Without warning he rose to his feet and scanned around him. He ignored the confused looks of his companions. Only on a second scan did he glimpse something. On further inspection, it was the slightest indent of footprints amongst the grasses. It was too small to be any of Uhtred's men. Plus, the blades were barely bent by whose feet stepped on them, they would have been easy to miss. 

 "Finan?"

 He realized he looked like a madman, first startled by flowers and searching for a sign around them. He stood up, arms crossed when he turned back. "Yes, lord?"

 "Something amiss?"

 He wondered if he should tell them. Their camp had been infiltrated and no one knew it. Yet as he opened his mouth, the words died on his tongue. 

 "No, I just...it must have been a dream."

 "If you say." The Dane-Slayer did not look like he fully believed his friend but would let it go this time. "We leave soon."

 Ignoring those around him, he knelt in front of his pack. Memories of her, still so sharp even after sleep, came forth unaided. He gently touched the white strip of cloth, reminiscent of her thin shift. Had she torn the strip from it?  Before the others could notice, he stuck the flowers in his pack and the cloth up his arm-guard.  

 He looked one last time towards the creek. "Go dtí go mbuailfimid le chéile arís, mo aes sídhe." (Until we meet again, my aes sídhe.)

 "WE RIDE!" Uhtred called then sent his horse into a canter, his men following him loyally. 

 Finan could not help one last glance over his shoulder. If he thought he caught a glimpse of a white shift and a form peeking out from between the trees, he could not prove it. He turned back to following the others. In his mind he prayed that this would not be the last time he saw her. 

[voorheehees]

the talisman

a little thing I wrote for my slasher oc :p 

The neon lights of the city looked almost muted behind the tinted windows. Red, green, gold, and pink letters spelled ‘Poker’, ‘Lobster Dinner’, ‘Live Nudes’, ‘Dead Nudes’, ‘Girls Girls Girls’. It was beautiful. Jonas watched the lively strip from his top floor suite, like a king watching over his peasants. The view from the top of The Talisman Hotel & Casino could not be beat, depending on who you asked of course. Jonas kept one hand was clasped around a glass of scotch, the other tucked casually into his white pants pocket. He looked like a cliche pornstar, washed up, sleazy, but a decent enough frame to rake in a few bucks. His brown hair was forced back by a thick layer of gel, exposing a pale face with cold, blue eyes. If it wasn’t for the expensive suit and solid gold chain around his neck, one might assume he was nothing more than a busted used car salesman. But busted as he may have been, Jonas Deihl was no cheap bastard. The Talisman Hotel & Casino had been in his family for generations, passed down from father to son. Old, old money. And despite his reckless casanova reputation, Jonas was no fool when it came to running the family business. The Talisman was known for its luxury and top-of-the-line services, attracting all customers from celebrities to billionaires to wasted bachelorettes. It was a sinner’s eutopia. And most everyone knew the devil that ran it. Although the general opinion of Mr. Deihl was that he seemed like a bit of a sociopath, reeked of overpriced cologne, and overall came off as quite off at times, people could in no way deny his sickening charm or the thick wad of cash he kept generously in his breast pocket. And Jonas devoured the attention. It was a rare feat to see him roaming the bar or lobby without a model or drag queen or two wrapped around his arm, and a signature devious smile plastered on his face. He was like the poor man’s Hugh Hefner.

The shrill sound of a meow which could only be compared to the sound of a slow, painful death suddenly tore Jonas’ attention away from the Las Vegas cityscape. He turned to see a tortoiseshell cat sitting perched on the glass coffee table, her orange eyes glaring daggers directly into her master’s chest.

“What’s the matter Camile?” Jonas cooed, approaching the animal.

“Daddy not giving you enough attention?”

He set his glass down on the table and reached out to scratch Camile’s head. Without warning, she hissed loudly, whipping her paw around to sink a set of sharp claws into his hand. The man yelped as he ripped his hand away, unintentionally making the damage of the scratch worse. Camile seemed pleased with herself at the sight of blood dripping down his bejeweled fingers. Jonas swore under his breath and once again lifted his glass, making sure to take one last, large gulp of the liquid. 

“Little bitch.” He grumbled.

The two of them had never particularly gotten along. Yet over time, Jonas had become very attached to Camile, thinking of her more as a baby than a pet, and she liked the free food, catnip, and designer collars. The man pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and pressed it to the wound. It seemed that sharp nails were his only kryptonite. The clear, small but deadly ones of sweet little Camile, and the colorful ones of desperate, panicked fingers attached to soft, trembling hands. He smiled at the thought of them, unconsciously tracing over the pink, fleshy scars on his collarbone. He remembered the woman who had put them there. It was three months ago. Her nails had been green with little gold hearts on each of the ring fingers. They looked cute, different. That’s why he had picked her. He liked the ones that stood out in some way, whether it be their nails, shoes, hair, anything really. He had an eye for unique pieces. 

The images of past conquests dancing in his head reminded him of his latest one, whom he had so rudely left alone in the bathroom. He smiled to himself, tossing the bloodied handkerchief onto the coffee table. 

He could hear muffled whimpers even before he reached the door handle. The sound was music to his ears, an itch to his groin. He opened the door like it was some game show reveal of his million dollar prize. Yet there was no car or all inclusive trip to Aruba waiting there for him. It was so much better.

The woman on the bathroom floor made the best attempt of a scream at the sight of him, which was unfortunately cloaked by the wash cloth stuffed deep in her mouth. Jonas grinned down at her, slowly removing each of his rings as she scooted her bound body towards the bathtub in a trivial effort to escape. He found it sort of amusing, in a sad kind of way. Her legs had been broken, and it took every fiber of his being to not burst into laughter at the sight of her struggle. She had just moved to the city with hopes of becoming a burlesque star. Jonas had smiled at her wide, eager eyes as she told him her plans at the downstairs bar, all the while mentally howling at how pathetic she was. It was no trouble to get this naive little princess up to his suite. 

He slunk towards her before crouching down to her level. She winced as he removed her gag, gasping at the sudden sliver of freedom. Her two front teeth had a large gap, like Pattie Boyd. That’s why he had chosen her.

It was all such an incredible high to him. Better than any drug, liquor, or orgasm could ever give him. The fear in her eyes, the gore of her now useless legs, the thick stench of sweat and adrenaline that filled the windowless room. He got off on the power, the idea that for a short moment in time, he was God. He wiped the mix of tears and mascara from her cheek, hands hot and vile against her cold skin. 

“Why’re you crying baby?” his voice attempted to carry out a sweet tone, which only sounded more bitter. 

The woman’s lower lip quivered, her eyes frantically trying to avoid his own. 

“Please don’t hurt me. Just let me go home.” she choked out. 

Jonas smiled and sucked his teeth, seemingly drinking her words up slowly in contemplation. His ego felt swollen, not dissimilar to how the patrons of his casino must have felt when they won a jackpot or when they knew they were about to get lucky. 

“Sorry beautiful,” he spoke finally, “I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

She couldn’t even blink before the man pulled a knife from a holster around his ankle and plunged directly between her still wet eyes. A look of shock and hopelessness remained painted on her face as her body fell onto the tile floor with a thud. Jonas removed the knife and placed it back into the holster. His heart raced, his eyes were wild. It was pure ecstasy and he didn’t want it to end. He slowly rose to his feet, shifting his attention to the sink to wash away the crimson residue. His high was wearing off fast, and the self-loathing and restlessness began to creep back into his mind. He looked into the mirror. His eyes were baggy and dark, pristine white suit now riddled with blood. He looked like shit, to say the least. He splashed cold water onto his face and stripped down, leaving only his chain and weapon on his naked body. A red, silk robe hung on the back of the bathroom door which he slipped into. He felt drained, miserable even, crashing back down to his decrepit existence after such sheer moments of bliss. This was always the worst part of what he did, the aftermath. He plopped down onto the couch with a grunt and propped his feet up next to Camile who hadn’t left her spot on the coffee table. She used his legs as a bridge and climbed over his body to rest on the back of the sofa next to her owner’s sleepy head. 

“Are you ready to be nice now?” Jonas asked her in a condescending tone. 

She mewed in reply, glendly pawing at his hair. Jonas smiled and scratched her chin, his eyes becoming increasingly heavier. He let them close, already dreaming about his next great high. 

[imaginesmai]

Peter Parker - See the light (1)

Here is the first part of the Tangled series! If you don’t know what I’m talking about, here is a small sneak peek . Let me know if you want to be tagged! 

This doesn’t follow exactly the story, but I’m trying to be as accurate as possible. If you haven’t seen the film, you can still understand the story, but it will be easier if you have seen it since it follows the main plot. Just a reminder; reader is not as neutral as in other fics, since the story requires a specific characteristics and I didn’t want to change Peter.

Now, I hope you enjoy it!

Plot: Peter Parker has changed over the past few years. From the sweet boy that helped in town, to a thief running away from the guards with the missing princess’ crown. While doing so, he comes across a tower with a girl with a  ridiculously amount of hair. First encounters had never been so agressive for him.

The forest was nothing more than a blur as Peter dashed through the overgrowth. The mossy ground was spongy under the soles of his feet, as he practically bounded around the trees and danced around roots and barbs. His lungs burned, his legs pleading with him to slow down, but he couldn’t. The soldiers were hot on his heels, and as long as the crown was still in his possession, he couldn’t slow his sprint.

“Parker!” one of the brother shouted over his shoulder. “Keep up!”

Peter just huffed in response. The other two men were already far ahead of him; both keeping stronger stride and pace. He leaped over a fallen log and narrowly missed getting clipped by a low hanging branch. Behind him, the could hear the pounding of horses and shouting from the commander of the guard.

Suddenly, the back of Peter’s vest was being grabbed, and he was pulled into the cool brush by a strong hand. He struggled for only a second before realizing that is the other Stabbington brother who pulled him in.

“Shut up and stay still” the one with the patch scolded, and Peter’s shoulders slumped.

The theft of the crown had been nothing but improvising. Even though Peter had been dreaming with having it for months, lately he had been more focused on other things. Like the death of his uncle, murdered by the guards in a misunderstanding, or the death of his aunt, killed by an illness that Peter couldn’t afford. When the Stabbington brothers had suggested him the job, he almost said no; but he had to do something apart from hurting.

And hurting the king wasn’t such a bad option.

The ground thundered with the thumping of hoof steps, and Peter bit his tongue. The other two men were already running, caring little about the ‘team’. Peter fell into pace behind them, his lungs aching again. They didn’t run for long thought, as the trees seemed to end and they were cut off by a tall cliffside.

The three of them stared at it, until Peter broke the silence.

“Alright, help me up” Peter clapped his hands. His colleagues just stared at him in shock. “I’ll pull you up after. I’m the smallest and the lightest.”

“Give us the bag” the first one growled, holding out his hand.

“And I thought I had earned your trust” Peter said, arching a brow. There was no trust between them, and they all knew they would kill each other; even the brothers between.

The brothers just gave him narrowed eyes, so Peter gave them the bag. The crown made a tingling noise, and Peter thought of all the things that could go better if he had it.

Less than a minute later, Peter was climbing up their back like a human ladder. He had always been a skinny boy, that had grown muscles with the years, and he was used to climb into the trees for fun; so it was easy to get to the top. At the last second, he slipped the satchel right off one of them and then scampered up onto the higher ground.

“Parker, your hand” Peter should really know their names, but he couldn’t quite differentiate them.

“Sorry, but I don’t think I have one to spare. See you later!”

The brothers caught sight of the satchel in Peter’s hand, but Peter was already running before he could steal it back. The last thing he heard was his colleague’s cries of anger.

That time, sprinting didn’t feel as tiring as it did before. The horses were still behind him, but it was less threatening that earlier. Peter assumed that most of the guards had stopped over the brothers, so he had a few minutes.

As he let the wind hit his skin, Peter thought how a few years ago he wouldn’t have been able to steal, or to cheat. He was a simple boy who lived with his aunt and uncle; not with too much money, but happy enough. He had a best friend – Ned –, a girl who he considered his girlfriend – MJ – and even a man who he was learning from – Mr. Stark, the inventor –. Everything had been perfect, until they all left him, one by one, and he found himself stealing for a living. It wasn’t fun, and sometimes he allowed himself to share a few tears over the night, but it was necessary.

Peter didn’t let the emotions much room, and kept running, until he found a tower to hide.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There was someone in the valley.

You knew it wasn’t your mother. For one, the person didn’t call for you to let down your hair, and secondly, the person was then climbing the body of the tower to get inside. Years of being hidden in that tower, without getting out, let you know that whoever was there didn’t have friendly intentions. Your mother had warned you from them, men that wanted to kidnap you, armies that would drag you away. And thirdly, you had a too silent chameleon looking at the window.

