#hes named ‘the beast’ for god’s sake

[pa1nrema1ns]

𝐕𝐚𝐞 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐬 || 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐢𝐧𝐰𝐨𝐨 (𝟏𝟖+ 𝐎𝐧𝐞-𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭)

𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐆𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫! 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐢𝐧𝐰𝐨𝐨 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

"𝐈 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝, 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐧, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝." – 𝐒𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐦 𝐆𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮𝐦 (𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐎𝐚𝐭𝐡)

⚔︎⛊ A/N: This piece began as a drabble but soon became more of a self-contained story. Although I wrote with the intention of creating a one-shot, I may expand upon the gladiator AU and include more hunters in future works if there's enough interest (I'm looking at you Baek Yoonho, Thomas Andre, and Liu Zhigang).

⚔︎⛊ Word count: 5.6k

⚔︎⛊ Content warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, concubine!reader, ancient Rome au, reader has a dark past (implied non-con), rescue romance, switch!Jinwoo, p in v, gratuitous praise, intimate healing (heavy focus on consent, words of affirmation, and the reader reclaiming her bodily pleasure and autonomy), abrupt ending/sequel hook.

⚔︎⛊ Dividers by: @fairytopea and @uzmacchiato

Impoverished and on the brink of starvation, Gladiator! Jinwoo willingly throws himself into the fire, volunteering his fate to the arena.

𓆩✧𓆪 Dressed in rags, hair matted to his forehead, and with nary a coin to his name, he stumbles through the streets of Rome. He is a scrap of a man, ill-suited for the rage of battle and the insurmountable odds that await him. Despite this, he is uncompromising in his decision. If there is even the slightest chance of securing a better future for his family, then he will gladly place his life on the line as many times as it takes.

𓆩✧𓆪 Jinwoo would go so far as to sacrifice his soul and his humanity for strength. No matter how high the cost may grow, he must become stronger for the sake of his mother and Jinah. He made a promise to his dying father that he would protect them, and he intended to keep his word.

𓆩✧𓆪 His desperation drives him to enter a divine covenant with a cunning magus known only as the Architect. Cloaked in mystery and with unknown origins, the sorcerer drives a deadly bargain. The binding agreement? Become a worthy vessel for the god of death, Ashborn, and he shall be blessed with overwhelming power and limitless potential. Refuse, and his life is forfeit. Desperate and with everything to lose, he does not hesitate to accept.

𓆩✧𓆪 Jinwoo rebuilds himself from the ground up. His days are filled with endless clashes against man and beast, his life an ever-present struggle for survival. Any moment may be his last, and yet, he perseveres. He flourishes in the bloodshed, weathers the pain, and as time passes, he acquires the skill and physicality of a formidable combatant. Gone are his boyish features, replaced by the sharp edges and pensive countenance of a man. Once frail and waiflike, his frame is now packed with heavily corded muscles. He cuts a fierce figure on the sands of the Colosseum.

𓆩✧𓆪 Jinwoo fights with all the fury of the gods. Concealed in a mask of anonymity with twin daggers in hand, he leaps into the fray, sparing his opponents no quarter. Anything goes on the battlefield. Yesterday, these men were his brothers in arms. Today, they are his enemies.

𓆩✧𓆪 Steel slams against steel in rapid succession, the vicious strikes reverberating loudly across the arena. A torrent of slashes rains down from Jinwoo's blades, each attack calculated and precise. He unleashes a terrifying display of efficiency, tearing his opposition asunder, dealing blow after devastating blow until none remain standing.

𓆩✧𓆪 Spectators are momentarily stunned into silence, awestruck by what they have witnessed. This pregnant pause is soon broken by a single round of applause, then another. Within seconds, the rest of the audience erupts in cheers, their excitement reaching a fever pitch at the unveiling of a new champion.

𓆩✧𓆪 Hours later, Jinwoo slips into the arena morgue under the veil of night. His newfound abilities as Ashborn's vessel have made him well-versed in the afterlife, and he can discern the chittering cries and lamentations of the dead. He hears their calls for revenge, liberation, and glory. All the fervent dreams they failed to achieve in life.

He takes a moment to honor his slain comrades, bowing his head as a sign of respect. After paying his dues, he parts his lips and issues a single command.

"Arise."

𓆩✧𓆪 Jinwoo’s feats of valor have become known far and wide. Dreaded by his fellow warriors and revered by the Roman populace, he is exalted. But the spoils of victory and hollow accolades mean little to him; as long as there is food on the table back home and his mother and younger sister are safe, then that is more than enough for him.

This changes when he encounters a reward far too tempting to resist.

Jinwoo's throat bobs when he first sees you.

You stand in near nakedness next to the overseer of the games, clad only in a sheer gown. The fine silk does nothing to preserve your modesty—it just accentuates your shapely thighs, round breasts, and the gentle curve of your hips. You're beautiful, he thinks, like a rose coming into bloom—delicate, soft, and oh-so-sweet.

He bets you taste delicious too, like nectar and ambrosia.

When you take your place up front on the podium for all to see, it finally dawns on him that the prize for emerging victorious this time isn't freedom, fame, or fortune—it's you.

For once, Jinwoo yearns for something beyond absolute power or dominance. He longs for the tenderness of a woman. Hardship and loneliness are all he's ever known throughout his young life, and now more than ever, he wants someone who can soothe his weary heart.

Shortly before the start of the gladiatorial games, an orator announces that the emperor has provided one of his finest concubines as a gesture of goodwill. Whosoever procures the most kills during today's bouts will be allowed to keep you as their whore. Excited and scandalized chatter breaks out amongst the crowd at this unexpected turn of events.

Over the commotion, your gaze meets his, and Jinwoo is instantly drawn into your eyes; they appear to tell a story, one drenched in sorrow and tears of blood. The anguish that mars your lovely face is palpable, and he feels a sudden surge of anger coursing through his veins.

A thing of beauty such as yourself would not have been spared from the cruelty of men, especially those in positions of power… You must have suffered greatly at the hands of the emperor. And now, that bastard was offering you up as a pleasure girl to a horde of violent fighters. You were a veritable rabbit in a den of wolves, exposed and completely defenseless!

His expression darkens, and he grips one of his daggers with such ferocity that its hilt shatters. He decides right then and there that he must have you.

Jinwoo refuses to idly stand by and watch as you're dealt a fate worse than death. He's noticed the way these brutes leer at you and overheard their crude remarks and lewd intentions. It infuriates him, and he vows to slaughter every last one of the competition. He'll dirty himself with crimson and gore, if need be; anything to claim you for himself.

Armed combat and melee commence posthaste and immediately, and Jinwoo sets about wreaking carnage. He slits throats, severs heads from bodies, and crushes organs, all with the cold indifference of a man scraping shit off his boots.

The usually bloodthirsty spectators gasp; even the overseer is rendered aghast by his savagery. You’re also left in a state of wide-eyed disbelief at the massacre, not quite grasping what you saw.

A single thought runs through your mind.

Could this really be the same man from earlier who gazed at me with such kind eyes?

Daylight bleeds into dusk, and at last, the dust settles. Jinwoo stands as the sole remaining contender in a sea of corpses.

He breathes deeply and exhales, and with that simple act, he seems to discard all sense of brutality. The man proceeds to nonchalantly twirl his daggers, flicking blood off the blades before sheathing them. Then, without missing a beat, he launches himself onto the podium, landing almost directly in front of you.

In an unprecedented event, an eerie quiet descends upon the Colosseum. There’s no raucous laughter, jeers, shouts, or the sound of hands clapping—only a collective feeling of apprehension.

The officials seated nearby are frozen in fear by his presence. They can merely gape in trepidation as he approaches. You inhale sharply, only to break into a sudden fit of coughing. The air around you has become saturated with dense magical energy, making it nigh impossible to breathe.

Panic-stricken, you begin to shiver. When his footfalls inevitably grow louder, you shut your lids and curl into yourself, preparing for the worst. However, what greets you is the sensation of a warm and calloused palm cupping your cheek. Your breath hitches, and you open your eyes in shock. You haven’t been touched this gently since being separated from your family. It was soothing and heart-achingly familiar.

You cast a glance at Jinwoo, and at this proximity, you can observe the subtle confidence in his cobalt blue eyes, the evenness of his features, and his long lashes. He’s startlingly handsome and younger than you expected. Your hackles lower ever so slightly.

Sensing your lingering unease, the man sends you a small, reassuring smile and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Then he speaks to you, his voice deep and melodic.

“Easy, love. I’m not going to hurt you—I’ve only come to claim my prize.” He then lowers his tone and leans forward until you can feel his breath tickling your neck. “You’ll be safe with me, I promise,” he whispers solemnly before adding, “I’ll take nothing from you that you aren’t willing to give. Your body and your heart belong to you and no one else. Remember that for me, sweet girl.”

You’re unsure how to react; the sincerity behind the man’s words contrasts drastically with his monstrous violence in the arena. It was jarring, but you found yourself desperately wanting to believe him.

Jinwoo soon steers his focus to the game’s overseer, and his docile demeanor quickly dissipates. He’s remarkably terse when addressing the feeble patrician, “I take it His Imperial Majesty is a man of his word, is he not? Then, according to the rules in place, this woman is henceforth bound to me. Unless you have any objections, that is?”

Your heart races wildly as you cling to Jinwoo’s every word. The emotions you’re experiencing right now are a mix of anticipation, amazement, and fascination. Never has a man gone so far to possess you. You were complete strangers, yet here he was, threatening the upper echelons of Roman society on your behalf. It was... oddly endearing.

“No—no! Not at all.” The overseer appeared as if he would faint at any moment. “It is just as you say, champion. To the victor go the spoils! You are free to do with her as you wish.”

“Hmph, then I’ll hold you to that.”

Jinwoo turns on his heel without wasting another breath, and a hint of a smirk tugs at his lips. He returns to your side and wraps his obsidian cape around your shoulders.

The raven-haired man chuckles at the puzzled expression you make—Gods, you were so damn cute. How could the emperor relinquish such a precious jewel? The old fool must have lost his mind to discard you so callously. Well, no matter—you were in better hands now.

“You must be cold in that flimsy dress of yours, little songbird,” he teases while coiling a robust arm around your waist. “I can feel you trembling underneath my fingertips… What say we head to the baths before retiring for the night in my quarters? A good soak and some companionship should warm you right up.”

You don’t miss the seductive glint in his eyes or the way his voice deepens as he purrs his sultry proposition. You blush and glance down at your hands, suddenly bashful despite yourself. How did this man manage to make you feel so shy with his flirtations? It was disarming and incredibly alluring, a sharp contrast to the unwelcome advances you had become so accustomed to while living at the palace.

“I—I… would very much like that,” you stutter nervously, still too embarrassed to look him in the eye. Fuck, you had a pretty voice too, like the soft chiming of a bell.

He imagines how divine you'll sound while screaming his name.

Jinwoo dispels any further reservations you might have by dipping his face into the crook of your neck. He mouths against the sensitive flesh, trailing feather-light kisses. The sensation of his lips brushing a specific spot behind your ear elicits a breathy moan from you, and you arch your back in surrender.

The gladiator smirks against your skin before slipping out his tongue and dragging it across your earlobe. He husks, “I can make it worth your while, sweet girl, but only if you agree. Say the word, and I’ll worship every inch of you with my mouth—” he emphasizes by nipping at your ear, “my hands—” he palms at one of your breasts, slowly rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, “and—” he presses his clothed cock along the swell of your ass and sneaks his hand down to cup your cunt, biting back a groan when he feels how soaked you are beneath the fabric.

A searing heat pools in your lower abdomen, and your eyes flutter shut at his ministrations. In the background, the audience is brought alive again, hollering and catcalling at you both, but the noise does nothing to stop the pressure mounting in your core; it only causes a fresh layer of slick to trickle down your thighs.

After what seems like an eternity, you finally regain some sense of clarity and beg, “Please, don’t stop! I want this; I want you! Please—”

Jinwoo gently turns your face and silences your ramblings with his lips. The kiss is initially tender and fleeting, a simple caress of his mouth against yours. However, he’s quick to pry open your lips with a smooth swipe of his tongue. He then slips inside your mouth, coaxing you to slide your tongue over his. You readily submit, grabbing the nape of his neck and deepening the kiss. The weaving of your lips soon devolves into something languid, sensual, and primal.

At the last moment, Jinwoo manages to reel in his lust and reluctantly parts from you. The gladiator's restraint hangs by a single, precarious thread, and he wants nothing more than to ravish you, but not here. Not in front of all these prying eyes.

Before you can fully register what’s happening, he grasps you firmly to his chest and rasps in your ear, “I'd say it's high time we take this somewhere more comfortable, huh, love? Hold onto me tightly; this will be a rather hasty escape."

'A hasty escape?' What could he possibly mean by—!?

"Exchange."

Darkness. The void that absorbs you is filled with nothing but darkness. Person, place, and time have no permanence in this pocket of space that exists somewhere between reality and the ether. Then, just as quickly as this inexplicable situation begins, it ends. You are present again, whole and in the flesh, as is Jinwoo. The packed Colosseum, however, is nowhere to be seen. Instead, your surroundings have been replaced by the entrance to a sprawling complex.

Upon second glance, you notice it is a bathhouse, and an opulent one at that, if its elegantly manicured gardens, marble structure, and decorative stucco are any indication.

Did he use his mana to transport us here? But how? Only an experienced mage could possess such skills. Just what manner of man is this?

You worry your lip between your teeth as you mull over your concerns, but before you can become too entranced, an abrupt squeeze at your waist breaks you from your train of thought. It was the gladiator, and he was grinning at you broadly.

“These are the imperial baths reserved strictly for victors. I hope it is to your liking…? Are you alright? You’re so pale.” He brushes his hand over your cheek and questions you in an affectionate tenor.

“Tell me, are you afraid? Were my words not enough to quell your fears, little dove?” His smile shifts into a thin line as he intently studies your face. Ashamedly, you nod your head and avoid his gaze.

“I see… Then what can I do to prove myself to you?”

The muscular arms that embrace you loosen enough for you to take a few tentative steps backward, away from him. You regard the gladiator with a twinge of suspicion, an action you could hardly be blamed for; magical prowess of this caliber could rival the elite mages of the praetorian guard. This man was undoubtedly dangerous, but he'd been nothing but amicable towards you.

Conflicted, you take a deep, steady breath before addressing him, this time by name, “Sung Jinwoo, who exactly are you?”

You raise your head as you speak to him, and there’s a gleam in his eyes: ravenous, predatory hunger.

He was trying to intimidate you, to cease your meddling. To entice you into compliance.

Yet you continue, unabated, “You slaughter others as easily as one draws breath, then you effortlessly demonstrate a type of magic that would take the most learned magi years to master.”

You walk back toward him, slowly and purposefully, stopping only when you both stand face-to-face.

“Do the gods favor you above all else, or are you born from divinity? Are you…are you human?”

A pang of guilt twists at Jinwoo’s conscience. He always knew that he would have to reveal his identity at some point, but not under these circumstances.

He sighs and provides you with a half-truth as an answer. He knows it won’t suffice, but at the very least, it might assuage some of your worries.

“I am human, but only just. That is the best explanation I can give for the time being. Please, do not ask or demand any further from me. Those are my only rules for you, love.” He leads his fingers down your spine as he implores you.

Your expression softens, and you splay your hands on his bare chest, above his beating heart. The rich texture of his skin, his earthy musk, and the pulse of vitality beneath your palms are all indicative of humanity.

In little more than a murmur, you speak to him, “Jinwoo, you command me not to be frightened, yet part of me is, and I resent myself for it. But how can I be at peace while alone with a man who wields power beyond all understanding? You could effortlessly break me if you so desire, yet you'd have me believe otherwise?"

You suddenly burst into a fit of tinkling, derisive laughter, making the gladiator swallow thickly. Even in scorn, you sounded beautiful. If only you were laughing for a different reason —a joyous one.

"Do not mistake me for some naïve, tenderhearted maiden, Jinwoo." You continue in a subdued tone, "I’ve witnessed evil and corruption by men much weaker than you. I know better than to let my guard down completely.”

Nonetheless, your touches become bolder and more sinful. Your hands drift lower, smoothing over the rippling planes of his torso; he exhales shakily through his nose, and you can’t help but admire the delicious flex of his muscles as he does so. You decide to see how far you can push him, tracing the veins along his V-line with your fingertips while sucking at his neck and collarbones.

He lets out a strangled noise when you bite down hard enough to break the skin. “And wh-what about the other part of you, hmm?” He manages to grit through his teeth, “For someone who claims to be so scared and jaded, you sure are handsy—oh shit!”

Rather than responding to his jest, you unlatch his belt with deft fingers and slip your hand into his loincloth. Just from the feel of him, his cock was painfully hard and leaking. Your mouth waters at the thought, driving you to free him from the confines of his undergarments. Jinwoo releases a hiss as his dick springs up and slaps against his toned stomach.

You drink in the sight of him, admiring how pretty and thick his flushed cock is. The shaft emerged from a soft thatch of curls, and it was a dark shade of pink that tapered into vibrant red at the tip. Creamy pearls of precum dribbled endlessly at his slit. Intrigued, you skim your fingers around the sensitive glans, coating them in his essence. Then, without breaking eye contact with him, you raise your hand to your mouth and lap up the salty fluid.

The gladiator groans appreciatively, and the sound shoots straight to your throbbing cunt. You press your thighs together to alleviate the ache, an action that does not go unnoticed by the perceptive, raven-haired man.

“Feisty little minx, aren’t you?” He croons sweetly, “And here I was, foolishly thinking you were so shy. No, no, wait—don’t pull away from me! I crave more of you! I need more of you! Unveil to me the smoldering temptress hiding within you, and I swear to tell the truth of my origins. I swear it.”

Jinwoo’s feverishness sends a thrum of pleasure throughout your body. It incites a dormant fire, a desire to take the reins. The roles between the two of you have been reversed; now, he is the one pleading for your touch, whilst you were in control. No longer were you a caged bird or a helpless little girl. You were a minx, a playful and vivacious woman, full of life.

At least, that's how you feel in the moment.

You smile and press a pacifying kiss to the gladiator’s lips, gliding your tongue in his mouth to savor his vulnerability. He moans and melts into you when you begin stroking his cock in tandem, alternating between fast, twisting motions near his head and long, languid pumps from base to tip. You breathe him in, sighing wistfully.

“We’ve only met, gladiator, yet you pine for me so fiercely… but why? I’ve done nothing to earn your devotion or reverence. I am not your goddess, your Domina, or even your lover; I am merely an outlet for sexual release.”

You’re interrupted mid-sentence by an arresting grip on your wrist. In an instant, Jinwoo had dispelled his lustful haze, swiftly reminding you that he was a deadly warrior, a far cry from the ham-fisted nobles who sought you only for their sexual gratification.   Your body draws taut, like a viper preparing to strike, and you ready yourself for what’s to come, awaiting punishment for acting out of line—

But you're greeted by kindness and comforting reassurance from Jinwoo instead.

“Enough, darling; say not another word of this nonsense. I will not tolerate any blemish on your character. You are not an object, a tool, or a treasure to hoard. You are as human as anyone else, and you are worthy of being cherished.”  

You falter under his intensity, unprepared for such an impassioned response. Sex has… always been mechanical for you, a perfunctory duty expected of a concubine. You lost the right to personhood the day the emperor vanquished your homeland. Spared solely for your beauty, you were stripped of all autonomy, reduced to being the unwilling bedmate of the very man who tore your life apart. The emperor stole your innocence, your family, your hope—everything.

You were sullied, made unclean, and defiled.

A calloused thumb swipes away tears you aren’t even aware you’re spilling.

“Shhh,” Jinwoo hushes you as he strokes your cheeks. “Oh, love, please don’t cry. These tears are not the type of wetness you deserve.”

You sniffle softly and try to avert your gaze, but he maintains a steady hold on your face. The gladiator locks eyes with you, piercing cobalt seamlessly transforming into an icy blue. There’s anger in Jinwoo’s expression; instinctively, you know it isn’t directed toward you.

“Did Antares feed you such lies about yourself?” He spits out the emperor’s true name, pure venom lacing his voice.

Your silence is answer enough.

The gladiator’s lip curls, and he internally fumes, That fucking bastard! How dare he torment you like this? I’ll kill him—I’ll kill him if it’s the last thing I do!

“Jin…woo?”

His rage recedes when you call out to him, his eyes regaining their original color.

Jinwoo exhales sharply and composes himself; he’ll have his vengeance in due time. Currently, you are what matters most to him.

“The emperor’s hold on your heart runs deeper than I thought,” he surmises. “I’ll have to cleanse you of his influence. Only then can you be free of him.”

You stare at him inquisitively, not quite understanding what he meant. Before you can ponder it for too long, you’re hoisted into a sudden princess carry by Jinwoo.

“It’s okay, sweet girl, I’ve got you, and I’m not going anywhere,” he coos, rubbing soothing circles at the bend of your knee. It grounds you, makes you feel safe.

“We can’t undo the past or deny that which has already happened. We can only move forward, forging a path of our own. So come, let us wash away your troubles together. I promised you warmth and companionship, and I am a man of my word.”

Jinwoo peers down at you expectantly.

You nod and nuzzle your face into his chest, basking in his body heat.

The corners of his mouth lift.

“Right, let’s get ourselves cleaned up then.”

“Ahhn—ah! There! Right there, Jin—augh!”

Your needy whimpering dissolves into a loud, wanton keen that bounces off the marbled walls of the bathhouse. Around you, scattered pieces of armor, leather, and the shredded remains of your garments lay strewn in a haphazard pile, a testament to the gladiator’s brute strength and utter lack of self-control when it came to you.

Plumes of steam waft from the heated water, turning the air dense with condensation. It has a dizzying effect, further intensifying the delirium brought on by yet another mind-shattering orgasm. You babble incoherently—a slurred mixture of Jinwoo’s name and pleas for more—as you cum for the fourth time that evening. Despite this, you can feel the gladiator’s cock swelling inside you, virile and throbbing with need.

