#howls-moving-brothel

[pirateprincessblog]

contract

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫.: a witcher (polish: wiedźmin) is someone who has undergone extensive training, ruthless mental and physical conditioning, and mysterious rituals in preparation for becoming an itinerant slayer for hire. this witcher is currently in novigrad, and is overshadowed by his fellow brother. whenever a contract for a monster is issued, it is geralt of rivia they expect. seonghwa has grown tired of the disappointed faces that greet him when he accepts a contract, and thus has decided to rest in the big city and let the other witcher do the job. even after geralt left for skellige islands in search of his daughter cirilla, seonghwa decides to keep aside out of spite.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: park seonghwa x f!reader 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.3k 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: witcher!seonghwa, catschool!seonghwa, highervampire!reader, f!reader, the witcher universe, smut, angst 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: oral(f!receiving), fingering, squirting, bondage 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: blood, violence, alcohol, nsfw, vampires 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: replaying witcher 3 and I absolutely love this universe! i hate what netflix did to it, it made it all gloomy and sexual and has little to no connection to the lore and aside from henry cavill and his sexy ass voice the show is a complete disaster. if you want to know more about this universe before reading, i suggest you watch this(these animations contain violence, nudity and blood in them!): https://youtu.be/1-l29HlKkXU?si=HAI0GckIcphtcTRa and https://youtu.be/c0i88t0Kacs?si=vvXEaYu_SThzEPNT

not entirely proofread forgive me! 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐲.

the witcher sips his drink at the rosemary and thyme cabaret. the redanian lager in the wooden pitcher has never tasted worse, and the music has never scratched his ears as badly as tonight. he hated what jaskier has done with the brothel. a cabaret, he scoffs to himself.

"oi, witcher!"

the man sighs. even though he was forcing himself to drink the beer and didn't enjoy it, he also didn't enjoy being interrupted.

"'ave you checked the notice board? there's a witcher contract hangin' there for weeks!" the accent behind him is rough. a dwarf, he guesses. but he doesn't have to guess, because the short figure appears in front of him and slams the crumpled piece of paper on the wooden table. "while you're 'ere tryna plough some whores, there's a threat inside the city gates!"

"geralt can handle that." the witcher mumbles, pushing the paper away. he drinks another sip of the warm beer, eyes fixed on the discarded medallion next to his two swords on the table. "he is the mighty wolfie. i'm sure he'll handle it."

"in case ya haven't noticed," the dwarf dares to get into the witcher's face, even goes as far as to flick him on the forehead. "the white wolf has gone lookin' for his lost lass. he is probably already in skellige, solvin' contract after contract and still workin' on finding cirilla. like a true witcher."

when the witcher's eyes start glimmering a familiar yellow, and his irises resemble the cat's, it is a sign for the dwarf to back away. the man places the pitcher with a loud thud on the table, then slowly stands up. his armor clinks as he moves, and his glowing eyes drill into the man's scared ones. still, the shorter male doesn't flinch, even if his eyes give away his emotions.

"when the white wolf comes, he can solve your fucking contract." the witcher doesn't need to raise his voice. the way he growls is enough to make a beast tuck its tail and lower its gaze. which is what the dwarf should be doing now. "as if you know what a true witcher is. stupid humans, hiding in your houses at every wolf howl and owl hoot, burning mages and sorceresses at stakes because they are different than you, casting elves out, calling us witchers mutants, yet crying for help and leaving pathetic notes and contracts on notice boards when you realise just how weak and mortal you are compared to all of us."

"young lasses 're getting killed left and right, and you only care about yer dick and where to get drunk."

"well, certainly not here anymore."

the taller man throws a few coins on the table, not bothering to pick up the ones that fell on the ground. he then takes his swords and puts them on his back, along with the crossbow. the medallion necklace rests in his pocket this time instead of around his neck.

as he makes his way outside, the music doesn't stop, nor do any of the guests or dancers turn to look. they are used to the moody witcher by now. yet the dwarf doesn't give up.

"ye know, i wish geralt were here. he has a daughter. he wouldn't think twice before accepting this contract. you? you are just a coward."

"hey, hey! seonghwa, endarn! you're upsetting my guests!"

"mind your business, jaskier. i am out of here anyway. doubt i'll come back any time soon. you and your cabaret." the dark haired witcher, seonghwa, spits on the ground.

the young bard rolls his eyes. if he didn't know geralt, he would have a very bad opinion about witchers. "passiflora is just a few blocks away. you know, a real brothel. also, not to be rude, but you were a few crowns short back there."

seonghwa grunts. he reaches into his pocket and finds a few more coins, then throws them behind his back and follows the trail to the famous brothel.

"are all witchers 'xcept geralt like that?" the dwarf asks, disappointed.

the bard takes the contract from his hand, looking at the messy hand-writing, then at the stumbling witcher. "no. just the cat school ones. or so i've heard."

meanwhile, seonghwa has found his way to the passiflora brothel. he isn't usually like this, really. but recently, people have been asking for witchers, and when he'd show up, they'd be disappointed it is not his friend and colleague geralt. witchers are not supposed to feel or show emotion. but seonghwa has had enough. just a week ago he had slayed a striga, and the only gratitude he got was a raw fish into his face and a few crowns. he wasn't sad. he was angry that these people had the audacity to plead for help and be picky about it.

he wasn't ploughing anyone. the brothels were the only place where he had peace. people too focused on lust and fun, it allowed seonghwa to sit in the corner and sip his favourite kaedwenian stout in peace. he'd sometimes take a girl upstairs, only to give her a pouch of coins so she can leave him to sleep in peace. some would be relieved, some offended. but seonghwa didn't care. all he wanted was rest.

tonight, however, he needed to switch locations. ever since jaskier met his soulmate, his brothel has transformed into a cabaret. yes, the bard wanted to do that before meeting her. but he delayed it. and seonghwa liked it. now? everyone was at his neck, especially since they discovered that jaskier knows not one, but two witchers. favor here, problem there, and seonghwa couldn't catch a break. this one has rats, this one has a ghoul in his basement, and this one wants to act tough and challenge him to a fist fight so he can win a girl over.

the dark haired man glances at the wooden sign that reads passiflora, before carefully entering. he is greeted with a rather sweet scent and sensual music. the people inside aren't half naked like they were back in rosemary and thyme. they were dressed in prettiest dresses, had their hair decorated with all sorts of pins, and were in elegant make-up. a true refreshment. the place didn't reek of sweat, and wasn't loud at all. no sights of shirtless men with their hairy belly out, no women with missing and unbrushed teeth, no stench of alcohol and bodily fluids. seonghwa was pleasantly surprised.

"ah, a witcher!"

and there it is.

"please, do come in. care for a drink? your first one is on the house."

odd. the middle aged woman didn't bombard him with a plea for help. nor did she look at him with judgement. "thank you...?"

"mathilda is enough." she smiles at him. seonghwa can't remember the last time someone smiled at him genuinely.

"thank you, mathilda."

mathilda turns out to be the owner of the brothel. she has black hair, with dozens of grey strands blending in it. her face has minimum makeup, or so seonghwa thinks. what does he know about makeup? her dress is modest, and he comes to a conclusion that she might be retired. she is also very pleasant to speak with. so pleasant that the witcher doesn't realise how fast the time is passing and how much more talkative he is getting.

"so, which one of the girls has caught your attention?" the woman turns away from the bar, and so does the witcher. he sips his third drink of the evening as the woman points at the girls in the room. "we've got a few new girls, eager to prove themselves. how do you like them?"

when seonghwa glances at the clock, he decides it might be time to go and rest. so he skims over the pretty girls that dance and speak to other customers. some of them are relaxed, as if this is their home, and some are stiff and nervous. his yellow eyes then pick up a figure in the corner, standing all by herself with her arms folded across her chest. her hair is decorated with gold hairpins, and head chain sits prettily on her forehead. it reminds seonghwa of an elven princess. her dress is a deep green, parting at her thighs and falling to the ground. it has a deep cut that goes to her stomach, and it seems that she is trying to hide her exposed skin.

"ah, y/n." mathilda notices his lingering gaze. "good luck with it. i gave her another week to relax, i won't push her yet. if she doesn't change within a week, i'll have to fire her. shame, really. she is gorgeous, and has brought me many new customers."

seonghwa hums. he then locks eyes with the beautiful figure's ones, and downs his beer. to both his and mathilda's surprise, the young woman makes her way towards the bar. for a moment, they think that she might pass by them and just order herself a drink. instead, she places her hand on the witcher's chest, feeling the cold silver armor under her palm.

"good evening, witcher." her voice is as sweet as honey in seonghwa's ears. he is mesmerized, and she has only spoken a few words to him. "come to release some stress?"

seonghwa watches as her glossy lips move while she speaks. subconsciously, his hand reaches for her cheek to cup it, thumb grazing over her bottom lip and eyes focused on the tongue that peeks out to lick the tip of his finger. he almost shudders at the action. the young woman is determined to prove herself, and goes a step further. she wraps her small hands around his big one, and guides his thumb between her lips, gently swirling her warm tongue around it and sending shivers down the witcher's spine. seonghwa feels his trousers tighten; something he hasn't felt in a while.

she releases his finger with a soft pop, but keeps his hand safe in hers near her chest. "i've always wanted to meet a witcher."

and how could seonghwa refuse her, when she looks at him with big pleading eyes, her chest heaving, and with her lip gloss smeared. the desire to smear it further awakens in him, and he wastes no time in paying for his drink and thanking mathilda. the young woman keeps the witcher's hand in hers, intertwining their fingers as she leads him upstairs and into one of the rooms.

usually, this is the part where seonghwa explains that he is not interested in any sexual interactions. but the way the green dress slides off her body, and the way the fireplace illuminates her skin makes his head spin. she turns around, body bare except for the cotton panties that sit on her hips. seonghwa, however, is still in his witcher gear. the feline armor is suddenly too heavy on him. she seems to hear his thoughts, because she is quick to approach him and press her warm bare chest against his clothed cold one. her delicate hands slip around his waist, and on his back, until they reach the belt that holds his weapons.

"may i?"

it only takes a nod from him to get rid of the entire armor and the clothes underneath. he is now also left in his underwear, and he can't wait to take them off too.

"can i give you a massage, witcher?"

seonghwa swears he hasn't heard a voice so seductive... ever. smooth, sweet, breathy. the way she sighs and breathes against his neck as her fingers work on the knots on his shoulder blades relaxes him. before he can fall asleep on the chair in front of the mirror, she wakes him up with a playful hair pull. he only scoffs with amusement. his eyes follow as her last piece of clothing slides down her smooth thighs and pools on the ground. then, she herself gets on the ground on all fours, and crawls over to the stunned witcher.

"what are you-"

"hush, pretty." if seonghwa had anything to add or even finish his sentence, a gasp stops him. he watches as the young woman catches the string of his underwear between his teeth, and pulls until they come loose and fall to the ground.

is she really new?

seonghwa does not complain. he does complain however when she stands up, taking his rough hand in her soft one and guiding him towards the bed. the sight of someone like that getting on her knees for him was a first, and he wanted to savor it just a tad bit longer.

"talk to me, witcher." she climbs on top of him, soft smooth skin caressing his scarred and rough as she lays on top of him. her breasts are squished against his hard chest, and his hands immediately reach for her waist to hold. "tell me what you want. i'll give you all of it."

seonghwa stops for a moment. he isn't sure what he wants. yes, he slept with women before. he slept with sorceresses too. all of them were the same; get it in and over with. seonghwa would simply lay there and let them chase their own pleasure. he would reach his own too, and he never thought further of it. they even complimented him, saying how no man has made them feel that good, that their partners would usually do it for themselves and leave them to finish on their own. now, however, seeing this beauty pressed against him and looking at him with pure desire, he might discover something new. he might put himself first. not that he didn't enjoy the previous encounters. he is just eager to see what she has to offer him. "i give you full freedom to do whatever you wish to me."

her lips stretch in an excited smile, and her eyes have a certain glint. if seonghwa wasn't so painfully needy right now, he would've questioned it. true witcher style.

"just... one thing."

"yes?"

seonghwa's hands reach for the green dress that was dropped on the floor. he hands it to her, and she looks at him with confusion. was he rejecting her?

"put it on."

"but- why?" her lips form a pout. "did i displease you somehow?"

the dark haired witcher smiles. he then simply sits up on the bed, hands still firmly planted on her waist as she fumbles with the green fabric. "no. you just look too stunning in it to leave it on the floor. no panties."

"oh." she exhales, relief washing over her body. "you do realize that you're the first man i've given myself to in this building and you're asking me to cover up?"

seonghwa doesn't respond, but instead watches her dress. her look is complete once again, except for the heeled boots that still lay on the floor. not a single sorceress he has met could compete with her. "so you were waiting for a witcher to be your first?"

"perhaps." her hands reach for the pins in her hair, but seonghwa stops her there too. she then scoffs in disbelief, but obeys anyway. "whatever i want, huh?"

"whatever you want." seonghwa sighs, body fully relaxing on the soft bed and eyes closed. his hands remain on her now clothed waist. he doesn't know what it is, but it gives him a sense of dominance, even if she is the one on top. her body feels small and fragile, and he has the urge to hold her, as if to protect her.

a sweet scent of berries envelops his senses, as well as his mind. her breath warms his neck, just a small warning before her lips attach to his skin. he can't help but flinch. she smiles against him, grazing his neck with her teeth. "found a sensitive spot it seems."

seonghwa only hums. his grip on her waist hardens as she kisses along his jawline, and her nails softly graze the path from his chest, down his stomach and to his defined v-line. finally, she attaches her lips to his. her other hand finds its way to his dark hair, softly massaging his scalp and lightly pulling the strands as he kisses her back. seonghwa feels as if this is his first proper kiss. nobody has ever kissed him before with such desire.

she grinds her hips against his, core lightly grazing his aching crotch, not yet giving him what he needs. as if he wasn't burning with need already, feeling her wet core slide against him only set him further on fire. he never said he was a patient man anyway.

he flips her on the bed with ease, now him being the one on top and in charge. his lips hungrily search for hers, tongue yearns for hers, and hands play with the sheer fabric of the dress. he doesn't care where he touches her. he just wants to feel her.

"thought i had full freedom?" she teases into the kiss.

he doesn't reply, instead biting her lower lip and sucking at it. she whines at the sweet pain, and if seonghwa didn't feel her body arch against his, he would've stopped. his lips chase hers, and no matter how many times his tongue rubs against hers, teeth clash against hers, and lips wipe the remaining lip gloss off hers, he can't get enough. "you taste so sweet."

even though he could spend the entire night just kissing her and feeling her body squirm under his, seonghwa proceeds to leave kisses down her neck, then the exposed skin between her breasts and all the way to her belly. the dress opening ends there, but it doesn't stop him. he disappears under the green ruffles, nose bumping against the soft folds and tongue searching for the source of heat. 

he never did it. he wasn't exactly sure how. all he knew is that he needed to taste her, all of her. with a single swipe up her folds, he has her squirming. he subconsciously grabs her thighs and pulls her closer to his face, holding her in place and burying himself into her core. she does taste as sweet, and smells as delightful. the noises that travel to seonghwa's ears are new to him. never did he hear a woman be so whiny and loud. moans? sure. but whines? that was new. and he wasn't sure if it is a good or a bad thing.

"please..." she finally mutters a word.

the witcher emerges from the green ruffles of her dress, sending her a questioning look. when he sees her flustered face and heaving chest, sleeves pushed down so that her breasts are exposed and her hands playing with the tense nipples, seonghwa realizes what he has been missing out on. there was more to it all than just an orgasm.

and he was going to savor all of it.

"please." she begs again. "i'll be good, just please..."

"please what?" the witcher questions.

"give me something. anything." she shudders when his finger grazes her tense clit. "please."

seonghwa doesn't wish this to end yet. he is loving the impact he has on someone. on her. he can't get over her beauty, or her taste. when he finishes taking in the sight of her half naked and flustered state, he attaches his lips to her clit once again, tongue swiping over the sensitive bud in circular motions and fingers searching for her leaking hole. her moans are more high pitched, and the grip on his hair stronger as he slowly inserts his finger inside. he wastes no time in adding another one, slowly pumping in and out and exploring which motions make her louder and her fingers pull at his hair harder. when he finds a certain spot on her upper wall, he abuses it, to the point where she shakes under his touch and moans turn to a blubbering mess.

"oh, witcher-" she gasps, body suddenly tensing and thighs squeezing around his head.

seonghwa doesn't have time to process what is happening, because he is greeted by clear fluid splashing his face. he doesn't stop yet, even though he wasn't exactly sure what happened. the young woman is a twitching mess under him, grinding her hips against his face and riding out her orgasm. when she starts pulling at his hair to pull him away from her, he takes it as a sign to stop.

"well," he flips the bottom of her dress over, exposing the abused core to the cool air that comes from the open balcony door. "i've never done that before."

"me neither." she admits, face red with embarrassment when she sees the witcher's soaked face. "i'm sorry."

"don't apologize. i am the one that should be apologizing."

"what for?"

instead of answering, he simply kisses her once again, savoring every caress of her tongue against his and every little noise she makes as his hands travel up her body and to her exposed breasts. the rough skin of his worn out fingers give her tense buds a gentle sensation. just enough to have her body arching against his and seek more of his warmth and touch. as she busies herself with playing with his hair and caressing the scars on his back, seonghwa slowly slides inside, letting out a low groan at the warm welcome.

he misses the way her eyes widen and her nails dig into his back. he is halfway in, struggling to go further. when her pretty face makes a painful grimace and a cry leaves her lips, seonghwa stops. "what's wrong?"

"nothing," she blinks her tears away.

"tell me." the witcher cups her face, thumbs caressing her cheeks and wiping the tears away.

"you're big."

his brows furrow. at first he isn't sure what she means, but when he feels her walls clench around him, he realizes. "oh."

"it's alright. keep going." her hands cup his face now, mimicking him. "just go slow."

but the witcher finds himself getting impatient once again. the way her warmth squeezes around him makes him see stars. and just like that, seonghwa finds himself snapping his hips into hers. a painful moan escapes her pretty lips once again, and seonghwa is quick to press his lips into hers to conceal it. she is mess, shamelessly moaning into his mouth whenever his hips collide with hers. tears roll down her cheeks once again, and this time, seonghwa doesn't stop. instead, he slows his pace, opting for sensual moves rather than rough ones.

"you're so big..." she sighs against his lips. "you're going to split me open."

if he could get any rock harder, he would. hell, he might even cum right there and then if it wasn't for the slow moves he was forced to do. "are you complaining?"