You had hidden yourself from sight, the heaviest and most deadly pan you owned then secured in your grasp. It was slightly rusty, but that wouldn’t stop it from being able to be swung at the intruder.

The person was breathing heavily as they scaled the tower, and moments later, you observed in freight as they crawled through the window and into the living space. It was a man, and fortunately enough, he had his back turned to you.

The man reached for the bag he had slung around his torso and looked inside. He sighed.

“You arrived a few months late, my friend”

There was a slight sad tone on his voice, but he didn’t get to say much more before you had clobbered him in the back of the head with the pan. The hit wasn’t hard, just enough to have him fall to the ground, unconscious.

You stared at him for a second. For the first time, you were looking at someone other than your mother. Pascal scampered up your back and then rested on your shoulder, the little chameleon blinking confused. You ignored your friend and took a tentative step towards the stranger, curious; Pascal only shuffled backward.

The man, or boy, had chestnut hair, full of messy curls, and a clean jaw that didn’t seem like the ruthless beards of the vikings you were waiting. His long eyelashes rested peacefully in a face that seemed full of worries, although he could be sleeping. Lips parted and breathing, the stranger was beautiful.

He wore a bright blue vest without sleeves, an underneath white shirt and pants that had seen better days, brown boots scuffed and well worn. Something that seemed a small spider was drawn on the bottom of the vest.

“What do you think he is, Pascal? A ruffian or a thug? He doesn’t seem the bogeyman to me” you asked, feeling intrigued. “That’s not what the plague looks like, is it?”

Pascal seemed to roll his eyes on your shoulder, turning around and looking out of the window.

“You’re very helpful, Pascal” you sighed, and the animal just stuck his tongue.

The boy – he couldn’t be older than you – seemed out cold, so you stepped away for a second, walking towards the abandoned satchel. Keeping a cautious eye on him, you picked up the bag and opened it. A large, golden hoop, covered in what looked like shard of glass, and ornately designed stones, laid on your hand. It was gorgeous, and shimmered in the sunlight.

You turned the thing over in your hand a few times, and walked over to the nearby mirror and stared at yourself, then down at the hoop. You placed it on your wrist, but Pascal, who was back on the ground, shook his head, obviously not convinced. You spun it around your finger next, but the hoop quickly lost balance and you had to catch it before it clattered to the ground.

Finally, you brought the object to the top of your head, and stared at yourself in the mirror. Long, and hard. Pascal’s eyes seemed to widen for a moment, until he shook his head again. Defeated, you placed it back in its bag and went back to the knocked out stranger.

“What should we do with him?”

The only place you could think to hide him was in the closet nearby. Something about throwing him out of the tower didn’t seem right, so you decided to wait until he woke up and kindly show him the way off. And, maybe, you felt a little curious about the stranger.

With a grunt, you picked up the boy and dragged him over to the wardrobe from his shoulders. He was pretty heavy and you knocked a few things over, but finally managed to shove the man in; not without two or three bangs that probably had made him even more unconscious.

“There is a man in the tower” you said, crossing your arms and looking at the closet. Was it a finger what stuck from the opening? “There is a man… in my closet. In my – ha! How you like that, mother? Who’s the sapling now?”

The little dance-off you were having against the unconscious man and out of happiness ended quickly when a new voice rang up from the valley.

“Y/N! Let down your hair!”

You tumbled to the window, and looked down to see your mother smiling at you. She was carrying a basket with some fruits, and you squealed in excitement; the unconscious man would be enough proof to let you go outside. You let your hair fall towards the ground, and your mother stepped into the tower.

“I have a huge surprise” she said cheerfully.

You reeled the rest of your hair back into the tower, and singed back a happy ‘so do I’, staring at her back as the older woman removed her cloak.

“Mine first, I’m sure you’ll love it. I bought mangos!” your mother chuckled, placing his back full of fruit on the table. “Thought we could make some special dessert, it’s been a while since we did so. How’s that for a surprise?”

“It’s great, mother” you replayed, kissing her cheek when she gave you a pointed look. “I wanted to talk to you about something, though”

“Treasure, you know I hate leaving after an argument, but-“

“No, mother, you don’t-“

“Don’t interrupt me” her voice was hard, and you casted your eyes down..

“Sorry. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, mother”

“When are you not?” your mother laughed.

You looked around the walls of the tower, where a lot of drawings and books were kept. There were pieces from all over the world that your mother had given you, and some of them done by you. There wasn’t much to do when you spent your whole life up there.

“But I have –“

“I hope it’s not about the flying lanterns”

You inched closer to the wardrobe, looking for an emotional support on any of the habitants of the tower. Pascal was too busy, chasing a fly on the window, and your mother only had disapproval on her eyes. You sighed, hand shaking.

“Mother, just – earlier, you said I wasn’t ready for the outside. But I just think you were wrong –“

“Don’t tell me what’s right or wrong” you mother corrected you quickly.

“But, if you just trust me, mother, I know –“

“Y/N, we’re done talking about this.”

“I know, mother, but I just wanted to –“

“Y/N”

“Please, mother, just listen to –“

“Enough with the lights, Y/N! You’re not leaving this tower, you’re not leaving me, and you’re stopping right now if you don’t want consequences!” your mother all but screamed, eyes blowing side open and voice louder than you had ever heard it. You immediately removed your hand from the wardrobe’s handle out of shook.

It took her a second, but eventually your mother regained some form of composure and fell into a chair like the victim.

“Oh, perfect” she sighed. “You’ve made me the villain”

You watched your mother, your heart rate decreasing slowly, with your enthusiasm and happiness along. After a long moment where you fight to keep the tears at bay, out of frustration and sadness, you stepped towards her tentatively, until you could kneel by her side.

“Before… I just – I just wanted to say I know what I want for my birthday”

“What do you want?” your mother eyed you with a critical eye.

“New paints. Like the one you bought me last year, that had a special bright red glow, or the thick blue one”

Your mother narrowed her eyes at you, and leaned forward against the chair.

“That man doesn’t live close, treasure. The trip will be long. Almost three days.”

“I just thought it would be better than the lights”

Your mother let out a long sigh and stood up. She walked around for a bit, until finally stopped in front of you with a too kind smile, that only showed when she got what she wanted, and knew she had won. Leaning down, she took your head in her hands and brought it forward, so she could plant a kiss to the top of your hair.

“You sure you’ll be okay on your own?”

“I’ve done it before” you smiled shakily at her.

“Alright” your mother’s mouth was pressed in a grim line, yet she still nodded. “I’ll be back in three days. No more. I love you very much, treasure”

“I love you more, mother”

You helped your mother with the bags and wished her a safe journey under the promise of being careful in the tower. As you watched her walk away, you thought about how three days was enough time to coax the boy to take you to the flying lights and be back before she noticed.

Now you only had to wait for him to wake up.

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Want to know more about me? Here is my Masterlist! Feedback is always appreciated!!

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Of Monsters and Men

Chapter 9- Rare Species

Summary: You may be about four-hundred years old, so why not finally let your eyes behold the sight of a dragon?

Warning: blood, a bit of smut, angst, tad longer then usual because it gets spicy

Masterlist

You had left Jaskier down in the rocky valley with Roach, packs of supplies and valuables in her back, and two travel guides that lead the way to this dusty mountainous place as you and Geralt searched for some type of vicious lizard creature. You had already confirmed with yourself that those two guides were trouble and as usual your suspicions had been correct when your ears pricked with the sounds of scuffling and Jaskier's protests as you make your way back down the trail.

But by the time you made it round the jaggety rock formation does your crimson eyes find a shocked Jaskier, one dead guide, two beautiful warriors, and a grey bearded man with a tinge of enchantment about his aurora and peculiar scent. Honestly you kind of expected something randomly unexpected to happen at least once today, only to your small trio of course.

The fearful guide looks up wide eyed at your sudden presence, Geralt coming to a halt right behind you, a puzzled expression crossing his features as yours does about the same, "I believe those are mine." Mutters Geralt before the man quickly drops the items in the rocky dust, throwing you the small sack of coins he had stolen, then hastily turning around and booking it down the uneven path.

Jaskier looks to the two of you, pointing at the new strangers, "Ger-Geralt, Y/N...uh, This woman just killed a man with her bare hands for trying to steal your horse." The warrior stands unfazed at Jaskier's inquisition.

You snort, "Maybe she'll make a better travel companion, then." Geralt lowly chuckles at your comment, a smile upon the mystery mans face as Jaskier scoffs before turning to him.

"Uh, I'm sorry, who are you, exactly?" He wonders, something that's definitely in your mind, they seem harmless enough at the moment but you're not ready to just trust anyone.

The short greying man steps forward, a wise smile upon his face, "I am Borch Three Jackdaws. These are my companions, Téa and Véa." He reveals, tilting his head as his companions stand to either side of him protectively, "I've been looking for you two, Geralt of Rivia and Y/N of Alkatraz." You side eye Geralt, how and who the fuck is this guy?

——

After traveling down the mountain trail for a while, the old man has now lead you all into some bustling tavern, he takes the lead while exclaiming how meeting people of yours and Geralt's likeness is a first for him, he's rather quite excited to dine with you two as he boasts about how legendary your adventures are, thanks to Jaskier. Though with how lively his body language is, you can tell he's sought you out for something important, people like him don't just butter you up with compliments without meaning to get something out of it.

He finds a long table by the fireplace, directing the tavern barmaid to get him one of everything they have and to keep the ale coming, Geralt sits down as you go to do the same upon his left, Jaskier making himself comfortable on your immediate left. Your body sat in between them as the man, Borch, brings his own bottom onto his wooden seat as his companions seat themselves across from Jaskier.

Borch claps his hands together, "A short while ago, a green dragon landed across the border in King Niedamir's mountains." Your eyebrows raise in curiosity as Geralt's simply furrow in thought, Borch smiles knowingly, "I know what you're thinking. Impossible, dragons are so rare. But it's true." He takes a sip from his mug, the barmaid going around the table and filling each one of yours up with ease, "Locals spotted it and went after it in search of treasure. Of course, they succeeded only in wounding the creature and angering it so righteously that it swooped down from its lair and set half a hillside ablaze." Geralt scoffs, disinterested before taking a sip of his mug, "Dead sheep everywhere." Finishes the intriguing man.

You chuckle with a shake of your head, this may not quite be something that you'd like to get involved with if actual fire breathing dragons are concerned. Taking a sip from your shiny dented mug you listen as Jaskier tries to turn on his charm, "You have the most incredible neck. It's like a...a sexy goose." You snort into your ale as the faces of Téa and Véa appear to be less then impressed.

"Now, the King is in a bind." Continues Borch with his dragon story, "He's set to marry the princess of his rival kingdom, Malleore, which means it's bad timing to have a murderous pest lurking about in the mountains. He's commissioned a hunt to kill it. Four teams have signed on. The winner gets the dragons treasure hoard plus the title of lord over one of his new vassal states. That is...if he survives." Explains Borch thoroughly, it all sounds intriguing at best, but you could care less about treasure and a lordship over some needless state.

"Great overview of the details, but what does this have to do with us?" You ask, seriously you just got done with a weary monthlong hunt, you're not exactly chopping at the bit for another go around with a monster.

"I want you to join my team." Inquirers Borch with a small smile, you take another sip as Jaskier's face lights up.

"I can hear it now, a tale of two Zerrikanians and their valiant poet lover. Oh!" Chuckles the bard, "We're so doing this. We're in."

"You've wasted your breath, Borch. We don't kill dragons. Take my advice. No treasure is worth dying for." Mutters Geralt.

"Depends on the treasure." Answers Borch, "What I need is...a new adventure. One final first before I'm too old to do anything but die."

You think about his proposition, he is an odd little man with quite the wish, "You think killing a dragon will bring you that?" You wonder.

"All I know is there's one path up that mountain, and it's overrun with monsters."

"Oh in that case." You quip as he continues with his reasoning, "With you both on my team, a Witcher and dhampir princess, we'll be unstoppable." He confirms before suddenly a loud squabbling is heard behind Borch, a group of dwarves are being hassled by the other bar patrons. One of them screaming for the bartender to give his friend, and you quote "four fucking pints", apparently those imbeciles are one team. Tèa adding in another team called the Reavers, asking if you both have heard of them, of course you have. Nasty lot they are.

You turn away from those men to address Borch of your decision, telling him bluntly that the answer is no. He doesn't appear to be very fond of that reply, almost disappointed he leans in and tells that you're missing something, what could you possibly be missing?

