#mild spoilers? if saying we don’t know is a spoiler

[binks-brew-co]

To all the people watching Dandadan and not sure why Seiko doesn’t actually look like a granny, just know that even manga readers don’t know yet. I’ve seen a lot of posts making Seiko look older and more like a grandma which I 100% appreciate, but also I think it’s a disservice to the writing to treat Seiko’s looks like simple fan service. There has to be more backstory, such as how we get from this:

To this:

In the space of like, a decade. Also note how her face is never shown in Chapter 1 when she’s wearing more traditional shrine clothes. Clearly something is up (fingers crossed that the new arc explains some of this actually). Maybe she’s Benjamin Buttoning, maybe she’s using magic, maybe she’s a time traveler - who knows with this manga tbh

[revasserium]

loving you was red

sylus; 4,627 words; fluff, banter, no "y/n", mild spoilers for sylus's main storyline, subtle but not so subtle flirting, nicknames (kitten, little crow), kinda enemies to lovers

summary: the beginning of everything, all in shades of red

a/n: this was supposed to be fun lil drabble; alas, that's not what it turned out to be, but i hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless. i had fun with the banter in this one u__u

001. fire and brimstone

The city below is a shatter of broken stars, and from up this high, none of it seems real. You cannot reconcile the sight of all those scattered, pinpoints of light with the lives you know shine behind them. You cannot imagine sitting in your living room, scrolling through your news-feed, waiting for the water to boil for late night ramen.

“Trouble sleeping?”

You congratulate yourself on not wincing, on keeping perfectly still.

Sylus joins you by the window, his arms looped lazily in front of his chest, his dark silk robe falling open to reveal his chest. You keep your eyes resolutely on the technicolored skyline.

“Yeah,” you say, feigning a yawn, “just something about being held captive against my will that just… messes with my circadian rhythm, y’know?”

Sylus chuckles, the sound rumbling through him, low enough to make you shiver.

“Don’t tell a girl like you still needs someone to sing her to sleep.” He’s teasing. You know he is, and yet you can’t keep the heat from clawing up the back of your neck. You scowl, chewing on the insides of your cheeks.

“What gives you that idea?” you ask, still in your flailing attempt to seem calm, seem collected.

"Nothing in particular… just… the twins found a shocking number of plushies in your room so —”

"You had them go through my stuff?” you round on him, glaring, your fingers clenched into fists.

Sylus shrugs, peering at you out the corner of his eye, an amused grin ticking at his mouth.

“Feisty little kitten, aren’t you? Though for what it’s worth — they didn’t find much on how your Evol works.”

You huff, turning back to the floor to ceiling windows, knitting your arms tightly across your chest.

“You heard the shopkeeper — we have to — to…” you trail off, the words caught in the back of your throat like peach pits, hard and large and impossible to stomach. You flush, biting down on your lips.

“To what, hm?” Sylus sounds amused, and it’s this more than anything that spurs you onwards.

You turn to glare at him, “To not hate each other!”

Sylus cocks a single, arched brow.

“So, do you?”

You blink, feeling the ever-present heat prickling into your cheeks as you stare resolutely at the skyline outside. From this distance, Linkon City could be any other city, with it’s towering skyscrapers and twinkling lights.

“Do I what?” you ask, your voice softer as you try to pinpoint the exact location of where you used to live.

“Hate me.”

You turn; in the dimness, all you can see of Sylus is his firebrand eyes and his stone-cut features. The dark curve of his mouth and the sharp jut of his nose. When he turns to meet your gaze, you can barely stifle your gasp — his eyes are so red, so deep and strange.

“Brimstone…” you say, without really thinking about it.

Confusion flickers across his vulturine features.

“Hm?”

You lick your lips, feeling the dryness that had since collected there.

“Brimstone,” you say again, shaking your head and averting your eyes, only for Sylus to catch your chin in his fingers and force you to look back at him, to be swallowed up by his gaze, “it’s… something from… the ancient religions. It’s — back when they believed in gods and monsters, people would use the word brimstone to signify divine wrath…”

His finger slacken on your chin and you let your head fall as he takes half a step away.

He lets out a mirthless laugh, his eyes faraway as he stares out at Linkon City, laid out before his feet.

“I can’t say I know much about gods, but… monsters?”

You swallow, feeling the imprint of his fingers on your skin.

He turns back to look at you, his gaze soft, but no less startling. You feel an unnamable fire frisson up your spine and skitter back down again.

“Monsters are very, very real,” he leans in, closing gap between your body and his, till he has you nearly caged against the cool glass of the penthouse windows. He shifts to brush away a strand of hair, tucking it behind your ear with too-gentle fingers. His next words are whispered, his voice in a register so low it almost sounds like the shadow of sound — he leans in, his lips brushing by your cheek till you can feel the heat of his breath right next to your ear —

“And they look just like you and me.”

002. lipstick

“So at the auction —”

“Just do as I say, and you’ll get what you want.”

You narrow your eyes in the mirror, staring at the reflection of Sylus fastening a pair of ornate silver cufflinks to his impeccably tailored suit.

“Give me one reason to trust you,” you say.

Sylus looks up, a hand still on his cuffs as he meets your gaze in the mirror, unflinching.

“Since when have I ever asked you to trust me?”

Over on the dresser, Mephisto lets out a soft caw that sounds almost mocking. You swirl to glare at him and he has the decency to flap his mechanical wings, shuffling until he’s hidden from view behind Sylus’s shadow.

Sylus laughs, “Alright — settle down, little crow.”

You frown, “Little crow? What happened to kitten?”

Sylus shrugs, “Changed my mind. Figured little crow fits you a bit better. You know — loud, defiant…” he smirks as his voice trails off.

You don’t try to hide your consternation, “Often associated with murder?”

Behind him, Mephisto lets out an indignant ca-caw.

You try to sidestep Sylus, only to find yourself trapped against the mirror by his strong arms. He grins down at you, his canines flashing over his lower lip as he cocks his head.

“Like I said, fits better, no?” he asks.

You stare up at him, trying to make out what he’s thinking behind those firelight eyes of his.

“Let me go — I still need to finish my makeup,” you say, pressing a palm to his chest. You try not to think about the firmness of his muscles beneath your touch, or the heat of his skin, even through all these layers of clothing.

“What else is there?” he asks, his eyes flickering over your features; you shiver, feeling the weight of his gaze as it sweeps over your face like a sudden flare of heat, “you look pretty finished to me.”

You lick your lips, and feel a strange, savage satisfaction at the tick of his eyes down to your mouth, at the way his pupils dilate, at how they track the slow progress of your tongue as it laves across your bottom lip before disappearing back into your mouth.

“Lipstick,” you say, trying not to sound too smug.

Sylus puffs out a laugh before reaching over to the low dressing table and grabbing a tube of lipstick. He uncaps it with a finger, and twists out the color without once breaking your gaze. Vaguely, you feel your stomach tense, and you ponder the unfairness of this one, single act — how could he look so stupidly attractive doing all this when he’s got you trapped here? Like some sort of exotic songbird in a golden cage.

“T-that’s not the color I wanted —” you say, but even to your own ears, you don’t sound convincing.

Sylus’s smile slackens into a lopsided smirk as he tilts your chin up to press the cream of the lipstick to your lips, dragging it delicately across one way, then back the other.

“Press your lips,” he says, his voice softer and gentler than you’ve ever heard it before.

You do, feeling a stifling thump-thump-thump rise up to beat against the back of your throat as his eyes flick down to watch you.

“Mm… as I thought, this color looks great on you,” he says, pulling back to admire his handiwork.

You feel the air rush back into your lungs in a single, searing breath, caught between the urge to brace your arms against your knees and heave, or to drag your hand across your mouth to rid yourself of the lipstick.

You do neither though, because at that moment, the twins call from outside the door —

“Auction’s about to start!” says Luke.

“Hope you’re both ready!” says Kieran.

Sylus straightens, capping the lipstick with a sharp click. You force yourself to calm down, to focus on your breathing — four counts in, seven counts out.

“Are you ready?” Sylus asks, his tone once more whiskey-smooth and just as potent.

You roll back your shoulders and give a quick nod, speaking to yourself just as much as you’re speaking to him —

“Sure. Let’s get this over with.”

003. blood and roses

There’s blood on your hands and blood on the pavement. The world shimmers around you in wildfire and smoke.

“… so… so much blood…”

“You can’t die here —” Sylus’s voice cuts through the memory like a struck chord, resonating inside you till it’s the only thing you can hear, “that life you owe me? It’s not your time to pay it back yet!”

You reach for him, and the moment you feel your palms connect, a bead of heat pulses out from the center of your clasping hands. Your skin is slick with sweat and blood, but his hand beneath you is oddly cool and smooth.

The charred ashes of the beaten Wanderer fall around you like flakes of misbegotten snow; you wave your free hand to keep the pieces from falling into your eyes. A river of light seeps from the Deepspace Tunnel into the center of your chest, glowing brighter and brighter until it coalesces into a familiar gem-like shape.

It comes to a rest between your fingers seconds before it cracks, the light flickering once along the seam before going out.

“It — the Aether Core —!”

“It’s power is yours now. Why’re you so surprised?” Sylus doesn’t let go of your hand, but realizing this, you pull away first, and he makes no move to stop you.

“D-did you know?” you ask, unable to keep the accusation from seeping into your voice.

“Does it make a difference?”

You clamp down hard on your bottom lip, weighing the answers. It isn’t until you reach up to absently card your hand through your hair that you notice — your wrist and his, linked together by a tangible string of red, pulsing power.

You gasp, “W-what —?”

“Tch.”

You wave your wrist, watching as Sylus’s hand follows the movement. Your cheeks darken as he looks away, sighing audibly.

“If you planned this —!” but your words are cut short by a sudden wave of vertigo — the world spins around you and for a second, all you can see is the pinwheeling stars above you, the bright, pulsating edges of the Deepspace Tunnel, and then — everything fades to a sweet, merciful darkness.

You wake up to the smell of roses, and a warm body next to yours. Groaning, you try to shield your eyes from the light filtering through the massive windows.

It takes you a second to orient yourself, and to realize why your wrist seems so heavy as you try to lift a hand and rub at your eyes.

“Looks like you’re up early, though Mephisto still has you beat.”

You blink blearily up at Sylus, sitting next to you in bed, his back propped up on a fortress of pillows, a tablet in one hand, the other still linked to your wrist, half-raised to your face.

You squeak, ducking down to hide beneath the covers, hurriedly wiping at your eyes and your mouth, a mix of horror and embarrassment mounting in your stomach as you realized you must have been drooling in your sleep.

“What did you do to me?!” you demand, pulling back the covers when you’re somewhat certain that you don’t still have drool-marks at the corners of your mouth.

Sylus, for his part, looks only mildly ruffled by your sudden stint back to wakefulness. He takes his time setting down the tablet with his free hand and picking up the steaming mug of black coffee.

“You fainted,” he says, as if that explains everything, “after the resonance worked. Though it makes sense you would — after finally getting the Aether Core and all —”

“No! I mean —” you gesture desperately between you, the pristine linen sheets twisting around you both like waves on a white-sand beach, “how did I — we — get here? Who changed me?” you ask, your cheeks flaring up even as Sylus sips at his coffee, seemingly content to watch you sputter yourself dry.

“Really? After all that, the first question you have is who changed your clothes?” Sylus asks, a distinct tone of mockery clear in his every word.

“Shut up! You know what I mean!”

“Do I? I don’t think I do — you’re going to have to be a bit more specific.” He grins, all splitting lips and too-white teeth. You stare, dumbfounded at his nonchalant expression before huffing and slumping back into your own pile of pillows. You blink, throwing up your free hand to shield yourself from the too-bright light of sunrise, shining straight into your eyes.

Wordlessly, Sylus taps a few buttons on his tablet and the windows darken, filtering out the harsh morning light, leaving the pair of you in a dim, yet luminous shadow.

“I just —” you cut yourself off before you can ask yet another mundane question, and finally, after a few minutes of mulling over what exactly it is you want to ask, you settle on, “what now?”

Sylus shrugs, casting his eyes back down at his tablet, setting his half-drunk cup of coffee on the bedside table.

“Now, we do whatever we want. You have your Aether Core and I have mine,” he lifts up his wrist, shaking yours in the process, “and we try to figure out how to manage this.”

“And if we don’t?” you ask dryly.

Sylus chuckles, “Then, we figure out a way to live with it.”

You roll your eyes involuntarily, “Ugh. Of all the people to be stuck to…” you mutter to yourself. And though you���d said it quiet enough for it to be an afterthought, both of you knew Sylus had been too close not to hear.

He scoffs, pulling you close, tipping you off balance so that you topple face-first into his chest.

“Wake up, little crow,” he says, his tone caught halfway between mocking and maleficence, twisting your face till you’re forced to stare out of the window at the dulled-out skyline below.

“You think you’re so great, being a Hunter and getting rid of Wanderers,” he says, a sharp venom seeping into his words as he speaks, and slowly, he punches a button the tablet that makes the windows un-tint themselves.

You watch as the sunrise bleeds itself dry over Linkon City, the harsh, morning light slicking the entire city in a vapid, orange glow.

“The brighter the light, the darker the shadow — do you really think that just because you and your little Hunter friends are out there killing Wanderers and saving the world, that there isn’t the a need for people like us?” Sylus pushes you away from him. It’s not a harsh move, but it’s not exactly gentle either.

And again, you can’t help feeling the imprint of his fingers, almost as if burned into your skin as your rub at your jaw.

It’s when you turn to glare at him that you meet his gaze and find him staring at you with a look that’s much more haunting than ghost. Much more longing than loathe.

“Well… you’re one of us now. And newsflash, little crow — sometimes, the world just doesn’t want to be saved.”

You let his words sit with you, like river stones, hard and smooth, feeling them sink slowly down the length of your throat to settle somewhere in the wide basin on your stomach. You avert your eyes, and it’s only then that you notice the bouquet of flowers sitting on your bedside table.

“What are the roses for?” you ask, reaching out your free hand to run a thumb along a single, velvet petal. It comes off at your touch, and you watch it fall against the unmarred white marble of the table top.

“A little present,” Sylus says, waving you away, “a thank you - for a job well done last night.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” you say, unable to keep the bitterness from your tone, “it’s not like I had much of a choice.”

“You did,” Sylus says, “you could’ve killed me. And you didn’t.

“I could still kill you now,” you say, though there’s no conviction in your voice at all. Instead, you reach out to tug at another dark red petal. It comes off just as easily as the one before.

“You could. But you haven’t. And don’t you think that warrants a reward?”

004. dawn

“I’ve never hated you, you know.”

You frown, squinting against the early-morning light.

It’s not the first time you’ve found yourself waking up next to him, and you think it won’t be the last. You flip onto your side to face him, feeling a familiar rush of heat crest into your chest as you come nearly nose to nose with him.

Sylus barely even flinches, cocking an eyebrow before reaching out to tug a stray piece of hair from your face.

“What?” you ask, even though you know full well what he’d said. So maybe, you just wanted to hear it again — is that so terrible?

“Hn,” Sylus grins, rolling onto his back to cast his eyes up at the ceiling, “I said you’re getting drool on my pillows.”

You squeak, fumbling to wipe at your face before the realization hits, and you jerk up, pouting.

“That’s not what you said!”

“Then you did hear,” Sylus casts you an amused glance.

You lick your lips, the soft cotton of sleep still muffling the world such that everything except him feels strangely out of focus.

“I — I heard… a word here and there —”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a terrible liar?”

You scowl, whipping around to pin him with a stare, “Where I come from, that’s not a bad thing.”

Sylus’s eyes tick towards you, his expression amused as he appraises you, and not for the first time, you feel yourself go warm beneath the solar-storm fixation of his attention. Like this, you can feel the air between you blistering, as oil to a lit fuse, as his eyes travel over the planes of your face, the curve of your shoulder, the thin silk strap that had since slipped to cling to your upper arm.

“No? I suppose not,” he concedes, pushing himself up, reaching over the bedside table to push at a small button on the far side. Somewhere else in the penthouse, you can hear an alarm bell ring.

“What’s that?” you ask, pointing.

“Coffee,” he answers, and you fall silent again, turning your face away from him to look back at the heartbreak city, carved in shadows against dawn’s liquid light. It’d only been — what — a week? A bit more? And yet you can’t bring yourself to see the city the same.

Nothing has changed — not really.

But everything’s different, you think, as the door on the far side of the bedroom cracks open and Luke peers in with a smug smile and two steaming cups of coffee.

“Black for the boss, and milk and sugar and all the trimmings for the little crow.”

Sylus tsks, a frown digging itself into the space between his eyebrows, his eyes flashing as he takes the two cups. Luke, to his credit, jerks back, dancing out of Sylus’s reach.

“Ah — sorry, sorry — didn’t know that was a special nickname,” he says, making a show of stooping to apologize, though neither of you miss the jesting crow beneath his voice.

“Out.” Sylus orders, and Luke doesn’t waste time scurrying from the room, cackling beneath his breath like a gleeful child.

You take your cup from his hand and give it a dainty sip, adjusting yourself against the pile of pillows.

“What? I thought that nickname was your idea.”

“It is,” Sylus says, relaxing back. The tether between your wrists sits slack and nearly invisible on the sheets between you. He stares down at the dark liquid surface of his own cup before turning to smirk at you, “doesn’t mean it was meant to be shared.”

You clamp down on another wash of heat, threatening your cheeks as you sink a bit deeper into the luxurious bedding. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to sleep on sheets this nice again once you figure out how to break the tether between you and you’re finally allowed to go home.

“Why say it where other people can hear if you didn’t want them to pick it up?” you shoot back, determined to get the last say, at least in this.

Sylus sets down his cup, cocking his head to look at you, “It’s not a joke if there’s no one around to hear the punchline.”

You level him with a glare, “Is that all I am to you? A joke?”

“Shouldn’t be a problem if I’m just your captor, right?”

You open your mouth to retort, only to find your voice stolen by the sight of him, kissed gold by the rising sun. You’ve never been one to obsess over beauty but even you can’t pretend to be unaffected.

Like this, he looks hewn from marble, a statue at the loving hands of a besotted sculptor — a lazy god rendered into silk and stone. He is smooth skin and burning eyes and a jawline that might’ve been turned on a diamond cutter’s lathe. There’s a base carnality in the way he looks at you (and looks at you) — his gaze so penetrating that somehow, you don’t think you’ve ever been seen this way before.

There’s a damnable elegance to him, even as his lips twitch up into a tell-tale smirk.

“What?” he asks, leaning forward just an inch, but the distance feels exaggerated by your closeness, such that suddenly, you’ve got to lean back to look into his face. He licks his own lips languorously, and you feel your chest tighten on a torque, caught in the turn of his smile.

“Kitten got your tongue?” he asks.

You shake yourself, shifting back slightly, “You’re mixing your metaphors,” you say, trying to keep your eyes from straying back to his face.

“They’re my metaphors to do with as I wish. So. Aren’t you going to answer?”

“Answer what?”

“What you think you heard me say, right before you woke up.”

You cup your palms around your coffee mug, feeling its heat seep steadily into your skin. There’s a familiar tingle at the tips of your ears and you know you’re already blushing.

Stupid coffee, you think, trying hard to school your expression into a frown, stupid Sylus, you add to yourself, taking a long sip and biting back your sigh of relief at the mundane magic of caffeine and sugar.

“Does it matter what I think?” you sidestep the question.

Sylus doesn’t miss a beat, “If it didn’t, would I have asked?”

The torniquet in your chest twists tight enough to make your stomach flip as well. You chew on your bottom lip, mulling over your answer.

“I never hated you…” you say, finally, your voice barely more than a whisper or a breath. And even as the words fall from you like so many rose petals, you’re unsure if you’re repeating his words back at him or making an admission of your own.

Sylus only shifts back to his side of the bed, leaning against his pile of pillows. Your wrists sit atop the sheets, inches apart, and yet you can’t deny the dull pull of gravity between you, as if something beneath your skin is itching to be close to his.

You turn to face him, twisting your fingers in your lap.

The quiet softens around you both, settling until you let out another long breath.

“So…” you drag out the word as Sylus glances up at you, expectant. His eyes flicker with the fire of the rising dawn behind you, and in them, you can see the shadow of yourself, painted in darkness against the light.

“What’s for breakfast?” you ask.

Sylus chuckles, his head listing sideways as he studies you.

“Whatever you’d like.”

“Hm…” you make a show of swinging your legs out of the bed, shivering slightly as your feet come into contact with the cool marble floors, “are there pancakes?”

Sylus stretches his arms over his head, letting out a soft groan that evokes something inside you that you’d rather not examine at the moment. You keep yourself turned resolutely away from him even as you hear the distinct sounds of him getting out of bed as well.

“No, but there can be — you only need ask.”

“Fine, I want pancakes,” you say, finally turning around, only to find him standing right behind you, his silk robe discarded on the floor by the bed, his chest broad and entirely bare. Your breath catches in your throat as he cocks an eyebrow.

“Is that asking?”

You crinkle your nose, forcing air back into your lungs.

“Okay, okay — can we have pancakes?”

Amusement dances behind his eyes as he bends over you, propping a hand casually on the dresser behind you to limit your movements.

“And the magic word?”

You narrow your eyes, “Nevermind!”

“Mm — wrong. Two more tries.”

You try to duck under his arm but he catches you easily, spinning you back around to face him, nearly sweeping Mephisto from his perch on the dresser. The crow lets out an offended caw and flaps off towards the far end of the room, coming to a disgruntled rest on the back of a satin loveseat.

“Let me go!”

“Wrong again — last chance.”

You sink your nails into the skin of his forearm, trying not to think of the taut muscles corded there. He doesn’t even wince, though for a second, the tether between your wrists flares up like a fanned flame.

“Fine! Please!”

Sylus straightens with a satisfied smirk, turning around to make for the bedroom door. Your chest is heaving, and the sudden space between you make your head spin. You blink at his retreating form, and it isn’t till he reaches the door that he turns to glance at you over his shoulder.

“Hope you like raspberry jam.”

You level your breathing and hurry to catch up, clutching your own sleeping robe tighter around your chest as you fall into step next to him.

“I thought you didn’t like sweet things.”

He opens the door and steps aside for you to walk through first.

“I never said it was for me.”

---

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[fhrlclln]

miguel o’hara x assistant!fem! reader pt. 1

SPOILERS ??!!

now we all know this man has some serious anger issues lmao but who wouldn’t love a grumpy man having this deep unspoken sexual tension between the two of you, right!? right. and along with that, SMUT! such a beautiful combo. but mild smut for now.

but here is some mild miguel smut for y’alls horny ass (and mine) <3

here’s part 2 !!

mild smut under the cut

｡･:*˚:✧｡

spiderman 2099. miguel. miguel motherfucking o’hara.

leader of the spider-society, an elite crew of various spider people from all across the multiverse, their mission to protect the multiverse from any threat that may come. sure, knowing how crazy it sounds that the multiverse is real and that— there are more variations of the spiderman you knew since all before this shitshow happened.

and to say, your relationship with the leader wasn’t all that bright in fact.

you’re not a spider person yourself but sometimes you wish you are seeing how fucking cool spider-woman, jessica drew, a fellow member, along with other members coming in are (hobie, gwen, pavitr and so on.) but no radioactive spider ever bit you sadly. you are human, human as ever working under miguel o’hara as his assistant (more of a manager really) even though he has lyla, the virtual sweetheart, you still had some things you can do which are a big help in all the management for the spider-society.

miguel, as a boss, well— he’s a fucking menace sometimes as you grit your teeth to yourself, walking swiftly into the familiar hallways you always passed through, captured anomalies around your vision until you arrive at the fairly narrow one, meaning you were almost close. all the people knew how fucking grumpy he was, always snapping out of nowhere, sharp comments and unnecessary hurtful ones too when he’s super mad. you’ve dealt with all of that since the foundation was found— and he’s kinda a loner. you sigh, knowing from the looks of what has happened today regarding miles morales, things weren’t looking so great. and you had to ask him somehow about the situation and see how it goes, well not or not.

your feet echoed through the vast space of his lab, his platform was up high as always and you can hear him grumbling a top, watching every scenario of what happened. your heels clicked as you stopped, looking up, blue light restricting your vision as you coughed for his attention. cringing already inside as you heard the audios pause.

then silence.

silence….

more silence….

silenceeeeeeeeeeeeeee-

“what?” he asks from above in a clip manner.

“heard from lyla.” you merely quip back, shrugging your shoulders.

“and?” he grunts, resuming his work as the platform above descends down. ah, sassy. you think, usual miguel— not the mad one, real lifesaver for whatever you’re gonna say right now.

“nothing.” you say, waiting for the damn platform to come down faster. “i may have a few questions where this leads-“

“what questions?” he asks, the platform finally stops at the usual height, making miguel who’s back is turned from you visible.

“about the situation. miles morales.”

“ask lyla about that.” he dismisses you again, tone a little sharper. the back of his muscles flex, super suit clinging tight, his mask the only one that was removed. tousled dark hair seen as he clicks away on his screen, the voices of miles and gwen emitting. you gulp, sighing as you tried for one more.

“it’s more of a personal question for you-“

“has it ever occurred that i don’t answer those kind of questions?” he cuts you off, the footage he was watching paused as he slowly turned around to finally face you. your eyes meet his, familiar red ones looking down at you, face scrunched a bit as if he was annoyed already,

“i know.” you slowly say as he crosses his arms. muscle bulging, making you avert from his gaze for a moment, which embarrassed you. “but all i’m saying or asking is that are you going to make it easy for the kid?”

something in his eyes snap at your question. he jumps down, landing swiftly in front of you as he stands up, towering your frame. you roll your eyes, his shadow blocking the light from you as his hands were situated on his waist, meaning he was ready to argue. but you can’t argue how eager you feel seeing how close he is. heat radiating from him, the way he never leaves his eyes off you and his overall presence.

“what is easy in all this, really, huh?” he harshly spits out. “the faith of the multiverse is in danger. and who’s responsible to fix that? me! so no, i’m gonna make it easy for the kid. he was the one who started all of this if you can remember.”

“oh, i remember and i remember clearly telling you how all of this— this is happening is very much-“

“no, no, no. that is completely out of the logical reason for why this happening. not the reason at all.” he says, his brow scrunching together as you too became fairly annoyed that he was cutting you off. an ass really.

“out of the reason? maybe it is the reason if you think about it!” you retort back, huffing out a sigh as he shakes his head turning away from you.

“miguel.” you call out to him. “miguel, for once, try and see through this. through miles.”

“i have a lot of things to do, y/n. arguing with you is not one.” he commands, as your shoulders sink, the familiar feeling of disappointment washing over you from his words.

“maybe if you could listen to me, we wouldn’t be arguing.” you stared at him with hard eyes, he tensed, looking to the side before he swiftly walks towards you again.

“why would i, huh?” he glares at you. “do you know everything i know enough to make everything right in the multiverse?” he stalks over to you, intent to make you listen clearly as you back away a bit from him but he doesn’t stop. “no. so no, there is no point in listening to you.” he growls the last sentence, the lump in your throat bitter as you two stared down at each other before he utters his last insults. the buzz of something blooms between you both. you could feel it, he could feel it. the two of you were just contemplating in the inside as miguel steps a bit closer to whisper it.

“you’re my assistant, know your place.”

your eyes widened at his words. but you could not shake the fact how deep he said it, the rumble in his voice making your brain go haywire at all the emotions you are feeling right now for him. the breaking point of your patience at its peak as you glared at him harshly, his face close to yours as you cursed at him.

“fuck you, miguel.” you spit out. his face suddenly changed as he fucking smirked. smirked! you stare at him as he opens his mouth to spit something out as well in retaliation for your insult.

“really? that’s all you got? i thought you were better at this, churri.” his smirk widens as you shy away, suddenly flustered at how fast he can make you embarrassed. you could feel his chest close to yours as you avert his hard gaze, making the said man snap something inside of him seeing you all crumpled beneath him.

“you’re all bark but no bite, sweetheart.” he whispers as you didn’t look at him. “look at me.”

the subtle growl in his voice caused you to obey him. you look up to meet his eyes again, seeing them red as ever, red with that low gaze that makes your thighs clench hard. the slow breaths between the two of you are only heard as miguel leans down, face closer to yours now.

“what’s making you shy, huh?” he asks, the argument from earlier clearly out of his head as he focuses on you. his one hand creeping up to gently caress yours, urging you to say it.

“miguel, please, stop playing with me.” you grumbled, ashamed how you liked how he was acting now. “it’s not funny.”

“i’m not joking around, am i?” he sasses but you held your hard gaze on him which he surrenders. “alright, i’m sorry.”

“no you’re not.” you sighed, knowing there will never be a genuine sorry from him which leaves you utterly defeated, more upset how you know he’s toying with your emotions right now. “i’ll take my leave.”

“y/n, don’t…”

“please stop.” you raise your hand for him to stop.

“i’m sorry.” he genuinely says, gripping your hand gently back down, squeezing it softly. his big gloved hand envelops yours as you studied his face to make sure he wasn’t fucking around. miguel practically knew what’s going on between the two of you, which of course why he liked arguing with you. the way your eyes would dilate all the time and beat of your heart racing whenever he gets super close to your personal space. addicting yet a dick move he was doing because in all, he very much likes you. and this time, this time it all snaps at the pinnacle seeing you shamelessly stare at his lips.

“thank you.” you softly say, glancing at his lips, the fangs subtly showing behind them as miguel swiftly dips forward to finally kiss you with such fervor.

your eyes widened as you gripped his broad shoulders, toes tip toeing, heart pounding as his arms wrapped around your waist. you moan out on his lips as you kissed him back the same passion. months of ignoring the unspoken tension between the two of you and at this moment it happened! you think that this all sinks in because of the situation, and you are right in your head. all of this should happen.

“miguel.” you pant breathily between his lips as he shushed you with another one, too lost in the moment.

“miguel please.” you begged for more as his hands dip down to squeeze your ass, lifting you up effortlessly with his spidey strength as your legs instinctively wrapped around his hips.

“i know.” he kisses your chin down to your neck, slowly walking to the desk nearby. your breasts squished together with his hard chest as you grind down, feeling the evident bulge underneath you.

“you’re an ass, ya know?” you mumbled in his ear as he sits you down on the desk, objects scattering at the impact. he continues his ministrations, the things he was supposed to do are far long gone in his head as his hand dip down to where your legs were open for him.

“that i certainly know.” he admits, you giggle suddenly knowing how defensive he is when people point that out.

“but right now, i’m being very nice, amor. very nice.” he whispers, nipping your ear as his gloved hand touches you there, the pencil skirt you were wearing scrunched up above your knees. you gasp, clutching his shoulders again as he chuckles lowly, feeling the wetness as his eyes stared at you with this animosity as he kneels down, kissing your thighs before he sharply opens your thighs wide. your covered cunt staring right before him, begging to be eaten and he sure will be. he looks up to see you, this wild look in your eyes as you nodded for approval which makes him genuinely smile.

“i’m feeling generous today. it’s a once in a lifetime scenario, huh? so you better feel lucky today.”

｡･:*˚:✧｡

I HOPE I DIDN’T MAKE MIGUEL OOC CUZ I ONLY WATCHED THE MOVIE ONCE. ANYWAYS PART 2? <3

[hom3landr]

Blow Me (One Last Kiss)

18+

Homelander teaches you an important lesson at one of his rallies

CW: Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Dubious Consent, Slight spoilers for S4

You’ve long grown accustomed to the roar of a crowd. It comes free with admission as Homelander’s lover. Sometimes it’s as if the noise itself follows you even into the dark peaceful nights spent dozing in his arms. Your ears still ring with cheers. You don’t mind too much even if you can tell the constant mindless applause has started to grate Homelander’s increasingly sensitive nerves. You know the alternative would be much worse.

You’re especially thankful for the noise as you kneel under the podium with his cock down your throat. Well, you call it a podium but it might as well be a pulpit with the way he preaches to the masses. Your precarious situation is the result of you correcting him in public. His firm grip on the back of your head ensures that your nose remains fully nestled in the nest of hair at the base of his cock as he begins to hush the crowd so he can begin his speech. You’ve heard him practice so many times by this point that it’s almost become gibberish to your ears but you’d never dare tell him that. He takes a moment to look down at you before he starts, a wicked smirk as he takes your wide teary eyes and the way your mouth puffs around his cock.

His fingers nestle in your hair and pull you off him, a line of spit connecting you to the tip. He gives a wink before shoving you back onto him. Despite how many times you’ve done this, you still gag a bit and you flush crimson when the mic manages to pick up the sound in the lull between words. Homelander chuckles.

“Sorry everybody, it looks like we have a little mic feedback.” He laughs good naturedly as the crowd echoes with mild laughter of their own. Your hands fly up to grip his hips as he slowly starts to fuck deep into your throat. His voice is able to mask the wet sloppy sounds of you sucking him off but if someone listened close enough, they’d be able to hear what he’s doing to you.

You’re embarrassed but the depravity has you moaning quietly around his cock as heat pools between your legs. You know he can smell your arousal because even from your awkward angle you can see his cheek twitch smugly. Drool drips down your chin and onto the stage below. You’re grateful that the sides of the podium shield you from the curious looks of the stage crew. They know what’s happening but they have no idea what it looks like when Homelander fucks your face. He loves showing you off like a trophy but there are things that are for him only. (At least if the viewer is meant to stay alive after. You can’t forget when he showed off your skills in front of Todd and his pals before ordering his teammates to beat their brains out to advance his plans.)

He speeds up right as he hits a lull in his speech and you can’t help but whimper as obscene noises fill the arena for a moment.

“There’s that feedback again. I might need to get a new mic here.” His voice is lighthearted but smug. He knew that didn’t sound anything like mic feedback but who’s going to question him. His hand gently scratches at your scalp mockingly. You tease at the throbbing vein on the underside of his cock with your tongue until he can’t help but whine for a moment. That earns you a sharp tug but your satisfaction masks the sting.

He’s careful not to finish until he’s done with his speech and when he does and the tech crew comes out to check the equipment in between sets, he tugs you off him to fix you with a stern look.

“Have you learned your lesson?” He asks you mockingly, his thumb swiping a drop of his come off your bottom lip.

“It depends, are you going to stop being so petty?” You reply in turn, cocking your head cheekily. The effect is slightly dampened by how fucked out you look but Homelander’s eye twitches in annoyance even so.

“Guess not.” He says before tugging you down on his still hard cock once more. After all, he still has so much he needs to say to his adoring public.

It’s alright though. He doesn’t need to know that you don’t really mind.

[aventurineswife]

HELLOOOO, i was wondering:

A reader that likes watch anime, and some HSR characters gives them a try. But, what anime would you think they watch with the reader? Based on what they like or just something to start watching.

I LOVE YOUR WRITING STYLE, please don't overwork yourself a lot, have a nice day/night! <3

What Anime Would They Watch With You?

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Blade x Reader, Kafka x Reader, Silver Wolf x Reader, Anime Watching, Humor, Lighthearted moments, Comfort and Bonding, Can be read Platonically or Romantically.

Warnings: Mentions of psychological trauma, Light spoilers for anime, Philosophical and existential themes, Violence and combat (in anime contexts), Emotional conflict, Mild language (?), Possible mild angst(?).

A/N: I don’t watch much anime, but my sister does, so I based the anime choices on what she’s watched and told me about, as well as clips I’ve seen on yt shorts 🫣😔 ALSO THANK YOU!! 🤭💖 I'LL TRY MY BEST HEHE

Aventurine stands in front of the TV, his eyes glinting with curiosity. His usual confidence is slightly tempered by the unfamiliarity of the moment — an evening of anime watching. He’s dressed in his usual stylish attire, the gold accents catching the light as he adjusts the remote with his gloved fingers. His gaze flickers to you, a mischievous smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"So," he begins, voice smooth like a well-played hand in poker, "what do we watch tonight? I suppose I should try something new. But, I must admit, I prefer shows with a bit of strategy — something that makes you think, perhaps a game of intellect or manipulation."

You suggest Death Note, the classic tale of the battle between genius minds.

Aventurine’s smile widens. “Ah, an excellent choice. A battle of wits, a contest of who can outsmart whom. Much like life itself. I must say, the intrigue here appeals to me. The protagonist, Light Yagami, reminds me of someone who knows how to play the game... and win.”

As the opening credits roll, Aventurine lounges back, his eyes gleaming with the same focus he applies to his work at IPC. The intricate web of psychological tension between Light and L unfolds in a way that mirrors his own thinking — everything calculated, every move deliberate. The darker twists intrigue him, and he often leans over to comment on Light’s strategy, or offer his own hypothetical alternatives. Every so often, he’ll pause to explain a parallel to a strategic investment move, his voice laced with a playfulness only you can appreciate.

The night is filled with insightful discussions, his enjoyment of the show evident not just in his words but in the way his eyes spark with intellectual thrill.