"not a bit."

tears of pain soon seem to transform into tears of pleasure, because when seonghwa starts snapping his hips against hers again, she only moans and groans. her walls tighten around him, announcing that she is close again. the witcher holds her waist in place, and his eyes can't get enough of her expressions, or the way her body responds to him and looks so fragile in his arms.

"cum in me, witcher." she begs. "fill me to the brim."

and seonghwa does just that. his moves become sloppy, and his concealed groans are now loud and clear as he pumps his seed into the beauty below him. he sees a slight bulge on her lower stomach when he goes to look where they are connected. fuck, he wants her again. and again and again. until the sun rises, just to watch the pure bliss on her face again.

"are you close?" he asks breathless. he is not yet overstimulated, he is just getting started.

"shut up." she chokes out, clearly focusing on reaching her peak and not wanting to be disturbed.

this time, instead of a moan of ecstasy, her mouth opens without any noise coming out. her eyes roll back, almost all the way, before her body starts twitching as waves of pleasure wash it over. her nails dig into his back, so deep that they pierce his skin and have him wincing in pain. then, her eyes roll back. and seonghwa stiffens.

dangerous red irises stare back at his yellow alert ones. the witcher instinctively reaches for the sword on his back, only to be met with emptiness. the figure below him gives him a wicked smile, with fangs on full display before latching herself onto his neck and piercing his skin once again.

fuck.

seonghwa didn't expect to be awoken in the bed he was in last night. truth be told, seonghwa didn't expect to be awake at all. however, when he tries to move and reach for his weapons that lay on the dresser next to the bed, strains prevent him. strains on both his wrists and ankles. the blinds are blocking the morning sun, keeping the woman who sat in front of the mirror safe. for now.

"why am i alive?"

she looks at him through the mirror, smile dancing on her lips. she runs a comb through her hair and removes the golden pins in the process. "good morning, little witcher."

"let me go."

"well, since you asked so nicely." she rolls her eyes, standing up from the chair and approaching the bed. the green dress is replaced by rags seonghwa usually saw in the war destroyed villages of velen. all of her jewelry sits on the dresser in front of the mirror, including the headpiece that drove seonghwa crazy last night. "come to think of it, i never got to return the favor. you were so eager to fuck me."

he doesn't have to question, because she gives him the answer by running her nails up his thigh and to his crotch. "stop that."

"your cock says otherwise, slayer." when seonghwa doesn't respond to her touch, she huffs. "boring. well, off i go. you better not go anywhere while i'm gone."

seonghwa had many questions on his mind. he didn't know which one to ask first. and he didn't know whether or not he will get a truthful answer. or an answer at all. after all, this was the higher vampire he had a contract on. how foolish of him to leave that medallion in his pocket instead of around his neck. it would've vibrated the moment she laid her hand on his armored chest, and she would've been dead by now.

"isn't mathilda going to question this... situation?" he looks at the ropes holding him to the bed.

"mathilda doesn't care what happens during the day. she only needs the rooms free at night. this room is mine, and i can use it however i please."

"why are you dressed like that?"

"as if you haven't stumbled upon false beggars by now. please, seonghwa." she straightens her rags, and glances at herself in the mirror once again. "you think of us monsters so lowly. like we are stupid. thing is, you're not that different. you're not a human. you're just a mutant."

seonghwa hums, unamused. "it's daylight. how will you go out?"

"there's shades in this city. plenty of them. now, be a good little witcher and stay here." she plants a kiss on his forehead, then turns to leave.

but the witcher is quicker, and grabs her by the rags and tosses on the bed. while he was questioning her, he managed to free one hand from the ropes with his teeth. her eyes turn red again, anger evident on her face.

"silly witcher." her teeth are quick to sink into his flesh again, causing seonghwa to growl with pain. she slurps on his hot blood, moaning in the process, the scent and taste of iron giving her bigger pleasure than anything else. when she pulls away, she has a look of victory and proud on her face. right until seonghwa smirks.

"true. i do think you are stupid." she steps away from him, suddenly feeling dizzy. while stepping back, her shoe kicks something on the floor, causing it to shatter. an empty potion bottle.

"what- what have you done?"

the witcher then frees his other hand, and reaches for his silver sword while the vampire tries to decipher just what he did to her. she gets her answer when she looks at herself in the mirror, veins prominent and pitch black. shaky hands hurriedly get rid of the rags and expose her body. he drank a potion to poison his blood because he knew she'd drink again. her eyes catch a glimpse of the shiny silver through the mirror, and she is quick to dodge it and jump on the bed.

the cut off and untied ropes hang uselessly from the bed frame. or maybe not completely useless. "how should i kill you?"

"no, please." the young woman sits against the bed frame, knees pulled to her chest and hands hugging them in defense. "please."

"i am doing you a favor by asking. silver..." he holds the shiny sword up, runestones making the marks green and match the dress on the floor. "or gold." he points to the balcony door with blinds. a ray of sun has managed to break through, lighting up the medallion that now rests on his chest, vibrating and alerting to danger.

"please." she begs. "i just want to live. we just want to live."

"so does the folk. and you don't let them."

her teary eyes don't work on seonghwa this time. they only make him angrier. she used him. and he fell for it. he was angrier with himself for allowing a woman's seducing to work on him like that. if she were a sorceress, he'd understand. he cannot escape the strong grip of magic. but a vampire? all these years of work and training seemed for nothing. he only hopes geralt doesn't find out about this.

"i don't kill. i just feed!"

"you feed on women and children."

"children are just weak. and those women weren't worth anything! their husbands would come and fuck me, and then offer their wives to me!" she then gets on her knees, hands in a pleading motion. "please, witcher. you kill to survive. so do i."

"no."

in a few seconds, the young woman is bound to the bed, hissing and growling at the witcher as he approaches the balcony door.

"i kill to save people. you kill to save yourself."

with that, he pulls the blinds, allowing the sun to enlighten the room and the nude figure on the bed.

"your kind will no longer torment people. i won't stop until i've killed the last one of you vampires, hags, wraiths and ghouls. i exist for the sole purpose of exterminating you. and that is what i'll do. even if it takes all my life."

the vampire is in no position to form any sentences, body seething and glowing under the morning yellow sun. the witcher is unfazed, already used to it. he calmly puts his armor back on, puts the weapons on his back, and gives the vampire a final glance before going downstairs to sign the contract and collect his reward.

[wetcatspellcaster]

Metapost: "The Ascendent"

**this is a meta for my fic, Pieces Still Stuck in Your Teeth, and NOT a discussion of the BG3 game canon in any way. If you try and make this into a disk-horse, I will BITE you**

(spoilers under the cut for Chapters 1-23 of Pieces Still Stuck in Your Teeth).

So... remember in the Chapter One endnote when I said I was a Spike/Buffy fan first, and a person second? x

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In more seriousness, there was a number of fictional seasonings/ingredients that went into creating what I felt was the villain of a Gothic horror, and what I felt could turn the Ascendent into something that was both 'fixable', and something I enjoyed writing.

Those ingredients were:

Spike and the idea of 'soulless' vampires in the BtVS canon - do I like this conceit of BtVS worldbuilding and how it's used in the show? No. I think it often underlines how bad Whedon is at writing romance. BUT I do think it gives Buffy this free pass for which vampires she can/can't like or adopt, and I needed some of that for my protagonist. I need a 'I can fix him' moment - BtVS has those in fucking SPADES.

Howl's Moving Castle (this one was accidental, I'm still mad at myself but I can't deny it's there) - man conducts magic ritual for power, removing an essential part of himself in the process that needs to be returned

Picture of Dorian Gray (the idea of an exterior staying pristine while something hidden suffers and decays)

Curse of Strahd (the soulless in Barovia, which I mentioned in Chapter 23)

The idea of default moral alignments in D&D. I have a whole chapter arguing against this in my thesis (mostly bc it's often applied to entire races) but I was fascinated by creating a set of circumstances where I feel like a default moral alignment is valid, actually. 7,000 deaths seems like a good set up. I wanted to imagine a being that was trapped within a default moral alignment, and the laws of its very being prevent it from being good no matter what it tries, and it knows that (this kind of creates a feedback loop with the Spike/Buffy stuff)

The parts of the BG3 canon I took and REMADE (I'm stressing this throughout, I was making a horror story and a horror monster your honour):

Astarion conducts the Rite of Profane Ascension with scars on his back, but has to scar Cazador's back personally, suggesting that um... the Rite REALLY SHOULDN'T BE CONDUCTED BY SOMEONE WHO'S GOT THOSE SCARS. Cazador wasn't going to do it that way, is all I'm saying!!

The idea that Ascended!Ending Astarion is a concentrated version of certain traits that have persisted throughout his story - his flirtiness, his understanding of sex as a mechanism and expression of power, his use of a façade as a mask for trauma he refuses to acknowledge.

The lines alluding to dissociation in the brothel foursome, post-Ascension.

The idea that Astarion seduced Tav to survive or protect himself- in my case, because I made the Ascendent empty save for Astarion's survival instinct, the idea that he would gravitate towards Tav as one of his default modes to potentially survive made sense to me - this is why it becomes an obsession.

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For me, when writing, the Ascendent is a few things:

An intensification of vampirism in a different, fucked-up direction. Yeah, A!Astarion, you can walk in sunlight and you can eat and drink and don't need blood. But you are still a hungering maw of emptiness that feels like it will never be whole or close and connected to the living - just now in a wildly different, metaphysical/existential direction! Welcome to depression, alienation, and otherness!

A soulless being, that knows it is soulless - that initially was very happy with its life but then as the years passed, increasingly spends its every waking moment knowing there is something innately wrong with it that it can't seem to shake, no matter how much it engages with life and all the pleasures of life. (see the 'every meal without savour' speech)

A magically literal metaphor for Astarion's dissociation in moments of extreme trauma, up to and including the fight with Cazador - essentially, the moments when there is nothing but a performance or an exterior, because the self/soul are suffering and they cant' come to phone right now

Astarion's survival instinct. As I say in Chapter 23 - Mephistopheles thinks it is an empty body, who's performance is trying to deny the reality of it's own existence. Rosalie, who has a bit more understanding of Astarion, sees that the performance is not just a coping mechanism but one of Astarion's main modes of survival. The Ascendent is Astarion's survival instinct/techniques for endurance, without any soul or person behind them to protect. This is how I tried to tie in the flirty, hypersexual persona and wrap it with a bow.

I wanted a monster that was undeniably scary, and monstrous to me (oh? you can't fit in or be happy no matter what you do and no matter how hard you try, and you think there's something intrinsically off? how's that autism diagnosis going Emma) but that I also felt sympathy and true sorrow for. I needed to have motivations for him chasing after Tav that I could write meaningfully from and sympathise with.

Not only has Astarion used Tav as a life-raft once before, they've also proven to be the most secure thing he's ever clung to. Of course a rabid survival instinct Astarion would become obsessed, and see them as a potential solution to the problem (this was then intensified by Rosalie also being a walking, overbearing moral compass, and having bound him in a contract in the first week of living, accidentally - a lawful good immoveable objects meets a default moral alignment unstoppable force.)

...Because I also wanted that moral alignment spice!! Wizards of the Coast, default moral alignment is fucked up actually!!! Imagine something trying so desperately to be good - literally being bound in a pact and having been told to be good - but the laws of the universe and its very essence are like "nah mate, we kind of want to destroy and annihilate everything, we're neutral evil personified". That's scary!! that's fucked up!! that's what a birth from 7000 deaths gets you!!!

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So, now for the actual timeline, for people who aren't interested in my silly musings but mostly just want answers lmfao.

Rosalie makes the decision not to intervene in Cazador's mansion, making it seem like she'll support whatever decision Astarion will make there.

Rite of Profane Ascension happens. Astarion conducts the ritual, rips his own soul from his body, the Ascendent is born with literally zero context. Mephistopheles is fucked in Cania, because a bunch of stuff has just gone wrong.

(oh, by the way, the Ascendent knows Infernal as a default language. Bc it's born from an Infernal rite.)

The Ascendent is now default neutral evil, and feeling some kind of way. Rosalie and him break up. He's supposed to have everything, but the one thing he thought was a done deal - his most stalwart suppporter - just rejected him.

Netherbrain defeat (the Ascendent is not invited. Imagine being an all-powerful, hypersexual survival instinct vampire, and your ex-girlfriend neither wants you for sex, nor your power.)

Rosalie accidentally binds the Ascendent (a soulless devil) in a pact demanding that he never kill anyone, when that's literally what the Ascendent's new existence/new default moral alignment is driving him to do. Then, she fucks off and goes into hiding.

Well. The Ascendent can just get another wizard, to help him learn all of Cazador's secrets to cope [Hemlock is recruited].

The years go by! The Ascendent is doing sooooo well. Everything is great, guys! I'm rich, I'm beautiful, I have lavish parties and lots of sex - why do I feel nothing? I'm a vampire perfected - I have no hunger for blood, I can walk in the sun, I can enjoy all the freedoms of a living, breathing man - why do I feel like I'm starving? Why does everything turn to ashes in my mouth? I have friends - oops, I've sabotaged all those friendships with my innate neutral evil destruction. Why can't I feel anything? What's wrong with me? I'm doing everything right? Why doesn't it feel that way?

Also, I can't kill anything to feel better about it, because my hidden ex-girlfriend bound me in a pact.

In this time, to reflect the gradual degradation of the Ascendent's happiness and it's increasing awareness that it is something Other and innately wrong, the reflection starts going weird. Starts going strange. Starts getting a bit fucked up. Almost as if, when he looks in the mirror and sees a person, *nothing* should be what's there. Imagine being a spawn who couldn't see your reflection, and then a vampire who could see it's reflection, but knows that they're innately empty. Knows there's nothing there. I'd freak out a little bit about it as well tbh, I'd go a bit tooth and claw and elongated jaw about it.

The Ascendent finally admits that's there must be something kinda fucked about it. Life just ain't working out, lads. He starts looking for any and all impossible cures that will help with the malaise in his soul (and that innate essence problem, caused by default moral alignment). These include: more bad decisions, such as a house in Cania bc the Ascendent is hoping he'll feel more at home with devils than he does with mortals. All it does is make him feel more isolated and alone.

But eventually, he settles on two things! - Wish (Hemlock's idea), and Rosalie (the Ascendent's idea). Clearly, we just need Rosalie back! Her leaving is actually what fucked him up in the first place - none of this existential bullshit! She fixed us one, she can fix us again.

But looking for Rosalie hasn't worked out. In order to get a shot at her, the Ascendent goes and bargains for his own soul from Mephistopheles. Mephistopheles, adding a new sheet in excel titled 'what the fuck happens when i give this soulless monster a soul to play with?', agrees and starts tracking his new data.

Obviously, just putting the soul back in yourself will fix you. But the Ascendent, the nothingness living inside Astarion's body, will die. Taking the soul back would erase itself. The Ascendent - who is survival instinct personified - would never do this.

So instead, it starts interviewing and cannibalising the soul. Bc a soul is what it needs, this is the closest it's ever felt to being alive. Bc it's made this all about Rosalie, he thinks he's found his solution. The chase is making him feel alive again. It's true love, lads! not the soul.

Wish auction happens - the Ascendent is beaten to the punch by some unknown (hot) wizard.

This avenue cut off, the Ascendent makes the decision to try and win Rosalie back.

Astarion advises that to make her come back to the Gate, he should murder a bunch of people. Because this comes from the soul, not the soulless devil nothingness, it circumvents the pact.

...The events of Pieces begin!

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And finally - the Ascendent tries to destroy Jar!Starion for many reasons in Chapter 19:

The Ascendent knows that it dies, if the soul and the body get reunited (or is that constant high alert survival instinct just no longer needed, because the problem is fixed? you decide.)

The Ascendent values Tav above itself. Tav is going to fix them. Astarion believes he could never fix himself.

Dissociation - that soul isn't me. I'm here, looking at my soul. If I get too close, it'll kill me.

Self-hatred - that soul isn't me. That man made a mistake, and I've had to live with the consequences. He doesn't deserve to live, for what he's made me become.

The knowledge that Rosalie/Tav will only ever want that version of him, not the one that's living and breathing, that sees itself as the most wretched, fucked-up version of itself. So... give them no choice. They have to deal with me and love me at my worst.

And if the Rite didn't work - if the version of the Ascendent walking around isn't the best one, and the one people want... what was it all for? Why does the Ascendent feel like this? Why does it have to suffer?

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....And, that's my little meta post! If anyone has any questions about the timeline or any motivations at any points in the fic, I'm obviously more than happy to explain things via ask/comment, as always!

TLDR: I just wanted to make a Gothic horror. I wanted a dark romance, fucked up obsession vampire/mortal dynamic, but I also wanted a situation that was scary for both Astarion and my Tav. I personally think an Astarion who is so dissociated and separate from reality that he feels that in his bones daily, is scary. It's the lingering impact of the traumas the Rite and those 7,000 souls embodied.

I was literally just trying to make it a horror, for everyone involved.

[vixstarria]

Kinktober Day 21 - Free Use

For every day of the month of October I will be posting a little snippet following prompts listed in this post. Most of these will not be full fics, but rather short snippets, set-ups, and, in a few cases, copied bits and pieces of fics I have already published. But, if there is a lot of interest and feedback on any of the snippets, they might just evolve into full fics, so keep that in mind.

Disclaimer / TW: Sex club shenanigans. And yes, yes, I know I'm late... It did take me a full 3 weeks to fall behind, at least.

The masquerade masks were, of course, completely inadequate for concealing anyone’s identity. However, they served a different purpose: acknowledging mask-clad acquaintances as such within the mansion, as well as mentioning their presence at the party outside the manor grounds was an unthinkable taboo, and would result in the irrevocable banishment of the offender and their immediate connections. Attendance at the events was a great privilege, one not to be squandered.

Astarion and Asmodea had been invited to the soiree by the owner of the establishment herself. They were encouraged to peruse and, if they so wished, partake, though the actual purpose of their visit was business, not pleasure: they were exploring the possibility of forging business ties between their cabaret theatre and the Scarlet Veil.

“Why this is even more strange than being on the paying end of a brothel,” Astarion murmured to Asmodea upon their emerging from the cloakroom.

"Are you sure you want to be here?" she frowned. "I'm happy to deal with the owner myself."

He waved a hand dismissively before responding.

“I will only ask two things of you: make no assumptions, and ask no questions you do not want to know the answers to.” Not waiting for her to respond, and likewise not giving her a chance to voice any more concerns, he sauntered towards a nearby room, sectioned off by a velvet drape.