Gods, he was insatiable.

You adore this side of him.

It had been roughly an hour since you set foot in the large facility, and throughout this time, Jinwoo couldn’t keep his hands or lips off you. He’d all but mounted you the second you began to disrobe, pushing you up against the nearest pillar and impatiently tearing at the fabric concealing your body. He was a man starved, eager to devour, relentless in his pursuit of sustenance.

And his tenacity had at last borne fruit.  

“Oh, fuck!” He raggedly breathed at your bare and unencumbered form, eyes blown out and wild. You were perfect like this—incomparable in all manners.

“Beautiful—you’re so damned beautiful… Venus has not half your loveliness, nor a cunt nearly as sweet.”

The gladiator then drops both his hands by your hips and pulls you flush against his twitching cock. He maneuvers your body like a puppet, parting your pussy lips with his shaft and guiding you to glide your heat over the outline of his member.

A tremor runs down your spine when your clit grazes a particularly thick vein on his cock. You preen into his touch and grind down on him, desperate to satiate the scalding need throbbing in your pussy.

“Jinwoo, please—mmph!”

He steals your voice by slotting his mouth against yours, earning a moan from you. Without pausing, he shoves a hand between the apex of your thighs, seeking out your slit. His dexterous digits are quick to roam over your glistening folds. He slides his index and middle fingers along the hood of your clit and toys with the sensitive bundle of nerves, lightly swirling at it before applying more pressure and friction. This earns a long, drawn-out moan from you, and you buck your hips into his hand, seeking further stimulation.

Just before you can lose yourself to him fully, Jinwoo pulls back from your lips, choosing that exact moment to delve both fingers into your tight, wet pussy. You choke and whine at the feeling of fullness, drawing a dark growl from the gladiator.

“Good girl, keep making those pretty sounds for me. Hell, you can scream if you want to. We have this entire place to ourselves; we can be as loud as we fucking want!”

He punctuates this with a rough curl of his fingers along the roof of your walls, effortlessly pinpointing your sweet spot. The effect it has on you is cataclysmic. Bliss, raw and in its most potent form, courses through your veins. A spring coiled tightly within you finally snaps, careening you over the edge of madness. You unleash a wail that unfurls into a high-pitched scream as Jinwoo ruthlessly fucks you through your climax with his fingers; the stimulation verges on being unbearable, blurring the line between pleasure and pain.

A sheen of sweat coats your writhing figure as you frantically scrabble for purchase, one hand scratching fruitlessly at the cold, polished surface of the wall as the other rakes its nails over the broad swath of the gladiator’s back. He relishes the sting, urging you to sink deeper by hiking one of your legs around his lithe waist.

Through the blood pounding in your ears, you hear his husky voice faintly in the background.

“That’s it! Come undone for me, love. Keep clenching around my fingers, moan my name—yes! Just like that! Gods, you’re everything I’ve ever wanted. Take whatever you need from me, sweetheart; I’m yours.”

He rewards you for your obedience with hot, open-mouthed kisses along your shoulders, the column of your throat, and the soft slopes of your breasts. The gladiator sucks harshly at the smooth expanse of skin, leaving splotches of purple in his wake.

As you descend from the exquisite ecstasy of your high, Jinwoo slowly pulls his hand from your sopping pussy, gossamer strands of slick clinging to his fingertips like honey. He brings his fingers to his mouth and laps at them, deliberately replicating your actions from earlier. A lascivious moan escapes him; your flavor is intoxicating, all-consuming.

He wants to drown in your arousal.

You startle when Jinwoo hoists your other leg around his waist, hooking his elbows under your knees to support your weight. He then prods his engorged tip along your entrance, smearing himself with your juices. You instinctively begin to buck your hips, and a small, involuntary whimper passes your lips. Although you were still sensitive in the aftermath of your climax, the absence of the gladiator’s fingers had you aching to be filled again.

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” Jinwoo murmurs, “I’m going to give you exactly what you need.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than he began easing his cock into you, panting and grunting in your ear with his jaw clenched tight. The stretch burns, but only momentarily, and it isn’t long before you’re mewling and moaning his name. Once he bottoms out, Jinwoo drops his head to your shoulder and presses his hips against yours. He holds himself still, allowing you time to adjust to his size.

After a pause, the gladiator kisses your shoulder and pulls back his head, looking you straight in the eyes.

“I won’t be holding anything back from here on, darling. If it reaches a point where it becomes too much for you, I want you to say the word ‘dagger,’ and I’ll end this. Understood?”

You nod and press your forehead to his, casting the die.

With your assent, Jinwoo ruts into you with unmatched vigor. He fucks just as he fights, hard and unrelenting, as if his very life hangs in the balance. Yet even in his brutality, he worships you with each drag of cock along your fluttering walls. Your tits bounce under the force of his thrusts, enticing Jinwoo to take one of your nipples in his mouth. He suckles at the tender little nub until it stiffens into a peak before biting down on it, sending sparks of pleasure tingling throughout your entire body.

Your breath catches in your throat, and your legs tense up around the gladiator’s waist, drawing him deeper into you. The ridges of his cock shape you, creating a delectable friction that builds and builds with every push and pull of his length. Jinwoo’s grip on your ass turns bruising, the rhythmic movement of his hips faltering into staccato bursts as he reaches his zenith. An obscene groan sounds at the back of his throat when your cunt spasms and squeezes impossibly tight around him, careening the gladiator over the edge.

He completely immerses himself in your pussy, painting your walls with thick spurts of cum. You follow in his stead, wailing loudly as your own orgasm overtakes you. For several minutes, the room is enveloped in silence save for the catching of breath and the wet sounds of kissing. Once he feels your walls relax around him, Jinwoo slides out of you. You wince as his seed spills down your inner thighs, and you struggle to stand on your own two feet as you’re lowered to the ground.

Ever the gentleman, the gladiator holds you steady, one large palm lingering on the bruises that litter your lower back while the other sinks its fingers into the globe of your ass. He chuckles when you bat at his arm half-heartedly.

“Are you alright? I wasn’t too rough on you, was I?”

You shake your head tiredly, a fond smile gracing your lips. Unbelievable, this man.

“Jinwoo, you were incredible.”

His eyes widen in a rare show of vulnerability.

“I’ve never felt this way before,” you continue, “You’ve been so good to me, so attentive… I loved it.”

Jinwoo pecks your forehead. He was so proud of you, his strong, brave girl.

“Good, because I’m nowhere near finished with you, love. Now, be a good girl and spread those pretty legs for me so I can devour that dripping little cunt.”

⋆༺𓆩⚔️𓆪༻⋆ Tag list: @heyimkana @xxeclipze @princeizuku @kweenkatsuki-main @cocomanga @mydearestbeloved @minh907 @forbidden-sunlight @brillantradiance @crxscnt @katie5000

[readwritealldayallnight]

(part of the ‘Wife at First Sight Series’)

For the first time in a long time, Simon feels as if he’s walking on eggshells

He’s 6’4”, easily over 200 pounds of bulking muscle, strikes fear into the heart of each and every enemy he comes across (should they live to tell the tale that is), and yet he feels as though he’s tiptoeing, practically dancing around the issue he refuses to address

Yet you make him feel this way

It’s been months now, of this dance you still haven’t realized you’re apart of, shining on centre stage under the constant spotlight of Simon Riley’s attention, rather than one of the background performers as you seem to believe

He feels as though he’s done everything he can to get the point across to you, other than literally getting down on one knee and asking you those four special words he can’t seem to get himself to speak out loud

As easy as it is to pretend you two truly are husband and wife ‘til death do you part, he’s instead having to watch you leave base in exchange for your lonely flat each night, reminded of the fact that he’s not ballsy enough to just come out and say it to you

You make the Lieutenant nervous for fucks sake, something he hasn’t truly felt in so long he’s grasping for straws, searching for a life raft in these uncharted waters to help him stay afloat

That’s part of why he’s so confused when Gaz finally joins him and Soap in the gun range, landing a friendly smack across the taller man’s broad shoulders, saying something about how he’s ‘really happy for you LT, finally properly asked her, aye?’

“What are you goin’ on about?” Ghost practically grunts out, readjusting the weapon against his shoulder as he glances through the scope of his gun, only partly interested in what the Sergeants answer is, that is until he hears him mention your name

“Just saw her at her desk, talkin’ about how she has a wedding this weekend-” Gaz has barely finished his sentence before Ghost is whipping his skull clad head around, shoving his weapon into Soap’s arms, and beelining out of the armoury towards you, leaving a pair of chuckling Sergeants behind him

They’ve never seen their Lieutenant so whipped before. And the fact that you don’t even know you have this beast of a man wrapped around your dainty little finger makes it all the more entertaining for them

They totally haven’t taken bets on how long it takes for him to break and finally confess his feelings, and Price definitely didn’t put money down on it either

Ghost may as well float into the room on a cloud he’s feeling so overjoyed at the idea of finding you sat at your desk all pretty, chit chatting away with colleagues about the wedding you’ve finally realized he intends to give you, taking all the pressure off of him

Instead, he rounds the corner and overhears the last tidbits of your conversation, pretending as though his stomach doesn’t drop out of him and onto the floor when he realizes you’re telling your desk mate about your sisters wedding this weekend

He should’ve know better, it wouldn’t be that easy

“-not that I’m embarrassed to go without someone. That I don’t care so much about.” He hears you explain, failing to have noticed him behind you quite yet. “God knows it’s been ages since I’ve gone on an actual date anyways. But this is the first time I’m a bridesmaid, and my sister keeps saying I’m apparently the only bridesmaid without a date-”

“Well aren’t you going to bring your husband?” Your colleague asks, cutting you off. Just like everyone else on base, she knows thinks you are in fact Mrs Riley, for all intents and purposes. You open your mouth to correct her and tell her you don’t have a husband, when a deep voice comes up behind you and speaks first.

“‘Course she is.” Ghost replies for you, coming to stand behind you in your chair, sneaking a gloved hand onto your shoulder to offer a slight squeeze of acknowledgment. You lean your head back to glance up at him, offering a soft smile that melts his heart more and more each time he’s lucky enough to see it, to be the reason for it. Sensing she’s now the odd one out, your coworker quietly excuses herself and goes to find someone else to talk water cooler gossip with.

“Oh Ghost! Hi!” You say, reaching your own hand up to squeeze his in return, smile widening when you notice the crinkles next to his eyes that you hope mean he’s smiling as well under the mask. “Oh, you really don’t have to. I mean- I wouldn’t want you to waste a day off just to sit through a stranger’s wedding for who knows how many hours. I barely want to go.”

You try to joke about it, but this really has been causing you unnecessary stress. Your sister apparently doesn’t have enough wedding planning on her plate as it is, seeing as she has enough time to constantly pester you about whether you’ve secured a date yet or not, despite your answer always being no. She knows it’s been forever since you’ve dated anyone seriously, and that finding a date will be more of a chore than showing up without one and enduring your relative comments and questions.

Each time you told her no though, your mind wandered to the tall, dark, muscular man who liked to call himself your husband, imagining the looks on your family’s face if you were to show up with Ghost on your arm. But you never bothered to ask him, not wanting to force him into extending his kindness and charade of a happily married couple outside of work hours.

“I’d be with you for those ‘who knows how many hours?’” Ghost asks, quoting you, watching as you offer him a simple nod in return. “Then that’s the farthest thing from a waste o’ time in my books, love.”

As simple as that, the plan was set. Ghost would be your date to the wedding that weekend.

Now, Ghost was used to not having very much to look forward to in life. He could look forward to a hot shower occasionally, look forward to good pub food instead of mess hall dinners, look forward to a chance to sleep in a little later, simpler things of the sort.

But when you came into his life, he was suddenly looking forward to equally simple, but different things. He looked forward to reading your cute replies to his good morning and good night texts (he still never misses a single one, all these months later), looked forward to seeing your sweet smile greeting him when you arrived to work, looked forward to hearing your pleased hum when you took your first sip of whatever drink he prepared you that day. Essentially, he looked forward to seeing you.

Now though, he feels as if this weekend cannot come soon enough, finding himself practically giddy he’s looking forward to spending more time with you off base so much, feeling like a kid who’s itching to get their hands on their new Christmas gifts.

When he arrives at your flat almost a half hour too early (he just couldn’t wait anymore lovie, you can’t blame the poor man), and you open the door to greet him, he doesn’t think it’s fair to compare this to a gift under the Christmas tree.

No. It’s more like he’s won the goddamn lottery.

Standing before him, is the most beautiful, breathtaking vision he’s ever laid eyes upon in all his years. He half wonders if his knees are legitimately beginning to wobble where he stands, he feels so weak in the knees as he gazes upon you in your doorway. It’s still just you, the same woman he’s been seeing every day and dreaming of each night.

But you don’t look like you have every day these past months. Your hair is styled differently, your make up is a little more done up, and the thing that’s really got his mind reeling, is that instead of your regular work attire, you’re wearing a dress so stunning he half wonders whether or not you are the bride this evening. There’s no possible way someone so beautiful is expected to stand on the sidelines tonight, expected to be anyone apart from the star of the show, the centre of his the world.

You don’t take much notice of the way Ghost fails to greet you properly, standing outside your door and practically gawking at you, seeing as you’re preoccupied doing the same to him. His usual fatigues and black everything have been swapped out for black dress pants, a white button up shirt (your eyes definitely do not linger on the top three buttons being left undone, nope, not at all) and a black blazer, matching black surgical mask in exchange for the typical skeleton mask.

You two blushing, bumbling idiots in secret love manage to pull yourselves together enough to make the drive up to the venue, the car ride filled with laughter, stories, and too many stolen glances to count, each of you wishing you could pull the car over somewhere and jump each others bones instead.

At the venue, you go through the obligatory introductions with your family, simply so they couldn’t say you didn’t say hello at least once throughout the busy night, only partially intent on ignoring them later on. They’re left understandably stunned at the mention that the man beside you is your husband, and when your family members begin unloading question after question, the two of you manage to find a quick excuse each time to dash off, giggling and holding onto the other as you weave the growing crowd of guests, all too proud of your little inside joke.

You regretfully tell him that you’ll have to leave him to sit alone throughout the ceremony, though he insists you shouldn’t worry about it, lifting your spirits momentarily when he jokes that you should focus more on not tripping during your walk down the aisle, before the both of you are left bright red in the face at hearing him talking about you walking down an aisle, as if you don’t pretend to be married every day to begin with.

He truly doesn’t mind having to sit on the tiny foldable chairs that make up the seating for the ceremony, it’s only a small portion of the evening after all. And besides, his eyes certainly aren’t on the couple reciting their vows up at the altar. No, his gaze is on one person and one person only. From the moment the music kicked in and pairs of bridesmaids and groomsmen stepped out to walk the aisle in their matching attire and matching smiles, his eyes have been locked on you, just as yours have been locked on his.

His size certainly helped you pick him out of the crowd with more ease, finding him amongst the familiar and unfamiliar faces instantly, as though gravity was pulling your gaze in his direction alone. Later on, neither of you could even correctly point out amongst the groomsmen whose arm you were holding on to as you walked, attention only focused on each other.

Even as you stood up front, listening to your sister and new brother in law profess their love for the other, you tried your best to appear as though you were paying them your full attention, considering you were standing up at the front and all. But it was as though you could literally feel Ghost’s eyes on you the entire ceremony, unable to stop your eyes from straying towards him more times than was surely appropriate, feeling the heat of a blush creep over your cheeks every time you saw how devastatingly handsome he was today.

By the time the newlyweds are marching back down the aisle past their cheering loved ones, wedding party in tow, your eyes are no longer pretending to look anywhere other than at him. And Simon is looking back at you, but his mind is growing preoccupied, thinking of how he can finally ensure you’ll let him walk you down the aisle now.

Because in the glove compartment of the very car he drove you up here in, only inches away from your knees the entire drive, he’s tucked away a small little box, containing the exact ring you chose from the jeweller all those weeks ago. He carries it with him everywhere, eager for the moment, the opportunity to be lucky enough to truly call himself your husband and slip the band over your finger as his wife.

And he’s decided that tonight is the night he tells you.

The night he tells you this has never been a joke to him, never been anything apart from what he really wants to be true from the moment he saw you.

To call you his wife.

[acid-ixx]

villain au concept: brutus (again &. again series)

tw: flashing lights for the video

this but with a neglected! reader who had tried to take a shot at fighting and discovering their potential. they're especially good with guns, the very weapon batman has sworn neven to use.

you were born to be a heartless killing machine— if not for your mother shielding you away from the sins she had bared, you would've been more than just a bounty or a target costing millions.

you would've been the topmost hired hitman at the age of ten, but you had only found out about your skill at that age.

simply being adopted into the family had delayed your development; turning you into a human, who yearned for love and attention yet never having it reciprocated. you had brainwashed yourself into thinking that if you could reach the same level as them then maybe, just maybe, you could stand by your family's side.

your father, batman, should've noticed the signs sooner.

that in the manor, it houses a cold blooded beast, too far gone into the world of lusting.

lusting for blood, lusting for condemnation, lusting to satiate their hunger.

the way your eyes lit up whenever you successfully hit a target from miles away, or the way your tantrums and fights with damian leads you to ripping apart practice dummies with murderous intent— they were detectives for god's sake! how could they have merely ignored the heavy thumps that cloak the night?

alfred had tried to address the sudden shift in your behavior. he had tried to point out your calculated stares during family meals, the bandages that began to litter your body, your bedroom doors now bolted; how every night the smell of blood seems thicker and more concentrated in the manor.

you didn't just grow up. hell no, you were an entirely different being.

instead of you being led to the light, you were further drawn to the darkness; the picture perfect scenario of what bruce should've been had he ever not picked himself up and fixed his ways.

but you weren't bruce, fucking wayne. no, you were (last name)'s child, and you would never forgive him for even trying to wipe out your own identity.

the neglect that had built up and the anger that was left of you— you turned it into determination; motivation for you to stealthily sneak through the batcave and steal his devices, transform it into weapons made for just for you.

yet you do not use bullets for justice nor reason just like jason, no. but you had died just like him, lost your hope for the very man who you once thought of your father.

it is all a means for you to quench your thirst.

you couldn't wait to see their faces.

maybe then they'll bond with you through fists and bruises, through gunshots and bullets.

and the best part of it all?

you don't need to ask for anymore for their attention.

not when you have all the other criminals willing to give the world in the palm of your hands.

a/n: do you know of fanon! jason who was said to be an aggressive kid? in this au, it's basically you; drowning in contempt lmao. anywaysz, this is just a concept that i randomly thought about, it's basically a "what-if" you had found out the truth sooner about your mother other than the rumors? (lore still redacted lmao) bec if you did, then the end result is this au hehe. again, in the main series there's a lot of false narratives on your part, i love utilizing the faulty narrator trope.

[bunni-v1]

How would the relationship plays out with his darling if he meets them at his pre corruption?

🍓Okay so, this is part of my OC's storyline so trust me when I say I've thought about this EXTENSIVELY. Please excuse me if I use she/her pronouns or straight drop her name, she is the ray of sunshine in my life and I get excited just thinking about talking about her lol.

Tw: None?; Calls him Blueberry Yogurt Cookie btw

Info: Shadow Milk Cookie x Reader; Fluff & Angst (kinda)

-For the sake of these headcanons, I'm calling his gay-ass Blueberry Yogurt Cookie, because we don't know his actual name and he's blue so.

-There are two main things you have to do for Blueberry Yogurt to consider a relationship with you. 1) Be immortal, or at least have an extended lifeline, 2) You're not one of his students/Don't worship him like a god.

-Number one isn't really in your control, but if you're able to live through his corruption and reawakening, I'll assume you've got a little more life in you than the normal cookie.

-Number two is where it's actually hard. Blueberry Yogurt carries himself with such grace it would make classically trained ballerinas jealous. He's radiant and beautiful and all kinds of fantastical, not to mention his boundless knowledge and gentle demeanor.

-He is the perfect cookie, at least to the public eye. You've gotta be able to look past that and see him for who he is. What he values in a cookie doesn't change between now and when he's corrupted.

-I will say, he's much more open and willing to show you his genuine love and affection as Blueberry Yogurt. There's no grand change or fight you have to make for him to open up, he just does so because he loves you.

-He's never been known by a cookie that wasn't another hero. It's refreshing and he loves the feeling of being loved and loving you.

-You bring such different ideas on topics he would never consider given his place in this world. Your thoughts and curiosities become his thoughts and curiosities, and he loves sharing knowledge with you whenever he can.

-He treats you well, but when the corruption starts to settle in things change. Blueberry Yogurt is painfully aware of what's going in, he feels his mentality changing and shifting. The pessimism runs through his dough, his temper is shorter, and worse he finds himself... reveling in the pain of others.

-NOT you. Never you. Oh, he would tear apart all of cookie society for you, and he really starts meaning that the worse it gets.

-Of course, he thinks about this, and he makes a plan to keep you safe from himself. Without causing too much worry or making it seem like he doesn't want you around, he finds an excuse for you to leave Beast Yeast -- just for the time it takes him to figure this all out!

-You obviously notice all these worrying changes in his personality, but you can't do much more than worry for him at the time. When he sends you away, you do so with the promise you'll see him as soon as you get back. And you do!

-Inside the tree, of course.

-You are comforted by Elder Faerie, but there's only so much reassurance he can give. You don't even fully understand what happened, how this could happen? You have a very long time to work through these emotions, though.

-You wait and wait and wait and wait. For so very long, and so loyally. You travel around Beast Yeast and help stragglers, visit the other Heroes' territories, and make friends with their loyal followers. But you always come back to that tree.

-Shadow Milk watches you the whole time. When he isn't obsessing over his souljam and vengeance, he is obsessing over you. How surprised will you be to see him like this? Oh, he hates himself for sending you away, you would've accepted him as he is. He knows it. You love him so.

-You look at that stupid tree with such longing, you miss him so much. He vows that as soon as he's out, he's going to treat you to the grandest performance you've ever seen. He just can't wait to shower you in love and affection again.