"Sorry to interrupt this lovely moment...That's only three. Where's the...What's the fourth team?" Questions Jaskier as he leans over you to point at Borch, gently pushing him away, your ears prick at the sound of a door opening. Borch turns around in his seat to look, "Them." Comes from his lips as you look up from your mug, mouth going slightly agape, your eyes stare on in befuddlement at the titular individual standing across the tavern, a knight at her side.

Jaskier starts to laugh as you break out into an uneasy chuckle, he quickly declines the dragon hunt invitation as you suddenly feel compelled to join for some deeper unknown reason, "Thank you for the wine and such but we really can't get involved. Geralt, Y/N, shall we?" Says Jaskier with a friendly pat to your shoulder.

Your eyes never leave the infamous mage as she locks eyes with you before reverting her gaze towards the knight, "We're in."

Jaskier mumbles a swear as Geralt nods in agreement, whatever you say goes in his book. No matter the crazy witch you happen to be old friends with.

Borch smiles kindly, "The hunt begins at sunrise." He exclaims excitedly as you take another sip of your ale. Well things just got a hell of a lot more interesting with the unexpected appearance of your longtime troublesome friend, let's find a fucking green dragon!

——

Just as agreed you and your boys had made it to the forest grounds where the other teams are, all preparing for the journey ahead as they tie their horses down since the terrain is too dangerous for the hooved beasts, including Roach.

You walk past an angry dwarf who's mad that his pack has been stolen, without two fucks to give you continue onward and over to Geralt and Roach as Jaskier introduces himself to the small man. They have a modest conversation before the dwarf departs, his other shorter companions following him as they ask if Roach is for sale as they scamper on past, "Charming how everyone wants to get their hands on Roach these days, isn't it?" Points out the bard as he walks over near you with his lute in its case hanging from his hand.

"He means we won't make it out alive." Mutters Geralt as he pets the mare's flowy mane.

Jaskier's face contorts in surprised concern, "Wait, what? No one mentioned anything about impending death!" He worries as you pet Roach's soft nose, a small snicker leaving your nostrils in quick short bursts of air, his face looking even more troubled at your amusement.

Roach nudges her snout into the opened palm of your hand, wordlessly greeting you in her own way before you must leave the kind mare behind. Thump. Thump. Thump. You purse your lips together at the approaching heartbeat of a certain mage coming your way.

When she's close to your little group, you don't care much to turn around for the time being. "How is it that I've walked this earth for decades without coming across a Witcher, and then the first one I meet, I can't get rid of?" She presses, Geralt makes quick eye contact with you as he ignores her.

"I'd say something strange was afoot, but then again, Witcher's are bound to bump into monsters eventually, with the exception of our dear Y/N here, obviously." Jests Jaskier as Yennefer hums in fake amusement.

"Jaskier."

"Yennefer."

"The crow's feet are new." She muses with a tilt of her head.

Jaskier frowns, "Yeah, well, your jokes are...old." Scoffs the bard as he turns to walk away down the trail as more of the teams begin their trek for the mountain.

You watch as he leaves before turning around and suspiciously eyeing up your mysterious old friend, "What brings you from causing unnecessary chaos to hunting for a dragon, Yenn?"

A small smile forms onto her lips, "I'm here with my escort. Noble Sir Eyck Denesle." She nods towards the kneeling knight as he prays for safe travels, "To assist him in killing the dragon." For kingdom and glory shouts the knight as he sheaths his sword, she smiles almost adoringly at him before turning to you again, "Till we meet again, Y/N. Geralt." She turns to walk away towards her knight as Geralt says goodbye to Roach.

You can't help but feel incredibly apprehensive of her true intentions for making this tiresome hike to the lair of a dragon of all things. Deciding to abandon your wondering troubles, with a shrug do you turn around and follow the other travelers up the trail as Geralt falls into pace behind you.

For hours do you walk up the mountain path over rocks and rubble, fallen sticks and trees, and Jaskier's constant voice as he fruitlessly attempts to talk to Téa and Véa about whatever happens to pop into his head at the moment. You're honestly one more sentence away from smacking him upside the head when he suddenly expresses to the two warriors that he'll go into the brush and find them something to eat.

How chivalrous of him.

The group stands upon a flat section of the mountain as Jaskier walks off the path and into some bushes on the hunt for something edible. You're not tired in the slightest due to your inherited abilities so lack of rest and food at the moment feels like nothing. You suddenly raise your head to sniff the air as the scent of some furry malnourished creature catches your nostrils, it smells almost like that of wet dog and garlic, its got to be sick. Not a pleasant scent by any means.

A second later your observations are confirmed as Jaskier claims to be looking at something in the brush. His heartbeat suddenly spikes as he jumps back and races out off the mountainside greenery. He stumbles back onto the trail, "Y/N it's one of your friends again." He rushes before jogging over behind you, ever so slightly pushing you in front of him as he cowers back wide eyed at the lanky werewolf looking bastard growling near the edge of the trail.

"What in the name of Bloemenmagde is that?" Exclaims a fearful bald dwarf.

"It's a hitikka." Answers your Witcher as the others bare their silver, "It's probably starving. Sheath your weapons." Advises Geralt as Yennefer's knight does exactly the opposite, he pushes past a dwarf before hacking away at the hungry scared beast. His sword slicing off its arm as it screams in pain, another slice to its stomach before the sword cuts its head clean off, the knight hacking at it in a frenzy as blood spurts forth. Everyone looks on in disgust as he really lets into it, he finally stops, breathing heavily as he looks down at his work.

Snorting you fold your arms, "I think you got it." Jaskier lets out an amused huff of air as the knight ignores you, shouting "for kingdom and glory!" blood still dripping off of his face.

"Sir Eyck!" Shouts Yennefer worriedly as she races to his side, touching his face affectionately as he looks into her lavender irises, "You could have been killed." Turning your head away from the sappy interaction you pick up your pack before slinging it over your shoulder, "We should have just fed Sir Eyck to the scrawny fucker and save my nostrils the disturbed scent emitting from that heap of guts." You muse as the knight glares at you, a smirk upon your lips as you turn to continue up the trail.

Another hour is spent hiking before camp is set, a decent fire aflame as Sir Eyck cooks the hitikka over the spit, he picks off a chunk of the diseased meat and eats it with a smile, proud of his kill and the meal it produced. You watch the idiot consume the infected meat, a brow raised at his ability to feast without a single concern, "Not that I give a shit about your valiant life as a knight of whoever the fuck, but I wouldn't eat that." He keeps chewing as his irritated blue eyes find your crimson ones, you can tell your presence puts him off.

Nonetheless he answers you, "Knights never waste a kill." He coughs, "It's precisely why I'll make a great lord to Niedamir's vassal state. A great knight must lead by example. For..."

"Kingdom and glory. We know." Adds Téa with a truthful jest of annoyance for the irritable knight as you and Jaskier let out a small chuckle.

"My subjects will be the luckiest serfs in all the lands." He turns to Yennefer fondly who's seated by his side, "Especially with the beautiful Yennefer as my mage."

She smiles, her eyes never leaving his, "I cannot wait to serve you, My Lord." She speaks softly, Sir Eyck studies her face affectionately as one of the Reavers walks to the fire, undoubtedly about to disturb the peace.

"How would you like to serve me tonight...witch?" He boldly asks while reaching down to tear off a chunk of meat, if not for the fact that this dragon hunt has multiple teams working together you'd without a doubt suffocate him in his sleep.

Instead you bite the inside of your cheek at his godawful scent, "Careful, Boholt." You challenge darkly, he stands up with a piece of meat in his hand as he turns to Yennefer.

"So, the lady dhampir wants to play knight too, hmm? That is interesting, I wouldn't mind you both visiting me in my tent this night if..."

"If I was to seek you out in the dead of night, I assure you, you would not be alive at dawn." He scoffs as his eyes trail over you, you stare at him unflinching from his lustful gaze, "Besides, she's plenty able of murdering you herself, better yet...maybe I'd make a pretty necklace out of your vertebrae." The dirty man smirks, laughing lowly at your threatening presence. Just by looking at him you can you can tell he's more nervous of your existence among this group then of anyone else. Apparently old wives tales of vampires runs deep in this one no matter how bold he displays himself.

The bald dwarf insults him once again before the Reaver makes a crack at Geralt about if the Reaver will either kill the monster or monster hunter first, leaving the circle in peace as you listen to the grumbling of Sir Eyck's upset stomach, "Uh..I'm afraid I must take my leave." Says the knight as he stands, his face growing pale, "Lady Yennefer, may I escort you to your tent?"

She tugs on his hanging attire, "Will you be joining me?" A smile coating his features as he stutters, "Uh...My Lady, I would...never degrade your honor in such a way." You simply roll your scarlet eyes at his annoying chivalry, Yennefer picked this one of all people to fuck around with?

Jaskier snorts, "I hate to break it to you, but that ship has sailed, wrecked and sunk to the bottom of the ocean." He flinches back as you smack his arm, though it was indeed humorous there was a more intimate reason for her actions a while ago that goes deeper then just a friendly jest in your personal opinion.

But yes, it was quite funny.

Holding his stomach while he fumbles off towards the bushes to relieve his bowls. The rest of you laugh at his expense, the bald dwarf suddenly intervenes with his own bit of knowledge about how there will be no state to rule with the quickening approach of Nilfgaard on the rise. His words do trouble you for the close by innocents that will no doubt suffer from their forces soon enough.

War is war.

Not long after does Yennefer excuse herself from your campsite lot of unruly characters, the dwarves following after for their own rest; leaving you, Jaskier, Geralt, the two warriors, and Borch at the fire to converse about the existence of dragons and how creatures with mutations always fight the hardest to survive. Ending the conversation with a jab at Sir Eyck, who's quite literally the shittist knight of all the knights anyone has ever seen.

What. An. Idiot.

——

After a restful slumber wrapped up in your Witcher's strong arms, do you wake and walk outside into the fresh forest air before the scent of shit and someone's decaying body wafts into your sensitive nostrils, you grimace as Yennefer walks past you, appearing to be in search of that flashy knight. She asks around if anyone has seen Sir Eyck recently, oh shit, you turn and casually walk yourself away from her and Geralt, who's just gathered his belongings. You follow the gnarly smell until you reach the edge of a small cliff, where down below lays the dead body of Sir Eyck.

How can not a single person smell this. Oh right.

You travel down to where he lays; his pants remain around his ankles, only the length of his tunic covering his bare arse from the world. A small pile of dung rests nearby from when he was relieving himself earlier, blood noticeably seeping out from his throat. You crouch down and inspect it better, it is indeed fresh, "Yennefer! I found your knight...I don't think he'll be joining us further!" You shout as the others run over to the small cliffs edge to get a look for themselves, their faces all showing obvious variations of discontent and nervousness.

"Who slits a man's throat while he's relieving his bowls? Is nothing sacred anymore?" Worries Jaskier as he stares in revulsion, hugging his side with a look of distain.

"Fuck." Blurts out Yennefer in frustration as she abruptly turns around, walking away as you make your way back up to where everyone is standing.

The journey continues on as it has before, a couple hours going by before the bald dwarf delves into the promising fact that there is a shortcut nearby that miners would use to travel faster, your team agrees as Yennefer wanders onward, seemly disinterested in the news. Rolling your eyes at her insistent moodiness, you turn to Geralt and ask for him to keep going as you'll get her to follow. You can't help but feel compelled to have her in your company, and as far away from those untrustworthy group of Reavers who smell of ill intent, no matter how irritating she can become.

He nods and leaves you to it, not questioning your capabilities for a second as he follows the rest of the group. You turn to find Yennefer a good distance away from you walking down the gravely mountainside landscape, so to catch her before she's out of sight you race to her in a blur, stopping directly in front of her with a windy woosh of air in her face. You smirk as she frowns at you, no doubt about to say something witty, "I didn't kill Eyck if that was your question Y/N."

You chuckle as she rests a hand on her hip, "Of course you didn't, the bastard's scent was one of the Reavers, that fucker Boholt." You confirm, "And all before you could accomplish what you've actually come here for."

She scoffs, "And what could that be, hmm. I'm here for the dragon." You raise a brow at her shitty explanation as she scoffs, "God I hate you sometimes...I'm here because...there are certain healing properties it's rumored to possess." Your brows furrow in thought, thinking back to the djinn and the wishes and all that shit. And everything before that.

"I thought your transformation healed all physical problems?"

She looks down, avoiding your gaze, "At the cost of others yes." Oh right, the participant will always lose their ability to produce a child of their own. Male or Female.

Suddenly your mind clicks in realization, you tilt your head with a knowing smirk, "You've traveled all this way for made-up fertility cures using fresh dragon hearts?" You muse.