"The Burrow," he read a plaque at the entrance. "Hmm, let me guess..."

Asmodea had no choice but to follow him as he disappeared behind the curtain.

Her eyes widened as she was immediately greeted by the sight of a splayed pair of legs protruding from a nearby wall at about hip height. The ankles were in restraints, bound to the wall. The rest of the body disappeared behind a window cut-out, concealed by strip curtains. The figure, or at least the visible part of it, wore absolutely nothing but a pair of torn silk stockings.

"...Ah," Asmodea blinked. "Gloryholes. ...Of a kind."

There was an entire row of these holes further along the wall, she now realised, most of them occupied by grunting, thrusting masked men, their trousers gathered unceremoniously at their ankles.

"Harengon holes, they're called," Astarion corrected. "Because harengons-"

"...live in burrows and fuck like rabbits, yes, I've gathered."

Despite herself, she glanced up at Astarion, and, perhaps reading the unasked question in her eyes, he elaborated further.

"If the manor events are run the way I think they are, the participants here are all thrill-seeking guests, not paid staff. Concealed attendants should be keeping an eye on things on both sides, in case anyone doesn't know how to behave."

They passed further along the wall, observing the activities around them. A halfling, scorning a nearby stepladder which must have been provided for those of their stature, simply stood with their face buried between the disembodied legs. A chorus of muffled moans and howls sounded from somewhere beyond the wall.

The scene appeared increasingly more comical the longer Asmodea observed it, and she bit her lip to hold back a titter.

"Shall we move on before we're kicked out..?" Astarion asked, seeing her reaction. "I don't believe this is intended as a comedy show."

They continued on to the next room.

My Kinktober masterlist and prompts post

[missisjoker]

"Blood of the dragon”, “bond between dragons and riders”, “mother of dragons”, believing that you could turn into a dragon if you did some magical ritual - those were all beliefs deep-rooted in ancient, forgotten Valyrian blood magic.

After the doom, the dragon genes lay dormant, until...

They meet an equally powerful ancient magic of the North, magic of skin changers and green seers, wargs and the Others...

When Jace gives himself to Cregan Stark after they mix their blood in the Pact of Ice and Fire, between the roots of an old Weirwood tree, he does so out of love. He leaves, hoping to see his beautiful icy blue-eyed Wolf of the North again once more, but the war calls.

A mere week after returning to Dragonstone, he starts feeling week and dizzy. Starts having cravings for weird foods- pickled herring, salted boar, duck fat with cranberries, octopus boiled in peach juice. Baela jokes he might be pregnant, but he just shrugs it off as a general- albeit peculiar- malaise.

But then, strange things start happening in his unmentionings. He thinks hastily that Cregan might have given him a brothel curse - and spends a whole week sulking because a shameful disease from a man who is his husband in everything but name? After just one time they made love?? After Jace confessed he was a virgin??? And then burns with shame and chastises himself for the mere thought. It cannot be, it must be something else.

He is finally sick enough to go to maester when everything suddenly stops, and Jace blames the stress of war for his discomfort.

Until he notices a tiny belly bump growing on him, (really small, just a bit of weight he picked up gorging on all that weird food, perhaps? ) and starts having vivid dreams. First he dreams of events not yet come to pass- and once he fights thought Daemons skepticism , it’s used to the Blacks advantage. They evade every trap the Greens prepare for them, while the Northern army marches south.

He dreams of flames, fires, volcanoes, oily black stone and unnamed things gnawing on the roots of the earth, but also cold, snow, ice, wide, open spaces filled with howling wind and sounds of birds, elks, rivers flowing, sentinel pines cracking in frigid air that stays still.

And then, of course, he dreams about Cregan. Strong, lithe bodies moving in a passionate embrace, Jaces body being filled up to the point of bursting, low husky voice whispering nasty things into his ears while he takes him in all manner he wishes…bites him, kisses him, leaves fingertip marks everywhere he grabs Jace a bit too strongly… it makes Jace more and more delirious, and it all culminates one night with a borderline painful orgasm that feels like his dick bursting and makes Jace blackout for a bit.

When he comes around, he suddenly hears tiny squeaks on his bed.

He jumps off, and sees three tiny dragons withering on the wet spot. He is … shocked, horrified, disgusted, scared? All of the above, but the three little winged worms try to slither closer to him , pathetically getting stuck in the wrinkles of the bed sheets. He watches for a moment, unblinking, but the tiny squeaks pull on something in his heart and he carefully takes them into his hands. All three fit into one palm of his hand, and all three immediately settle down and curl into tiny balls on his skin.

Rhaenyra is shocked, Baela is petrified, Luke immediately starts teasing the light out of Jace, while Daemon muses that they could use more dragons, and asks if Cregan be willing, and Jace just screams at him “he is not gonna be fucking you, uncle!”

The three dragons grow pretty fast, until one day they suddenly transform into human babies right in their cribs.

Jace names the girls Visenya, Aemma, and Gilliane.

The parentage is unmistakable- all three have Cregan's steel blue eyes with a section of moss green, and Jace’s dark chocolate hair (not yet long enough to curl, but Jace is sure). And all three take an immediate liking to playing with sharp objects (much to Jace and Rhaenyra’s worry and Daemon’s gleeful delight).

Jace apologizes to Baela, but she is relieved- Jace's line is secure, and she doesn’t have to risk birthing bed or even lay with Jace (she is in a happy romance with Aly Blackwood and would prefer it that way).

Children are… magical. Perfectly human, but can burn people with their touch, and sometimes accidentally transform into dragons.

Jace finally musters the courage and writes (a rather cryptic but urgent) message to Cregan.

Lord Stark gallops to Dragonstone, and the Northern Army marches on faster.

[sevenish-spheres]

Ephrosia, The Carnal Gyre

Image Source

Returning again to the cheery domains of Pandorum, we now find ourselves in the windswept mountains of Ephrosia, the Second Circle!

Overview

The second of Pandorum’s layers, Ephrosia is the first specifically designed with the punishment and metamorphosis of the damned in mind, and is considered by many scholars to be the first layer of Hell proper. Ephrosia is officially ruled by Archduke Dispater, although his rival and occasional lover Belial represents a major threat to the throne, and it is Belial who governs much of Ephrosia outside of the great hanging city of Dis.

Ephrosia is a gargantuan, pitch-black cavern lit only by the light of the rare chasms that connect it to Avernas above it. It is dominated by hundreds of spire-like mountain ranges, several of which reach and connect to the layer’s ceiling, forming massive stalactites. However, Ephrosia also contains many huge plateaus and ink-black deserts, alongside abyssal oceans which even the devils avoid. The entire layer is constantly wracked by vicious winds and hurricanes that, alongside carrying the layer’s population of sinners aloft mean that very few structures survive for long, with only the magically protected keeps and skyships of the devils surviving, alongside the rare ruins that litter the layer’s lower depths.

Ephrosia is the layer dominated by the sin of lust, which being (at least in Asmodeus’ mind) the least despicable of mortal sins, has the least destructive punishment. The sinners condemned to Ephrosia are forever buffeted by its howling winds, smashing into its many spires and, as they do so, slowly transforming into the various winged devils that inhabit the layer. Of course, the presence of lust within Hell has prompted many a mortal priest and templar to proclaim that clearly acts they deem morally unacceptable are punished by the universe itself. However, this is untrue, as those who end up in Ephrosia by contract tend to be those who exploit others for power, and moreover Asmodeus detests all mortals for their ability to procreate and produce more of themselves. Hence, Ephrosia reflects this hatred of new life, and therefore outside its main cities the layer is almost completely devoid of it.

Story Hooks in Ephrosia

As it is the main gateway between Avernas and Ephrosia, the city of Dis unsurprisingly sees a lot of traffic. Because of this, it is one of the few places in all of Hell where traders frequently operate. One example of this is the famed Derleth Trade Company, one of the main exporters of goods from the corpse-city of Leng within the Dreamlands to the rest of the cosmos. More specifically, the Company trades in dreams stolen from sleeping mortals, which can serve as valuable spell ingredients and even delicacies among certain devils. However, recent attempts have been made by the local infernal Magnator, Rekestis Vino, to nationalise the company, resulting in the company increasingly resorting to smuggling, and in turn the forces of the devilish noble to grow increasingly brazen in their attempts to take control of the enterprise.

Whilst worship of gods is strictly forbidden within the bounds of Hell, it is perhaps unsurprising that few of the worshippers of Aspara have infiltrated the Dis. Here, they run some of the city's more reputable brothels, but in an unusual move for the followers of the Heartstealer, have begun to smuggle damned souls out of the city.

Dis is Ephrosia’s largest city, and easily its busiest. Here, the myriad Preta devils that walk the Pale Roads of Avernas converge and are judged within the great Contrapasso Vestibules that ring the city’s edge. They arrive along the great chains that tether the city between the nine great peaks that surround it and connect up to Avernas above, and which are maintained by roving gangs of strange, metal-skinned gargoyles supposedly created by a dwarven artificer imprisoned somewhere within Dis’ many prisons.

Beyond Dis lies relatively little, but a few creatures prowl the desolate wastes, preying on those unfortunate sinners and travellers who become impaled upon Ephrosia’s many outcroppings of obsidian. Some of the most feared of these are the Hunters of the Flayed Tapestry, strange creatures that prey on sinner and devil alike, and which weave the skin and tendons of their victims into great cloaks which grant them myriad terrifying powers, such as teleportation and invisibility. Alongside this, they are capable of conjuring powerful weapons of black fire, which they use alongside their many sets of vicious claws. Perhaps most notably, however, is the fact that the Hunters are completely silent, speaking only through the reanimated heads some carry at their belt.

Among the deep canyons of Ephrosia, it is said a decrepit castle can be found, illuminated by hundreds of gibbets full of burning, reanimated corpses. This is the dwelling place of the feared Mahr Yaga Erichtho, a feared necromancer known to work alongside devils, Outsiders and even the aforementioned Hunters of the Flayed Tapestry. Like most Yaga, their motive is unclear, but they are known to have ties to many of Ephrosia’s nobles, alongside supposedly Dispater himself. Most notably, however, is the Yaga’s surprisingly warlike past, as they once supposedly fought alongside the former Archduke of Avernas, Allocer, but were defeated by the servants of Sathariel. Now, some believe Erichtho plots their return, and the fact that they have begun to seek out vast numbers of corpses and magical poisons would support this idea.

While Dispater rules over Dis and the regions around it, many would consider Belial to be the true ruler of Ephrosia. Belial rules over the city of Akrasia, a floating city suspended by a great series of soul-balloons and sails that drifts lazily through the constant gale that surrounds it. Where Dispater busies himself with the judgement of souls, Belial is wholly dedicated to the acquisition of lustful souls, and as such the entire city of Akrasia is designed to make mortals who seek audience with them more likely to give in. Akrasia is a maddening place constantly blanketed by a thin mist, and is a frequent meeting ground of Daevisti devils alongside asuras, succubi and incubi. Despite this, Akrasia is seldom visited by those who don’t seek it out, and much to Belial’s chagrin, many souls still beseech Dispater instead of him when seeking power over others’ lust.

Many question how Dispater came to rule Ephrosia, especially since his seeming lack of care for the acquisition of its souls. Instead, Dispater seems to focus himself on the judgement of souls that have already entered Pandorum. Many suggest he may in fact hail from the seventh circle, an idea supported by his frequent (largely irritated) interactions with Titivilus, Hell’s preeminent scribe. Whilst his true past is unknown, one thing is the common subject of courtly gossip; Dispater’s name is found nowhere within the ledgers of Hell, suggesting that either it was excised, that his current identity is a falsehood, or most chillingly of all, that Dispater predates the formation of the current infernal bureaucracy, and may even be its progenitor. Certainly, it is known that the Judge of Hell’s usual form of a goateed devil whose skin is covered in places with piercing red eyes is not his true one, and that it is especially bad luck to fall within his vast, many-limbed shadow that often moves of its own accord.

[stardancerluv]

A Time to Love and to Fight

Part Fifteen

Summary: Enjolras reflects on his feelings for you (reader) and his life to this point and beyond.

Notes/Warnings: 18 + and higher, mentions of a nude woman, Implied sexual acts (no direct word use to depict it) sexual acts being referred to, implied sexual act taking place in the open (darkened corner) , mentions of death (all off the page), mentions of drinking…do it responsibly…and be of your legal age…can be dangerous, description of a brothel (imagined scene from the film…is in the collage) the couple shown in collage is just an idea…by no means is to take away how you imagine him and her!

I have strayed away from Enjolas in this chapter, by giving him a touch of a backstory. I am still trying to keep how I believe it would play out with him.

This runs a bit long, wanted to do Enjolras justice…hope I did.

That said.. Be nice! Feedback is welcome! Want to be tagged, please let me know! ❤️ and of course…Enjoy!

Not long after wrapping his arms around you, he felt as you nestled close. It wasn’t long before heard your breathing even, a sign you were fast asleep. He kissed the top of your head.

Glancing outside his window, he saw dark blue of the dawn, as it attempted to come into his room. Musing, began to swirl in his head. Ever since you walked into the warehouse, felt incredibly protective of you. The way your eyes had grown seeing him or how your scarf slipped off as surprise took its grip on you. A fondness was not far behind and now that fondness turned into love.

Laying here, he couldn’t help but wonder about what if. Once he joined the revolution, he had not looked back. He relished in what they were doing and accomplishing.

He had said his goodbyes to his mother and father. He had prepared them and himself that there would no wife, no little one chasing around his knees. He had left that to his sister.

Before he had become a man with a conviction, his days had been easier. As a young student at the university, he’d spent those days debating or fencing. During the day, he studied hard and would spend his nights playing games and drinking till the world would spin. His sole worry, if his father would send enough funds so could continue to drink and eat as he wished.

During one of those nights, when drinking with his friends had made him fuzzier then usual. A pang of loneliness had filled him that night. It was a night where wind howled in the alleys, the rain had fallen heavy just like tonight. Easily, he had allowed his dear friends to finally bring him to the house dedicated to the physical side of life.

The air had been heavy with stale perfume, ale and those of the people who moving and and sliding against each other. It turned his stomach, he could not for the life of him know why his friends would frequent this place.

Glancing around, he saw people who would disappear into a room, not many closed the doors. Obscured and not so obscured he saw women were riding men, men were riding women along with women with other women and men who were entangled with other men. There was nothing wrong with any of this. They all seemed happy enough. There in the shadows of this place they could unleash what they had laced up during the day, under the light of the sun. He could not imagine, the happen chance of this kind of intimacy.

Despite the cool cordiality between him and his parents, they had taught him of how to keep mutual respect should be between a man and woman. He couldn’t imagine not having that for whomever he decided to finally be with. And the idea of paying a fee so that someone was then to be subjected of another’s whims truly made him ill.

If the rain had not lasted so long, he would have managed to make it back to the university. But that was not what happened. He had taken a spot at one of the bars. Standing there, no idea where his friends had wandered off to, was when she walked up.

Her hair had wound tightly. Her make up was heavy, only later when she drew close did he realized it attempted to hide the shadows had taken up residence on her face.

Her touch, had been gentle and soft; it had been easy to rebuff. A few drinks later accompanied by a conversation where he couldn’t even remember how the words had been knit to together, he had wobbly from the drinks. It had become a chore, to push her away.

With little luck left on his side, he had avoided her dragging him into one of those rooms. Not particularly happy, she had won in bringing him to a shadowy corner. Kisses, that she had managed to plant and he had even returned were clammy and very unpleasant, at best.

With the drinks flowing more in him then his own blood, she had gone from being astride his lap to straddling it. It had quickened his young body. As her fingers continued to slip and move over him, the beat of his heart increased.

Desperately, he had tried to tell her it had been enough and had not wished more. He didn’t wish to spill here or allow her to urge him into doing so. In the end, with still more drinks passing between them, his curiosity had gotten the better of him. So when she opened her dress to her navel, he noticed that the shadows traveled all the way to her navel. It had made him swallow hard. He almost stood at the sight, yet that was when she had distracted him.

Her beasts, her body had long since lost long since lost its soft, subtleness. She was around his young age of two mere decades, no more he reasoned but all of this lifestyle aged her.

Finally, with any possible words he could speak got stuck. His body and the alcohol had allowed her skilled fingers to make his body tighten and his body to feel things he wasn’t familiar with. In quick movements, she brought one of his hands under thin cotton to a breast, and she had worked fast and soon, he was piercing her. He had barely knew what was happening, when his entire body tightened and after some kind of rush, he had only ever felt trying his luck of hanging out of a high window when she was already standing because it was all over. She had giggled and patted his cheek. He swiftly composed himself and managed to stumble in the darkness of the back to his room at he university.

When his eyes heavy, head throbbing and bile churning he recalled the well past midday what had happened. He was wracked with guilt, sadness even that he had allowed that to happen. After cleaning, and scrubbing at himself he dressed in clothes that didn’t resembled trampled autumn leaves and with a heavy purse, he searched out the locale of his ill feelings.

Finding, she had given a good laugh and had assured his purse and feelings were misplaced. He would not be rebuffed so easily. So he tried and tried. The last time he saw, it was the first time had seen a raised temper. Yet, she still pushed him off. One of the ladies, stopped him when he had turned to leave. They spoke of her declining health. Trusting the girls word, he gave them the purse. He still has no reason for doubt. So when he returned to check, the news of her passing finally reached his ears. It had caused a pang in him.

So a short time later, it had been a month perhaps a little longer when a man spoke of change that was still desperately being needed, at one of the pubs he frequented. It wasn’t long before he left the university, those friends and he joined the ranks.

That man spoke of amazing ideas, justice that still needed to be served so he followed and learned from that man. When a Royal Army Sniper, snuffed the man’s life out he chose to fill those boots. Yet he did not and still does not want to be the leader, he he does encourage and help fuel the dedication of his comrades and others. When he in return took the life of that sniper, he thought of the girl who he had never learn the name of, who died of illness that she mostly likely got because working in that kind of place was her only option. And he swore he would make Paris great, a place where people could be free and not have to answer to a king or an emperor for that matter.

Though, laying here with your softness nestled close, and memories of the laughter and sheer happiness of each others company grabbed him. Was he truly, finally feeling what it was like to be with someone you merely wanted to be happy with and live.

He could take care of you forever, and be content. He could see himself filling your belly with little ones who would smile up at him and you with the pure love only a child could give.

He gasped, a very hard grip from you and soft whimper ripped his musing to pieces. “My angel. Wake up.” Glancing down, seeing the anguish of possibly another nightmare was filling your face. “Chase that nightmare away.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

Your lashes fluttered, then your eyes focused and a soft smile spread across your face. “Enjolras.” His name was hushed and breathy on your lips.