-Then, Gingerbrave and his friends show. You find yourself drawn to Pure Vanilla Cookie more than anyone else. He reminds you of Blueberry Yogurt, and it's easy to talk to him as you walk alongside him to the faerie kingdom.

-Shadow Milk Cookie doesn't like that!~

-When he breaks out of that stupid tree he makes a big show of claiming you to everyone there. He scoops your cute tiny little frame up in his hands with the biggest grin, his giddiness and having you again after all these years overwhelming.

-I won't lie, he's terrifying and you're rightfully a bit spooked at his behavior, but more so you're happy to see him again. And he's so so so so so happy to see you too, he missed his little dolly!

-So once he's able to get some proper alone time with you, you are smothered in affection. If you knew him pre-corruption, he feels no need to hide anything from you. You get Shadow Milk Cookie Premium off the bat, with no trial runs or nothing! Ain't that nice dolly?

-He doesn't want to reminisce with you, though. His past isn't something he likes thinking about, but he'll humor you because he loves you so.

-If you don't approve of things he does, he brushes it off. Commenting that you know him, he wouldn't do anything he doesn't deem necessary.

-He loves you. You still love him, don't you doll?

[shotmrmiller]

1.8k of what was supposed to be a drabble, oops. same au as this just different situation.

there he is.

the titan the crowd calls Ghost. a creature who seemed to have crawled out of the abyss itself, rage etched into the very marrow of his bones. scars crisscross his arms, chest, and back— souvenirs of battles both won and lost. no one knows much about him. no real name, no past, no future. blank.

a void.

just like his sunken eyes, the only thing anyone can see from behind the midnight black skull balaclava that clings to his face like a second skin. (does he even remember what he looks like underneath?) he stands in front of the club's owner in ragged clothing: a tattered wifebeater that's been stitched, torn, and re-stitched. his pants have strained seams and patched knees. his boots are high cut, made of worn, scuffed leather with laces in the front, pulled tight. functional.

he's terrifying. most here come to fight for glory, for redemption, for escape. not he, though. reverent whispers claim this is all he knows. that he fights like a cornered, wounded beast, with no discipline nor strategy. just primal hunger and unmatched ferocity.

and that's who your idiotic, egotistical boyfriend wants to fight. granted, he's a pretty damn good boxer. not that you'd know much about that, you're simply parroting what you've heard his coach say. but this isn't boxing. no one here wears a padded helmet, with comfortable gloves and silky shorts. the fellow with the mohawk currently fighting isn't even wearing a mouthguard, for fuck's sake.

there are no fucking rules, no referees, no honor, no mercy.

your shoulders rise up to your ears as you tense at a nasty blow the pretty one you've come to learn is named gaz gives mr. mohawk. it splits his lip instantaneously, crimson dribbling down his chin and onto his barrel chest. he should be in pain, but there's only a glint of madness in those bright blue eyes of his. the crazed smile he gives gaz is all blood-stained teeth.

your boyfriend taps you on your shoulder, making you jump. "i'm gonna go talk to mr. price now that he's no longer busy."

what?

"no! you can't be serious!" the metal chair you were seated on screeches as you shoot up and run after him, feet slipping on the mud-slicked floor. "hey! wait!"

he reaches the tall, burly man(broker?) with the antiquated mutton-chop beard before you do. the tailored suit clings to his large frame, molding to his mountainous shoulders and tapered waist. his polished shoes are pristine, unlike the surface he's standing on that's littered with wager slips and sodden with cheap beer.

"don't. be smart, fight smart. you can't possibly— did you see the way the one with the mohawk took a hit to the face without flinching? he's insane! they all are!" you flick your eyes to mr. price. "no offense."

he chuckles low. "none taken, sweetheart. soap's a vigorous man, is all."

soap. gaz. ghost. they've all got bloody fighting nicknames. meanwhile, the only thing your boyfriend's ever been called is dearie by his elderly neighbor.

"your pretty girl's right. i'd steer clear of the pit. this ain't no place for a sheltered bloke such as yourself." his eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, yet it felt like a facade. the evenness of his tone had dread crawling up your spine.

"boss." you squeak at the deep voice that comes from beside you— accent thick on his tongue.

mr. price waves a hand dismissively, the rings that adorn his fingers glinting under the dim light of the overhead lamps. "it's nothin' but a couple a'folk placin' their bets."

the look of unfettered stupidity flashes on your boyfriend's face as he turns his head and realizes just who mr. price was talking to. "if it isn't the masked specter himself."

stupid. stupid stupid stupid. god, your boyfriend came in one piece but he's going to leave in bloody pieces if you don't stop him. "stop," you hiss. "this ridiculous stint of yours is over." as is this sorry excuse of a relationship. he'd been a sweet guy at some point, or maybe you were just blinded by his good looks. "sorry for the bother, mr. price. we'll be taking our leave." tugging on your boyfriend's sleeve, you try to lead him away but he stays anchored in place, posturing like a peacock; chest out, shoulders squared and head held high.

he looks at ghost as he challenges him. "name your price. anything, i can meet."

how he can be so blasé in the presence of this bastion is beyond you. ghost stands tall, his shadow engulfing you whole. you can feel the weight of his presence, a crushing force pressing against your sternum. he doesn't speak; and honestly, he doesn't have to. ghost's silence spoke volumes.

"he's not interested, see? let's just go before we're thrown out on our arses."

but your boyfriend doesn't concede. if anything, it only adds fuel to the fire. "not good enough for you? eh? is that it? think yourself untouchable just because you're king of the underbelly?" he goads.

your cheeks are hot, scalding with embarrassment. he's starting to garner attention from the audience that's supposed to be watching the current fight.

and then ghost breaks said silence. "i don't want your money." his rich voice reverberates through bone and marrow; it rattles your very core. "you didn't work hard for it, i can tell. golden spoon runt."

your boyfriend's eyes ignite with anger. for a moment, you thought he was going to swing on the spot, but then, like a wisp of smoke, it dissipated. his fists unclench, his jaw relaxes. "what do you want, then?" he questions.

ghost tips his head your way as he keeps his gaze on your boyfriend. "her. i win, she's mine."

you should've known your now ex would agree. nothing would keep him from accomplishing his goals of 'putting the big dog down' as he so eloquently put it. now you're firmly sat right next to price on the stands (because you will not be calling him john anytime soon, no matter how many times he corrects you) essentially as his hostage.

"nothing personal, sweetheart. i'm a businessman, after all, and the prize walkin' out the front door would be bad for business. hope you understand."

no, you don't. so you tell him as such.

"tha's alright. simon'll take good care of ya, i promise."

"is there any particular reason you're so cocksure of your simon winning?" you manage to ask, your voice fragile.

he takes a thick inhale of his cigar before answering. "unfortunately for you, i've seen it all— the broken bones, shattered dreams, and—" you watch tendrils of smoke unfurl from his mouth, "adversaries who never walked back out."

spectators have already begun to huddle around the cage, puffing on cheap cigarettes. they all look desperate, eyes gleaming with greed. this time the one collecting wagers is a blonde woman, older in age, with her hair in a low bun and a puffer vest. "that your wife?"

he curls a large hand around my shoulder before twisting to look at— "laswell? no. don't swing tha' way." price gives you a gentle squeeze.

oh. you can feel warmth creeping up your neck. "sorry. didn't mean to- er. i didn't know."

"'s'alrigh'. her wife's nice enough. you'll like 'er.'' her wife? the confusion must've shown because he rumbles out a laugh. "no. it'd be me barkin' up the wrong tree. i—" he tightens the grip on your shoulder, "like whatever's pretty to look at." his words from before resounded in your head.

'your pretty girl's right...'

the heat that'd receded now stung the tips of your ears. whatever words you want to say are lodged in your throat but thankfully, you're saved by the bell. literally.

the rusty thing tolls and the crowd hushes their voices and stills their restless shuffling. first walks in your ex (idiot), looking exactly like what ghost had called him earlier— a golden spoon child. his shorts are glossy, even under the flickering, sickly light that falls over the cage. his boxing gloves are a vibrant red, pristine as if right out of the box. (you don't remember soap getting his pretty face broken by hands with gloves, but whatever.) he looks perfect, like something out of a hollywood movie.

and so out of place.

unlike ghost who's just stepped into the ring— who commands the attention of all within the hazy room. he fits right in with the rats who scurry around in the bowels of the city. he moves like the shadows that cling to the dark corners, his steps silent as whispers. a haunted being— one the world above with its neon signs and bustling crowds has long forgotten— has made his home down here.

ghost bumps his mma gloves with your ex's boxing ones, in a show of surprising sportsmanship.

the bell tolls once again, and the fight begins.

and just as quickly as it began, it ended. you blink, momentarily displaced, because there is no way what just happened is real. there hadn't been no real fight. it'd been one devastating blow to the side of your ex's jaw that ended everything. he hadn't stood a chance. it—

"'s done. sorry, love. but simon's headin' this way to claim his prize." price gives you a sympathetic pat to your back. "i swear it on my life he won't harm a hair on your head."

what?

ghost barrels through the roaring crowd and comes to a stop before you. "you're with me, now. best get used to it." shock blurs your vision, or maybe it's the fact that you've been hoisted up and thrown over a shoulder that did it.

it doesn't matter. the one you came here with is currently lying limp on the stained mat, his mouth hanging open a little awkwardly. is he broken? you're put down on a bench in a large dressing room that has only one tall locker in it with a tiny ghost sticker on the front.

"did you... is he dead?" you ask, pulse quickening.

"no. either dislocated or broke tha' jaw of 'is only."

you sputter when metal clinks on the surface of the wooden table he's currently leaning his weight against. dusters? "you used fucking dusters?"

he turns his head and looks at you, piercing and intense. "you and i both know i didn't need anythin' to knock his teeth down his throat, isn't tha' right, pet? eh?"

his knuckles are calloused and heavily scarred, the little finger bent at an angle even when straight. "don't worry 'bout him, you're with me, now." he shrugs on a plain, black jacket and heads for the door. "try to leave and i'll jus' find you again. don't make this any harder than it has to be."

welcome to the rat king's domain, sweetheart.

[vekreng]

Tech - Totally Not Crushing

prompt: "...something with tech and an awkward reader maybe they admit feelings for each other or they are caught being cute by the rest of the batch and they tease them?.." pairing: Tech x Reader words: 2.2k requested: yes!

You didn’t know if you wanted to scream for the sake of screaming or if you wanted to throw yourself in front of some wild beast.

It had been an absolute age since you met the Batch, and him. The individual members were all striking in their own way, but none stood out more to you than Tech.

Your throat buzzed with an idle hum as you watched him tinker on the Marauder. He wasn’t as physically strong as his other brothers, no, but his intellect was unmatched. He could see patterns in nature and people that were indecipherable to most, pointing out what was about to happen before even Hunter could pick it up at times. His mind stored a vast wealth of knowledge on just about everything you could name and then some. He lacked subtlety in only the most adorable way. His round, soft eyes looked gentler still through the amber lenses of his goggles. He checked on you after every mission or trip, asked for your assistance on just about every task.

Time and time again you tried to confess, and time and time again the words died on your tongue. You tried when you were paired up alone on a mission, when you two had to sneak through a palace, when you two were the only ones awake one night in hyperspace. It was always so perfect, except for… for what? Why could you never tell him? Nerves, maybe? Perhaps the way his eyes locked with yours caused you to instantly short circuit and forget everything you ever knew. Yeah. That was definitely it. A very logical explanation. 

Your eyes followed the fluid movement of his hands, his skillful fingers practically dancing through the ship’s wires as he teased out minor bugs in favor of much larger ones that he will try to convince Hunter are actually improvements.

God, you loved him.

If only you could just say it.

“Staring is only going to put him off, you know,” a voice drawled from behind. You whipped around in a panic, only to see Crosshair grinning your way. “Pretty sure you don’t want that.”

“Cross!” You scolded, pinching the bridge of your nose. God, of course it had to be him. “Give a bit of warning next time, maybe?”

“I’m a sniper. It’s quite literally my job to not give any warning.” He pushed himself off the door frame he was leaning on and made his way to your side, leaning down ever so slightly to be more level with you while you both watched Tech work. “What’s your goal here? Memorize every aspect of what he looks like so you can dream about him at night? Or are you going to say something like a normal person?”

“You’re such an ass,” you grumbled, glaring at the ground. “You have no idea how hard this is for me. What if he rejects me? We all live on one very tiny ship, I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle that tension! Or what if I do tell him and he just doesn’t get what I’m saying and I have to spend ages trying to get more and more blunt and obvious about it. Do you really expect me to live out the rest of my life reliving that moment forever?”

“And what if you tell him and he says he feels the same way?” Crosshair argued back. “Talk to him or leave him alone. You make me want to throw up every time I see how lovesick you are over him.”

“I can’t, Crosshair! I freeze up every time I try!” 

The sniper spun you around to face him. “In this line of work, freezing up could mean death for you and your teammates. You take action when it’s needed; I’ve seen you do it. What’s so different about this? Get it together, walk over there, and tell him how you really feel, before you don’t get to tell him at all.”

You could only blink at him.

------

Hunter peeked around the edge of the Marauder briefly to watch you and Crosshair fighting before turning back to Tech. “You’re going to have to face them eventually, you know.”

“I do not understand your meaning. I face them every day.” Tech soldered a broken wire together, tugging lightly on one end to ensure the connection was strong. “Your statement is baseless.”

“You’re misinterpreting my words on purpose,” Hunter pointed out as he waved to Wrecker. The strongest of them all brought over a massive crate of spare parts and started handing bits of them to Tech. “I’ve seen how you are. Somehow, you’ve mastered the art of having as much interaction with them as possible while also avoiding them.”

“I do not avoid anyone.”

Hunter barked out a laugh. “Oh, really? Then why do you only take piloting shifts when theirs isn’t right before or after yours, or run off into only known safe markets and leave us all behind?” He passed a spanner to his brother. “But when we’re in unfamiliar territory, you refuse to leave their side unless one of us is already sticking with them, and even then you try to weasel your way in. Face it, Tech. We all know you’ve got a bit of a crush on them.”

Tech maneuvered to the underside of the ship, his face a light sheen of red. “Ensuring the safety of a teammate is not evidence of a crush, Hunter. I am merely showing caution in hostile territory.”

“I think the only person who doesn’t know that you’re in love is them,” Wrecker butted in, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to where you and Crosshair were squabbling. Hunter glanced over to see that Crosshair had put you in a headlock and refused to release you until you cried uncle. “You’re not really good at hidin’ it, to be honest.”

Tech huffed. “As I keep telling you both, I—”

Hunter suddenly called out your name, cutting Tech off. “We need to get a few more supplies before we take off. Can you help Tech finish things up here while we head to the stalls?”

Crosshair kicked your leg when you opened your mouth. “Yeah, we can’t trust you to get actual essentials. Besides, you probably know as much about the Marauder as Tech does by this point.”

Before you could protest, the three brothers vanished into the shadows of the docking station.

You gulped. Crosshair’s words looped in your head.

It had to happen at some point, you suppose.

Slowly, you walked to where Tech was gathering up his tools. “I thought you had more work to do?”

“I do,” Tech replied, not looking up from his task, “but the remaining repairs are inside the ship.”

Great, you thought as you followed, all alone and in a confined space. What could possibly go wrong?

------

You were pretty sure that you were going to implode if you spent another minute helping Tech in the cockpit. 

Somehow the man was far too close and much too far away at the same time. You inched nearer and he pulled back. You gave him space and he closed in. Every time you opened your mouth to speak he would unknowingly interrupt with some sort of commentary or delegation, and when you closed it he looked at you expectantly for a comment. Ugh, it was infuriating. Just speak already! Tell him you love him!

You took a deep breath. Alright, this time, for sure. No more backing out. You can do this. It’s just three words. You’ve got this.

You steadied the rickety stepladder that Tech insisted on using to reach a panel in the ceiling. A few safety lights had gone out and Hunter was worried that it was an indication of something bad despite the protests of his sibling.

This was it.

Another breath. “Hey, uh, Tech?”

Tech hummed. His head was completely buried in the darkness of the ship’s interior system.

You squeezed your eyes shut to muster up all the courage you possibly could. “Look, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, for… a while now. And I was hoping that, since everyone else is gone, we could talk— HOLY—”

Tech shouted in surprise as the ancient stepladder finally gave out from underfoot, his flailing limbs knocking the both of you over, crashing hard enough into the floor for you both to see stars briefly.

“That hurt,” you muttered as you forced your eyes back open. It took a second for them to focus, but once they did, you realized with a start that you were looking into Tech’s.

Which were mere inches away from yours.

Because he had also fallen.

Conveniently, you cushioned his fall.

Oh no.

Tech’s mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again, and closed again. Even in your horror you couldn’t help but think that he looked an awful lot like a fish.

“I apologize,” he finally spluttered, scrambling off of you and sitting against the wall. “I, it was not my intention to, I mean, that is….” He hesitated. “I’m sorry. Are you injured?”

You slowly sat up, rubbing a hand over the shoulder that hit the ground first. “A little sore, but I’ll be okay. What about you?”

Tech carefully tilted his head back and forth. “Nothing is broken. My fall was successfully broken, albeit accidentally.” He looked back at you, his goggles askew and one lens fractured. “I should have calculated the risks of using that ladder more thoroughly. My carelessness resulted in your harm; I will grab the bacta patches. Remain here.”

“Tech, wait!”

He paused when your hand landed unexpectedly on his upper arm, staring blankly at it before focusing on you. “Yes?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Your… oh, just hold still for a second.” You reached up and removed his goggles, peering at the right lens. The crack didn’t stretch fully across, but the glass was compromised nonetheless and would need a replacement. “They’ll work for now, but I really hope you have a repair kit somewhere for these. Or a whole separate pair.” Carefully, you pulled the bent frame edges back into place before refitting them to his face. “How’s that?”

Tech let out a small puff, the air surprisingly cold against your hot skin.

Wait. Hot?

Oh, you were much closer than you previously thought. Oh. Oh no.

 “Thank you.” Your name escaped Tech’s lips in a whisper.

“Yeah,” you breathed, your head reeling from the proximity between you two. Or the fall and subsequent head injury. “Any time.”

The silence that followed felt like a lifetime, but a clock proved it to be only a few seconds.

“...Tech,” you said slowly, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. The timing felt so off, so wrong, so inappropriate somehow, but you already let too many ‘proper’ opportunities slip by. You couldn’t take the chance again. “Look, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while now. I wanted to tell you that I’m—”

“I love you!” Tech blurted out, grimacing right after for cutting you off.

Now it was your turn to make an impression of a fish.

“I’m… I’ve loved you for some time now. I love your smile, I love the crinkle by your eyes when you squint, I love how you look when you’re lost in thought. I love your laugh, your kindness, the way you look after my brothers just as we do to you. I love the effort you put into helping in any way you can, and how you show grace when someone makes a mistake. I know you’re leaving, but I had to tell you.”

Your finger tapped an uncertain rhythm on the floor of the Marauder, your brain running a thousand miles per second. Tech loved you back? And he thought you were leaving? “Why do you think I’m going away?”

“Echo has gone to work with Captain Rex once more; it was only logical that your recent shift in behavior and desire to express something important indicated you felt similarly,” Tech explained. “Was that… not accurate?”

You couldn’t help but laugh and oh, the sound was so sweet to your own ears. It was a mixture of pure joy and relief. “No, Tech, it wasn’t that. I just wanted to let you know that I love you too.” Your hand found his, your foreheads gently knocking together. “I love how serious you are, how studious you can be, how attentive you are to the world around you. I love how you ask me to explain social mannerisms in exchange for a personalized research dive on whatever I want. I love watching you be confident and skillful in your work, and I love when you let me convince you to relax and let someone else take over. I love you, Tech, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“That makes two of us, then,” Tech smiled. “Though I think any further discussion should be put on hold until we get a bacta patch on your shoulder.”

A snort escaped your nose. “I’ll allow a distraction just this once, so long as you promise to help me out with it.”

“Naturally.”

[threepandas]

Bad End: Snake Bride

There were pudgy little yellow creatures everywhere, here. As common as squirrels, it seemed. They looked like squishy, somber, ditto-faced Pikachus...sorta? I made a note of it. Stopping to make a few sketches. Not that anyone here would ever get the reference, mind you. And they didn't have the iconic tail. More of a nubby little hamster tail?

I'd have to figure out a better description. For the bestiary. Not to mention a suitably cute name, assuming they weren't deadly, after all...

You never knew, with hidden realms like these.

Throughout my training, the other disciples and I had been beaten over the head with countless tales of "it looked cute/pretty/beautiful/holy/or otherwise harmless AND THEN TRIED TO KILL US. Do NOT make our mistakes! I will pull you from the jaws of death! Just to kill you myself!!" by our Shizun. The man could rant for hours.

He still couldn't let go that a glowing, flower patterned, butterfly tried to rip his throat out. And? Since he technically for them "first"? (As far as anyone can find.) He got to name then poor creatures.

Which is why, there exists a very beautiful species of highly deadly butterfly... called the "flying demon rat bastard spawn".

(God, I love Shizun so much. He is so, SO petty. Hilarious, vengeful, the man's the living manifestation of "target sighted". Man has beef with specific TREES for god sake. I wish I had HALF that kind of energy. Even if it DID get us banned from like... so many places.)

I tried to get a good look at the little guys mouth, seeing one yawn. Hmmm... the teeth suggest venom. Better not startle any of them... but NOT I'm gonna need to catch one to milk it. Great. They seem fast...

A knock out array? No. Need them to want to bite me, so I can get a venom sample...

Crouching, I mulled over the problem. Admiring the little creatures as the clambered up and down the strange flora of this realm. It was fascinating. Humbling, in a way. When, I considered that? No one else had DONE this before. I knew it for a fact. Every single reference to this hidden realm? Was from either the immortal who created it... or four hundred years later, the immortal who sacked the placed.