Ratio enters your living room, dressed in his usual academic attire, though he seems slightly more relaxed than usual. His hair is perfectly in place, and he adjusts his glasses, his piercing eyes scanning the shelves. He’s intrigued by the idea of anime, but like everything else, he believes it must meet the highest intellectual standards.

"I assume this will be a pursuit of knowledge, correct?" he asks, his tone indicating that he is less concerned with entertainment and more with what the anime can teach him.

You offer him Steins;Gate, a mind-bending tale of time travel and its implications. Ratio raises an eyebrow, his interest piqued.

"Time travel," he mutters. "The concept is fraught with paradoxes, theoretical inconsistencies... But let's see how this unfolds."

As the show progresses, you can tell Ratio is captivated. His usual dismissiveness towards “mediocre” content fades as he engages with the intricacies of the plot. He is particularly drawn to the scientific explanations of time travel, making insightful comments about the laws of causality. The intellectual depth of Steins;Gate resonates with him, and he begins to see the show as more than just entertainment but as an exploration of the human condition through the lens of scientific theory.

His stern exterior softens slightly as he leans forward, absorbed by the delicate unraveling of fate. At one point, he pauses the show to make an impassioned argument about the ethics of time travel, his eyes alight with the thrill of the debate.

Feixiao, in her usual battle-ready attire, steps into your space with her arms crossed, her eyes narrowing slightly in skepticism. She’s not one for frivolous distractions, but she’s willing to give this anime thing a try — provided it’s something that involves action, strategy, and perhaps a little bit of inner conflict.

"You’d better not have picked something weak," she says with a smirk, her voice unwavering. "I don't have time for anything that isn't worthy of my attention."

You suggest Attack on Titan, with its intense battles and deep emotional conflicts. Feixiao grunts in approval.

"Alright, let’s see if they can deliver on the carnage." she says, as the opening scene plays out.

She’s immediately absorbed by the ferocity of the Titans and the desperation of humanity’s fight for survival. The battles, filled with adrenaline and relentless pursuit, mirror the kinds of conflicts she knows too well. She’s particularly drawn to Eren Yeager’s inner struggles — the deep rage that simmers beneath his resolve.

"That’s what I like to see," Feixiao mutters under her breath, her eyes flashing with approval as the protagonists fight with everything they have. "There’s more to these battles than just the physical; there’s emotion, too. A warrior’s mind is as sharp as their blade."

Throughout the night, she becomes invested in the character dynamics, especially Eren’s moral dilemmas. The show's dark tone and brutal honesty about the human condition resonate with her, and she even offers some commentary on the combat strategies used by the soldiers.

By the end of the night, she’s hooked, her face flushed with the excitement of both the action and the emotional weight of the series.

Blade steps into the room, his eyes burning with a quiet intensity, his demeanor as cold as the blade he wields. His mind constantly in turmoil, he’s not interested in frivolous entertainment. Everything he watches must speak to the darker aspects of his soul, and anything too light-hearted will not hold his attention.

You offer Neon Genesis Evangelion, a psychological and emotional rollercoaster that digs into the deep recesses of human existence. Blade’s expression is unreadable as he nods and sits, his eyes steely.

The first few episodes grip him, and soon he is fixated on Shinji Ikari’s inner torment — the crippling isolation, the struggle to find meaning in a world that seems bent on destruction. Blade sees pieces of himself in Shinji, his own existential struggle reflected on screen. He finds an unexpected resonance with the show's depiction of personal battles and the search for purpose in and the search for purpose in an uncaring world.

As the show delves into its more abstract and psychological themes, Blade’s face hardens in contemplation. He doesn’t speak much, but his occasional glances at you tell you everything you need to know — Neon Genesis Evangelion is more than just an anime to him; it’s a mirror to his own fractured soul.

By the end of the night, Blade is silent, lost in thought, the weight of the show's philosophical questions lingering in his mind.

Kafka strolls into the room with her usual cool confidence, adjusting her black jacket over her shoulders. Her hair sways slightly as she surveys the situation. While she doesn’t often indulge in entertainment, she’s intrigued by your suggestion to watch anime together. After all, there’s something elegant about the concept of using subtlety and manipulation to achieve one's ends, and Kafka is drawn to that kind of intrigue.

You offer Code Geass, a series filled with strategic battles, hidden motives, and complex characters. Kafka smirks, her interest piqued.

"This might be interesting. Let’s see if it lives up to the hype." she says, her voice smooth and measured.

As the episodes unfold, Kafka finds herself charmed by Lelouch vi Britannia’s calculating nature and his ability to manipulate others for his own purposes. She’s drawn to the layers of deception, the way Lelouch maneuvers through the world with his intelligence and charisma, much like herself.

"Ah, this is the kind of show I can appreciate," Kafka remarks, glancing at you with a knowing smile. "Power lies not in brute strength, but in the subtleties of the mind. Lelouch truly knows how to play the game."

By the end of the night, Kafka is hooked, her mind racing with the complex political strategies and moral questions the show raises. Her admiration for Lelouch’s ability to control events through sheer willpower is clear.

Silver Wolf lounges in her seat, her purple glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. She’s always up for a challenge, and if anime is as much of a game as you say, then she’s ready to dive in. She’s looking for something that’s both fast-paced and unpredictable, a true test of her adaptability.

You suggest Psycho-Pass, a futuristic series that blends action with deep psychological exploration and questions about the nature of justice. Silver Wolf’s eyes light up as the opening credits roll.

"Alright, this looks fun," she remarks, her fingers tapping on her leg like she’s already hacking her way through the plot. "A system that reads people's intentions? Sounds like a game I could win."

As the series progresses, Silver Wolf becomes engrossed in the moral and psychological dilemmas the characters face. She’s particularly drawn to the futuristic technology, intrigued by the interplay between the systems that control society and the human minds that try to outwit them.

"I could hack my way through this world in no time." she chuckles to herself, but she’s also genuinely captivated by the philosophical questions raised. What is justice? Who decides what is right or wrong?

By the end of the night, Silver Wolf is already planning her next anime binge, eager to see what other “games” the world of anime has to offer.

[damn-stark]

Chapter 10 Heart of Ice

Chapter 10 of Moonlight

A/N- I was giggling and kicking my feet tehehe ;)

Warning- some swearing, talks of miscarriage and death, ANGST!, FLUFF, mild NFSW, SPOILERS, LONG CHAPTER.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode- 2x01

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

There it is, standing so tall that it looks like it’s touching the sky. It’s mesmerizing no matter how many times you’ve seen it, and it never fails to steal your breath.

Yet the wall is at its prettiest when it weeps when the sun hits it just as it rises from the ground. Right now all it does is bring forth an icier chill as the wind blows, making you hold onto your cloak for warmth.

You can only imagine how Jacaerys is fairing, this is his first time at Castle Black.

“How are you holding up?” You make sure to ask your brother as his eyes stay stuck on the towering wall.

“My balls are about to freeze off,” he makes no effort to talk properly in front of you, nor do you remind him to.

You smile at him and look at him with a soft endearment only reserved for those you deeply cherish. “It will be worth it, I promise. I cannot wait for you to see it,” you muse and cup his shoulder.

Jacaerys finally takes his eyes off the wall and meets your gaze with such a warm smile that it’s capable of melting the thickest sheets of ice.

“It better live up to everything you have said,” he remarks lightheartedly, making you drop your head to laugh softly at the ground.

“It will pass your expectations,” Cregan interjects as he finally rejoins you and leads the way to the lift that looks a bit unreliable, but all the people at Castle Black use it, and you have survived after using it so, you walk in. Slowly of course, and you don’t dare pay too much attention to the sounds it makes as it starts moving Jacaerys, Cregan, and you to the top.

“You know,” you take the attention of the rackety noise. “Perhaps one day I will send one of my children over here to take up a role as guardian of the wall.”

“Is that so?” Cregan probes.

“One of your seven?” Jacaerys jokes and you laugh softly but don’t take back what you said, catching him by some surprise.

“It’s a rare thing for a Targaryen or Velaryon to come be a brother of the Night's Watch,” you explain your thought process to the curious men. “But we are the families the people look up to. I mean I understand the sacrifice, but I believe that for us to have a good relation with the North, and for us to protect our realm against what may be out there, we too should be here with a dragon or two.”

Cregan briefly meets your gaze and hides well those emotions you stir up inside since your brother is standing at his other side, but he doesn’t stay quiet, he takes a deep breath before he parts his lips.

“You are right, the sacrifice one must commit is great, but duty is sacrifice,” Cregan begins to say. “It eclipses all things, even blood. All men of honor must pay its price. The North owes a great duty to the Seven Kingdoms, one older than any oath. Since the day of the first men, we have stood as guardians against the cold and the dark. Through its long tradition, the Night's Watch cultivated its strength from doomed men who had their life as their only possession. But my ancestor, Torrhen Stark began a tradition by making an offering at the onset of winter; one in 10 men from our household was to be chosen to fortify the Watch. This is not a sentence but an honor. A duty embraced by all who serve the North. Even by mine own kin. Thus I respect your decision, My Princess.”

He talks so well that even these long comments captivate you, and that’s hard to do because you get so easily bored.

“The North must stand ready,” Cregan adds without losing a breath. “Winter is coming.”

“Coming?” Jacaerys interjects. “What is this, then, that falls from the skies and shivers my bones?”

You roll your eyes away and scoff softly.

He thinks he’s so funny.

“This is only a late summer snow, my prince,” Cregan says something he’s already mentioned once before. “In winter, it will cover all you see and all memories of warmth will be forgotten.”

You look through the gaps on the wooden walls but the lift then shakes so you step back and stand closer to Cregan.

“It pleases me to think that over a century ago our ancestors treated in this very place,” Jacaerys mentions with a lighthearted look on his face. “The Conqueror and the King in the North.”

You can’t help but smile at the thought and the history the Starks share with your ancestors. It’s so bittersweet. But it’s all so corny of Jacaerys to say, he sounds just as infatuated as you.

You would tease him, but now doesn’t seem like the time so you just smile wider to yourself.

Cregan’s gaze wanders to you after your brother's words, and you share some of that sweetness with him because regardless of it all, you are happy Jacaerys expressed his fondness for Cregan.

And when Cregan does see your smile some of that hardened demeanor melts.

“You, at least had the mercy not to threaten me with your dragon,” Cregan quips at your brother jokingly, leaving him silent until he queries.

“Did my sister threaten you with her dragon?”

Does he think of you as some wild beast or something?

Regardless, Cregan's eyes soften before he shakes his head and tells him what you did do. “No, but she did threaten to go over the wall and escape when she first got to Winterfell six years ago.” He says and tilts his head over to you, but you look out the window and shake your head.

“I was having a hard time adjusting,” you remind him. “And I did not end up going over the wall.”

“No,” he mutters softer as if speaking with admiration. “You did not.”

You lift your eyes off the icy wall and let yourself meet and hold his gaze with a soft look just until the lift finally lands on the top because when it comes to a sudden halt the wooden lift shakes, and you’re reminded why you hate coming to the top this way—You almost reach out to Cregan to keep yourself balanced and safe, but you stop yourself and just stand stiffly until finally he opens the door for you and your brother, letting you feel like you can breathe again when you’re on stable ground.

“My Prince, My Princess,” one of the brothers greets you while you slip your arm around your brothers to hold onto more warmth as the coldness nips at your skin.

“My Lord.”

“My Lord,” other brothers greet Cregan while he walks after you until finally he catches up and leads you to one side.

“Surely the great Torrhen Stark would’ve sooner died than bent the knee,” you chose to return to the previous topic as you watch Jacaerys’ eyes fall on every single detail you pass by. “Unless he believed the Conqueror could bring unity to the Seven Kingdoms.”

Cregan nods. “You are right in that,” he agrees.

“That unity is now threatened,” Jacaerys goes on for you with another clever workaround to the subject at hand. “The realm will soon tear itself apart if men do not remember the oaths sworn to King Viserys and to his rightful heir.”

Again you can’t help but be proud of the way he speaks. But you also know this second attempt won’t mend Cregan Stark’s choice.

“Stark’s do not forget their oaths, my Prince,” Cregan reminds him proudly. “But you must know that my gaze is forever torn between North and South.”

Jacaerys glances over at you with discreet disappointment, and you press him an, ‘I told you so’ look right back.

“In winter, my duty to the Wall is even more dire than the one I owe to King’s Landing,” Cregan strengthens his argument. “I need my men here.”

You swallow thickly as you come to a halt just under a post, and Jacaerys turns you around with him to pass Cregan a hard look that furrows his eyebrows. “Whilst your men guard against wildlings and weather the Hightowers plan to usurp the throne,” he remarks.

You grip onto him as a warning for him to calm down, but he doesn’t understand.

“If my mother is to defend her claim,” Jacaerys presses while Cregan guides all of you up the stairs. “To hold the realm united she needs an army. War is coming to the whole of the realm, my lord. We cannot wage it without the support of the North…” Jacaerys trails off when he reaches the top and finally sees with his own eyes the never-ending land beyond the wall, the beauty that you promised, and what you could never fully describe in words.

He moves toward the end of the post and you let your arm slip off his to let him admire for himself the beauty and the mystery that is the North, and the freedom it holds in its cold wilderness.

You can now honestly say you know the pride Cregan felt when he first brought you up here because you feel it. You are not from here, but seeing your brother be so captivated by what’s beyond the wall makes you fill with excitement that you can’t put into words, you can just express it with admiration and awe in your eyes.

Cregan notices and admires you while your brother's attention is far away, and to his surprise, you feel his stare and return his soft gaze while you also let your gloved knuckles brush against each other as you let yourself be swooped up once again by the comfort you have been fighting to feel.

Yet you don’t let yourself get completely carried away, nor do you cross the line by letting your fingers touch, you keep your smile and join your brother's side.

“Was it everything you expected?” You ask before you’re brought back to the cruel reality.

Jacaerys laughs softly and nods. “It was everything you said and more…it feels like I could stay here and admire this forever.”

“It would get cold,” you joke, making him chuckle.

“It would be pleasant,” he murmurs.

You nod in agreement and dread returning to the sore subject, but you will lose yourself.

“I brought your sister, and my father brought King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne to see the Wall,” Cregan finally rejoins your company. “His Grace stood at this very outlook and watched as their dragons the greatest power in the world, refused to cross it.”

Jacaerys snaps his head to you and probes for more. “Even adventurous Astraea?”

You look out and nod. “Yes. She perches herself on the wall but never once does she fly over, nor does she dare fly over just to turn. I tried to command her to cross but she disobeyed me,” you back up Cregan's argument and feel a chill crawl down your spine at the reminder.

“Do you think my ancestors built a 700-hundred-foot wall of ice to keep out snow and savages?” Cregan presses your brother in a colder tone that almost works to frighten you.

“What does it keep out?” Jacaerys asks.

Cregan leans in closer to your brother and speaks one word. “Death.”

You swallow back nervously and share your uneasiness with your brother with a simple look that actually helps him let go of some of that tension and ignorance he held.

“I have thousands of graybeards,” Cregan finally offers and breaks the speechless moment between Jacaerys and you. “Who've already seen too many winters. They are well-honed.”

You loll your head to the side and snicker, while Jacaerys says what you were thinking. “So they’re old?”

“I can ready them to march at once,” Cregan assures him and you.

Jacaerys breathes out and accepts the offer. “If your graybeards can fight, the Queen will have them.”

“They will fight hard,” Cregan states with a hint of pride and some faint smugness. “Like Northerners.”

You glance over at him and catch that smugness on his usually serious face and you can’t help your heart from skipping a beat when he glances at you with the same look.

“My Lord,” a man calls for Cregan’s attention, making his face fall hard once again. “A ravens arrived.”

The man approaches the post breathing hard as if in a hurry and hands Cregan a scroll. “Urgent news from Dragonstone,” he announces, making you understand his urgency, and causing you to fall serious and nervous yourself.

But if it is bad news wouldn't it be sent directly to Jacaerys and you?

Maybe?

Unless—

You can’t let yourself think the worst, but you still share your worry with your brother before you watch Cregan unravel the scroll to read what the news is.

He doesn’t take long to read, but it feels like he is reading for eternity in the waiting silence until finally he puts the scroll down and meets your gaze. This time when you lock eyes your heart skips a beat out of worry instead of awe, this time a smugness doesn’t play in his eyes or tug the corner of his lips up, his eyebrows are furrowed and his jaw is clenched like when he makes his face hard, but you can read him clear as day as you simply hold his gaze.

You can see the pity pulling his lips down, and a soft apologetic look in his grey eyes that makes them appear darker. He doesn’t need to say anything for you to know that what he read wasn’t a simple warning or a call home, they’re dark words that he almost but says.

You want to ask, he knows that, he sees your worry heighten in your furrowed brows and parted lips, so with a simple blink his face softens as he gives you sorrow, making your eyes immediately cloud with tears. While in the back, Jacaerys sees it, your shared past. He figures it out in the exchange that is far more complex than one friends should share, but it all makes sense now.

Your friendship always slightly caught his attention, it bugged him in some way. Not because he felt bad for Aemond that you were so sweet on another man, but all your interactions were always weird he just didn’t figure out why until this very moment as Cregan fails to look over at him after what he read, as he watches this speechless interaction and sees the deep aching softness on the Lord's face and a deep set heartache in your eyes.

He had only seen such a speechless complexity in his mother and Ser Harwin. He was too young to realize it then but as he got older he understood what happened around him, and doesn’t fail to understand now.

Yet as much as he wants to give into this anger he feels boil within him at the thought of Lord Stark taking advantage of you in your five years in Winterfell, the news that awaits him helps him stay collected. Thus he steps forward without causing a scene and finally, Lord Stark drives all the attention to him, letting him finally receive the scroll, and leave you waiting longer without focusing on Cregan any longer. Now you turn to face your brother as he reads what was sent.

Once again it feels like what was written is getting read at an infuriatingly slow pace, but now you’re not impatient to know. You’re scared to know or read Jacaerys' face now. But you keep your eyes on your brother and watch his jaw unclench and his lips part to let out a soft gasp, while his once steady hands begin to tremble, and his eyes…water.

“Jacaerys,” you almost plead his name out.

That anger he had at the waiting completely disappears and he slowly looks up at you with a loud and heartbreaking sorrow.

“Jace,” you mewl.

Said man licks his lips and sniffles before he grabs your arm and gently pulls you aside.

“Listen to me,” his voice quivers and only makes your heart race faster than it’s already beating.

“Is it…” you trail off to catch your breath. “A-Aerion?”

Jacaerys shakes his head and keeps in those tears that fill his eyes. “No, Aerion is fine,” he assures you but you don’t feel relieved.

“What?” You beg for an answer and reach for his hands, but he lifts them and tucks loose strands of hair behind your ear.

“When,” he says shakily. “Lucerys was in StormsEnd, Aemond…”

You start to shake your head and his bottom lip trembles.

“Aemond killed Lucerys,” Jacaerys finally reveals quietly.

A cold breeze hits you and all that you had been feeling gets lost in the wind, leaving you numb.

Jacaerys calls your name but you stare ahead blankly. Theres nothing that crosses your mind, there’s nothing you feel that makes you react. You know it’s heavy and painful news, you knew they were dark words when Cregan told you speechlessly, but you can’t accept the truth that’s given. You don’t want to, you can’t because if you do then it means you will accept that your husband, the man you love…did what was written, and you don’t want to accept that.

However, Jacaerys calls out for you again and this time he grabs your arms and steals your attention, forcing you to once again connect to what you refused to feel.

“No,” you blurt and push him back. “You’re lying. You’re a liar.”

Jacaerys shows you the scroll as he gets close again. “You can read it yourself. It’s the truth, Lucerys…he’s,” he strains to say. “He’s…dead.”

Your heart drops and a flood of emotions rams through you, knocking the air out of your lungs, and making your legs weak.

Jacaerys grabs your arms and holds you up before you can fall and pulls you to him, letting you see how red his eyes are, and how drowned they are with tears he’s holding back.

“Jace,” you mewl and cover your mouth to sob.

Your brother nods in understanding without you having to express the rest of your sorrow. “I know,” he whispers. “I know.”

“Oh gods,” you gasp and drop your head while grabbing at your chest as you can’t seem to catch a breath. You can’t breathe. There’s so much air where you are, it’s so crisp but you can’t manage to take in any which in return only lets you feel the pounding of your heart, the rushing of your blood, and a rush of memories of your little brother Lucerys.

All you can think about is Lucerys, you imagine his last moments, and with every memory and every fake scenario the more you fail to grasp for air.

In the distance, Cregan watches how you’re breaking down, but no matter how much he wants to, he has to stay put even if it hurts not being able to help you when you need him the most. He does get close to trying something small since you are in so much pain trying to breathe, and your brother seems a bit lost on how to help you, but Jacaesys then does the first thing he thinks of and pulls you into an embrace.

Thankfully right away, at the feeling of your brother's weight, and at the feeling of his warmth, all those rushing memories slowly disappear, letting you draw in a deep breath. You pull him closer and bury your head in the crook of his neck whilst you wrap your hand around the back of his neck, and push his head down to let him bury his face on your shoulder so he can express everything he refuses to show to the public.

When he clutches onto the back of your cloak your heart comes to a slow pace, but it doesn’t stop weeping. With every ba-dum, you feel an aching pain in your chest that doesn’t go away.

Eventually, after a short time, Jacaerys pulls back and gives his back to Cregan to wipe away his tears before facing him with a sorrow that isn’t able to wipe off. “We need to go, my Lord. You’ll have to forgive us for not accompanying you back to Winterfell, but with our dragons here we need to make haste to return to Dragonstone.”

You grab at your chest and gently caress it as if that would cure you’re heartache while Jacaerys shares something you agree to without the need for a discussion.

Albeit Cregan is the one who protests. “It will get dark soon, why do you not wait until first light to take flight? Wait until you both have collected yourselves so you don't do anything rash in the heat of the moment.”

You shake your head and interject in a broken voice. “The storm won’t pass, Lord Stark. We’ll just face it head-on and leave, our mother needs us.”

Cregan steps forward, gaining a brief glance from you. “Just eat, and rest…I know the pain of losing a brother, I understand your grief, my heart is with you,” he tries to relate so you would listen. “I have lost many others too, I know the anger, please just let yourselves calm down before you return home. I will stay with you here.”

You know your brother too, you know how angry he can get. You know that once your grief really settles you’ll also start thinking of what happened and you’ll get upset too. Thus you don’t hurry to answer, you look at your brother and he looks at you. And without a word, you come to the same conclusion.

“All right,” Jacaerys says for the both of you. “We will stay, but leave at first light. Thank you, my Lord.”

——

*LATER*

Nothing makes sense.

Why? How?

Those questions are what runs around and around in your head accompanied by different terrifying scenarios that could’ve led to the act. A lot of it points to an accident, you want to believe in your heart of hearts that what…Aemond did was an accident. You don’t want to believe that this remorse got the best of him, he’s supposed to be better, he’s supposed to keep it in for your sake.

He knows how much you love your brothers, he knows he can hate them all he wants, but he can’t hurt them. And yes! You know that war was going to happen no matter what, and violence was going to be dragged in between your families, but Aemond went out of his way to…kill Lucerys when all he was was an envoy.

He killed your brother. Your husband killed your brother, and in turn, betrayed you in the worst way possible. He tore your heart out, and what hurts more is that he hasn’t said what he did in the multiple ravens he’s sent! Just like always, he never tells you a thing!

What are you supposed to believe, but the worst? You want to believe he’s good behind all that hard demeanor, you defend him against your family when they say something bad because you want to believe he has a good heart, but what does killing Lucerys prove? That you’ve been wrong all along?

Gods!

Damn it! Why did he have to do it? Why did he take Lucerys?

A knock raps on your door, but you’re so drowned in your heartache that you don’t hear the sound. It’s not until you hear your name being called out softly behind that door that you almost wake up from your stupor.

“It is I, Cregan,” he announces without the need to, you knew who he was the moment he uttered the first word. “Can I talk to you? You didn’t come for supper.”

You blink repeatedly to relieve the dry spell in your eyes after not blinking for a few seconds and clutch onto the ring you were fiddling with before you get up and unlock the door. You don’t proceed to say anything, you walk away from the door and stand against the fireplace, but Cregan takes the unlocked door as an invitation and walks in, finding your food untouched, you in your nightgown, and your head down.

“I came to check on you,” he says softly as if careful not to hurt you even more with his voice. When he gets no response or even a small breath, he walks in further and notices now how unkempt you are; you’re usually so precise with the way you keep yourself, you always look so clean and tidy, it was only in the morning when you first woke up that he would catch you off guard, but now it’s like you don’t care how you look.

“I hope you are not going to bed with your hair down like that,” he tries to be lighthearted. “You hate having your hair tangled in the morning.”

He waits for a reaction, a soft ‘oh’, but you stay quiet and it just deepens his concern.

“Darling,” he uses your pet name and you finally break from your stupor and turn partially to face him.

He expected a sweet look just out of instinct, but those usually wonder-filled eyes are clouded by agony and tears that can’t even fall down your cheeks anymore; while the fires fierce light brings clarity to your deep set frown, knitted brows, and puffy face worn out from crying.

“Here,” he breathes out and catches a gleam coming from in between your fingers. When he fills his curiosity he notices that the firelight is dancing on a sapphire ring you cannot stop fiddling with in between your fingers; a ring he had not seen you take off once since he saw you. Which must mean your husband gave it to you.

He doesn’t want to ask for many reasons, so he approaches you from behind and gently starts braiding your hair in silence you cannot seem to fill. It’s almost like there was no one inside your body, you were a hollow body left soulless.

“I understand why you locked your door,” he mentions in hopes that would get him a simple reaction. “However, it does not seem necessary, your dragons are restless and it stirs up fear in the brothers. And I am here as well.”

Your back raises as you draw in a deep breath, but rather than filling the silence with a dry response, or some remark, you just breathe out, making him steal a glance at the side of your face that he can see from behind you, before he pulls out the leather strip that keeps half of his hair out of his face to keep your own braid in place instead. He then proceeds to shuffle to your side to grab your arm.

“Sit down, Princess.” He commands softly.

You don’t fight him, you let him guide you down to your seat, and once he’s feeding the fire more wood your hoarse voice finally fills the room.

“I should have gone back to King's Landing…A—He sent me a raven the day after when my grandsire the King died. He didn’t tell me of course, but he told me to go back…I should have listened, I…” you pause to catch your breath. “Maybe then Lucerys…” you trail off and whimper whilst you drop your head in your hands.

Cregan leaves the last piece of wood in the fire and then wipes his hands on his shirt while he stands up to close the gap between you.

“Don't,” he says firmly and crouches down in front of you to grab your hands and pull them down so you can meet his gaze. “Do not blame yourself for your brother's death. What happened is not your fault to carry. What happened is dealt with, don’t dwell on things that can no longer happen.”

You hold his gaze while you process his words for a second and then look down at the ring you still hold.

“I’m sorry,” he says sorrowful words that bring your heart some comfort, but also make your body tremble while those tears that you once couldn’t muster, come rushing down your already stained cheeks.

Nothing else is spoken, and nothing is asked of either of you, but out of instinct your arms slip around his neck, and he returns the embrace and follows you to your feet where he keeps holding you and lets you cry on his shoulder; for hours? For a few seconds? You don’t know, you dwell in his comfort that you missed and relish in it until you stop crying.

He probably should have been the one to pull away, but he doesn’t complain, not once. He lets you pull back on your own time, and even then he grabs your arms to keep you close so he can cup your cheeks and caress them for a final piece of comfort to your aching heart.

Yet that proves to be a mistake because as you linger in his proximity, your eyes fall on his lips and you’re overwhelmed with a passion-filled heat that pushes your lips against his.

At first, Cregan is so stunned by the warmth of your lips on his, and then he’s taken by the excitement of feeling your lips reconnecting that he closes his eyes and kisses you back, but when his lust begins to rush through his blood he pulls back and groans.

“No,” he shakes his head and slides his hands down your face to grab your shoulders, leaving a burning trail down your skin. “You are married. No matter what happened you are still married, and you’re grieving.”

You want to forget your pain for a moment and be consumed by the comfort, bliss, and excitement he provides, but he’s also right. And how can you do that to Aemond…

But…

Maybe you don’t care if it hurts him because he hurt you. He won’t know either way—But you will know, you will know that it’s something that can hurt him, and you…don’t care. But Cregan…is right.

“I’m sorry,” you throw out and step away from him, feeling a chill hit those parts of you that he kept warm with his touch—“you are right. I’m sorry.”

Cregan turns away and swallows back thickly, feeling somewhat disappointed that he has to turn down this heat of the moment. “Perhaps I shall bid you a goodnight now.”

You swallow back to hide your disappointed sigh and nod. “Yes, goodnight Cregan.”

Said man avoids looking at you when he turns. It makes it easier to walk away from you. But when his hand touches the door handle he doesn’t turn it to open it, he stands there frozen with his back turned to you as he feels his honor start to slip.

He turns his head but doesn’t peek over right away, he fights himself but quickly falters when he feels the ghost of your wet lips haunting his. And when he fully looks back and sees the shadow of your sculpted figure in your white nightgown his inner battle is lost. He only proves his loss by locking the door and turning completely to face you, turning around as well.

“Cregan?” You query, puzzled by his presence.

Said man draws out a deep breath before he strides back to you with determination in his step and surprises you by grabbing your face the moment he can. You want to utter his name, but a small gasp is all that goes past your lips whilst you drop the ring that Aemond had gifted you.

“I pride myself in my honor,” he says while his eyes flicker between your parted lips and your shocked gaze. “But when it comes to you it’s turned to ash, nothing stops me from wanting you, from…” he trails off and leans forward, but you don’t allow your lips to touch. You shift your head away, but he follows you to keep your breaths unfurling over each other's lips.

“…desiring you in every way a gentleman shouldn’t. I burn for you when you’re far, and even when I dream of you. It is wrong.” He nods, and you nod too without much effort. “But you are my weakness, you have always been my weakness. You’re my joy, the reason I laugh, and also the reason I don’t march to King's Landing and bring you to Winterfell to make you mine,” he whispers against your lips, making a smile make an appearance on your saddened face.

“Tell me this is wrong, tell me to leave now,” he tells you and drags his eyes up to meet yours so you can know he’s being serious. “And I will. I will leave your chambers and when morning comes I’ll bid you farewell with no remorse and as nothing more than friends.”

As if being hypnotized to his lips you lean forward, but only let your lips brush, leaving your heart pounding as it screams for you to connect.

“I still have to leave,” you make it known while you gently cup his jaw to touch some part of him. “I have to return to Dragonstone no matter what.”

Cregan’s eyebrows pinch together and he hesitates before he nods. “I understand,” he mutters and glances at your lips again. “But that doesn’t change a thing if you tell me to leave.”

You should. You're still married even if Aemond betrayed you by killing your brother. And deep deep down a lot of your conflict comes because you don’t know if you did stop loving the man who killed your brother, but that reason is also why you want to give in to your deepest burning desire.

That reason is why you’re selfish and don’t resist Cregan or stop your heart from swooning at his confession.

“Don’t leave,” is all he needs to hear to smile widely before he finally feeds your desire by kissing you slowly, fueling that passionate heat that completely takes over your body, and leaving you still and breathless for a moment as you relish in the sweet taste of his soft lips melting with yours, guiding your every movement, and driving you mad with lust.

You had forgotten this dream-like feeling, you had forgotten how fast he makes your heart race when he’s kissing you, and you forgot how hot you burn when his fingers explore the perimeters of your body. Furthermore, you forgot how eager he can get until you feel his grip on the back of your gown.

You pull away quickly and protest. “No, no, wait, do not rip it.”

Cregan fingers loosen and you start to giggle. “Why do you always want to rip my gowns?” You bring up, making his lips lift to a smirk.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers between heavy breaths.

You press a kiss on his lips and then tell him, “gently.”

He breathes out deeply and nods once before he slides his fingers back to the ribbon tying your gown together, and slowly begins to untie it while you drift your lips to kiss the corner of his mouth, and then kiss his jaw before you graze your lips up and kiss the corner of his jaw.

Cregan lets out a groan from the back of his throat, making you feel chills grow on your skin.

“I hate all these layers,” he musters while you continue to leave a trail of kisses down to his neck. “They are so infuriating.”

You smile against his neck, causing you to feel his nails dig in your skin.

“It keeps me warm,” you tell him and lick a stripe up to his lips. “Your North is cold, my Lord.”

Cregan clenches his jaw and shakes his head. “A little less with your presence,” he completely wins you over, making you grin and look at him in awe.

“I missed you,” he finally lets himself confess to you. “My darling love.”

You sigh and whisper back. “I missed you too.”

His eyes gleam brighter and that short absence is filled once again with your lips while he finally slips off your gown, leaving you under a simple sheer gown that he slips off with ease.

“You’re beautiful,” he says with awe, and his eyes dark with lust.

“It’s no fair,” you argue between kisses and slowly drag your hands down to help him pull off his layers. “And you say I wear a lot of layers,” you comment, making him scoff.

You finally end up pulling the last one off and throw it to the side mindlessly as you’re captivated by his toned torso and those thick arms that he unfairly hides under all those garments.

“Kiss me,” you command in a voice oozing with honey.

“Gladly,” is all he says before capturing your face to smash his lips on yours and this time make out more roughly as he’s filled with a much more hungry need.

Your own need lets you multitask by unbuckling his pants and tugging on them so he can pull them off in the brief pause you have between devouring each other. Yet when his member is out for you to see, you take a moment to admire how girthy and hard it is, and how perfect every vein is on his length.

You can’t help but start to go on your knees, but he grabs your bicep and pulls you back up to drift you away from that need.

“No,” he says out of breath and instead wraps his arms around you, and presses his lips on your neck to start leaving wet kisses on your flesh while he also slides his hands down your body, making you shiver at the feeling of his warm hands caressing you gently.

Without lifting his mouth off your neck he drifts his hand behind your knee, and with no explanation, he pulls your leg up to help you climb up and wrap your legs around his waist so he can walk you back to the edge of the bed, and gently put you down.

Once you’re lying on your back he pulls back but leans down to press his hands beside your head, and simply hold your gaze with this endearing look that makes his eyes smile.

“I'm going inside you,” he warns you, making you shiver and swallow thickly as you already imagine the stretch. “You need to be quiet.”

You part your lips but utter nothing, instead, you lift your head and he responds by giving you what you wanted, a deep kiss, while he grabs his length and aligns himself with your hole. When his tip touches you you gasp and he grins before taking your lips again to distract you while he slowly penetrates you.

Albeit the stretch is so wonderful and filling that you claw your nails on his back and scratch his back as he keeps going in deeper. Once all the way inside he finally pulls his face back to whisper. “You were made for me. You belong with me.”

You don’t respond with words, you cup his cheeks and brush strands of his hair behind his ears before you slide your hand to the back of his neck to gently pull him down. “Cregan make me yours,” you finally fill the silence, feeling as if his cock hardens even more before he finally starts moving his hips, filling you with a blinding ecstasy that heightens this passionate moment, and makes you only think about him and the pleasure he feels and gives you. You forget your sorrows and the grudge. You forget the war and the responsibilities you have.

You’re selfish in the lust-filled night and remain ignorant even before it's time to get out of bed. You just relish in Cregan's presence for a bit longer.

“Cregan…” you whisper, and the man hums in response letting you sigh before you share what’s been bothering you. “I do not like that I am the reason you disregard your honor. I do not like putting you through that.”

The hand on your back stops moving and a small huff rolls out of his nose. “I think it’s late to start thinking about that.”

You blink repeatedly with discontent and abruptly sit up to face him. “I am not jesting,” you press sharply. “I’m being serious. You hold your honor in high regard, I hate to be the one who makes it falter.”

A faint smile tugs on his lips without regard to your comment before he leans forward and assures you. “I have my honor, I never forget it, but I love you more. I’m being selfish without disregarding everything to be it. I know how to hold myself back,” he says firmly and cups your cheek to bring you closer to him. “I know where I stand, I am just choosing to have a taste of happiness. You, my darling, are my happiness.”

Your eyes water and your heart swoons, there’s nothing you can say that would measure up to the kind things he just said, all you can do is press a lingering kiss on his warm lips before you lay your head down on his chest, and hold onto him like he’s your security blanket.

“I…could offer you and your Aerion refuge here,” he offers and makes your pounding heart hurt.”

“Here? In Castle Black?” You tease without sounding too amused.

Cregan scoffs and starts to caress your arm. “Not here. In Winterfell,” he clarifies without a hint of falter at the mention of your son who is fathered by someone else who does bring him pangs of jealousy every time he remembers you’re married, and when he hears his name. “I would make sure no one could touch you and your boy there. He wouldn’t have to grow up around so much violence and you would not have to worry.”

You tilt your head down to kiss his shoulder before you give his offer an answer. “It's a nice offer, but my place is not hiding in a cage like some frightened bird. My place is out there, with my mother, with my brother, and the rest of my family fighting with the dragon I have. My mother needs me and I don’t want to leave her alone.”