He replied with own smile. “Are you alright my love?”

You smiled broader. “Of course I am. Why?”

“You had appeared to be having another nightmare.”

“Oh? No, well I don’t remember.” You blinked a little more and he delighted in his you turned towards him, yawning gently.

*******

Enjolras, pushed the sack into your hands.

“Buy a few things from the market. Make a big display on how after the heavy rain, you wanted to enjoy the bright sun.” He told you.

His fingertips glided over the curve of your cheek. You leaned into the soft touch. “Say, how you wished for some sweet treasures for you, your mama and even Greta to enjoy. Ones, that she didn’t have to labor over.”

“But, but Enjolras…” Your voice faded. You had never lied quite like this. Sure you had been, having those wonderful evenings with him but at least you had been here. Now inwardly, you worried you trembled at the idea.

He cupped your cheeks, drawing your face up.

“Oh, my angel I know. You are an honest, girl. I just don’t wish you to receive any wrath because you and I finally shared our love, like two adults do.”

His eyes were warm but also filled with a determination you only saw when he spoke of his passion for what he and his comrades did.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

*******

You tidied up. Your ribbons were back in your hair, your dress clung to you once again after being laced up and you were prepared to do what you must.

Your hand was on the knob, when he grabbed your other hand and he pulled you close. He was so warm and solid. “My love we only do this, because of those thoughts that doctor had planted in your mama’s mind. Or I would attempt to speak to your mama myself.”

“I know.” You replied, swallowing the lump that formed at the idea of being parted after being so close.

“That is my angel.” He whispered, before his lips met yours. You took sheer delight, his how the feel of his goatee, grazed your cheeks, face as he kissed you. It sent tingles to your heart.

******

Leaning near his window he glanced at his bed, mere hours ago you had been laying under his blanket looking up at him. You were so soft, the light from the candles licked at the two of you. Swallowing, he looked down at the courtyard and watched as you hurried across it, holding the sack tightly.

He was relieved you had listened to him and not lingered. He should have walked you out, but once again he did feel no set patterns was most likely a good idea. These days one never whose eyes you fell under. Like the doctor, seeing how he had pulled you close when he had one last kiss. The idea brought anger, to his stomach that now the man was using that against you.

A sharp, knock shattered the silence of his small room. It had better not be that the ever snooping primary tenant.

Reluctantly, he pushed himself off the wall and went to answer the door. The sharp, knock came again.

“Enjolras, wake up!” Came the impatient voice of Grantaire.

Enjolras smiled then.

“Let us in. It’s rather important.” This time it was Courfeyrac.

Still smiling, he shook his head. He undid the lock and opened the door. “What do I owe the pleasure at this early hour?”

Grantaire’s lips were pressed together as he brushed past him, barely meeting his eyes. Moving quickly, Enjolras watched as he grabbed and took his wine bottle from the shelf and poured himself a glass. The bottle and the glass, jangled loudly.

Enjolras turned to Courfeyrac. Who closed had the door, and was wringing his hands

“One of you speak up. What is going on?”

“We received a message. General Lamarque has died.”

He turned, he went over to where Grantaire stood. He grabbed the bottle, he eyed the liquid slosh around after he grabbed it. Several emotions flooded him at once.

@aftertheglitterfades @sebastianstvn @dealswiththedevilsblog @randomstory56 @pl1nfa1 @phantomxoxo @ladybug0095 @the-iridescent-phoenix @maryan028 @netusha @kindablackenedsuperhero @crazyworldofsiani @moondev1l @eddiethebloodiedhand @lluviamg06 @samunson83 @craftyhufflepuff

[imaginedheroine]

That Night and This One, Too

Chapter 13/Fathers

Warmth filled the hearth as the fireplaces of the brothel were lit in anticipation of the coming nightfall. The smallfolk of King’s Landing knew that winter, too, was coming and that the nights would soon be longer, colder, deadlier. So it was that they started their preparations months in advance at the behest of the maesters of the Citadel; and with good reason. Too often had winter struck without warning, taking unsuspecting victims by surprise and freezing them to death in their sleep; too often had the products of harvests fallen short, starving entire towns with only a small percentage of its population surviving until spring. The people of Westeros had learned their lesson, and they would try their damndest not to make the same mistakes again.

The slender arms of a serving girl dropped a topped off tankard of ale on the table in front of Fia, pulling her eyes from the fire. Foam spilled over the rim of the tankard and she caught it on the first knuckle of her middle finger, deftly licking it off. She had missed the taste of ale—bittersweet. Would that be how it felt to leave King’s Landing?

“One more thing before I get back to work,” Tanara said, raising a single finger to emphasize her point. “You never asked me why I stayed when everyone else fled… Someone had to wait for you to come back. You are a fool, that’s true enough; but not foolish enough to leave us. It was only a matter of time before you reappeared… but now you have to leave for good. It’s a shame, Fia… that it has to end this way.”

“It doesn’t have to be the end, you know,” Fia said, then shot her a queer smirk. “I’ll find the kids when I get to Tyrosh, I’ll make sure they’re safe, and then I’ll write to you. Oh, but then you’d have to know how to read…”

“You wound me.” Tan scowled.

“I try.” Fia grinned. Then she reached over the table and took Tanara’s hand before she could pull away. The red-haired woman, a spitting image of her mother, stared at Fia in awe. Her cheeks were painted red from the ale, brighter than the fire that burned behind her, and she swallowed deeply. Fia leaned in, telling her in earnest, “I will find a way, Tan. I promise. One day, mayhaps after all this is over, I will find a way to come back. You waited for me once, right? What’s another year?”

Tanara slid her hand out of Fia’s grasp and waved her off. “Yeah, yeah. And one day I’ll be Queen. You ought to wake your prince now; take him home. I’ll see you on the morrow.” With that, Tanara pushed out of her seat and left to carry out her duties, leaving Fia to carry out their plan.

The door slammed open just as Fia made to stand and a squadron of gold cloaks shuffled into the brothel, howling with raucous laughter. Most of them were high-ranking officers, remnants of the City Watch’s glory days. A few were bloodied, their gold cloaks soiled with the red insides of the mob they fought off earlier. Fia cringed as one made eye contact with her—green-eyed and dark of hair. He looked strangely familiar. But his attention soon drifted to the whore that was beckoning him over and so he went, their contact broken.

When the gold cloaks had settled into their reveries and were sufficiently distracted, Fia picked up Aemond’s long sword and carried it off to her bedroom. “<i>Hello</i>,” Aemond surprised her, leaning for support in the doorway on one arm whilst his other held up the curtain. He’d moved as silent as a shadow, but for once he did not look like one. They had thrown out his black cloak which had been covered in muck and blood, and had donned him in a new one. It was deep blue and soft as sheep’s wool; the relic of a long-lost lord, an old patron of the brothel. The hood was pulled up, hiding the wrappings which were tied around the crown of his head and under the eyepatch that he’d removed for only a moment. In that moment, after Tanara left and while Fia lightly wrapped his head, he cupped his eye with his hand and hid his scar from her until she was finished. His shaky breaths had disrupted the air that stood around them the entire time. She slid to a stop, inches from his insecurity.

- start the series or keep reading at https://archiveofourown.org/works/47379301/chapters/119386996 -

[sideblogformindtrash]

You all heard of Howl's moving castle now get ready for Orfeu's moving brothel

[thomasxking]

To hear Nathan say those things to him – that he thought about him often, that he wanted to be with him and he was always present in his mind when he was alone – was… sweet? A part of Thomas already knew that. He was a fucking King and whoever didn’t think about him in an explicitly sexual way was definitely not worthy of his time. Not for a single second. And while it was something that he was already expecting to hear because – who wouldn’t say those things – there was something about the way Nathan said it that almost sounded… vulnerable? Almost as if he actually felt those things he was saying to him and not just blurring those sentences to guarantee that he would get laid that night. He was saying them because he felt that way and not because it was something Thomas wanted to hear. And for a second – one where Thomas admired the man in front of him from an angle that Nathan couldn’t look at him – he smiled. But with flattery aside, they had more pressing issues on their hands. Thomas wetted his lips and gave Nathan all the time in the world to put him inside. It was hard considering the position alone – Nathan couldn’t see it – but the masseuse was also particularly tight so it took several attempts before Thomas felt the tip of his engorged head enter Nathan. And fuck a duck – the man was TIGHT. His hands held Nathan by his waist and Thomas couldn’t help but moan at the clenching of the other man’s hole around the tip – feeling that familiar string of shivers dancing down his spine. “You are so fucking tight, Nathan…” How could someone who worked at a brothel even be this tight? Was Nathan the one who did the fuck more often than not? Ultimately, it didn’t matter. He was inside the masseuse and rather than just go forward and ram Nathan to madness, Thomas opted to take it slow. They had all the fucking time in the world. No rushes. His hands held the staff’s hips as he granted Nathan enough time to adjust before finally moving. His own hips moved forward under his attentive gaze, pushing inch after torturous inch into the heat that was making Thomas do nothing more than fucking howl. “You feel so good. Holy shit.” Another inch buried into Nathan. The King leaned over to kiss his shoulder, pursuing the familiar taste of Nathan’s lips the moment he was fully buried inside him. Balls deep. His cock throbbed with NEED as he could feel the other man’s muscles clench and relax around him. Anyone else and he would probably be ravaging them on the spot. No damn care in the world. But Nathan…? He deserved his moment in the sun. To adjust, to control the pace even if temporarily. “Are you ok?” Thomas usually never asked that. He couldn’t give a fuck about that sort of shit and here he was – kissing Nathan and making sure the staff member was comfortable. “Tell me when to move. We’ll take your time.”

Nathan wouldn't say he was demanding anything. More like begging without saying please. That was his mistake. He should be bending himself over backward to prove to Thomas that he could be the best boy for him, do anything and everything his king commanded of him. Instead, he got too eager and his slip of the tongue earned him a loss of the teasing altogether. He whined softly, shoulder sagging, only to be woken back up by the smack to his ass. A cry exploded from his lips, a mix of shock, pain, and pleasure. No way he would get out of that one without a mark. Skin stinging, he pressed back into the man's touch. "I'm sorry." Nathan licked his lips. "I just can't help myself around you." His entire body was trembling just beneath the surface, lit up by that single action followed up with the attention of lips and tongue and teeth against tingling skin. Thomas kept finding ways to break him down.

Part of Nathan was disappointed when Thomas stood up. he wanted to know how much he could do with that tongue. But it was impossible to stay disappointed for long when Thomas pressed against his ass like that. Nathan leaned into it, the ocean completely forgotten as he closed his eyes and arched his back into the thrusts. "I don't mind games." He murmured, thoughts scattered to the wind. Another moan seeped from his lips like slow liquid when he felt his hard cock drag between his cheeks. "Yes." Nathan bit his bottom lip, bracing himself against the railing to take whatever Thomas allowed him. "I want you every time I'm alone with my thoughts. I think about you when I've only got my hand to do the job. Think about how sexy you looked that first night here. How fucking good you felt bouncing on my cock." He turned his head into the kiss on the cheek, hoping for more, hoping Thomas would fill him then and there. When nothing came immediately, he shuddered with anticipation.

Now the reigns were handed to him. He wasn't in control, not truly. Thomas was playing with him, making him do what he so badly wanted Thomas to do to him. Just the arrogance in the other man's tone made him weak. Instead of whining like a wounded pup, Nathan reached a hand behind him to wrap around that delicious length and fix it into position against his still tight hole. Nathan definitely bottomed more than Thomas but not all the time, so this was going to take a bit of work. Before anything else, Nathan took a second to stroke along his length, rubbing him up against his entrance with a needy moan. Stepping his feet a little further apart, he leaned back into Thomas more, feeling that delicious pressure. Grunting in frustration when the other man didn't simply slip inside of him, Nathan furrowed his brow in concentration. After what seemed like a lifetime, his frustration turned to euphoria, a gasp spilling from him followed by a groan as Thomas' cock entered him. Now he could have everything he wanted.

[lilys0evil0twin]

Record of Ragnarok

Lu Bu x courtesan! Fem! Reader

Word count: 2206

Lu Bu Hausen, the flying general, the strongest man under the heavens, lots of titles, right? Everyone heard of his name, from first glance everyone knew his face. Someone would think, it's an amusing life. Yet Lu Bu didn't feel the same, the said male was dying of boredom. Nothing interesting happened after his race with the Red Hare. Considering the poor animal was still healing from it's injuries, there wasn't anything happening in Louyang City. Anything concerning Lu Bu himself, at least. Chen Gong saw it, he saw how bored, how without that sparkle in his eyes, his lord was. Just sitting crosslegged, anywhere, everywhere, wherever his lord currently was. The sad sights struck his heart painfully.

One day however, while strolling down the city streets, Chen Gong overheard a conversation about the show happening in Bai Lu Yuan. Bai Lu Yuan is a famous, dared to be called, the most famous brothel in China. Housing the most beautiful women, preforming elegant and exiting shows and it's glory. The jewell among preformers. The jewell among women. Chen Gong didn't really like the idea, but he had to admit he himself hasn't thought about woman's presence in a while. And if he hasn't, the rest of the army must he touch starved. Plus he's seen the way all the women stared at his lord.

So why not?

Lu Bu wasn't really interested in Chen Gong's proposal but went with it anyway. That's how he ended up here, laying on pillows and colorful blankets, surrounded by at least ten women. All wearing fancy but revealing clothing, their hands roaming his chest and arms as he ate, his eyes bore into the seeling.

Other men along with his soldiers were certainly enjoying themselves, even Chen Gong loosened up after few drinks. But Lu Bu hasn't found this whole act very fun. Not that the attention he was receiving from a bunch of gorgeous women wasn't pleasing. No, no, there was just something missing. Not just here, on the battlefield, in his sleep, just what could it be.

Music started playing, the men started howling, the curtains opened. Revealing the most beautiful woman, no a goddess, he's ever seen. Her clothing resembled the other courtesans in color, but it just had a totally different appeal. How it cling on her delicious curves left very little to imagination. The design, the cut, it was worth the empress. Despite all, her shoulders and nearly whole legs were bare. As she moved to the rhythm, sliding her hands along her body. Using the fan that once covered her face, now down her breasts.

As music slowed it's melody, long red cloth fell from the ceiling. Sliding her fingers through the silky cloth, wrapping it around her body delicately, seductively. The cloth lifted with the goddess entangled in it. Time seemed to slow down, as she slowly turned and rotated in the air. Her legs rubbed against each other, hands moving through her hair, going up her breasts, her neck, face.

That's what Lu Bu saw. He couldn't look away. He never felt this before. The tingling in his chest, going down to his groin. He knew what's happening, but it never felt like this. And she's the reason for this. He'll take her. She's the next interest of his. He won't let this opportunity pass.

...

After the show, Lu Bu watched his woman disappear behind he stage, as the curtains closed once again and the music stopped. Lu Bu stood to his full height, not caring about the women, that surrounded him, fell against the pillows with yelps, losing the support his chest provided. Stomping the way his woman left. His eyes locked onto the door, he had no means on stopping. "S-Sir, please you can't go there!" courtesans and waitresses blocked his way. "Let me pass" he mumbled, eyes locked at his targeted door. "P-Please sir, you can't go through that door" "Um, how about a drink?" "Here, let us take you to your seat"

The poor girls tried their best to lure this beast back to it's bed. Sadly his large body haven't bugged. It was unsettling for the women, they came across a lot of drunken, aggressive men and they could only imagine what this hoard of muscle could do. "What is this?" an elderly woman, came into Lu Bu's view, shortly following behind the voice. She was old, too old to be a courtesan, yet her clothes resembled the ones of a courtesan. But more fancy, like his woman's. "What seems to be the problem, young man?" she asked inhaling the smoke from her long, wooden cigarette pipe.

"She went that way" Lu Bu pointed to the door with his chin. "Oh! You mean Y/n" at the mention of her name, his eyes finally teared from the door and fell to the elderly woman. "I want her for the night"

The courtesans gasped softly at his demanding tone, he wasn't asking and certainly won't take a no for an answer. The old lady, probably the owner Lu Bu figured, tapped her cigarette pipe with her finger, it's butts falling carelessly on the wooden floor. "You would like to order a night with miss L/n?" Lu Bu only started at the elder lady. She hummed as puffs of smoke left her nostrils. "Well that would be a little difficult, young man" she continued, taking another breath of smoke "You see, her standards are really high and a night with her isn't the cheapest" Lu Bu snarled, boredom taking over his features "Still, there's no guaranteeing she'll be willing-" the owner sighed, shaking her head.

"Why don't you purchase one of the other courtesans here, I'll even make you a sale" but the look the flying general gave her, she knew she nearly crossed the line. The courtesans surrounding his large form, yelped and quickly went away, barely escaping with their lifes.

"Y-Yes, I understand. Come this way sir!"

...

The beautiful woman, the most beautiful one in all of China, sat on her side, her dress falling over her delicate body that awoken excitement in every man. Leaning her elbow against the puffy pillows, breathing away the cigarette smoke, the tip of her cigarette holder resting on her plumpy, red lips. She sighed, stretching her limbs, reaching for the bowl full of fruit. About to take a bite from the dragon fruit, the sliding door burst open, startling the poor goddess, her delicious snack falling from her hands. "Oh! Look what you did, you monkey!" she barked, focusing on her, now strained sheets, rather then the intruder. Mumbling curses under her breath, Y/n cleaned the fruit off her silky blankets, thanking the Caishen it haven't fell on her precious clothing.

Only after her nerves calmed a little, Y/n bothered to look up. Gaze meeting a particularly attractive man. She had to admit, from all the guys she'd encountered, only few stand out. This one may have been added to her list. "Well hello darling, how may I serv you?" Y/n asked impatiently after exchanging stares with the man standing in the middle of her room. The man smirked, showing his extremely sharp teeth "I want to take you" he said in deep, raspy voice as his form moved closer to Y/n's resting body. "Oh, where?" asking with a clueless face, adjusting her body into more comfortable position. Laying on her side, resting her upper body against her elbow once again.

The question seemed to confuse her visitor, as his eyebrows quirk, leaving a small 'huh?' Y/n could nearly see question-marks flying around his head. A genuine laugh leaving her lips made her shoulders along with her neatly covered breasts bounce. She couldn't believe he actually fell for her little trick. "I'm only messing with you" she laughed away, moving her cigarette holder to her lips. Taking a deep breath, slowly blowing the smoke not breaking the eye contact with the man in front her. Their staring contest continued, until the man sighed and sat down "This is getting boring" he groaned out, reaching for the bowl of fruits, eating away.