It was hard to get into, hard to find, didn't boast any supposed ten thousand year treasures or legendary beasts. Just? A humble pocket of life. Started and left to cultivate. Shift and change. Grow!

Who CARES what uses the creatures or plants have?! This place should be STUDIED! All these realms should be studied! They're amazing!!

I spot a moss I haven't collected yet and carefully take a sample. Noting it's location on the map I've started (which is a mess, I fear I definitely have no future there). Of course, as is so often the case? Finding one sample leads to another. Moss leads to "oh hey, a mushroom" to "is that bird or a leaf?" And so on and so on. I nearly forget to make camp.

(It was a bird. It just looked like leaves! Fascinating camouflage!)

Only noticing the light shifting qualities, drags me from my hyperfocus. A nasty (or, I guess, productive? For an immortal.) habit. I had lost days to it, before. Disappearing into the library or some work room, back on the peak, for time blurringly long periods of time. Inedia keeping me from hunger. Younger disciples bringing me tea.

There was a reason, after all, I never made Head Disciple. Even though I got along great with Shizun. I was about as responsible as a goldfish. Entirely too focused on my own studies, to be honest. But to be fair? Let's see YOU focus! When there is so much... I don't know, Xianxia bullshit?

(IS it Xianxia bullshit? Or is it Xuanhuan bullshit? Fuck. It's been a life time. I literally can not not remember. Let's see YOU remember the differences! After literal decades!!)

(God, I miss my books. And the internet. And TV. Honestly? I miss everything.)

Fuck! Side tracked! Again!!

Careful not to step on any of the marshmallow-y not-pikachus, I scramble to collect the last of my samples. Reach out with my Qi, to feel how the ebbs and flows around me shift. I should? Be able to sense any nearby predators. As well as posdibly find a nice qi rich spot to set up camp. Maybe meditate.

Just because I'm exploring hidden realms, doesn't mean I should grow lazy, after all! Whole point of cultivation it to ascend. God hood and all that. And, yeah, I'm still sceptical as fuck. But... count me curious. Why not try?

Oooh! That's a nice ca-! Hmmm?

Something... not-brushes against my senses. As though it should be there. I should sense something. An almost taste and nearly smell of... something? Someone? Kinda like the faintest hint of someone's cologne, lingering in the air, as you move through a crowd that isn't touching you. But... warmer. Like it's still on the skin. Not a lingering remnant from someone who passed through?

It's... weird. I can't sense anybody.

Maybe if I try harder? I pump more qi into my technique. More then is technically polite, honestly. But maybe they are farther out then I think they are? I hadn't exactly expected to be sharing space. This Realm isn't exactly BIG. Just a ring of mountains and the valleys between them. One big, lush valley. Many smaller ones.

Again, it's not a popular realm. Not to mention already looted. And not even particularly Qi rich. So meditating here would be a strange choice. But... maybe they want the relative isolation?

I still can't find them. Dispite knowing they are there. (That technique does not give false positives.) So I risk rudeness. Figure I can always apologize. Maybe they are deep in meditation or something? Pumping more qi, frankly appalling amounts, into the technique, I am damn near half blind as I walk. (For all that I can see better then anyone in this valley at the moment.)

The sensory input is cacophonous. Beautiful. Terrible. Like balancing atop a single hair thin thread. Suspended carefully, above a raging sea, made of wonderous light and churning pains. I use my foot steps to anchor me. Balanced and even. Yet... find nothing. Pull back.

Are they... hiding?

Why?

Up ahead it the qi rich cave (more an over hang, cave is generous) that I sensed. A good, defensible place to set up.

It's only as I'm setting up? That I notice the little Marsh-a-chus? (Is that a good name? I really do need to start thinking of a good name for them.) Have followed along. Crowd the trees and settle thick in various bushes. And... part of me? Wants to go "away, I made friends!" But...

The rest of me? Was drilled in horror story and horror story by my Shizun. And that's so mighty fine "unusual interest" behavior going on there. Might even go so far as to classify it as hunting behavior!

Mmmmhm! Don't like THAT! No sir! Time for some nice and cozy warding talismans! Shall we? The STRONG ones.

Under far too many beady little eyes, I slap down security talismans. Full three sixty. Against the ground, the stone, the mountain behind me. I am taking no chances. Just as I was taught.

Which... as I am settling in for the night? Dinner done and dishes drying. Sleeping mat, out and reading to go. Light and warmth talismans, positioned just where I need them? Turns out to be for the best.

Because there is something in the dark. Big. Predatory. And coming towards me.

It's not so large as to show above the trees. But that is small comfort. They are fairly large trees. And honestly? I know only too well, massive size does NOT indicate lethality. Sun turtles are mountainous after all, and THEY photosynthesize! The problem is? There wasn't supposed to be a predator that big in this realm.

Did someone fucking shove a spirit beast or monster in here!?

What? Out of sight out of mind?! No longer their problem, right!? Why kill it, when you can put it in a hidden real to LET IT GROW BIGGER! Destroy an ecosystem! MOTHER FUCK-!!!

The night is silent.

It should NOT be.

Gripping a sword I am only kinda decent at wielding, I pray to the gods, I don't have to use it. I am a spiritual cultivator! Not a martial one! This is BULLSHIT. I don't have anything on me for "unknow predatory mega-fauna" because there WASN'T SUPPOSED TO BE ANY! Oh, this is the LAST time I-!

Foot steps. Crushing through the underbrush.

Into the circle of light my talismans cast, fades a pale young master. Graceful and pale in the moonlight. Very... very pale in the moonlight, actually. No better in the light of my talismans. Near ghostly, in his white silks. Touches of pale gold and stark black. Curls of ink wash grey. Like a painting brought to life.

Just a touch too perfect. A touch too beautiful.

With a grace to his movements that... that is too smooth.

It's not until he all but stands in the light that I am certain. His hair. Too lovely and well kept, for it to be an accident or some sort of shaming. Those are NOT bangs. That is the entirety of it. Nothing held back, in a crown or subtle styling. No... no it is SHORT.

No Human Wears Their Hair SHORT Here.

Entering the light? His eyes reflect. Grey like blades. Like storms and death. No pretty silver things. No, it is far too deep a color. Far too dangerous. Slits, that contract with the light. Half hidden by a heavy expression, that I can not begin to interpret. I desperately try to identify the creature before. Feline? No. Lacks the savage edge. Too cool... serpentine. Snake!

"Like a panicked little mouse, honored cultivator. This one might begin to suspect you weren't happy to see me~" they...? He? Says; his voice a low, honeyed rasp. "But how can that be? When this humble servant has been hunting for so long?"

"Surely, my dear little mouse, has been anticipating this day~! Dreaming of the day when her lord would catch her?"

There is something... mean, in that tone. Vicious and victorious. The silent echo of a madman laugh, as he burns the world to ruin. Seizes and achieves all that he desires. Strangles all that he can not possess. Covetous and ugly. Dancing, dancing, dancing around the edges. Demonic, indeed.

Yet... I do not recognize this creature. This demon. He certainly recognizes me, as horrifying as that is. What past does he speak of? Hunting? What HUNTING?! I try to find something familiar, in this strange form. Unless, of course, he is simple insane? Not impossible... but...

"Ah~ my poor little mouse." The demon coos, mocking in his indulgence. His eyes still dance with laughter. Mad and unable to feast. "You don't recognize this poor servant, do you? How cruel! To be forgotten. A passing fancy, barely held, in my mouse's fickle heart."

He's laughing me. Knows I could not possibly recognize him, yet plans to punish me anyway. Somehow. Fuck! This seems genuine. But how? Why!? When would I have-!?

Then, he shifts.

Gone is the beautiful young man. In his place? Rising, rising, RISING? A behemoth of a bandy-wolf king snake. Black, white, with occasional bare traces of that pale gold on the under belly. Hundreds of thousands the times it ever should have been. But... but? There. A scar. Oh gods.

I recognize him now.

A snake got into the village I was born. Absurdly poisonous, unthinkably venomous, it should have been left alone. Gathered very, VERY carefully and taken far away from people. But... people panic. Get stupid. The adults didn't fucking listen. And over sixteen people died that didn't have too. I was sick at the sight of it. They captured the poor creature and were going to burn it alive.

For the crime of being afraid. Hungry. Getting attacked and then protecting itself.

I couldn't bear it. So... I stole it. Hid it in a cave, half way across the valley. Didn't my best to nurse the poor, injured, creature back to health. At least... I tried. The injuries were too severe. I was able to close the wounds. But sickness, blood loss...

Shit. That cave was incredibly qi rich. It's why I chose it! To make up for what I couldn't do! If he had already started cultivation and then... or just resented enough...

It was entirely possible to become a snake demon. Easily, even.

"Sss Sss Sss, ah, recognition~" the massive creature laughed "Why so fearful? Little mouse~ It's not you I want dead. Kindness for kindness, a debt for a debt. And aren't we be grown? Look how strong we've become!"

The booming, breathy cackle did not fit snake lungs. Silibant and painful. Hissing and near silent. It was more pressure in the air then anything. A madness long coming. As demons born of resentment energy tended to be. All burned villages and the screams of those who wronged them. Hatreds and obsessions made manifest.

I... I could barely breathe. Oh gods. Oh gods! What do I do? I.. I can't-!! Tears threatened to choke me. Fear, shaking my limbs and fogging my mind. W-what do I DO?! I'm scared. No. No, no, NO! Please! I'm SCARED!

"Ah~ so cute, so cute! My little mouse grew so lovely~"

Like the world sighing, as fluid and graceful as his steps, the snake became a man again. His grey tinted lips curled in a fang bearing smile. Hands up and braced against the barrier, his full weight leaning forward as he leered. He loomed. My talismans casting odd shadows across his face, giving the madness in his eyes a terrible glow.

"This husband truely did pick his trap well, didn't he? My sweet little mouse~" he purred, eyes unblinking, above a terrible smile. "My little wife has no where to run~! No where to hide! Her husband has trapped her quite cleverly, hasn't he~? Poor, poor, little mouse. Your husband is so mean!"

My heart felt like it was going to burst. Cold. T-trapped. Can't breathe! Oh gods. Is this a panic attack? I.. I think this is a panic attack! Can't think! Static. Legs, refusing to hold me. Sink. Crawling backwards. Away. G-got to get away! Trapped! TRAPPED!

I horror, I watch as he sinks his nails in to the barrier. Hands no longer resting, but digging into it. He-! He shouldn't be able to DO that! Oh gods! PLEASE gods! Tell me he's not strong enough to BREAK barrier talismans of this level! Please! PLEASE!!

"Ah~ acting this way, you make this husband want to bully you, little wife~♡ And ah, such big, fearful eyes~ Am I being mean? Is husband being cruel? Poor thing~"

CRACK.

In horror, I watch as his nail push through the barrier. Like driving stakes through stone. Cracks shooting from the holes, as he digs and digs. Hands closing around the shards he has created, ignoring the blood that spills from where it cuts into him. As the barrier itself whines and crackles in protect. Tryinging desperately to maintain its integrity. Slowly... cracking... failing...

"Let me kiss it better, hmm? No use in trying to run~"

"So be a good girl~♡ my little Mouse. Come to husband~♡"

[beware-of-pity]

You believe me like a god (I destroy you like I am) - VII

Masterlist / AO3 link / Previous six - Next

Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

TW: Self-hatred/Implied Self Harm. Complicated family relations. The reader is a Targtower.

Chapter Seven: Trust in me, I will rise (Through the fire, in the sky)

. 𓆰♕𓆪

Jacaerys had been ignoring you. Of that, you were sure.

The last you had seen him in many days had been when he’d caught a glimpse of your conduct with Reynford. You could only imagine what he must have thought the ordeal to be.  He’d watched you gather your skirts and escort yourself out of the throne room, unable to bear the sight of his mild indifference, refusing to meet your gaze after that tense exchange you’d shared.  Your distress had made you unaware of just how much his eyes were burning holes into you with an intensity so unacquainted by a man whom a woman would share but a mere friendship with. 

His chest constricted at the sight of your back facing him. His whole body tensed, each muscle ripe with anxiousness, each nerve tingling and screaming for him to follow you as his mind, ever the voice of reason, told him to keep his composure in place at the sight of the many eyes cast on him — to grab your arm, urge you in his arms, demand an answer. But his feet were rooted in one spot as if chained by iron fetters.

The desire to call out your name, to beg you to stay, burned alive on his lips like molten fire, but he swallowed whatever want and need his heart ignited with, his pride refusing to give in.

You didn't see him that night; he did not join you for supper as he would, which didn’t make the weight of your conversation with Lord Reynford any lighter on your soul. Nor did he come the night after, the one after that or the one following. 

It seemed like he was purposely avoiding you, and for your own sake, you did not wish to cross your path with his. You did not know if you could face whatever confrontation you would get from him if he wished to finally speak to you. 

Spending the days keeping to yourself was something you were all too good at. The familiarity of loneliness, ever a willing companion to you and your thoughts, filled the emptiness that Jacaerys’ absence brought. Weeks passed by, and the routine of isolation settled in like an old friend, so familiar and willingly welcomed. 

Whenever you went for a walk, the halls felt emptier - or maybe the silence was just louder as your steps rebounded around the stony walls, the rustle of your skirts lingering like leaves swept away to make space for a new season.

Jacaerys, your shadow, had been nowhere and everywhere all at once. His absence was a constant weight, an ever-present reminder of something missing. But you could feel it, sense it, almost touch his presence trailing after you when your back was turned in his direction. You could spy him with the end of your eye, trailing after you, following you, but never approaching, keeping his distance. He was ever the trail haunting your steps, always nearby, like a weight on your shoulders. You wished he would approach you, but you knew he would not do such a thing. 

The pride of men, fickle and always bigger than their body can handle, bargain, swallow down. 

It hurt to admit that you yearned for him, to have him back…in your life, your thoughts, in your days and your nights. 

‘Come back to me, please.’ Tears as hot and infinite as the mellow nights cascaded your cheeks, framing them with the trail left behind, so cold and dark, if not for the glow of the candle to keep you company. 

Words only in thoughts and never in body, as you howled them in your mind not as a woman sane of her mind but as a beast, a wretched, savage animal of yearning, asking for a taste, for one last meal. 

“If I’ve hurt you, hurt me back! Hit me, scream at me! But do not ignore me; I cannot bear it! Anything but your indifference. Be with me always. If you do not wish to speak, then you won’t. Hold me in your arms, and then there’ll be no need for words. Caress me. Comfort me, and I will never ask for anything else. Haunt me! My thoughts, my sleep, my dreams. Take any form! Drive me mad! Only do not leave me in this abyss empty of your presence. Of your love, of your affection!”

But only silence stood the test of time to respond to your pleas. Abandoned in body, the cold of the room, of the sheets of your bed picked at your soft skin like a cruel reminder of the loneliness surrounding you. You lay there, tears streaming down your face. Your body ached for his touch, his presence. Your mind was like a storm, swirling with thoughts and feelings that you couldn't control, that you could not allow yourself to feel, that you should not allow your heart to clench for.

For his warm presence, for his reassuring words. For the way, his mere presence seemed to bring comfort and security, like a strong stone wall. The time you two spent together was like a soothing balm to your itching soul, and without thinking, without noticing, without meaning for it to, he made you happy.  A happiness you buried along the remnants of your past self, the twitching butterflies it brought with itself and the buzzing coming alive in the depths of the crevices which made your body — the same as the one he ignited in you. 

You had grown so accustomed to the feeling, yet you were so unaware of it. It had become a part of you, and without it, you realised the loss of the comfort you wished to never part from. You had long forgotten being comfortable with anything at all, and yet Jacaerys subtly, quietly, and unknowingly brought it out in you—so suddenly, so unwarrantedly, and oh so gently.

His absence felt like a phantom limb. Every conversation seemed dull, every moment less colourful, and the days grew gloomy as your spirits dimmed and the season changed. 

You couldn't turn a blind eye to the feeling of emptiness, not when it swallowed you whole. His character, so gentlemanly for a boy of twenty years of age, so modest and mature. His attention, even to the little things others might turn an eye to, when he could never turn his eye from you, taking you in each time as if he was seeing you for the first in many. His jokes, his charisma, and his demeanour made for a perfect and worthy heir for the iron throne, and you couldn’t be happier that one day he would be the one you would bow to as King.  You could not think of a more perfect fit to be a leader of men, with a just head on his shoulder and a mind as advanced as his. Your brothers had always looked the part they were raised to fit, arrogant and envious beings by nature, except Daeron, who, growing amidst the gentile of the Reach, was southward in character and the fancies of many girls. 

Boyish but with an elegance seldom worn by man. Intelligent, with a nick for excelling at anything to which he put his mind. A great knight and a skilled strategist, it was thanks to him that Rhaenyra was able to gain the upper hand in the war and gain King’s Landing, for you had heard much later, when the castle’s siege had ended, that it was him that had planned for the plot that led to the fall of King’s Landing alongside his grandsire. 

You knew of his exploits and his courage, but they paled in comparison to who he truly was, to the version of him you knew so intimately. He was kind and gentle, with a maturity that was surprising for his age.

One could not ask for a more reliable and capable heir to the throne.  But above all, he was a good man. And you loved him.

Love. 

Oh, love. How had you become so foolish as to dream of things like love? Reynford was right. Who could you fool?   Love is a fool's game, you thought, a dangerous game to play. You had been hurt enough, why must you destroy yourself?

Your hand is cold,  like the waves violently crushing upon the shore through a storm, Mine burns like fire,  Molten and as dangerous as dragon fire, How blind are you?

You wanted to scream, to shout, to shake him. How could he not see it, how could he be so blind to your pain, your love, your suffering?!

Your heart is like the moon, Silent, distant, and cold. Mine is like the sun, Burning, passionate, and intense.

The days seemed longer, and the nights infinite. The thought of him consumed you - his warm smile, the comforting weight of his gaze, the way he would reach to take your hand, hold it into his, the warmth of his skin engulfing you whole, warming you from within.

You are like the sea, Constant, predictable, and steady. I am like a storm. Unsettling, unpredictable, and destructive. Can you not feel it? The way my heart beats like thunder for you.

To the surprise of no one, you quickly fell back into your old habits. You had spiralled again, but then again, had you ever recovered enough to consider yourself cured? Or was it just a momentary distraction? When Jacaerys was around, it looked as if everything would be well. Beside him, you felt you could transcend between the wordly and otherwordly.

But not with your vices. 

They suited you like a well-fitting glove, and it is well-known that old habits die hard.  Refusing meals, picking at your nails, going mute for long periods, and spending days locked in your rooms were natural to you, like a second nature you regressed into. 

You are like a clear night sky, Calm, peaceful, and tranquil. I am like a raging wildfire. Passionate, consuming, and consuming. Can you not sense it? The way my soul aches for you.

No one took notice of your absence; was it by simple lack of care or the prolonged antecedence you made a habit of - the former the likely. But the old habits of isolation and neglect came back like they never left, leaving you weak and drained of energy. Your appearance came to show your detriment: more brittle in body with dark circles adorning your eyes as a result of your severe lack of sleep.

You had worked so hard to restore what little left there had been of what joined you two. Dreaming of days when the war never happened, where he never left to live on Dragonstone, when times were easier, and you two were never apart. I’d been difficult; anyone would have thought so, after all, the loss you two shared was not easy to overcome. He’d lost his brother, his grandmother and the man he viewed as a father, not to mention two before him too. And you, you had lost your whole family. 

Sometimes, you believed that grief could not be overcome. It’s like the ocean. It’s quiet, unattended, calm as still water. And then, it crushes you; it comes down like a great wave and all of a sudden, you’re back in that room, and you’re watching your sister throw herself from her window, your brother drinks himself to death, and your mother dies quietly in a pool of her own sweet and delusions. You’re brought news of your brothers’ demise in battle, and you’re all alone, having to take care of your niece who has forgotten her mother, your beloved sister, and who sees you as her own.  The world you knew, burned to ash by the fire of dragons, one where he walked beside you — that inconceivable, unbelievable, long-gone world where you two could sit under the shade of the weird wood tree with his head on your lap as you read to him the histories of the books he loved so much. You always read because he always asked. He loved your voice that much. The world where you flew the confines of the sky on your dragons, side by side, racing the other from Dragonstone and back to see who would reach it the fastest. 

You teased his lots back then, making jabs at how you’ll get there first because of Silverwing’s mightiness in comparison to Vermax’s lithe size. 

Not so little the green-scaled dragon anymore. Still nowhere near the size of your dear old girl.

With every visit since he moved to Dragonstone, he never failed to show everyone the difference between him and your brother. He was courteous, despite the lack of warmth, always treating the members of your family, who in due never gave back. 

But you’d always been a different matter. As his mother busied herself with the matters that had long gone unattended by her lack of presence in King’s Landing, Jacaerys spent long hours in your company, enthralling you with tales of his days spent in your family’s ancestral seat and with each visit, he never failed to bring you forth gifts.

Pearls harboured in the ship racks of Driftmark and laboured by the hands of his grandsire’s servants, twisted and elaborated in necklaces, earrings, rings and hair ornaments.   Books for you to read to him, always handed with that begging glint in his eye whenever you opened the box they’d be carefully placed in. Poems were your favourites, especially when read by his lips —  he dined with you, hawked with you, which you were far less capable than a squire in, sailed with you, entertained you in hushed whispers your ears were blessed with by making mock of the animosity between your families and your brothers’ fury at his attention for you. 

You are like the day, Warm, reassuring, and bright. I am like the night, Dark, lonely, and mysterious. How can you resist me? When my love for you is as vast as the sky.

Upon one of the last visits his family paid yours with, he’d gifted you your most prized possession. The seven-pointed star necklace you seldom forget to wear. His mother had always been open to remind him that while at home, he was free to worship the gods he so wished to pay his prayers to, but every Targaryen, if willing to serve the Seven Kingdoms, must answer to their gods.  You’d always been a tenant for him to look for when thinking of the seven-faced god. No lesson, no prayer, no visit to the sept, could ignite in him religion the way you did. Myth personified, that’s what he’d turned you into — but how could he not when you looked so sacrilegious before the gods? The maiden herself, purity, love and beauty personified. He’d woven since a young age that the moment he could compete in a tourney, he’d make you his queen of love and beauty. 