Cregan doesn’t interject with anything, his chest rises and slowly falls back down, letting you know your response slightly wounded him.

“Instead of having her husband with her when she lost my sister,” you begin to say quieter but filled with frustration. “Daemon was out leading her council. I was the one who held her when she cradled my sister's lifeless body. I…have to be there for her now.”

“I understand,” he doesn’t falter to assure you. “But you must know if you ever find yourself needing somewhere to go, Winterfell is yours. You and your son are welcome.”

You lift your head off him to face him in the little space left between you. “I will always remember that. Thank you,” you say from the bottom of your heart.

A smile twitches on his serious face, and he proceeds to press a feathered kiss on your lips before he grins and says. “Sing for me? Just for me.”

You giggle and gently smack his shoulder. “No,” you answer bluntly and lay back down basically on him.

“Why not?” He chuckles. “It's not like you have to fear enchanting me with your song, you already have.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up. Anyway!” You change the subject. “I was supposed to stop writing to you. I had already planned it.”

Cregan sighs and his chin rests on the top of your head. “I know,” he mutters. “You stopped writing as much as you would recently.”

Your smile falls but you grow desperate and hopeful. “But…you will answer me when I write to you in the weeks to come, right?”

He shrugs and interjects. “If that’s what you want, I will.”

You nod softly. “I do.”

You lift yourself up again to face him so he knows you’re being sincere. “I do.”

He grabs your cheek and his eyes soften. “Are you frightened?” He makes sure to ask.

You swallow thickly and shake your head. “No. Nervous, but not scared.”

He smirks and slides his hand down to caress your chin. “That’s my girl. You know how to fight, use that.” He tells you.

You laugh nervously. “I’ve never had to actually use my skill for violence.”

Your swordsmanship and your skills with archery were never for the intent of being some warrior, you like the idea of being like Queen Visenya Targaryen, and Princess Alyssa, but mostly your need to be trained with a sword and with archery was because you took it as a challenge. They said you couldn’t have it and you challenged them. Thus now that you’re having to face this war and the potential of having to use your skill, you’re honestly quite nervous.

You’ve never admitted that. You don’t want to admit it to anyone but him so they don't feel like you aren’t reliable.

“It won’t be easy,” Cregan says the truth. “But when you face your enemy, do not hesitate. Think quickly but be smart and do not let them gain the upper hand. You have a dragon, use her, and you have skill, good skill. Use it.”

You let out a shaky breath and nod in comprehension. He offers you a gentle smile and pulls you down to press his forehead against yours.

“You must know I will wait for you. Just a while longer.”

Asking what will happen after a while passes scares you, so you leave it be and just give him an honest response. “If fate ends up letting me choose, I will finally come home to you.”

He flashes you a charming smile that eases that worry in your heart and only works to sink you further down into this little escape.

“Now,” he coos against your lips. “Will you sing for me?”

You roll your eyes with a flattered smile featured on your face before you pull away to lay back on his chest and finally do as he asks of you as a parting gift where there aren't multiple people watching you, and pushing you down to hide or pretend that you’re nothing more than friends. You sing him a song for only him to hear before you take your leave and face reality once again.

——

*SOMETIME LATER. DRAGONSTONE*

What good is actually facing reality? Facing a dead beloved brother, and the fact that it was someone who you loved that killed him?

Dragonstone is a painful reminder of what happened while you were away. Only now that pain in your heart is tenfold and you don’t think anyone can actually know the pain that plagues you. Who can truly understand what it is you carry? No one is married to the man who killed Lucerys. They can hate him with ease, but you?

You want to despise him, you fought yourself the entire flight back to Dragonstone to hate him and view him as another enemy, to view him like you view Aegon, but as much as you think you hate him, your heart fights hard to try and tell a different tale. And that’s what makes it worse.

Thus it's easier, it was almost healing, having an escape with Cregan, but now there’s no one who will silence your cries. And what makes matters worse is facing your heartbroken mother. You don’t like seeing her cry or be hurt, when she lost Visenya your pain could never equate to what she was feeling, but you hurt too with every groan, with all the blood that she spilled, and every sob. Now you’re moments away from her and your heart and soul are already shattering.

However, after you watch your dragon disappear into the caves with Vermax, and take a step inside the castle, a hand wraps around your forearm and you’re pulled into a dark dead end where there aren't prying eyes or nearby ears.

“<Tell me the truth,” Jacaerys spats in a whisper so no one would hear the sound of his words also protected by High Valyrian. “About you and Lord Stark.>”

You can’t help yourself, you blink repeatedly in disbelief and gape like a fish out of water.

“< There's no point in lying,” he only further surprises you. “I figured it out when he got the letter from Dragonstone. I would see it every time you would talk but I never pieced it together until yesterday. It all made sense then, the glances, what you would tell each other, and every story you told about him.>”

Tears fill your eyes and your heart echos in your ears as you’re struck with shame. Not for loving another man, but that Jacaerys found out.

“<He touched you?>” He proceeds to ask in your shocked silence.

And it’s in that silence where he figures out your unspoken response and finally lets go of your arm to turn away with a scoff.

“<He never forced himself on me,” you defend Cregan. “Everything we did was because we wanted it to happen. We love each other.>”

Jacaerys turns on his heels with frustration and clutches onto your arms to sneer. “<You saw how much mother suffered because she was with Ser Harwin. Did you not learn anything?>”

You know he’s remarking all that stuff to your face because he cares. He’s being thoughtful in his way but it doesn’t stop you from crying, and when you shed tears you hit a cord in your brother's heart and he lets go of you with a sigh.

“<If you weren’t already married I would turn back and force him, but alas,>,” he mutters and sighs again before turning and dropping his head in his hands.

“<He would’ve too,” you defend his honor. “But I did not want Aemond to hurt him with Vhagar. I choose not to marry him, please don’t blame him. He’s a good man.>”

Jacaerys shakes his head in disappointment and turns to face you with his eyes narrowed into a fierce glare and his lips curled in a snarl. “How am I not supposed to blame him?” He remarks in the common tongue. “He had his way with you and did not do what he was supposed to do! What an honorable man would do!”

“I told you already, I told him not to because of Aemond.”

Jacaerys grabs his face and rubs the bridge of his nose, so you continue to try and calm him down.

“He was always respectful and kind. And…” you pause and lick your lips before you utter the reality. “There’s nothing you can do about it now. There's no use in being upset, I am married and that won’t change even if I love him unless Aemond dies. So please,” you plead softer and step towards him to grab his arm so he can face you. “Please Jace, keep it a secret. No one must know. It’s in the past. Please don’t tell a soul.”

Jacaerys eyes snap to you and he clenches his jaw as he looks at you thoughtfully for a few agonizing moments before he sighs and whispers. “Fine. I will not tell anyone only because there’s nothing I can do now.”

You sigh with relief and wipe away your tears before you offer him a thankful smile and a sweeter comment. “Thank you so much. Thank you, Jace, really. I love you.”

Jacaerys lets out a deep breath and his face slowly lets that frustration go, and instead slowly falls to express a soft sorrow. You slide your hand down his arm to cup his hand and slowly mirror that grief as you remember what you lost and that pain you both now harbor.

No matter how hard you wish, there’s nothing in this world that can change what happened, no one can bring back your fallen brother. And what’s even crueler is that no matter how hopeful you were for the news to be a lie, you’re home now and that hope lies with Lucerys.

You both come to the same realization and speechlessly exchange it, bringing you both into each other's embrace to cry now without care.

And deep down you both want to stay close in just the way you are so neither of you run the risk of losing each other the way you lost Lucerys. It’s a foolish thought, but it’s one brought by grief, and a new fear set in both of your hearts because no matter how much you love your little brothers, nothing can compare to the bond the three of you had. A bond that now consists of Jacaerys and you. Just him and you.

“Jacaerys,” your moment is interrupted by a feminine voice that also speaks your name but does not belong to your mother. And when you both break away and look over you see Baela stand at the end of the hall with her hands clasped together and a pitiful look in her eyes.

“Baela,” you greet and wipe your tears away while Jacaerys turns to wipe his own tears away.

“Welcome back home,” she speaks sweetly.

You offer her a thankful nod before you walk over to her and meet her halfway with an embrace.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly.

You nod and then interject. “Thank you.” You pull back and glance around in search of her twin. “Where’s Rhaena?”

Baela sighs. “In her chambers.”

You wished to greet her just as you returned home, but now you’ll have to speak to her after you speak with your mother.

“And what about…” you trail off and hesitate. “What about my mother?”

Baela glances behind you as Jacaerys approaches you and then gives you the answer you wanted. “I’ll take you to her.”

You offer her a thankful smile and watch her walk to Jacaerys to wrap her arms around him and offer him sweeter condolences. When the moment passes she guides you to your mother and your heart begins to pound, while your stomach twists and makes you feel almost nauseous at the anticipation. You already know you’re going to break even more, but there’s something about thinking about your mother being heartbroken that already tears you apart.

And maybe a part of it is because…it feels like you had a hand in her heartbreak because it was your husband who killed Lucerys.

It was not really you, you know that. You were oblivious to your husband's affairs, but no matter what anyone says, yes, that’s what is dwelling within, your guilt. It rattles you to the point you can’t be comfortable in your own skin.

As you get closer to your mother's quarters breathing gets hard once again, and your surroundings begin to dim, leaving only the narrow path ahead visible. You want to run away and not face the pain you’ll see. But when the doors to your mother's quarters open and you see her sitting across the fireplace, alone and in the dark, that panic settles as if she was the fresh air you needed to calm down, leaving you with the need to be embraced by her warmth and comfort, while also giving the same in return.

“Your Grace,” you greet her softly once Baela clears the room and leaves only you and your brother with your mother.

Your pounding heart starts racing once again, but it’s not out of fear, it’s racing out of a need to ease your pain, and the pain you clearly see on her delicate face. Yet you hold strong with tears stinging in your eyes already.

“Lady Jayne Arryn has pledged her support,” Jacaerys breaks the emotional silence to share the support you both gained when you were away on a mission. “…In exchange for a dragon to guard the Vale,” you hear the tear in your brother's voice, and when you glance over at him you see him fiddling with his hands while his eyes grow more and more teary, making your already weak hold, falter.

You still want to continue for him, but when you part your lips you can’t utter a word, it’s all lost in your grief that heightens the longer you watch your mother.

“And,” Jacaerys continues sounding even more brokenhearted by the second. “Lord Cregan Stark,” he pauses and takes a deep breath, but doesn’t seem to find the will to finish. He falls breathless and that wall he usually has up to be perceived as strong, and a protector crumbles, leaving him shaky.

You reach over to grab his hand while tears start to roll out of your eyes as you trail on for him. “…Lord Stark…promised 2000 men,” you manage to share with all the might you can muster.

Your mother doesn’t respond, she instead stands from her seat with her face contorting with grief and approaches the both of you, making you completely lose the faltering hold you had on your emotions.

However, when she’s close, Jacaerys reaches out first and she welcomes him in her arms. You want to do the same, you’ve been aching for it, but your guilt hits you and you stand there frozen with your head down.

“Mother,” you mewl with streams of tears. “I’m…sorry.”

Your mother pulls away from Jacaerys just slightly, leaving her arm around his neck to approach you and caress your cheek with no disdain in her eyes; nor does she look at you like you were the one at fault, her eyes are sad, but she expresses her reassurance before she slides her arm around your neck and pulls you in her gentle embrace and confirms that she doesn’t hate or blame you.

It’s such a relieving comfort that it works to lift some weight off your chest. Weight Cregan couldn’t ease when he talked to you.

Now you can ease in your mother's embrace without feeling like she hates you. Now you can caress her back without the fear of getting rejected.

Soon thereafter, neither Jacaerys nor you attempt to leave your mother's comfort. Nor does it feel like your mother wants either of you to pull away from her embrace that protects her two eldest from the cruel reality that took her third child.

You stay interlinked and weep on each other's shoulders until she pulls away to face you both.

“I have been waiting for your return to light…Lucerys pyre,” she shares. “Is it fine if we light it tonight? The sun is setting and the winds are calm.”

You and Jacaerys don’t find a reason to push the funeral back. You also know there are other matters to attend to that don't give you the luxury of sitting in your grief.

But, oh wouldn’t that be nice?

You don’t want to ignore what happened, no, that’s not what you want. You just want to take a moment to process what happened, and who did it, and tell yourself that you will no longer see your little brother Lucerys.

But no, war forces you to face reality and deal with your grief harshly on the same night you arrived from Winterfell, and at the same spot where your baby sister's funeral pyre was lit.

This time the crowd is smaller though, more intimate. Daemon isn’t even here, which isn’t surprising, but it is also disappointing that he can’t be at his wife’s side as she deals with the death of her son, and lights yet another funeral pyre. And what grows your hatred for him even more is that he can’t seem to be bothered to be a father to his daughter who just lost her betrothed. It’s a good thing Baela is at her side.

It’s also good that you can be with your family this time, dealing with your father's grief alone was devastating. There was no one besides your handmaiden Vanessa to hold your hand and embrace you when you wept. Comforting letters could never measure up to the comfort of your mother's arms or that of your siblings and your grandparents.

Now though, you stand amongst them around the fire that will burn away the only pieces you have of Lucerys, which are his things. There's not even bones to turn to ash, nothing was found of him but his cloak, and a part of his dragon's wing.

Thus Jacaerys steps up first and throws in a soft red blanket along with a piece of his clothes. Besides a few tears rolling down his face, he holds strong now, unlike before when he was in the privacy of just you and your mother, which is assuring. He definitely seems to comfort Joffrey, who throws a wooden horse in the fire, leaving you to step up next.

Yet when you step up and lift a small wooden ship you sob for the brother you’ll never be able to see grow into a man. You’ll never be able to see him marry, or see him command his fleets. You’ll never be able to watch him build a family of his own, nor will you be able to dance another song with him, he’ll be gone forever.

You throw away all those possibilities you’ll never get to see in the fire, and watch the flames eat away at the small wooden ship, and turn to ash everything you couldn’t watch your brother do.

Thick smoke rises, it infiltrates through your nose and stings your throat and eyes while also helping you realize something through the stinging pain, that being your hate for Aemond, your husband, and best friend. You were clouded with confusion before, you couldn’t let go, but you see it clearly now in the thick smoke, you hate him.

And it’s because of your realization that you don’t realize your mother is next to you until you catch her throwing in a piece of Lucery’s clothes with agony contorting her face and clouding her eyes. She lingers by the fire for a moment and you watch her shoulders shake before she steps back. You fall by her side and glance down at her empty hand before you reach over to grab it and once again be the comfort she needs in her moment of pain.

A need to go to Rhaena’s side does grow. You feel called to her side to comfort her, but once the fire starts to lose its power, and all the wooden logs turn black, you step away from your brother and mother's side, but come to a stop right away as you feel guilt again. Your mother might’ve speechlessly assured you, but Rhaena’s anger and grief is different, what if she does blame you for what Aemond did?

If you weren’t away you probably could’ve stopped Aemond, but you weren’t with him. What if she blames you for Aemond taking her betrothed?

You don’t want to be the source of more pain for your cousin, so out of fear and guilt, you don’t approach her. You avoid her and instead, let your grandfather give his condolences before embracing your grandmother.

“I heard the Queen made you her hand,” you interject and pull back to face her with a proud smile. “Congratulations, grandmother, I could think of no one more capable than you.”

Your grandmother caresses your face and offers you a sweet and thankful smile. “Thank you, my Sweet. How are you doing?” She asks with a concerned gaze.

You sigh. “I’m dealing with all my emotions, but I’m relieved that I at least don’t have to go through my grief alone this time,” you share, earning a faint smile.

“I was wondering…” you roll out hesitantly whilst you hook your arm around his to head back inside together. “…does anyone accompany you on your patrols?”

Without needing to hear the rest of what you wanted to ask, she figures out the direction you're taking this conversation.

“No,” your grandmother assures you.

“Oh, well I was wondering,” you finally get to your question. “If I could accompany you? The sea is large, together we could cover more ground. Besides,” you sweet talk her to persuade her. “Astraea is fast, and she’s grown large from her time at Winterfell. She’s good at sea. She likes to dive with me on her. And I am a good archer on Dragonback. We could help you.”

Your grandmother scoffs and flashes you a smile. “Well as much as I would like your help, we would have to ask the Queen first. Bring it up with her and if she accepts I would love to share patrol with you, it would relieve me of some work.”

You smile excitedly and nod eagerly. “Good, I’m glad. I’ll ask her at the next council meeting.”

Your grandmother offers you an encouraging smile and helps you feel some joy in the dark storm that casts over you.

Of course, no one or nothing brings you more joy than your little one, your beloved Aerion. When you see him fast asleep in his cradle your dim world lights up and you muster a happy grin.

As much as you want him to wake so he knows you’ve returned to him, you let him be and just crouch by the cradle to admire him as he sleeps.

You admire his cute round cheeks, his tiny little hands balled up to fists over his head, his thin eyelashes he got from his father, and those pink thin lips he also got from

Aemond. But most importantly you watch his chest carefully to make sure he’s breathing.

You could watch him sleep for hours on end and never tire. Especially because sometimes, just like now, you catch him smiling in his sleep and you just can’t help but swoon.

You always wondered what it is they dream about, fairytales mayhaps? Food? Their parents?

Does he dream about his father now that they’re apart? A father who loves him, and takes pride in his son? A father that you hate and…cheated on…

He killed your little brother, and you lay with Cregan because you wanted to, because you missed him, and you were upset and selfish, but now that you’re looking at your son sleeping away a different pang of guilt punctures your heart.

A guilt you shouldn’t feel, Aerion is young, he won't remember this conflict, but he will feel shame if he ever finds out you cheated on his father.

Yes, his father hurt you first, Aemond betrayed you first. He hurt you in one the worst ways possible! But…now…

Now you’re looking at Aerion and you think of how this could also hurt him. He’s young, a baby turning five months old soon, he won’t remember his life as an infant, but your secret won’t be forgotten, especially if in the future Cregan and you aren’t together.

It would hurt him so much if he ever found out. That’s what makes you cry with guilt. Not regret, you don’t regret your night with Cregan, he made you happy, but you do feel guilt and shame.

——

*THE NEXT MORNING*

Does Aemond’s crime justify what you did?

You can’t help but think of that, you can’t help but think of the hate you harbor, but you also can’t stop thinking about him. About the way his family doesn’t show him the affection you do. He protects them and takes care of them, but they will never return it in the same amount.

He’s probably lonely, and brooding. He’s probably silently just lurking in his brother's council, and breaking his fasts alone.

You always tried breaking fast and eating dinners together. He always smiled when he saw the way you were dressed, especially when you wore purple. He always gave you a kiss before you drifted apart for the day, and when you saw each other he kissed you with need as if you had gone years without seeing each other.

When night came, or when you found yourselves just in a calm moment, he let his guard down and let himself be vulnerable. You loved those moments the most because it felt as if only he and you existed in this world.

Actually, he treated you like you were the only person he has ever loved. You came first all the time, even before your son. Which is selfish, but you never minded because who could treat you the same?

Cregan’s people come first, the North comes first no matter what he says. That’s why he’s not marching over here to fight himself because other priorities come first, but with Aemond, he may have his goals and his pride, but you were never held lesser than something. His anger got in the way. It’s blinding but you understand why.

You understood at least…because the truth is you can’t defend him now…

He deserves his solitude. You hate him for taking Lucerys away. That much is true and you put that over everything.

“Princess,” Vanessa’s sweet voice cuts through the blowing breeze of the sea, making you pick your eyes off your son to look into the distance.

“Vanessa,” you entertain your handmaiden with what you know she’s leading up to.

“I was wondering,” she parts her lips, but before she can finish her thought the sound of your name coming from someone else’s lips interrupts the conversation. You look back and smile faintly when you see your grandfather Corlys.

“Grandfather,” you greet sweetly as you stand up to watch him approach you at shore.

“I’m surprised to see you out here so early,” he mentions, making you scoff softly and look down at Aerion watching your grandfather carefully.

“When I saw Aerion he was sleeping, so I wanted to make up for it and spend as much time as I can before I’m called away,” you tell him and study him, noticing he’s standing up a lot straighter than before, and still using a very nice wooden cane. “I wanted to apologize for not going to visit you when you were abed. I’m more than glad to see you up now and attending to your fleet.” You smile brightly and watch him get close to watch Aerion in your arms.

“It's quite all right,” he assures you and meets your gaze. “You are a dragon rider, and the Queen's daughter, there’s a lot to do. I'm happy to see you safely returned, I know Aerion has missed you.”

You glance at your son, and as if he knew you were admiring him he glances at you and smiles before laying his head on your shoulder.

“Rhaenys and I would take him on strolls when the day gave us time,” your grandfather catches you by surprise. “The poor lad would be cooped all day with your mother gone.”

Considering Aerion the son of Aemond, you didn’t think your grandparents, especially your grandfather would much care for your son, but hearing his report really brings a warmth to your heart.

“I noticed that young Aerion quite enjoys being by the water,” your grandfather adds, making you grin and nod.

“Yes, he loves it when the waves roll over his feet,” you share giddily and caress your son's head as you return your gaze to your grandfather. “And he gets lulled to sleep by the sound of crashing waves.”

“He’ll be a fine sailor in no time.”

You hum happily at your grandfather's comment and then watch him glance out at the never-ending sea before he sighs softly, and then looks back at you with a faint smile that lets you catch a look in his eye that makes you think he’s up to something.

“Why don’t you and Aerion accompany me to Driftmark? It’s still early, and you can come back by dragonback before you’re needed,” he suggests.

You have been meaning to keep your mind off all the racing thoughts that kept you up at night, and well, you are extremely curious. It’s not common for him to invite you to accompany him anywhere. That’s what your grandmother does.

“Vanessa,” you address your handmaiden, and give your grandfather an answer. “Return inside, if anyone asks for me tell them where I am and that I will return soon.”

Your handmaiden offers you a comprehensive nod and goes off to do as you asked, letting you walk with your grandfather toward his boat under the morning sky pampered with fluffy white clouds that make you feel a smidge of joy as certain memories infiltrate your mind.

“On nice days like these my father would take me sailing,” you muse with your grandfather. “I’m pretty sure the septa giving me lessons would despise when he would pull me from my lessons since I was a princess and had no business doing boy stuff, but,” you grin softly. “He was the prince consort, he did as he pleased and my mother never minded. Besides, I encouraged him,” you pause and feel your eyes begin to sting without much warning.

“He taught me a lot of ships…I miss him,” you finish in a whisper.

Your grandfather lets out a deep sigh and you see him nod along with you from the corner of your eye.

“Did he teach you how to read maps?” Your grandfather wonders.

You nod. “Yes, and star charts. I could learn more about those, but I could follow the stars North and to King’s Landing with no map. He…never tried to leave anything out, he was always so excited.”

Your grandfather hums and you glance over at him to address something else on your chest. “I’m glad you decided to side your fleet and Driftmark with my mother.”

His dark eyes meet yours and he quirks a brow. “Why would I side with Aegon?”

Well besides him being a man, there’s also the fact that it’s highly theorized Daemon killed his son. You believe and hate him for it, but no matter how much you want to share that belief, you bite your tongue and shrug as if it was just a concerned-filled thought.

Your grandfather understands your speechless response and holds your gaze as he gives his vague response. “I had many reasons to side with your mother.”

You offer him a simple proud smile and reach his boat in a peaceful silence only filled by the crashing waves and the cawing of seabirds. You had hoped to feel a hint of those exciting and tender feelings you oftentimes felt with your father when you were out at sea, but even if you walk with his father, those feelings you ache to reconnect to aren’t anywhere close, reminding you that you’ll never be with your father ever again, or have a bond with any father-figure.

Albeit your grandfather does let you sail the boat to Driftmark, but as excited you do feel to show off your skills and once again maneuver a boat, you still feel empty within.

“My dragon loves the sea,” you begin to say with the intention of persuading him to use your aid at sea whilst you keep an eye on the distant waters. “And I have learned how to use a bow and arrow on dragonback, perhaps I could be the dragon rider to protect your fleet when battle hits our shores, or we attack theirs,” you finish and peer back at him with a sly grin, unknowingly reminding him of his son when he was your age and eager to prove his worth. You even wore the same sly smile Laenor wore when he was proving himself a fine sailor and dragonrider.

“That…” he starts off quietly but then clears his throat and sounds as mighty as ever. “That would honor me.”

You offer him a happy smile over your shoulder and then let your gaze fall on Aerion strapped on your chest, noticing him watching the waves with his eyes wide and full of wonder.

However, the wonder slowly gets lost as he starts to get lulled to sleep. He tries to fight the sleep to keep watching the moving waves, but he’s outmatched and loses himself to sleep not long before you arrive at Driftmark’s shore.

Unlike Dragonstone, Driftmark is more lively with people; both townspeople and soldiers from the fleets as well as those who work on your grandfather's massive ship. Some seem worried that something could happen at any given moment, while others seem to be happy just mindlessly living.

You begin to wonder about that happiness, you don’t envy their joy, a part of you resents all these people being so happy and living their lives unaffected by the death of Driftmark’s Heir. You wonder why it is they don’t feel what you’re plagued with, you want them to feel your sorrow.

But then you do realize that you’re just letting your pain cloud your judgment.

“Besides having you accompany me,” your grandfather interjects, pulling your attention away from the large ship. “I wanted to share something I have been thinking of as of late.”

You clasp your hands together and out of instinct reach out to fiddle with the ring Aemond gave you, but you’re then surprised when you feel that your ringer finger is bare.

You spare a glance at your finger and drift your gaze to the ground, but you’re then reminded of the fact that you left your ring behind in your borrowed quarters at Castle Black.

You probably won’t ever see it again…

“…I was hoping that when Aerion is older he could be my ward,” your grandfather catches your attention and makes you furrow your eyebrows and look at him with disbelief, and slightly bothered.

“Of course,” he continues, “he won’t have to join me until he’s much older, but he is Laenor’s grandson, I want him to know the sea, and I want to teach him about ships and how to command fleets like I taught your father.”

You glance at your sleeping son and cradle the back of his head as if protecting him from being parted from you.

“He’s the son of a second son, he won’t inherit a crown or a castle from his father, but he could inherit…my title.”

You snap your eyes over to him and come to a slow stop as you’re overcome with surprise. You want to be filled with pride and joy, but there’s an obstacle that stops you. “But,” you mutter your thought out loud. “He is Aemond’s son. A man who opposes us. A man who killed your heir.”

Your grandfather turns away from his ship and faces you, and doesn’t fail to nod in agreement. “Aye, he is the son of Prince Aemond, but Aerion has salt-littered blood. He is the grandson of Laenor Velaryon, my son.”

Aerion is also your son, and you are also your father's firstborn, and only biological child, but he doesn’t seem to ever mention that! What are you, a painted portrait?

You would’ve loved to inherit Driftmark and his title of Lord of the Tides, but no!

You would ask about Rhaena getting that chance before Aerion since she is the daughter of his only daughter, but you don’t see that having a good answer, so you don’t even waste your breath.

“What of Joffrey?” You bring up. “He should be your heir.”

Your grandfather sighs and nods stiffly but quickly counters you. “Perhaps, but I want it to be Aerion. The grandson of my son.”

It’s not hard to realize the actual truth behind his response; Joffrey is the bastard son of your father. With Lucerys gone, he can actually name an actual Velaryon his heir. It doesn’t seem fair, your father loved your brothers whether they were his or not, but who are you to deny Aerion of a fruitful future?

He comes first now, and it doesn’t seem like your grandfather is actually asking your permission or for your actual thoughts, his mind seems mind up, so with a deep breath and a hesitant smile you accept what he brings up. “That…would make me happy. And I’m sure it would’ve made my father happy.”

Your grandfather offers you a smile and surprises you by patting your shoulder as an endearing gesture that brings a…silence where you smile faintly out of pride, but you can’t help but think what next. You’ve never actually spent so much time with your grandfather, and if you do your grandmother has always been with you.

“Why don’t you show your knowledge on the ship,” your grandfather luckily drifts the attention over.

However, just as you approach the plank resting on the dock, he stops you by grabbing your shoulder and interjecting loudly. “Alyn!”

You follow his gaze and blink repeatedly in surprise when you see the same Addam of Hull who fought in your engagement tourney.

When the man’s eyes fall on you beside your grandfather his lips part in surprise, but when he reaches you he closes his mouth and bows his head. “Princess,” he greets you properly right away.

“Ser,” you greet him quite excitedly.

“Good,” your grandfather cuts in and steps back. “You remember each other.”

You drift your gaze to your grandfather and express your confusion with knitted eyebrows that he helps ease with a quick response. “I sent him to check on you for me when I was fighting in the Step Stones.”

Instead of going to you himself?

Whatever.

“Really?” You ask with more surprise. “Well thank you, he was a very excellent jouster who brought Driftmark and me great pride.”

Alyn offers you a stiff smile and bows his head as a thank you.

“Good, I’m glad to hear he can’t show his skill,” your grandfather fills the man’s silence. “Why don’t I let you get reacquainted.”

Without room to argue he walks away and leaves you alone with Ser Alyn—or is it just Alyn since it was your grandfather who sent him?

“Seeing you again makes this world feel small. I never thought our paths would cross again,” you fill the silence to avoid awkward silences.

“In truth neither did I,” he admits. “But it is an honor.”

You offer him a smile and notice how much more muscular he is now compared to before. He’s also a lot more serious too.

“Who—”

“Alyn!”

You both turn your attention to the caller, and you see a tall and thin man with long dreadlocks approaching with a bright and charming grin that immediately works to intrigue you.

Albeit when he notices your unique white hair, your long and elegant red gown finer than any material he’s touched; accompanied with shiny gold jewelry on your hands and neck, he realizes that you are no ordinary woman. The man’s grin slowly disappears at the realization and he slows down towards Alyn. Once he’s finally nearby he straightens up and doesn’t fail to bow when he joins you and Alyn.

“My Princess,” the mystery man greets you with a nervous but charming smile that actually serves to completely get rid of any tension or awkward atmosphere he could’ve brought.

“Princess,” Alyn interjects and looks at the man in blue beside him. “This is my brother Addam. Addam, this is the Princess, granddaughter of Lord Corlys Velaryon.”

You and Addam meet each other's gaze and that snobby princess Addam already imagined you’d be upon laying eyes on you completely falls apart when you offer him a bright smile in return. You perhaps are one of the most majestic beauties he’s ever laid his eyes on, he can’t help but think. Even from afar you were luminous and almost like an illusion, but from up close he could see your beauty was no illusion, he could see a sadness in your eyes, but so much more that intrigued him.

You give him your name and Addam’s eyes proceed to fall on the sleeping infant strapped on your chest. “Who is this?”

You cradle your baby's head and introduce him to Addam and Alyn. “This is my son, Aerion Targaryen.”

“Hm, not one to care about first impressions I see,” Addam throws out boldly, making his brother shoot him a warning glare. You, however, laugh genuinely in return, which is something that surprises even you. You didn’t think you could ever laugh the way you just did again.

“He takes after his father,” you mirror his humor.

“Well, we’ll let this lad get away with it this time.”

You scoff and nod. “I’ll make sure he’s more prepared next time,” you remark lightheartedly.

He hums and glances over at his brother. “Could I ask how you met?”

“At a tourney,” you answer for Alyn. “Last year. Apparently, he was sent by my grandfather.”

“Tourney?” Addam asks as if it’s the first time hearing of it. “Aren’t you supposed to be a knight?”

“Actually I was trying to get to that too,” you share and both wait for a response from the serious man.

“Well I was surprised to see what money could buy,” he remarks. “I was deceitful when I entered. I am no knight.”

You hum and ease his growing worry right away by assuring him. “Well, I would say you were actually quite entertaining and impressive. You fought well and won.”

Addam pats his brother's back and whispers, “I’m proud of you.”

You watch Addam offer his brother a very faint smile and you can’t help but remember the grief you had pushed aside as you remember the brother you lost.

“I was hoping to have some early brunch with my brother,” Addam now directs at you. “But it seems insignificant now that you have graced us with your presence.”

You can't help but smile with amusement and feel slightly flattered. Addam is surely more outgoing than his brother in a way that doesn’t fail to catch your interest and actually helps bring attention to his fierce spirit that you can’t help but feel the need to get to know.

Actually meeting him makes you feel like you found something you had been in search of your whole life.

.

.

.

.

.

A/N- romantic or platonic? (For those who have read moonlight before already know but please don’t spoil it for the rest heheh :)

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638

[forever-rogue]

Hi, how are you?

What about something with Joel being reunited with reader, they find out they're alive those 20 years after (they had been hanging out for a while and were so in love with each other, but then the outbreak happened)

Thank you so much ❤️ your writing is amazing!!

AN | You ordered some fluffy fluff? Well, here it is! Enjoy ❤️

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language, Mild spoilers for TLOU 2 (if you squint)

Word Count | 3.7k

Masterlist | Joel, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Do you ever wonder if we’ll find love again?” 

“What?” you snorted in amusement as you lifted your head to look at the girl lying next to you. She turned to you with a sheepish girl, biting her lip as she shrugged at you, “I guess I’ve never really thought about it.”

“You’ve never thought about falling in love again?” a dreamy sigh escaped her lips, but she kept her gaze turned up towards the night sky. The two of you were lying on the roof of her building, studying the stars.

“I don’t know,” you admitted in earnest, reaching for her arm and giving it a gentle squeeze, “for a long time we weren’t really at liberty to think about that kind of stuff. And I guess I got so used to not having…someone that I never really thought about it anymore.”

“So you haven’t had-”

“I didn’t say that,” you  rolled onto your stomach and perched your chin in your hand as you studied her, “there’s a difference between sex and love, and sometimes we all need some release.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she giggled, covering her warm face as you shrugged, “I don’t know…I just think I like the idea that someday I could fall in love again.”

“And you will,” you promised sweetly, brushing a few locks of hair out of her face, “you’re amazing, Allie. Someone is going to be very lucky to love you and be loved by you.”

“You’re right,” she grinned coquettishly, “I am pretty fucking amazing.”

“Duh.”

“You’ll find someone too,” she insisted and you tried to play her off, “if you want to.”

“I don’t know if I’d even want to,” you confessed softly, turning your face away so she couldn’t see the tears welling up in your eyes. You’d thought you’d had it all, and that you’d met the one. Once upon a time, you’d thought he was going to be your future - now you didn’t even know if he was alive, “I don’t…I’ll be okay if it never happens.”

“Everyone deserves love,” she insisted and while you weren’t so sure, you couldn’t deny that her enthusiasm was infectious, “what was his name?”

“Joel,” you whispered softly, the name feeling almost off and foreign on your lips, “his name was Joel.”

“What was he like?” Allie was under the firm belief that talking about things, even if they were painful, was the best therapy of all. You inhaled deeply before slowly exhaling, overwhelmed by a mixture of emotions all at once.

“He was….he was a lot of things,” you closed your eyes as you tried to keep the pain at bay and turn it into happy memories, “he was a stubborn man, but he was also so wonderful. He was so kind, smart, and resourceful. He was so deadpan and his humor was dry but he was just so funny. He’d do anything for the people he loved. He…was a carpenter, and worked with his brother. He had a daughter named Sarah - I loved her so much. All of them. Things were so easy with them, with him, I…it seems silly in hindsight, but I really thought I’d spend the rest of my life with Joel.”

“You really loved him, huh?” she reached over and brushed away the tears that had rolled down your cheek. You sniffled before nodding, “what did he look like?”

“He was handsome,” your face flushed with warmth as you remembered the first time you’d seen him. You’d fallen for him then and there, and things had never really changed, “he had dark brown hair, it would always get all curly when he let it get a little longer. He had brown eyes, but they were so pretty, all different shades and kinda like warm honey in the light. He had a beard but there were two little patches that never seemed to grow hair. I used to joke that they were perfect spots for leaving kisses. He had lots of freckles, and he was just…lovely. Maybe I’m just biased but he was really my favorite person ever.”

“I can tell you really loved him,” you closed your eyes and let out a long sigh as you nodded, “I’m sure he loved you just as much.”

“I thought that we might even get married one day,” you admitted, something you’d never even said out loud, “but obviously…life had a different plan.”

“I don’t mean to pry and you can stop me at any time,” she leaned in, her voice sweet and gentle. You knew she meant well and that she cared; she’d already shared her entire story with you, but you’d been more reserved, “what happened?”

“The day everything went to hell,” you finished for her and she nodded gravely, “I had been out of town, visiting a friend. Can you believe it? It might have been the worst timing in the world. We lived in Austin but I was a few hours away. After I saw everything on the news, I tried calling and calling but I couldn’t get through - cell towers were jammed. I thought about driving home that night but it wasn’t safe. The highways were all packed and people were already going crazy. My idea at the time had been to wait until things calmed down and I’d drive home and be with my family. I never got the chance. Life completely fell apart.”