Y/n turned her head away humming "Indeed it is" tapping the butts into her ash pan "All men are boring" she said releasing the burnout tobacco with new one. Lu Bu only hummed throwing the peel behind him, already munching on another good. "Agh, yes men!" the goddess rolled her eyes dramatically.

"You are all the same, you come here wanting the same thing and expect us women, expect me to bend to your will" she stopped to take another drag from her cigarette holder, the smoke filling her lungs "And when you see me not responding, you'll all use the same methods. Talking about how beautiful I am, how you'll worship my body. Talking about all the gifts you'll buy for me" ending the sentence with an angry groan "That is what's boring, darling" by now Lu Bu finished the bowl. To say he was bored was an understatement, but his eyes never left Y/n. Who pulled her robes down and away from her legs slightly. "Now, you can try and convince me you're worth my time, Lu Bu Housen" she sighed puffing her cigarette again and mumbled "but that would be particularly impossible" Lu Bu froze.

"Impossible?"

A devilish smirk stretched on his mouth, showing more and more of his canines. "Hm? Yes, from this point, yes-" but Y/n's voice died down as a shadow fell over her form. In a split of a second her bode was forced to the ground, her cigarette holder falling from her hands. She'd seen men turn into wild animals, but never an animal into a beast. The thing above her wasn't a man, but a hungry dragon about to take what's his. In another swift movement, her expensive yukata was forced upwards, exposing her unprotected lower parts. Before Y/n could react in any way, her body was once again forced down, her breasts pressed against the blankets by a stone hard chest on her back. One of her arms being forced down with his giant hand, while his other was occupied with rising her abdomen in the air.

His actions were rough and his hold was so strong, Y/n was sure it'll leave bruises. Yet she found no displeasure in his behavior. She's never been dominated like this and they both knew she enjoyed it. A soft gasp left her lips when his rough fingers found her soaking sex. She could feel his chuckle in his chest pressed against her shoulder blades. His finger was replaced by something bigger, thicker. Moving his hand from her hips, Lu Bu grabbed her right hand. A moan forced itself out of Y/n's throat, as Lu Bu's cock entered her wet heat. She moaned and gasped as he bottomed out inside her. Lu Bu was bigger than any man she'd laid with, but it could've been expected.

Shortly after her spongy walls adjusted around his cock, Y/n tested if the sting was still present by shifting her hips slightly. Feeling this Lu Bu moved at rather fast peace. His thrusts were powerful, sending Y/n's whole body forward with every move. Lu Bu pressed his lips on the back of her neck, his teeth grazing against her skin, sending shivers down her spine. Subconsciously Y/n's hand moved from below his into his hair, leaning his head farther into her neck. Following his instincts, Lu Bu sped up and bit into her trapezius muscle. The rumbles and growls vibrating his chest, the huffs and puffs dashing past his nose, sounding like a horse galloping through fields. It felt all so surreal to Y/n, of course it wasn't her first time, nor with an a man she's attracted to. But this feeling was new to her, this animalistic desire he felt for her, this man, Lu Bu Hausen, really was different.

Lu Bu bend his back, moving Y/n's body with his. Pressing her chest farther into the blankets and lifting her hips higher. He bit down harder, drawing some blood, as his cock splashed inside her. The hot feeling spreading around her belly, some of his seed seeping past his twitching manhood down her thighs. It was too much for her nearing release, as this pushed her over the edge. Lu Bu groaned, feeling her walls squeeze his sensitive cock. Releasing her shoulder from his mouth he sighed in relief, straightening a little still coming down from his high. Y/n recovered pretty quickly, it was part of her job after all. Her stamina outranked any girl in Louyang City.

She was slowly reaching for her cigarette holder again, thinking it's over when she felt him move his hands. Only for her surprise, when Lu Bu put his nose in her hair, thrusting with the same force and speed as at the very beginning. Y/n slimed for her self softly, pulling on his long hair.

This was going to be a long night. Only if she knew once Lu Bu leaves, she'll leave with him.

[thelustybraavosimaid]

This part of the wolfswood was full of ghosts, and she saw them plain.

In the dense thicket of trees she saw wisps of them flow in and out of her vision as if they were passing through some invisible river, incorporeal essence dripping from them. They emerged from the sentinels and oak trees and passed through them without effort, taking on shapes of their own. The figures assumed familiar forms—of her mother and father, of Robb, even Grey Wind and Lady loped in the spaces between.

She swallowed down the thick lump in her throat as she reached for them, trailing after them as best she could in calf-deep snow like a stumbling child...

...and suddenly they were gone, and all that remained was her, alone, standing before three heart trees.

Had they deliberately led her here? She stared up at the gods, seeing the wisdom in their faces, centuries of knowledge buried in their snow-piled roots and moonlight white barks.

They watched her vigilantly through their ancient eyes, seemingly following her every move, and she watched them in turn. Bloody red sap crusted their eyes, their opened mouths, seeped through the cracks of their melancholy faces. They appraised her until she felt like they knew every secret she kept close and hard in her heart.

These are her gods. Her father's gods. Jon's gods.

Arya shivered under their wordless gaze. Maybe they could give her the answer she sought, give her guidance like they had before. She dared to hope.

"I beg you again, you gods," she peeled off a leathern glove and let the fingers grace the bark, as light a touch as a kiss. Her hand was freezing, but she didn't care, she just wanted to see Jon again. "Tell me—is Jon there?"

Saying Jon's name out loud made her sad.

Arya heard nothing in return but rustling leaves, distant waters rushing, and the shift of the wind blowing underneath her cloak. She was tempted to ask the question again until the howl of a wolf and the mirrored song of hundreds more filled the quiet, from beyond her sight and deeper still into the shadows. Her voice died to a hushed breath. Goosepimples pricked her arms, and her chest rose and fell harder than before. All of a sudden, she felt lightheaded and dizzy, and she leaned against the tree for support.

"Head home, daughter of the north," she heard. The old gods lent encouragement to her with her father's voice once, but this time there were far too many speaking in unison to be able to discern any of them.

"But I can't," she whispered. She chewed on her lip and felt her teeth quivering against the captured skin. "If he's not really there, I'll break," she finished. Grey eyes glanced at the face before her. Had it always looked this sympathetic?

It felt as if frozen lightning coursed through her veins and under her skin when she heard whispers of Jon in the taverns and brothels of the Ragman's Harbor, dark words that fluttered even darker than raven's wings. She didn't want to remember, but the memory came unbidden. The Black Bastard of the Wall, slaughtered by his own men, they said.

She hadn't remembered much after hearing them.

The last thing she recalled was of her pushing a loose stone away to recover Needle, trembling hands clutching it tight as she struggled to breathe. The hole in her heart was dangerously close to swallowing her completely then. "Haven't I been broken enough?"

The Faceless Men taught her to steel her emotions, and yet she had never felt more pitiful than she had now. She was supposed to be as strong as Nymeria and fierce and terrible as the little grey cousins that pad after her heels, but right now she felt like some stupid grey mouse girl on the verge of falling apart, never to recover this time. She filled her palm with Needle's pommel, thinking of Jon's smile.

The gods were quiet again. She heard no voices, save for the calls of various night birds, and saw no more ghostly figures of her family, but it was the silence that was the worst part. Suddenly a well of anger exploded in her chest, though it felt silly to be wroth with nameless gods. Arya wiped at a tear that fell with furious fingers that she could barely bend, numb with cold.

"Just give me a sign. Anything, anything at all--"

She hadn't realised that she was crying. And she also hadn't noticed the warm rasp of a tongue licking at her face until a blur of white covered part of her vision. Arya jumped back, only to catch the crimson of a pale direwolf's eyes staring back at her, watching her silently. They were as crimson as weirwood sap and drank the light of the moon and distant stars, and she wasn't sure if she had seen something so pretty before, nor reassuring.

How had she not noticed him? It was a question she could not rightly answer. But the wolf was far larger and taller than she was, even bigger than Nymeria, and her head could barely reach Nymeria's chest.

"Ghost," she whispered, then the tears fell fat upon her cheeks, dripping cold from her chin. He stalked closer, and let his wet nose nudge against her exposed hand, the heat of his breath warming her skin. Her own wolf brushed against her side before taking her place beside her litter-mate. Hope bloomed eternal in her chest, and she felt the darkness in her heart brighten, just a shade or two. "Take me home, Ghost. Take me to him."

[sopxhiea]

Rules

Alfie Solomons X Friends with Benefits!Reader

Summary: She’s known as a dancer in a high end club but he’s known her for not so long. She decides the rules, he goes along with them but sometimes, he’s the one making the rules.

“If you interrupt me one more time, so help me god.”

“Obviously you have mistaken me for somebody who gives a shit.”

It’s late. 

Late enough to hear the dogs howling in the groggy streets of London as the black sky decorated the horizon. The room was quiet, only the sound of breathing filling the hollow walls of the apartment. The silence wasn’t unusual and it was more than welcomed. The owner wasn’t home, a familiar body was standing in the spacious entrance.

You weren’t home yet.

Feeling the soft material of the lacy undergarment residing around your upper thighs, you looked around to see who was still in the club. It was close to the weekend which meant that it was getting busier than usual. Men were mostly drunk or intoxicated by the movements of the ladies around. There was no one to entertain in the club anymore so you moved towards the interior rooms to get ready to leave.

The space was decorated with mirrors, make up clutter right in front of them as some of the girls packed the last of their garments to leave. The sun would approach soon, sunlight beaming through the groggy city but you hoped to make it home before then. Slowly gathering your stuff and stuffing them all in your bag, you looked at yourself in the mirror.

The club wasn’t the usual, much like you.

It was a place for rich lads, some aristocracy and the kind of men that had to be served in private rooms because of how high they were up in the pyramid scheme. Most of the work you did was talking, some dancing here and there and you were done. Nothing ever got physical since it wasn’t a brothel, but a place for fine entertainment.

The make-up was off, your natural skin color glowing under the countless bulbs that decorated the mirror. The club was mostly empty now, car sounds no longer audible. It was dead silent outside, the hour when the city would be asleep and you’d walk home on your own. It was a treat to say the least.

The cold weather attacked your skin a bit too quickly as you made your way down the street. Your flat wasn’t too far from the club, just perfect distance for a night walk. It was dangerous in the streets, especially for a lady like yourself but you had a gun hidden in your bag and a long needle that held your bun together and you knew your way around both of those tools.

The night seemed quiet as you walked, no sounds of chatter but a few drunken lads from a couple blocks away. You hugged your coat a little tighter and realized that you were less tired than usual.

-----

The inside of the house was quiet, an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach as he looked through the corridor. Your dresses were on the floor, a couple mugs here and there sitting on the piles of books. He saw a nightgown and your knickers on the floor and decided that you had gone to the club a little later than usual. As far as he was concerned, everything was normal.

The sound of keys jiggling outside the door made him turn towards the entrance and before he knew it, you pushed the door open with a gun in your hand that was pointed at him. Your breathing was even and the gun in your hand didn’t shake in the slightest.

He greeted you with a smile.

You lowered the gun down in a swift motion when you realized who it was. He was wearing his usual smile, broad as he walked towards you with dense eyes. He was wearing the usual attire but his prayer shawl was missing and you realized it was past saturday.

There he was, the handsome stranger.

He wasn’t so much of a stranger really, not since he’d made you chant his name until the sun was down and you had to go to work. He knew the way your body responded, what you liked in the bedroom and just how to kiss you to make you beg. 

He didn’t know anything about your family, where you’d spent your childhood or the way you’d silently pray each time you saw a shadow. Alfie didn’t know what meals you cooked, how you liked your tea or anything past your occupation and name and where you lived. 

He didn’t need to. 

And he wasn’t allowed to.

“What the fuck happened to sayin’ ‘ello, pet?” he said with an amused face that you didn’t mirror. You were still a bit tired from work and he never came over afterhours.

Those were the rules.

He was allowed to come anytime before your work and never after you’d just arrived home. He would usually call before and let you know. He wasn’t allowed to buy you things or take you out, even though he’d stayed over a couple times before. You knew limited information and about him and he the same, and he wasn’t allowed to break any of the rules.

“Sorry. I’m just a little..” you spoke with a soft tone and he could hear the tiredness seeping from your limbs as he took a look at you.

You looked tired but beautiful nevertheless.

Your figure was a bit slumped, the kind of tiredness that came from working too hard and not because he was the one tiring you out. You weren’t wearing any make-up or fancy clothes, it was his favorite version of you. He didn’t like all the make-up you had to wear for the club or the fancy lingerie but he had no say in any of the things you did. You had made that painfully clear for him.

“Ya’ alright?” he asked while walking towards you, voice a little concerned at your state but you were a bit too tired to care.

And you wanted to hug him, really badly.

Alfie was very rough around the edges, far too rude at first sight for any lady but it would take a split second to realize that he wasn’t rude at all, that was just the way he was. He brushed shoulders with gangsters, people of the underworld who had to do dirty things to get food on their table. He had blood in his hands and for a man of his kind, he was a gentle one.

You immediately leaned a bit closer when his hand came into contact with your shoulder.

“Fine.” you nodded, little bits of your hair framing your face and Alfie leaned in even closer, standing right in front of you with his hand on your hip.

“Do you want anythi-” you started speaking in a softer voice than normal and Alfie felt himself melt a little but his eyes didn’t leave yours.

“Nah,’m fine, pet.” he said, in a low whisper. He was very gentle at that moment, almost like in a daze.

He had met you in a very unusual way.

You had crashed into him, face on his chest one day when you were out buying groceries. The flowers in your hand were crushed when you bumped into him and he had no time to apologize before you’d started screaming at him for being so careless. He’d listened you shout while thinking about how lovely you were and then asked you out for tea that very same day.

You had said yes and then somehow ended up on his bed. You’d left without saying goodbye but then bumped into him a couple weeks later. He had talked charmingly the whole time and then it happened again, again and then once more before you established some rules so that he didn’t think this was more than a stress relief situation.

“What are you-” you started talking again with his face closer to yours but he interrupted you soon, speaking softly against your irritated face.

“I had a fuckin’ job, right, jus’ around the fuckin’ corner so I figured..” he spoke but trailed off with a smile and you finished it for him.

“So you figured you’d have a quick fuck-” your smile was less evident as you looked at him while speaking.

“A visit, lass. A fuckin’ visit is what ‘m here for, innit.” he said, interrupting you once more and he saw your blood boil which only aroused him.

“If you interrupt me one more time, so help me god.” your voice was stern as you looked up at the man. He was twice your size yet you did all the ordering around.

He didn’t mind.

He had been with his share of women, mostly in brothels but he’d usually leave out that part. He loved women, that was a given but he had never grown fond of one before. You had seem like the polar opposite of him when you’d first met and all that did was to draw him even further. He didn’t like the warmth that spread through his chest when he saw you, it made him feel young and defenseless again.

“Sorry, pet.” he said, face even closer to yours now. You knew what he was here for but it didn’t fit the rules, you had no problem sending him home.

“You came here for what?” you spoke against his lips, not kissing him just yet but simply teasing. He was a sucker for that.

He smiled when your fingers caressed his cheek and your lips almost touched his. He wasn’t here for a fuck this time, he had simply dropped off. He had business around the corner with a butcher’s shop that was causing him some trouble and realized that you’d be home soon.

He also wanted to ask you a question but that would come later.

“To see ya’.” he said, simple as that while your lips ghosted over his. Your eyes were locked into his and he didn’t seem to be lying from the way his face relaxed.

“Hm.” you said, humming before you leaned closer to plan your lips on his.

The kiss was slow, not the usual teeth against teeth you had with him. His hands were on your waist while yours resided on his chest and cheek. He was savoring the moment since this was rare with you, very rare. You wanted some relief on most days and that’s when you’d see him, not when you wanted a hug or a small chat.

But you weren’t complaining in the slightest.

You broke the kiss, a bit hesitant at first while staring at his lips. He was searching for your eyes when you parted but you wouldn’t look with the fear of him catching something in there. You slowly walked away from him, taking your long coat off and throwing it on the sofa. The house was a mess but that was the usual. All you and Alfie did was fuck anyway so the only place he would be concerned with was the bed.

You sat down on the chair in the corner of the room and looked at him, standing near the entrance with his broad form. He was here for something, you could tell but he wasn’t so keen on giving it to you. It wasn’t like you were dying to know but Alfie was not someone who’d usually ask for anything, let alone anything from you.

All he would ask was a fuck and that was the arrangement.

“You’re gonna talk?” you said, watching as he made his way to the corner you were sitting on and sat on the sofa next to you.

He didn’t speak for a while. His hand tugged at his beard while he looked at you, lost in thought. He wasn’t really looking at you but through you, which was unusual considering he was one of the first people to ever see you for who you were. You didn’t like to think about it, he was good in bed and that’s all you were concerned with.

“Ya’ hear what’s goin’ on in these fuckin’ streets?” he asked, head motioning outside for a split second before he directed all his attention to you again.

Your eyebrows furrowed and you spoke, not a care in the world as he looked at you. “Seeing as I arrive home at this hour, no.” you said, eyes searching for his for a second before finding them.

He seemed uneasy.

“There is a fuckin’ war, yeah, a dangerous one, lass and it ain’t gonna look pretty for ya’ when they realize ya’ fuckin’ know me.” he said, measuring each and every word.

You didn’t know why he cared.

In your eyes, you were just a woman he fucked. There were no strings, no seeing each other romantically or any kind of involvement. You weren’t his, not by any means and he wasn’t yours. You’d speak to him if you saw him outside but there was no other involvement other than being with each other for stress relief. For all you knew, he was still making regular visits to the brothel.

But he wasn’t.

He had stopped right after he had first met you. He still had his needs but you were more than capable of taking care of him if he were to knock on your door. He knew the rules, was very well aware of the lines you’d drawn for him but he’d still protect you. Not because you were his fuckbuddy but because he genuinely cared about your wellbeing, even if that wasn’t allowed.

You smiled at him at first, almost felt like he was mocking you. Why did he care? You tilted your head to the side and spoke with an amused voice as he looked at you with concern in his eyes, not something you were used to seeing. He still listened as you spoke. “Obviously you have mistaken me for somebody who gives a shit.”

He shook his head with an amused chuckle. You really had no idea. The Italians didn’t know of you yet but if they followed Alfie enough times, they could easily make out the equation. He looked at your still form for a moment and spoke, saying what he’d been wanting to say since he arrived and you saw the weight being lifted off his shoulders.