It was clear he was fond of you, and yet he was always the gentleman. Always so well-behaved and polite, especially knowing how much your family disliked him.

His thoughtful gesture had touched your heart, and you’d worn that necklace ever since, feeling its comforting weight around your neck. It was a constant reminder of the bond you shared, of the love you knew the gods could not approve. But he was too good, too chivalrous and honourable, to ever consider breaking his vows or making you a sinner, he could never stain your honour with his…bastardy. And so you watched him continue his affection for you, day after day, grew more and more distant.

Until it was long gone.  The war had destroyed it all. Broken the bond you had forged together, leaving you lost and alone without him. The memory of the past was both a comfort and a heartbreak as you reminisced about what could never be yours again. 

You are like the earth, Safe, nurturing, and grounded. I am like the wind, Free, untamed, and unyielding. How can you forget me? When my body aches for nothing except the touch of your skin.

Afraid of the hit your condition had taken, your maids grew concerned that you would collapse any minute. They arranged for one of them to keep by your side, a constant, a step or two behind yours.  Alone, in a castle as big as this, everybody seemed to ignore you and your plight, but alas, your maids and lady servants were there to keep you the company you so lacked. 

In your wavering emotional state, you noticed that there was a particular girl who fretted over you more than the others ever did. She seemed to take your troubles as her own, wanting to make it all better for you. She pushed the hardest for you to eat your meals, tucked you always in the warmest sheets, and brought you that sweet milk cream you were fond of.  But you had never told her your fondness for the dessert… 

She is small, maybe young or just short for her age. You tower over her, even if slightly. Slim, pretty, with sandy hair. Maybe Dornish? If so, a stony for sure. Little fingers, some scrawny and some scarred, and a nibbled pinky. 

You’d asked her name one evening as she placed the tray with your meal on the table. It caught her off guard, but she had let out a somewhat hearable ‘Nyssella’ in response.

Why do you close your eyes to me? When the sight of your gaze leaves me weak.

How much must you have aged in just three years? No longer a girl, you were but a flowered woman. But perhaps you had never been a girl; your girlhood’s never been yours.  The moment it bloomed, flowered, flourished, it was wrung out like death out of you by people willing to use it for their own, like your mother and grandsire. You had been anything but a girl, never receiving the privilege of being one.  Always a woman, sacrificial, dutiful, mindful, understanding. The one your mother relied on the most because you understood, you always did. But you didn’t, you never understood, you just did as you were told to do; you did the right thing. You never questioned, you never inquired, spoke up or rebutted; you just listened and followed, and you were loved and appreciated for it. 

And you loved to be loved. Oh, yes, you did. 

And they took. And they took. And they took. 

You lived for the attention of others, for their approval and appreciation. But how much of yourself had you lost in your quest for their love? How much of who you were had been sacrificed in the name of duty?

Helaena. Helaena she loved most, but she was not perfect. She was not you. 

You and Helena, raised as Targaryen princesses, expected to follow certain social cues and unspoken rules that she had difficulty picking up upon.

Helaena, allowed to forsake duty in preference to spend her time with her children and her dragon, where she’d been herself above Princess Helaena of all else, not having to put on a mask and play a part because you did it for her. 

Helaena, seen frequently on Dreamfyre, Queen Rhaena's mount before it was hers, the smallfolk recognising the pale blue scales of the creature above, associating her with the nostalgia of the prosperous reign of the Old King, while you were chastised for riding Silverwing and taking away from your duties. 

Your mother and grandsire expected you to be the perfect princess, while Helaena was allowed to be herself.

“You see your sister, don’t you? She might be older than you, but she’s the gentleness of our line.” Your mother had chided you one night as she deftly braided your hair before bed.  “You and your brothers must always take great care of her”

The words cut deeply now, as you remembered her soft, gentle nature and how you had failed to protect her.

The memory of Helaena was bittersweet.

A Targaryen’s softer side, as children, you would care for her, as your mother had instructed.  She never liked the touch of the maids, so you’d always been the one that braided her hair. You could never forget the softness of silver mane when you would brush it for her. But now, all that remained was the poignancy of knowing that you had failed her. You had not been able to protect her, as your mother had asked. And so, every memory you had of her was tarnished, like a once beautiful object now broken and useless.

You had always been the one to fulfil your duties, to put others before yourself. But who was left for you? Who was there to care for you, to love you, truly and deeply?

Humble and loyal had been your motto, not chosen by you. No, your mother had, as she had for all of you, and you had lived by yours faithfully. Loyal to your family. To your House, to your blood, to the ideals you have inherited, to those you follow and will die for. 

Humble and penitent is what you have become. Rhaenyra demanded so.  She had demanded penance from you for the sins of your brother, the usurper, that of your family, and you had given it, humbling yourself before her wrath, become the embodiment of humility and penance, at her command.

Not yet a corpse, not yet a human, and rot clogged at your insides, trapped in a state of being, somewhere between life and death, as if your very existence was a limbo.

A limbo someone was particularly interested in pulling you from.

If Jacaerys had been ignoring you, Reynford was more than happy to leave abide his dues to pay his due diligence to you.  Filling into your steps was his. Where you went, he followed. Where your eyes landed, his were there to catch them.  Ser Rickard’s white cloak always acted as a means to shield you from unwanted attention and straying eyes, but when without Ser Rickard’s presence you could only hope to turn to the gods for protecting from that which taunted you so. 

You had allowed this to happen. If there was someone to blame, it would be yourself. But you had a feeling he carried something you’d want to hear, and you were willing to face the darkness that scared you so.

It was one dark afternoon. By then, it had been raining for days — a part of you hoped the sky took pity on you and shed the tears you’d been left dry of, but you knew the most likely answer was that the weather was letting on its last efforts before the air would fill with pollen and the warmth of the sun.

The rain pitter-pattered outside of your room, and the wind clashed and banged against the cold surface of your window, which seemed on its last strength in holding the storm brewing outside from seeping your bones.  You sat in front of the fireplace in your room, the floor a comfort you could afford in the lack of leisure you lived by.  The flame of the fire beamed high, the wood burning within overturned by one of your maids each time the flame dimmed ever so little. Its kiss warmed the skin of your cheeks, clashing with the cold the stone of the room kept inside of it, sending shivers at the change of temperature surging through your body. At times, you held your hand too close for your maids’ liking, one of them often coming to pull you away in fear of you possibly doing something as reckless as letting your hand go through the flames. 

Fools, the whole of them. Targaryens do not fear fire. If it engulfed you whole, you would embrace it like an old friend. 

I am the blood of the dragon; I must not fear. It is something you often tell yourself in moments of great tribulation. 

As you fiddled with the seven prayer beads of the faith, murmuring hymns of prayer you were taught since you were a babe by your mother, who used to lull you to sleep with them, a copy of 'The Book of the Mother’, once belonging to her, worn and with annotations written on the side of the illuminated manuscript, laying wide open on the front panels of your skirts as servants moved about the room, tidying it and cleaning it out, you decided to show no fear when the stony dornish girl entered the room, bowed and announced the presence of the visitor's beyond the door.

"Lord Reynford Redwyne, princess".

Your heart skipped a beat at the sound of his name. The prayer you’d been humming is left dying on your lips, the beads hanging in your hands as you turned from the hearth to look at the door, sensing even from it that Reynford meant business — but so did you. 

“Let him in.”

He came strutting through the door in a great hurry, dressed in the grandeur of the name only his house could afford. Silence followed his sudden and untoward presence in a space he looked so unfamiliar in. So out of place, he looked, but so did you when you’d first moved to this room too. 

You turned to your servants, each with their heads bowed in respect. You tightened your lips before letting out a cold ” Leave us.” 

One by one, each of them swiftly dispersed, leaving you alone with the man. He stopped short of a breath, bypassing the servants exiting, stopping Nyssella of all, handing her a velvety pouch, whispering something in her ear, the same way he did with you, and you only wished to slash his face open with the knife sitting at the table not far from you the sight churning at your insides. 

You might have, were you not a lady above all else. And a lady’s courtesy demanded you’d be agreeable. 

Closing the door behind her, she left you two to wallow in the unbecoming silence of the room.  As he approached, the only sound reverbing in the room was his footfalls, chains, and belts chiming with each step.

His eyes stormed over your form until they stopped at your hands, bloody and raw, clutching and turning over and over the beads.

“Forgive me, my lord, but I do not think that I am an ample conversation partner today" you murmured, your eyes stuck to the flickering flames of the fire before you. An effort to keep your sanity.  He suppressed the pang of disappointment that tugged at his chest. You did not even deign him with a look; surely, it hit his pride. 

His brows furrowed ever so slightly, his lips tightening over a straight line, the cracking of his knuckles like chalk on a board, straining your ears and driving you mad.

"I can see that," he said, his eyes moving to the table beside him, where a couple of plates filled with food he could only presume to have been your lunch remained untouched, surely left by the servants in case you grew hungry over time, which he argued would not happen.

"And what's causing this, if I may ask?" His hand reached for a wooden toy dragon delicately painted in a grey coat. His fingers traced the part where the paint had come undone, chipping against its surface. The toy looked new; surely It could not be because of the wear of time.

”I’ve been told you have not left your room today or the day before?” He sighed “Or any of the passing days. How long have you locked yourself in here? Weeks? I expected to hear from you…”

“Forgive me, I could not find the strength”, you were able to muster in subtle annoyance, voice low and rough as if you had consumed it all. His brow raised at the notion of you possibly having lost it in a screaming fit. He left the toy on the table, taking a few great steps to your still form on the floor, clutching his hand behind his back.  “Why is that?” “He’s been ignoring me…” you breathed, a sharp intake that looked almost painful “I fear he’s mad at me.”

You needn’t need speak the name of the man causing you such pain, for Reynford was already aware of this predicament that had befallen you. Of course, he had, how could he not after a little altercation he’d had with the prince not much earlier? That, he would not tell. It was a tale for another time.

But as to not raise any alarm in you, especially not in this state, for he worried you could not come to handle such revelation, he played along.

“He hasn’t been speaking to you, I take it?”  "Not a word.” you whispered "He evades me.Turns his back on me so as not to cross my path. My very presence draws him away” Your hand trembled with each word you spoke, the beads in your hand along with your scarred and maimed flesh.  “And you’ve come to your conclusions as to why?”  “You know very well why” you scoff, voice dripping with dry sarcasm ”Us two. He saw us talking that day in the throne room. He...might have misunderstood, but he won't let me explain” Your voice trembled with pain, exasperation and urgency. Your teeth gritted, each set grinding on the other.

He furrowed his brows, his eyes fixed on you. So that was it.

 "He saw us," he repeated, his voice quiet as if contemplating some big discovery. A moment of silence passed, filled only with the sound of the fire crackling. He let out a sigh, his jaw clenching. "My fault, I suppose, I wasn't exactly subtle, was I?" he asked, a small smile entertaining his words "The young prince is quick to assume, is he not? Ah, the rush of youth pooling through him. So young and so eager to prove himself. In all the wrong ways one supposes.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head slightly in a mix of amusement and resignation.

”You know him. All rash and urgency. Headstrong and impulsive. He takes after his late step-father, the Prince Daemon,” his lips curled up in the ghost of a bemused smirk ", and that is no surprise, not really. I've always assumed he was turning too much like him, too stubborn and reckless and proud. Perhaps a bit too impulsive for his good", he muttered, the smile on his lips fading "It won't do him well in the future” a beat, then “unless he has the right person beside him to calm that temper of his.”

His eyes flickered over to you, studying you for every little reaction you could have had to your words, the way you held yourself, the way you fiddled with the beads in your hands. 

"I know what you're thinking..." you said "We got to have it out, I think. Perhaps I already knew" 

You stood from the ground, closing the book, marking the page you were on with the beads. You walked to place it on the table, before regarding him with a sharp inbreathed. 

”Your plan. The one you've been plotting all along — the one you approached me with falsehoods about”

He smiled at your words, your perceptive nature a sight to behold. He pushed himself away from the table, pacing a few steps down and back before stopping, arms folded behind his back. 

"You have me figured out, I fear," he said, his voice low, “That’s good. We’re free to speak openly about this, then. Always been sharper than you let on. I have your mother to thank for that.” "But that's what you like about me, no?" you spat coldly, “The untouched, perfect piece you can mould to your liking to win this battle of chess you alone are playing. The pawn that’ll guarantee you unquestioned victory.” You gritted your teeth further, feeling your sharp canines ache with the effort “Because who could have ever thought of the traitor’s sister?”

His grin is almost wicked, and his eyes darken in a way you’d never seen before, but what scares you most is how collective he looks despite all.

"You do me a disservice.” He chuckles lowly “You’re far more than just a pawn, princess. You're a force to be reckoned with. A queen.” his gaze flickered down to the seven-pointed star of your necklace. "One could misgive your words for treason", you teased, your own show of strength coming forward. “and where would your plan go from there? I'm sure you'll find a way to evade death even then” "You give me too much credit.” he moved closer, closing the space between you, his shadow enveloping your form "I wouldn't get caught now, would I?” “You’ll be too sly for that.” “You know me well,” he muses, “but you don’t see beyond the surface.” "What is there that I don't see?" You snarled, "Enlight me, will you?”

Your question was a challenge, a taunt, an invitation to speak as freely as a man of his station could. No riddles or ominous words would be spoken no more.

He reached a hand to graze your hair, free of the confines of braids, twists, or hairnets, petting it down.  ”You are so much like your mother in a certain light", he whispered "You're right, I am using you, but I'm also protecting you since I was unable to protect her.” he said "Your mother's cause did not die with her. I harbour it still. As the last of her line, I will make sure I see her plans to the end. That is the only way I can keep you safe.”

The intensity of his words sent shivers down your spine, but the gentle pull of your hand lingering about your flowy locks lulled you into a quiet state. The scepticism and curiosity staring back at him, which pooled your eyes, all but made him smile in that hard-lined way of his.  “You question me I can see,” he said “I do not blame you, I did come too forward our last time. I must have frightened you. Forgive me, it was not my intent, I did not think you so easily impressed.” 

The words you wished to spit back at him died in your mouth. He had rendered you speechless, stumbling on a well, a damn that had broken.

"You're not like your brothers", he murmured, pausing for a moment to watch the way the fire flickered in your eyes, "You're not like your father.”

You didn't know when your eyes began to water, the sting of the tears gathering in your eyes burned your irises unfocus, his last words allowing one singular tear free of the confines kept in, Hot and wet, it rippled on your skin like the waves of the sea. He whipped it away with the pad of his thumb, no indifference to the lack of restrain you’d just let his eyes fester upon. 

"Your mother tested her hand in a path forged by a fire, not of her own making, but by that of dragons, creatures far beyond her understanding. She met the fate the gods saw fit for her to fall into," he sighed defeatedly "With her gone and all her children except you, one would think there would be no one around to fight for her blood to run for the throne” His hand receded from your cheek to grasp your chin, lifting it gently, his gaze boring into your eyes, his expression intense and determined, his fingers gentle yet firm.

"Yet, here you are, the last of your mother's lineage, still alive and fighting to continue her cause," he said, his voice low and urgent. "others whisper that we should advance your niece Jaehaera, but alas, I cannot put a child on the throne" he shrugged “nor can I hold the throne for a child that does nothing but play with her dolls and weep at the first occurrence she’s bid to do what she does not want to do.” 

Sensing your displeasure at the way he talked about Jaehaera, he bowed his head in a show of submission “Forgive the phrasing, I did not mean to offend the little princess.”  Offence seemed to be the last thing he ever wanted to do. And yet he always managed to offend. His hand slid down from your chin to your jaw, his thumb trailing along your face, his gaze never leaving yours, still intense and unwavering.

"And so you are the only one left," he said in a soft whisper.

The fire crackled in the background, providing the only other sound besides the soft thump of your heartbeat in your ears. His words weighed heavy in the air, and you could feel the intensity of his gaze on you.

“How do you mean to give me a throne?” You echo his sentiment for once, and for a moment you become two bodies sharing one heart.  “The only way I can,” his tone grows serious “, the only way you can.” You gulped down a hard knot as realisation crushed down before you.  "Jacaerys..." you whispered. You shook your head. Wretching in mild violence against his grip. “I could never use him in such a way-“ "It is not an act of selfishness, princess," he said, his voice taking on a hard, commanding edge as his eyes bore into yours. "It is self-preservation. I know how you love the boy. No matter how you deny so. Wouldn't you want him to be yours? His queen beside the throne he sits on?” His thumb gently traced your lower lip, a tender yet almost possessive gesture. “And in return, I'll give you what I promised. Security, power. A throne" he smirked “freedom.”

Your eyes were wide, your pulse palpitating in a way it never had, your breath was laboured, your chest heaving in and out.  "He doesn't love me" you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “You fool.” his whole demeanour changed completely. Gone was the tenderness as he now shook his head mockingly.  “Of course he does. Open your eyes, will you? Everyone knows of his affection for you. A prisoner treated the way you are? Who do you think you have to thank for that? Rhaenyra? Were it up to your damned sister, you’d be in a motherhouse, singing hymns and praising the gods”  "But why-" you whispered, your words cut off abruptly as he seized your face in a sudden, almost harsh manner. Fingers dig into your cheeks, forcing you to look at him, a mixture of desperation and irritation radiating from his gaze as he leaned closer. "Do not play ignorant with me now, princess," he breathed right on your face, "You are far more intelligent than that, and I have no time to indulge in childish games of pretence.” Your face contorted in fury "Let go of me!.” "No," he replied with the same fury blazing through his eyes "Not until you speak truthfully to me. You're no fool; I know you see it. I know you do. You know he loves you. You’re scared of what that means. He is everything and you're nothing. Why would the heir to the iron throne ever love a traitor's sister, huh?” His words stung, and you felt yourself bristle at the insult to your pride. He was right, and both you and he knew it. You were a prisoner, the sister of a traitor, a victim of your family's actions.

What right did you have to claim the love of the future king?

“Stop” you pleaded weakly, gripping his arm. "I will not" he raised his tone "if you want me to, command me then. Tell me to step aside. Show me you’re the only woman in the seven kingdoms worthy of his love.”

 The audacity he had to even suggest such a thing, to challenge your very being. You wanted to tell him off, rip at his face in anger as you told him to leave you be, to forget about all his machinations and schemes. The other part, though, the deeper part that he knew so well, felt a pang of desire in your core.

“You are cruel”  you whispered, your voice quivering with an anger that mingled with a strange sense of arousal. “I am pragmatic.”

Those words made you lose all rationality. With the last bit of your strength, you pushed away from him, parting the both of you. You both stumbled to regain your footing, the push that strong.  Surprise etched his face, but not for long, replaced with a smirk. He knew he had gotten to you, and he revelled in it.

“You will never do that again” you whispered dangerously.  He stopped midstep, swallowing his curse, regaining his breath, smiling in the most genuine way you had ever seen him do, “Blood of my blood. I see you now.” He took another step toward you, his smirk never faltering as he watched your expression "I must've really upset you", he mused, his tone almost nonchalant. "but I can see now that I'm speaking to the real you.” His words hit you like a punch to the gut. You bristled at the implication that he knew you better than you knew yourself, even though deep down, you knew he was right. 

Damn him. He had a way of getting under your skin. Of unravelling you, layer by layer until nothing but the clay you’d been shaped you were left exposed.

You tried to regain your bearing, even if but little. "Tell me," you said, or moreso ordered, "Tell me the whole you've been planning until now” “I’ve thought much and more about where the complexities of this web I’ve been weaving begin and where they end” he mused “I know you will not like what I will speak of, but there is no other way we clear the path ahead unless you make peace with Rhaenyra.”

His eyes searched yours even as you forced them not to roll all the way into the back of your head and stay in place. 

"It's the only way, I'm afraid," he said, his voice soft and almost gentle "You have to be on good terms with her" he added "At least pretend to be, for the sake of appearances and favour.”

You shook your head annoyingly, your feet pacing you around the room as you considered his words. 

“Don’t do that,” he grumbled authoritatively. "I need you to listen.” “Am I not?” you argued dismissively.  “No, you’re not. You have to play along," he insisted. ”She will invite you for supper tonight. Word has spread of your…’ condition’, and perhaps she has wisely realised that before she puts a warrant for your death, you’ll kill yourself by your own designs, and she can’t have that, can she? Not unless she wishes to make an enemy of Old Town. Tonight, you’ll go, put the front a pained, sad, loving little sister and when the time is right, you'll make your case”

His instructions are clear, and his intentions ever clearer.

“You’d expect me to throw myself at her feet for mercy? Haven’t I begged enough?” you asked him incredulously, disbelief evident in your expression. "Is that all I'm to be? A meek supplicant, begging for scraps from the table of the enemy?”

“Yes!” he dragged his words, his exasperation with you coming to a tilt. “A tragic figure who has lost everything and needs nothing more than the benevolence of the enemy — because that’s what you are! Sometimes, even the bravest among us must bend the knee before we can rise once more. Rhaenyra may be a Queen. But she’s a mother, a sister, a woman before Queen. She has a woman’s parts and all the squeamishness reserved for her sex. She’ll have no choice but to listen to you.”

You bit down on your tongue to avoid snapping at him, the bitter taste of defeat and surrender filling your mouth. You knew he was right, in his twisted, pragmatic way. Sometimes, the only way to survive was to surrender, to play the part of the submissive, defeated fool, you had learned as much.

His words rang true. You needed her.

The journey to Rhaenyra’s apartment is excruciatingly long. Reynford had proved right, and just before you usually took your meals, Rhaenyra’s lady-in-waiting, Elinda Massey had come to call on you. 