“Oh honey…”

“I blamed myself for a long time,” you whispered, “because of….of all the times I could have chosen to go, and I picked that week. It could have been any other week. I don’t know if they tried to find me or just find safety. I hope it was the latter. I hope they got out safely. That was the last day I ever saw them. That morning before we all left for the day work and school. It was Joel’s birthday too.”

“Oh my god.”

“Worst day of my life,” you rolled onto your back and looked at the stars again, finding some comfort in the fact that if they were still alive they were looking at the very same stars, “I just hope they’re okay. Wherever they are.”

“I’m sure they still love you too,” Allie hugged onto you and you held her back as best as you could, “you don’t ever lose that kind of love.”

“Maybe,” you were willing to dream, even if you had your doubts, “but hey, I love you too, kid.”

“Love you more.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You’d been unable to sleep that night, finding yourself tossing and turning, memories of what had been plaguing your mind. At some point, when the sun was already peeking over the horizon again, you crawled out of bed and pulled on a pair of boots, deciding to go for a walk. It was still quiet and peaceful, and it would give you the chance to avoid crowds of people. Not that you minded people, but right now you really were just in the mood to be alone. 

You stepped in the early morning sun and stretched, relief in the popping of your joints as you started your little walk. It was quiet out here and safe - safer than anywhere else you’d been. The sounds of the early morning birds and creatures accompanied you, helping to alleviate your thoughts. You concentrated on your breathing and listening to each footfall and tuning into the world around you. 

It worked to an extent and you found yourself feeling better once you decided to go back to town. The place was slowly coming to life and a smile worked its way onto your face. Maybe today you’d clean your place and do all the laundry; a fresh start and hopefully a positive mindset. 

As you made your way back to your place, you found that people seemed to be twittering around excitedly. You didn’t know what was going on, but it made you happy nonetheless. Better to be happy than miserable, right?

“Hey, Bee,” Allie ran up behind you, looping her arm through yours and almost knocking you over excitedly. You laughed at her use of your nickname, which coincidentally had come from her because you were always buzzing around like a honey bee, “have you heard the news?”

“It’s barely daybreak and I’ve just come back from a walk,” you laughed and shook your head, “needless to say, no I haven’t heard the news. What could possibly be so exciting?”

“Newcomers,” she clutched onto your arm, “fresh blood.”

“Ahh, yes,” you nudged her in the side, “how could I forget that you’re the one woman welcoming committee? Or is it just the fact that you’re nosey?”

“I am not n-”

“It’s a sin to lie,” you tutted playfully, “we’re all nosey, in our own way. Are these people vetted?”

“Tommy says he knows ‘em,” she shrugged. You like Tommy…he reminded you so much of Joel and his brother, “says they’re good people. Not just some random outsiders.”

“Well,” you offered a small smile. You’d already long given up on the hope that you’d run into them again. But still, after all this time, your heart always skipped a little at the possibility, however slim, “it’s all good to have new people around. Maybe they can even help keep us all safe.”

“Maybe,” her eyes lit up with excitement, “I’m gonna go and meet them - do you want to come?”

“I’m okay,” your smile was meek as you shook your head, “I’m just gonna do some cleaning today. Maybe plant some fresh veggies since spring is coming up fast.”

“Alright,” she skipped ahead, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “I’ll see you later, Bee!”

“See you,” there was an affectionate smile on your face as you watched her run off. She was so kind and cheerful that you couldn’t imagine anyone not loving her. You spotted one of the local stray cats walking around and purring softly, “you want to come and help me?”

The cat paused for a moment, tail twitching before it took off. 

“Me too buddy,” you walked back to your small house, unaware and unassuming of just exactly the turn your day was about to take.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was the late afternoon by the time you emerged from your house again, deciding to go off in search of some seeds to plant. Carol had some at some point, so you figured it was best to start with her. You grabbed a bag and headed off towards her house, distracted by the fat, fluffy clouds in the sky. 

You definitely weren’t paying much attention as you looked up, instead of straight ahead…and promptly proceeded to walk into something. Or someone, rather. You groaned, at yourself rather than anything else as you offered your victim a sheepish expression, “oh no! I am so sorry! Totally not paying attention at all.”

“It’s okay,” that was a voice you didn’t recognize. You turned your gaze to the young woman in front of you and offered her a small smile. She was no doubt one of the newcomers, pretty and athletic looking with a kind smile, “I should have been watching where I was going too. There’s just so much to look at here.”

“You must be new,” she smiled sweetly and nodded. You held out your hand and offered her your name, “but everyone calls me Bee! If you ever need anything or have any questions, or anything at all let me know. It’s hard moving someplace new, but we’re all friendly here…except maybe Andy. He’s still friendly, just kind of old and crotchety. But we’re happy to have you here!”

“Thank you,” she seemed shy but like she’d open up and get more comfortable soon, “I’m Ellie. Crotchety and old sounds kinda like my old man.”

“You came with your dad?” you asked, just as nosey as you’d called Allie.

“It’s…complicated,” she shrugged, but her expression didn’t waiver, “he’s not my dad, but he’s my family.”

“I understand,” you promised softly, “it’s like that for a lot of us these days. Well, it’s nice to meet you, Ellie. Hope you see you around!”

“You too,” she watched you go, instantly deciding that she liked you. If everyone in Jackson was like you, they would have no time fitting in and making friends.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You were stopped a few more times on your way to Carol’s, everyone abuzz and happy today. And all it took was a couple of new faces. 

“Hey Carol-”

“Have you heard the good news?” you crossed your arms over your chest and raised an eyebrow at her. The older woman offered up a shrug as if to say what can you do? You motioned for her to go on, “the two new folks we’ve got joining.”

“So I’ve heard,” you made yourself at home, as you often did, and went to help yourself to a cup of coffee, “it seems like that’s all anyone is talking about today. I met one of them - a young woman, Ellie. She seemed nice.”

“It’s not just that,” she almost dropped her voice to a whisper and you looked around as if there was someone that she was trying to avoid, “the man with her!”

“And just what about the man with her is the big deal?” Maybe there was something in the water today. You grimaced at your cup before setting it back on the counter. Just in case. 

“It’s Tommy’s brother!” 

“I didn’t know Tommy had a brother,” you still weren’t following, “is he like a long lost brother?”

“They haven’t seen each other in a few years,” she explained, “but apparently he used to be in good with the Fireflys. Just like Tommy before he and Maria left. Anyway, they’ve always been close, but it’s…it’s nice to see him so happy.”

Your heart skipped a few beats as it seemed to rattle around your chest. Surely, this was all some sort of weird coincidence or something. Similar situations….that was all. Besides, Tommy was a common name and lots of people had brothers. But you just…couldn’t hold back your curiosity, “what’s his name? Tommy’s brother?”

“I’m afraid I don’t sweetheart know,” she gave your shoulder a squeeze as you tried to hide the disappointed look on your face, “I’m sure you can catch the two of them. They’re going around so Tommy can show him everything.”

“Thanks,” you were heading towards the door without a second thought. 

“Wait - what did you need?” she pointed to your bag as you shook your head.

“It’s nothing that can’t wait,” you grinned, “I’ll be back later. But right now I-I have to go.”

You almost ran out of her house, leaving her staring after you with a confused expression. You looked around for the man in question, but didn’t see him anywhere nearby. You huffed lightly and went up to the first person you saw, a young man who you were pretty sure was named Ryan, “hey - have you seen Tommy?”

“Somewhere along the outskirts near the west perimeter,” he pointed over his shoulder, and you were already pushing past him with so much as a glance back. You walked as quickly as you could towards the edge of town, eventually resorting to a slow run when you grew impatient. 

Luckily, you quickly spotted two figures at the edge and your heart almost burst out of your chest with nervous anticipation and excitement, “Tommy!”

He turned around at the sound of your approaching footsteps, an easy smile on his face when he realized it was you, “Bee!”

“I heard,” you took a moment to catch your breath, clutching at the stitch in your side as your eyes were practically glue to the other man’s frame, “I heard-”

“I’m sure you did,” he laughed, an easy sound that you liked, “word travels fast around here. Bee, this is brother - Joel.”

No, no, no. Even now you were convinced that it was all some sort of cosmic coincidence. The man in question slowly turned around to take a look at you. As soon as you were able to get a good look at him, your heart felt like it was about to burst out of your chest. There was no way, right? Right?

The man in front of you was older, with peppered gray hair, more line in his face, and a hardened look about him. But there was no mistaking it - him. This was him…after all these years he was standing right in front of you. His expression shifted through a slew of different emotions as he studied you, trying to process the same thing you were internally freaking out about.

“Joel?” his name fell from your lips so softly that it almost wasn’t audible. When he didn’t say anything at first, you wondered if he didn’t remember you for some reason or something.

But then you heard it - the soft whisper of your name. You were somewhere between tears and shock and laughter and all you managed to do was give him a teary nod. And then it happened so fast - you’d both stepped forward and he quickly wrapped you in his arms, crushing you to his chest, as he held onto you tightly. 

You were definitely crying by this moment, burying your face into his chest, afraid that if you loosened your grip you’d lose him all over again. You heard him sniffle as well, and he pressed soft kisses to the side of your head, his heart beating wildly. 

It seemed like the two of you head onto each for an eternity before slowly pulling apart, studying each other in awe. You cradled his face gently in your hands as you looked him over, admiring how he’d aged over the years despite the world weary look on his face. You brushed your thumb over the apple of his cheek, wiping away the tears that had pearled up and ran down his cheeks. You really hoped this wasn’t some sort of dream because waking up from it would be a nightmare. 

“You look - “

“Old,” he finished for you in true Joel fashion. You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips; the sound had become a memory over the years but it all came flooding back to him and went straight to his heart. The corners of his mouth twitched up slightly at your response.

“I wasn’t going to say that,” you insisted softly, “I was going to say you look good. You know, despite everything,”

“You look as beautiful as I remember,” he put his hand under your chin and turned your face up to his. This time it was tears running down your cheeks, “are you actually real or have I died and gone to heaven?”

“I’m here,” you promised, wrapping your fingers around his wrist and giving it a gentle squeeze, “I just can’t believe you are. After all this time…”

“I never thought I’d see you again,” he confessed, harsh and broken. He paused for a moment before turning to his brother, “how come you never told me she was here?”

“I didn’t realize…it was her,” he admitted sheepishly. You hadn’t realized it was him either. Back before the world fell apart you’d only met Tommy a few times and he had changed a lot, “I feel so stupid now. And everyone just called you Bee, and I never thought…”

“I didn’t realize either,” you choked out a laugh in between your tears, “but it doesn’t matter - you’re here now. And I….fuck. I’ve missed you so much…every day. I had no clue if you were alright, but there was always a small bit of me that never gave up hope.”

“If it’s any consolation, I’m glad you found each other,” Tommy offered the two of you a small wave before turning to go back and give you some privacy.

“We looked for you,” he promised as if you needed some sort of reassurance, “for so long. But-”

“Hey,” you gently trailed your fingers along his jaw, “the world was falling apart. We were all lost. None of that matters anymore. This is all that matters.”

The two of you studied each other, long and hard, before he held your face in his hands and pressed his lips to yours, capturing them in a soft, but fervent kiss. It had been a long time since you’d been kissed and they’d been nothing compared to this. Once you were reacquainted with the touch and taste of him, you let him kiss you until you were breathless and dizzy. It felt like no time at all had passed. 

When he pulled back, a look of concern crossed his features, “I-I’m sorry. I should have asked. I don’t even know if…there’s someone else.”

“There’s no one else,” you were quick to reassure him and he visibly relaxed, “there’s never been anyone else. Only a few…well you know.”

“I know,” he nodded in agreement, his hand gently tasting against your neck, “I imagined this moment so many times. But it still didn't live up to the real thing.”

“Me too,” you hummed in agreement before pulling him in for another hug, “I can’t believe you’re here. There’s just…so much to talk about.”

“Yes,” he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, “but right now, I just want to enjoy this moment - enjoy you.”

“I agree,” you leaned in and stole a few more kisses, “you’re about to be bombarded by the entire town so we’d better make the most of it. Luckily, I know a quiet spot.”

“If I didn’t know any better, it sounds like you’re trying to seduce me,” there was that humor you loved so much. You playfully rolled your eyes at him.

“What if I am?” you teased, “is it working?”

“Always,” he promised softly, causing you to beam at him, “promise me one thing?”

“Anything, Joel.”

“We’ll stay together this time, no matter what.”

“I promise,” you took his hand in yours, threading your fingers together, “I promise.”

[lynk-zee]

hey lynkzee!

you know how in Exclusive Tutorial (mild spoiler) Zayne says "provocation doesn't work on me?" What if the reader takes that very personal, as a challenge.... Doesn't have to be within that card's context either.

Provocation

Spicy but marked NSFW to be safe!

It had been bothering you for months. Ever since the exclusive tutorial Zayne gave you at the billiards table, you couldn’t get his stupid words out of your head.

“Provocation doesn’t work on me.”

By who? Was that a challenge? This sentence kept repeating itself over and over in your head, even as you sleep. Did he really think you weren’t sexy enough to be persuaded?

Maybe sexiness wasn’t the issue. Zayne clearly loves your body. He wouldn’t be fucking you every day if he didn’t. Maybe it was the fact that he wouldn’t break…Even if it was you. Maybe that’s what bothered you.

So, you made it your mission tonight. Provocation doesn’t work on him? So you’ll make him beg. Tonight he has another dinner party with his co-workers at a luxury club. This time, you were going all out.

Red fabric dripped off your skin in sultry waves. You were the sexiest you’ve ever been, you felt like a sensual deity. When you opened the door for Zayne who was going to pick you up for the party, he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw you. His face blanked, a hot flush filling his cheeks.

“You like?” You did an innocent twirl for him, your scent wafting into his flared nostrils. Was that a new perfume? And— god, the oil you glazed your skin with smelt like honey. You countenance was downright sexual. He felt like he could barely breathe in your presence.

“You’re gorgeous…” He murmured. You fought down a smirk as his hands drifted up your forearm in light grazes. Your skin against his was magnetic. And there was faint music in the background he could discern. Was that to set the mood? He cleared his throat. “We should go…”

You pout, your tantalizing red lips making him lick his own as his throat dried. You fluttered your butterfly eyelashes. “I don’t want to anymore…”

It was only then he realized the room was dimly lit by candles, red petals scattered on the floor. He swallowed thickly. “Were those the roses I bought for you last week…”

“Yes…They were wilting…I wanted to repurpose them for something better…”

At that point he knew it was a trap. But he couldn’t help but be drawn in.

You hummed. Everything was set up perfectly. Dimmed lighting, sensual music, a romantic atmosphere. And you, the grand feast. You pouted up at him again and whispered, “I don’t want to go anymore…”

Zayne’s lips parted as he sucked in a breath, the surrounding atmosphere blurring until he could only see you, your pouty lips, and your salacious outfit. Your voice oozed sex as you whined how badly you wanted to stay home. With him. His icy demeanor started cracking under the heat.

You stepped closer, making him gulp audibly. With a dainty hand, you smoothed out the expensive fabric of his tailored vest, your fingers making their way up to graze his neck. “The party will be so boringgg…” You whine softly, your desperate voice turning his ears pink. You caressed his jaw. “You’d have so much more fun here…With me…Come on, I’ll show you where the rest of the rose petals are.”

He gripped your hand, trying to steady himself through the dizzying lust. Zayne closed his eyes to regain his composure and he looked at you. “The others are waiting…”

“But I’m here right now…” You pressed closer, chest to chest as you leaned your head against his shoulder. “I’m here…” You whispered. “I’m much more interesting than your co-workers…”

“You are..” He gritted out. Zayne tried to ignore how dangerously close your hands were to his hips, tracing circles. “Come. We made a promise.”

“You made a promise to me…To show me you love me, that you want me with every fiber of your being, until the end of time…” You bit your lip, fluttering your eyelashes at him with doe eyes. “Isn’t that more important…” You pull him down by his necktie as you lean up, whispering hotly into his ear. “…Sir?”

At that moment, he kicked your front door shut and threw you over his shoulder to head to the bedroom. You silently cheered, but your celebration was cut short by a slap to the ass.

Turns out provocation does work on Zayne.

[scaredpigeons]

Deus Auri

Zhongli x reader (gn)

Word count: 1.04k (smol)

CW: sfw:) mild spoilers for Neuvillettes voice lines about Morax, he calls him Deus Auri, which is god of gold in Latin— might just be a title but any little tidbit of Morax we get I just gobble gobble up. Flirting, zhongli calls you my dear, darling, vixen. No pronouns or other gender specific language used. Some kisses and allusions of wanting more.

Enjoy!

“Deus Auri.”

You can nearly hear the crack of Zhongli’s neck as his gaze whips towards you, but you keep your gaze trained on your book as if you hadn’t seen its comical swivel in your peripherals. 

“I’m sorry my dear, could you repeat that?” He said, though there was an edge to his tone. 

“Deus Auri—God of Gold. What can you tell me about that name?” You said, index finger gliding down the edge of the book. You were no longer reading, but still kept your eyes trained on the pages to pretend like you weren’t vibrating with excitement at his reaction. 

Zhongli was naturally very stoic, a well maintained facade to those who weren’t interested in looking deeper. 

You had been plenty interested, taking one look at him and instantly knowing he was no ordinary man. 

Now the better part of half a year into your blossoming relationship, he still hadn’t outright told you, but he’d grown comfortable. 

You’d catch glimpses of his wrists, normally covered— deep onyx with veins of pure gold. Though this only happened in the safety of his home— there was a time he had to remove his gloves to help you in the kitchen, and his perfectly pale, human hands had distracted you the entire time. 

The glamor he kept up in public slipped a bit when he was more at ease. 

To the eye that was actually looking, zhongli really wasn’t subtle about who he was. 

“Well, why don’t we start with where you heard such a name?” He asked. 

“I was with the traveler last week, helping she and paimon with a commission in Fontaine.” 

You can see the minuscule wince he gives out of the corner of your eye. Just a twitch of the brows as he blinks, so graceful, but you catch it because you’re looking for it. 

“I overheard a conversation she had with a lovely gentleman over there, though I didn’t get to introduce myself. He mentioned the name when the traveler was asking him about Rex Lapis.”

You closed your book, finally turning to look at him, though you kept your gaze coyly through heavy lids, peaking demurely at him through your lashes. 

“And you know, I thought that was very strange, her asking him about Rex lapis, when she could learn anything and everything about him from our resident expert.” 

“The traveler has not visited liyue to see me in some time, darling. And I'm sure there are others who’ve studied the gods. I am not the only knowledgeable one in Teyvat.” 

“I know, I know.” You chewed on your lip a bit for effect, looking puzzled. “So who is this Deus Auri? Is it perhaps another one of Morax’s many names?” 

You looked at him expectantly, grinning as he grew more stiff in his seat beside you. A mere foot of space between you on the couch and he looked like he was ready for you to pounce on him. 

You wanted to, you have wanted to, but he so chivalrously insists upon taking it slow. 

Hand holding in the harbour. Chaste kisses good night. You wanted so badly to break through his barriers but you knew he was holding back.

“You are…” he let a puff of air through his nose. “Correct in the knowledge that Morax was known to have many different names. Unfortunately that is all I can say on the matter.” 

“So cryptic.” You squinted at him. He often shut you out when you pried like this, poking and prodding in places you know you shouldn’t be, but he was always kind and straightforward about it—so you usually dropped it as soon as he denied you. 

“Do you think he had a favourite name that he went by?” You pushed a bit more, hoping to get him to give you just one more crumb before you played your cards. It was time, you were getting tired of hiding it.

He smiled thoughtfully, relaxing into the couch once more. “I’d like to think that he enjoyed the name Rex Lapis, the name given to him by his people. I’m sure it brought him a great sense of pride.” 

You grinned, soaking in his expression and words. Knowing what you know— gods. He really was so cute sometimes. 

You open up your book, stilling your grin to prepare for what was next. 

“Really? I’d like to think Zhongli is his favourite. Retirement is a good look for him.” 

You expected denial, perhaps his neck snapping back to you like it did when you first mentioned the ancient name. 

What you didn’t expect was to be tackled to the floor, a gloved hand supporting your neck instinctively as you and your book tumbled along the floor with the blur of rich oranges and browns that took you down. 

When you finally settled, you were on your back with him looming over you, pining you to the ground. 

“You little vixen. How long have you known?” His eyes were wild, hair a mess, cheeks flushed and breathless. Disheveled.

He looked more beautiful now than you’d ever seen him before.  

“From the moment you opened your mouth.” 

He kissed his teeth in a quick tsk, ducking his head in embarrassment. “Nothing escapes you, does it? I knew I would be in trouble with you.”  

You cupped his face in your hands, pulling him back towards you. 

“And yet you kept me around regardless.” You smiled, giving him a quick, teasing peck on the lips. 

“How could I not? You have an inescapable magnetism that I am completely captured by. I’m afraid to say that you’re unraveling me even as we now speak.” 

You grinned at him, face feeling just as flush as his. 

“How much more unraveling do I need to do to get you to let down those walls you keep around you?” 

“They were gone the moment I saw that you knew the truth, my dear, you should have said something much sooner.” He tilted his head with a soft grin. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him ever closer. 

“Kiss me then, you old blockhead.” 

He gave a rumble in his chest that sounded very much like a growl, and it set your nerves on fire.  

“Behave.” He said sternly. 

“No promises,” you said as you kissed him. 

[rafeyscurtainbangs]

Please Please Please - Rafe Cameron Short Story (Part 3 of 6)

+18 Minor DNI

Older MobDealer!Rafe x Female Reader

⭐️ republished ⭐️

+18 Minor DNI

Part 1 Part 2

2798 words

Warnings contain spoilers: blood, domestic assault, cheating, swearing, name-calling, gaslighting, threats, and mentions of killing partner, kissing, general violence, gun violence, heavy petting, mild smut warning

Loosely based on the song and music video Please Please Please by Sabrina Carpenter 💕

✨”It’s not gonna be me and you if he’s around, baby.” The muscles in his jaw tighten, tears glistening on his waterline that hadn’t been there a moment before as he leans in closer, letting his cheek rest against yours. Rafe’s lips brush against your warm skin, making you melt into him. “Men like me take what we want, and we don’t take ’no’ for an answer. He’s not gonna stop ‘til I make him. No one fucks with my girl.”✨

Sexual content in pink if you want to avoid that

Reader’s POV:

“Fuck, I missed my girl,” Tony groans as he nuzzles into your neck, his stout cologne doing nothing but turning your stomach. “You gonna wait up for me tonight, babydoll? I promise I won’t be gone too long this time—just a quick meeting.” His fingers scrap along your jaw, capturing your chin between his pointer finger and thumb. You wince in shame and disgust. I wonder what he’s thinking. Does he even see what he did to me? It doesn’t matter.

“Of course, I’ll wait for you.”

”Oh, and wear that little set you were wearin’ the night before I left. I’ve been thinking about it since.”

You purse your lips, forcing them into a tight smile. “Of course, Tony,” you subsist, your voice cracking slightly, making him shift his stance, looking down at you concerned.

”You alright, honey?” He questions as he moves even closer.

“Mhmm… You press the utterance past your lips. “You just got here. I don’t want you to leave,” you lie.

He looks back at you lovingly, matching your pout, rubbing his rough thumb along your bottom lip. “I never wanna leave you, princess.”

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦

You wait by the phone nervously, standing by for a call from Rafe. Nothing yet. An hour passed when he said they would meet. Maybe they’re just gonna talk. Maybe Rafe has enough muscle to scare Tony.

No. There’s no way they’re both coming out alive…

Your eyes fill with tears, thinking about Rafe alone in this. Maybe he brought someone with him, his goons, just like Tony would surely do. Barry? He hasn’t mentioned anyone else in his corner.

BEEP.

Your phone lights up, making your stomach fall. You look down at the screen. Unknown. A burner phone… Either Tony or Rafe. Light floods your bay window, filling with light the dark kitchen. Is the deal done? What if Tony took care of Rafe and stole his phone, following the chain of messages between him and me, putting together all the pieces?

You skitter into the kitchen, catching a large knife out of the butcher block, holding it at your side for protection. Snagging your phone off the counter, you creep toward the window, peering outside, but it’s far too dark to see.

CLICK.

You lift the phone to your ear, listening to your uneven breathing in the playback as you linger for the caller on the other line to say something.

“C’mon, princess. Let’s get outta here.”

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦

“I don’t know, Rafe,” you whisper shakily, your delicate voice vying with the music pouring out of The Country Club. Rafe reaches behind his back, it adjusting himself; the tilt of his large body just slightly in front of yours, giving you a glance of his GLOCK 19.

”Rafe-“

”Don’t worry,” he stops you, looking into your eyes with a requisition to remain calm. “You know I’ll take care of you. Yeah?”

”Yeah,” you answer as the two of you slip into the entryway. Rafe’s large hand clutches yours tighter as you move quickly through the thick crowd to the back. He lowers his head, and you follow suit, catching the door as a stripper struts onto the main floor just as you did before.

The noise around you plunges to a muffled roar, leaving the two of you alone in the dark hallway. Sweat gathers on your palms; heart, racing. Your knees wobble, ankles weak in your heels as the two of you step closer toward the door. Rafe reaches for it, and you go for him, wrapping your hand around his bicep. His eyes fall to yours, softening as he sees the apprehension in your eyes.

“Please, baby. Just - Just please let’s go,” you plead. He tightens his strong jaw, shaking his head ‘no.’ “Please…” You whimper weakly. Rafe wraps his arm around you, pulling you away from the door, caging you against the wall, looking out before turning his attention to you.

“If I don’t come out, you gotta leave.”

“Leave? Why? I don’t want to leave you,” you panic.

”And have you struck in the crossfire? I don’t think so. You’re only here ‘cause I need you close. I need to be able to grab you after I handle shit so we can hide out together. I don’t trust anyone to keep you safe but me.” You nod up at him, waiting for further direction. “Need you to go somewhere safe; somewhere close-”

”The champagne room-” You interject.

”Yeah - Yeah. That’s perfect, baby,” he breathes as he brushes your cheek with his thumb, demanding your eye contact, knowing his presence is the only thing keeping you from a full-on panic attack. “I told you I’d take care of you. I meant that. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys. Rafe grabs your palm, resting them on your trembling hand. “I bought you a Penthouse in Charleston, and a car to take you wherever you want to go.”

You look down at the triple set, a gold house key, a Mercedes fob, and a third silver key with a palm tree etched in the metal. “That G-Wagon we took here is all yours, princess. If you open the mirror, you’ll find the address of your new place and a credit card. There’s a burner phone in the center council. Those contacts will make sure you’re taken care of and protected. And, if for some reason you’re not, and if anything happens—I’m talkin’ anything, and you feel unsafe, this key is for my hideaway in Nassau. Text my sister Wheezie, she’ll tell you where I hid the address. Okay?”

“You - You… Shit. You didn’t have to do that… Why did you do that for me, Rafe?” You panic. “That’s too much. That’s-”

“Stop, baby,” he soothes as he brushes your tears off your cheeks with his rough thumbs. “I needed to do this. I need you. Alright? You can thank me later. I’m fuckin’ counting on it,” he chuckles weakly. “I’ve been thinkin’ about that since our phone call-”

“Please just think this through,” you whimper. “We can start over anywhere. Just me and you. We can go to your hideaway tonight.”

”It’s not gonna be me and you if he’s around, baby.” The muscles in his jaw tighten, tears glistening on his waterline that hadn’t been there a moment before as he leans in closer, letting his cheek rest against yours. Rafe’s lips brush against your warm skin, making you melt into him. “Men like me take what we want, and we don’t take ’no’ for an answer. He’s not gonna stop ‘til I make him. No one fucks with my girl.”

He pulls away slightly, searching for your eyes. You look up at him, hating yourself for not fighting harder, but there’s nothing you can say to stop him. The only thing you’re doing is getting in his head, adding further emotion to an already emotional situation. If he is going to come out alive, he needs to focus. You look up at him and nod. “It’s just a conversation,” you whisper.

“Only a conversation,” he breathes as he reaches behind his back, double-checking his piece. You grab him by his shirt, pressing a hard kiss on his lips like it might be your last time. Rafe separates slightly, ghosting his lips over yours before kissing you again, taking control of the situation—the perfect kiss, exactly what you needed; deep and passionate yet gentle enough to feel more.

His lips pull away from yours, leaving you chasing him. “Pretty girl…” He mumbles, with a gentle grit in his voice. “This isn’t my first time. Aight? I know how to handle business, I know how to use my gun, m’not afraid to get shit done,” he assures, resting his forehead against yours.

“Red wine,” you whisper, fighting off tears as you rest your hands on his toned chest.

“What now?” He chuckles before kissing your forehead.

“That’s what I want. I wanna share a bottle of red wine with you tonight-”

“On our date?” He asks happily.

“On our date.

“She’s confident now. Huh? I needed that, princess. I’ll buy you a bottle of whatever you’d like, and we can share some dessert. Yeah?” He asks as he cups your cheeks in his large hands, kissing your nose, then your lips. “I love dessert.”

You giggle weakly, right on the verge of tears. “You can have whatever you’d like after this, baby.”

”Whatever I’d like?” He breathes between kisses. “You know what I’d love. Don’t you?”

“I do. I’d love that too.

“My girl,” he smiles. “Now let me handle business. Aight? I’ll be right out.”

“Okay.” You quickly catch a tear on your finger, brushing it away on your dress. Rafe turns toward the door, taking a deep breath. He lifts his fist, banging on the large wooden entry.

“Come in.”

”Stop,” you gasp, pressing your hand against the door. Rafe looks down at you frustrated; your talk apparently not enough to let him do what he needs to do without more pushback. “Just stop for a moment.” You whisper. “That’s not Tony.” Rafe’s eyes narrow, shifting from you toward the door and back to you, watching you as you lean in, pressing your ear against it. You shut your eyes, doing your best to focus on the conversation behind it.

“What are they saying?” Rafe whispers.

You lift. your finger to your lips, quieting him. “Shh, baby… Just-”

”Who the fuck else would it be?” A man grunts.

”Why the hell isn’t he comin’ in then? It’s gotta be one of Tony’s sluts,” a second adds. It’s always ‘yes sir,’ or ‘no sir,’ whenever Tony’s in the room. None of these men would ever have the balls to call Tony his first name to his face.

”Then open the goddamn door and find out what they want.”

”Nobody’s been back here all night. It’s him. We got specific orders. Kill him, take her home. We fuck this up, we’re gone.”

“Next knock, we handle it.”

”Can you hear what they’re sayin’,” Rafe asks, the pull of his voice making it impossible for you to compartmentalize him and the other conversation together in your fear-muddled mind. You bury your face in your trembling hands, finding yourself in a seemingly hopeless situation, trying to remain strong.

“Rafe - I… He’s not in there,” you whimper. “It’s a setup. Kill you. Take me.” The gravity of the situation has the opposite effect on Rafe. Those exact words sending him into a fit of rage instead of a fit of terror.

“So, he’s a woman beater and a pussy. Huh?” He chuckles darkly, pulling his gun out from behind his back. “Fuck, I’m gonna love killin’ him.” You look at Rafe, hearing those words fall so easily from his mouth. There’s no question that it’s not just lip service. He can’t wait. He’s looking forward to it. “Can you pretend to be a dancer? Just call for Tony? Throw him off?” You nod obediently. “You ready?” Rafe asks. You step toward the door and look up at him, tears wetting your cheeks. “I need you to take a deep breath for me, princess. It’s all going to be okay. Five minutes tops. Give it five minutes. If I don’t make it out. Leave. Please. Don’t look for me. If I’m alright, I’ll find you. And if not… just know that I love you.”

You stare back at him in disbelief. It’s hard to wrap your head around an instant connection with someone and even more challenging to convince yourself that love at first sight exists, but there’s no denying you feel it, too. “I love you, Rafe.”

“That’s all I need to know,” he whispers. He wraps his body in yours, burying himself in your neck and breathing deeply. Rafe kisses your neck, cheeks, forehead, and lips, lingering momentarily. You feel his lips tremble against you, his shaky breathing letting you know that he may not be as confident as the face he’s putting on for you, but the last thing he needs is more doubt.

“I’ll be waiting for you in the champagne room on the main floor, back-right, red curtain.”

“Five minutes,” he adds sternly. You separate slightly, walking toward the office door; rapping on it several times. “Tony, it’s Serena. I have a cash drop,” you call, holding onto Rafe’s hand for dear life. He kisses your head before nodding toward the main floor.

You run away, just as he asked, listening as the office door opens. Light floods the hallways, illuminating Rafe as you watch him draw his gun. He aims, quickly firing three shots inside, making you cover your mouth, muffling your scream as he rushes inside.

You sprint toward the door, throwing it open; clipping toward the champagne room fast. You look both ways, turning the plaque from empty, to occupied. It’s an out-of-body experience as you peer out the crack in the curtain into the club, everything visibly unchanged as the bass continues to thump, strippers climbing and sliding down the poles as if you’re not cowering in the corner, and there’s not a gunfight going just down the hall.

Your thoughts start to consume you, the idea that that could have been the last conversation the two of you would have ever shared, the depth of his love even after such a short time, his deep-seated need to keep you safe, the idea of not getting to share a life with him after.

You slide your fingers along your swollen cheeks, sniffling and wiping your tears. “C’mon, Rafe,” you blubber as you look down at your watch, seven minutes since he went in—two minutes longer than you vowed to stay. You feel torn; listen to him and leave or stay and wait. If he doesn’t make it out, I don’t want to either…

Your stomach flips; heart skipping as the curtain is pulled back. Rafe. You stand up from the booth, running into his arms before he can even set down his gun. Your hands wrap around the back of his neck, dragging him toward your lips, needing him close. He rests his firearm on the table, giving you his full attention as his large hands paw at your body. Your kiss is desperate, rushed, and hungry. Your tongues reeling, teeth clashing, tugging hair; your hands everywhere. You pull away, panting for air, taking the deepest breath you have all night. “I was so worried. I-”

“Baby, I’m alright. I’m okay,” he comforts as your kisses soften, the two of you falling on a smoother tempo.

“What happened?” You whisper, lips flowing close.

“You were right… He wasn’t there.”

“Did you-“

“Kill anybody?” He asks, voice hoarse with adrenaline. “Yeah, baby. I killed ‘em all.”

“Shit,” you stammer, looking over his shoulder into the club, the guests and girls none the wiser. No heavy hitters in Tony’s crew were taken out. No one who truly mattered to his operation, just warm bodies set out to handle the boss’s dirty work - goons that got taken out in the crossfire.

It was them or us.

I still have him.

“Sit,” you whisper

Rafe smiles along your lips, lifting you into his strong arms. “Yes, ma’am…”

You reach for the top button of his shirt, pinching it between your fingers, tugging it open, working to the next as your eyes lift to his. Rafe sits down, setting you on top of him. You sink the rest of the way down, straddling his lap, grinding with the tempo of your kiss and the beat.

“I want you so fucking bad, sweetheart,” he mumbles between kisses. You can feel his want pressed against your delicate lace panties, your dress hiked up around your hips, pussy pulsing at the sound of his voice and the weight of his words.

"I need you, Rafe,” you groan. He chuckles lustily against your lips, groping your ass with his large hands.

"Oh, Yeah? Fuck, princess,” he hums as his eyes follow your hands, working lower and lower, exposing more and more skin as you pull open each button. Your lips press against the column of his neck kissing and sucking his hot skin. “Thankin’ me already, baby?”

You look at his opened button-down, dirtied with small splatters of blood. Rafe lip his bottom busted lip; in the heat of the moment, unnoticed ‘til now. His hair is a mess, hanging loose in front of his darkened eyes. He brushes his bangs off his face, smiling at you that has you physically aching for him. “There’s not enough time in the night to thank you…”

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦

Part 4

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[littlemissmentallyunstable]

title: the dancer and the angel part 2

pairing: grayson hawthorne x (first person) reader

synopsis: lyra kane is closer to your boyfriend than ever seen as grayson has just been put of her team in the grandest game and it’s making you a little nervous, you don’t trust her and you don’t want her too close to him

parts: part 1 part 3 part 4

warnings: mild swearing, SPOILERS FOR TGG

a/n: I had quite a few requests for a part 2, so here she is… trying to get into my productive era right now (fake it till you make it right??)

tag list: @tornqdowarnings @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @sweetlikeanangel @lxvebelle @xoxo-vee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234

RECAP

“Whose team is he on?” I say quickly.

“Odette Morales and Lyra Kane.”

***

Lyra Kane. Lyra Kane. Lyra Kane. The name rattles around my brain, echoing off of my skull, only to replay in my mind again. Of course it just has to be Lyra Kane that he’s on a team with. That breathtaking woman with beauty that shouldn’t be possible for a human. Yeah, that Lyra Kane. I feel like laughing and crying all at the same time, so I express nothing instead. Why did it have to be her? Out of all of the players.