“I can fuckin’ protect ya’, pet, if ya’ come live near me, that is.” he said, word by word and he saw your face change.

It was absurd.

“No.” you said, not even taking a minute to think about it as you looked at him. Before he said anything else, you spoke up again with a shaking head. You were still seated, less angry than he’d expect you to be. “I can’t move away from work and I don’t even know how to find another apartment at this time.” you spoke, voicing all your concerns.

He was a gangster and knew the ropes better than you so you opted on trusting him. If it turned out to be a mistake, you would blame it all on him but you didn’t want to get killed because you’d been fucking some bloke. Except that he wasn’t some bloke and he had his own gang.

“I got that figured ou’, I did, yeah.” he spoke to you while leaning back on the sofa. You looked at him with a curious expression. He was amused at it for a second before speaking up again, hand tugging at his beard. “I got ya’ a fuckin’ place of yer own, near where I fuckin’ live, pet...” he said and watched your eyes burn.

Who did he think he was?

The rules were clear and your blood was boiling because this man was breaking every one of them. He wouldn’t care if you were dead, you had thought but the more he spoke, the more you changed your mind. He had already taken care of everything without even asking you and he heard you scoff while his words still filled your ear.

“I’ll have one of the lads to fuckin’ drive you..” he said, done with what he was saying and you snapped back immediately.

“You’ll have someone drive me in the evening and pick me up at 4 in the morning from a gentlemen’s club?” you spoke, eyes stern as they bore into his.

He just nodded.

You scoffed once more and got up, hand on your hip as you paced through the room. He just watched. He could see the questions forming as you looked at him every now and then as you paced. There was a look of panic in your eyes as you walked through the corridors and realized that he was probably right at having you move, you could easily be killed. Even if you weren’t seeing him, it was common for someone to be killed just because they were living in a dangerous area.

“Will they kill me?” you said, and spoke once more before he could answer. “If I don’t move, I mean..... Will I die?” you said, eyes wide with confusion and panic.

So he spoke up almost immediately, not liking your frantic eyes as he was used to seeing your calm features after a good fuck. “I won’t have that fuckin’ happen-”

“But If I refuse to move?” you said, waiting for him to properly answer the question with hand on your hip. He knew you were measuring all the possibilities.

“I ain’t gonna lie to ya’, pet, ‘s very possible, it ‘s.” he said while looking at you. He was still sitting in front of you.

He watched you nod.

This didn’t change anything in your eyes. It wouldn’t mean that you were dependent on him or that he would have any power over you. You’d just be protected and the chances of you getting killed because of him would decrease. You measured it all in your mind and realized that it was probably for the best.

“Fine.”

------

His movements were fast, feral almost as his skin came into contact with yours every other second. The bed creaked, not too loud while your panting filled the room. Hands holding onto him by the shoulders, you let out a shaky exhale when he adjusted the angle. His hair was messy as it fell on his forehead, moving each time he thrusted into you.

“Fuck.” you whispered against his lips when he started moving faster, hand on his back and neck while his remained on your waist.

He groaned against your neck with each movement, holding your legs up on his knees in the process. A thin layer of sweat was apparent on your skin even though it was freezing outside. You watched him lift his head, facial expression covered in bliss while the morning light hit his face.

It had been a week since you’d moved into the apartment and 4 of those days had been spent with you and him testing the new bed. You had gotten a new one for yourself and he’d joked about how you’d have to break into it so that it was comfortable and you had given him one look and there you were, four days later with your legs wrapped around him.

Your back arched off the bed the faster he became and he was soon becoming erratic, gasping for air and you felt your body slowly tense and give in. Your hands dug into his back as he moved, reaching his climax soon after. He stayed like that for a while while you regained your breath, feeling your body grow tired with each passing hour. You swallowed as he slid out of you and collapsed next to you on the bed.

The rules were still in place.

You stared at the ceiling while he stared at you while laying on his stomach next to you. Your hair was messy, the tie no longer holding it together and tangles here and there. He watched your heaving chest, breath a little lost as you locked your lips. 

And then you turned to him.

His eyes had already been on you but you hadn’t realized. He was staring, not gawking but looking with some sort of softness in his gaze. You didn’t smile as you inspected him and the way he was looking at you. You didn’t do the same to him, feeling yourself grow a bit too uneasy at the feeling of being watched.

And if you looked for too long, you were afraid you’d get lost.

Slowly lifting your body off of the mattress and sitting next to him, you came to realize that most of your lower body had gotten sore in between days of tidying and arranging the new flat and Alfie not wasting a second to get you alone so that he could spend the rest of the day tiring you out even further. 

He watched your hair fall across your back when you got up, messy from the events that had just taken place. You were not wearing anything so you grabbed your cardigan and wrapped it around your body when you got up. The whole time, he just watched as you moved around your new space.

It already felt like home.

He’d spent most of the days either helping you out or making sure that the lads didn’t damage any of the furniture or simply making you pant on the bed. It had been wonderful if he was honest, he wasn’t as angry and there was no feeling of uneasiness in his chest. He still saw dangerous man from day to day but knowing that you’d be home before you left for work, telling the lads how to put the sofa made him feel look forward to the time he’d get to see you.

He didn’t think much of it, or so he convinced himself that he didn’t.

“Alfie.” you said, you had been speaking to him but he was in his head so he hadn’t heard.

“Huh, what, luv?” he said, lifting himself off of the mattress and sitting on the soft material instead.

“You want tea?” you said, licking your lips while standing next to the door’s frame with nothing but a cardigan on. 

“Hm.” he said, nodding as he got up to put his pants on. He didn’t dress himself any further even though it was cold outside, he felt warm after laying on the bed with you.

He walked towards the kitchen to see you waiting for the water to boil. You looked at him when he appeared on the door and you gave him a gentle smile which he returned with a warmer heart. He walked next to you while you poured the water in the tea cups and his hand met your hip, squeezing gently.

This was not something you usually did.

In the last week, the lines had become blurred. It was hard to tell what he was to you. He had found you an apartment and had even picked you up in the morning when you were done. You had joked around with him during the ride and he’d even made jokes to make you smile, he had succeeded, too.

You shuddered a little when his lips met the space between your ear. He knew your body like the back of his hand, no matter how much you’d want to deny it. You kept your eyes on the water that was pouring out to the cups but his lips had your attention.

“Alfie, I’m gonna burn myself.” you said, in a breathy voice and he stopped with a smile. You didn’t even see his lips soften but you knew he was smiling.

After putting the tray on the table that resided in the middle of the living room, you sat on the soft chair you had brought from your previous place. He sat on the sofa on the opposite corner while waiting for the tea to cool down. He wanted to say something, it was hanging at the back of his mouth but he couldn’t get the words to come out.

And you so took it upon yourself to make him.

“If you wanna say something, just say it.” you said, almost a whisper but he had heard since the rooms were silent. You wore an annoyed expression that he often saw but it only amused him further.

He wanted to ask you if you’d work today and he already knew the answer.

He didn’t like it, the sticky feeling in his stomach each time you would go to work. He had no say in what you did, either for work or on the daily and he knew that but it only stirred him further. There was the fear of you getting hurt but he knew you were more than capable of taking care of yourself.

And then, there was the other issue that wouldn’t leave his mind.

Other men got to see you in fancy lingerie, things that didn’t cover you up all the way and it made him mad. He didn’t quite know why, just that he was annoyed with the whole thing. He wouldn’t say it but you’d see the relief on his face when you’d be back from work or when he’d come to pick you up. He had been fucking you a little more carefully lately, ever since you’d moved in closer to him. He was almost tender, painfully soft with you when you’d let him show you a good time. It wasn’t the animalistic, rough Alfie you were used to but there was complaint, only curiosity.

He didn’t speak, just hand tugging at his beard and you knew he’d wait until the day was over and you’d be back from work to see him still in the same position. “You’ve been in me, Alfie, I won’t get mad.” you spoke, almost sensing the reason for his hesitation and his eyes locked into yours when you were done speaking. 

He figured he’d trust your word.

“Yer goin’ to work?” he asked and saw your features change.

You knew why he was asking but that didn’t change anything.

You had a vague idea as to why he had been more gentle with you lately, why he kissed you deeper than usual and why he insisted on giving you hickeys even though you’d told him not to on numerous occasions. He was more touchy, almost always around with the excuse of ‘making sure you were settled in’. You were just a girl but you weren’t stupid.

And this wasn’t something you could allow.

Men got jealous, they got protective and thought they had some sort of power over you the moment you’d become ‘ their girl’. You hated that anyway, being someone’s girl and knowing how dangerous Alfie’s line of business could be, you didn’t see sense in pursuing the possibility of anything happening with the man. You shook your head and he watched you lick your lips before you spoke.

“Yes, I am.” you said nonchalantly, as if you were trying to tell him that no matter how much he’d ask, you still wouldn’t want it. “You don’t need to pick me up.” you said, expressionless as he looked at your standing yet somehow small form. You hugged the cardigan tighter as he spoke, he watched you put some things into space. Things he’d knocked out of its place when he had been feverishly kissing you.

“I fuckin’ will, though.” he said, eyes stern as he looked at your face. You were a little taken aback but no evident sign of surprise.

“You don’t have to.” you said again, agitated with his need to make sure you were alright when all you needed him for was a quick fuck.

It didn’t work like this, not with you so you wouldn’t entertain the chance of being with him.

“I want to, lass, yeah, so I fuckin’ will.” he said one last time before getting up to walk towards you.

He would be jealous, you told yourself. He wouldn’t like the fact that other people were able to see you in such little clothing, you thought and he certainly wouldn’t appreciate the little dances you would give. Sure, he was a good fuck but he was also a cruel gangster and the balance seemed almost even.

Almost.

You walked away the moment his breath his your face and made your way to the bedroom to tidy up. There were clothes on the floor and books everywhere, you grabbed one and put it on the shelf and he was right behind you when you turned back.

“Alfie, move.” you said, not able to penetrate through his large form as he blocked your way.

“Tell me.” he said, finger under your chin as he lifted your face so you were looking at him.

“Tell you what?”

“Why?” his voice was a whisper as he looked at your small form, chin still between his fingers as his eyes bored into yours.

Your eyebrows furrowed at the question as he looked at your face, Why what? you thought. The question had so many ways of ending and yet, only one question popped into your mind.

Why were you still going to work? Why, when he was the one keeping your bed warm?

You didn’t answer, you didn’t know if there was an answer. It would not work, he would be a jealous man, jealous of the other ones that got to see you in work and it would get unbearable like it always would with any relationship you had. You didn’t say anything and walked away, he just watched.

He left soon after that, not a word or a forehead kiss like he’d usually give you. He wasn’t hurt or broken by anything, he was just waiting for you to make up your mind. The words had stirred something in you, he had seen that when you had looked at him. He just needed an answer now.

Laying on the bed as you watched the street lights dance on the ceiling, you realized you had the answer.

But it would put you in a lot of danger.

-----

Tagging: @clairecrive  @parkbearum @sourirez  @vetseras​ @mollybegger-blog @babylooneytoonz @peakascum

A/n: Hi!! This was something that had been in drafts for a while now so i wanted to post it at last. I hope you enjoyed it and let me know if you’d like another chapter!!

[jedimaesteryoda]

What was in Prince Nymor’s Letter to Aegon I?

Background

Aegon the Conqueror managed to forge the Seven Kingdoms into one with his dragons, but there was one exception: Dorne. The First Dornish War marked the only war where a kingdom managed to avoid subjugation by the Iron Throne. 

The Dornish avoided open battle as well as holing in fortresses. Rhaenys found all the castles in Dorne empty as she flew on Meraxes as the Dornish forces melted away. 

Meria: I will not fight you, nor will I kneel to you. Dorne has no king. Tell your brother that. Rhaenys: I shall, but we will come again, Princess, and next time we shall come with fire and blood. Meria: Your words, Ours are Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken. You may burn us, my lady, but you will not bend us, break us, or make us bow. This is Dorne. You are not wanted here. Return at your peril.

Princess Meria waited for her in Sunspear just to tell her off. Aegon placed his men to control castles, and declared victory only for the Dornish forces to return. Meria threw Lord Rosby from a window herself. 

Also, apparently the Dornish didn’t play nice. Entire garrisons were put to the sword. Knights were tortured, and Lord Wyl cut off the hands of captured prisoners-of-war, including Aegon’s Hand, Orys Baratheon. These actions violated the codes of chivalry, and had Aegon and his bannermen howling for vengeance, which led to a bloody cycle of retaliation and reappraisals. 

Aegon’s retaliation was swift as he and his sisters took to their dragons and burned Dornish castles. The Dornish responded by burning half the rainwood and sacking half a dozen towns and villages. The Targaryens then responded by burning more Dornish castles in dragonflame. The Dornish response to that was Lord Fowler capturing Nightfall and taking its occupants hostage and razing the nearby villages and towns. The Targaryens, then predictably, responded with their dragons again, but this time, miraculously, the Dornish managed to take down a dragon. A scorpion bolt in a one in a million shot, hit Meraxes in the eye, killing the dragon and ostensibly, the rider, Rhaenys. 

The death of Aegon’s favorite sister-wife was of course a huge personal blow, and it marked the start of the next two years of the war appropriately named the Dragon’s Wroth, the nadir of the war. Aegon and Visenya's initial response was to burn every castle in Dorne, except Sunspear. Some castles were even burned more than once with Hellholt, the site of Meraxes’s death, being burned three times. Aegon and Visneya also placed bounties on the heads of Dornish lords to which the Dornish responded by placing bounties on their heads as well as those of their allies. Half a dozen Dornish lords were assassinated while Aegon and Visneya survived several assassination attempts, and Lord Fell was murdered in a brothel. 

Finally, Meria Martell died, and was succeeded by her son, Nymor. Nymor took a different approach compared to his mother, and sent his daughter and heir, Deria, to King’s Landing with Meraxes’s skull and a letter. While Aegon’s queen and advisors pushed for Aegon to harm Deria, Aegon refused and heard out Deria. 

Dorne wanted peace, according to Deria—but the peace of two kingdoms no longer at war, not the peace between a vassal and a lord. Many urged His Grace against this, and the phrase "no peace without submission" was often heard in the halls of the Aegonfort. It was claimed that the king would look weak should he agree to such a demand and that the lords of the Reach and stormlands who had suffered so much for his cause would be angered.

Swayed by such considerations, it is said, King Aegon was determined to refuse the offer until Princess Deria placed in his hands a private letter from her father, Prince Nymor. Aegon read it upon the Iron Throne, and men say that when he rose, his hand was bleeding, so hard had he clenched it. He burned the letter and departed immediately on Balerion's back for Dragonstone. When he returned the next morning, he agreed to the peace and signed a treaty to that effect.

Aegon read Nymor’s letter, burned it, and left for Dragonstone on Balerion that day, only to return the following morning and to his court’s surprise, agree to Nymor’s terms of ending the First Dornish War with the Iron Throne recognizing Dorne’s independence. 

No one knows the contents of that letter, but there are theories as to what was in that letter that led Aegon to forgo his aim to conquer Dorne and agree to Nymor’s peace. Let’s look at the possibilities offered.

1. Did he threaten to take all the wealth of Dorne to hire the Faceless Men to kill Aegon's young son and heir, Aenys? 

The problem with this one is Aegon "flew to Sunspear on Balerion on the tenth anniversary of the peace accords to celebrate ‘a feast of freindship’ with Deria Martell” with Aenys accompanying him. I doubt Aegon would willingly celebrate such a treaty with Princess Deria, and do so, by bringing along the son they threatened to kill if he didn’t sign. That would just make things awkward.  

Also, the whole point of hiring an assassin, especially a Faceless Man, is to get someone killed without you being implicated. If you say that “if person A dies, it's definitely because of me,” that would be a clear invitation to retaliation from the victim’s family and allies. 

The man whom this threat was made to burned every castle in Dorne in retaliation for Rhaenys’s death. It doesn’t take much speculation to imagine how he would have responded to the death of his son borne by that same woman. A threat like that likely wouldn’t have intimidated Aegon into signing the treaty, but more likely angered him and provoked threats of retaliation.

One must also note that by the time of the meeting (13 AC) Maegor had just been born the year before (12 AC). Even with Aenys dead, Aegon would still have had a son to continue the Targaryen line, and it wouldn’t have been a permanent end to the Targaryen threat. 

2.  Did Nymor reveal that Rhaenys lived still, broken and mutilated, and that he would end her suffering if Aegon ended hostilities? 

It doesn’t take a genius to see the problems with this one. For Aegon, the idea of Rhaenys having been left broken after being tortured and mutilated for two years undoubtedly would have enraged him in such a manner that would have befit his sobriquet “the Dragon”, and had him threatening swift and brutal retaliation. He would have demanded Rhaenys back, no matter what condition she was in. I also seriously doubt Aegon would take Rhaenys’s son, Aenys, to celebrate the peace with Deria that was signed on the condition of killing his tortured mother. 

Nymor would also have demonstrated himself to be an idiot by needlessly endangering his daughter, Deria. By sending her, he would have handed Aegon a potentially valuable hostage on a silver platter that Aegon could use to counter any threats against Rhaenys. It also undermined the message of goodwill by bringing the skull of Meraxes.

There is also the question of if they had Rhaenys alive this whole time, why the hell didn’t they use her before, the moment they had captured her? The Dornish would have to be complete fools to not see how valuable a hostage Aegon’s favorite sister-wife could be. They at the very least could have used her to negotiate a ceasefire, and given themselves some respite.

3. Was the letter ensorceled?

Short answer: no. I don’t think we’ve seen magic capable of influencing someone’s consciousness with the most being tales of love potions.

4. Some claim it was a simple plea, from one father to another, heartfelt words that touched King Aegon’s heart.

This seems a little too romantic. I mean even if the words did touch Aegon’s heart, there were still political realities to consider, and I don’t see how relating as a father would move Aegon enough to forget about Rhaenys, the woman who first made him a father to begin with. 

5. Others insist it was a list of all those lords and noble knights who lost their lives during the war.

I admit while showing a king the human costs of his war isn’t unappealing to me, one must note that “the Reach, the stormlands and the marches had suffered grievously during the fighting, and would never forgive and forget.” The relatives of those same lords and knights who died in the Dornish War largely wanted the war to continue to avenge their relatives, and would potentially have seen a Dornish peace without submission seemingly make those deaths in vain. 

It also wouldn’t be the first time Aegon suffered a personal loss in his conquest. He lost his distant cousin and one of his family’s closest friends, Daemon Velaryon, in the first Targaryen assault on the Vale. Yet, he continued his conquest regardless. 