The steps of the grand staircase that connected the king’s apartment, the queen’s apartment, and the upper floor’s Tower of the Hand each seem to last longer than the other, and with one you take a hundred more appear for you to take.  The dragon sconces hanging on the walls are alight with fire. The night is as dark as its darkest hours, with crickets singing their songs, The air is light but heavy with the smell of musk the rain left behind.  You’re announced by Ser Lorent, and let it by his holding of the door open for you. 

You must look a mess, but so had Reynford instructed you to. You had neither washed nor changed into clothes befitting an audience with the Queen. All so you could play the part. You usually spent your afternoons draped over your bed, sometimes sleeping, sometimes just resting, and without your indulged time, you were left cranky and twitchy like a ferret.

“No bath. No change of gown. Go as you are.”

A large rectangular space with soaring ceilings, the king’s quarters were divided into a reception area, a study, and a sleeping quarter. Manly, masculine, and tall, big architecture, as befits a king. But it’s not a King that occupies such space. It’s a Queen, your sister, in the place your father, your brother before her once filled with their presence.  With the tail of your eye, you spy the elaborately carved bed decorated with sumptuous bedding. It’s where you last saw your father before he passed, convulsed by his illness, lost to the milk of the puppy, as you dabbed his forehead of the perspiring he was waning of.  It’s where you last told Aegon goodbye as he indulged in a cup of red Arbour wine instead of his medicine. As the roars of dragons resounded in the capital, bats of heavy wings announcing their arrival.

The same cup you used to serve him the poison that killed him, just as Rhaenyra’s guards burst into the castle. The same poison the cup was filled that you made sure was found in Lary’s possessions. 

A gentle death for a cruel soul. You’d rather have him die as a rat than have his head mounted on the spikes of the walls of the Keep. It was your first and last gift to him. He’d drank it, you’d turned to place it back on the tray, and the second you returned to him, he was gone, blood dripping out of his mouth and nose, his eyes wide but empty of life as he stared at you.  You closed his eyes and kissed his forehead.  Your last goodbye to him as you felt the sounds of heavy footsteps and shouts of the guards looking for him.  But Larys arrived before them, ready to infiltrate your brother out of the capital as he had with Jaehaera and Maelor months earlier. You screamed, cried and pointed your finger accusingly at the man who had killed your brother, who, in turn, claimed false the claims he’d been accused of as he was carried and thrown to a cell to await his judgment. A vial was found in his room, carefully planted by his squire, which you had paid off, that’d landed his head on the chopping board for betraying the King he’d sworn fealty to. 

Tears of Lys, maester Gerardys had declared, as judgment was laid on Clubfoot. 

Rhaenyra is dressed in a crimson gown, less elaborate than the one she wears for appearance's sake. Her long silver hair falls loosely about her shoulders, an image of effortless grace and regality even at her age.  She stands out against the opulent surroundings of your father’s former apartments, her presence filling the room with a sense of command.  She turns when she hears you enter, a slight frown appearing on her face as she takes in your dishevelled appearance. But her expression quickly softens into something like pity as she sees the weary, listless state you are in.

"You're trembling", she murmured gently, but it was a cold sound. Her voice breaks you from your reverie, pulling you back to the present. “Take a seat,” she orders, gesturing to a plush armchair close to hers.

Your steps heavy and weary as you comply. Your body sank into the soft fabric of the chair, a tired sound pulled from your lips. Rhaenyra watches you with an appraising gaze, her expression unreadable. A servant nearby appears with a goblet of crimson liquid and offers it to you before it's quickly dismissive by a flick of Rhaenyra’s wrist. 

The air in the room is heavy, charged with tension as you fiddle with the cup in your hands. She studies you, you can see, as you sip the honeyd mixture, letting the sharpness of the wine slide down your throat and into your belly. Her gaze never wavering. When she speaks, her voice is soft and measured but, alas, calculating. 

"You look unwell,” she observes, her gaze roaming over your dishevelled appearance. “I have not been myself as of late.” She hums, a sound so soft for the hardened person she had become, a hint of something, concern perhaps, flashing through her eyes. She leans forward slightly, her gaze locked on you. "Is it grief?" she asked. The question so sudden. A whisper so impactful.  ”it never leaves", you gulped down another sip ", but I must carry on.” “Yes, you must," she agrees understandingly, her voice quiet but with a hint of steel. She leans back in her chair, her gaze fixed on you as she continues, "We must do. But not like this.”

Pity. You realised. Concern, too, but pity was what she regarded you with. A glimpse of something akin to a kindred pain, a shared burden she knew all too well herself.

A daughter, a son, a mother figure, a husband. You realised Rhaenyra knew well the pain of losing family.  The pain of loss, of grief, of solitude is, unfortunately, a shared burden. Rhaenyra spoke softly, a hint of shared experience in her voice,  “I know the pain of losing love”.

And the pain of replacing them. When Daemon died in the battle above the Gods eye, Rhaenyra had been urged and later forced to take on a third husband. The first ruling Queen to sit on the throne after a civil war that resulted in so many losses could not allow herself to go without following the expectations put before her.  Rhaenyra had four sons, three under her yolk at the time, to inherit after her, but a woman ruling without a man by her side would simply not do so. 

Her council had chosen for her Qoren Martell. The same Qoren you had heard tales of your father considering wedding her to in her youth as a way of bringing Dorne into the realm. Now aged and rule hardened, Qoren had been less than pleased to broker marriage talk with the Targaryens. You remembered the letter he sent back to your grandsire when first approached with favours, wishes and prosperous promises in return for his support and that of Dorne in the war.

 He had written back a single yet very telling note.

“Dorne has danced with dragons before. I would sooner sleep with scorpions.”

But Qoren did not seem to have a problem sleeping with a dragon if it meant making him the King Consort of the Seven Kingdoms. 

The marriage had happened the moment Rhaenyra lay victorious. With no more brothers to rise against her, she could finally sit the throne unchallenged. They made for a handsome couple. The ceremony is said to have rivalled the Golden Wedding of King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne. All the splendour insisted by Rhaenyra herself, who believed a show extravagance might quench the hunger people had for more than just food. Dorne covered half the cost, with the crown's coffer still laying empty of a quarter of its last strength. But it could not masquerade that neither wished to be part of this grotesque misalliance. 

Dorne had once and for all joined the Seven Kingdoms, a feat no Conqueror had been capable of. But, at last, your sister, a woman and the first queen in her own right, had accomplished it simply by offering her bed to a Martell.  Except for the fact that Qoren could be found anywhere but in Rhaenyra’s bed. Everyone knows of his share of lovers and paramours he keeps busy with. He relishes in the privileges his position offers without so much as putting the effort in it. You were glad he was a somewhat decent parental figure and loyal to a fault. Otherwise, you worried Jacaerys would have taken Qoren's head himself for his indiscretions towards his mother. 

Rhaenyra may turn her eye to her husband’s transgressions, but you know of the whispers behind her back that it is a sign of her terrible lack of taste in decision-making. Qoren had flowered the court with a mix of foreign flavours alongside the many Dornish noblemen and ladies that flocked to court in favour of the new Consort.  But alas, the dornish traditions he and the others embezzled around did not go well with some of the courtiers who grew the seed of dissent through the man and blamed it on Rhaenyra.

You could not disagree with the fact that Qoren looked like the better prospect for your sister. Sure, Corlys had pushed for one of his own Velaryon relatives, but Rhaenyra had digressed on the basis that: “You’re a loyal servant, Corlys. But a Queen does not marry her servant’s subjects. Only her own.”

Enraged at the dismissal and the umpteenth time at being passed over for the throne, Corlys retreated back to his seat at High Tide, rebuilt after the Battle of the Gullet with the scraps left behind. He did not attend the wedding and only returned to court at the urging of his nephew, Jacaerys, who had brokered peace between his mother and grandfather once again.   One would think that with such a show of displeasure, Corlys had been the one turned down as a possible suitor. Not a nephew or cousin of his.

Qoren brought wealth, steel and the costumes of his house, which Rhaenyra needed. Many men would ruffle their feathers at being sidelined to the regards of a Consort — but not Qoren. His son and daughter, Qyle and Coryanne Martell, had made the journey to the capital with him while his eldest daughter and heir, Aliandra, remained at Sunspear to overlook her father’s seat. 

It wasn’t to dismiss also that Qoren proved worthy of the union the very moment he joined hands with Rhaenyra —by finding her lost son, Viserys, believed to have died in the Battle of the Gullet. It was the combined efforts of Qoren, his son-in-law, Drazenko Rogare and the aid of the legitimized Velaryon heir, Alyn Velaryon, that the gods shined their light of luck upon Rhaenyra, who, after two years of being believed to be lost at sea, reunited with her little prince, fallen into the hands of the Rogares by the sheer luck of merchants selling him about. 

The Rogares had not proved easy to negotiate with. Lysaro was as hard-headed as his brother Drazenko has warned. He wished for his daughter Larra to be wedded to Viserys. Rhaenyra vehemently refused and threatened Lysaro that if he did not abide by his tenure, he would soon meet the same fate as those who dared rise against her.  Lysaro was not convinced, but only when Drazenko advised his brother to lay his pride unless he wished to see his keep burned, he begrudgingly relented, and an agreement was formed.

Viserys would be returned on the condition that when he came of age, he would marry the daughter of Aliandra and Drazenko, the four-year-old Alyssandra, making him the future prince consort of Dorne. 

And so it was decided. A huge ransom was paid to the merchant princes of Lys, all by Qoren’s coffers, and Viserys was brought to the shores of Westeros once again. 

The boy had grown, that was certain. A strappy, lean lad of ten, no more the green and scared eight-year-old his brother Aegon had last seen. The two brothers reunited in a great show of affection, and Viserys’ return did much to lessen Aegon’s loneliness and guilt. Aegon worships his two, once three, elder brothers —  but it's Viserys with whom he shares his bed-chamber, his lessons, and his games.  Nowadays, he seldom part from him still, as if afraid to lose him once more. You saw it him in, at times, when watching him as he played with Jaehaera. The same guilt you shared. A boy still, but such wrath to never truly forgive himself for leaving Viserys to his fate when he fled the Gay Abandon on dragon back before the Battle of the Gullet.

You twisted the cup in your hand before taking another great sip. She watches you as you do so, the way your fingers grip the glass tightly, almost as if you were grounding yourself in the present moment, her eyes trailing from your hands to your lips and meeting your eyes.

“The grief is hard to shake, but it’s the loss of purpose that truly gnaws at you” Your fingers grip the glass tightly, as a means to ground yourself in the present moment. "I have no greater purpose now than being at your mercy", you murmur "Long are the forgotten days of plots and exploits at the end of my mother and grandsire. Gone as they are. I hope you know that.”

Rhaenyra regards you with a knowing look, her eyes searching you for any signs of falsehood.  “I do know, and I must say, the change in your disposition is a welcomed one. I've always known that you were all victims at the hands of your mother's ambitions. Led astray by the counsel of evil men.”

Your teeth dig into the flesh of your tongue to not let an unkind or any kind of word come out. Anger boils at you. The fragility of your frame shakes in the same manner one might as in a state of great distress. 

"You don't have to put on such a performance," her lips tilt, but it’s more sneer than smile. As if she has already been shown a show such as this one. ”There’s no one you need to impress. You may speak freely.”

But instead, you push on. Past your quarrels. Past your judgment, your anger, and your fear in a show of courage. Or rather theatric. 

"Your grace, I beg you to listen to me." you stand, and the cup is placed on the table, soon to be long forgotten as you come to stand before her "I've been selfish. Naive. And I've wronged you.” 

There’s a tremor in your voice, so well placed that even you believe yourself. 

“I’ve neglected my duties. In my confinement, I’ve allowed myself to fall into my vices. But illness is no excuse. The gods know so, and they command of me to take on the greatest duty of all. Serve you.”

Your knees let you down in a harsh fall by her feet. Your knees scream in pain, but you make no show of it. Your hands slither up her skirts to fist at the silks.  “I know you must have been told. You must have heard. You must have been whispered to ill-meant words of my character. My intentions. My will. But I’m here to show you that none of it is truth. False. I will declare so before the gods.” 

Tears, pools of rippling water, burned down your cheeks like acid. Like the one coming up your troath.

“I offer myself to you, sister. I’m yours, yours alone. I bid you to do with me as you wish, but if, god willing, you have it in you to show mercy upon me, I beg you to find in you the love you once had for me.”

You watch as the cold indignity she regarded you with slipped from her face, her eyes warming in the same way they did many years ago.  She places her hand softly upon your head, her touch gentle and almost motherly. 

"Enough," she commands, her voice barely above a whisper. "You are my own blood. I will not have you begging like a beggar. You've asked for my forgiveness, and I shall take you back into my heart. Whatever else has become of you, you remain the blood of the dragon and my sister, whom I love.” 

Rhaenyra’s fingers gently thread like rippling water through your hair, her touch tender and comforting. "All is forgiven now.”

Her words are tender, but they strike a deep chord within you, the raw emotion and the relief of them overwhelming. 

Tears stream down your face. You’re not sure if as falsely as before. Your breath catches in your throat as you press your forehead down on her knee. She reaches for you, her hands gently pulling you up and back onto your feet. She stands, towering over you as she always has, her presence powerful. "Come, take your place at my side," she says softly, her hand coming softly to your chin, tilting your face up towards hers.

She cups your cheeks with her hands. The many rings adorning her fingers cool the warmth of your tear-strained face. She pushed the hair away from your face, letting it frame it as she tugged the front behind your ears. 

"There you are" she smiled, a rare sight from her. She keeps a firm grip on your chin, her thumb gently rubbing at the tears on your cheeks. "Look at you," she said. "You're a mess.” She tuts at you the way she would a child, gently tilting it this way and that, studying your every bit of your features. "You need a bath, some proper clothes, and a good night's sleep," she says with a great sigh. "You look like you haven't eaten in days. I can't have that if you're to be one of my ladies.” “Ladies?” You stutter out the word in feign confusion. You know better. 

"Yes, ladies", she replied, "If you're going to be by my side, you'll need proper gowns. No more of these dreary dark drapes you insist on wearing. You’ll have a seamstress to dress you. You'll eat proper meals and be taken care of. No more wearing yourself to the bone, my dear. You'll have proper bedchambers and proper companions to dine and gossip with. As all ladies in waiting do.” Her thumb moves to gently trace the line of your lower lip, her gaze still fixed on your face. "No more of this," she murmured, her tone more serious now. "You won’t waste away like this any longer. I won’t allow it. I have Jacaerys telling me off all the time about it enough.”

“He does?” You lose your voice, and your lungs are without breath. Your intentions are lost, your purpose wavering. Your belly comes alive with the dance of butterflies you don’t remember having swollen. And all of a sudden, you’re hungry. Hungry to know more, to hear more, be told more. 

“He speaks often of his concern for you. He’s been…rather insistent on your wellbeing. It’s all I hear every time I talk to him. It’s what got me worried as well. Why I called for you tonight. I can see his concern was in good faith. I’ll have to thank him for that. And I don't doubt for a second that he won't be glad to see you in good health and spirits again. Though, I don’t suppose I could take all the praise for it, can I? He surprises me more each day, that one.”

‘He thinks of me’ Your heart feels light; it skips a beat, catching your breath violently, and you feel so foolish for having thought he spared none of his for you. Then, perhaps, he's not been ignoring you because he's mad at you. 

If that were to be the case, then that means he’s…

Oh, Jacaerys…

“He cares for you, you know. Deeply,” Rhaenyra rumbles on, unaware of your inner turmoil and the revelation you had just come to. “He has never forgotten the childhood you two shared. I know he thinks fondly of him. In a kinder light than that of any other person, perhaps more than I myself. You were a good influence.” 

She jests, but you can see there’s something dangerous that lingers when talking of the closeness between you and her son. 

It is then you push your luck.

A tentative step, and you’re in her arms, engulfing her whole, holding into her tightly. You close your eyes shut as you await her response to the embrace.  She’s caught off her.  You feel her tense. Her muscles tighten at the suddenness of it all. She wraps her own arms around you, holding you close against her chest, her chin resting lightly atop your head. Her chest moves steadily with each breath — in and out, out and in — the rhythm almost lulling you into a state of comfort. Rhaenyra has not allowed herself to soften the rough steel she has turned her skin into in many a year.

Rhaenyra is rage. She’s overwhelming and maddening grief. She is the anger and the frenzy that drives a hand capable of hurting those near to you. She is the sadness in betrayal and the love in nostalgia. She will keep bleeding until there is no more to be given until everyone around her is completely and irreparably stained. she is the hope of a child whose trust has not yet been taken and the mistrust after a heart is broken. 

Helaena was the coming home and being trusted with the deep, painful feeling of nostalgia running deep inside your veins without really knowing why. Dreaming of days old gone, wishing to have them back, knowing the impossibility of such a thing, letting it be your demise. 

And you. You’re forever trying to cleanse your hands over the guilt that consumes you. But the red never leaves. Doomed to spend your life trying to scratch your way out of your body

Three sisters, now two. Rhaenyra is all you have. 

Guilt washes at you, as it always does. You know it well. It closes your troath and clouds your mind. You’ve felt it before, and you know you’ll feel it tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that. Yesterday, today, tomorrow, until the end of your days. But now, you’d rather let it consume you whole than let yourself be drowned in it.  The gods as your only witness. 

As you leave her room, the night is deep. The keep haunted by the silence brought by the sleep of its inhabitants. The guards standing at her door do not watch you leave, but you know they’re aware of your every movement. The air bites at the skin of your neck and turns your fingers a hot red as you make the journey back down the great staircase. With a jolt of your step, you’re on the ground floor. On your right is the entrance hall that will lead you to your room. On your left…is the throne room.

The iron door is heavy as you push it. Old as it is, its hinges sing as it opens.

It’s dark. No torch is lit and no guard is there to watch you your indiscretion. The sound of your feet and the rustle of your skirts fill the empty chamber in all its vastness as you walk down the cavernous stone hall. The eyes of the statues of Kings of Old followed your steps, but you dared not meet their gaze of judgment. No, your eyes were on one thing only. 

The towering, barbed, iron throne.

Doubt seized you. You stared up at it, standing before its steps.  You take on the first, the second, the third and fourth, climbing at them before you loom over the chair. Your hand reaches for the pommel of one of the swords sticking out of the melted armrest. Gently in fear of nicking yourself as your father had.  The steel is cold and harsh. You feel its myrrh on your tongue, its taste filling your mouth.  It's monstrous. All pikes, jagged edges and twisted metal from hundred melted, beaten, broken blades of surrendered enemies. 

It’s ugly — but so is power. 

“A king should never sit easy”, and you do not. The iron beneath pushes through your clothes to your skin until it settles deep within your bones. It hurts, it’s a struggle to find ease with each shuffle of your bottom. One wrong move, and you’re dead.

It killed Maegor. Wrists slashed, and a spike through the troath, the singers say. But you understand it. The allure, the weight of a thousand lives that live the chair. The memory of every man who has sat it before you and paid the cost in blood, violence, heartbreak, pain. The Iron Throne. The most dangerous seat in the world. A seat of power, the beacon and crucible of the whole realm.  A test of will, a challenge to be endured. You sit on it now, your back straight, your head held high and you see the challenges ahead. But could you reign? It’s one thing to sit on it; ruling is another. 

The hall around is empty of life, but you dream of it filled with courtiers, noblemen and noblewomen, peasants and gentry alike, all looking up at you, a scene straight out of your childhood. The finery, the dresses, cloaks, jewels and silks glimmering in the light, staring up at you with curiosity and awe as you did when you were just a girl. The bells of the sept ring in the distance, and the dragons roar as one, the same they did when Criston Cole placed the steel and ruby crown on your brother's brow. Most stared in silence, confused and wary, at the unnatural woman sitting before them, in the centre of it all, like a lone flower standing in a field of grass caught unawares between your past and present. 

We’re all just specks under this big, powerful dome. Grains of salt in this endless desert. We exist only that much. Some truths will be revealed only after time, and some will be forgotten. 

Forgetting is freedom.

Otherwise, the tongue you speak with and the earth you walk on will not let you go.  Just, when did you see yourself superior to all beings the Gods have created? When did pride dominate you, which at night will not let you sleep, and like a storm in the sea rages through my heart and soul? Who recognised you as better than other people and liked you? The day you raised your head, the seed fell in you.

The seed of pride.

If you’re the moon, If you’re the moonlight, he’s your source. He is your sun.  He knows you better than everyone else and loves you most.  He planted the pride in your heart and soul. 

It was the seed that awakened the dragon.   It started wars lasting years and a dynasty like none the world had ever seen before. But, like the dragon’s destiny to lose, just as he himself led to his fall, You, too, feed the seed of pride to prepare your end. 

For every life has a day of judgment. Everyone’s death has a unique colour, and yours shall be dictated by your designs alone.

There are moments when one turns away from mercy to achieve victory. To survive.  Whatever happens, stay alive.  Because this world is for cruel people, not for the valiant.  If you’re not like them,  If you’re not cruel, they won’t let you live. 

Be purified of your fears. Fear evokes evil and hatred. When the time comes, be courageous.  Only with courage, you will get what you deserve. Everyone gets what they want.  What happens in the future will happen because you deserve it.

You wanted it. You knew then. It was a want driven from the deepest, darkest parts of you. You wanted it more than you’d ever wanted anything. No guilt carries your thoughts. Your mother had not felt guilt when she took the throne, and even until the last of her days, she never confessed to any. Why shall you, then?

No one is going to save you. Might as well save yourself. 

May the gods forgive you. And if they don’t, they’ll understand. Will they not? The gods forgive but do not forget, but they, most of all, understand.  But there are no gods here. There are only monsters. A hunger so deprived, as sharp as a dragonglass, that watered your mouth and made your belly rumble in famish.

Humble and loyal be damned. Hidden and patient, that shall be your motto.

You break into a smile. A triumphant, proud smile that evokes all the wrong intentions, knowing that tonight you’d won your first victory.

The throne is yours.

It’s sharp blades and cold edges are now a part of you; they have marked you forever. In you sits the power to rule, the ability to bend the will of men, the right to command armies and wield dragons.