I’m not jealous, I try to convince myself, I’m just concerned. Yes, that’s it. Except it isn’t and the only person I’m lying to is pathetic little old me. I am ferociously jealous. It scolds me torturously, raging from the pit of my stomach, crawling under my skin to settle comfortably.

Grayson loves me, I know this. I felt the kisses we’d shared on the beach moments before he’d gone into the stupid house. They still linger on my lips now, I could taste him slightly, I’d heard him say he loved me, only me and yet I can’t get the feeling out of my system. The jealousy always manages to seep its way back in. I’m sick with a disease called envy.

I don’t want to be the jealous girl, the possessive one that people roll their eyes at or avoid. That’s not me. I didn’t want it to be me. But deep down I’m petrified that that’s who I’m becoming. I sigh, realising I was just going to have to swallow it. What could I do about it now? Besides I know Grayson, I trust Grayson. He wouldn’t let her try anything on, would he?

***

Hours of waiting and not watching. We couldn’t see the players at all. Or hear them. Anxiety is killing me slowly from the inside out, gnawing happily at my organs. I spin the ring on my middle finger as my leg jigs up and down, counting down the seconds until sunrise, four-thousand one-hundred and eight-two to go.

“You know you don’t have to look so panicked all the time,” Nash sighs, slumping down beside me.

“I’m not panicked,” I say, forcing a laugh.

“Sure darlin’,” he says, “my name’s Roger and I have a pet turtle.”

I roll my eyes, fighting the urge to smile, “I mean it, I’m fine.”

“It’s completely safe in there, we designed it that way,” he explains slowly, soothingly, “no one’s going to get hurt and there’s an emergency button just in case.”

“Okay,” I nod, exhaling.

I don’t believe him and his words don’t offer me much comfort. My overthinking brain is currently listing all of the ways Grayson could possibly die in the next ten minutes. But Nash is trying and I’m thankful to have him.

“At least pretend you’re convinced,” he drawls, a twinkle in his eyes.

Maybe I’m not convinced that everything’s going to be fine but I am convinced Nash has a sixth sense called ‘big brother knows all’ because for some reason he always knew everyone’s thoughts and feelings, even when they were trying to hide it. Either that or he’s a mind reader.

“I am,” I tell him, as convincingly as I could muster, “everything’s going to be fine.”

“Shit!” Jameson yells from across the room, perfect timing as per usual.

“What?” I hear Avery ask quickly.

“The powers gone out,” he says, smacking the table so hard I didn’t know how he didn’t break a bone.

“What do you mean the powers gone out?” I say, standing up and walking over.

“I mean they have no light, no heaters and they ate completely locked in by the mechanisms,” he explains, gesturing to the blank screens.

“We’ve lost all connection to them as well,” Xander murmurs, eyes darting from left to right at each and every screen.

“Everything?” I exclaim, trying not to get over-anxious and failing miserably.

“Yes,” Jameson confirms.

“You’re panicking her,” Nash scolds him.

“Well she asked I’m not going to lie,” he defends.

“Not the time to argue guys,” Avery rolls her eyes, getting back to the computer. Jameson follows her lead, trying to reconnect the lost signals.

“Shit shit shit,” he groans as more things shut off. He slams his hands down on the keyboard and starts guessing random buttons, “Xand help me out here,”

“Don’t you worry, dearest brother,” Xander replies calmly, “I’m working on it.”

Silence hits us like the dead. We’re all intently staring up the layers and layers of code coming up on the several screens. I can’t understand any of it.

“This is Python,” Jameson points at one of the scenes.

“Yeah and this is Java,” Xander nods, “but I have no clue what this is.”

“Shit,” Jameson curses, running a hand through his hair, reminding me of Grayson when he was overstimulated.

“Not yet,” he replies, turning to the other Hawthorne brother present, “Nash do you remember when I was in fifth grade-“

“The de-coder book?” he says before Xander even finishes.

“Please,” he nods sharply.

“Got it,” he replies, rushing out of the room.

“Do you have any idea what they’re talking about?” I whisper to Avery

“Absolutely none,” she shrugs, looking as clueless as me offering me some comfort.

“Who would even cut the power?” Jameson asks to nobody in particular.

Avery and I share a look. I already know we’re thinking the same thing.

“Grayson is in there, does she know that?” I ask quickly.

“I don’t know,” she replied, chewing the inside of her cheek

“She?” Jameson interrupts. We both ignore him.

“Don’t you think he’ll be her prime target,” I say, the worry warping my tone a little in a way that made me sound a little too vulnerable for my liking.

“Target?” Jameson says. We ignore him, again.

“Most likely, if it is her,” Avery sighs, tapping her bottom lip melodically.

Jameson looks at Xander, baffled, “are they speaking in code?”

“I’m kind of concentrating right now Jamie, please don’t talk to me,” he responds, not taking his eyes off of the computer screens as he attempts to decode.

“Who are you talking about?” Jameson raises his voice a little, forcing me and Avery to address his question.

“This could be Eve,” Avery says softly.

“Eve?” Xander says, freezing mid-type and actually lifting his head up.

“No surely not,” Jameson shakes his head in denial.

“Think about it,” I say, “who else can you think that would want go sabotage this game?”

“Anyone who fancies a good bit of money,” he states, “and it could be nothing at all.”

“A power cut isn’t nothing,” I argue.

“I hate to agree the circumstance,” Avery exhales, “but it’s true, this feels like a threat of sorts.”

“And we can’t contact the players meaning anything could happen right now,” I say, worry bleeding into my voice.

Jameson’s face softens.

“But they’re locked in,” Nash points out, sauntering back in, “no one is getting in or out, that means they can’t be hurt.”

He hands the decoding book to Xander who frantically flips through the pages to find something in particular.

“Windows can be smashed,” I point out.

“You think whoever this is would risk smashing a window,” Nash asks, with his eyebrows raised.

“I don’t know how these people work,” I snap, throwing my hands up in the arm.

“You’re shaking,” he says softly.

I look up to see my shaking limbs. Immediately they drop to my sides and I desperately try to still them, “no I’m not-“

“Breathe a little okay, Gray will be fine,” he reassures me, his tone placid, as he delicately takes my shaking hands between his.

“Look as long as they all stay put no one should get hurt,” Avery says calmly, “the glass on the windows are double glazed and harder to smash than the average window, that is if they’re going to risk that.”

“Besides Xander’s on it,” Jameson adds.

Xander sticks a thumb into the air, still audibly tapping the keyboard with the other, “whoever did this is incredibly skilled at hacking and annoyingly so,” he mutters in reply.

No one talks. We are all just stood in silence, barely daring to breathe not wanting to break Xander’s concentration. Mine and Avery’s hands are intertwined, gripping the others so tightly that our fingers are white. Xander is frantic. He’s practically sweating as he types quickly and clicks buttons I didn’t even know existed. And just when it seemed like he might be getting somewhere more and more boxes of undeciphered code popped up. I’m close to being hopeless when Xander leans back in his seat.

“We’re back up and running,” Xander announces, “lights, buttons, connections, locks, everything.”

Avery and I squeal, hugging each other tightly. Relief floods through my body and I’m giddy with it. Xander stands up and breathes out slowly.

I kiss his cheek in affection and gratitude, platonically, “thank you Xander.”

“You’re welcome,” he says.

“I owe you a scone,” Jameson tells with a slap on the back.

“That, you do,” he nods with a wide grin.

“What do we tell the players?” Nash asks, reminding us that the game is still going and the players will be wondering what the hell just went on.

“Do we tell them the truth?” Xander asks.

“We don’t even know the truth,” Jameson tells him.

“Then we tell them what we know,” Avery says, “Nash?”

“You got it kid,” he nods.

Xander slides an arms around me.

“Sorry ‘bout that folks,” Nash drawls through the microphone, “brief technical snafu on our end, but we’re back. You still have sixty three minutes until dawn. As long as at least one team makes it down to the dock by the deadline, the rules still stand.”

It’s fine, everything will be fine. Three thousand seven hundred and eighty seconds left. I rest my head on Xander’s shoulder and he puts his head on mine. I think he’s the only thing that’s holding me up at the moment. If he weren’t I’m pretty sure my body would be some sort of odd shaped puddle of consumed thoughts on the carpet. Only one sentence goes through my head, over and over and over. I can’t wait to have my arms around Grayson again.

***

It’s almost sunrise when we make our way to the dock so we’ll be there for when the players make it out. If they make it out. I walk in between Xander and Nash, trying to keep up with their obscenely large leg strides. Avery and Jameson lead the way holding hands. My heart squeezes, it won’t be too long before I see Grayson again. I know it seemed stupid, we had only been apart for a few hours, but those hours had felt like weeks given all of the events that had taken place. Not to mentioned the long prolonging wait of which I couldn’t see or hear him.

And there was still something going around in my head. Something about him being with Lyra Kane for this long in such close proximity. It was grating at me, but I push the feelings down and bury them under a mound that I’m trying to ignore.

“Want to have a bet?” Xander ruffles my hair, stealing me from being consumed by my own thoughts.

I slap him away, “I’ve heard it’s dangerous to wager with a Hawthorne.”

“What’s my brother been telling you?” he asks.

“Mum’s the word,” I wink back, tapping my nose.

“What’s your bet on little brother?” Nash asks.

“What team will make it first,” Xander grins, mischievous glint in his eye.

His brotehr grins towards the sky, “had a feeling it might be.”

“I’m bias then,” I scoff.

“Okay so your Hearts,” Xander says.

“Hang on I never agreed to this bet,” I exclaim, holding my hands up to surrender.

“Whoever wins gets a scone,” he bribes me.

“That only benefits you,” Nash points out.

“Actually I would also benefit, I like scones,” I smile sheepishly,

“See? Who are you voting Nash?” Xander asks.

“I’ll go with Clubs, I’m rooting for Gigi,” Nash shrugs.

Xander nods, “that means I’m going with Diamonds.”

“You don’t have to,” I tell him.

“Yes I do, otherwise it’s uneven,” he says. I wasn’t going to argue.

“Who would your original vote gone to?” I ask.

He smiles at me, a cheeky glint in his eyes, “no one shall ever know.”

“What are you three wittering about,” Jameson says, interrupting the train of conversation as he turns around.

“Probably something better than the lovesick whispers you two are sharing,” Xander teases.

“Xand-“

The thumping of footsteps cut him off. It’s a race. Hearts and Diamonds are out. Savannah is the fastest, Rohan hot on her heels. Though Lyra takes them both over in a matter of seconds. She must be a runner. Would explain the to-die-for figure. Grayson is close behind her thought Odette trailed behind slightly, but for a woman of her age she’s doing remarkably well. They all arrive within milliseconds of each other, breathless and rosy-cheeked.

“Congratulations Diamonds and Hearts, you’ve made it,” Avery smiles.

“Where’s Clubs?” Savannah asks, its only then I notice how her longs blonde hair has been chopped off unevenly. It makes her look even colder than before, sending a chill down my spine

“Still playing,” Jameson says.

“Gray,” I breathe in relief, as he takes me into his arms.

Something about the hug feels unnatural maybe even slightly uncomfortable, but I brush it off. We’d both been awake for far too long. I couldn’t trust my judgement on this little sleep.

“You okay?” I murmur into his shoulder.

“Fine,” he replies, so only I can hear him.

“Good.”

It hit sunrise and something sinks in my stomach. Clubs haven’t made it. Gigi is out of the game. This is going to destroy her. We all wait in silence. All knowing Clubs have failed, all knowing the disappointment we’d have to see on their faces. My heart is thumping loudly in my chest, I can hear it in my ears. I grip onto Grayson’s hand tightly. I catch Lyra’s honey golden eyes. She looks me up and down as I narrow my eyes at her. I can’t read her body language towards me, it was difficult to make out what she was thinking or feelings. I turn away and try not to think too much of it.

There’s sound coming from the left of us and in the distance there are three figures. Everyone’s eyes snap to the three remaining players who’s hearts are probably all sinking in realisation that they were nit longer players in this game. Then I notice what’s in Knox’s arms or rather who… Knox is carrying a bleeding Gigi. My stomach twists. Grayson freezes beside me.

“Put her down,” Grayson says sternly, his voice commanding authority.

Immediately Knox gently places Gigi down, making sure she was stable before he completely let go. We rush to her side immediately. Grayson putting a protective arm around her shoulder, his eyes flitting between the gash on her head and her face.

“Oh god Gigi,” I murmur tentatively touching her bloodied head to assess how severe it is.

“I’m fine,” she winces, blinking back tears.

“You are not,” Grayson says, his voice hard almost empty, “you’re injured Gigi.”

“Who among us is not occasionally concussed?” she says happily.

“Our team is out of the game, go ahead say it we’be been eliminated,” Knox says turning to Avery.

She ignores him and approaches Gigi, “are you okay?”

She nodded with a smile laced with the pain he thought she could hide. Maybe it was invisible to the others, but not to me. I’ve been under the same mask she’s trying to hide behind now. I understand. Grayson keeps his arm around her and I keep my hand in hers. She squeezes my palm and I squeeze hers back. I’m here, I wanted to scream, I’m here for you.

“Diamonds and Hearts, you’re onto the next phase of the game. Clubs… there’s always next year,” Avery finally brings herself to say.

“Once a player, always a player,” Jameson adds.

***

I don’t leave Gigi’s side until Nash has patched her up properly. ‘Stay with her, please,’ Grayson had murmured after we’d shared a quick kiss. He’d had something to discuss back at the dock with Odette. And Lyra. So I did, I stayed by Gigi’s side through every wince, every hand squeeze, every stitch.

“All patch up darlin’,” Nash nods, tipping his cowboy hat towards her slightly.

“Thanks,” she smiles brightly, it’s an unnatural fluorescent brightness that she radiated. Too bright, too artificial.

“You feeling okay?” I make sure, looking at her head.

“Fine,” she replied, gently feeling over her stitches.

Before anyone can say anything else there is a sharp knock at the door interrupting the thread of conversation. Nash answers. Brady walks in. Something was off about that guy. I got a bad feeling when I was around that guy. Nash gets up to leave and as much as I want to stay, it’s not my place to and I know that.

“Holler if you need anything,” Nash tells Gigi.

“We’re not going far,” I reassure her.

“Don’t worry about me,” she beams up at me, though the smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes, “really I’m fine.”

“I think we both know that’s a lie,” I say, my voice so low I’m not sure if she can hear me.

The way her eyes soften, revealing an ounce of vulnerability, indicates she has, “can we talk later? Maybe on the boat back?”

“Of course we can,” I say, squeezing her hand in mine one last time, before standing up to leave her to talk to Brady.

She nods with a small smile which I return, then turn to follow Nash who’s holding eye contact with Brady intensely. As soon as we’re out of the room and a few paces down the corridor Nash blurts out, “I don’t trust him.”

“Neither do I,” I grimace, at least someone else had picked up on Brady’s sketchy vibes, “he gives me a weird feeling.”

“Same here kid,” he nods in reply, then pauses slightly before saying, “you go and find Gray, I’ll be close by if she needs me.”

I fumble over my words. How did he know again? He has to be some sort of mind reader. I make a mental note to discuss it with Xander.

“Are you sure?” I ask quietly.

“I’m sure,” he says, placing a brotherly hand in my shoulder, “I know you’re still worried, you’re horrible at hiding it.”

“Thanks Nash,” I chuckle, brushing hair out of my face,

“No worries kid,” he says, shooting me a lopsided grin as I rush off to reunite with Grayson.

***

The boat left for the mainland at noon, that was when Gigi, Knox and now Odette were leaving, as she traded her place for Brady’s. But the players had been told to try and get some rest before the next phase. I’d also been up all night and could feel myself growing tired, so Grayson and I were currently laying on our bed in each other’s arms. It feels nice to finally breathe a little. I don’t feel the weight of stress from my jealousy or guilt or worry, I just feel normal.

“Do you think Gigi will be okay,” I murmur into Grayson.

“Nash is used to patching up our ailments,” he responds, his tone a little distant. It made me iffy.

“Yeah but I mean after being cast out of the game,” I reply, “I know I wouldn’t feel great if I were in her position.”

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, blowing out a short breath.

“I’m worried about her,” I say quietly.

“Me too,” he whispers, “I’m really worried about her.”

“I think we’re going to talk later,” I tell him, hoping it might provide himnwith some sort of solace.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I confirm, “I hope she might get whatever it is that’s hurting her off of her chest.”

“Make sure she’s okay for me, okay?” he makes sure, “no matter what.”

“Of course,” I say, a little confused. Why had he said it like that? Like something bad might happen? Like I might lose him? I brush off the feeling. I put it down to overreacting, as usual.

We fall into a long silence as I trace different shapes on chest with my finger tip. I slowly drag it along, with no specific shape in mind. A blank expression is present on his face and I can see he’s deep in thought. There’s something on his mind and I have a horrible feeling it has something to do with the unseen, unheard happenings of the grandest game.

“What’s on your mind?” I ask him, doe-eyed.

“Hmmm nothing,” he says, refusing to look me in the eye.

“You sure?” I press on.

“I’m sure,” he says, planting a kiss on my forehead.

The kiss was off and I could see something was bothering him but he didn’t want to tell me, I’d wait until he was ready. Even if it were forever.

“What was it like in there?” I ask, attempting to change the subject, “the game.”

“It really was the grandest game,” he whispers, “like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.”

“Really?”

“They outdid themselves thoroughly,” he says.

“I bet,” I nod, nuzzling further into him affectionately.

“You really couldn’t hear or see anything the whole time?” he asks, a hint of worry delicately woven into his tone. It was so brief you would’ve missed it if you didn’t know him. But I know Gray.

“Nothing, it was like hell,” I say with a small tired laugh, “it was killing me that I had no clue if you were okay.”

“I was fine,” he replied quickly, almost curtly.

“Well I know that now,” I yawn and feel my eyes begin to close slowly but I fight to keep them open.

“You’re tired,” Grayson says, the ghost of a smile faintly touching his lips.

I shake my head in denial, “no I’m not,” I protest, “not even a little bit.”

“Go the sleep love,” he whispers.

“I want to talk to you though,” I pout, rubbing my eyes.

“We‘ll have plenty of time tomorrow,” he says, playing with my hair.

“Okay,” I murmur, letting myself fall into a dimension of much needed sleep, finally with my love back in my arms.

***

I wake up in the middle of darkness, though there is light desperately trying to make it through the black out blinds. I wonder how long I’d been asleep for, it couldn’t be past noon though. I’m aware of the coldness on the other side of the bed. Grayson wasn’t there. It wasn’t exactly uncommon. Usually when we were home, if it were the early hours he would either be swimming or having a wander and a read to make himself tired again.

I hear the door handle turn slowly and the sound of his all too familiar footsteps hitting the floor. I crawl out of bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, as I make my way toward him. Though as I do he stands still, frozen, like he can’t move. Concern latches onto my throat.

“Are you okay?” I whisper, tentatively touching his arm.

He recoils away quickly, like I’ve hit a tender nerve or a bruise of sorts.

“Are you hurt?” I ask worriedly

“No,” he murmurs, his voice stone cold.

It hurts a little more than it should, he’s never usually so blunt, so cutthroat. Not with me anyway.

“Where have you been?” I say, fishing for an honest reply.

He meets my eyes for the first time. Swimming in endless pools of grey is a mournful sorrow, “I’m sorry.”

His voice cracks. Grayson’s voice never cracks.

“Gray?” I say in a ghost of the whisper, the word not even feeling real once it is said. My pulse quickens suddenly and a large lump that I cannot swallow forms in my throat.

He’s pale, his face is regretful. Hollow. Lifeless. My heart sinks. I already know.

“Tell me,” I say, my voice shaking nearly breaking like weak houses in an earthquake.

He shakes his head glossy eyed, “I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, I never meant for it to happen, I-“

“Tell me,” I grit through my teeth trying to prevent the thick emotion building up in my chest from overflowing.

There is a long pause. A deadly silence that seemed to last for days.

He parts his lips and utters the words, “I kissed her.”

It’s like a masked killer has dragged me from the comfort and safety of my own bed in the middle of the night, taken me into the thick of the wood where the vegetation is overgrown and no one will ever hear you scream. The part where it’s hard to see the sky or tell day from night and where no birds sing. And once we’re there, he takes a sharpened knife, laced with the most excruciating poison and slowly opens the left side of my chest, carefully ripping out my beating heart full of blood to destroy in his hands at his leisure. Grinning as her leaves my broken body to bleed out, dying heartless and lifeless. It’s like the person under that mask is Grayson. The one person I put all of my love and trust into. The one person who I thought would saved me from the masked killer is the masked killer. What a fucking joke.

“Who?” I ask, my tone low, dangerous, angry, “who did you kiss? I want to hear you say it.”

“I kissed Lyra,” he whispers, tears rolling down his cheeks, a state I’d never witnessed him in before. But right now I’m too broken to care.

My heart shatters into a million pieces on the spot. And then I am numb with agony.

a/n: so that was a fun ending :) hope you enjoyed part 2 my loves <33 and thanks to everyone who requested it, I’m sorry it took me so long to get around to it

NOTE I DONT THINK GRAYSON IS A CHEATER!! LIKE AT ALL. MY BABY WOULD NEVER!! but I thought I’d spice things up a bit yk, for the ✨drama✨

ALSO the de-coding thingy when the power went out if probs completely wrong on my part but I was allowed to drop computer science last year and I did ;) so I was just waffling, I know nothing about computers other than they can type, play music and they provide me with google and amazon

TIG masterlist

[haruka-norikoyo]

Biggest Fan

Monoma Neito x reader | Soulmate AU

The gasp I’ve gusped (yes past tense to the fourth dimension) when I thought of this scenario. Mild spoilers for the end of the manga.

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

The fourth birthday is a momentous occasion in one’s life. Not only is it the year where most develops their quirk, it is when one is assigned a soulmate.

No one knows whether it is a quirk or something entirely foreign. Many believe there is divine power at play. Because, after all, how can one have such power? It is a phenomenon which extends throughout the entire world. On a person’s right wrist appears the first words that their soulmate says to them. When those words have been uttered, they simultaneously disappear, and they now know their soulmate.

Monoma Neito got his quirk before his words. It’s not unusual, just rather rare to be an early bloomer. Normally, developing a quirk early would invite excitement and respect. “You can’t be a hero with a quirk like that.”

He’d copied another kid’s quirk, excitedly showing it off to his friends. But quirks are unique to oneself, aren’t they? Something to take pride in because only you can do it. So for someone else to be able to do it too?

“That’s something a side character would have.”

He stopped showing it off to other kids after that. Though, before he knew it, it was his birthday. Neito never understood what’s so exciting about getting random words on his wrist and someone he’ll be stuck with for the rest of his life. He’s a kid, after all. Getting his quirk was much more interesting to him. But after the response he got, he doesn’t get his hopes up.

All his relatives were eagerly checking his wrist for the soulmate words. It honestly was a little suffocating to be crowded the whole day with “do you have it yet?”. He can’t wait for it to be over.

Then, a gasp. He turns to see his mom pointing at his wrist. “Neito, your words!”

“Oh,” he glances down. Now that it’s here, he can't help but be a little curious. “Excuse me, Phantom Thief? I’m your biggest fan!”

His eyes widen, but before he could properly think about what it entails, he’s surrounded by everyone at the party. All of them eager to see what his match would tell him in their first meeting.

***

The next time he saw the kids who said he’ll be nothing but a side character, he rubs it in their faces.

“Look at this! My soulmate calls me Phantom Thief in our first meeting. That means I’ll be a pro hero— and what’s that? I already have a fan.”

“That— that doesn’t mean anything!”

“Yeah! It’s probably your name for a comedy show or something!”

But their words don’t reach him. He has a fan. Sure, it’s his soulmate, them being his biggest fan is a given, but still. Someone out there will be watching him. “Hahaha! Envy me all you want— my soulmate loves me way before we ever meet!”

***

“You’re still banking on your soulmate’s words?” Is something he heard numerous times, especially when he made it known he signed up for UA high school. Standing amongst other examinees, he wonders if his soulmate is there too. Maybe they’re already watching him. He shakes his head. No, they call me by my hero name. I won’t meet them until I become a pro hero…

He looks up at the big gates of the practical examination, his lips forming a smile as he discreetly copies the quirk of the examinee beside him. Looks like I’ll have to work hard to meet them.

***

The sports festival was his chance to get his soulmate’s attention. Yet, all everyone could talk about is the class that got attacked by villains. He hatched a plan to take them down and help his classmates.

“I believe it would be beneficial if we don’t show everyone our quirks in the first round. Looking at the past sports festivals, it’s likely to backfire on us, so it’s better to keep a low profile and then show off our skills in the more important rounds. Of course, none of you have to follow up on this. I won’t blame you for wanting to stand out. This is the sports festival, after all.”

He figured Shiozaki and Testutetsu would want to go all out. Sure enough, they did.

“I wouldn’t mind going through with it,” Kendo says. “But what about you?”

Neito raises his brow. “Naturally I’ll follow through with it..? What’s with that?”

Kendo gestures to her own wrist, which already doesn’t have her words. “Nothing, I just thought that your biggest fan would want to see you go all out.”

Maybe without the words on his wrist, he would’ve followed through with his plan. As he crosses the finish line in 7th place, he looks at the crowd. They aren’t cheering as loudly as for the top three, but with the hundreds of people presently cheering, the stadium is still deafening. Did you see me? Neito gazes down at his wrist, wondering that if they did, is soulmate is as in love with him as he already is?

***

He got a few internship requests despite not making it to the third round. Currently, his classmates are busy picking their hero names while he sits back, already having decided his.

Awase groans from the front of the class. “Argh! Monoma’s lucky, his soulmate says his hero name already so he doesn’t have to think about it..!”

Neito shrugs. “I’m sure you can think of something…”

Awase groans in response.

***

What an eventful first year…

Shit happened. He fought in a war with other kids his age. Crazy. Well, at least it’ll go down in the history books.

He stands in front of the statue displayed for his efforts in the war. His face and his hero name is engraved on the marble surface. He was a key player. The start point for Deku and Dynamight in the war. It was made known to everyone.

“Most people know my name and what I did, but don’t necessarily recognize me like those two…” Neito sighs, rubbing the back of his head as he recalls the screaming first students swarming to Bakugo and Todoroki this morning. “Guess I’ll have to work harder still.”

He falls silent.

Neito turns his heel, walking down the walk way of other statues mounted after the war. “Woah, he really does have a statue..!” He looks over his shoulder, spotting a student running in from the entrance. Right, they’re permitted to go off campus during lunch hours again. Neito watched in amusement as the student marvels at the statue. Their face glows with excitement as they pulled out their phone, discreetly attempting to take a selfie. Though, they obviously felt too embarrassed to do so on their own, ending up with blurry pictures.

Hm, he has time…

He approaches. The student nearly drops their phone straightening themself out to look inconspicuous. “Need help taking a photo?” he asks with a smile.

A hint of recognition passes through the student’s face. They turn to him in bewilderment, yet, at the sight of him they seem to forget that train of thought. Their eyes widen, and they cup their hands over their mouth. Neito chuckles while they stare at him in silent excitement, looking down. Damn, now that he’s faced with a fan he doesn’t know what to do.

“Excuse me… Phantom Thief?”

“Hm?” he brings his gaze back up. The student move their hands away from their mouth, revealing the brightest smile he’d ever seen directed at him, or anyone for that matter.

“I’m your biggest fan!”

“My…” his eyes widen. He looks down at his wrist. It’s gone. His words are gone. “You’re my…”

They blink at him, tilting their head. Albeit their confusion, they still watch and listen carefully for what he’ll say next. Did they not notice? Were they so enthralled by meeting him that they forgot their own words? The idea makes his heart swell. Before he could even register his own actions, he reaches out for them, hands on their shoulders.

“S… Say that again!”

“Eh?!” they can’t help but step back, face warming up at their proximity. “Um… I’m your biggest fan?”

Someone watching from a distance wouldn’t be able to tell who the fan in the situation is. Although, one could probably say it’s both. “Your words… do you know how much your first words helped me over the years?” he breathes out, heart thumping so loudly. This adrenaline is a relief that is incomparable to anything else. “Huh? Over the years? U-Um…” Oh dear, it looks like the student might short circuit. “Ah, sorry… I got carried away.“ Neito steps back, releasing their shoulders. “But, you really don’t notice?”

They stare at him. After a few seconds, it finally dawned on them… the realization they made earlier. “You… said my words…” They look down at their wrist and gasp. “They’re gone!”

“Yeah,” Neito nods.

They point at him, eyes wide. “You’re my soulmate!” “That’s right.”

“Holy shit.” Neito laughs as they cover their mouth once more. “My soulmate… my soulmate is Phantom Theif? For real?! I’m not dreaming?”

“Does it feel like a dream?” he asks teasingly with a raised brow.

They nod vigorously. “C-Could I… get a picture with you?”

He grins, watching them fiddle with their thumbs nervously. “Of course. Mind if I take it for us?” “Oh sure, here,” they hand over their phone.

Neito extends his arm out, holding the phone still until the camera focuses on both of them. Of course, his statue is there in the background. After all, that’s what they originally wanted to photograph.

“What’s your name, by the way?” Neito asks, pulling away. He still has the phone, though.

“(L/n) (y/n).”

“Ah, good, now I know what to write in your contact. I can put my number in, can’t I?”

“Y-Your number…” (y/n) awes. It’s only natural to keep in touch with their soulmate, but having someone the Phantom Thief whom they love so much in their contacts is something they never thought would happen. “I’d love that!”

Neito types in his number into (y/n)’s phone, and hands it back to them. “Alright. Done. Send me a text any time you wanna meet up. And if you need help as my underclassman, feel free to come to me, okay?”

(y/n) nods. “Okay.”

“Then… I’ll see you next time.”

“Um! One last thing!” (Y/n) purses their lip, debating whether on saying it or not. “May… may I get your autograph?”

“An autograph?” Neito raises his brow with a grin, watching as they scramble to find something from their bag. “Even though I’m your soulmate?”

“It’s a big bonus that you’re my soulmate but— I’ve been a fan of you since seeing the sports festival replays!” Determination burns in their eyes as they extend a board and sharpie to him. “See? I even have a special place for you to put your autograph. Please?”

“Oh, how could I refuse a request from my biggest fan?” he snickers in attempt to distract from the blush dusting his cheeks. He takes the board and sharpie, fingers brushing against each other’s.

“(Y/n), thank you for supporting me even before you realized it. Sincerely, your soulmate, Phantom Thief.”

[prettyboykatsuki]

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SHARPEN YOUR TEETH (AND BITE AS HARD AS YOU WANT) | WYLL RAVENGARD

☾ tags ; SPOILERS FOR ACT ONE AND TWO OF BG3, gn + afab!reader, werewolf!reader, selunite cleric!reader developing relationship, canon typical violence, mild gore / blood, mutual pining, heat cycles, scent kink, oral (f + m!recieving), unprotected sex, praise kink, petnames (starlight, my love, my heart), lots of referring to reader as a dog / mutt / puppy, messy sex, reader has body hair / pubic hair, soft top wyll, a single pregnancy joke, 18+ MDNI

☾ wc ; 21.8k (????)

☾ a/n ; h...hello wyll nation. local deranged man here to offer this politely and run away. i dont really know what happened here. this was really just meant to be porn about a scent kink and uhm. well

i dont know if i wrote this fic as much as it used my physical vessel as a way to escape. it just sort of occured. im rarely nervous to post fic for a character but this is my first time doing a real wyll fic and bg3 fandom as many people i respect. so please be kind.

anyways. the embracing of monstrosity vs the rejection of it. so on and so forth. hope u enjoy. also banner is from slime isekai anime.

☾ synopsis ; there's a werewolf at camp. nothing new. wyll is growing increasingly fond of them. very new.

ao3 link for reading | spotify playlist.

The violent tearing sounds of teeth ripping through the flesh pulse and echo through the night air. 

Blood sprays onto the furred creature responsible for it. All else grinds to a halt, the gnats and fireflies silent in awe as sharp claws crush through bone. Wyll can hear the sound of his own blood pumping as his eyes watch the massacre, hand drawn on his rapier. He looks over through the rest of his party 

They remain just as awestruck. Astarion stands breathlessly. Shadowheart slinks into her namesake, eyes closed and trembling in the dark. 

But Wyll watches, eyes fixed on the bloodshed. On the violence. The realization dawns on him too late that one of his party members is missing. You’re missing. He stares back at the creature, underneath the moon - silently slaughtering every last of their opposition until the battle field is left in a field of crimson. Death plagues every inch of dirt to the naked eye. 

A whimper sounds. Followed by the sound of skin and bones retracting and moving back into place. 

Where a werewolf once was is your naked form. Sat on your knees and bent over your body with tears at the corners of your eyes. Just your ears and tail remain, your mouth and hands covered in a thick layer of blood. You sniffle, the only light left to illuminate you ritual candles and moon as you turn your head back to your party. 

“Uhm,” Your voice is coarse, thick with exhaustion and tears. Wyll stares at you in awestruck silence “We should probably talk.” 

_ 

“So,” Gale’s voice and the obvious exasperation in it is enough to make Wyll feel sorry for you. You’re sitting at the campfire, finally clothed - with a blanket around your shoulder and Astarion tending to your wounds. “We have a Sharran, a vampire spawn, a werewolf, and a githyanki. Anything else we need to check off before we apply for a tent at the circus?” 

Karlach takes the empty seat next to you, wanting to wrap her hand around the fluffy base of your tail and frowning when she realizes she can’t. Your ears are folded down, the corners of your eyes still wet with tears. You lean into Karlach’s heat, just enough to feel it. 

 The air is cool, thick with the scent of dirt and smoke. The campfire licks with light flames, surrounded by half cut logs for extra seating. You, Astarion, and Karlach crowd on a single half - draped with an extra bedroll for cushion. 

“Don’t be so harsh on them, Gale,” Karlach says, glancing over at you “It’s hardly like they’re a threat to us. I mean.. look at them.” 

Your frown deepens as you hang your head in shame. 

“I thought we were past this, no? I mean we’ve all already been honest with each other so far. It’s a little late to be keeping something like this a secret is it not?” 

“That’s true,” Wyll interjects, standing next to Gale across from the three of you - staring at your curled up form with sympathy. “I really don’t understand why you hid it for this long. Surely, you could’ve told us earlier?” 

Your voice is weak and unusually frail. “The opportunity never presented itself.” 

“You could have mentioned it when Astarion told us he was a vampire?” Wyll suggests. 

“I didn’t want to steal his thunder, you know? Felt a bit rude, really.” 

Astarion laughs, clearly wanting to laugh himself into hysterics but having enough tact not to do so. “Not a thing in that head of yours aside from our parasite, is there darling? But you know, I’m quite delighted by this revelation.

“Really?” 

“Now we’ve got two monsters at our camp as opposed to just one! Evens out the playing field, in case things go south.” 

“I’m not a monster,” You murmur, pouting. “And I don’t think you are either, for the record. I’m just a shifter. And my goddess is kind.”

“Oh? And who would that be?” Gale asks somewhat bitterly.

“Selune,” Shadowheart pipes up this time, for the first time since your arrival back to camp. Emerges from her own tent in the corner like a ghost. Her arms are crossed, brows pinched into a tight face of displeasure “She has a network of werewolves in her ranks. You’re one of them, aren’t you?” 

You look up at her saddened, like a kicked puppy for lack of a better word, casting your gaze away from hers. Shadowheart looks ferocious, her appearance locked onto your pitiful form with a familiar angry smolder. Wyll can’t decide if you’ve done anything so grand as to earn her ire, even if you’re a Selunite werewolf. Though, given all that Wyll knows about her, that may as well be the greatest sin of all.

Your voice is tiny and high-pitched as you play with your hands in your lap “I didn’t intend to hide it from you but y-yes. I don’t bear any hatred towards you or other Shar followers, but uhm, well, I didn’t think you’d be very happy about it. A-and then, well you know, back in the grove you mentioned you hated wolves so, I just… planned on never shifting.” 

“You have control over something like that?” Wyll inquires. You nod, not looking up at him. 

“I was born as a werewolf, not turned. So the moon doesn’t affect me in the same way it would someone who was turned and I have more control over when it happens. I can shift in and out. Usually no problem but when I’m caught off guard like that,” You lift your tail and swing it from side to side as if to emphasize the point “Sometimes I mess it up.” 

“Chk. What a waste of ability. Think of how many we would’ve slaughtered had we known from the start.”

Wyll looks around. Everyone has gathered now, standing around the fire. 

“A werewolf… I know little of them. Wild shape magic is vastly different. I hope your condition does not cause you too much trouble. Or us, for that matter.” Halsin adds apologetically. 

“I didn’t intend for it to come out this way,,” You mumble pitifully. Shit, he really can’t help but feel bad. “I really did fully plan on keeping it to myself until the end. But, well, we were desperate. And I didn’t want to see anyone die,” 

“Given our circumstances, I think it would be amiss to scold you for your bravery,” Wyll supplements, trying to ease your worries. He does mean it. Regardless of what happened, you did save everyone. “Plus, we’ve all kept secrets here.” 