What actually was in the letter?

Think back to Robert’s Rebellion with Dornish anger over the horrific deaths of Elia and her children as well as the death of Lewyn at the Battle of the Trident. Jon Arryn managed to avoid rebellion by the Dornish by returning Lewyn’s bones to Dorne, and negotiating with Prince Doran. 

Returning the remains of a fallen relative is an act of respect. It is mentioned that Rhaenys’s bones were never returned. Neither were the bones Elia and her children, but that was because they were given the Targaryen custom of cremation.

I think Rhaenys’s body was likely given the same treatment. What Nymor may have mentioned in the letter is that he was returning Rhaenys’s ashes from her funeral pyre to Dragonstone. That is why Aegon left for Dragonstone that day on Balerion, he wanted to meet up with the ship carrying her urn. 

That leaves the question of why Aegon burned the letter. The reason is probably the same as why Aegon had no close friends except Orys: he was a very private person, and this was a very personal matter to him. 

Throughout the war, both sides did a lot of awful stuff with the Targaryens burning everything in Dorne in dragonflame, and the Dornish responding by engaging in torture, mutilation and assassination (which the Targaryens did first). All those actions did was escalate the war, and result in more brutal retaliation from the Targaryens with each side upping the violence, brutality and destruction. However, by performing this one honorable gesture, Nymor managed to succeed where his mother failed in ending Aegon’s attempts to subdue Dorne. 

[inomios]

Beauty behind the madness || levi ackerman x reader || PART I

Summary: “You knew that under all of his layers of grief and rage there was something worth loving; he knew that under your easy smiles and sweet words there was something dark lurking. He wanted all of you and you wanted all of him.”

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Words: 7,4K

TG: Brief allusion to soldiers’ suicides; little description of a panic attack on the seventh part (I can’t feel my face); brief talk about death and addiction; and even though I wrote it all using gender neutral terms, at some point I used the term girlfriend because partner sounded too cold for the situation.

-        If you are triggered by some content that I haven’t mentioned, please tell me so I can add it to the list and prevent it from happening again.

Author’s note: Mushing my favorite album with my comfort character is being so much fun. I’m enjoying so much this process you wouldn’t believe it. The second part will be up next Tuesday, and it’ll be the ending. Please, share, comment and like if you enjoyed, it would mean the world to see your reactions and impressions. As always, English is not my mother language, so sorry for the mistakes.

                                                          . . .

1. REAL LIFE

He had carved on his soul, heart and mind the words that Kenny had once told him, back when he was a scared and weak kid under his wing in the Underground, back when Kenny had caught him crying in the dead of night over his mother.

‘Boy, you won’t survive a day with that attitude. Your mother was a whore and now she’s a dead whore, get over it. You don’t have time to mop over her, crying is for people who have nothing more important to worry about.’

Kenny, for better or for worse, had taught him many lessons that became the key to his survival, advices he would never forget, and this was one of them: ‘Grieving is a waste of time.’

Every second he cried over his mother was time he could have spent granting his sorrowful existence. He couldn’t let his grief control him, because missing his mother wouldn’t make him last another day, she couldn’t protect him now that she was gone. So, for better or for worse, he let his sadness and rage aside and started focusing on what was important: survival.

Grieve is a tricky feeling, it makes you think you can control it, while it just keeps bottling up until it explodes, and you better be ready for when that happens, because you may not be able to fix the mess it’s going to leave behind.

Levi thought he had masqueraded his feelings pretty well, he tried to shrug everything off, as if nothing mattered to him, but it did, and Kenny knew it and he loved to tease him about it, he loved to press his buttons, Levi had learned that pretty soon in the relationship, but he was trying to handle his feelings, he wanted to prove Kenny he was worthy of his time, that he was strong, that  he wasn’t weak, not anymore. So, whenever Kenny tried to get a reaction out of him, he kept his mouth shut, but he couldn’t water down the fire in his grey eyes and Kenny could see it, he always could.

‘You are as worthless as your mother, maybe I should leave you in a brothel too, then you would be useful for something.’

A loud howling laughter.

Levi’s brow twitched.

‘Did your mom have time to teach you how to read or was she too busy fucking half the Underground?’

He thought he had said something hilarious. He bent over his back.

Levi had a little knife clutched in his hand.  He was starting to see red.

‘You’re as worthless as your mother.’

He was pushing him to his limits.

Levi had already passed them.

He liked to think that there was a dark abyss inside of him, a bottomless place where he could hide all his emotions and thoughts, they were useless, so he ignored them, he kept them away, far from the surface. Levi thought that he could detach from his pain, but it was a part of him, and if you stare into the abyss for too long, the abyss stares back at you. The Levi who grieved was still there, looking at him, the Levi who felt too much but said nothing wanted to get out, so he did, he escaped from the abyss and took control.

He run towards Kenny, eyes gleaming with unshed tears, knife in his hand, aiming for his heart, but Kenny was faster, quicker on his feet, he moved just in time. However, Levi still managed to scratch his shoulder, he teared his shirt and he could see the blood slipping, tainting the white fabric.

Kenny got mad. Levi had never seen him that furious. He grabbed his scrawny body and gave him the beating of his life. When he ended, Levi couldn’t even move, he was lying on the floor on a puddle of his own blood.

‘Listen kid, I don’t give a fuck about your shitty problems. You think you’re special? Guess what, you are a piece of shit, just like everyone else. Everyone here has issues, solve them or do whatever you want to do with them, but don’t you ever dare to pull a stunt like that again, because I’ll will leave you here to die, boy.’

That was the second lesson Kenny had told him: ‘Control is vital.’

He thought that by ignoring his feelings he was controlling them, but he was wrong, he realized that when those bottled emotions caused him to be bed ridden a few days.

Instead, he decided to let his feelings out in really calculated moments, he started to canalize all his rage into more productive stuff, like cleaning. He liked to think that by cleaning he had control over something, there was something cathartic to him in scrubbing floors, doing the laundry, and mopping floors. It was the Underground, it was filthy no matter how much effort he put into it, but it gave him something he could focus on, something he could use to let his frustrations out.

So, he cleaned, for his mother who deserved a better live.

For the innocent child that he once was, who had been stripped from everything he loved.

For Kenny, who he despised and was cruel and ruthless.

For all the things he had to do to survive.

He cleaned and cleaned, and he never had an outburst again. He was in control.

Looking back, he is sure that part of Kenny’s fury that day was that a kid made him bleed. You see, Kenny liked to think of himself as some kind of god, a ruler, someone who could control everybody, someone who was holding your fate between his calloused hands. And when he hurt Kenny, both of them realized two things, especially Levi, who discovered this: ‘Gods bleed to.’

Levi learnt his third lesson that day. No one could control him, the same way he couldn’t control anyone. You are the one who makes the decisions, just be sure to choose one you won’t regret. Kenny had no power over him, he wasn’t a god and if he was, Levi wouldn’t bow down to him.

Kenny learnt that Levi, that child, had a fire within he couldn’t tame, Levi wasn’t going to be a submissive, brainless follower. He had potential, he had willpower, he didn’t really need him, but the boy didn’t know it yet. So, when the moment came, he left. He had grown to care about his nephew, at least a little, but Levi was a survivor and Kenny knew he would fight with teeth and claws until the very end. Therefore, Kenny left him with the only person who could protect him: Levi himself.

When Kenny left him at his own, alone again in the Underground, he learnt his fourth lesson: ‘Love is a risk he wasn’t going to take again.’

  2. LOSERS

Stupid is next to ‘I love you.’ He was pretty fucking sure of that.

He made a bow to himself: he wasn’t going to love anyone ever again, people are bound to leave, and whenever they left, they took away a part of him, and he was already too broken for that. However, life happens, and it turns everything upside down, it doesn’t ask for consent, so his plan of never loving again was ruined sooner than he would’ve liked.

Furlan came first. He wasn’t looking for a companion, at all. A companion meant more people to care about, a distraction, and he didn’t need any of that. However, Furlan managed to convince him that he could be useful to him. Whenever he looks back, he thinks that both of them knew that Levi didn’t need anyone, he could survive on his own, he was tougher than anyone else in the Underground, but he was alone, so alone, and a part of him yearned so much for someone that he let Furlan come with him.  

Their relationship was weird at first, not sure where the boundaries of the other laid, what they could do or don’t. Furlan didn’t want to overstep and piss off Levi and Levi didn’t want to overshare with him, he didn’t want to show him his weaknesses, but at the same time he wanted to spend time with him.

He remembers that there were moments when Levi desired to say something, talk about pointless stuff, but he never did, after Kenny he was deprived of human contact that he even thought that he had lost his voice. However, as time passed them by, they fell into some type of routine, boundaries became clearer. Furlan started to get Levi, how he would never start a conversation no matter how bad he wanted; how his mind was always plotting something; how he always had an ace upon his sleeve… Furlan grew fond on him, he knew that there was a lot Levi wasn’t telling him, but from time to time he got to see a glimpse of all the man he was under his façade and layers of secrets, and he wanted to learn about him, he wanted to be his friend, he wanted to have someone to help and he wanted someone to take care of him, he wanted to stay.

On the other hand, Levi liked how Furlan seemed to know when he could talk and joke around and when he had to stay silent, it was like he understood him, Furlan was prudent and chill, thinking before acting, and he knew when to fight and when to give up. Levi started to care about him, a lot, against his better judgement, he just hoped he wouldn’t regret his choice.

Then, Isabel appeared on scene. Levi was happy enough with Furlan, he didn’t need someone else to worry about, that was more trouble, more chances to get hurt. However, he soon found he had a soft spot for the girl. She was so energetic, so bubbly, eyes always gleaming with hope, she was a ray of light in the darkest place. She was messy, reckless and wild, she balanced them out. When she asked to join them, Levi wanted to let out one of his characteristic ‘Tch’ and turn his back on her, there was no room for compassion in the Underground, but he couldn’t, he was weaker than he thought. He couldn’t leave her at her own knowing she could get herself killed, he didn’t want to be like Kenny, he wasn’t going to be like him.

The three of them became a gang, well, not just a gang, a family too. They looked after each other, they looked after Levi, just like his mother did. They were the best criminals in the Underground, and sometimes Levi felt like a god with the world at his feet. He shouldn’t have forgotten his third lesson: ‘Gods bleed too.’ He thought they were invincible, they weren’t, they were no gods, life wouldn’t bend at their will.

When Isabel and Furlan died, he didn’t even have proper bodies to bury, he just did two little makeshift graves and carved their name on the gray stone. He was the only person who would remember them, so he visited them at least once a week (he still does), mainly during his sleepless nights, when no one would ever question or notice his absence. Talking with them was the only reason why he hadn’t given up long time ago, he was their leader, he told them to always keep going, to never back down.

So, he kept going, for his mother, for Isabel and for Furlan. For the only people who ever loved him.

Maybe he didn’t really keep going, maybe he just let life pass by, what mattered was that he was alive and fighting for a purpose, he owed them that, their deaths wouldn’t be in vain.

Why did he always have to lose everything?

Why there was nothing good in store for him?

He was bound to lose to lose everything.

Stupid is next to I love you.

He was so fucking foolish.

3. TELL YOUR FRIENDS

The mission had been a carnage, a lot of fallen soldiers. He could still hear their screams and see the fear in their eyes, more images to haunt him while he was sleeping, as if they weren’t already enough. He couldn’t save anyone, he never could, he was human after all, even if some people thought about him like a god.

He had had a problem with his ODM gear during the mission, the gas cylinders were failing and wasting too much gas, so he ran out of it pretty quickly, which costed him a seven meters fall, breaking his right leg, his left arm, a few ribs and a concussion in the process. He could have died and a part of him wished he had, then, the pain would have ended. Luckily, Hange arrived just in time to help him, he still thinks that maybe they knew what was going on in his head, that he had thought about giving up right there, and that’s why as soon as they arrived back home, they sent him to the infirmary, not wanting to leave him alone. Hange still says it was because he couldn’t take proper care of his injuries by himself. They both knew he had had it way worse than that.

The infirmary was clean, and that meant a lot according to his standards, but your desk wasn’t, not at all and it was driving him crazy, if he could, he would get up and clean it himself. However, you seemed unphased by it, every day you would drop more documents on your table (but no document ever left, they just kept piling up); he had seen you drop coffee on some paper and not giving a fuck a single fuck about it; you had seven books on your table, none of them related with medicine, you just had them there because you wanted; and if you asked him what irked him the most, he would say the brush, you had a brush in your desk and it was full of hair. He couldn’t get his eyes of your desk, and if you ever noticed, you never did anything about it; or maybe you did notice and since you are a little shit, you just wanted to see how far you could go before he went feral. We will never know.

If you had been any other person, like one of the members of his squad, he would have said something way earlier, but you weren’t his subordinate, you were a medic and as far as he knew, he didn’t have the right to scold you at your own workplace.

You were competent, you just talked when necessary and you would always ask him if he wanted something, no matter how many times he had said ‘no’ and whenever Hange came to visit, you would always talk with them and ask them about their experiments and research. Hence, Hange thought you were the sweetest person ever, they had even told him that he better not be giving you any trouble.

You both had an easy routine. You would come in first hour in the morning, trying to be silent with no success at all, you were so noisy, luckily for him, he never sleeps more than four hours. You would sit on your desk and write a letter, every day, who the fuck had so many people to talk to or how many things worth telling did happen in your life? Then, you would go out to get him breakfast and you brought more documents with yourself, his breakfast always came with a cup of tea, a shitty cup of tea, but at least it wasn’t coffee or juice, he didn’t know if you were the one behind the tea, but if you were, he was glad you didn’t work on the kitchen. After breakfast, Hange would pay him a visit and talk with him, his squad would often visit him after training and Erwin once or twice a week, whenever his work let him a little free. At midday you would water the plants on the window, you had once called them ‘Asphodels’ and after watering them you disappeared, at the beginning he thought you just went to eat, later on, he would find why you did that. The rest of the day was the same, you wrote and read documents and he would either look annoyed at your desk or he would vert his gaze at the window to distract himself.

This routine changed the second week, because you asked him two questions that made him be more comfortable around you.

‘Why do you look at my desk as if it were making you sick?’

‘Tch, because is making me sick, it’s dirty as fuck.’

Okay, not the best words, but you asked, and he answered. He would be lying if he said he didn’t feel better after telling you. You blushed a little and scratched your neck bashfully.

‘Sorry, I can be a little messy sometimes.’

‘I can see.’

That day you spent the evening emptying your desk, any other person would have asked you not to bother, but Levi couldn’t care, after all, his last thread of sanity depended on that desk. When you finished cleaning, you asked the second question.

‘You hate my tea, but you drink it anyways, why?’

He felt his ears getting a little red, and he just shrugged and looked away.

‘You are taking care of me, didn’t wanna be a bitch about it.’

You smiled, a smile brighter than the morning star, and for a fraction of second he forgot how the breath, but he obviously didn’t say a thing about it.

‘I promise you that tomorrow you’ll have the best tea ever.’

‘Tch, if you say so.’

He appreciated your gesture, kindness wasn’t something he was used to, it felt weird and strange to have someone to do good things just for the sake of doing them, it made him wary, he would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought that maybe you wanted to get something from him and that’s why you acted so nicely around him.

The next day, after writing your daily letter, at your then clean desk, you brought him breakfast with a steaming cup of tea. He drank the beverage under your expecting gaze and to his surprise it was nice, not the best tea ever made, but definitely not the worst.

‘It tastes better.’

‘Thanks, this time I followed the recipe.’ You admitted proudly.

‘How the fuck were you even making tea before?’

‘Instinct?’

He looked at you astonished, how come you were a doctor, but you couldn’t follow a three-step recipe? At that moment he thought his health was in the hands of dumbest medic in the area, however, he didn’t really care, well, at least not as much as he would have expected. You had something, an aura around your persona, that was soothing and endearing, rather than infuriating.

At the crack of dusk on that same day, he was the one who asked a question.

‘Who are you always writing?’

For a moment he swears he saw your happy demeanor quivering, as if he had opened a cage that should have remained closed, but you quickly fixed, the funny glint coming back at your eyes as fast as it had left. It was in that moment when he knew that you weren’t as shallow as he may have deemed you to be.

‘I’m just telling my friends about this annoying patient I have. Do you know he made me clean my office desk?’

Your voice was laced with amusement, you were trying to divert his attention to another topic, and he knew, but he was no one to press you about it.

‘Well, as soon as I’m free, I’m telling my friends about how my medic is a fucking shitshow.’ Too blunt, but you brushed it off.

‘They sound like a nightmare.’

‘They are.’

You smiled, yet again as blinding as the sun.

He didn’t smile, he didn’t even grimace, his face was as stoic as always, but for a split of second, a smile nearly slipped in.

To his surprise, he actually talked about you to his friends. When he had the medical lease, the first thing he did was visit Isabel and Furlan’s impromptu graves and talk about you. It wasn’t a lot, he just mentioned you a few times. It didn’t mean a thing, and at the same time, it meant everything.

 4. OFTEN

It didn’t mean a thing.

Not a single thing.

It was unimportant.

He was like that with everyone.

Except he wasn’t and he knew it.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He would always find himself at your door, not because he was sick or harmed, he just felt the need to see you. He didn’t even talk with you that much, he wasn’t good at opening up or even small talk. He was foul-mouthed, snarky and his words could cut deeper than a knife. You were soft, kind, funny and there weren’t uncomfortable silences with you, your presence was comforting. Levi didn’t get why he felt that way about you, he barely knew you, but you had something that drew him in, maybe it was the normalcy you brought him. You were a doctor, you healed people, you tended their injuries; you hadn’t seen the titans, you hadn’t seen comrades die at their merciless hands, you didn’t know what was outside the walls and he liked that. You were an escape. It was as if his life was only centered around Titans and his existence had no other point but to kill or think about to kill Titans: Hange were always babbling about Titans; his paperwork was always a painful reminder of fallen mates; Erwin was always tracing missions and plans; and the whole point of his squad was training to defeat those beasts. He never had a break, but visiting you felt like it.

He knocked at your door and it opened, you were at your desk, which was an unorganized mess then again, humming some song he didn’t know while you were reading some medical reports. And the asphodels in the window looked beautiful as always.

‘Hi, Levi.’ You looked up and gave him a smile.

Your smiles.

Oh man, he took them in like a dehydrated man would savor the first droplets of rain.

He just nodded as a salute and walked towards the window to see the asphodels.

‘Why asphodels?’ he asked, you loved those flowers, and they weren’t necessary the most beautiful.