She simply glares, "They're not made up!"

"They are," You argue, "once some things are bound by deep powerful magic they cannot be undone. There is always a balance to everything we do that deals with magical properties, you of all people should know that." Her face falls as you continue, a tinge of humor in your voice now, "And honestly, call me an asshole but come on. You, a mother?"

"You think I'd make a bad one?" She challenges, half offended as you shrug.

"Well, you'd be fun. At least." She turns away from you, not content with that lackluster reply, "I don't really know what you'd want with a child..."

She snaps around, "They took my choice. I want it back. Not that I'd expect you to understand." She smirks, proud of her little jab at your more sinister origins.

You let out an annoyed huff, "I didn't choose my parents, or what unholy abomination they made of me through their lust. But listen, the ones who pieced us together, there's probably a valuable reason why they made us sterile...maybe it's a blessing. This lifestyle isn't exactly suited for a child, but if you really wanted you could fuck around with feeble idiot kings in their court in between naps and feedings..." she turns and walks away, anger in her heart as you follow.

"Do not patronize me!" She snaps as she continues to stomp in the opposite direction, "You know nothing of how I feel."

You're standing in front of her in an angry blur as she turns away from you, "You don't think I haven't thought about it either! I have Geralt, whom I love more then the very earth I walk on or the stars in the sky, but I'll never have a child with him, ever. And I'd rather feed this fucking Child Surprise to a harpy then..." She turns her head to face you, immediately stopping your protests.

"What'd you just say?" She wonders as you purse your lips, looking away from her now that you've let slip some secret information.

"Uh...fuck."

She chuckles, "Isn't that rich. You lecture me on made-up cures for having a child, meanwhile you cheat with destiny to steal one." Presses Yennefer as you scowl down at her.

"It's not like I wanted this! Fuck." You grumble as she studies your troubled face, "It's not even mine but like that matters, the little shit will be in my life whether I want it or not." You pause for a moment before coming back to why you actually stopped her, "Uh, listen Yenn. The others are taking a shortcut, come with us and avoid getting something rather unpleasant creeping into your tent at night. It'll be enjoyable." She rolls her eyes at your dark humored implications of the other travelers.

"Fine."

——

Your band of merry adventurers finally reache the shortcut, it's a pass on the side of the mountain that's held up by wooden planks and metal bars thrust into the rock. You look over the edge as the dwarves give the rest of your company a hard time about crossing since this path is quite literally made for just a dwarf. The small men walk out first as Jaskier gives you a wary glance, a swift breeze blowing your hair about as you smile at him, "Y/N don't you dare think of leaving us, I swear to god." He mutters as you break out into a mischievous grin.

Oh he knows you too well.

"See you on the other side my loves." You blow him a kiss before free falling backwards off the steep rocky ledge, you hear the worried shouts of the warriors, Borch, and Yennefer as they call out for you. The wind whips past your face while you watch them grow smaller and smaller until you shift yourself into a cluster of black bats that all catch on the wind current. You race up to the edge once more before screeching past them on the mountainside, a smile forming onto many of your furry faces as you hear their swears and jabs at you.

"Fookin' vamps." Grumbles one of the dwarves.

Not caring to stick around for however long it may take them to cross, you swiftly glide on the wind as you take in the mountain air and all the wild she has to offer you on this fine day. Your fun feels short lived as soon enough the dwarves make it to the end of the cliff path and onto safer ground.

You shift back into your normal self and wait for your more familiar companions to arrive, after forty-five long boring minutes do they make it round the corner. A melancholy dreariness about them, your face falls as soon as you see Geralt reach the firm rocky ground without Borch, Téa and Véa behind them like they should be.

You know they didn't make it.

Geralt, Jaskier, and Yennefer walk to the campsite without a word as the dwarves start a fire and set up their tents. You throw yours and Geralt's tent together as he walks over to a nearby rock to sit and think about whatever terrible thing must have happened to the others. Jaskier catches your eye and nods for you to follow, standing to your full height do you turn to trail behind him. Seating yourself on the left of Geralt, Jaskier on his right as the three of you look out into the great valley beyond.

"You did your best." Begins Jaskier softly, "There's nothing else you could have done. Look, why don't we leave tomorrow. That is, if you'll both give me another chance to prove myself a worthy travel companion." Solemnly laughs the bard as Geralt hums, a small smile upon your face as you listen, "We could head to the coast. Get away for awhile. Sounds like something Borch would say, doesn't it? Life is too short. Do what pleases you.....while you can." He ends with a tired sign.

"Composing your next song?" Jaskier smiles at your comment.

"No, I'm just, uh....Just trying to work out what pleases me." You smile softly at the dusky mountainside, Geralt's golden irises glance over you with the tiniest of content grins lays upon his handsome features. Jaskier says his good nights before patting Geralt on the shoulder and walking towards a half made stick tent, his prized lute by his side.

A soft cool breeze fans your face as Geralt ever so subtly opens up his palm that's placed atop his thigh, without a second thought does your own hand fall into place with his larger one. A grin on either of your faces as you scoot closer to him so that you can rest your head against his broad shoulder.

A soft joyful sigh leaves your parted lips, "We should go to the ocean. Get away from all this nonsense and danger...more so for Jaskier's sake then mine, but uh...I'd love to feel the salty breeze upon my skin once again. See the great blue waters, feel the sand on my bare feet." He hums in reply, pressing the lightest of kisses upon your head, "You ever been to the ocean, my love?"

"No." His voice is soft and gentle.

You lightly squeeze his hand, "Well, you'd love how peaceful it is...the sounds of the waves are just something else. I never feel as small as when I'm standing on the edge of the world, a vast mystery of water stretching like a grand crinkly blanket. I can't wait for you to see it." A yawn escapes as you bury your face into the crook of his neck, a smile breaking out upon his lips at your adorable actions.

"We should catch some sleep if we're to travel for the ocean tomorrow, after finding that dragon and all." Mutters Geralt, you nod before standing up, slowly unlacing your fingers as he stands to his full height as well.

"Alright, to bed it is."

You turn to walk back to your tent as he picks up his belongings to follow you there, your tent is dirty white and appears rather unsuspecting from first glance, although when you walk in, the volume of the space triples to a large comfortable room. A king sized bed pressed against the center of the right wall, a table to the left and a couple lanterns placed perfectly on a few of the wooden tables for a cozy warm feel to the billowy room, or tent in other words.

You walk in and immediately take off your dark leather armor adorning your torso, your hard leathered gauntlets next as you set everything onto the nearby table. You listen as your Witcher sets his things down next to the edge of the bed, his slow heartbeat picking up ever so slightly as he walks up behind you, a smirk creeps out over your face as he snakes his large muscular arms over your body with ease.

His head leans into the side of your neck as he places a gentle feather light kiss to your temple, you hum in content, "What do I owe this pleasure?" You muse as he kisses the side of your cheek, his left hand feeling underneath your shirt as he gently caresses your hot skin.

"The pleasure is all mine." Mumbles Geralt into your exposed neck as you fight back a moan when he begins to press butterfly kisses all over your skin. One hand resting upon your breast as the other one trails up your torso from underneath your clothing.

A low moan escapes you as he nips carefully at your jawline, his hands continuing to explore your body, a slow warmness forming from deep within you as he shows you more and more love to your heated vessel. You suddenly bite your lip as the feeling of something hard pressing against your bottom, with a smirk gracing your beautiful features do you reach an arm around to slyly palm his hardening member. Just as you'd intended does he grunt at the feeling of your hand squeezing him.

Letting him be, you break away from his grasp to turn yourself around to face him, "Will you make love to me this night?" You whisper as he kisses your soft wanting lips in reply.

Slowly pulling away he rests his head against yours, "Of course." Is all he's able to say before he's captured your lips with his once again.

You move in sync as his hands trail all over your clothed sides, you lean into his hardness as he gently squeezes your bum. Your lips keep locked onto one another as he begins to unbutton your trousers, your nimble fingers working on his own buttoned pants. Your hands become a quick tangled mess as finally your bottoms are loose enough to pull down. You both keep your tight embrace as he tugs at your pants, pulling them down to your ankles for you to step out of. He pulls away to get rid of his own ones, a lustful smile dancing across his features as he tugs off his shirt to expose his blessed muscular body.

Smiling cheekily at him, you raise your arms up for him to pull off your top, he does so a second later. The fabric long forgotten on the carpeted floor as you reach around to unlace your bra and finally rid yourself of the tight constraint with a blissful sigh. Geralt fearlessly eyes them up as you chuckle, your breasts bouncing with your heaving chest, sending Geralt wild. In an instant he's on you again, his hands exploring all over your exposed skin as you trail your nails down his bare back. He kisses you feverishly as one hand plays with your breast and the other rubs at your wet womanhood, sending you into a heated lust that's slowly overtaking your wanting body.

In a blur do you have him naked as his name day, laying dazed on the soft mattress, his white hair tousled as you shimmy out of your undergarments and give him a playful smile, your fangs showing in your joyous state as he awaits your next move. Reaching your hands out do you push his parted legs farther apart, his member bouncing deliciously as you do so. Your next action a slow and meticulous one as you crawl over him, your naked vessel hovering over his as you lean down to capture his lips with yours in a heated embrace. Just as quickly as you started do you pull back to hover your dripping entrance over his erect manhood, you hold it in place before gently placing it right in line with your folds.

He grips your exposed thighs as you lower yourself onto his hard cock, a breathy gasp leaving your lips as he slides into you, your face shifting from discomfort to pure bliss as you adjust to his largeness, he lets out a groan when you starts to rock back and forth in a quick calculated motion. He feels like a hot dream as he writhes and bucks into you while you pin his hands to the soft blankets in your lust. You can tell that he desperately wants to kiss you, but you're taking this orgasm before he gets the privilege to claim your lips. With a smile upon your sweaty face do you rock him into the bed, a swift warmness building in your womanhood as the blessed friction continues to drive the both of you to the edge.

Another blessed roll of your hips has you undoubtedly cuming all over his member as you ride out your high, Geralt releasing his load into you as his eyes close in pleasure, a moan leaving his parted lips as he tightly grips onto your bare hips for support. You ride him some more as he squirms underneath your touch, a pleased grin upon your face at how easily you're able to bend him to your will just by taking the lead and thrusting your hips against his while for the fun of it do you swirl your hips around his throbbing cock. He moans once again at the contact until suddenly he flips you onto your back in a flash, his lips connecting with yours as you gasp in surprise. Geralt taking this generous opportunity to stick his tongue into your mouth, his whole body leaning into you as he parts your legs even further.

Your hands quickly claw at his muscular back as he pumps into you vigorously over and over again, sending you into a moaning mess underneath him as he grunts into the quiet night air. The sweet sounds of skin on skin contact singing beautifully into your ears with each new thrust into your slick entrance. He pounds you into the mattress as you bite back a scream, deciding to mark up his back instead of giving him the satisfaction of hearing your pleasure. Though you're not so sure how much longer you can hold on before you let loose a loud howl from his deep strokes into your wetness.

He continues to relentlessly pound into you before a cry emits from your throat at the sheer pleasure he's handing you so freely. Another moan leaving your mouth as he shuts you up with a kiss before your body shakes in ecstasy all around him, he kisses your neck as you cum for the second time tonight like a little puddle of bliss underneath his stone body. Another kiss against your cheek as he releases himself into you with a grunt, his ending thrusts turning sloppier and sloppier as he gives what's left of himself to you before he's truly spent.

Humming in content at his last fruitful efforts to pleasure you, you pull his head down to capture his lips with yours in an act of silent appreciation for his never disappointing love making skills.

Geralt's lips leave yours as he kisses your forehead before pulling out of you completely and falling into a tired heap of Witcher by your side. You smile as he closes his eyes, the both of you breathing heavily as you feel is seed seeping out of your entrance and onto your legs and bed as you stare up at the cloth ceiling. Not caring for the mess in between your throbbing legs, you turn yourself onto your side as you nuzzle into your soft pillow, your body falling into a blissful slumber as you fall asleep to the sounds of Geralt's breathing. No words need said, everything you've both needed to say was just done and that's good enough for you.

When you wake the tent is basked in the light from the morning sunrise, illuminating the room in a dull grey hue as you open your crimson eyes to find Geralt's golden ones watching you adoringly. A shy smile pulls at the corners of your lips as you become aware of the thin sheet of fabric hiding you from the world, "Did anyone ever tell you it's rude to stare at a naked woman?" You muse with a light chuckle.

He averts his gaze as a smirk appears onto his lips, "My dear Y/N, I have seen you in a much more compromising position then laying in the nude by my side." You gasp before smacking his arm.