“Exactly right, soldier. Don’t beat yourself up about it,” 

“Wow, what sort of double standard is this? When I came out as a vampire, you people couldn’t stop talking about how afraid you were I was going to bite you!” Astarion says with an exaggerated frown. You smile at him weakly. 

Wyll gives him a disbelieving look. “Well you’re not exactly subtle about wanting to suck our blood, are you Astarion?” 

Astarion huffs. “Everyone here is so unfair.” 

Wyll laughs goodnaturedly, his eyes turning back onto you. He examines you in silent thought, his mind sifting over your last few months together. 

After Gale gets over his initial frustration, his curiosity gets the better of him. He rejoins everyone—across from you on an empty log and Wyll joins along with them. Shadowheart and Lae-zel come too, as does Halsin. 

Around the campfire, Gale pulls a book and quill from his tent before making himself comfortable. 

“Well since we’ve all made up, I am a little curious about your condition.” He admits. A very Gale thing to do, Wyll thinks. 

“I don’t mind any questions.” You reply gently. “It’s the least I can do.” 

The whole camp softens at your display. Surprisingly, Shadowheart is the first to ask a question.

“Is it more comfortable for you…in your wolf form?” 

You seem taken aback.. Though it dawns on you quickly why she would be asking that specifically. 

“Ah, kind of? My humanoid form is also me but it feels… limiting at times.” 

“Limiting?” 

“Eating meat without my  canines is a pain in my ass. Same with not being able to express myself with my ears or tail. I like traveling on my paws depending on the terrain.” You say, shaking your head. “It doesn’t bother me though mostly,” 

Gale’s quill hitting the paper makes a loud scratching sound. Astarion has a snarky comment about it that Wyll misses. He’s too preoccupied with other things. 

Hoping that you don't feel too badly about all this, for example. 

“Does it affect your daily life in any way?”  

“I don’t think so? I don’t know. It’s always been like this, so there’s nothing that different to me. I do notice how different I am around humans maybe,” You say, before perking up. You’ve just remembered something important. “Oh, but there is one thing.” 

“What is it?” Wyll asks. 

“My senses are much much sharper than other peoples. My sense of smell, especially.”

___ 

You remain together. Despite the mess.  Somehow. 

With this parasite in mind, and nothing left to lose - it’s better to stay together. Now that there are no important secrets kept hidden, the vibe is much more relaxed. The impending doom adds a layer of familiarity too. Wyll has often traveled with bands of strangers, but never for so long and with so many. 

It gives him a sense of familiarity. Home. What a foreign word. 

He thinks a lot of it is your contribution. They’re your pack, as you say so often. A special one with lots of different sorts of people. And you - you’re loyal to a fault. It helps. You and Karlach are a lot alike, but Wyll would venture to call you a little more tender. It helps fill in the gaps. 

Wyll knows you’re a werewolf but it’s hard not to think of you as a dog in that sense. A different dog to Scratch, maybe. But a dog all the same - with folded ears and a softail and propensity for drooling depending on the way you sleep. 

He’s only really reminded of the fact that you’re part wolf when you use your abilities in battles. It’s your failsafe. You only do it when you think it’s dire, and before that you air on the side of diplomacy. You’re a hunter should the need arise though. Sometimes you don’t transform completely. Where your usual canines are meant to linger in your mouth are a set of teeth too big for it. Instead of hands, sometimes there are soft paws with sharpened nails. 

There are three ways you can transform for that matter. Human, werewolf, or just wolf. Wyll finds these little distinctions fascinating, and more fascinating that you tend to opt for one end of the spectrum or the other. 

Wyll quickly learns some of your physical attributes are the same irregardless of what you look like. The fact you are agile and quick and strong, or the fact you can travel fast on all fours. The fact you like meat, and the fact you whine rather loudly when you’re upset. 

When you’re using your abilities, many would think you a ruthless killer. 

But after everyones cleared from harm, you’ll transform back into your usual human self - naked and covered in blood and frowning. You spit up meat that tastes bad and whine loudly if no one tells you good job.

(That job often falls on Wyll or Shadowheart. Gale or Karlach if they’re traveling with you. Astarion is only kind enough to do it in a semi-mocking way, but Wyll is keenly aware of how sincere his praise can be.) 

In moments like that, you’re just a dog again. A puppy, sometimes. Loyal. And novel, and interesting for many reasons. 

Wyll should expect your loyalty by now. He sees it so often, how unyielding and faithful you always are. To your goddess and to your pack and to whatever else you’ve deemed important to you. 

He should’ve known that you’d probably try to seek him out tonight, after everything that’s happened among all of you. 

He did watch you for a bit at the start. You worked clockwise through all of your companions, stopped in between for stories and gossip. Some of the tiefling kids wanted to see your tail and you’re too good a spirit to tell them no.

Wyll wouldn’t dare hope for you finding him, but he is a little relieved when you do. 

“Wyll! There you are,” 

 Wyll’s eyes snap up.

“Ah, Hells. I was hoping you wouldn’t notice I was gone,” He says regretfully. 

“Of course I noticed! How could I not notice our very own warlock disappear? It was no party without you.” 

Wyll wonders if you’re being sincere. He hopes you are. The night air is cool as the two of you share space. Away from the party, only sand and rubble between your feet. And a body of water that looks like it could go on forever. 

It’s a full moon tonight. 

“Really? I’m honored,” He peers out into the lake. Suddenly aware of his body, Wyll recoils into himself. The movement is subtle enough to be overlooked. The horns on the top of his head feel especially heavy. The skin pulled around the base of them throbs. It’s not painful, but it is unpleasant. “In truth, I don’t feel a festive mood and I didn’t want to cast a gray cloud over the night.” 

“Is it too intrusive for me to ask?” 

“Not at all,” Wyll assures. Your words are comfortable and soft, concerned without being pitiful. “I’m a devil. I love the people of the grove, but I unsettle them deep down. As I seem to unsettle everyone nowadays.” 

Wyll can hear his own somber. He doesn’t wince, but it's impossible to ignore. Even explaining himself only adds to his melancholy. He’s quiet for a while, his voice touched with a destitution and irony. And bitterness, maybe. 

You remain still and steady beside him. He can’t tear his gaze away from the endless water, comforted by its vastness. How it generally disregards him and distorts his reflection.

“You don’t want a devil at your party. Horns this sharp will pop the balloons you see. And the guests won’t take kindly to scars quite so monstrous.” He jokes, trying to keep his voice light. 

He doesn’t think he succeeds at it. 

Silence once more. Wyll can see you, but your expression is unchanged. Your eyes are clear underneath the ever changing moon. 

“You don’t unsettle me. You never have.” There’s conviction behind your words. They comfort him.

“If only half the world had half the heart you do.” Wyll tells you, and means every word. He tries to brighten up, waving you off. “Don’t let my introspection spoil your night. Off with you. This is your day! Have a dance. Enjoy the music.” 

He hopes it’s enough to get you to forget about him for tonight. 

When you walk off, Wyll is expecting you to disappear. It’s enough that you’ve checked on him. He would’ve been content with it, left to reflect on his troubles alone. You’ve done something significant with your reassurance. He isn’t so tactless to keep you from celebrating. even when he would maybe want more time with you. 

You return to him though. With a bottle of wine, and a bedroll you spread in the empty sand next to him. You give him an unreadable look followed by a cheeky smile, making yourself comfortable on the ground. 

“Come on. Sit.”

Confused, Wyll sits. You open the bottle of wine with your teeth as a cork and drink from the top before passing it over to him. He takes it from you and stares at the place you’ve just drank from. You start to talk while he debates mimicking you.

“You don’t have to pretend it’s less difficult than it is,” You say almost thoughtlessly. Almost. “You’ve lost your body. Yourself. That must be hard.” 

Wyll looks at you, then back at the colored glass of the bottle. He clears his throat. “It is. More than I imagined it to be.” 

“You know, I was born a werewolf. And I had just about the best circumstances a person could have with that in mind. Selune accepts me and my clergy was mostly kind. Still, I heard the word monster a lot from people outside my circle. I could feel the distrust that I incited in outsiders. So, I won’t pretend to know exactly what you’re going through,” You say, your legs stretched out far into the sand, past the confinement of a tiny square bedroll “But I do know what it’s like to feel accused when you’ve done nothing wrong. You especially, Blade of Frontiers. I think you’re allowed to grieve the trust it feels like you’ve lost, or might lose. If it’s worth anything, though, I know you’re not a monster.” 

Wyll barely gets a chance to process the words as they come. He wonders if this is what people mean by feeling seen by someone else. “You know?” 

“Damn right I know,” Your response comes without hesitation. The night air blows along his skin, a soft and tender caress. Wyll frowns when you don't elaborate.

“How could you know something like that?” He asks.

“Lotsa reasons. You’re still nice and thoughtful and caring and charming. But, hm, well the most obvious reason is a little more primitive.” You take a deep inhale. “Your scent,” 

“...I’m sorry?” 

Your laugh is bright, and bubbly. 

“Your scent,” You repeat calmly, taking a deep sigh after saying it. “Everyone at camp has a scent. It’s a little abstract, but they change when people change. Shadowheart smells the leaves of black currant and uh, Halsin smells like sequoia wood. Lae’zel smells like black tea and metal. Gale smells like licorice. Astarion smells a lot like applemint. Karlach smells like smoke and star anise,” 

Wyll finds himself both awestruck and amused.

“These are all rather specific,” 

“I’ve always been a bit of a bloodhound so I’ve developed a talent at identifying specifics. It was shitty when I was a runt. Even a trip outside could give me the worst fuckin’ headache, but it got better the more I got used to it.” You give Wyll a glance “Anyways. Scent changes. When someone changes, their scent does too. Moods and days and everything affect it too.” 

“And mine hasn’t changed, is what you’re saying?” 

“No. Not in the way that’d make you different. It’s stronger, but it hasn’t changed. You haven’t changed.” You say quietly, and take a deep breath. “Not to me at least.” 

“You’ve conveniently left out my scent from your description.” Wyll says with fond amusement. He feels reassured. It’s absurd, yet Wyll is so inclined to believe you. “Is it something so awful?” 

You flush, suddenly becoming timid. 

“Yours is… good,” You say simply, and softly. You seem embarrassed to continue. He can’t help but find it so incredibly endearing. “It’s just harder for me to describe. But it’s good. It’s personally my favorite. “ 

You add the last part a little quieter. 

“And it hasn’t changed,” Wyll says more than asks this time. 

“No. Stronger, but the same.” You curl in on yourself, crossing your legs as you turn your head to face him, head tilted towards one side with a smile. “You’re not a devil to me. Just Wyll. And I like just Wyll.”

Wyll feels his chest tight as you lean your head on your shoulder contentedly. He tries not to read it into, hoping you can’t hear how loudly his heart is pounding. He takes a drink from the wine bottle straight, the same place your lips touched moments ago. 

He likes you, too. The words don’t come out right. 

“Yes…I’m,” He’s speechless, hands folded in his lap as he stares at you. “Me too. Our journey together has proved important to me. Thank you.” 

You smile but don’t say anything more.

___

With the goblin camp clear, the journey towards the Shadowfell lands becomes increasingly pervasive. You’ve done more traveling and less resting in the last few weeks than you have thus far in your journey. 

Smoke clouds in the horizon are what draw you to Waukeens rest. 

On your way to the mountain pass, for easy access to the city, lay a massacre of bodies and fire. The distress has far from subsided. The thick smog continues to build, folds into itself like massive heaps of wool - suffocating everything on every path in its surroundings. The smell of ash is invasive, even from a fair distance away. 

Blood trails from one end of the path towards the main entrance. As your party’s distance begins to close in, Wyll feels his lungs fill up with a familiar tightness. The burning air makes his eyes and lungs sting.

“Shit, the fire is still burning. There must still be people in need of aid. We should,” You cough hard as you look at what's in front of you. Eyes squinted trying to make out the horizon. “We should get there and see if we can aid them,” 

Astarion groans “For just one day, could we rest? Leave this nonsense up to the other wandering travelers desperate for recognition? Is that asking so much?” 

“As long as I’m pinning down bodies for you to feed off, you’ve got to listen to me, you know? You laugh warmly at his sarcasm. “Now, If you don’t stop complaining you’ll fall behind, pretty boy, and there’ll be not a thing left for you to suck dry.” 

“I should report you for that, you know. Threats of starvation against the imprisoned violate the law,” 

You laugh a little as you start to make your way forward. The four of you jog towards the entrance of Waukeens rest with urgency, more yours and Wyll’s than Astarion’s and Shadowheart’s.

Among the scenery at the front entrance of Waukeens rest - what concerns Wyll most is not the death. Not the bodies ashen among flame or the flames themselves that continue to widen and encompass. It is that, among those bodies, are members of the Flaming Fist. Past the sour memory of his life comes the worry, the fear. 

What in the Hells are the Flaming Fist doing around this area?

Away from the woman praying over a body, are a small number of Fist’s pushing on the doorway of a locked and burning building. You’re quick to run to it. Wyll barely keeps up. 

Before you can ask about the situation at hand, a Flaming Fist member addresses you and your party. 

“Grand Duke Ravengard could be inside, don’t just stand there - push!” 

Wyll’s voice betrays him, speaking before he has a minute to think. “Ravengard? He’s here?” 

“Yes, now make yourself useful- push, damn it, push!”

Wordlessly from next to him, you gear yourself up and push kick the door in. Strong enough that the wood crumbles to nothing, Wyll watches the doors open wide and the flames that lick at the inside of the building. A cloud of smoke billows out as the Flaming Fist pour in, your party quick to follow in alongside them. 

Through the thickets of smoke and up stairs half-broken, sounds Counselor Florrick's voice from behind the broken door. Maneuvering through ember and broken floorboard, you proceed the same as you did before. Pushing through the crowd of people surrounding the door - you use your foot and kick the door in again, causing it to break nearly instantly. 

Counselor Florrick coughs as she makes her way outside.

“Come. I’m afraid proper thanks must wait,” She says with a heaved breath. It’s too clouded with smoke for Wyll to make anything of her face and Wyll can only assume that is the case both ways. 

Back down through the way you came, you take a deep inhale of smoke and cough. The scent must be nauseating, far too much for you - but you don’t let it show through your face. 

Once everyone has been accounted for outside, Counselor Florrick approaches your party in the broad daylight of the courtyard. It’s there she recognizes Wyll. 

“Hold on,” Wyll says, reaching into his pack. He hands you a sachet of herbs he’d purchased alongside you from a merchant in the goblin camp. “For your nose,” 

You give him a look of surprise, your ears perking up and tails swishing as you take it from him gratefully, holding it up to your nose for a deep breath. 

“Fuck, thank you.” You reply gratefully. Wyll nods in reply.

“Counsellor Florrick - are you alright?” Wyll says first, concern pouring through. Regardless of all else. 

It’s clear right away, the horror in his face once she’s seen what’s become of him. Wyll lets it roll off of his back, the momentary sting not enough to make him flinch. It’s a reminder to start adjusting to what will be one of many. 

Her sympathy is tangible, though it doesn’t make Wyll feel better. 

“Wyll - by the Maimed God, what’s become of you?” 

He shakes his head to dismiss the thought.  “A story best left for calmer days. Now breathe deeply, are you in pain?”

“A scorched throat, a few hairs singed off. Nothing a bit of time and fresh air can’t cure.” 

Wyll’s shoulder sag with relief.  She turns to address the Flaming Fist accompanying her. 

“Gauntlet, a new duty calls. Drow have taken Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard - westward if my eyes and ears can be believed.” She pauses, thinking before giving further instruction “Report to the manip and send for reinforcements. We must find the Grand Duke.” 

“On your command, Counsellor.” The head of the Gauntlet affirms, bowing their head before taking off. 

It’s there that Wyll feels panic. Uncertainty like nothing he’s felt in the last seven years. Maybe longer. No longer a passing thought or a sour memory, concern for his father washes out what might’ve been grief.

“No. It can’t be. You mean, they’ve taken -” 

Counselor Florrick's expression darkens. “Yes, Wyll. The drow have your father.” 

“Shit, what? Wyll, you’re a noble?” You interject for the first time in the conversation. When Wyll turns to you, above all else is concern. He shakes his head.

“The circumstances of my birth are no matter of pride for neither me nor my father. But pride is no reason to refuse help to my own flesh and blood. How can we help?.” 

“Rescue Ravengard from his drow captors. Baldur's Gate needs him, now more than ever,” She says, addressing you primarily and Wyll after. She pauses to examine Wyll a second time, like now that she’s out of the smoke she is really looking. 

A passing glance of her brings back memories of a childhood long forgotten. Days spent in courtyards training the sword and waiting for father to finish his duties. An ache starts to form in the cavity of his chest, but Wyll swallows it. 

Where duty calls, it is only common sense the Blade will answer. He holds a fist over his heart and bows. 

“Trust us to see it through, Counsellor.” 

“Who is this Duke Ravengard?” You ask, finally - though it’s not to him. Rather it’s to the Counselor. Wyll wonders if that’s a choice you’ve made on purpose. 

“The invisible force holding Baldur’s Gate together. Without him, the city’s collapse is certain.” She pauses, looking troubled “I fear that may have been the intention of those who abducted him.” 

“Shit. Then, not to be rude, but why entrust this to me? You have others at your command. More well equipped, I’d imagine,” You ask, bearing no hostility. A fair enough question for you, head of pack, with concerns for everyone else. 

“Isn’t it clear? You travel with the Blade of Frontiers. Who might I trust, if not a legend? Who might rise to the moment, if not Ravengard’s own son?”

You pause to mull over her reply. Your brow is furrowed in concentration, before your focus returns to the Counselor.

“I don’t think the drow have taken him back to Menzoberranzan. More likely they’ve taken the Duke to Moonrise Towers.”  You say tentatively. “Though Hells, I can’t be sure. Goblin’s bein’ here is weird and their affairs are tied together somehow. Plus, the drow we’ve met in this area so far have relations to other cultist bullshit,” 

“I was thinking the same,” Wyll adds. 

“Moonrise Towers? Along the old road? That place is cursed, few could survive there…unless darker forces are at work,” She pauses, taking a moment to assess the situation “This was no random attack, then. The Grand Duke was their target.” 

After more deliberating, you look firmly at the Counselor and nod - a serious promise. 

“Moonmaiden guide us - we’ll head to Moonrise towers and find Duke Ravengard. Though for now, I won’t promise  anything.” 

“Thank you. When the Grand Duke returns to the city, he’ll hail his only son a hero.” She says with a deep breath “Approach the towers with care. The land itself has been swallowed in shadow.”

She turns to address him this time “Remember Wyll. ‘Courage is found in the battle against fear, not in the defeat of it.’”

“So father said. I won’t soon forget it.”

“We’ll be heading off now, towards the towers. Take care of yourself.” 

“You too, Counselor Florrick.” 

With that, the Florrick disappears back out into the smoke and open road. Left in the aftermath is the rest of the party, not barring you - and Wyll with nothing but worry. 

Your eyes find Wyll’s with ease, filled to the brim with concern. Wyll casts his gaze away instinctively. 

“Shit,” Wyll swears, unsure of what the reaction from you will be.

“Wyll,” Your voice calls and soothes. Before his response forms in his mouth, he feels a hand on the nape of his neck. In a sudden movement, you lean into him. Even amongst the swallowing heat of fire and ember - Wyll is conscious of your skin. The scrapes and cuts on your fingers raised press against his own. You inhale a long breath and Wyll realizes what you’re doing. It’s confirmation when you pull away and glance at him seriously. “Can I trust you to tell me what’s going on?” 

The question itself is exposing. It’s a raw nerve, split open, tender and unhealed. There’s no shame in it. Or maybe there is, always has been - and Wyll has spent nearly seven years outrunning it. This much he knows - he never intended to show you this part of himself.

And he knows that this is not the first time he’s betrayed your trust. You ask Wyll to trust you, and Wyll wants to explain he always has. 

There is no betrayal in your face, no disappointment.

You come to him ready to receive anything. Crystal clear eyes and a sincerity in your heart - there is so much said in so little. 

“I’m sorry. It was never,” He’s struck by grief in a sudden moment. You’re kind, but it goes well beyond just that. “I had no intent to hide it.” 

“But you had no intent to share it either,” You say, your voice soft-spoken and tender. Forgiving, though you don’t make Wyll feel like there’s something he needs forgiveness for. “It’s okay. We’re damn similar sometimes aren't we?” 

When you let go of Wyll, he stares at you. Wide-mouthed and unsure of himself. For a brief moment, his surroundings become blurry. There’s no one else in the party. There’s no smoke. There’s no fire. No ash. For a brief moment, there’s just you - and you’re smiling.  You feel like forgiveness. 

“Florrick spoke true,” Wyll affirms, unsure of what to do with himself. “I am a Grand Duke’s son.” 

“Not just a grand duke - Ravengard has more power and influence than anyone.” Astarion adds. 

“My father and I were close. Once upon a time. Until he disowned me and cast me out of Baldur’s Gate,” Wyll says with a hardened heart. He’s forgiven his father. He’s spent years rationalizing the choice he made. But he’s reminded in an instant that the wound is still tender. “I can’t tell you more - the pact forbids it. My lips are quite literally sealed.” 

“Okay,” You give Wyll a look, clear and bright. “Then, Wyll - do you want to save your father?” 

He wasn’t expecting that to be your only question. It must show that he’s taken aback, but you remain where you are unflinching. 

“Yes, I—yes. Regardless of our relationship, he remains my flesh and blood.” You press your lips together, an encouraging half smile, prompting him. “And I don’t want him to fall into the hands of Absolutists for any reason. He made me an exile, but I’m not about to let him suffer at the hands of his captors.”

“Alright. Then we’ll save him,” You brush over the weight of that sentence, addressing your other companions. “The only lead we’ve got so far is Moonrise towers, so we’ll stick to our original plans. Visiting the creche and then traveling through the Underdark.” 

Wyll stares at you as you continue to talk, the words feeling like little more than noise. Lost in thought, you let him remain undisturbed. When your eyes meet, you don’t do anything more than grin - fang poking out form underneath your lip. 

And it’s the second time in his life, Wyll feels like you’re seeing something he can’t. Himself, maybe.

__ 

A confrontation with the githyanki and a red dragon later, you return to camp the night of visiting Waukeen’s rest.

When night falls, you join Wyll in his tent. The gesture is innocent. You ask about having a sleepover. Wyll tries to remember there’s nothing but friendship between you. Eventually helets you into the cramped space of his tent. There’s barely enough space for you both, but you manage.

Before bed, you ask Wyll to tell you about himself. Anything he can afford to tell you. For a long while, he talks about being the Blade of Frontiers. But then, when it’s late enough and the gap between you continues to shrink - he talks about his life in the city. It doesn’t happen on purpose. Wyll is hardly so ungentlemanly. It’s unlike him to cluelessly go on and on about himself. 

You just happen to know exactly the right questions. Before Wyll knows it, he’s telling you about all of his escapades. His life as a nobleman's son and escaping to fraternize with lower city youth.

Wyll can’t disclose his pact to you, but he can tell you about the kiss he had at fifteen. He can tell you about the first time he lost a tooth, or describe the well-worn picture of his late mother in his fathers wallet. For a while, Wyll recounts tales of a life he’d thought he’d abandoned. When the words come out, they don’t feel like violence. Don’t coat his mouth with the bitter taste of iron. Instead they taste light like memories, and come out just as soft. 

He doesn’t remember when either of you drift off to sleep. 

When morning comes and Wyll finds you still in his tent, he feels the ability to claim plausible deniability drift away from him. 

You mean more to him than he thought. The moment passes to tell you. 

___ 

The journey to the Underdark is never an easy one. 

Underneath the desecrated Selune temple was the beaten path. A long ladder down through a broken Selunite outpost. Not only have you all fought a spectator, a bullete, several hook horrors and an entire beach of duegars - you’ve just slaughtered an Absolutist leader with your bare hands. 

The remaining duegar have fled the scene after a night to recover, leaving Nere’s body for the lot of you to loot. The gnomes have gone too. Wyll tries to hold confidence all of them will make it in one piece. 

The Sovereign had made his request clear, slaughter Nere and bring his head. Wyll has watched you kill and devour several bodies in your time together, but there’s something novel about watching you do it now. A knife, pulled out from your sheath - sharp as it cuts and saws through the flesh. It’s a clean, precise slice. Nothing like you, Wyll thinks fondly. 

He can surmise that it’s because you’re rather fond of the myconid colony. They’re kind to you and you are always fond of those who are kind. In that way you’re easy to appease. But he didn’t know you were capable of this level of care. You tend to be matted and ruddy. Generally messy. 

Wyll likes you that way. 

The head comes off the body unceremoniously. You wrap a cloth underneath the bottom, and tuck it in your pack along some cubes of ice you had Gale make you with magic that morning. 

Wyll only sees the outline of your back. He watches as you stretch your palms out and examine them for blood. When you find none, you turn around with a little tired sigh.

Promptly, you prop yourself onto Shadowheart. Your ear and tails have made a reappearance, your chin resting on her shoulder. 

“I'm tiiiiiiiiired,” You whine, long and drawn out. Your teeth stick out from your lips when you pout, Wyll notices. The heat of the forge and all of the surrounding lava have your skin sticky with sweat. The deep purple of the destroyed Sharran enclave feels out of place among the fires “I don’t want to go to the Shadowfell lands. I won’t. You can’t make me,” 

You’ve picked up a habit of being touchy. You tend to cling to Shadowheart, which Wyll finds ironic. Even with her cold exterior, the half-elf doesn’t push you off when you hug or pester her. You make promises to Karlach you’ll join her for it once her engines all fixed. Lae’zel finds it pointless. Halsin doesn’t mind, and likes to turn into a bear so all the furry creatures at camp can turn into big pile. 

Gale also doesn’t mind, but the wizard usually airs on the side of embarrassment - a faint blush crawling over him whenever you wrap yourself thoughtlessly about him. Astarion pretends to reject it, but willingly pets and scratches you when he feels less combative. Something you happily recieve.

And Wyll… well, it doesn’t bother him. You approach him often enough, and he’d be hard-pressed on a reason to reject you. 

(He ignores the way your touch seems to linger, unsure if he’s seeing things that don’t belong. Wyll is fond of you. Your heart is good - he thinks of you often  but he isn’t so sure that means something. Well it means plenty to him, but what of you? 

You like the sensation of physical affection, he reminds himself Nevermind the times you’ve fallen asleep as a wolf in his lap. Nevermind the occasional naps in his tent, or whines when he’s too busy to pay you mind.)

“You’re not ferocious at all, do you know? More like a drooling mutt than a werewolf,” Shadowheart huffs sarcastically. 

“What I lack in ferocity I make up for in vigor.” You reply with a hum, rubbing your cheek against Shadowheart’s shoulder. “And the situation doesn’t spark any vigor in me. We’ve already been underground this long and next we’re going somewhere even darker.” 

Astarion pipes up, sitting criss-cross onto the marbled floor in one of the few spots free of blood, sorting through his varied belongings and trinkets. “I would figure werewolves and vampires share their love for the darkness, no?” 

“We can’t see the moon well from either place. I need to see the moon to track some things related to my form. I count the phases in my head but if I don’t see it for too long - I start getting homesick like a man at sea.” You whine and huff again, this time peeling yourself off of Shadowheart and throwing yourself onto Wyll. 

He steadies himself enough not to topple over by your strength and weight as you drape yourself across his back. You nuzzle your cheek against him tenderly. It’s different to how you do it to Shadowheart or Astarion (when he’s not adamantly pushing you away.) It’s more tender, closer. Your nose brushes against the nape of his neck. Wyll doesn’t flinch, even at the warmth of your breath. You inhale again and Wyll can hear the swish of your tail.

He pretends to be ignorant of it and doesn’t push you away - instead laughing lightly. 

“Oh, Moonmaiden - let your moon be my light, and I shall let my sword be your shining symbol.” You  recite with a sigh. The words reverberate along his skin.  “Moon my love, you are terribly missed.” 

“Keep your Selunite prayer out of my ears, would you?” 

“Don’t be so moody, my cold blooded Sharran. Our Lady of SIlver is a kind and accepting goddess, so her blessing will extend even to you.” 

Shadowheart crinkles her nose. You laugh noisily next to Wyll’s ear. He smiles softly.

“After we’ve delivered the head to the Sovereign, we can travel back overhead before going into the Shadowfell. That way, you’ve had some time with the moon and we’re able to get in more rest before taking it on,” 

You pull away from him now, grabbing his shoulder to turn him around with a laugh. Wyll looks at you wide-eyed as you grin at him, knocking your foreheads together innocently.

“Ah, what a great idea! If everyone else is on board, then let’s make our way to the Sovereign now and recoup on the surface. We’ll return to Grymforge come mornin’ and head off that way. Is everyone on board with that?” 

You look around for affirmation before resting your gaze on Wyll with a smile. 

Wyll feels his heart tug slightly, returning your smile before averting his eyes. You scamper off to Astarion, attention easily pulled in every which way. Shadowheart saunters towards him. 

“You’re rather obvious, Blade of Frontiers. I thought a folk hero would have a little more suave about these matters.”

Wyll clears his throat. 

“...I don’t know what you’re referring too.” 

Shadowheart laughs good-naturedly. 

“Sure you don’t.” 

___

There are few times you take your proper werewolf form. 

It’s an accommodation thing from Wyll’s understanding. People are frightened less of full wolves or your humanoid forms. The hybridized version of yourself is what people find the most monstrous, and so - you’ve gotten used to putting on the shelf. 

The only time you take that form is when you hunt for meat. It’s easy enough to get ahold of other camp supplies - like liquor or vegetables if they’re lucky. But meat is hard to find, especially hard to find where it hasn’t got spoiled. Astarion hunts only out of necessity, so he’s not really any help. 

You hunt because it’s natural to you. A life of pilgrimage and spent in a Selunite enclave has gifted you the knowledge of preserving meats, too. When you’re camped out near enough forest - you’ll hunt. Most often before a long stretch of travel, you’ll go into the woods alone and disappear - returning with a feast. No one goes with you. In the forest, among fallen trees and soil - you’ll gut and skin the prey. You’ll bring back the final products, clean hides and things to turn to leather and meat ready for curing. It’s to prevent any more unusual bloodshed from occurring at camp. More sanitary, you always say. 

Wyll has no intention of following you tonight while he knows you’re hunting. His interest in the woods is to scope them out one last time before you leave this place for good, keep it in his memory and prepare for the road ahead. 

When he hears the sound of a faint growling, he thinks for a minute you’ve been injured or are in some kind of danger. 

The moon is shining just enough to cast light on your form. He figures out quickly you’re safe.

There’s nothing new to see. Thick, crimson blood makes a mess of your appearance - dripping down your fangs. It sticks and matts in your fur, covering your face in messy splatters. Your werewolf form is your most monstrous. Unnatural limbs and features - a form like a human but the face and ferocity of a wolf. 

In front of you are corpses of animals, bled out and laid in a pile. The scent of blood is so strong Wyll can smell it from a distance away. It’s a distance you’d usually be able to smell Wyll from, but it must be masked by the smell of copper and flesh. 

The moon has waned, nearly to its fullest. You turn yourself towards the black sky of midnight, towards the moon - and you howl. It is a loud, tremendous sound. 

Wyll has never heard you howl before. It’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard in his life. An elongated melody, deep from your chest - high and throaty. You howl to the sky. You howl to the moon. To your goddess, most certainly. You howl in the version of yourself everyone finds most disgusting. The monster in you is alive and bare-chested to the world. Stood on your two feet, all matted fur and eyes like beams of light - you howl towards the sky.

And Wyll watches. Listens. Commits the sound to memory. 

In the version of yourself that is so embraced by monstrosity, you howl like a song to the moon you so adore.

He’s never found you so beautiful. 

___

Time moves differently in the Shadowfell lands. 

Slower. In every other part of Fae’run, the nights and days don’t blur into each other. But here, in the abandoned and unyielding darkness - everything feels thick. Muddy. The soil that does not dampen, the trees that do not grow leaves. Instead of preserved amber, there is only shadow. It swallows everything, every place in the land. 

The upward battle of survival persists. The Harpers have (barely) welcomed you into the Last Light Inn. Flaming Fist Marcus is dead, and the Moon Maiden has given her her blessing. You’ve even been able to give Karlach her first upgrade. 

The air speaks for itself though, that you’re nearing something important. The beginning of something. Or the end, though Wyll sways towards hope and optimism. 

In the presence of darkness and solace, -Wyll finds that you remain yourself. Bright and clear and comforting, even in the face of impending doom. 

Your camp in the Shadowfell lands is brightened by artificial lights. It spans over more land now. The main area which hosts all of your companions lies at the foot of an abandoned building. An abandoned house, torn by vines of shadowfell and roots. The base of camp is spread over dusty ashen floors, everything colored gray. 

When it’s time to rest, most lights remain on. He finds it’s easier to sleep with Selune’s blessing. 

Tonight, Wyll can't get any rest at all. He’s still awake while his companions have fallen asleep. He opens his eyes to the skies. They lack the deep shades of purple of a normal night sky, unmistakably dark.

His eyes remain lidded as he takes a look at his surroundings. Shadowheart is asleep, and Astarion is deep enough in meditation that Wyll doubts he’d noticed if he walked off. Among his companions, you’re missing from your bedroll. 

Wyll sits up as quietly as he can. He looks towards your tent, to see if you’ve woken up to sleep inside - but doesn’t find you there either. His brow tightens, shoulders tense as he blinks rapidly trying to wake himself up. 

There aren’t many places in this camp to go, despite the terrain being wider. The other tent occupants remain in place. From where Wyll stands you’re not with anyone else like Karlach or Halsin. 

There’s only one more place that would leave you.

Through a curve and another straight path are wood stairs. At the top is a skeleton of an old house. One that stood long before the curse, and remains long after. 

Wyll has never gone there on his own. He only saw it once while they’d settled in for the first time. There’s nothing inside of it. A fireplace, a broken cupboard and cabinet. A table and chair, and two old beds that have gone rickety overtime. 

He ducks his head as he enters through what must’ve once been a door. 

It occurs to him he’s never really seen you pray. Not fully at least. Though you utter it on occasion, the words of your goddess - you tend to speak them lightly. Wyll gathers its out of respect for Shadowheart. 

He finds you on the edge of a large bed in the center of the room. You’re in your humanoid form, with only your ears and tail and teeth - your hands are clasped tightly around a necklace. The fireplace is burning, but it’s not what illuminates you.

All around you though is a pale blue glow, like the moon itself has surrounded you with all of its might. You’re quiet in incantation  - the warmth of a smile lighting up your features. You’re not in your usual nightwear of a loose shirt and pants. Instead you wear the silk of a slip and something like a Selunite robe, open. Wyll has seen so much of your skin before, everything past your knees barren. But its a new feeling. Your neck and shoulders are just the same, your hand on your chest ducking from view.

You breathe deeply, before your eyes flutter open and see him at the door. You smile at him.

“You’re awake,” You say first, letting go of the necklace chain. “Hope everything’s alright?” 

“Sorry. And yes, everything is fine - I had just woken up and couldn’t find you,” Wyll feels flush as he adds the rest to the conversation “And I uhm. Well I was worried something might have happened.” 

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry. I figured everyone would be asleep so I didn’t bother telling anyone,” You say apologetically “Our Silver Lady called to me so I felt I ought to answer.”

You pause before laughing. “Wait, sit first. Unless you’re going back to sleep right away.” 

Wyll shakes his head as your grin widens making his heart feel rather funny. 

He sits next to you, fond as you bring your leg up and face him. Your back rests on the broken wood at the foot of the bed. You’ve tidied the room a bit, and these sheets don’t have as much dust as they did when you first got here. 

Wyll mirrors your actions, sitting with a leg up - bent at the knee as he stares at you. 

“You said your goddess called to you?”

“Ah, yes,” Your voice is uncharacteristically shy. Wyll can’t help but stare at the bare crook of your knees. “Shadowheart had mentioned it. There’s something in these lands. And well,   wherever Shar goes, Selune will follow and all. Don’t really know what it means, though. Bit of mystery.” 

“You’re a cleric, right?” Wyll asks, taking a brief moment to assess and remember all the little details about yourself you’ve told him. 

When he thinks of it, there’s so much about you he doesn’t know. Though he feels you know everything there is to know about him. It’s not that you’re secretive, but it’s rare to get a moment alone. Harder to find a moment appropriate to air out your past. 

Alone with you in this shadowy, dimly lit room - Wyll hopes time will slow. Long enough to know something more about you, at least.  

“Right. I try not to crutch too much on my magic so I tend to stick to fighting,” You say with a laugh “I also had to learn physical combat and martial arts. It feels like a waste not to use.” 