To him you were more like yellow lilies, he had read somewhere that yellow lilies meant joy and happiness. They always brought a simile to one’s face because they are the true depiction of the sun, just like you were.

‘I don’t know, they are special’ you said with a small voice, the same haunted look in your eyes, the same that appeared when he asked about your letters.

‘I guess they are.’

A comfortable silence fell in the room. He was getting used to these havens of peace.

That night at dinner, he was sitting next to Erwin, Hange in front of him, looking at him quizzically.

‘What’s going between you and y/n? You’re always at their place.’ They ask.

‘Tch, nothing, I just visit them often.’

Lies

‘So, there is no ulterior motive, like, I don’t know, our Short king having a crush?’ Levi sometimes forgot how punchable Hange’s face was.

‘No.’

More lies.

Something was going on, they both knew, but he was too scared to think about what it was.

 5. THE HILLS

Another fight. More deaths. What was the point of it? He felt like he was fighting for a pointless cause, the more deaths, the less they knew. He would have to send more letters to the families, telling them that their sons and daughters fought bravely until their last breath and sacrificed their lives for the sake of humanity. However, broken families would come to him and ask him if it was worth it, if the death of their children, cousins, brothers and parents brought them answers, if their deaths meant that humanity was closer to taste the freedom they longed for. He had always said that no death was in vain, but he was starting to question that.

He had barely seen you after the mission, he retreated to his quarters, drowning himself in reports and regrets, if he had been better, he could have saved more lives, but he wasn’t enough, he was no hero, he was a human. He had been fighting his whole life and he just wanted it to stop, he wanted peace and tranquility, not more deaths at his shoulders, no more ghosts to haunt him at the end of the day.

He never slept, at least not for more than a few hours. However, after a mission he didn’t sleep at all, the images of his comrades’ deaths still fresh on his mind, their screams still piercing his ears, his sanity vanished a little bit more every time he tried to close his eyes, so he just laid awake looking at the roof, thinking about all the things he could have done to save them, repeating their names as if he was asking for their forgiveness.

Sometimes it all got too much, and he needed to walk to clear his mind, there were nights when he walked for hours with no direction at all, but that night he did have a direction: your office. He didn’t really know why he was doing it, but he was too tired to turn back and ask himself why you. He thought that you would probably be asleep, but to his surprise there was a dim light coming from your office, so he knocked, just like all of those times before, and your soft voice told him to come in.

He had never seen you so disheveled and tired, dark bags under your eyes, traces of tears on your face and bloodshot eyes. He also noticed four new asphodels on your desk. He looked at them and then he looked at you. He wanted to ask, but he couldn’t, so you spoke.

‘My regrets follow you to the grave.’ He barely heard you.

‘What?’

‘That’s what asphodels mean, you asked me about them once, you remember?’

He nodded, that’s all he could do.

‘I couldn’t save them, I tried, but I wasn’t good enough.’ You broke down to tears.

He wasn’t good at processing his own emotions, let alone other people’s. What was he supposed to do? He knew that people hugged to show support, but as he would say, he was ‘emotionally constipated’, so he just stayed there, looking at you.

Do something.

Do something.

Do something.

But he remained stiff, it was like watching the scene happen in third person.

‘I’m sorry, I know this is making you uncomfortable, it’s just that it’s been a long day.’

‘It’s been a long day for me to.’ His voice was hoarse. ‘You told me that asphodels mean ‘my regrets follow you to the grave’, that’s why you have them? Because you feel guilty?’

‘I plant one for every soldier that dies on my watch.’ That was the first time you opened up with him.

‘I keep the badges of their uniforms.’ That was the first time he opened up with you.

Right then everything shifted.

‘It wasn’t your fault.’ He knew those feelings, the remorse and the guilt, he was so painfully familiar with them that they had become a part of his being.

‘It wasn’t your fault either, Levi.’

It wasn’t your fault either.

It wasn’t your fault either.

It wasn’t your fault either.

Your words echoed in his mind like a drum and for a moment he believed them.

You came closer and you wrapped your arms around him, he tried to respond, embracing you in strangely, you laughed at his antics and in that moment, he wanted to disappear. You smiled and you readjusted his arms around your waist. He brought you closer, slowly, not wanting to scare you away and break the moment. You laid your head in his chest, right above his heart, and he hoped you couldn’t hear his heart beating wildly. He hid his face in the crook of your neck, his breath tickling your skin and your smell intoxicating him. For a moment he felt like home, even though he didn’t understand what ‘being home’ meant, but it had to be very similar to that: comforting, reassuring, peaceful, safe.

That night, he spent what felt like hours holding you, until you had to part separate ways, the only witnesses were the asphodels and the hills at the distance.

  6. ACQUAINTED

What are we?

Levi couldn’t stop asking himself that question.

Friends didn’t have what you two had. Maybe he wasn’t the most amicable person, but he had had some friends in his life: he once had Isabel and Furlan when he was younger, and now he had Hange and Erwin, and maybe he could even consider his squad friends. And none of what he felt for them was like what he felt for you.

He tried to make sense of his thoughts by writing them, but words weren’t his forte and he just ended more and more confused.

You were nice.

You were beautiful.

You made him laugh, well, not laugh, but close enough.

You were kind.

He appreciated you, he cared for you and he wanted to protect you, but he also felt the same towards Erwin, Hange and his squad. Then, if it was the same, why it was completely different.

He kept visiting you, everything looked like it was the same, but everything had changed. It felt like the calm before the storm, as if something was about to happen, the tides were shifting, he could feel it. There were words unsaid lingering in the atmosphere and sooner or later, someone would have to utter them. But who? And if you spoke them, what would he say?

He also spent a lot of his time thinking about that too, if you happened to confess your feelings for him, if you had them, would he be able to respond them? Normal people would try, give it a shot and see what would happen, what the relationship had in store, let things flow; but he wasn’t normal, he was far from normal, he knew he wasn’t the easiest to love. He was rude, mean, a control freak, he wasn’t the one for big displays of affection, he was the last person someone would want as a partner. People yearned for epic love stories, something that could take your breath away and he wouldn’t be able to do that, he wouldn’t be able to give you the bare minimum.

Also, after all the people he had lost, he didn’t want your name to be added to that list. He preferred the uncertainty of your relationship than the possibility of losing you. If he left more people in, more people he could lose. He wasn’t stupid, he knew you were already in, but there were still boundaries between both of you.

He had also fantasized about laying himself bare in front of someone, share all of his trauma and memories, share the burden with someone, but who would love all of him? If he couldn’t even stand himself most of the days, how could he expect that someone would   do it?

‘If you were a flower, I think you would be a gladiolus.’ You would always blurt nonsense out of the blue, but for some reason, he found it endearing instead of annoying.

‘Tch, what’s even that supposed to mean?’

‘I don’t know, it’s just, gladius symbolize strength, generosity, faithfulness and I guess those are things I associate with you.’ Your cheeks were tainted with the softest tones of red and you weren’t looking at him, your gaze was fixed on your paperwork.

Those words had a way deeper meaning, he knew it and you knew it, it was as if you were testing the water by putting the tips of your feet in it. As per usual he didn’t know what to say, what was he supposed to say to that? Thanks? I think I may be falling for you?

‘Sorry, I made things weird, I should just-’ you couldn’t finish because he had started talking.

‘I think you would be a yarrow flower.’ Amazing, now he was the one talking nonsense.

Not so long ago he pictured you as yellow lilies, joy and happiness, but after getting to know you better, he realized that that description was too shallow for what you meant to him. He didn’t know a lot about flowers, he wasn’t really into botany, but he had heard about yarrow before, he had heard merchants inside Sina call them ‘plant doctor’, since they would be often placed near other plants to keep the pests away, he had also heard that it was considered invasive too, because how easily it spread. Therefore, the association came quickly to him, you were healing, a solace from the cruelty of his world; and you were invasive, because he couldn’t be away from you, you consumed him.

‘That means a lot.’ Your blush was now more pronounced now and he wondered what you had made out of his words.

He felt a wave of panic travel through his body, maybe that statement was too deep, maybe he screwed it all, so he decided to excuse himself and ran away from the situation he had created. He had told you he was going to his room, he lied, he was going to the library, he needed to see what his words had meant. He wasted all his evening looking for books about the meaning of flowers, he sure looked like a madman, he hadn’t even gone to the Mess Hall to have dinner, he needed to found answers, and he found them at two a.m.

“The secret language of flowers” said the title, he opened the book and he started looking for the yarrow’s meaning.

Healing and Good Health

Courage and War

Everlasting Love

When he read the last symbolism of the flower, his heart stopped for a whole minute, did he just declare his feelings, that he wasn’t ever sure of, to you? He wanted to disappear in the spot, just vanish into the air.

He went to his room, holding the book close to his chest. He spent the rest of the night reading the book, he wouldn’t mess up again, if he ever wanted to talk about flowers with you, he would be informed. When the sun rose, his head was buzzing with flower meanings, and he would be lying if he said that he hadn’t thought about you while reading some of them.

At breakfast he did go to the Mess Hall and took his usual place.

‘Where were you yesterday at dinner?’ asked Erwin.

‘With his girlfriend.’ Replied Hange with a big smile.

‘She’s not my girlfriend.’ He said with a grunt.

‘What are they then?’ Hange was using the tone, the one which meant “I know you’re hiding something, and I won’t stop pestering you until I discover it.”

‘We are just acquainted.’

‘Liar.’

 7. CAN’T FEEL MY FACE

He remembered how there were days when Kenny would drink himself to oblivion, Levi didn’t understand why he did it. He didn’t see the point of passing out in the floor, and when he asked, Kenny answered that ‘his vices kept him sane’. It still made no sense to him, how a man could be so cunning and sharp, while he wasted his nights and days with alcohol, women and many other things that Levi wasn’t interested on trying. He had seen Kenny drunk and it was far from having control. The first lesson Kenny had told him was that control is vital, then, how come he was powerless in his own life, letting alcohol take control of him.

‘You’re old enough to try it, boy. Take some if you want.’

The first time Kenny offered him alcohol, he had declined, he had said no, and Kenny had shrugged it off, as if saying: ‘more for me.’ He wouldn’t get it, it didn’t make sense, Kenny, who prided himself on his cold-blood and his steel nerves, would renounce to that control so easily, he didn’t want to be like that, never in a million years, he would never give up his self-control.

Until he did.

He had lost control. And he now understood Kenny.

He knew he should distance himself from you, he didn’t want more Furlan’s and Isabel’s, he was getting dangerously close to you and he didn’t want that. He should run away, disappear. You were kind and sweet, you would find someone else to feel the void he would inevitably leave. He had always been the one being left behind, and he survived, you would too. Also, it’s not as if he contributed a lot to your life. He was sure you both would be better with the other far away, I mean, the facts were there. Actually, they had been spiraling in his head for a while.

Then, if he knew all of that, why was he helping you cut clean bandages, especially so close to you that he could smell your shampoo? Oh yeah, because you asked him to, as easy as that, all his conviction melted away from every fiber of his body.

Why did he do that? Why was he so helpless around you? Oh yeah, because you made him feel so damn good. You had him wrapped around your finger and you didn’t seem to notice, you acted as if it was nothing, you had power over him, you had Humanity’s Strongest at his knees.

‘My family died a long time ago, I couldn’t save them, I moved in with my aunt and I decided that I’d study medicine for them.’ You said out of the blue.

You cut one bandage.

‘The letters I write are for them. It’s stupid, but it makes me feel closer to them.’

You cut another bandage.

He didn’t say a thing.

He hated himself, any other person would have hugged you or said something, he just stayed there, frozen and acting as cold as always. Why did you confide in him something so personal? He wasn’t the one to go when you are sad, he didn’t even know how to process his own trauma and baggage most of the time. What was he supposed to do?

On the other hand, you trusted Levi more than anyone in your life. He brought you peace and solace, something you thought you would never have.

You lost your family when you were really young, always feeling guilty for being the one who survived, and you promised to yourself you would vow your life to help the others, never putting your needs first. When you joined the military, you watched many soldiers die on your hands, you could still hear their last words, how scare they were, how they didn’t want to die like that, alone and far away from their family; you could also recall their mutilated bodies; and you could also remember how many of them would survive the Titans but lose the fights against their own mind and end up being another fallen soldier that died for nothing. You loved your job, but it also killed a part of you every day, there were no victories on a war, and you knew it. That’s why you picked up gardening, you planted a flower for every soldier who died, something to remember them.

When you met Levi, you admired him, you had heard the stories about him, his courage, mood changes, sharp tongue, skills, intelligence… You would be lying if you said he didn’t make you curious, you were used to soldiers haunted by the horrors they had faced, but something about him was different, maybe because you saw yourself in those grey eyes. You two were similar, you both had so much pent up that you could not talk about, you had an image to keep, and it was exhausting. He had a name to uphold, people looked up to him, if he failed, if he crumbled, everyone else would; you were a doctor, and no matter how hard things were, you had to be strong for your patients, never showing how much their pain took a toll on you. You could let your mask down, because even though he didn’t talk too much or overall understand why you were sharing that, it felt good, liberating.

Sometimes, he would also talk about him, not a lot, but enough to make you feel understood, and those moments, when he showed the man underneath the façade, glimpses of his true persona, those few minutes, sometimes even seconds, were responsible for your growing feelings for the captain.

‘It’s not stupid, I talk to my dead friends’ graves.’ He said nonchalantly, as if he wasn’t baring a piece of him in front of you.

Those kind of flashes of the man he was underneath took your breath away every single time.

You came close to him, slowly, testing the waters, not wanting to scare him away. Maybe it was too forward, too reckless, too much at a time, but he didn’t move. You brought your hand to his cheek. He didn’t jump away. You looked into his eyes, pools of mercury. He held your gaze, expecting your next move. You could feel the tension. He could too.

‘They would be really proud of you.’ You said, voice thin and trembling.

He was silent. Your words caught him of guard.

He was feeling too much. His heartbeat was erratic, beating wildly, he could hear it. He felt the blood boiling under his skin, he was so hot, he was sweating. He couldn’t move, but he felt his body trembling. He could feel the room closing on him, trapping him. He wasn’t in control.

It was a too familiar feeling, one he had experienced a thousand times before.

‘Levi, are you okay? I’m sorry I’ve made you uncomfortable.’ You said worriedly.

He didn’t know what to do, he just wanted the pain in his chest to end.

You were too close. You were trapping him too. So, he pushed you away from you and run from the infirmary. You couldn’t see him like that, no one could.

Why did he share that with you? Why did you get too close? Were you going to kiss him?

Why?

Why?

Why?

Why was he like that?

Why did he ruin things?

Why did he lose control of himself? He couldn’t even feel his face when you touched it.

He felt pathetic. He felt like the little kid he once was.

Control is vital.

Control is vital.

Control is vital.

If he was with you, he wasn’t in control. And if he lost his control, then he would have nothing.

He had to get away from you, because you were stripping him from the only thing he had: his control.

[tododeku-or-bust]

"I wanna run away and live a peaceful Ghibli #Aesthetic" lmao man y'all say that shit to be cute, like there wasn't conflict in some of them movies 🤣 there was a whole war in Howl's Moving Castle; people was getting Circe-fied into pigs and working in bathhouse brothels in Spirited Away; I don't even wanna get into how devastating Grave of the Fireflies was 🤣 you'd have to either have the Protagonist Halo or be an NPC to really enjoy it

[synnefo-nefeli]

Klapollo Minibang 2021 sneak peek of my Klapollo Victorian AU :

***

T-this cannot be correct-“ Apollo could barely keep the shock out of his voice as he read the paper he had been handed. His tongue was growing heavier and his stomach threatened to bring up his breakfast.

“We can assure you, Mr. Justice. This sum is correct,” said Mr. Payne, the elder and Mr. Gavin’s Head of Staff.

“Ask anyone participating in the Season,” chimed the younger Payne, “ and you’ll find that this is indeed the bare minimum of what sponsors will pay for those coming out into the Legal World”.

Both men’s vindictive smiles made his stomach churn, but not once had his bracelet moved.

“Fifty thousand pounds?!” Apollo breathed, “I mean I understand that this was a large undertaking for him, especially as I am not related by blood- but as I understood, I paid my debts before I left-“

The older Payne laughed, “not for your garments or the costs associated with putting you through the season-“

“Mr. Gavin rescinded his sponsorship- I never so much as went to the tailors to order-“

Mr. Payne the younger shoved a stack of papers in front of Apollo. His heart sank; it was his original contract he’d made years ago when Mr. Gavin had decided to make Apollo his protégée.

An item was circled on the page, and the words Apollo read next made his blood run cold.

He had signed his responsibility the money should he ever leave Mr. Gavin’s care prior to his Presentation.

“I-I am not sure what you expect of me; I’m subletting a small flat above a bar-“

The brothers waved him off, “I suppose that’s your problem now, Mr. Justice since you decided to bite the hand that fed you. It is no concern of ours that you’re impoverished; we are here to see to it that you pay every cent owed…or else we will take you to court and see you jailed…” said the younger, moving to stand up from his seat, “I hear it goes badly for inmates who are known betrayers-“

White hot rage filled him at that, “He was guilty- he was going to let another hang for something they didn’t do-“ he stood up so quickly that his chair toppled over, and earned him a shout from Ema who was at the bar cleaning the same mug for the past twenty minutes as she kept an eye on their conversation.

Once again, Payne stopped him- “What our master did and did not do, is not relevant here. The Gavin household still stands with his parents, brother, and other relatives…and they will have their due in two months time-“

“TWO MONTHS ?!” Apollo heard himself yell. He gripped the edge of the table to hold himself steady.

“Yes it must be repaid before the season starts.”

“I don’t-“ he started, “I don’t know what to do… even the hungriest usurer wouldn’t give me that sum.”

The Paynes moved in tandem in putting on their hats, “ He always prized for your resourcefulness…” said the elder, “perhaps one of the brothels are hiring- it doesn’t look as if you’re terribly busy now; perhaps you’ll attract someone who likes their whores reeking of desperation”

Apollo floundered against such barbed attack.

“Or, maybe you can find another patron!”

The Payne’s howled at their joke; the younger clapped his brother on the shoulder, “he’s better off with his legs in the air then!”

At that Ema was rushing over and shooing the Paynes out of the bar. Apollo too stunned by everything and found himself sinking to the bar’s floor. His mind was a blur.

// fifty thousand …how on earth…how can I…maybe I can find someone to sponsor me instead of going alone//

***

Please ignore the muffled screams behind the curtain- those most definitely aren’t my other WIPs