"I'm royalty my loyal Witcher, I could have your head for speaking like that." Instead does he reach his muscular arm over to your side, pulling you closer to him. The two of you flush against one another, your blanket leaving your bottom bare from the quick movement.

You kiss his cheek, a smile forming onto both of your lips, "Though perhaps you could show me how you're planning on making up for it." Geralt kisses you in reply, his hands trailing down your bare sides as he holds you close for a heated embrace.

——

After making love to your Witcher in the early morning light, not caring if anyone heard your time together, you walk out of the dirty white tent, dressed accordingly and ready to slay a dragon. Although when you step closer to where everyone should be, the dwarves have gone missing, their scent leading away down the trail. With a low growl do you begin your hunt, Yennefer and Geralt close behind as you all make haste for the unknown whereabouts of the small men.

Your hike lasts about fifteen minutes before the scent of the dwarves becomes stronger and stronger the farther down the trail that you all go. Once you turn a rocky corner do you spot all four of them, Yennefer shouts some paralyzing enchantment upon them before you're able to quite literally rip them a new one. She quickly races past you and the dwarves, you easily follow in step behind her as she makes it to the large vine covered mouth of the dragons lair.

The both of you walk in, your eyes adjusting to the darker atmosphere as Yennefer's eyes widen in bewilderment. You quickly find the source of her shock as your sights land on the huge shimmering body of a dead green dragon, a small egg near her head. You frown before both Téa and Véa make an angry appearance, they demand for the two of you to halt, their swords out and ready to defend.

Aren't they supposed to be dead?

Yennefer steps forward with her shiny dagger, ready to get what she came for before Geralt races into the cave, shouting for everyone to stop. A second later does a golden dragon screech as it comes out from its hiding spot in an opening in the rocky ceiling. The dragon greets all three of you; Téa and Véa explaining along with Borch in his dragon form why this female dragon was laying carnage against the nearby kingdom, she was protecting her egg so it would not die.

Right, of course, and this man is now a dragon.

Taking in all the hectic information with a grain of salt perhaps; a moment later your ears prick to the thumping of multiple erratic heartbeats nearing the caves entrance, you quickly turn to find the team of Reavers hastily stalking their way into view. Shit.

"Looks like we get to fuck up the whole family." States their leader, Boholt, "Slay that dragon!" He shouts before his men charge at you all.

Shifting into a defensive pose you ready yourself as the bastards ascend, "Oh fuck." Slips from your tongue as one of them lunges for your head, his spear making a swooshing noise as it whips in the air readying for its intended mark. Clearly anticipating his advances you twirl to the side, his staff missing you by inches as you rip it out of his grasp and thrust it into the neck of his friend nearby.

Snapping your attention back to the first man, his eyes widen as you roughly clamp your hand around his bicep, he groans in pain before you thrust his lanky body into the air where he cracks open his skull against a ragged stony edge. Lifting your eyes to find the state of your friends, you race to the aid of Yennefer as multiple men advance closely upon her. She finds your determined gaze before using magic to create a sort of sticky quicksand at the feet of the four men. It sucks in their legs until the ground reaches almost to their knees, they shout their protests and obscenities before you unsheathe your silver dagger and in a blur race past them.

When you reach the last one, you turn around to the fresh scent of blood as a thin waterfall of red bursts forth from each of their exposed necks as you listen to their gargled screams. You find Yennefer's eyes as she gives you a hasty nod of approval just as she turns to quickly use her magic once more, throwing about five men into the dirt with a thrust of her hand into the air, the men hit the ground with a hard thud as they struggle to get up. With a smirk do you swagger over to them in their dazed states before driving your dagger into their soft flesh before they have a chance to even register what's going on.

You hear a scream and look up to watch as Geralt slays one last man before you all notice more at the caves entrance, in a hasty blur do you race out of the mouth of darkness and into the sunlight, picking them off one by one as your two companions run to your aid.

They stop at the opening wide eyed as you break the neck of the last Reaver, he falls to the dirt as you turn towards them, blood and dust coating your face. "Nice of you two to finally show up. Gotta do everything myself." You jest, breathing heavily from the whole ordeal. Geralt smirks as Yennefer shakes her head, a small smile upon her lips.

Jaskier suddenly makes it to the top of the moutain, he stops, eyes trailing over the dead and your roughed up appearance, "What I miss?"

——

Once Borch gave some prized dragon teeth to the grumpy dwarves did the mountainside finally calm. They left with huge smiles pulling at their faces as the rest of you found company on some nearby rocks, the lot of you resting for the time being. All three of you somewhat worn out from the whole entirety of the trek to this place and the battle that just ensued.

Jaskier sits off on his own part of the giant flat rock as he listens to Borch speak, "This is my final first. A child. This treasure, this legacy must endure. There is no other reason to go on. Thank you for protecting it." Nods Borch as he looks to the three of you sitting next to one another, "You, Yennefer of Vengerberg, and Y/N of Alkatraz...I can tell why Geralt did not want you two separated, you are both a powerful force of nature when in each others company." He smiles knowingly, eyes squinting in the sun as your brows furrow in confusion, how strange of him to word that sentence.

How strange indeed.

Yennefer's face shifts in puzzlement, "What does that mean?" You both turn your questioning gazes to Geralt, he takes a long pause before he glances warily between the two of you, nervousness radiating from his tense body.

He sighs, "In Rinde. The djinn." Another agonizing pause as your mind turns with troubled thoughts and apprehension for what he's done, he wouldn't, certainly not.

Right?

An uneasiness practically consumes the atmosphere as you connect the dots, the djinn and the wish he must have made that you never asked him about, because certainly he would have used it for himself, on himself? But just looking at him, the way he won't meet your eyes or how his heartbeat picks up with the prick of his nerves, you know. He used magic on you.

You frown as your eyes lock with his, your voice is almost a whisper, "That's why I feel so drawn to Yennefer...why I feel almost responsible for her, so protective...." You trail off, sadness growing in your heart.

"Why I feel this way inside too." Inquires Yennefer while you turn to look at her as she continues, "I haven't seen you in decades, haven't cared about your existence for so long, then the djinn and I suddenly feel incredibly drawn to you like how I felt as a young pathetic mage in Aretuza." She scoffs as a sick feeling forms in the pit of your stomach.

Your fingers crack the rock as you grip it tight in your heated irritation, "Geralt what did you fucking do?" You growl as he slowly blinks, the knot in your stomach growing with each passing second.

He takes a cautious breath as you and Yennefer await the truth, "I wished that...for you and Yennefer to always have each other." Her face falls as you release the rock, quickly standing up as you take a step back, your pained eyes boring into Geralt's the whole time.

You shake your head, trying not to believe it, "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" You plead with sad eyes, already knowing exactly what he did, you just need to hear him say it.

"I just wanted...ah fuck....I just meant for." His eyes are sad as he studies your face, "When I die you'll live on, much longer then I ever could or ever will....and I, I love you too much to let you suffer the rest of your existence alone." Geralt pauses for a moment as he looks from you to Yennefer and back to you again, "I bound you and Yennefer together, so you'd have one another when everyone you know is long gone." Your breath catches in your throat as you turn your head away from him. Your face looking out at the vast sky ahead as your body swirls with mixed emotions, but most of all, betrayal.

"Why would you..." Whispers Yennefer as she looks to you for help with this heavy information, blinking you turn around to face them again. Your heart twists with how broken your Witcher looks.

Geralt reaches a hand out to touch your arm, instead you take another step back, anger in your voice, "You could have wished for anything Geralt, anything you fucking wanted!" His face falls as you continue, "Why couldn't you have given Yenn a chance...I thought that would have been your wish, it would only have made sense. Fuck Geralt, I can't ever have a child because of what I am! Not even a djinn would permit the offspring of a Witcher dhampir hybrid upon the continent, its an abomination even in their eyes, a demon infant." Your voice is shaking, "I was lucky to be born and not slaughtered on the spot once I came forth into this world." A frustrated lump forms in the back of your throat as you fight for your words, "It could have worked if you'd let it dammit, now we're bound to one another for eternity instead. You...you..promised me....Geralt....a long time ago to never use magic against me, to never let dark powers like that manipulate my inner feelings, or body...you know why I hate it so much!" He flinches back at your words.

"I could have had a child." Whispers Yennefer, solemn expression looking elsewhere.

Tears slowly begin forming in your eyes, "I've never truly given a shit about anyone but you, Geralt. Then I find Yennefer again and I can't help but feel compelled to help her in her search for a cure....I feel like I can fully trust her, I hate mages, I haven't even seen Yennefer for such a long time. But what you did, this is wrong!" You scream in fury, "No one gets to make decisions for me! Especially when goddamn magic is concerned!"

He flinches back, "Your story in the bathhouse, you seemed very found of one another...and I, I thought that if you were bound to one another then you'd never feel completely lost once I'm gone."

My love, this is not the way.

You shake your head with a pained laugh, "That doesn't give you the right." You look into his sad golden eyes, "I tolerated the idiot novice mages the best I could and their fucking incompetent adversaries! I had a roof over my head and comforts of a room for free, that doesn't mean I gave a shit about anyone else there! And that defiantly doesn't mean you should bind my soul to another."

Yennefer turns to you then to Geralt, her voice that of a whisper, "You had one wish, just one. It could have been anything, I could have finally had a baby."

"I didn't realize." Inquirers Geralt softly, "I didn't mean for..."

"No." Snaps Yennefer coldly, "No you didn't! And here we are, on the fucking mountainside...if I'm lucky I'll never see you again." Growls Yennefer before her harsh glare finds yours, "and if the gods give a shit, we'll never cross paths in this lifetime." Her voice heavy with emotion before whipping around and stalking off down the trail.

Another lump forms in your throat as you glare at the dirt, a few stray tears falling down the sides of your cheeks as you find his pained gaze once again, "You said...you promised...to never use magic on me...not once, not ever." He opens his mouth to say something but you cut him off, "How dare you bound me to a goddamn insane fucking witch of all people! I have always been free of any ties to anyone without my own will to keep me bound, like I have with you and Jaskier....but this...this is just..." You quickly bite your lip to keep from losing it altogether as you lock eyes with Geralt, "you've lost me. I can't....I just, I need time." Your voice a soft whisper as Geralt bolts to his feet, sheer panic in his eyes.

"Y/N no..." He pleads as Jaskier and Boholt watch soundlessly from the sidelines.

You blink a couple more tears away, your body moving a step back, ever so closer to the ledge, "You've linked me to someone...bound me to them so that even when I shouldn't care to help them or give a shit about their life....I do. Even now I want to find Yennefer and join her so she's not alone walking back to wherever the fuck she's going! I shouldn't feel that way, I never have! I shouldn't fucking care!"

"Y/N please..."

You take another step back as his golden eyes frown, "Goodbye Geralt." More tears fall down your face as this hurtful feeling of betrayal consumes you, "Don't try and stop me, I just...I need time." You turn away from him and take a step towards the ledge as he takes a cautious step closer.

"Y/N I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to go this way, I just thought..."

You don't even bother looking at him, "I understand your intentions. Truly. But right now I can't forgive what you've done....if I even dare look at you I might lose control and break your fucking jaw." You seethe through clenched teeth before taking another step forward as he hits his fist against a jutted out rock next to Borch in hopeless frustration.

"Don't look for me, I'll find you when I'm ready."

"Y/N!" Cries Geralt, as you grimace almost in pain. So much anger, hate, and deep sadness coursing through your heart.

You can hear him take more rushed steps in your direction before you leap off the cliff, tears slide down your cheeks as you free fall in dreary bliss before shifting into a wild chaotic pack of screeching bats. Your heart hurts with anger and sorrow as you force yourself to keep flying away from both Geralt and Yennefer.

Away from the mountain. Away from the pain. You are a storm.

-

Tagged:  @notahappytree​ @ashleyforeverareject​ @sokkasdarling​ @kmuir1​​@haleypearce @diegos-butt​ (@auds24 sorry idk why ur name won’t work)

[spookyceph]

Garden-variety

ShigaDabi Week Day 5 | Civilians

Summary: Just your average, everyday family. Nothing to see here.

Rating: SFW

Warnings: Swearing

The door swings open, setting off a pleasant tinkle from the bell hung above it. The man who enters the shop halts two steps in. Stares, moon-eyed, at the wall-to-wall jungle surrounding him. Plants hang from the ceiling, trailing shiny leaves and flowers as big as an open hand just overhead. They cluster on shelves outfitted with lights and temperature control running along both walls, organized by type and need: prickly cacti, tender herbs, seasonal blooms, medicinal roots. Potted specimens that populated office buildings just like the one he’d clocked out from not long ago dominate the tiled floor, leaving only a narrow path to the register deeper in. The air is close and sweet and alive with the scent of green, growing things. When the man received directions to this side street he’d had his doubts. Now he sees why Anai from accounting recommended it. Though small, the shop has impressive variety as well as healthy stock. He walks up to the counter and gives the service bell a single, polite tap.