You wish to rule? So you shall. 

You will rule.

Taglist: @esposadomd @aleemendoza2425-blog @nen-nyy @hadesnumber1daughter @salvatorecherry @h6avenly

[urfavrib]

GRICKO MY BOY ITS YOUR TURN FOR HCS

Gricko is trans masc, not fully ftm but like he definitely prefers presenting masculine. (Def a He/They)

Tax E Dermi is totally his drag name and he lives to be gross but oddly seductive.

Deez Nuts jokes are totally the reason him and Gideon are such good friends, it makes Gricko feels smart and Gid gets to chase him and punch him if he catches him.

He is the god of 420, he always has something. Be it a brownie (made with Kremy mostly for pain relief but more than 1 dose gets ya pretty silly), a funny cigarette, or a bowl. He’s got it. He is very responsible with said effects so Hootsie knows if you’re partaking to be smart and safe and you must be an adult.

He is the inventor of the FlyPad. He’s been working on marketing for years. Just hard to get a tech startup off the ground when you’re running from carny hands or Garou.

Frost and Gricko are generally on the same page about doing things, but Gricko plays dumb for the sake of the Krew. Too many cooks in the kitchen makes burnt soup of something.

Gricko had the grades to go to Uni. He hated the idea though. Wanted to start his band.

Gricko at first thought Frosty was a monstrosity from the level of disarray he was in. But with a bath and plenty of love he learned quickly that wasn’t the case.

Gricko read Psionic practices for dummies, so he can kinda start a telepathic conversation with Frost. Only Frost because no one else has psionic abilities. (they usually just play word games in their heads together on travel days)

Hootsie actually was a name she picked herself. Gricko did the thing where he wrote a bunch down and had her go to the one she liked most. (It was between Hootsie and Glorba)

Although mainly dealing in monstrosities and beasts at the carnival he was also first aid and lost & found.

[rei-ismyname]

Let's talk R-LDS

R-LDS or Resurrection-Linked Degenerative Sickness was alluded to in X-Men #4 and the Infinity Comics before being named in X-Men #7. We're told that Magneto has it and it's directly caused by Krakoan resurrection/The Five, kinda.

Here's Beast doing some alluding.

In the panels above, we learn that Hank McCoy is the only one working on the problem - the problem being Magneto's loss of his powers and his body breaking down rapidly - his very chromosomes unraveling. He seems quite sure that it could happen to 'any of us' though the lack of quarantine suggests it's not contagious.

The next bit of information we receive is from Magneto and Scott in conversation, reflecting on The Iron Night. They took down a wild sentinel that was attacking the town and Mags lost control over his powers immediately after, requiring Scott to knock him out for safety's sake. Scott is no scientist, and while Magneto is a genius polymath autodidact (with plenty of experience in genetics) it's not a character trait that's seen focus lately. Thus, I'm assuming they're discussing it as amateurs and as patient zero in Magneto's case.

Magneto confidently names the condition for the first time as well as using an acronym for it, suggesting it's confirmed to exist, he's had a positive diagnosis, and they're using the term enough to require shorthand. He even spells out the subtext for us - it was a hidden flaw in Krakoan resurrection. I'll come back to that notion. Scott says 'we don't know that for sure,' implying that R-LDS is just a theory or speculation, which Mags doesn't directly refute. Instead he lays out the worst case scenario. They can't both be right here, so what's the deal? Magneto's symptoms are obviously confirmed, but how did they get from there to here?

If Magneto is the first and only person affected by his condition, why are he and Beast so sure about its providence and everyone being in danger? How could they possibly link it to Krakoan resurrection? I'm no scientist but I do know that there's only so much you can conclude from a single data point. Magneto was indeed only resurrected by the Five once, but he died again after that on Arakko (X-Men Red #7). The body he's in came out of a portal from Overspace in Adam Brashear's underwater base (Resurrection of Magneto #3.) His body suffering a condition borne of something that happened to a different body doesn't make sense. Considering he's the only person to return to life that way AND the only one allegedly with R-LDS, that would be the place to start for Beast's sciencing.

There he is, good as new.

Word of God

In a recent AIPT interview, Tom Brevoort removed any ambiguity and just straight up confirmed it. With the caveat that his recent X-history knowledge seems pretty poor, he is the de jure ultimate authority on the matter. I don't agree with that, and not just because I don't respect him as a creator. This habit of on-panel ambiguity and editorialising in interviews is vexing.

It's especially vexing when he contradicts himself. He counterpoints his own information with some of what I just pointed out, but the fact that they've made a list of who was and wasn't resurrected suggests R-LDS is a plot point they're committed to. I have to wonder why he bothered giving a detailed answer to this question if it's 'yes,' then 'maybe', then 'it will definitely be a thing you'll see as we progress.' Saying all of that and then ending with 'we know very little so far' really makes me wonder what he's thinking. Tom Brevoort could have given his usual cagey answer about not wanting to spoil anything, but he didn't here. I'm saving most of my Brevoort-specific criticism for a separate piece, but this glib and irreverent tone is typical of his commentary - even managing a light jab at Jordan D White.

Frankly, I think it's a graceless and cynical development. There are so many character beats, mistakes, and conflicts to use from the First Krakoan Age that choosing to create R-LDS feels like a shot at the core of hopefulness and creativity that blew our socks off in 2019.

HoxPoX

House of X/Powers of X was hopeful and magical. After a decade plus of endless misery and genocides, dull stories and bizarre characterisation, for once mutants got a W. The ability to use mutants working together to right the horrendous wrongs they'd suffered was central to that - the power of community and cooperation. What they built wasn't perfect but The Five was something they got right.

What would possess someone to take the cornerstone of the greatest X-Men story of all time (don't @ me) and try to tear it down? Remember, when the dust settled we ended up in Moira X life 10E. In 10A, the original Krakoan experiment, the mutants won! They thrived and protected what was theirs against Dominions. It took a literal apex AI God existing outside of space and time directly opposing them to fail. Enigma, on the back foot, sent Omega Sentinel through time to start ORCHIS years early and ensure Krakoa's collapse. Am I to believe 'no, sorry. That was a dead end?'

Haven't we been here before?

We've had mutants suffer from the Legacy Virus and M-Pox already, and I might even be missing other examples of nebulous diseases that threatened to wipe out all mutants. Obviously it's the prerogative of the X-Office to use whatever plot points they want, but do we really have to do this again? There are plenty of ways to sideline Magneto as a combatant that don't require repackaging old storylines. We've even had Hank McCoy decades behind the curve desperately trying to catch up before - in All-New All-Different X-Men.

Small World

Defenders-era Hank McCoy might be the worst possible 616 scientist to tackle this problem. He's literally decades behind the science curve and doesn't have the experience in dealing with anything like this. He's not the same guy that worked on M-Pox or the Legacy Virus. He never set foot on Krakoa and has never met any of the Five. We don't know how much data was recorded or kept from The Five but Beast may not have access to it.

Why isn't he talking to Cecilia Reyes, Forge, Jean Grey, Reed Richards, Doctor Strange, Adam Brashear, Healer, Doctor Nemesis? Even doctor dickhead that extorted Storm has the ability to instantly diagnose anyone. It makes the world feel tiny, and when you're following an era of interconnectedness that's just so disappointing. Portraying him as supremely concerned about 'all of us being ticking time bombs' rings hollow if he's working on it solo. Hank McCoy has always had a sense of arrogance where his scientific ability is concerned but not to this degree. Look at the guy! He's hating the stress he's under.

Sins of Sinister and the White Hot Room

I have to wonder if the implications of linking Magneto's illness to The Five's resurrection have been fully considered. The Sins of Sinister timeline ran for a millennium with the Five resurrecting on an industrial scale. Rasputin IV would have noticed, or the Quiet Council. The mutants left behind in the White Hot Room in RotPox spent 15 years bringing back ALL the dead mutants. That's 16 million, minimum. 15 years is less than a thousand but it's still longer than the First Krakoan Age, several times over. Nobody noticed anything? Elixir, member of the Five and Omega biokinetic, with his unlimited mastery of DNA didn't notice anything? Destiny didn't see mutants falling apart? Sounds dubious as hell to me.

Towards the end of the era many humans were resurrected too. 5% of the Five's work was set aside for bringing back poor children etc through the Phoenix Foundation. Steve Rogers was resurrected into his current body on Judgement Day. I am extremely skeptical that this has been considered, and in Steve's case whether the X-Office can even use him.

Conclusion

Magneto's physical degradation has been swift. Here he is in Uncanny X-Men #700, implied to be at most 6 months before X-Men #1. I think I've demonstrated that the concept is nonsensical and to reiterate, I think it's a terrible narrative choice. If I'm being generous, it'll be interesting to see if they can explain R-LDS in a way that makes sense - if they can do something new and interesting with a tired concept. There's only been one issue since it was introduced, so perhaps I'm jumping the gun on breaking it down. Let's check back in 6 months.

What do you think of R-LDS? Do you think my reasoning is sound? As always, I'd love to hear what other fans think.

[darklinaforever]

Oh my god...

Who said it wasn't toxic ?!

Any vampire romance is toxic !

And it's a gothic romance for fuck's sake !

It's literally the creator's intention that Orlok be seen as a bitter and a lover !

It's inspired by Beauty and the Beast and Wuthering Heights for fuck's sake ! How do you romanticize it ?! The movie romanticizes itself ! It's in the name GOTHIC ROMANCE, moron !

And no, there is no grooming in this relationship ! I'm so tired by the use of this word everywhere, fuck ! It should be banned by force at this point...

And yes, Orlok is evil. That's the point of this story with Ellen. He's death, like in death and the maiden.

And it's fiction. Of course the pure evil can love in it. It has already been done in many works.

Seriously, all these people can go fuck themselves.

They would dare to say this to the creator and team of the movie himself ?!

[immediatebreakfast]

I found that my landlord had got a letter from the Count, directing him to secure the best place on the coach for me; but on making inquiries as to details he seemed somewhat reticent, and pretended that he could not understand my German.

The reaction, and following actions of the old romanian couple after learning that the Count placed the responsability of securing Jonathan's travel to the castle on them is a true testament on the horror limbo that these people have been living for god knows how long.

An inmortal, and monstruos man lives inside the countryside in luxury untouched by time itself orders you to secure transportation for this young man, barely an adult in what matters who has traveled so far, to meet what you know will be his death. A being that should be a myth is forcing your hand to guide the son of another mother to an early grave, an end that is waiting for him outside of the walls of your inn.

He and his wife, the old lady who had received me, looked at each other in a frightened sort of way... When I asked him if he knew Count Dracula, and could tell me anything of his castle, both he and his wife crossed themselves, and, saying that they knew nothing at all, simply refused to speak further. 

How many times has this happened? How many young people have dissapeared one day without leaving a single trace while everyone has to force ignorance within their brains less the terror makes them unable to keep going. Worse, even if the young english man, all bright eyed and full of life, says That Name out loud you can't chastice him for such mistake because he simply doesn't know what he is calling, and the only thing that you can do is close your eyes to pray for his soul.

However, sometimes the horror is so overwhelming that another answer comes out, a last ray of hope that could change the course of what seems to be written in stone. A simple hand extending in frightened kindness for a fellow human being.

"Must you go? Oh! young Herr, must you go?"

This old woman, this old lady who has and still lives under the terror of the Count decides to try. She tries, and tries to convince Jonathan to not go, to not leave to walk to the jaws of the beast, or to at least wait for a day or two because everything is pointing to what seems to be the inevitable. Moreover, when her pleads are futile at the end, she still dares to gift Jonathan a rosary, a small protection against that cursed being who laughs at the face of everything that makes her human.

She saw, I suppose, the doubt in my face, for she put the rosary round my neck, and said, "For your mother's sake," and went out of the room.

This old lady not only sees Jonathan the young man who is just starting his life, she sees a mother waiting for any news of her son coming home. She sees a poor woman trying to find anything that could tell her an answer of whenever her son is alive or dead, while being unable to both live and grieve.

The old lady doesn't know if Jonathan will survive his duty. In fact I could pressume how her guilt of knowing that the rosary on itself is still not enough to ward off the Count made her leave the room, but she still tried to hold on the hope that this time, maybe this time, there won't be another young soul buried in the soil.

[i-have-stolen-endless-names]

The Devil In Love - Chapter 5 "A Moment In Time"

Possible Trigger Warnings

>>Alucard is a Warning on his own.<<

Overall Soft-ish Yandere Themes

Mentions of: Alucards presence is scary (nothing new here), he uses his abilities to turn into the hellhound, he laments about the change of the world, he talks to reader in their mind

Minors please do not interact! Reader is ofc 18+

Content

Reader is working at the Hellsing manor as a housekeeper

Story is set before the happenings of Hellsing - Still Spoilers ahead

Reader is gender neutral, no pronouns are used but "you"

Age, ethnicity, height, weight and any other physical attributes are never mentioned. You are free and encouraged to imagine yourself or an OC in this scenario.

Summary

Reader is out and about in the town, somehow Alucard managed to join them. Fluffy with just a dash of bittersweetness

Index

Previous Chapter: Chapter 4 "Delicate Blossom" Next Chapter: Chapter 6 "Not A Good Man"

Follow me for more!

"How did you manage to follow me in the first place?" A valid question.

Alucard usually never left the manor aside for an occasional walk in the forest. When he was called to a mission it was most definitely an exception. However, he so very rarely visited any nearby towns or villages that his appearance next to you startled you in more ways than one.

He had no sense of personal space, his body loomed dangerously close over yours, arms almost brushing against one another. "It seemed to be in my masters interest that I go for a walk."

Somehow you doubted that. But then again, Integra was rather affectionate with Alucard. In her own way… as much as one could dote on a monster anyway. She might have truly allowed this for his sake. Or the sake of the other members of the manor.

Many people glanced at you, or rather your surprise guest. Alucard was so tall and made people naturally uneasy. Of course, his vampiric nature made the people around him just as curious.

Still, you did not feel comfortable with how_small children started to cry around you and how some people even pointed fingers. "Perhaps you can make yourself less… scary? I think you are frightening the people."

"Would you prefer if I turned into a puppy for your amusement?" Alucard almost sounded annoyed but he was also teasing you. In the end, you have started to gain way too much influence over the vampire. He would do so many things for you. Including turning into a puppy, apparently. Or his definition of it anyway.

"Are you capable of that?" It should be no surprise to you that he was not going to turn into a cute, sweet puppy.

Still, when Alucard disappeared into a dark alley just to return as a massive black hound, you could not help but make a face. "That is not a puppy… you look more like a hellhound. You are still scary."

That only flattered his ego. People were supposed to fear him. Not invite him for dinner like you so often did. "Fine, just don 't bite anyone, okay?"

At least this massive beast would keep people at a safe distance from you. Shopping had never been so easy.

As you started to move, Alucard trotted next to you. Even his dog form seemed to have way too long limbs. His red eyes darted around in London. It looked very different the last time he had been here.

>>The world has become Lifeless.<<

Plastic. Mass Production…Life had become so easy and yet so lifeless. He still remembered how people came together to cook, sing, and dance. How peasants and royals alike dyed their clothes eagerly to be colorful.

As much as he hated god, the colorful churches built in his name were gorgeous. He remembered how people decorated their homes and surroundings for practically any occasion.

Flower wreaths, frilly clothes… Humanity once worked together to create. At this point, they relied more on bleak machinery than their own hands.

"What do you mean-Wait, did you just speak to me in my mind?" At first, you had not even noticed the weird quality of his voice. It seemed to be echoing in your mind.

The lips of the dangerous pup next to you curled upward into an unsettling smile. "Oh don 't give me that grin."

You did not even know that hellhounds could look so smug. That must be another one of Alucards endless and weird abilities. Could he read your thoughts? You hoped not.

>>You are still young, do not let the words of an old man influence you.<< How soft his voice sounded there. Like he really did not wish to taint you with his feelings nor opinion of this world.

Regardless if humans were in their twenties or in their eighties, compared to him, everyone was still so very young. But he must admit that scrolling through London with you somehow made him feel younger as well.

Even when he had to wait outside stores that did not allow "pets" inside. When the day started to end, he watched you settle down on a bench.

Being an opportunistic man, he took the chance to sit next to you. It took but a little nudge for your hand to come to rest on the top of his head.

>>lf being in this form always gains me such privileges, I shall turn into it more often.<< He was such a bastard, grinning with all his sharp teeth while you rubbed the top of his head. It was not your fault he felt so soft to the touch.

When you rubbed his ears he even put his head on your lap. It was hard to remember that it was a man who just nuzzled into your thigh for more affection.

"Shut up.." You murmured while Alucard seemed very content with being caressed . It appeared as if someone finally managed to tame the beast. At least for a while.

[chimerical-daydreams]

thinking a LOT about that drawing of pre-wish king meeting his post-wish self and it's been tearing my brain because god. can you imagine how gut wrenching the whole ordeal is, and the fact that this a matter he could not let anyone on, because what if things were already set on course? what if the universe already set his role, and it simply is a matter of time before the walls crumble, and the cold-hearted steel-claded beast rises from the ashes of what was once a vulnerable man, seeking a better world to those who are most important to him? to know that the blood of those who care about him will stain his hands, and his mind will be too forgone to ever comprehend the weight of it when the time comes? and oh, how COULD he ever tell anyone about what awaits on the darkest horizon? how will he tell nile and bonnie that their home will be frozen in time, and they ventured along with the beast that did it out of his own dead will, and saw him as an equal; someone important? how will he ever tell siffrin that all of this was done in the name and sake of remembrance, of intentions his mind interprets as 'good', when the lands far and wide will be stuck in frozen damnation? will he ever see it? he cannot even remember, and he will never! NEVER! THE ISLAND, THEIR COUNTRY, THEIR PEOPLE! ALL GONE, IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE! and what did king ever have to show for it?! a sad display of a skewed plan, that tears the world asunder?

and loop. oh, loop. will king even dare to look at them in the eye? his guiding star, his trustworthy buddy? will he collapse when they tell him that they put two and two together, long ago? that they knew of the demon, and tried to kill it, but simply could *not?* because he didn't become what he is destined to, didn't he? but if what will be done will be done, is it too late? have the stars in the sky finally dimmed out, leaving a hollow man to rot in blackened armor of dead dreams? will loop even tell him of their previous encounter with him? of the endless, uncountable battles they faced with him? how each one ended with loss, which lead to frustration, which lead to *despair*, which lead to THIS?! to them losing everything, because of the way they doomed themselves, and how he doomed them? will they even try to reassure him that the fault was not his, even if they want to so desperately say it is? would he try and go against the script, like a futile and lost little wanderer, simply walking into the unknown abyss to try and find a way out?

anyways yeah i think about it a lot.

Honestly I have nothing to add. Amazing synthesis, A+ 👍

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

I feel like the targaryen reader would have only marry alucard if he agreed to all her terms, like first she needs to have many heirs for house targaryen, the children must have the name targaryen and valyeran first names, their first language will be high valyeran which she also expects him to become fluent in, and other targaryen traditions like cradle eggs and on a unrelated note alucard is so malewife coded😂 do you think that he would agree to her terms or would he try to negotiate with her

Oooh, yes, I 100% agree! ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Targaryen! Reader absolutely has a list of demands she expects Alucard to adhere to. I imagine an infernal document, forged not only by law (and/or blood) but by magic. It makes it so anyone who fails to obey the rules as they are written suffers. Now I'm not saying it would be IMPOSSIBLE to break the contract/its spell, but it would be an influential safeguard that tells Alucard: 'Don't even THINK about going there!'.

Alucard becoming fluent in another language is easy to picture, as he already knows several. They say the more languages you learn, the easier learning new ones becomes.

And yes, oh my god! He's so malewife-coded! Like if you've ever seen/read The Way of The House Husband (about an ex-yakuza member who retires to become a house husband), that's a good representation of what Alucard would be like in his malewife duties. (づ ᴗ _ᴗ)づ♡

He plays it cool at first. He tries to be stoic and negotiate as if he doesn't have an embroidered apron with his perfect measurements ready to don at a moment's notice.

Of course, he eventually relents after a few goings back and forth- not with the intention of necessarily changing any of her requirements, more so as a show of willpower.

I believe even as a Yandere, Alucard is so desperate for eternal companionship, he's such a simp in the way he bends over backward to appease his "love". He knows his life is going to be long and lonely, even as he watches Village Belmont flourish right before his eyes. He wants a legacy that can grow with him, and keep him company for the rest of his life.

Granted, Targaryens are not immortal, but their dragons are so long as they are fed and are not hunted/killed. This guarantees Alucard a companion, and a supernatural one at that, which is especially consequential as it fulfills the connection to his inhuman side. So long as humans keep breeding, technically speaking, Alucard could find new sets of human companions as the previous ones age and die off. But it's trickier finding a supernatural companion, and a loyal one at that.

Not to mention if they get busy having kids (and for the sake of the argument here, let's say that dhampirs are totally NOT sterile and are capable of producing offspring), then those kids start having kids, we're talking about a potentially revitalized Targaryen line! (I mean yeah, it would prob take some inbreeding but that's nothing new with Targaryens, am I right?)

I can totally see Mr. Mom/Househusband Alucard building a specialized crib for any of their children, with a little nook for their kid's cradle egg. And then once both hatch, you have Alucard walking around Village Belmont wearing a twin baby sling, proudly displaying his two little beasts...

BEHOLD! A proud Daducard with his Targaryen babies:

[thechaoticdruid]

[Delicious]

Astarion x Named!Tav

Plot: After setting up camp in the Underdark the weirdos start to reminisce of past lovers, which also brings a curious question to light. How come Winnie had no lovers before Astarion?