“I see,” Wyll says with a thoughtful hum “But you are a cleric, all the same. Quite an impressive title to bestow on someone, I’d imagine.” 

“Ah, truthfully - I find it a bit difficult,” You reply sheepishly, surprising Wyll.“I’m sort of simple, all things considered. I thought I’d be my Lady’s sword or just part of her clergy, but I never imagined I’d do anything so important. Or have powers so great.” 

The sound of your voice feels especially pleasant to Wyll like this, murmurs just between you with no threat of doom. Like between these broken wooden planks, is a peace impenetrable. He likes being with you.

“Before your capture, were you? Set out to do something important, I mean,” 

“Importance is relative. But, it was a mission I was proud taking,” You reply thoughtfully. A confirmation of the sanctity in your character for you to make such a distinction. “I had been sent by my clergy to wander Faerun - to aid other lycanthropes and those touched by madness or ailment. 

“You alone had been sent?

You nod, staring down at your hands folded in your lap. 

“Aye, me alone. I’d wandered around for several years when I was sent away before the ship had captured me. I was on my way to Baldur’s Gate as part of it,” 

“Where do you hail from?” 

“Amn. There’s a few small Selunite enclaves there. Mama was a Silverstar, which is mostly a pretty word for a very powerful priestess. My fate was divined when I was seventeen and the rest is history.” 

“Seventeen is young. What was your final destination then? Or was it more of a wandering practice.” 

“After some years, I was hoping to get to Waterdeep actually. Big church for Selune over there, very beautiful.” Your voice teeters on wistful, blooming with longing and nostalgia. You peek at Wyll through your lashes. “In that way, we have a lot in common.” 

“A lot in common. Do you really think so?” 

“Mm, I do. Banished at seventeen, a monster inside us, some sort of tragic background. We make a fun pair.”

“I didn’t know there was a tragic story in yours. To the extent you could call it one,” Wyll says quietly. You give Wyll a look. Though he doesn’t pressure you to expand on it, you seem relaxed enough to talk about it. 

You close your eyes briefly, letting them flutter open. 

“It was a year into my pilgrimage, I think,” You explore, a soft sadness tender in your expression. Wyll sits up a little straighter, readying himself to receive whatever you wish to tell him. “A small village in the Dalelands. Young girl, about seven. Her village had ostracized her. By the time I arrived, she was emaciated. Clever little thing had survived on her own but barely,” 

Wyll waits patiently for you to continue, not wanting to interrupt you even briefly. He softens his gaze.  

“Anyway. When I go anywhere new, the basic practice is meeting locals. Depending on the circumstances, I won’t always disclose my wolven ways. Some people - they need guidance, others they need protection. In her case, she needed both,” You look far away somehow. Wyll feels empathy as much as he feels warmth. Your care for the human condition, he always finds, touches him. “She was much smarter than me, you know. Her lycanthropy was inherited like mine, but because she was so young - she had a difficult time controlling it.” 

You pause to take a long, deep, steadying breath. “She was my little genius. I cared for her  an awful lot. Still do. She beat me at lanceboard all the time, despite being seven and I wasn’t even letting her win you know.” 

“She must’ve been even more brilliant than I could imagine.” Wyll offers. You nod. 

“Despite my efforts, the relationship between her and her village wasn’t getting better. One day, I’d left her in my chambers for a while - to bring something back from a market nearby. Less than a few hours, and she’d been uhm,” Your voice starts to close. Wyll follows his instinct, squeezing your hand where it rests on your knee. It’s shaking when he reaches for it. He thinks briefly about kissing it. “She’d been killed,” 

Wyll pauses, lets you collect yourself. But he wants to know as much as you’ll tell him. 

“It was easy enough to figure out who’d done it. And in small villages like that, the hivemind bullshit and paranoia really gets to people,” Your voice intones on bitterness. Angry and heartbroken, you continue “Grown men raising an ax to kill a little girl. I almost lost my mind. I should’ve.” 

“But you didnt…? Or did you? In a situation like that, well,” Wyll looks at you sympathetically. “Any choice you made I wouldn’t hold it against you.” 

“I only punished the one who killed her. I didn’t kill him no matter how much I wanted to. I don’t think she would’ve wanted that. Not her or my goddess,” You say with a deep sigh. “I used my magic and blinded him. Made an example out of him and reprimanded the rest of those fucking idiots.” 

“And after?” 

You clear your throat, but smile at him. Like you’re grateful he hasn’t recoiled from it.

“After, I buried her body in the soft earth, in the place where the moon shone most brightly - and mourned. Her death was so severe I couldn’t revive or heal her, I just buried…her. I thought about doing plenty of other shit. To kill, to chase, to defend - but ultimately, it felt more…meaningful just to… bury her.” 

Wyll frowns, pausing. He squeezes your hand, eyes closed. Brows furrowed as he looks down. 

“I’m sorry,” 

You smile at him. Noticing the hand in yours finally, you even flush - though the moment passes quickly. Wyll stares at you in quiet, wondering if his eyes alone could tell you all he’s thinking. With you, his silver tongue is absent. His mouth is weighed too heavily with feelings sincere, with words meaningful. 

Wyll cannot offer you cleverness or comfort where he wishes to offer you honesty. 

“That night, the Moonmaiden had called to me. Just like today. It’s hard to explain what it feels like?  Like a cool hand on feverish skin. It was a revelation for me. I had suddenly felt so empty. And, after some sobbing, I’d realized something,” You say whimsically, drawing circles into the back of Wyll’s hand. 

“What did you realize?” He prompts. 

“Our Lady of Silver believes in the carving and following of our own path. But, what had I done but what was told of me? All my life I’d spent in the temple, in the monastery - among people of my own faith and beliefs. In the moment in which I felt so much anger, I didn’t know what to do. I was lost. I didn’t know what I was supposed to feel. Not on purpose, but that was the truth. I swore myself too soon to duty rather than the convictions of my heart—I’d lacked real purpose.”

Wyll smiles at you, brightened by the gusto in which you speak. He’s endeared by you all too easily. 

“And the convictions of your heart? Have you found them?” He asks, head tilted. 

“Not all of them. But you know I figured out one thing. I want to make the world a less lonely place. Her death will never not bear weight on my mind, but her tiny hand thanking me for staying with her. That was something, I’m damn sure. Maybe all of it,” 

He stares at you, speaking in quiet murmurs. You’re glowing, he thinks. You must be. 

“It’s a noble thing to want. At least to me.” 

“I’m glad you think so. My goddess has given me these divine powers, so my duty will always be to help people. But more than that - I want to guide the sick and afraid like the Moonmaiden guides me. I want to make it less difficult for people.” 

“You’re awfully wise at times like this.” 

“Wise?” You laugh lightly. “I’ve never heard that for me before. More used to hearing stuff like hard-headed, pack runt, cry baby. So on and so forth. But I’ll cherish it before you change your mind.” 

“Do you feel fulfilled here? Becoming a hero of a city, saving so many people - surely that too aligns with your convictions” 

“Asking an awful lot about me,” You tease finally. Wyll is hard-pressed to deny it. It’s so obvious. “But I do. I’d say managing to become Astarion’s friend is a high enough accomplishment with regards to you know, my convictions and all. It’s honestly like my life’s work. He even pets me now. Willingly!”

Wyll laughs loudly at the sudden excitement in your voice. You haven’t let go of his hand, he notices. 

He hopes you don’t.

“Quite an impressive feat, certainly. But I am a little hurt. Does our bond not incite a similar sense of accomplishments and vigor in you?” He teases.

You pretend to consider it. 

“The Blade of Frontiers, my most important companion.” You respond, with just as much cheekiness. “Calling it an accomplishment might be too egotistical.” 

“What else do you suppose you’d call it?” 

“Fate, maybe,” You say, though your voice is hardly above a murmur now.  “Somehow, the fact we’ve met feels more like a very lucky chance, I reckon.” 

“You feel so strongly about it?” Wyll says, more than asks. Because somehow it feels too much like a dream. 

“Of course. I feel strongly about you in general,” You respond, and still don’t let go of his hand. You say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world “I feel strongly about us. And all we’ve seen, together. I feel strongly that regardless of all the darkness, the moon waits for me and that I’m very lucky to have met you.”

Wyll feels his heart jump into his throat. Hardly a confession, yet his heart pounds. The longing is ceaseless. 

In all the time you’ve spent together, Wyll has had all the time in the world to witness you. In your bravery and in your cowardice. At the best of yourself, and at the worst. Wyll has seen you lie when you’d rather be honest. He’s seen you cry countlessly for the deaths of people you’ve never known. He’s seen you tear through flesh and bone. He’s seen you as a furred creature laid on your back so Halsin would rub your stomach. He’s seen you as tenderly, achingly human. 

Wyll has seen so much of you. And perhaps more than that - you have seen so much of him. Parts of himself even he has no access to. A passing comment of how dashing his horns look, a pat on the shoulder when you pass a father and son. You see Wyll even when he forgets to see himself. 

Between you, there is no question that he is lucky. The luckiest man on Toril. 

“You know, when everything is through. Not if, but when,” Wyll says slowly and carefully. “I want to remain by your side. Wherever that road leads. I want us to be together or travel together. Though I don’t know what that would look like,” 

You give him a look of surprise, then a teasing smile - titling your head to one side. 

“I might go somewhere you don’t want to follow, Ravengard. I’m a wanderer at heart.” 

“Impossible. I’ve already followed you here, remember?” Wyll says with a smile, eyes meeting yours “As long as we’re together, no place is too dark nor too treacherous.” 

“I’ll hold you to that.” 

“There’d be no greater honor.” 

__ 

When Myrkul falls, the world is silent. 

For a first time, in a long time - the Shadowfell lands do not whisper the regrets of the dead. Instead, the remaining shadow swallowing the world begins to finally clear. In gradual steps, life returns to the land at Moonrise. 

And this is in no small part thanks to you. 

Though, Wyll watches you as you insist the glory is split between your party equally.  You’re all heroes, and you couldn’t have done it without them by your side. Wyll knows you mean that.

 It was you who took down the foes at Moonrise towers in slow increments, that planned and slaughtered until there was nothing left of it. It was you who destroyed the Thorms one by one. You who allowed Wyll to break Mizora’s pact. You who completed the gauntlet of Shar, who saved the Nightsong with your own two hands. That helped Astarion with the letters on his back, and that prevented Gale from using his orb - because you were so certain you all could win without it. 

It was your touch and kindness that gave Shadowheart grace enough to throw away her Sharran roots, to throw away her past and embrace her own convictions just like you had promised to embrace yours. 

The world has not been saved. The journey to the end has only become more perilous. But in the palm of your hand is the Netherstone of the fallen general - and an entire allegiance waiting to follow you into battle. The world has not been saved, and it is only bound to get more treacherous. 

But for now, you’ve accomplished something great - and Wyll is proud to be alongside you for all of the rest, as you move onto things even greater. 

For now, all of you remain at camp. A two day extended break before venturing towards the city. Among your camp now is the famed harper Jaehira and more importantly - Dame Aylin, the chosen of your goddess. And the cleric Isobel, her lover, of course.

Dame Aylin’s arrival at your camp has sparked plenty of interesting conversations. Revelations of Shadowheart’s identity aside (something you’ve been helping her through), Dame Aylin is not just a fellow Selunite - but the daughter of your beloved goddess. Not only have you just saved her life, you’ve freed her from thousands of years of torment. 

Wyll doesn’t think he’s ever seen you so utterly awe-struck in your adventure together, even once. You’re a hard person to shake in many ways, and you’re excitable - but nearly never truly awestruck like the way you have been for the last two days. 

Wyll is listening in on the interaction from afar, only taking small peeks at you as you, Shadowheart, Dame Aylin and Isobel crowd around in your tent. Your tail is swishing so helplessly behind you Wyll can’t help but laugh.

“God. You’ve been staring like a dumb puppy for two days now,” Shadowheart teases, rubbing your head with her hand “You’re going to catch flies with your jaw like that.” 

“Ah, I’m sorry,” You say, a little embarrassed. Wyll smiles to himself as he pretends to read, thankful to be in earshot “I’m sorry, I’m just… It was already nice meeting another Selunite but…I could live a thousand lives and not meet you Miss Aylin.” 

“Your formality is misplaced. Aylin is just fine. We are comrades in all regards, both in our faith and in arms. I’m thankful you’ve given us a place to stay for the time being,” 

“Camp welcomes all as policy. It helps to have allies and in lands like these, seems a little cruel to leave people to the wilds. Though soon that won’t be an issue,” 

“You’ve accomplished something incredible,” Isobel praises. Wyll glances at you, a warmth settling in his chest at the surprise you seem to feel. “Lifting the curse from these lands, it was no small task.” 

“It was all of our contribution! I’m just glad we’re a little bit closer to getting rid of these pests.” You lament with a dramatic sigh “And I’m excited to be in a place where I can feel the presence of the moon again.” 

“It must be hard on you,” Isobel says sympathetically. You smile. 

“I can hardly imagine,” Aylin adds, shaking her head. “There is perhaps some small blessing in the fact you’re gifted with control, but the effects that these lands must have on your body. May She ease your burden.” 

Shadowheart gives you a look of confusion. “You know, you’ve mentioned this to me before - but I don’t actually know how it affects your conditions,” Her frown deepens. “A little hypocritical given how much you know about me at this point, I think.” 

You look surprised then flattered. “It was never worth mentioning. My body has certain cycles that are affected by the moon. Similar to the tide. After 6 tendays, I go through something like.. a fever as a result of a full moon. Though I’ve been suppressing it with medication, my body at a certain point needs to expel it.” 

“A fever?”

This catches Wyll’s attention. You’ve mentioned your condition in passing and always left the details vague (something Wyll is extra aware of given your love of being open in most everything) so this is the most he’s ever heard about it. He stops turning pages and tunes in completely. 

“Sort of. The details aren’t important, really. I’ve gone through it for years, so I’m more than used to it. Especially on the road,” You explain, waving your hand. “Silver Lady bless me, I don’t think it’ll begin until we’re in the city at least. Near civilization and all.” 

“Do you need anything from us?” Shadowheart probes with obv. Lately when it comes to you, she doesn’t bother feigning indifference. 

“No, it’s okay. I’m used to it! I was going to mention it though soon, so I guess it’s a good thing it came up,” You lean back on your palms, legs crossed as you close your eyes. “I’ll be gone for about a tenday. I’ll leave my tent here and just pack some essentials and fuck off to the woods. Like I said, I’ve been doing it for years.” 

Shadowhearts frown deepens, as does Wylls. 

“That was then and this is now. You’re a rather wanted individual, will that be safe? A tenday of solo travel?” 

You give Shadowheart a delighted look before tackling her with a hug. She almost topples over but manages to keep herself upright as you hug and nuzzle her. She doesn’t push you off in any case. You laugh warmly, resting your chin on her shoulder. 

“You’re really worried about me? Little old me? Have you opened your heart to me after all?” You say through a giggle, earning a few laughs from Dame Aylin and Isobel. You finally pull away to look at her. “I promise I will be completely fine. My senses around that time are extremely heightened. I’m feverish but it’s very difficult to catch me off-guard enough for some kind of ambush. Worst case scenario, I shift and run away.” 

Shadowheart does not seem comforted by this. Wyll feels the same, thankful she’s being so adamant about it. 

“I don’t like those odds,” She says with her arms crossed. “Is there no one you can bring with you?” 

When she says that, you  turn to Wyll. Your eyes lock briefly. You look a little startled, but relax once you realize that it’s him. Wyll is a little startled too, embarrassed by his own staring. He can only hope you didn’t notice how obviously he was moments prior. You take a minute to consider him, your gaze raking over him. It’s a split second, barely noticeable - but afterwards you flush. It happens so quickly that Wyll wonders if he’s imagined the entire thing. 

You laugh and Wyll swears it sounds nervous. 

“I get a little…aggressive during that time.” You say dismissively. “It’s best to leave me to my own devices. I promise you I will be perfectly fine.” 

“I don’t know how much I believe that, but I’ll try to put my faith in you. Don’t make me worry while these damn parasites are still in our heads.”

You throw your head back and laugh brilliantly.

“I’ll make it back to you in one piece,” You say, holding your pinky out. Shadowheart hooks her own into yours with a blush. “I promise on the Moonmaiden herself.” 

Shadowheart sighs, resting her head on your shoulder. Your smile grows ten sizes. 

“You better.” 

__

The journey, of course, does not get any easier. 

You’ve barely made it to Rivington. Barely. Not only have you had to fight off a camp of hateful githyanki and earned the ire of an alien goddess - you’ve just found out the person protecting you is a mindflayer. 

After a tremendous amount of difficult information launched at the lot of you, you’ve managed to regain your bearings (some kind of miracle, Wyll thinks). You’ve made it to Rivington. Finally. 

Hells. What a troublesome situation. 

You’ve been in Rivington for a few days now, though you haven’t made it far. After being at the circus and a somewhat harrowing fight with a shapeshifting clown, you decide to put up for the night. Before nightfall, you announced to everyone at camp that you’d be disappearing for your supposed fever. You can feel it coming on, and by the time it starts - traveling will be difficult. 

Everyone has had their own way of fussing over you. Gale has given you some scrolls of his own curation. Astarion silently handed you one of his favorite daggers and a pack of expensive arrows. Lae’zel has given you some potions, testing your reflexes with you before your disappearance. Shadowheart gives you as many healing potions as she can, and her blessing with the help of Dame Aylin. Karlach has little to offer you in terms of things, instead knocking your heads together and telling you to scream as loud as you can if anything happens - and she’ll come running no matter what happens. Halsin has dried some food for you ahead of time, ever the planning kind. 

Wyll only gives you a long look of concern. Most of the conversation between you is had with eyes, a soft glance meeting a concerned one. With Wyll, you hold his hand and assure him that you’ll be fine - and to take care of them in your short absence. You hug him extra tight before you leave.Wyll is forced to let you disappear. 

It’s really not like Wyll to be so invasive on another person's business. He knows he can be a busybody when it comes to helping someone but for the most part - he’ll respect a person's wishes. If someone doesn’t want intervention, it’s not Wyll’s place to force it on them. He's learned from experience that sometimes it makes the situation worse. 

But shit, the worry has been eating Wyll alive. He could hardly sit still in the brief two hours you had disappeared. The rest of the party have regrouped in your absence. Gale, Astarion, Shadowheart and Lae’zel - while Karlach and Wyll planned to stay behind. Wyll had wanted to go but Astarion wouldn’t allow him. Said his pining would get in the way of everything. He’s off his game, and it’s best to wait till you return. 

It’s getting closer to evening, the sun beginning to set. Wyll just can’t sit still. There’s no way a tenday is going to pass like this without Wyll effectively losing his mind. 

Just as the sky begins to be painted orange, Wyll troubles Shadowheart in the middle of her meditations. 

One of her eyes opens as she breaks her concentration, an amused smile showing on her face. 

“That was quick,” She says first, looking up at Wyll from where she’s kneeled. “I thought you’d wait at least a day,” 

“Pardon?” 

Shadowheart laughs. “Oh, to chase them down I mean. I knew it was going to happen eventually, but this is a little fast even for you, Ravengard.” 

Wyll doesn’t know how to feel about that. 

“My apologies for being predictable,” Wyll says with a sigh. “But since you were anticipating it, I have to ask if you know anything. Where they’d be. Anything.” 

“This is exactly why they didn’t tell you, you know? Not that I’m not worried about them too,” Shadowheart says with a sigh. “But they were clear. They need a tenday alone.” 

Wyll looks at her. “I’ve never been like this before, either. I don’t understand it, but I haven’t been able to take my mind off it despite my efforts. Regardless of what you tell me, it seems like I’m going to follow them,” 

“Oh, please,” Shadowheart says, standing up and dusting herself off as she looks at him directly “You don’t know why? Don’t you think it’s time to be a little more honest with yourself, Wyll? I mean really.”

Wyll widens his eyes, a little taken aback by it. He flushes, rubbing the back of his neck with his palm. He scrunches his brow a bit, unsure of what to say to defend himself. 

“Well, I am aware of why, I suppose. But it’s,” He fumbles in the process of trying to say anything sensible. “It’s new.. I didn’t think I was this sort of person. Something along those lines. It’s not that I don’t have confidence in them, but this isn’t something they need to endure alone.” 

“Not when you’re there for them, I’m guessing,” 

Wyll smiles a little sheepishly. “Yes. I respect their privacy. I’ll turn back if they ask me too,” 

“Oh, don’t worry, that was easy enough to figure out.” Shadowheart teases. Wyll covers his face. Is he a schoolboy, being teased about his crush like this? How ridiculous. “At least you know.” 

He sighs.

“Will you at least tell me what you know?” 

“I’m still thinking about it.” Shadowheart says thoughtfully. She makes an exaggerated gesture of contemplating the situation before shrugging. “Hm. You know, I’ve entered a totally new chapter of my life - so, out of the kindness of my heart I’ll tell you what I know.” 

“Thank you.” Wyll says truly grateful. Shadowheart gives him what Wyll thinks of as a semi-fond smile. He hopes this means she approves of whatever is going on. You two are close as ever, so it does matter to Wyll how she feels about it. 

“They were rather vague about the situation,” Shadowheart says honestly. “But they did tell me the direction they were going to travel. There’ll be marks in the trees so they can make their way back if something happens. If you can find where they started, it should be easy enough to find where they end up. That’s all I know. Good luck.” 

“Thank you, Shadowheart.” 

“Oh and, go pack some things of your own before you go. Just in case you end up staying.” 

“Right. I’ll do that now.” 

“I’ll let everyone know so leave as soon as you can.” 

“It looks like I'll be owing you quite a few favors.” Wyll offers. Shadowheart smiles. 

“Of course. Nothing in life is free. But go, shoo. You should go before it gets too dark.” 

Wyll gives her one last look of gratitude before hurrying to prepare a pack. 

__ 

Wyll barely makes it before the darkness settles in. 

There’s enough moonlight to guide him through the tricky paths of the forest. Let the record show, Wyll has no idea how you’ve navigated through here. Like Shadowheart had promised him - the trees began to be marked once Wyll found your paw prints on the ground. On each tree was a the slashing of a sharp dagger. 

Despite the clear path you laid out, the terrain is utterly unforgiving for the longest time. Had the signs of you not been in front of him, Wyll would’ve given up on the affair. This is saying something, because his time as the Blade of Frontiers was far from a life of luxury. 

It’s difficult but the promise of Wyll’s good eye laying its gaze on you is enough to push him through to the end of the journey. 

Eventually, eventually - the path clears. The trees start to become sparse and the area starts to flatten to something walkable. The dirt hardens underneath his feet and his muscles no longer drag. 

Before Wyll lays eyes on you, he hears you. 

There’s a campfire, and the shelter of a borrowed tent. You’ve laid out plenty of old rags and bedsheets - layers and layers of dusty fabric and old pillows giving you a cushion from where you’re curled up on a tree. 

Before Wyll can see you in the faint glow of fire, the only thing his mind can pay attention to is the sound of your voice. 

A pained whimper, so loud and high pitched - Wyll is shocked he didn’t hear it some distance ago. You’re practically shaking, short snarls and desperate yowls between hard pants.You sound like you’re suffering something grave. It’s nothing he’s ever heard in your time together, despite the horrific injuries you’ve endured. Even at near death, Wyll has never heard more than labored breathing and groans. 

It’s pure distress, so broken it rings in his ears. His concern grows ten sizes. 

He decides then that no matter what you tell him, he won’t be able to go back to camp to leave you alone. 

He fights the urge with his body to run towards you, remembering the state you’re in. Prone to aggression and high-alert, Wyll forces himself to approach you slowly. 

As soon as he’s within range of you, your entire body lurches forward to sit up. Your eyes open, wide and nearly feral - searching erratically. Wyll pauses, no longer in a soft crouch. He stands to full attention. When you finally look at him, your chest shakes with an exhale. You lean back against the tree behind you where you’re curled, shaking. 

“Fuck,” You cover your nose first, pressing your arm against it as you curl away from him instinctively. Wyll feels a mix of guilt and worry. “Fuck, what in the Hells are you doing here? Was it Shadowheart? Even—even though I told her,” 

He moves in just a step closer. “I asked her. But I intended to find you even if you didn’t tell me. I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop thinking about what might happen,” 

“Shit, don’t get any closer. I-I’m already, shit,” You hold up a hand, though your entire body is fragile. Weak, even from this distance. “Don’t move. You,” Another labored breath “Go back.” 

Wyll stills, but doesn’t budge. His frown deepens. “You don’t have to endure this alone,” He steps closer. “I’m here for you,” 

“It’s not about—fuck,” You curl into yourself, turning your face away from him. “It’s n-not about that. Not personal. You need to get out of here, Wyll, please. Please listen to me and, and go.” 

Wyll wants to ask how he could leave you in this condition, but the desperation in your voice stops him. He feels uncertain, but his body - his mind, won’t listen to him.

“Tell me what’s happening to you,” Wyll pleads. He wants to run to you. He hates seeing you in this much pain. He wants to hold you, his heart is practically pounding. “Are you in pain?” 

Your expression strains, but you force your gaze towards him. Your eyes are wide. They shine with water and wetness, your tearstained expression landing on his face. 

“Fuck, Wyll, you - I’m in heat. So d-don’t come any closer. Go, go—please, I’m begging.”

Heat. Wyll knows little about the cycles of werewolves. But he knows about wolves, and other animals at least. Heat. A period of heightened sexual reception during mating season. Wyll pauses, then blinks. His stomach drops, heart quickening. 

Shit. Shit. 

“You’re in…heat.” 

“Y-yes. And it lasts for a tenday, so you need to listen to me and get out of here. Now.” 

Wyll doesn’t move. 

“Would,” Wyll swallows the thick feeling in his throat. “If someone else had come. Would you have,” 

He hardly knows what he’s asking. But it seems you do, because you open your eyes - in utter distress and shake your head. 

“No,” You shake your head and hold your breath, trying to calm yourself as you breathe. You focus on breathing only out of your mouth. “Just you.” You close your eyes again and continue to tremble. “Please. Please go, Wyll.” 

He comes closer. Your voice croaks as you try to shout at him, though the words are too faint to be called that. Nonthreatening and utterly desperate. 

“No, no, no—please,” Your words become a sob, and Wyll feels his heart start to crack a little. “You don’t understand. It h-hurts. If you get too close, if you—” 

“What is it?” He gets close enough to be within real range of you. There’s only a few feet of distance between you. Wyll kneels so he’s not looming over you, looking over you with concern. “What’s wrong?” 

You shake and shake and shake, closing your eyes - tearing your gaze away from him. Your lower lips waver, both hands covering your face as you cry. 

“Your s-scent,” You heave, trying to push back against the tree.  “It’ll make me want to t-touch you. And I can’t. I can’t and—I want too. So badly, you’re so close, please stay away. It’s cruel, so cruel to me,” 

Wyll feels his own voice almost give out. Seeing you like this. So desperate. Needy. The guilt is outweighed by another feeling he chooses not to name.

“You can touch me,” He assures. 

You sob. 

“Not just touch. Wyll, please, go.” 

“Hells,” He comes closer towards you and you flinch. “I’m not so clueless. I know what you meant. It’s alright.” 

Your eyes flicker open in disbelief. 

“You,” You look at him through teary eyes. “I-it’s important to you to... With someone you love. Not like this.” 

“Gods, who else but you? I love you,” Wyll says with his own voice nearly shot. Your eyes widen in disbelief. “Of course I love you. I want to be with you for the rest of our lives.” 

“Wyll,” You sob for a different reason this time. “I love you. I w-want you, I want you.” 

“Tell me. Can I touch you?”

“Please,” You’re so tender like this. Wyll has never seen it in his life. It’d be unimaginable, had he not witnessed. 

Strong and capable and brave and rowdy - reduced to a fragile, pleading mess. 

Wyll doesn’t know how to touch you. If he were more honest with himself in the moment - more sensible, he’d admit this to you in a quiet secret. He doesn’t have room for doubt now, so Wyll is gentle when he reaches for you. He pulls your wrists from where they’re glued to you, unfurls your form slowly and looks closely at your face. He guides your hands around his neck and brings you towards him. With slow, careful maneuvering - he sits down with you. 

Holding you in his embrace, he brings you into his lap  - sitting where you once were. Until you’re over his own, resting your full weight against his. Your knees rest on either side of his thighs, straddling him. You look at Wyll from above, your lower lip still quivering. 

“It’s alright,” He says, hands on your waist but not moving “Take what you need,” 

With a wordless whimper, you grab the fabric of Wyll’s clothing, light armor that he changed into before leaving - tight enough he can feel the tension in fabric. You lean in, your eyes shut tightly and press your nose along the side of his neck. Wyll can feel you bump against this jaw. He tilts his head back to give you more access to him. His body is hot with your sudden proximity, your own skin completely feverish from need. You inhale, so deeply and so wantonly Wyll doesn’t know what else to do other than sit and let you. 

The thought passes. Like a mutt. Like a puppy. You breathe Wyll in like it’s the only thing keeping you alive, grinding instinctively on his lap. Something that he overlooks for the sake of being the sane one between you. 

“You,” Your voice has calmed down a fair bit, though it's just as thick as it was before. “Shit, it’s so good.”  

Your grip on his clothes tighten. Wyll rubs a soothing hand on your waist, still over your clothes. You continue it, taking deep breaths of him like a life-line until your grip starts to loosen. You’re no longer shaking at least. You pull away from him with wet pleading eyes, butting your forehead with his. Wyll winces, but bites back a smile at you once he realizes you’re a tad bit more sobered up. 

“What in the hells are you doing here?” You interrogate.

“Are you alright?” Wyll says, ignoring your first question. “Has it gone down?” 

“It comes in waves. The first wave has passed, but the second one will hit soon enough. Five minutes if I had to guess,” You say, shaking your head. You fix your gaze on him. Wyll suddenly becomes aware of your proximity (or lack thereof). “Why are you here, Wyll?” 

“Why? A better question is how could I not be here?” Wyll says carefully, examining your every expression. “An ominous sickness, traveling alone for an entire tenday when we’ve all spent our entire journey together. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, but I couldn’t sit back quietly while I was so worried for your safety.” 

“Like I told you and everyone else, I’m fine. I’ve been handling heats alone since I started puberty. It’s not a very pretty sight,” You pout shyly. Wyll finds it utterly adorable. “And well, it’s not like I can announce to everyone I’m in literal heat. Fever is easier.” 

“I’m sorry if I’ve invaded your privacy. If I had known,” He clears his throat, looking away from you “If I had known it was something like this, I would’ve approached it more delicately.” 

“My brain is too heat-addled to be properly embarrassed, which is lucky - because I’m definitely going to be pissed when this is over.” You say, clutching the front of his shirt again. “Everything is all out of order now.” 

“Why do you say that?” 

“You’re the one going on about keeping things old school, you know.” 

“Well yes. But it’s not for any reason so rigid,” Wyll reaches his hand to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing underneath your eyes. “These sorts of affairs are more enchanting when the love is there. That’s the part that matters.” 

“You’re not disappointed that the first time we’re touching each other is because I’m this desperate to touch you?” 

“I just like being able to hold you. For any reason at all,” Wyll says honestly, then adds. “And well, if I were to be frank, seeing you in this state is… rousing. In its own right.” 

You flush, and mumble. “Pervert.” 

He forgives the comment just as you’ve forgiven him for his intrusion. He looks at you tenderly, heart swelling so much it’s almost overflowing. 

“Will you allow me to stay by your side?” 

“This goes on for a tenday. And it doesn’t get any easier. Do you really know what you’re asking? Do you have that kind of stamina?” 

Wyll smiles at you. He wants to kiss you. 

“Around something as enticing as you, stamina should pose no issue.” He flirts. 

“Gods, Wyll - where’d you learn to talk like that?” 

He smiles cheekily. “Esoteric erotica novels from my fathers chambers, mostly. Overhearing things at Sharesses Caress helped too.” 

You giggle a little bit. This time you’re the one leaning into him. 

“The waves will get longer and more intense. They peak around the fourth day and begin to mellow out at the start of the fifth,” You give him a look before looking away, profusely embarrassed. “Uhm. The only thing that soothes it is, well, you know. I mean I get really… I cry a lot.” 

Wyll doesn’t communicate to you the fact he knows. He did just see after all, and it’s not like he particularly enjoys seeing you suffer. He’s not that sort of man, but. He likes taking care of you, in all aspects. You’ve had to take care of yourself for so long. It feels good that he’s allowed into something that you’ve kept private all this time. 

It’s fair if he’s a little cocky about it, he thinks. 

“You can show me everything about yourself and I won’t turn my gaze away from you. Nothing could make me look away,” 

You pout again. Wyll notices you do it when you’re feeling especially embarrassed. He opts not to say anything, just smiles. 

You take a deep, shaky breath. “It’s going to start again soon. Everything is fine with me, just—stay close. Close enough that I can tuck into you.”

“Something to do with my scent, I suppose? I am curious to know what.” 

“Well I like you. And it’s comforting. But it turns me on, too. Especially like this.”

“And that’s why you were pushing me away earlier?” 

You nod, taking a deep breath. Your voice regains that sweet, thick quality that Wyll is beginning to recognize as desire.

“Mm. I’m a lot stronger than you a-and my heads not very clear,” You shake your head as you explain this to him. “It would’ve..haah..been painful. Really.” 

“So it has that kind of effect on you,” Wyll concludes. Your eyes are lidded. You’re overwhelmed. It’s an interesting position. As far as Wyll’s concerned, he probably only smells like forest right now. He looks at the way you’re shaking like a leaf, then continues “I have that kind of effect on you,” 

“Yes,” You huff, leaning against him again. Your head on his shoulder, nose brushing against his skin. He’s sweating from the journey up. He can’t really wrap his mind around what it could be that you like so much about him or how he smells. “Fuck, yes - you do.” 

It’s an odd position to be in. Wyll is a righteous man but the thoughts that swarm him now are anything but. There’s nothing foreign about being wanted. His time as the Blade of Frontiers has had him propositioned for such affairs more times than he can remember. 

No ones ever been desperate for him, though. You’ve never been desperate about anything. You’re emotional and light-hearted and wise and kind. Not desperate. Never that. 

Except right now, you’re looking up at him with your pupils blown wide and your lower lip shaking. There’s sweat dripping down the crown of your head. Your ears are perked up, your whole body tense with need. You’re practically intoxicated above him, and Wyll can’t help but feel something less than heroic about it. 

“I’m hardly half the man I claim to be,” Wyll says, a little dazed. “You make me forget myself. My virtue.” 

“What’s virtue to love, Ravengard?” You lean in closer to him, your noses brushing. It must be coming again, the next wave. “You’re just Wyll to me, remember? Not a paragon of decency.” Your face is close. Your lips are close. Tempting. “Touch me. Or make love to me, if you’d prefer to call it that.”

It feels like there’s no air in Wyll’s lungs. Not enough to take a breath. He cups the nape of your neck with his hand, and your skin is so hot it nearly burns. You’re feverish, and sweaty - when Wyll touches you, you react right away. He stares at you. Everything feels distant, far-away. How many times have the two of you been like this? How many times have you nearly crossed this threshold before retreating back into each other? 

Wyll can think of one hundred times he’s thought of kissing you. When you’re covered in blood and gore, when you smile, when the sun through the trees makes your fur look shiny and beautiful, when Astarion pets you, when you hug Karlach for the first time. He can compile every time the urge has come over him. 

It feels unreal to kiss you now, after all that. 

You open your mouth slightly, a choked moan passing through your lips as Wyll presses his own to yours. Yours are soft. The first thing he notices is the shape of your teeth, the sharp edge of your fangs - protruding and clumsy. None of it matters. Nothing matters except you and this. 

You’re huffy and eager when Wyll kisses you. A slow peck at first before he pulls away, delighted by the way you chase his mouth. Then again with your mouth open a little wider, panting hotly as you urge Wyll to give you a little more. Your hands are gripping his armor again, tight enough to rip the material. You’re too drunk on your own need, to notice anything about anything. 

It’s something about you - something about you Wyll has known since forever. You get lost in things, in fights or in books that Gale reads. Sometimes you just give up thinking entirely and let your instinct guide you. And it makes enough sense, you’re a werewolf - part hungry animal by blood. Of course your baser instinct feels more natural. 

It’s not very kind to think, but Wyll isn’t saying it to be unkind. He likes it. He likes that you think with your heart less than your head. He likes when you give into the most animal parts of you. 

Wyll is not in the same place as you. His head is meant to be clear. He’s seemingly sober for this affair. 

But his body betrays his mind so quickly it’s laughable. 

He doesn’t really know what to do with himself. All of the blood in his body is running hot, and all of it floods south more quickly than he can control it. Before he knows what he’s doing, his hands are clasping around your waist and he’s kissing you deeper. He lets his tongue brush yours, lets his teeth sink into the plush of your lower lips. He sucks and bites and licks as you breathe each other in.