A tall figure emerges from a doorway to the right. The man freezes halfway through his standard smile of greeting.

It has to be an employee. Maybe even the owner. Logic leaves no room for other explanations. Yet the mental images the man carries of such people share as much in common with what he sees as a poodle does with a wolf. It has nothing to do with the scars—though they’re impossible to miss. They ripple up the stranger’s forearms and cover the whole lower half of his face, mottled pink and white, textured like a half-melted wax museum figure. No, it’s more the multiple piercings gleaming in both ears, the side of the nose, right eyebrow, even two in the scarred lower lip. Another factor is the spiky mess of half-white, half-black hair. His clothes clinch it. They have a worn, handmade look, his shirt a thin linen, and rips in a few random places on his jeans.

The way he arches a brow, wiping long-fingered hands on a rag, does nothing to dispel first impressions. “Yes?”

Though the question is curt, the voice asking it remains rather soft. Its still enough to throw the man further off balance.

“I…er…flowers?”

The lack of coherency doesn’t slow the stranger a but. “Anniversary, funeral, hot date, what?”

“Um, well, an apology, actually.”

“To whom, and how bad did you fuck up?”

The man clutches his messenger bag to his chest as if it’s a shield. “E-excuse me?”

Employee, owner, whoever he is sighs and throws the rag onto the counter. “I don’t give a shit about the details—I’m a florist, not your therapist. But I do need some idea of what you’re going for so I can plan accordingly. So, again, who’d you piss off, and how much?”

Anyone with a decent amount of common sense and even a scrap of pride would have told the odd stranger to mind his own business, thank you very much. Maybe even stormed out. Written a bad review. Found some way to file a complaint. The man knows this. Yet nothing about their interaction thus far suggests the other would regret the loss of a customer whatsoever. More important, something in the unflinching intensity of the stranger’s electric-blue eyes says that threatening him in any way would be a bigger mistake than what the flowers are for in the first place.

So, suddenly sweating and feeling suffocated by the shop’s tropical air, the man stammers out the truth. “M-my girlfriend.”

The other takes one look at his red, damp face and nods. “That bad, huh? Fine. I’ll see what I can do. No promises, though.”

Meek as a mouse, he watches the shopkeeper—the stranger can be no one else, fearless as he is—pull a pair of shears from his back pocket. He goes to one shelf, clipping several examples of a deep purple flower that grows in long clusters. Going to another, he cuts a few sprigs of bluebells—these the man recognizes. Lastly, he gathers a bunch of large clovers from a long tray. Selections decided, the florist goes to work arranging them.

The purple flowers he staggers at descending heights so the clusters aren’t mashed together. Between them, the bluebells are hung like strings of tears. Partway below the other two, he groups the clovers. All three are bound with a rubberband around the stems and slipped into a narrow glass vase from beneath the counter. He sets the arrangement down.

“There you go. Anything else?”

With one look, the man forgives the shopkeeper’s rough edges. While flowers won’t make up for anything, the thought and beauty of these serve as a promise that he’s willing to back the gesture up with action.

“These are perfect. Thank you.” He surrenders his credit card.

“You’ll want a pink rose from the place two streets over next time,” the florist says while ringing him up. “I don’t usually carry any here.”

The man blinks. “Next time?”

“After your girlfriend and the other woman dump you. A pink rose is a good choice for people on a first date. Romantic, but not as intense as a red one.”

His heart and jaw drop simultaneously. “B-but…you don’t think…they won’t both dump me, will they?”

Bright blue eyes piercing, the florist hands the credit card back. “Only if they’re smart. Have a nice evening.”

Shell-shocked, the man shambles his way to the exit, flowers in hand, glazed stare not registering the shop door as it opens before he reaches it. Nor the boy with half red, half white hair who holds it open for him with a wry smile as he staggers out.

The door closes quietly behind the newcomer.

“Another satisfied customer, I see.” His soft-spoken cadence bears an unmistakable resemblance to the shopkeeper’s, just as his face, hair, and left eye do.

“He had it coming. Anyway, you have uncanny timing. He was my last for the day.”

Shrugging, the boy holds up the plastic shopping bag in his right hand. “Fuyumi sent me to pick up a few things for dinner tonight. I figured I might as well walk home with you since I was in the area.”

“And make sure your delinquent older brother stays out of trouble. Right.” The florist sighs. “It’s been two years since Deika City, Shōto. No one’s come after my head. Not much of a Hero Commission left to.”

“That doesn’t mean the remainder aren’t still looking. Natsuo, Fuyumi, and I are just watching your back, Touya.”

“Keeping me on a short leash, you mean.”

“Your husband agrees with us.”

“My husband can use whatever leash he wants on me. It’s just annoying when you three do it.”

The boy’s—Shōto’s—nose wrinkles. “Too much information.”

“Like you don’t feel the same about your friend. The one that was over last—”

A sudden cough interrupts him. “I’m not one of the country’s most wanted villains.”

The shopkeeper—Touya—presses a hand to his chest. “I’m but a humble florist. Not a villainous bone in my body.”

“Explain the theft charges then.”

Black eyebrows shoot up. “What theft charges?”

“Stealing my hair’s color scheme, you jerk.”

A smirk creeps across Touya’s face. “There’s hope for you yet.”

-

As predicted, they arrive home without incident. While Shōto goes to deliver the groceries to Fuyumi and Natsuo, who can be heard clattering around in the kitchen, Touya heads to the other side of the sprawling house. Also as expected, he slides open the partition to his room and finds a blanket-draped figure still sitting on the futon, hunched over a handheld game.

“Haven’t moved since I left this morning, have you?” he says with no real disapproval.

“Nope,” comes the shameless reply.

Smiling, Touya kneels beside the figure and pulls the top part of the blanket away. Long white hair that curls every which way is revealed. The figure’s eyes don’t tear themselves away from the flickering screen. Eyes as red as the crown of camellias Touya plops onto the other’s head.

At last, the game pauses.

“Must be the end of the week if you’re bringing me dead plants.” The way the crimson eyes look everywhere but at Touya ruin the sneer on chapped, scarred lips, though.

“Tenko.”

“What?”

Touya leans in, closer and closer, until the concept of personal space vanishes, and he has to be stopped with an annoyed—yet still gentle—elbow to the ribs.

“What? What do you—?”

“Nothin’.” He tucks some of the unruly curls behind the other man’s ear. “Just happy to see you is all.”

That does the trick. Tenko’s gaze locks with his for a split second before skittering away again. Touya watches, biting the insides of his cheeks to hold back a laugh, as his husband grabs an empty cup beside the futon. He fumbles, nearly dropping it—and not because one hand is missing fingers either.

“Make yourself useful and get me some water.”

“Hm…you are looking flushed.” Touya puts a palm to Tenko’s forehead. “You’re not coming down with a fever, are you?”

The offending hand is smacked away. “I’m your king. You aren’t allowed to make fun of me. I forbid it.”

With a bow meant to hide his grin more than anything else, Touya takes the cup and heads for the kitchen.

One glance at the piles of chopped vegetables covering the counter tell him something is up.

“We expecting an army?” he asks as he opens the refrigerator.

“Just three of your friends who led one,” Natsuo replies, still slicing and adding to the heap (and occasionally sneaking a bite or two). “Tenko asked if we could have them over tonight.”

Touya’s fingers slip on the handle of the water pitcher. Only a last-second scoop and grab saves it from shattering all over the floor. “He did? When?”

“A couple of days ago.” Fuyumi taste-tests whatever she has simmering on the stove before adding a pinch of salt. “They’ll be here in a couple of hours.”

“Atsuhiro-san offered to bring sushi, but…” Natsuo taps the knife on the cutting board, looking bemused. “I think he was joking? Only I don’t get it.”

“He’s joking if he knows what’s good for him.” Body curiously light, Touya closes the refrigerator. “Need any help?”

Fuyumi shakes her head and wipes her steamed up glasses off on the hem of her shirt. “We took care of most of the prep work before you came home from work. Anyway, we’ve agreed to keep all sharp objects away from you.”

“Besides, you over spice everything,” chimes in Natsuo.

“Haha. Everyone in this house is suddenly full of snappy comebacks.”

“We learned from the best.”

-

Touya is still smiling when he returns to the bedroom. Not only has Tenko gotten up, but he’s in the middle of stripping off his pajamas. As he pulls his shirt over his head, Touya admires the dozes of scars crisscrossing his torso. The scars that had bought their lives. That proved how far he was willing to go for those he loved.

“Hm?” Tenko drops the shirt and blinks down at the finger tracing an old, jagged slice running diagonally through his chest. The flower crown is still on his head, though askew.

“You asked the others to come over.”

Caught, he raises one hand to the side of his neck, lightly scratching. “Yeah, well…it’s been a while since we saw them, that’s all.”

Touya sets the cup aside on the dresser. Gently pulls the worrying fingers away, pressing them over his heart instead. The index and thumb lift to keep away from full contact purely out of habit.

“I’m glad.”

Tension drains away from Tenko’s posture with a sigh. His free hand rises to stroke the pinkish ripples of scar tissue on Touya's cheek. The ripples that had once been so much half-living skin on a half-dead man.

“You know…they won’t be here for a couple hours yet.” A smile flickers to life on Tenko’s face as the heartbeat under his palm picks up its tempo.

“I suppose we can keep busy in the meantime. We never did cross everything off those lists of ours.”

Tenko’s eyebrows leap up. “You remember what was left on them? Off the top of your head?”

Smirking, Touya leans in to nuzzle his neck. “I only went over them about a million times, imagining doing everything with you.”

Though Tenko huffs, his eyes go half-lidded, breath speeding up a notch. “Do you happen to remember whose turn it was to pick then?”

“Hmm…no. But I concede the choice to you.”

“How generous.”

“You are my king, after all.”

Tenko’s hand buries itself in the undyed half of Touya’s hair. “I am, aren’t I?” A tug earns a rewarding gasp. “Even though you’ve always been the sort of subject who follows orders only when he wants to.”

“You finally gonna teach me to behave?”

“Doubtful.” A show of teeth, thrilling and fearsome. “But I guess I’ll just have to keep trying, won’t I? You’re bound to learn one of these days.”

An answering smirk. “Sure. One of these days.”

[of-muppets-and-men]

Penumbra

Chapter 4: A Glimpse of the Sun

Children were few and far between in the Soul Society, at least in the Seireitei and especially amongst the noble families. The usual culprits being either widowed all too soon or being duty bound to create an heir, loving couple or not. A thing Rukia found to be rather tragic. Souls often lost track of how old they became; the insignificance of it after a few decades. Yet somehow, spending your life with your beloved was as rare as having a Bankai.

The misfortune of it all led her mind astray. She thought of her Sister and the void she’d left behind, the greatest of them in Byakuya’s heart. And of course, she thought of her own predicament; her decisions… and regrets. As charmed as her life was, what if she had stayed? Said something to him? Questions that lingered and tormented her ever since.

Then perhaps she wouldn’t have to formulate this ridiculous plan a visit to her own child.

A tug at her sleeve drew her gaze away from the monotone streets and to her pleasure, it was Ichika. Her second-born bore a concerned expression with eyes that mirrored her own.

“Mama? Are you okay?” the sweet child asked.

Rukia gave off a quick sigh and put on a brave face for her daughter, “I'm okay, pumpkin.”

In a moment’s notice, Ichika was swept up by her mother and held in her arms. The boisterous little girl giggled with glee as she nuzzled in her mother’s embrace. Outside her numerous regrets, Ichika was most definitely not one of them. But naturally, her husband had to spoil the moment. With a scoff and a scowl, Renji made his complaint abundantly clear.

“I don’t get why the hell we have to visit Yoruichi just because she adopted some kid.”

“Because...” His wife explained, trying to ignore his slight, “It would be rude to decline Yoruichi’s invitation and it would give Ichika a friend her age. Plus we haven’t seen her in months, so it wouldn’t kill us to get back in touch. Also, mind your language. I won’t have our daughter picking up your boorishness.”

Renji choked in offense at his wife’s backhanded comment while their daughter snickered at him. His famous scowl returned, prompting Ichika to raspberry at his defeat. Unfortunately for the lieutenant, he was outnumbered this time.

“Knock it off you two, we’re almost there.” Rukia reprimanded.