Content/Warnings: MDNI SMUT

F!MC, MC uses she/her pronouns, insecurities, chubby mc, flashbacks, unrequited love, bullying, Little Winnie being feral, Winnie is just feral in general, violence, blood, gore, some piv smut at the end, fingering, conflicted Astarion, angst, comfort.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

“Arrg! You asshat!” Winnie shouted hanging onto the back of the minotaur as it bucked and jerked around, trying to shake the druid off. The brunette-haired woman grabbed hold of the horns as she held on for dear life. “I could use a little help here!” She said with annoyance, her scimitars had been discarded onto the ground, leaving her weaponless and it was honestly too risky to try to cast a spell while being slung around.

Astarion aimed his bow at the beast, arrowhead trying to align with the minotaur’s head. The arrow came fast, but unfortunately the bull man jerked out of the way. Winnie let out a yelp as the arrow grazed the armor of her shoulder.

“Astarion!” The druid growled out.

“Apologies darling, it's hard to aim when the stupid cow keeps moving!” Astarion replied with a hint of annoyance.

“AHHHH!” Karlach suddenly screamed, flames surrounding her as she went into a rage. The fiery tiefling charged forward with her great ax, taking a swing at one of the minotaur’s legs and hacking it right off. Winnie let out a shout as the beast fell forward, dragging her along with it! Winnie fell right onto Astarion, sending him tumbling over as Karlach proceeded to repeatedly hack and slash at the monster, each swing separately another limp from the beast's body with a sickening crunch sound. The tiefling let out another loud scream as she just kept hacking and slashing into the beast, turning its body into a bloody pile of viscera. 

“Oh for gods' sake, it's dead Karlach. Now you're just getting the blood everywhere!” Astarion complained, getting up as he held the dazed druid up along with him. Karlach eventually cooled off, panting heavily as she stepped away from the battered corpse, boots drenched in blood.

“I could have drank that.” Astarion murmured under his breath. Winnie rubbed her head a bit as she gathered her bearings.

“Mystra’s blood! What happened here?!” Gale exclaimed as he appeared out from behind a large stalagmite.

“Oh, you know just getting some fresh Underdark air.” Winnie said sarcastically.

“Gale, where in the hells have you been?!” Astarion demanded as he crossed his arms, glaring at the wizard in annoyance. 

“I was helping the others find a water source to camp by. Unfortunately, we still haven't found anything yet.” Gale stated. 

“Ah, so being of no help as usual.” Astarion huffed a bit.

“Ignore Fangs, Gale. He's just cranky we weren't able to get him lunch.” Karlach piped up, finally calming down from her rage. 

“Hmm, wait a minute.” Winnie said before scurrying over to what was left of the the minotaur corpse. 

“Eh..What are you doing?” Gale asked with grimaced of disgust as Winnie took out a jar from her pack and grabbed hold of one of the severed minotaur limbs. 

“Getting some blood for Star.” Winnie said before squeezing out what blood she could from the minotaur leg. 

“Ah, you're such a sweetheart, Winnie.” Astarion gave her a flirtatious wink, causing the druid to blush as she gathered blood into a jar. 

“Awe, that is sweet, soldier. A little gross, but sweet.” Karlach smiled. 

“Ah yes, collecting blood from a mutilated corpse. A very romantic gesture.” Gale exclaimed.

“I…I'm just trying to help.” Winnie murmured, before filling up the jar completely with blood, her hands covered in red.  “Besides, it's crucial that we help each other since we are in this together.” 

Winnie walked over and handed Astarion the jar.

“Well, since you are in a helping mood. We still need to find a better spot to set up camp.” The wizard said as Winnie wiped her hands off with a handkerchief. 

“Hmm…I could wildshape into something with wings and scout out ahead. Surely, I should be able to get a better look around in the air than on the ground.”  Winnie hummed.

“Excellent idea!” Gale chimed.

Winnie soon transformed into an owl and flew upwards and across the cave, staying low enough to avoid the stalactites. Her eyes scanned the area surrounding them before taking note of what looked like a large abandoned shack on a cliff. There also happened to be a stream running past it which dropped off into a small waterfall. It seemed suspiciously convenient, but was a pleasant surprise nonetheless. Winnie flew a bit closer, scanning the area for any signs of danger and found nothing in sight aside from what looked like humanoid bones, next to a hook horror carcass. 

Well, that explains the abandoned camp, but how did that beast die? 

Winnie wondered to herself. Whatever the case, this area had shelter, water and possibly supplies. It was the perfect spot to set up camp for the night. The druid quickly turned back to quickly reunite with her companions who had all been following her halfway there. She circled around them hooting a couple of times before leading them towards the abandoned campsite. Once everyone had arrived Winnie landed on the ground, returning to her human shape. 

“I checked around the area. There doesn't seem to be anything dangerous aside from some human remains and a dead hook horror.” 

“Oh, and that's supposed to mean this place is safe?” Astarion huffed in a skeptical tone.

“Well, whatever killed them isn't around anymore. And I can't smell anything around here that could possibly be a predator of any kind.” Winnie said before sniffing the air. 

“I was unaware humans had such a keen sense of smell.” Lae’zel exclaimed.

“Normally we don't.” Gale added with a raised eyebrow at Winnie.

“I suppose I've spent so much time in wolf form it's rubbed off on my human side.” Winnie explained.

“So you're practically a puppy?” Astarion said in a teasing tone. 

“Wolf.” Winnie corrected, “the point is. The area is clear. For now anyway.” The druid sighed. 

“I'll survey the area again just to be sure. The rest of you should make camp.” Lae'zel said. 

“Sounds good to me.” Winnie said before looking around in the abandoned shack. She went through the entrance which had a curtain as a makeshift door. Inside she set down her things as she took in the surroundings. There was a fire pit in the middle of everything, surrounded by chairs made from long logs. Winnie started a fire before making herself comfortable.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

The party later gathered around the fire in the abandoned shack after everyone had finished setting up camp. Winnie sat quietly as Astarion took a seat next to her, his red eyes looked her up and down. The group one way or another ended up sharing some stories. And somehow of all things the stories turned into tales of old lovers.

“Ah, I remember it was like yesterday when 15-year-old Wyll snuck off into the Blushing Mermaid and had his first kiss.”

“You didn't have your first kiss until you were fifteen?” Astarion piped up, “how pathet-” he suddenly stopped mid-sentence as he realized he was still sitting next to Winnie who was giving him a look. “Never mind that! My first lover was tremendously handsome! Like a dashing prince from a fairytale!” Astarion exaggerated. Winnie just rolled her eyes at the elf’s tall tale.  She didn't know who his first love was, but she knew damn well he didn't either.

“I'm sure he was Astarion.” Shadowheart said in a teasing tone. “What about you Winnie? Who was your first love? Before Astarion I mean.”  Winnie paused a bit. Before Astarion there wasn't really anyone. Maybe an unrequited passing fancy here and there, but nothing mutual. 

“No one.” Winnie said shyly, hands nervously fiddling with her pants. 

“You must have at least fancied someone before?”

“I suppose...When I first came to Baldur's Gate, there was Vesperr.” Winnie said, beginning to reminisce about her time in Baldur's Gate. “He had to be the most beautiful man I had ever met.” Winnie blushed a little, her mind thinking back to her first real crush. Vesperr was a high elf druid with long beautiful blonde hair and stunning blue eyes. 

Astarion scoffed at Winnie’s fond tone.

“Most beautiful back then perhaps.” He muttered under his breath. 

“He helped me with some of my druid training, taught me what he knew. He was very wise and smart.” Winnie smiled.

“So why didn't you hook up with him?” Karlach asked.

“Well…. I was a teenager for one….and he's only interested in men.” Winnie chuckled nervously, “so you can see how that wouldn't have worked.” 

“Ah, well I for one am rather glad. More of you for me. ~” Astarion flirted, running his hand over Winnie’s thigh and making her shutter.

“Funny, I would have thought you'd have more suitors. You seem like quite the romantic.” Shadowheart hummed.

“I suppose I'm just not very desirable.” Winnie shrugged with a sad look. Mind going back to her younger years. 

~~~~~

Winnie’s time spent in the Lost Grove was peaceful, but not always pleasant. She often found herself the target of many of her peers' torment. She could remember running through the grass alongside her friend Demi, both of them in wolf form. The Grove's beautiful lush landscapes stretched as far as the eye could see. Winnie galloped further on ahead, claws kicking up dirt as she sprinted towards the village’s huts. The two were rushing to their training after goofing off and playing around in the forest all morning. Winnie was the first to arrive, returning to her human form with a smirk. “I win!” The ten year old cheered as Demi arrived a few minutes afterwards, changing back to her gnomish form. 

“Of course you win, your legs are longer than mine!” Demi huffed, catching her breath.

“Not in wolf form they're not! We're practically the same size in wild-shape.” Winnie chuckled playfully as she looked down at her friend before hearing a laugh behind them.

“Ha! That's funny, because I'm pretty sure even in wolf form you're the fattest one here!” One of the other children, a male human, mocked.  Two elven girls who'd been standing with him as they waited for their teacher, laughed loudly, not even trying to hold back.

“Haha..No one asked you Rowan.” Winnie growled, crossing her arms. Demi suddenly stood in front of her friend, glancing back at Winnie as if to say, ‘stay calm, he's not worth it.’ 

“That was mean, Rowan. You should apologize!” Demi scolded the human boy. 

“Why should I!? We all know the truth! Just look at her! I don't think I've seen anyone as fat and ugly as her in the entire grove!” Rowan exclaimed.

“No one cares about your opinion Rowan. It's not like anyone wants to be your girlfriend so shut up!” Winnie snapped at him. Rowan chuckled with a mischievous shit eating grin on his face.

“It's not an opinion, it's a fact. You're so ugly that I doubt anyone will ever want to be with you without throwing up!” 

Demi looked over and noticed the enraged expression on the human girl’s face. “Winnie don't!” She warned. 

Winnie gritted her teeth and let out a wolf-like snarl before lunging at the rude boy, socking him right in the nose before pouncing on him and repeatedly punching him in the face. As Winnie nearly beat the snot nosed brat to death one of the elder druids rushed over. 

“What's going on here!?” She demanded. The druid was an older half-elven woman. 

“Winnie’s trying to kill me!” Rowan sobbed. The half-elf druid dragged Winnie off the boy. She glared at the woman like a feral animal, teeth bared.

“Get off of him you wicked unruly child!” The old half-elf hissed and suddenly smacked Winnie across the face.  The sound of a slap got the attention of the Grove's Archdruid who'd just arrived to help with the apprentices’ lesson for today.  The old human woman's eyes immediately landed on Winnie who had a red mark across her face. 

“What in the hells do you think you're doing to my granddaughter, Myra!?” The Archdruid demanded.

“That girl of yours is a rabid beast, Winnifred! She just attacked my nephew!” Druid Myra stood in front of Rowan protectively. 

“I thought I was going to die!” Rowan added. 

Winnie’s Grandmother turned back to look at Winnie who was panting from the scuffle. 

“Is this true, Winnie?” The Archdruid asked calmly.

“I-I…” Winnie muttered, feeling rather ashamed for her outburst. Demi quickly scurried over to the Archdruid and tugged on her robe. Winnie’s Grandmother leaned down and  allowed the gnomish girl to whisper in her ear. 

“Demi here says that boy of yours provoked my granddaughter. Perhaps you outta teach him some manners so he doesn't get his arse kicked.” 

“You're letting her get away with this!? After she assaulted my nephew!? Unbelievable!” Myra hissed before tugging Rowan along.

“That girl's nothing but a weed amongst the flowers. Ugly and vile…” The old druid hissed. 

“Yeah, yeah blow it out yer arse, ya old bitch.” The Archdruid rolled her eyes as she stood in front of Winnie and Demi.

~~~~

Years later Winnie was prowling the streets of Baldur's Gate alongside her tressym companion Madeline. Winnie had a sack full of food in one arm and she and the winged cat sprinted across the cobblestones. 

“Hurry Winnie! He's coming!” Maddie called hopping up and hovering over the ground. Winnie glanced back seeing the merchant running after them.

“Come back here you thieving whore!” He shouted. The merchant had been a large human male with a thick beard. Winnie had seen him arrive on a boat a few days prior and just couldn't help herself when tempted to poke around his ship.  Unfortunately, the young woman was definitely no rogue, so the merchant was able to spot her sneaking off the boat with a sack full of goodies. A wheel of cheese, some fine cuts of meat and wine! The contents were just too tempting to pass up! Not to mention there was enough in there to feed her and the rest of her crew. Arva would be proud of her for sure! She just had to make it to the sewers. 

Unfortunately just as Winnie dashed for the man-hole that would be her ticket back to the undercity she bumped into a tall handsome half elf man, with jet black hair and green eyes.

“What's going on? Is someone hurt?” The man asked. 

“I-I…I um.. I'm in trouble…” Winnie blurred, both confused by the collision and flustered by whom she collided with. His features were soft and nearly flawless. 

“There you are, you ugly bitch!” The merchant suddenly caught up to Winnie. Maddie quickly dropped to the ground in front of the human girl and hissed, protectively. 

The half elf man quickly stepped between Winnie and the merchant. “Afternoon sir, does there happen to be a problem?” He asked.

“That wench stole from me!” The merchant hissed. 

“I need to feed my family!” Winnie exclaimed, stepping back behind the half-elf. 

“Sir, can you not find it in your heart to give to the needy?” 

“Needy!? She looks like she eats twice that much in a day!” The merchant shouted. Winnie glared at him, sticking her tongue out and blowing a raspberry.

“Here, how about I take care of the expenses? Say 50 gold pieces for your trouble.” The half elf offered, taking out a coin purse.  The human man grumbled under his breath.

“I suppose…But I better not catch that bitch around my ship again or I'm getting the fist!” The merchant snatched up the money before stomping off. Winnie let out a sigh of relief as the half-elf turned towards her. 

“Thank you, sir.” She responded, her pink eyes lingering over his handsome face. 

“You might want to be a little more careful next time, miss. That merchant’s not likely to forget having to chase you across town.” The handsome man smiled at her warmly.

“Y-Yes! Of course! I-I'm very grateful you came to help.” Winnie sputtered, face turning pink as her heart pounded in her chest. “I-I uh…..Here…Take this!” Winnie said, taking a bottle of wine out for him. “It's the least I could d-”

“Feris! The hells have you been!?” Suddenly a woman’s voice shouted, loudly. Winnie looked to the side to see a very unhappy looking elven woman. 

“Sorry my love. I was just speaking to this kind young woman!” Feris replied, his face growing nervous. 

“Again!? This is the third time you've ran off with some harlot, Feris!! You cheating wretch!” The elf hissed. 

“N-No my dear! It's not like that! I-I would never jeopardize our love for someone so repulsive!” Feris sputtered out frantically. Winnie’s eyes widened and her heart sank. It seemed the handsome stranger who'd come to her rescue was just like all the other shallow prick’s she's met. 

“Well I suppose my repulsive ass will be taking the wine back then.” Winnie said flatly, snatching the wine back before stomping off, her tressym quickly following. Winnie proceeded to climb back into the sewers, leaving the unfaithful man alone to be berated by his wife. 

The teen girl and her winged cat carefully wandered through the rank sewers before making their way into the undercity. Eventually they stopped in front of what appeared to be a seemingly normal brick wall. Winnie placed a hand over the bricks, taping them firmly to a specific rhythm before suddenly pressing down on one far to the right. The wall began to sink down, opening to a large cavern. Winnie walked inside with Maddie following. The bricks quickly closed behind them as they entered. 

“Guys, I'm back!” Winnie called, walking into a large room with a bright shining ball of light floating above it, Illuminating the cavern. Under the light was a lush garden, with a small tree at the center. A tall effeminate looking high elf male was tending to the garden, long luscious blonde locks draped over his shoulder as his beautiful blue eyes glanced up at the girl. 

“Winnie! Sweetie, welcome home! I hope Fi’s errand didn't give you too much trouble?” He asked, voice soft and sweet sounding. 

“Ah..No Vesperr. I didn't have any trouble at all. I got the meat and wine she wanted.” Winnie looked off shyly as the high elf druid approached her. A gentle hand ruffled her hair, affectionately.

“Well, that's good. I was worried she was sending you off into danger. I don't see why that bard can't just eat the food from my garden instead of…dead animal flesh.” Vesperr grimaced. 

“It's not an issue really. I'm happy to help everyone.” Winnie forced a smile. 

“And that's why you're the best, sweetheart!” Vesperr said, pinching Winnie’s cheeks. 

“Ah..Thanks um…Is Bekk back yet?” Winnie asked, cheeks turning a bit red, from the elf’s affection.

“Oh, my darling won't be back until later. He and the boss are taking care of some private matters. Troubles with one of the guilds I suppose.” Vesperr said, flipping his long blonde locks. 

“Well…I want to talk to him when he gets back. He promised to help me practice some sword fighting.” Winnie stated as she began to walk away, eyes glancing back at the elf with a sad longing.

“I'll make sure he finds you when he arrives home, sweetie!” 

~~~~

“None of my peers ever took interest in me growing up. Honestly a lot of them found me repulsive and had no problem telling me to my face. Eventually I just gave up on the prospect of romance entirely.” Winnie leaned back, taking out a bottle of wine from her pack and chugging it. 

“Ah what do those assholes know! You're fucking gorgeous Winnie! I'd date you in a heartbeat!” Karlach huffed, steam coming off her body.

“Thank you Karlach.. I'm flattered but…. I just…erm…” Winnie wasn't sure how to put it. 

“Winnie isn't interested in the fairer sex, Karlach. I doubt she'd like being burned alive either.” Astarion chimed in, leaning closer to Winnie.

“Oh, don't worry Fangs. I'm not about to try to steal Winnie from you.” The tiefling winked at him, noticing his arm slinking around Winnie’s waist.

“As if you could steal anything from me.” The elf rolled his eyes. Karlach just smirked at Astarion's blatant jealousy.  

“She is right though. Only an idiot would find you less than enticing.” Astarion purred in Winnie's ear. His hand moved some of her messy brown locks out of her face. Winnie blushed a bit, a small smile forming on her lips. 

“Such a pretty smile.” Astarion leaned closer to the druid female almost climbing on her. His face was full of lust and seduction, but for a moment Winnie could catch a glimpse of what looked like sadness. Astarion quickly resumed his alluring persona, not wanting Winnie to catch on to his intentions.

“Well, I believe it's time I retired for the evening.” Gale said standing up and exiting the shack. 

“Me too. We'll need our strength for tomorrow.” Wyll said as Lae'zel silently followed him.

“Yes, rest would be good. Come along Karlach.” Shadowheart said getting up. 

“Awe, but I was comfortable here.” Karlach whined.

“Come on, I'm sure Clive will be missing you.” The half elf said. 

“Oh alright.” Karlach hopped up and followed after them, leaving Winnie and Astarion alone. 

The pale elf smirked and climbed on Winnie’s lap kissing her neck as soon as the others left. 

“You don't have to do this, you know.” Winnie said, shivering as she felt the vampire’s lips moving down her neck. “You don't have to touch me just because you feel bad for me.” Astarion stopped and grabbed her chin, making her look at him.

“This isn't about pity, my dear. It's about lust. I want you. All of you.” He pushed her down on her back, causing her to squeak as he hovered over her. “I honestly feel insulted that someone would even think of calling your lovely body repulsive.” Astarion said, cupping Winnie’s breasts gently, causing the human woman to gasp. “So soft and sweet. It's on my mind ceaselessly these days.” Astarion leaned down and licked Winnie’s neck. 

“Astarion…” The brunette breathed out, feeling her vampiric companion grinding himself against her.

“Yes, my sweet?” Astarion breathed against her neck. 

“Kiss me?” She looked up at him with puppy dog eyes. Astarion simply smiled and pressed his lips to hers. He couldn't fathom why, but he felt the need to comfort her, to let her know how beautiful he thought she was. It was a strange urge; one he wasn't quite sure he liked. Perhaps he could use this to keep her wrapped around his finger at the very least. Winnie’s arms made their way around his neck, hands playing with his soft ivory curls. 

“Ahh!” She moaned, feeling his cold hand slip into her pants and begin to stroke her wet folds. A single finger sliding inside her and making her whimper. Astarion took the opportunity to slide his tongue into her mouth, silencing her with his kiss as he continued to play with her womanhood.

That was it, he was just ensuring her loyalty. He needed her to fall for him after all. To make sure she'd never betray him. The elven vampire pulled down her pants, along with his own. He broke the kiss, looking down at her with soft eyes. He could hear his master's voice whispering in the back of his mind. 

She'll hate you for this.

Astarion ignored it, forcing a smile as he looked down at his lover, his hand cupped her face as he positioned himself at her entrance.

“Look at me, darling. I want to see all the beautiful faces you make while I take you.” And with that he slowly began to push in. Winnie gasped, biting her lip as he stretched her walls. Definitely not as painful as the first time, but there was a slight sting as he pushed all the way in. Winnie gripped his shoulders, taking a moment to adjust before she pushed her hips up against him, edging him on. Astarion needed little encouragement before he began to thrust into her, beginning slowly and gently. The druid pulled him in for another kiss, licking his bottom lip as he rolled his hips with a soft groan. She peppered his mouth with sweet loving kisses as her hands returned to his hair. Their tongues wrapped around one another as the pale elf began to pump himself harder into her, making her moan into his mouth. Winnie threw her head back and cried out as she felt him hit her sweet spot. 

“Oh gods…” Winnie gently tugged his hair, resulting in Astarion thrusting into her once again, hitting the same spot as he bottomed out. 

“Ahhh…Ahhh..” Winnie tilted her head, exposing her neck to him, and giving him an invitation to bite. Astarion almost immediately bit down into her neck, fangs piercing her flesh as her sweet, delicious blood filled his mouth. “Fuck!” Winnie cursed, feeling a mix of pleasure and pain. Astarion moaned against her neck, hips bucking against her harder and faster with each thrust.

Others might have been completely repulsed by the wolfish druid, seeing her as not worthy of even a lustful glance. But to the vampiric rogue she was absolutely delicious.

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

Phew! Finally got this out. Sorry for the hold up on fanfics, burn out is rough. Thought it would be good to delve into Winnie's backstory a bit. Hope you enjoyed this one!

~Druid

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