Her Husband begrudgingly fell in line as he took Ichika from Rukia’s arms and placed her on his shoulders. Renji was and still is far too proud to ever admit, but this was without a doubt his favorite thing to do outside of combat. Given his duties as a lieutenant and Rukia as acting Captain of Squad 13, it was a genuine difficulty for them to act as a family. By the Soul King, he hated when Rukia was right.

The Abarai family at last made it to the front gate of the Shihouin Manor; gaudy as always. Renji audibly groaned as he rolled his eyes at the lavish mansion. Several members of Yoruichi’s guard appeared before them, before bowing respectfully. Rukia, Renji and Ichika nodded in acknowledgement as the guards opened the gate, revealing their Mistress.

Yoruichi stood along the path, as informally as she could get away with. Just as they had prior, the many attendants of House Shihouin flanked the family on both sides, bowing in honour of their guests.

“Thank you for having us.” The Abarai family said in unison as they bowed before their host.

“Oh, come now. You guys should know I’m not big on formality.” Yoruichi chuckled.

With a quick snap of her fingers, the attendants and guards dispersed; allowing the old friends to greet each other without tradition snuffing the fun out of it. Rukia and Yoruichi shared a long overdue hug, the latter of whom towered over Rukia. As their embrace continued, Rukia felt the reiatsu of another person emanating from the rooftop. It was odd, like it was trying to mask itself. But even so; it was remarkably immense.

“You feel it too?” Renji piped up, sensing the same thing, “Who is that?”

A chuckle led both off their astounded faces back to Yoruichi, wearing a mischievous grin.

“You can come out now.”

And just like that, the culprit appeared before them. A little girl no bigger than Ichika sporting a uniquely tailored Shihakusho bowed politely before her elders. Rukia’s breath seemed stolen away; the girl’s violet eyes, practically identical to her own. And more distinctly, beautiful bright orange hair so reminiscent of him… it had to be her.

While Rukia silently marvelled out how breathtakingly beautiful her firstborn had become; her husband was more hard pressed to know how this seemingly random kid had such immense spiritual power. It had to be at least Captain level, given his arms still had goosebumps.

“Rukia. Renji. I’d like you to meet my daughter.”

“Katsumi Shihouin! Nice to meet you!” the little girl announced with pride.

“It’s my pleasure.” Renji remarked, “Yoruichi, where the hell did you find this kid?”

“I’ll tell you once we get inside, it’s starting to get hot.”

Nobody could disagree with that assessment, the blaring light of the afternoon had no mercy to spare. The shinigami made their way inside the expansive manor with Katsumi and Ichika already proving to be fast friends. Their parents could hardly make out a word of what they were on about but decided to let them be. Growing up in a noble household didn’t elicit a lot of time for friends. Not to mention it was frowned for upon for nobles to associate with the 'lower ranks', even if either party were children.

While the girls zipped down every hallway, the adults found themselves content to find a room to chat. And Yoruichi’s living room happened to be perfect. A brief warning for the kids not to break anything; a warning they probably didn't hear and the were off. Resting their zanpakuto upon a recently acquired stand, the shinigami let themselves melt into the couch. It was as encompassing as Renji remembered it to be, but this time, he neither complained nor cared. Yoruichi sprawled out like she normally did, letting out a sharp whistle that bounced off the walls. Not a moment after, another member of her court appeared, carrying her beloved pocky sticks and a fresh pot of tea.

“Seriously? Where do you keep getting these things from?” Renji whined.

Yoruichi smiled coyly as she placed one in her mouth, “Kisuke knows better than to let me run out.”

“Ah… so you two are…”

“Partners. In every way possible.” she purred in response.

Lovely. Imagery neither of them needed. Rukia rolled her eyes, elated her old friend would probably never change.

“Oh yeah, before if I forget. Where did you adopt Katsumi from?” Renji abruptly asked.

The princess of the shihouin clan sighed deeply, fixing her posture into something more dignified. At the same time, Rukia’s grip clenched tight around her tea. Lucky for them both, Renji wasn’t one to pick up on such subtleties.

“The South Rukongai, in Inuzuri. I found her swaddled up and alone while I was on patrol. My conscience wouldn’t let me just leave her there, so I took her in. Plain and simple.”

“Hmph… the Inuzuri District of all places.” the lieutenant recollected, “Kid was lucky you came by…”

A lull of silence fell over the shinigami. Whilst Renji bitterly re-lived his life as a street rat, Yoruichi breathed easier knowing her ploy had worked. Inuzuri held many memories for both Renji and Rukia; some good but most, not so much. Name dropping the seedy little district ensured he wouldn’t pry any deeper than necessary. The acting captain of squad 13 curled up, taking a slow and deliberate sip of her jasmine tea. She had partly fabricated that story, a bit of guilt nibbling away at her core. When the warm liquid settled, Rukia hardly recognized the woman staring back at her.

“Her spiritual pressure… it’s incredible.” Rukia randomly noted.

“You’re telling me.” Yoruichi breathed, “Some of my attendants can barely withstand it.”

It was true. A feat typically reserved for Captains, was similarly accomplished by a girl of seven. But even most of the current captains couldn't make lesser souls pass out entirely. Only Yamamoto himself could ever have claimed to. As troubled as her heart may have been, Rukia couldn't help but feel a sliver of pride. Her little one was bound to be a force of nature.

“MY LADY!” another voice said, piercing through the tranquility of the living room.

Three pairs of eyes panned towards the entrance of the adjacent hallway where a lone messenger now knelt.

“What is it?” interrogated the Shihouin princess.

“A messenger for Lieutenant Abarai.” the man spoke, quick and concise. “Captain Kuchiki has requested he return to the Squad 6 barracks.”

“Did he give a reason why?” Renji similarly questioned, sitting up from his spot on the sofa.

“No, sir. He only said it was urgent.”

The lieutenant rose from the couch, his legs taking a second to remember the weight of his frame. Damn thing was more effective than most Binding Kido. He reluctantly took Zabimaru from the sword stand, letting out a sigh that matched his annoyance.

“Damn… Looks like I’m gonna have to cut our little reunion short. Will you and Ichika be okay?”

“Yes, we’ll be here for a while longer so don’t worry about us.” His wife reassured him.

“Alright, see you soon.”

Renji planted a loving kiss on Rukia’s forehead before subsequently leaving. Rukia faked a smile the whole time until she was sure he’d exited the manor. Yoruichi slumped back down, enjoying herself as she greedily consumed her snacks. A deep sigh escaped the acting captain’s lungs, hard pressed to know more of the daughter she left behind. Her brave face waned as tears of joy formed in the corners of her eyes.

“She’s beautiful…” Rukia suddenly beamed, wiping away at her cheeks. “Tell me. Does she have a zanpakuto?”

“Indeed she does.” Yoruichi divulging, reaching under the couch to reveal a massive odachi.

She handed Rukia her daughter’s zanpakuto, staring in awe of the blade’s size. If the blade reflected the power of the shinigami, then there was no doubt Katsumi was Ichigo’s child. Rukia positioned the greatsword to inspect the guard. A four point star style guard with circular grooves between each point and a vague snowflake design atop it. A true zanpakuto at her age was unprecedented, let alone one of such size. The forlorn mother pressed the handle against her forehead, weeping softly on the milestone she missed. Without a sound, Yoruichi scooted beside her, hugging her for what it was worth.

“Does she know it’s name?” Rukia asked weakly, still clutching the blade.

“No, not yet. Though given her parents, I doubt that it will stay that way for long.” Yoruichi complemented.

A half-hearted laugh came from the both. But eventually, it was drowned out by the thrilled screamed of her daughters. Ichika and Katsumi came barreling through, after tormenting the manor for the past 30 minutes. Rukia’s heart felt more at ease when she them getting along; if only they knew they were sisters. Ichika’s eye flared with worry, however, when she noticed her mother’s anguish.

“Mama!” She bolted over, “Are you okay?”

“Yes, sweetheart. I’m okay.” Rukia responded warmly. “Having fun?”

As Rukia spoke, Yoruichi tucked the zanpakuto back under the sofa, hoping they weren’t any the wiser.

Both girls shook their heads in excitement, “Mhmmm!”

“You two didn’t break anything, right?” Yoruichi chimed in, crossing her arms.

Neither of them said a word but the devious look in their eyes betrayed their words; a messy disaster more than likely in the cards. Neither of the elder shinigami were convinced, but decided to let it be. After all, that’s what servants were for. The unknowing sisters joined them on the sofa, intent on starting a pillow war.

A looming sense of dread filled Rukia’s heart. Innocent as they were now, one day her daughters would learn the truth. It scared her to think of the possibilities. What if that knowledge made them hate one another? Or if both of them came to resent her. Would it have been worth all the secrecy then? Her mind lingered and strayed. Only at another tug of her sleeve, did its tension cease. Rukia half expected it to be Ichika, but gasped when Katsumi stared back at her instead.

“Auntie Rukia… Will you visit us again?” Katsumi wondered.

Taken aback by the question, Rukia took a moment to answer, “Umm Yes sweetie. Why do you ask?”

“I like playing with Ichika… I don’t have many friends so...”

Rukia rested a hand on her firrstborn’s head and gave a reassuring smile.

“We’ll come back as many times as you want.”

“Really?!” the girl’s eyes lit up with excitement.

“Of course.”

Without warning, Katsumi lunged into her for a hug. Ichika followed her half sister’s lead as they both screamed with joy. A sly smirk formed on Yoruichi’s face as Rukia was overwhelmed by her children's love. The small woman’s arms enveloped them both; her face home to her first genuine smile in months. The future was bound to be racked with hardship of her own making, but at least for now, she had this...

[dabis-azure-songstress]

Dabi x Hero!OC (Please read note)

Hiiii!~ It’s so nice to have been writing again. This time, I am back with a certain favorite villain of mine~ I tried to write something I haven’t before and also give you guys something new to read that I haven’t seen yet. I did use my OC for this because for the beginning I wanted to some quirks for the battle and a few of my own kinks to help make you guys comfortable if you want to make any requests. However~ feel free to imagine yourself as Shinju if you want~ I really don’t mind! I would like to announce that I will happily take requests if you would like a one-shot or anything for reader or your own OC~ I’m most comfortable writing for Dabi because I can kind of go full blast and be the kinky little thing that I am, but I also have huge soft spots for Todoroki and Bakugo and now Suneater, as well. Any other characters, please ask and I will try to research and nail for you, but those were my mains~! She’s probably tired of seeing this, but I always have to shout out my biggest fan and friend here @strawberryandspiceandchocolate​. Thank you so much for your support, advice, and always being excited to read what I write or come up with/help me brainstorm. She coined the term “El-whip” for Shinju’s whip. It means so much to me that you and others loved my Bakugo Naga. Without further ado!~ I hope you love it as much as Shinju did. ;)

Pairing: Dabi x Hero!OC Shinju

WARNINGS: NSFW, pretty kinky, piercings, choking, rough, slight non-con (but Shinju does LOVE it, I promise) 

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED BECAUSE DABI IS A KINK KING. CONTINUE AT OWN RISK BELOW LINE.

The sharp crack of thunder went off as Shinju cracked her El-whip, nearly getting Bakugo in the crossfire and lighting the area up with her lightning, but she had full faith in his abilities. “HOLY SHIT, YOU ALMOST SNAPPED MY DAMN FACE!” King Explosion raged behind his orange and black mask. “Eh, I knew you’d dodge it, Boom Boom Boy.” Electro-Dancer teased and stroked his ego simultaneously. Blue Flame barely dodged the attack of the quick and extremely dangerous periwinkle bolt of lightning from the end of the whip. He watched in utter amusement. That Electro-Dancer or whatever had nearly struck her own teammate in the process of blocking Dabi’s dangerous blue flames.

“My my…You’re either extremely confident, trusting, and highly intelligent or incredibly reckless and desperate.” Dabi eyed the female in her tight black and purple latex suit and a purple mask shaped like two connected lightning bolts. He flexed his hand as the heroine’s crystal blues met his own electric gaze directly for the first time. “I’ve never seen you before, are you new? Here to distract me from your other little hero friend?” The woman continued to eye him down with a hand on her cocked hip as Bakugo stomped over beside her. “Oh, I’m not new per se, just never had the pleasure of taking you down before,” she replied almost flirty with a smirk.

King Explosion snorted beside her, palms already alighting with another fiery blow. “We’re not here to chat, Electro. Hold him off until Deku and the others get the civilians outta here.” Electro sighed and extended her right gloved hand, purple electricity crackling to life. “Ready, Boom Boom Daddy?” Bakugo smirked, but his tone turned deathly. “Don’t call me that! ‘Bout damn time. Thought you’d never ask.” Dabi was preparing and focused on her right hand that he didn’t see the release from her left and combine with Bakugo’s palm explosion.

Dabi’s eyes widened as he dodged, and the lightning exploded on impact. Even managing to dodge, the heat from the bolt made him reel in pain as it burned his scarred arm. He almost couldn’t handle it. Kurogiri suddenly warped to him as he held his wrist in pain. “Fuck.” Kurogiri hissed softly. “So, they have a new hero. We should try to exhaust her and separate them. Then we’ll take her for learning and interrogation.” Dabi laughed.

Electro was rapidly running out of energy, the energy battery on her hip was already used to back Bakugo up and there were no thunderstorms or electricity in the air nearby or Denki. Bakugo glanced back at her carefully. He knew the older woman was running low on juice since she’d already called a storm earlier in the week to charge the battery. “Shit.” he cursed lowly. “Here’s our opening,” Dabi smirked as he noticed Bakugo’s nervous glance and used his blue flames to come between the two.

Electro hissed as she fell back from the flames, tearing parts of the back of her outfit. She could hear Bakugo screaming at her. She was too focused on that until she felt hands roughly drag her up and hold her tightly to their torso. A sharp pinprick on her neck and the woman began to feel dazed as her vision blacked out.

---

Shinju groaned lowly as she started to come around, wrists chained above her head and a spreader bar between her high-heeled rubber boots. “Don’t even think about trying anything. Just relax. I’ve been informed of that amazing quirk of yours and have removed anything that could possibly recharge you. Dabi will be here to interrogate you shortly.” Shigaraki spoke from the low candlelit door. She couldn’t even manage to try; she was beginning to roll from whatever concoction they’d given her.

She was out again before a chair sliding on the floor roused her once more from her slumber. The male with piercings, scars, and spikey dark hair was back and eyed her with interest. “Quite a quirk, babe. Who would’ve thought that cute and curvy petite shell held all that power?” He licked his lips. Dabi? The woman grasped groggily at the name in her head. She tried to respond but only groaned.

“Tell me about it. Because of you, I’ve had to take quite a few painkillers.” Shinju looked up at him as he stood in front of her and flashed a bandage. “Yeah, well, you ripped my suit.” Dabi laughed loudly. “That’s what you’re worried about? When I could just,” he grabbed her by her long lavender braid and pulled her head back forcefully. “just burn your little head right off. Now, why don’t we see the rambunctious woman behind that mask?”

Shinju tried her best to keep turning her head away as he grasped the ties, but it was no use. Dabi stared at her as her face was revealed. Beautiful black winged eyeliner surrounded her eyes and she was beautiful to Dabi. She looked young, but he knew better. The Baku-brat was at least in his twenties now. Dabi got a little irritable.

“Tell me, Electro-girl. A pretty little lady like you, do you find me hideous?” He flashed a menacing grin as she looked at him as closely as she could. It was probably the drugs, but she couldn’t lie to him. “Nah. The opposite actually…” Shinju trailed off. He searched and found nothing but sincerity within her blue orbs.

He was a bit taken aback. “I know you won’t betray your darling heroes, as strong-willed as those eyes are looking at me even dilated. So, is bomb boy your boyfriend? You must have some pretty interesting fetishes to dress confidently like that, princess.” Shinju laughed nervously. “Boom Boom Boy is one of my closest friends and hilarious to get riled up. Maybe. Most heroes wear tight outfits and stuff. Mine works well for my quirk. I can’t exactly fight in a uniform skirt. And you’re asking me about fetishes? What about you, Staple Boy?”

Dabi wasn’t offended but smirked widely and wickedly. “Oh, plenty.” He circled around her slowly, taking note of the rips on her hind end in the latex. “Explosion boy won’t mind if I touch you much then. Y’know, since he isn’t your boyfriend.” He trailed a finger over part of the exposed flesh on the back of her thigh, causing Shinju to gasp. “You’re still a little more conscious and aware, so the drug either hasn’t hit you fully or Overhaul sent you some Swamp-Water.”

Shinju shook as her vision began filtering the world in different colors. “D-don’t touch me…” she sighed out, head dropping forward as Dabi released his hold on her now messy waist-length braid. Quickly, he slid his hand in one of the larger rips within the latex and grabbed a handful of the soft and squishy flesh of one of her rear cheeks. A loud moan released itself from her lungs. Dabi placed his lips close to the sensitive shell of her before he whispered. “Dear little heroine…I’ll show how fun it will be to release your dark side. Since you didn’t want to tell me your fetishes, I guess we’ll play with some of mine and find out if they line up with any of yours.”

Shinju was panting already as his hand began to unzip the back of her suit. Her skin felt feverish beneath his hands as he shoved them in to grab at her perky breasts. “Mmm, so…What do you think of this?” He gave each a harsh squeeze simultaneously and caused the woman to cry out exasperatedly at the pleasure. “Oh, so you are kinkier than I thought. I bet you were such a good girl in school, but such a freak when it comes to being in bed with a man.”

The female was breathless already. “I highly doubt that’s just the drug now. I think you honestly like things a little rough and dirty, huh doll?” Shinju pushed her head back, successfully surprising him by knocking roughly into his shoulder. “Ow,” he grunted. “S-sorry…” the woman muttered. Dabi laughed loudly. “You’re saying sorry to me? That Swamp-Water is really working on you. The first time, I’m guessing. Now, why don’t I just gently help you down from there, huh? But we’ll keep your pretty little legs spread with that bar.”

Honestly, Shinju was just happy that her arms were being released more comfortably, even if they were over Dabi’s shoulders and her wrists were still bound. “There now. That’s better, isn’t it?” Shinju nodded and drooped, resting her head against the villain’s. Dabi was watching her closely for any tricks. “Everyone reacts a little differently. Just like any other drug.”

Shinju’s arms felt heavy and like Jell-O around his neck. “God, I feel so hot.” she panted. “Allow me to help with that, baby doll.” Dabi strategically laid her on the cold hard floor before he grabbed the rope still binding her wrists and set his quirk aflame. Shinju cried out loudly as it burned her wrists. “Whoops. Payback’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

“Don’t move or I’ll engulf your entire body in my flames. Be a good girl, alright?” Shinju felt too drained to care as he pulled at the latex suit, effectively pulling it off and down to the bar between her ankles. “Oh-ho-ho. No underwear? My my, you’re just begging to be fucked, aren’t you? Should just be honest with me. You love the thought of me man-handling you and just ravaging you however the fuck I like.” The woman moaned beneath him, heat pooling up in her loins.

Why was she reacting so much to just his voice? Dabi smirked at her and finally moved in for the first kiss. “You try to bite me or anything and I really will turn you into the loveliest pile of ash on this floor.” His lips met against hers roughly and Shinju moaned at the two different textures. His upper lip was soft and the burnt scars of his lower were pleasantly rough. Taking advantage of the situation, Dabi turned the kiss deeper, careful not to pull at the stitches and piercings in them.

Shinju’s mind blanked completely before she slowly started to come out of her drug-induced haze. She began to push her tongue roughly into his mouth. Dabi was surprised but went along with it. Who was he to deny the woman a bit of control of what he did with her body? Her hands twisted into the dark (surprisingly, very silky) spikes of his hair. “Oh? Now you’re getting into it, kinky girl.” She hissed in pleasure as he pulled at a swollen nipple and circled a finger slowly around her clit.

She jerked beneath him roughly. “You’re so sensitive. I’m going to have so much fun with you baby.” Suddenly he pulled away, much to her chagrin. That changed though as she stared at the hollow needle and metal rings he picked up in his hands. “You’re so fucking pretty. I want to give you something, so you’ll always remember me.”

Shinju began to feel her blood run cold. “Now hold still. This will only hurt for a minute. You’re going to be the most gorgeous and unique woman there is out there.” Dabi grabbed her bottom lip tightly between his fingers and pulled it out tautly. Shinju panted roughly and did her best not to squirm, eyes shutting tightly as he pushed the needle and rings through either side of her lip. She did groan and she felt it, but the burns of his flames hurt far worse.

Her adrenaline rush was expended after the first piercing and by the second, she nearly passed out. “Damn. You look even sexier, babe. God, piercing you was so sexy. It’s gotten me so hard. Now that I’ve given you some real pain and torture, why don’t I bestow you with some real pleasure, hm?” Shinju watched as he came to her, unzipping the bulge of his jeans very slowly. Still a bit blurry from the rush of the piercings, it took her a moment to catch up with his actions.

Dabi’s hand gripped her ankle before he folded her in on herself before the spreader bar was behind his neck and her ankles were at his ears. Shinju flushed brightly at the position. She’d never felt so exposed in her entire life before. She began to panic as she felt the heat of the underside of him and something contrastingly cool pressed directly against her. “W-wait! You’re going to get me pregnant if you do it that way!”

“Doesn’t that give you such a thrill though? I could or I could not. Me, a villain. And you a cute little heroine.” He silenced her by wrapping his hand tightly around her throat as he pressed down into her deeply. Shinju’s face began to turn red from his head holding in the loud moan she would’ve released. The position caused him to go deep. Noticing the danger on the woman’s face, Dabi eased his grip and Shinju coughed and gasped out sharply for air.

As he forced his hips forward roughly into her, he swallowed her cries of pleasure. In the position, she couldn’t help herself. It was mind-blowing. And the extra unexpected ladder of a few barbells on the underside of his girth was a bonus. Shinju honestly wouldn’t have noticed much if Dabi wasn’t a master at using them.

Shinju moaned and panted into his mouth roughly. “God, you really are a good girl taking all of my cock like that and moaning like a little slut.”  Shinju was reaching her peak, the white heat building in her abdomen causing her muscles to tighten. Dabi moaned out finally, snapping his hips forward into the tightening body beneath him. “Now you’re going to be even better and take every single last drop I have to give you and possibly get so swollen. What would your dear best friend have to say about that?”

Shinju’s eyes snapped open wide as she gripped onto the fabric of the arms of his jacket. “P-please, Dabi. D-don’t.” He moaned again, hot breath fanning across her face. “You’re so precious. Stuttering beneath me to not to, but your body betrays you. You got fucking soaked when I said that.” Dabi’s hips quickened into her a bit more and Shinju finally shattered like an explosion of glass.

She literally cried as she came undone around him, and Dabi was overwhelmed by her waves. Shuddering and getting sloppy, he pushed his hips tightly to her before he unleashed like a torrent within her. She shuddered at the feeling of being so full. Dabi sighed heavily in relief. “So, tell me, babe, how many of your fetishes did I hit?”

“The piercings were a bit much…but oh my god…” Shinju’s head fell back against the floor with a soft thud. Dabi laughed loudly as he rounded a nipple softly with his finger. Shinju groaned loudly as she felt a new needle and piercing push through each of them. “Ooo, those are gonna show in that sexy little suit you wear.”

Shinju felt overloaded mentally and physically, her body shuddering and vision blurring. “Y’know, I am supposed to be interrogating you.” Dabi looked down at her with his electric blue eyes. She gripped one of his arms weakly and gasped as she felt the tingle in her fingers. “What the hell did you do!?” Dabi growled as the muscles in his arm began to tense painfully and became immobile. “S-sorry…that’s never happened b-before…I…”

Dabi laughed again loudly. “Oh, I just unleashed a little section of your quirk you never knew you had, didn’t I?” Somehow, she had managed to intercept an electrical signal from his brain as it traveled towards his hand. “That’ll do for now, Electro-girl.” Dabi retreated, stood slowly, and fixed himself before he removed the spreader bar from Shinju’s ankles and helped her slide back into her suit and replace her mask.

“I guess I can let you go now.”

“L-let me go?”

Dabi looked at her, holding his tensed arm.  “Yeah. I did get some useful information about your quirk like I needed to, and you aren’t currently interfering with my goals. I’ll just tell them you pulled a fast one on me with this extensive part of your quirk and I couldn’t move. Just make sure you don’t get in my way in the future, this changes nothing and I’m not going to go easy on you. You fight me like you mean it, and don’t you go falling for me, babe.” He teased.

---

Shinju stumbled, very sore and nearly unable to walk as she followed the directions she’d been given by Dabi. “WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN!? WE’VE BEEN LOOKING FOR YOU EVERYWHERE, DAMN IDIOT!” All her hair stood on end and she jumped at the explosive voice. “Shinju! You’re back!” Midoriya smiled brightly, trotting up to her alongside the spiky-haired blonde. “Thank goodness...geez, you look terrible. You’re so pale…We better have you taken to the infirmary.” Shinju nodded weakly before she finally feinted against Bakugo.