You kiss Wyll until your lips are swollen, chest heaving as you pull away from each other. There’s something juvenile about the affair, enough to make you laugh even in the state you’re in. And Wyll laughs too, stares at your expression only illuminated by moonlight. 

“I love you,” Wyll repeats. You’re startled by it this time. “Gods, I love you.” 

Your voice is thick. “I love you too. Touch me, please.” 

“How should I touch you my love?” 

“However you want. As long as you touch me.” 

“However I want,” Wyll says contemplatively. He’s quick to maneuver you both to the ground when he says this. A little closer to the warmth of the fire, on the sheets and pillows you’ve set up underneath you both. You look up at him wide-eyed as your back touches the ground. “You should choose your words carefully. I may take you up on making love.” 

You wrap your legs around his waist and pull him down to you.

“Do it before I lose my mind anymore,” 

Wyll laughs playfully against your skin.

The act of undressing each other is unceremonious. Wyll peels the padded armor off his body, leaving him in trousers. He helps you out of your own clothes. He’s seen you naked more than once, but never for this. For him. He studies the way your muscles fall, the hair on your skin. Various scars. Everything for him to gaze on. 

Your own hand reaches up to his neck, on his shoulder as your mouth falls open. “You’re so attractive. Do you know?” 

He laughs. “It doesn’t hurt to hear you tell me.” 

You seem eager to admire his body. Wyll doesn’t stop you. Your palms are much smoother than he’d think of them to be, as they plane over the expanse of his muscled chest. You let your fingers drift over raised scars on abdomen, over his nipples and down his abdomen. Wyll feels his cock twitch unhelpfully. You must notice the same because your eyes light up. Your hand reaches even further, even lower - cupping the hard outline of his length. He hisses through his teeth. 

“You’re…” You mumble, squeezing again. “For me,” 

“You’re beautiful,” Wyll says. You flush. 

“Nothing you haven’t seen before,” Your voice is almost petulant. 

“And I’ve longed for you since that very moment” 

Your pout deepens before you brush Wyll’s hand with yours. 

“You can do the same for me.”

Wyll stares at you before leaning back down to kiss you. He doesn’t linger at your mouth, chaste pecks that pave the path for Wyll to worship the rest of you. He wants to worship every inch. He lets his lips leave kisses all over your face. He kisses the scars along your skin, the corner of your mouth, your eyelids. 

His tongue laves down your jaw until he’s at your neck. You breathe unsteadily as he continues down to the column of your throat. Wyll is gentle. He doesn’t bite. He steadies his hands at your waist and only kisses. Presses his face to your skin and pricks you with his want. It’s slower than you want, he can tell from how your legs are wrapped helplessly around his waist. 

Your lower-half is grinding against him, against air - anything you can find. Little shameless mewls and so much squirming. Wyll knows you’re needy, and he is too - but this is your first time together. 

He couldn’t do anything but savor it no matter how much you whined. Right now you are his, hidden from the moon. From the camp. 

You are his and he will take you apart as he pleases. 

“Please,” You whine, taking a deep breath of him again. You inhale, nudging the parts of him available to him. “Please.” 

A little mercifully, he gives you a little more. He grabs your hips and positions you better over his cock. He moves his hands from your waist to squeeze the soft flesh of your breasts. He licks the salt of your skin, meeting your movements. 

“I know, I know. Endure it,” He says, pressing a kiss to your sternum. “Indulge me.” 

You bite back your complaint. You’re forgiving as always.

His mouth closes around your nipples, hard under his tongue. Your spine arches, but Wyll pushes you down and steadies you. His other hand squeezes the one he isn’t servicing, thumb drawing over your nipples. He gauges your breathing as he tries different motions until settling on rolling it with his thumb. The right thing to do, if your reaction is anything to go by. 

He feels something against the seam of his pants when he goes between them, pleasuring you. A wetness where his cock meets your clothed sex.  One that soaks underneath two layers of clothes. He looks up at you, wide-eyed. 

You’re unaware of anything. Too busy in the chase of pleasure. 

He wonders if it’s a result of your heat. He doesn’t know anything about them aside from the fact it happens and it makes you like this - but what it does to your body is still foreign to him. His cock is throbbing hard enough to make him light-headed. He tries to approach this with a light hand and patience. 

But shit, the way you’re searching for it is too arousing. You’re seeking an orgasm so desperately, all little rutting twitches and uneven movements. The first of the tears start to form on your lower lashes. Your eyelashes are wet. Fat tears drip down your cheeks, falling down the side of your face. Wyll is less concerned than you would be if you hadn’t told him that you would cry - but gods. 

“You’re a mess,” He says with an absent fondness. You whine and nod in agreement. Wyll is lucky to witness this, he realizes too late. “Is it painful?” 

Your voice is scratchy from crying. “Aches. Aches so much, need more, please. Trying to be patient but it aches.” 

He hums to himself, undoes the death grip your legs have on his waist before starting to kiss a path down to your navel. It’s clear you make an attempt to ask him what he’s doing, but the words cut off when you realize he’s getting closer to where you need. 

You’re holding your breath, your hands curled at your sides like you don’t know what to do with them. You’ve never been so uncertain in front of him. You help slide your bottoms off - everything in one go. Your knees are bent in the air, covering where Wyll is most keen to see you. He kisses your calves. 

“Nothing I haven’t seen before, remember?” 

You take a deep breath and lay your feet flat on the ground, spreading your legs enough to give Wyll a perfect view. He’s always tried not to look, but now he can’t stop staring. A thick layer of hair covers your cunt. His hands shake as he pulls you forward to look closer, and your own hands go to cover your face. 

“I can feel you breathe,” You whisper, and Wyll laughs. He’s still looking, examining you closely. He uses his fingers to pull you apart, awestruck by you. You’re so wet it’s dripping, pulsing helplessly without Wyll touching you at all. The sheet underneath you darkens with arousal. Your clit is throbbing with need, all fluttery. “Stop looking,” 

Wyll does what any gentleman would do. He pulls away, his hands settling on your thighs - and starts to kiss all the way up from the inside of your knee. He does it on both sides, before finally kissing your clit tucked away underneath everything. Your breath hitches, stomach tensing.

“Tell me where you feel it. Let me learn you.” 

“Hicc,” You nod soft and sweet. “Okay,” 

Wyll smiles against you. 

For as much as Wyll puts on a show, the first time he actually tastes you exceed all expectations. The loss of composure is nearly instant. His fingers dig into the plush of your thighs as he lets the weight of his tongue drag through your folds, arousal collecting on the tip. Your reaction comes just as quick. 

“Fuck,” You cry out. Wyll feels your hands reach for him, a pleasant noise escaping him as you grip onto his horns. He’s never thought to touch them before. A feeling of electricity creeps up his back as your hands hold tight around the base of them.“Wyll, fuck - there,” 

He gets the message quick enough, laying his tongue flat on the hardened bundle of nerves. Your clit pulses for him. You taste heady and sweet, coating his entire mouth as he continues to eat. You guide him here and there - soft whispers of lower and higher until he ends up in the place you need. 

“That,” Your grip on his horns gets tighter as you grind yourself down on his tongue. Wyll feels his cock stiff against his stomach from where he lays. “Like that,”

He gives you more pressure as he licks your clit, sorting out a rhythm as he focuses his attention on one part of you. He wants to make you cum like this. You’re sensitive enough to do it. Your clit thrums as your mind goes muddy. Your body movements change as he continues to push you closer and closer to your high. He’s starting to understand what makes you tick. 

Wyll is a quick learner after all, dexterous and clever. 

Muscles clenching, your mouth falls open - eyes barely open as you moan. “Oh, oh, oh,” 

Wyll laps you up like ambrosia. He pulls away when you start to get close, ignoring your complaints. He wants to savor it now that he knows how to get you to the edge, so he does. He buries himself deeper into you, his nose bumping against your mound with every pass he makes over your slit. Your body is unbelievably sensitive. He dips his tongue into your tight hole and you nearly lurch forward with need. 

He starts a back and forth, going from licking long stripes along your slit determined not to let anything go to waste - back to focusing on where you need him most. He doesn’t mean to put you on edge so many times, no longer thinking clearly. 

You beg Wyll to make you cum by the time he’s back to reality, grabbing his horns hard enough to make him look at you. 

“Make me cum, please - can’t take it anymore, Wyll, please, fuck,” 

He hums against your sex before refocusing his attention. One last time he takes your throbbing clit into his mouth, lets it slide against his tongue and sucks on it. This time he relents to your need, and doesn't stop for any reason. He lets it build and build and build until he hears your voice break. 

Your back starts to arch, body going taut like a bowstring. Wyll hums against you, he wants to praise you but his mouth is busy. 

Then the thought occurs to him. It takes a little focus to reach your mind, and this is by all means - a terrible reason to use your shared connection. 

‘You’re doing so well, starlight,’ Wyll praises. Your eyes widen as you realize just how he’s doing it, a debauched and shocked moan tearing itself from your mouth ‘Beautiful. Sorry for teasing you. Can you cum for me? I want you to feel good,’ 

You hiccup, another loud sob as Wyll keeps steady. 

“C-cumming,” You choke on the words, on your spit. “I’m—fuck!” 

Wyll lets you ride your orgasm out as you cum for the first time in the night. Your body goes arching, gripping on his horns hard trying to pull him away as you push through to the other side. You’re pulsing in his mouth, tightening around nothing as you cum for him. It feels like it goes on forever, long waves and tremors until the feeling dies down. 

He pulls away once you’ve finally laid back down, exhausted and out of breath. You stare at him a little blankly, an arm covering your face. 

“Up here,” You say tiredly, gesturing him up. “I need to kiss you.” 

Wyll laughs good naturedly as you wrap an arm around Wyll’s neck, dragging him down towards you and kissing him hard - drunk off pleasure. You kiss him in chaste pecks,  hugging him. Nudging your nose along his neck, you whisper in his ear. 

“Take your pants off, dammit.” 

Wyll can’t help his laughter.

“I suppose it’s only fair,” 

You hook your fingers into Wyll’s trousers, helping him pull them down until his cock springs free. Your eyes go lidded as soon as you see it, hands cupping the now bare skin. Wyll hisses slightly at the sudden touch, unused to the friction. You look up at him, a hand between your bodies - closing your fist around the base of his cock. 

“Bumps and prongs, huh,” 

Wyll flushes immediately, making you laugh. 

“I hope you’re not making fun of me.” 

“How could I when I’m this turned on?” You offer sincerely. He shudders at the touch. “I like it. Can I blow you?” 

“I’m sorry?” 

Your turn to laugh. “I’m good at it. And I want to. It’s a little sensitive for you to fuck me, anyway.” 

Wyll swallows thickly. “I guess I have no reason to deny you.” 

“No you don’t. Now come on and stand up,” 

He gives you a hesitant look before peeling himself off of you. He stands to his feet, his pants still rolled down just past his thighs. He slides them off so the two of you are naked, and laments a little in his mind about the fact you’re doing this deep in the outdoors. You’re quick to follow Wyll, walking on your knees towards him until you’re eye-level with his cock. 

He’s never gotten this far. He’s a romantic in all the ways it matters, so save for some grinding and kissing - it’s a new experience. You look like you know what you’re doing though. You kiss his hips, hands on his thighs and an expression that he finds remarkably innocent for what you’re about to do. All Wyll can do is watch, and feel increasingly fidgety about the sight in front of him. 

You crane your head down and place pecks from the base of his shaft all the way to the tip. You let his cock rest against your face, taking a sharp inhale of the skin - perverse and desperate.  Wyll groans, deep from his chest as you smile. You’re not unsettled by it at all, as reverent as you always are. 

His body has grown especially sensitive because of Mizora’s interference. He can feel the heat in his blood starting to swell as blood rushes to his cock, making him grow bigger. The way you’re looking at him isn’t helping. 

You poke your tongue out from your mouth and leave long licks along his cock - from base to tip. Like you sense he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, you guide them to hold your head. He feels a weird sense of guilt about it, but the pleasure outweighs the shame - he doesn’t force you down. Just keeps you painfully steady as you do all of the world. 

Fuck, he’s sensitive. Every little wet lick and stroke is enough to make his spine prick with need. The tip of his cock leaks pre-cum. You press it against your lips as your hand wraps around his shaft in full, your tongue dipping into the slit making Wyll hiss. 

“Shit,” He huffs, hands gripping tighter but not moving you “That feels good,” 

You give him a little smile that makes Wyll’s stomach flip. Like you know it’s going to catch him off guard, you finally open your mouth to take the tip of his cock into your mouth. It’s lighter and more sensitive than the rest of his cock. You wrap your tongue around it with expertise and Wyll finds himself nearly bedding on the knee, legs starting to feel weak.

You use one hand to steady yourself on his thigh, the other slipping between your legs. 

He can only watch on in awe, the impressive way you sink around the hot, hard length. Your tongue is soft, the cavern of your mouth wet and inviting. Wyll nearly breaks - almost fucks into your throat by bucking up. He restrains himself as you go lower and lower, eyes going increasingly wide as his cock disappears in the column of your throat. Just when he thinks you can’t get any further, you do. He can feel the tip disappear in the narrowness of your throat, awestruck as drool starts to drip from the sides of your mouth. 

You make a sound, muffled as you hit the base of Wyll’s cock like it’s nothing. You sink in further, nose pressing against his navel as you glance up at him. It’s too lewd, damn near -  seeing you deepthroat him with such ease. You inhale again, and Wyll flushes at the realization of what you’re doing exactly. 

You pull off in one go, saliva dripping down your chin and neck as you open your mouth. Hollowing your cheeks and wrapping a free hand around whatever your mouth can’t easily reach, you start to set a pace. It’s fast and slick and messy, pre-cum mixed with saliva making your face grow sticky - taking deep breaths of Wyll’s scent and musk every time you manage to swallow it all. It’s depraved seeing you suck his cock with such obvious lust and desire, eager to swallow him and show him pleasure. 

Wyll feels the pleasure. His entire body feels like it’s being wrapped in something slick and warm, little sparks of electricity traveling from his fingertips to his spine. His head feels especially light, filled with fluff and devoid of conscious consideration. 

“Your mouth feels incredible,” Wyll groans, shuddering, holding your head as you let his cock bottom out in your mouth again “Hells,”

You sound pleased, a pleasant reverb going through his body as you set a pace - bobbing your head and swallowing every inch of him without flinching. The sound of your throat constricting around him and your own hands fill the surroundings. He’s glad you’re so lost in the movements because his own voice is punched out of him each time you go down. He didn’t know he was capable of making this much noise, such deep groans and heavy breaths every time you so much as move.

You pull him out completely, letting spit and saliva rub against your mouth as you tap against your face. Wyll feels a restless embarrassment at the pit of his stomach as you make eye-contact with him. He feels his cock twitch hard, something starting to come undone in his gut as he pulls you away. 

“Stop,” He wheezes, and you do with a pleased laugh “Shit that’s dangerous. You’re…talented.” 

You pause before breaking out into more giggles, kissing his cock one last time. Wyll covers his face with his hands. 

“Is that a compliment?”

“...It’s meant to be one.” 

“Glad you’re impressed,” You say with a wicked little grin - all sharp teeth and delight. “I wanted to go longer.” 

“We have days together. Another time, my love.” 

Your smile grows a little. You are bad for his heart in more ways than one, Wyll thinks. 

“Mm. Okay. I can’t really wait much longer, anyway. Another wave is gonna hit soon and I feel antsy.” 

“Get comfortable and lay down. And, I hate to ask so late - but should I be worrying…? About protection?” 

You blink at him as you set up on the ground, moving around pillows for you to lay on. You shake your head. “Mm. Should be fine. Getting contraceptives should be easier since we’re closer to the city. Unless you don’t want to take that risk?” 

Your expression is uncharacteristically innocent. Wyll weighs his desire against reason, a feeling of guilt washing over him at the clear winner. His cock is throbbing to the extent it’s near painful.

(He doesn’t hate the thought of giving you a child, either. Though he thinks it’s much too early to say something like that, and he’d prefer to plan something so important. Still, it isn’t the worst outcome. It’d be a precious little thing, half-werewolf and beautiful. 

He brushes over the thought just as quickly as he has it, a little taken aback by his own desires. It’s like everything is being bled from him, no thought too precious to strike his mind. It’s too early to think about, no less mention.

He should marry you before that. The thought of it makes him harder.) 

“As I had suspected, I’m only half the man I consider myself to be.” 

“Are you reflecting on your failings?” You tease. Wyll lets out a breath of air. 

“On my hypocrisy, if I were to put a name to it. I didn’t realize desire could be so debilitating.” Wyll explains, joining you where you lay. You giggle lightly as Wyll positions himself between your legs, leaning in to kiss you shortly. “Seems you’ve uncovered something I wasn’t aware of.” 

“Really?” 

Wyll laughs against your lips as he kisses you again. “You often do.” 

He brushes it aside as he pulls back. You lock eyes with him. Wyll is mesmerized. Your features start to round out again, eyes becoming glassy with need in the same familiar way as before. Wyll knows it now. He reaches over to cup your face with his palm, smile breaking his composure as you instinctively rub your cheek against the rough skin. He lets his thumb press against your lips, indulging your desire for affection. 

“Are you still all there?” 

“Hf. Yes. Not for long,” You say, urging him down towards you. Once again the proximity between you disappears. This time bare skinned, chest to chest. Wyll can feel the erratic thump of your heart, the unsteady quality in your breathing. You sink back into the same heat drunk place, a slow descent. Your pupils open wide enough for him to lose his senses. “Don’t keep me waiting, please.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

You fall into a synchronicity this time around. Your legs spread wide, open and wanting. Wyll feels his throat start to close. His stomach flutters restlessly as he pushes his cock through your folds once, then twice - his head thrown back at the feeling of your bare skin. He reminds himself this isn’t something to get used to, but the pleasure is easy to indulge in. 

It’s worsened by the fact you’re beautiful. 

Wyll finds you so beautiful it’s ridiculous, even to him. The plush of your lips, the way your lashes fall along as your cheek, the shape of your eyes. All of you, bathed in moonlight and blessed by the higher powers. You’re a culmination, the very pinnacle of Wyll’s every last mad desire. If everything around him faded to nothing, Wyll would have no clue. No sense, no rational, no righteousness. With nothing but himself to offer you, he’s moonstruck. Hung up on your affection and the feeling of warmth of mutual love. 

The order is all out of sorts, and everything is complicated. But Gods. Gods. You’re more beautiful than every dream he’s ever seen you in. Even the magic of his mind couldn’t form something so perfect. 

“You’re really the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.” 

Your eyes widen, blinking rapidly before breaking out into a flush. “What are you saying?” 

“When I was a boy, I often imagined getting married,” Wyll says, drawing little circles along your hip. Your mouth opens, but falls shut as you feel the head of his cock push against you. You shudder as Wyll moves so slowly, with no intent of pushing in. “I had high hopes for love. The magic of fairy tale romance always spoke to me. I was fond of beautiful sights too, to boot.” 

Your breath hitches. Wyll feels you start to stretch around the tip of his cock. He swears under his breath, slowing even more. You let out a soft mewl as Wyll breathes through the sensation. 

“But you know,” He presses deeper, just slightly. A suggestion of a thrust. Your hand shoots out to grab Wyll’s wrist where he’s gripping you at the waist. His vision strains as he moves slowly, another terrible inch. “You’ve, haah,  exceeded my every expectation. There was no need for daydreaming.” 

You make a choked sound as Wyll goes even deeper. Your hands grip tight, that same drunken look returning to you. The parts of you that are still there are teary eyed, sniffling. Your cunt pulses around him, sucking him deeper. You feel good, but Wyll is more focused on you. Imprinting you into his memory, like tonight is the last time he’d ever get to see you. 

“If I could go back, to any time - I think I’d go back to being seventeen,” Wyll says with a smile, dropping himself closer to you. He leans up on his arm, noses brushing tenderly as you hiccup “I would tell Wyll from then to be strong. Become a Blade that can defend for the one who will become your shield.” 

You look up at him teary and frustrated. Your arms wrap around his neck as you cry, and Wyll laughs a little. Everything is so warm. He loves you. 

“If you’re any kinder to me, I don’t know what’ll become of me. Ugh, my eyes sting.” 

Wyll can’t help his smile. “We’ll have to see it through, then.” 

“Stop being so romantic and fuck me.” 

He kisses your hairline. “As you wish.” 

Wyll puts his hands up under your knees, folding you underneath him as he finally bottoms out. You both moan as you feel Wyll fill you up. You kiss him in that position, all desperation - tongue and teeth. Wyll is startled but indulges, a grinding thrust making you mewl into his mouth. He swallows the noise. 

“Fuck me,” You huff, your eyes bleary. “I can—can feel you in my stomach,” 

Wyll groans. 

You feel incredible. Wyll has to stop moving to steady his mind. He wants to last a little longer than a few seconds if he can help it. Your cunt wraps around his cock like silk. Sticky walls clinging to him like a vice, pulsing with need at the slightest movement. Wyll is connected to you in such an intimate way, it makes him feel visceral. Almost possessive. You hold on like you want to milk him for all he’s worth.

He takes another long breath, steadying himself as he pulls out and slams himself back in. You cry out in response to the first thrust, but you don’t ask him to slow down. Wyll focuses on keeping his thrusts weighted and steady, something constant enough that your focus doesn’t break. He wants to make you cum again, and he knows better what you need now. He keeps you pinned underneath the weight of him as he finds a pace to move to. 

Once he finds it, Wyll fucks you without abandon. You hold onto him tight, nose nudged against his neck as you let out the tiniest whimpers he’s ever heard you make. The pleasure debases you completely, makes you all wild. Wyll likes seeing you fall apart with each movement. Every time he pistons the right spot your eyes go wide and flutter back closed as if it’s too much. 

The two of you make a mess. Wyll can hear his cock pull and push the arousal out of you - each thrust wet. It’s messy enough to make your skin stick together. 

“Wyll,” You say his name like it’s a prayer of your goddess. Something to save you. Some kind of sacrilege that Wyll feels no guilt for. “I love you, I love you. Fuck—fuck me,” 

“You’re my whole life,” Wyll grunts. “I’ll give you everything. Everything, my love.” 

“I’m close,” Your voice is hoarse as you say it. “I’m so close, just a little—” 

Wyll knows what you’re asking for. His hand sneaks between your bodies, palm resting on your tummy as his thumb messy circles on your puffy clit. You choke on your words, a broken thank you among the mess as Wyll keeps fucking you. Determined to make you cum one more time, he goes and goes and goes. 

Wyll can feel you cum before you can tell him. You try to announce it, but the words don’t come out. He can feel your hesitance, feeling something in you as your teeth graze his necks. 

“You can bite me. I can withstand it, love”  

A pained whine is followed by the sharp feeling of your teeth in Wyll’s shoulder, as your voice breaks out into a howl. When you cum, you cum hard. Harder than before like you’re trying to latch onto him, your whole body going rigid before the tension breaks. Your orgasm crashes into you. You gasp as Wyll fucks you through it. He keeps fucking you through it until he feels you’ve calmed down. 

“Cum, Wyll. For me, please.” 

It’s enough to drive Wyll to the very edge. His desire reaches an impressive high. His thrusts become shallow, sloppy - the wet sound of him fucking you open finally reaching his ears as he gives into his own needs.  Wyll cums hard. He bottoms out as he does, thick white ropes painting your insides as the two of you lay with each other. 

When Wyll finally catches his breath and starts to go soft, he pulls away to look at you. You’re frowning at him. 

“Is something—” 

“Being sweet to me like that in the middle of that is unfair. I’m going to hold it against you.” 

Wyll pauses before breaking out into a giggle. 

“I was worried for a minute.” 

“I love you.” You add, a little softer time. “Thank you for coming to find me.” 

“Always.” Wyll replies, hugging you to him. “I adore you, you know.” 

__ 

EPILOGUE: 

You return to camp together at the end of your tenday. 

Wyll is covered in all sorts of marks by the time you’ve arrived, and so are you. There’s not really anything to do to hide that. Or to hide the fact he’s utterly exhausted by the whole thing. He’s drained, though he thinks he could do it again if he timed it better. 

It was nice to spend an entire tenday together, though. In between having sex or Wyll meeting your needs - you ate and slept and bathed together. Despite your circumstances the entire situation was domestic - and Wyll enjoyed being with you. 

You are absolutely chipper and uncaring about the situation. Wyll wishes he could be a little more like you in this case. 

The first person to see you at camp is Karlach. 

“Well, look who it is!” Karlach chirps, absolutely delighted. “The lovebirds are back,” 

The whole camp stirs at the announcement. It’s early enough that everyone is still at camp. Wyll feels his skin prick with heat as you leave his side, prancing over to Karlach to chat with her. Back to your usual self, Wyll feels a specific fondness about having seen a new side of you and remaining so unchanged. 

“Oh, you’ve returned?” Astarion says. Wyll looks up, surprised. 

“Ah, uhm, yes.” 

Astarion stands next to Wyll with his arms crossed. 

“Have you finally done it or do I have to endure more of your incessant pining?” 

Wyll chokes on his spit. 

“You’re losing your touch Astarion,” Shadowheart says, shuffling into camp from behind Wyll with a towel that needs to be dried. “That one over there is chipper and this one can barely look at them. Shouldn’t that tell you all you need to know?” 

“Tsk. You’re right. Congratulations are in order, I suppose. Or some celebration. At least I won’t have to see you two eye-fucking each other every day. It was getting dire..” 

“I wouldn’t be so confident,” Shadowheart says. “He’s doing it right now even after they spent a tenday wrapped in each other's arms.” 

Astarion sighs. “Gods. Can’t have anything these days.” 

Wyll opts not to say anything, handling them with usual grace. 

“Thanks for the congratulations,” Wyll says, staring at you idly. “Hope it wasn’t too difficult without us.” 

“Hardly.” 

Wyll smiles at that. He watches you as you talk to Karlach animatedly, smiling a little harder. He can take as much teasing as they dish out. 

He could endure it ten times over, as long as he gets to be with you. 

☾ a/n ; whew… we've made it to the end. i wrote this fic in a whopping 12 days. it was a crazy experience especially since i havent written anything i'd personally consider substantial since like.. idk april 2023. i also mostly write for anime so its a little nervewracking specifically writing for bg3. THAT BEING SAID. i love wyll. i started playing the game for him and he has bewitched me mind body and soul. it is rather disheartening to see how much larian dgaf about him so i guess part of me writing this is also trying to convince people to see what i see in wyll. something something that joan didion quote about writing as a form of violence bc of imposing views something something.

wyll is a really moving character to me. i like characters who are categorically so righteous it drives them to the destruction of themselves.

but the specific dichotomy of wyll - a man who has lost every ounce of agency time and time again with this tav was especially consuming. tav too is considered a monster, but they embrace and love this part of themselves. i think witnessing that, and the reframing monstrosity in wylls case is really helpful for him. tav doesnt know what losing their agency is like, but they're able to restructure wylls belief of what this new body of his is worth. that he is worthy all the same, and that he exists outside of being the blade. these sorts of things haunted me during this. but also… i just wanted to see wyll bang a desperate heat addled werewolf shorty. lol.

ANYWAYS. sorry for this MASSIVE wall of text. i just really love wyll so much and i hope this iteration of him felt in line with who he is. and if you're not a wyll fan and just a fic consume well… i hope i was able to compel you towards him a bit. in any case, thanks for reading! and please do leave a comment if you liked it! all feedback appreciated.

also i dont normally ask but if you could rb this fic if you liked it'd be appreciated </3 im trying to find wyll likers ehdjksjf

[weirdsht]

Hello, a cale x reader lunatic here 😭

They meet a fortune teller pre-relationship and pre-war

They're idiots

FT: you're going to have 10+ kids

Cale: uhh...

Reader: wtf is you spouting? /*Terrified

Ohn, Hong, Raon, and the wolf children: 🫂

Selective Vacuous - Cale/Reader

notes: I made it a 4+1 since I had several scenarios but didn't know how to connect them all hehe

tags: female reader, established relationship (except the first one), reader is mentioned to be a spearman, GoD priestess prophet (it'll make sense in the end), vague to mild novel spoilers

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are open and welcome

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“You will meet someone. A male. They will mean the world to you, and will bring you both trouble and comfort.”

“Miss priestess, you’re from the church of the God of Death, right? Don’t you think things like fortunes are for the God of Fate?”

_____ listened to the priestess’ ramblings. Yes, ramblings. Because that does not make sense to the spearman in the slightest. She was already married to her spear. There’s no way someone, especially a man, will suddenly become her whole world.

It just didn’t seem possible possible.

That was why the spearman did not understand the painful feeling in her chest when she saw Cale’s plate breaking. She couldn’t understand why her heart hurt for a person she just regarded as her employer.

“Everything is going to be fine soon young master. So please hold on a little longer.”

She couldn’t understand why her hands were softly wiping the blood on the redhead’s chin. Can’t understand why the sight of her employer in pain makes her heartache when she knows he's going to be alright.

She just can’t understand it.

+~+~+~+~+~+

“You have thirteen children. Whom you all love equally despite not seeing some of them often.”

“Do you think this is an elaborate prank?”

“I’m not sure but this the second time someone from the Church of the God of Death has given me a prophecy…”

“But 13 children? Really? If they're going to try and scam us at least make it sound believable.”

“I can’t even imagine having one child. Let alone more than ten.”

_____ shivered at the thought of having that many children with her significant other Cale. Turns out their chest pains were because she was in love with the redhead.

It took a whopping 5 months for the two of them to realise their feelings.

Another 2 for them to make a move and finally get together.

While the two are already in agreement that the priestess who said that might be a swindler, a certain silver kitten has another opinion.

She thinks that there’s a misunderstanding.

The priestess didn’t say “will have” but rather said “have”, meaning they already have thirteen children. However, she didn’t say anything and opted to keep her thoughts to herself.

'I’m pretty sure that priestess was talking about us and the wolf children…'

+~+~+~+~+~+

“You are destined to be with a powerful man with a very powerful family. Someone whose family has a long history.”

What now?

Does this mean one day _____ and Cale must break up?

“The family with a long history part checks out since the Henituse family are known to guard the Forest of Darkness.”

The spearman puts her hands underneath her chin as she thinks.

“But a powerful man? You have the weakest plate in existence. A powerful family? The Henituse family is a county. Not a Marquisate or a Duchy…”

Besides her Cale grumbled.

“Have you not learned anything? Just tune it out. This isn’t the first time we’ve heard such bullshit.”

“That’s true… I guess this one bothered me a bit since they implied we’d break up.”

“We won’t”

After the reassurance, _____ and Cale went back to eating their food.

What they don’t know is that a few days later, the Henituse County will be promoted to become the Henituse Duchy.

But at that time the prophecy told to _____ is already forgotten.

+~+~+~+~+~+

“Forbidden love is ahead of you. There will be a time where your own significant other will feel uncomfortable to show you affection.”

Great now the fortune teller scammers from that stupid church are targetting Cale too.

“But we’ve had great communication since the start of our relationship.”

Cale nodded in agreement as he thought about what could “forbidden love” and “uncomfortable with affection” could mean.

Sure they weren’t the most PDA couple but they don’t shy away from showing affection towards each other. They have also had their fights but they are always quickly resolved.

“Forbidden love is also a weird thing to say… Oh my god, Cale don’t tell me you’re planning to cheat on me?!”

Cale was so flabbergasted he said his true thoughts without filter.

“What the fuck?! You’re literally the love of my life??”

The sudden confession got the two of them to shut up. Both were shocked at what the redhead said.

“...You’re the love of my life too.”

“If you love me then you would not remind me of the embarrassing thing I said not even 5 minutes ago.”

As the two laugh, the words of the priestess slowly leave their minds.

However, maybe they shouldn’t have forgotten it when Cale had to disguise himself as Naru von Ejellan, a 12-year-old kid in human years. If they did then maybe they'd understand the priestess' words...

+~+~+~+~+~+

“You troublesome punk! I knew you’re dense but I didn’t expect you to be a blockhead!”

Cale was shocked at Team Leader Lee Soo Hyuk’s irritated voice. One moment they were talking about passing on one of the team leader’s abilities then suddenly he was yelling at Cale.

“Don’t look at me like a gaping fish out of water. I did so much to help you with your love life only for you to disregard my messages!”

“What messages..?”

Cale remembered all the times a priestess from the Church of the God of Death had told them a “prophecy”. 

“That was you?”

“You disrespectful punk, yes it was me.”

“Oh…”

Oh indeed

[melt-into-the-night]

*mild spoiler ahead, keeping it as minimal as possible*

Listen I love Chloe and Max but it kinda boggles my mind that a large part of the fandom didn’t think at the end of the first game that if you chose “bae over bay” (or to the people that actually paid attention to the dialogue without being completely blinded by the pretty lesbian couple, the option known as killing Chloe’s mom against Chloe’s wish to save her) that their relationship was gonna be “happily ever after” and sunshine and rainbows…especially with how miserable they looked leaving in that truck, they might just be a little out of touch with reality… Not that they couldn’t work it out in the future (which to be fair, could still happen by the end of the new game assuming you continued down the Bae route) but them being broken up really shouldn’t be a surprise, and the way they’ve discussed it with Max being traumatized from her decision makes sense, choosing to kill all your friends and entire town just to save one person at 18 years old, isn’t something you just get over…

Beyond that, the people that are acting shocked that Chloe isn’t playing a bigger role in the game are out of touch too. From the jump, the game has been promoted as “the return of Max Caulfield”. Not the return of Max and Chloe. And while we only really have the first two chapters to go by so far, I feel like she’s as prominent as I expected her to be in this one. If not more.

Idk, I get being disappointed that at the moment, they are broken up, but like how else were they gonna keep her away from the game that continues Max’s story in a way that honors both endings from the original without them having to add a whole other character in the mix just for one timeline.

I can only predict the ending of this game so far, but it feels like the game plan for Max’s journey is to have her get to a place where she can let go of the past and move on and be happy, and we know that Max’s inability to let go of what happened in the past up until this point is the reason they broke up in the first place so to me, at least in the bae route of Double Exposure, it feels like the game plan is to eventually get Chloe and Max back together by the end of it (at least for those not exploring other romance options).

I don’t know…all I’m saying is don’t get all angry and dismiss the entire game before we see how it all plays out.

[littlejuicebox]

Handmade

Pairing: Spawn Astarion x F!Reader/Tav Summary/Setting: Nine years post BG3 / You and Astarion are married; you now work as a Counsellor, Astarion handles your business investments. After a lot of hard work, the two of you have established quite a wealthy, wholesome life for yourselves. / If you're looking for more backstory and HCs for this version of AstarionxTav, check out my Highharvestide fics. Rating/Warnings: PG-13 / Holiday fluff / Sexual references / Maybe some mild in game spoilers Word Count: Notes: This is 4/5 "Days of Star-mas!"

I'm also entering this into the #BG3HolidayFluffle23 challenge under the prompt "gifts."

Click here to see my master list.

-----

Gift giving was, without a doubt, Astarion’s love language. He truly adored spoiling you with the most opulent things money could buy. A plethora of rare night blooming plants, ridiculously ornate gowns, a cabinet full of gem-encrusted jewelry, first editions of your favorite books (more than a few signed by the authors)… in truth, you’d been given it all. 

But well before this year’s Midwinter Banquet, just as the summer turned to autumn and the leaves in your back orchard were beginning to drop and kiss the earth, you explicitly told your husband you wanted something handmade this year. Something from the heart.

The vampire groaned at this stipulation. “Darling, I’ve got so many wonderful ideas. I’ve seen some beautiful dresses in the shops that would look wonderful on you. And a pair of earrings that would go beautifully with your eyes; just this morning I was in discussions with a horse breeder about purchasing you your very own riding horse since you seem to abhor the carriage… you just can’t be serious about this, my sweet.” 

“I am.” You’d responded, tone matter-of-fact, arms crossed, brow furrowed as you address your husband, “My love, we have everything. Everything we could possibly want and money to buy anything else we want or need, too. I’ve been given the most luxurious gifts for nine years straight… but I want something from the heart. I want something from my rogue. From the man that used to leave me flowers on my pillow at camp and steal me sweet rolls from the merchants. I know he’s in there, somewhere.” 

You step closer to your husband, peering deeply into his eyes like you’re searching for something lost deep within the pupil. Then you place your ear to Astarion’s chest and bring your hand up to knock on it. “Hellllooo? Rogue Astarion? Can you hear me in there?” 

Your love chuckles at your antics and grabs your hand, squeezing it tightly before planting a kiss on the knuckle. “Very well darling, have it your way. How could I say no?” 

You beam, overjoyed to have won this little debate. Then, for the next few months, the two of you sneak off to prepare your individual gifts for one another whenever you have a spare moment.

More than once in those few months, Astarion had rattled the door to your bedroom, threatening to pick the lock if you didn’t let him in that instant. You’d groan in frustration every time, quickly stow away your gift, and then rip open the door to roll your eyes at the pale elf. 

“It’s only been a few hours, Astarion. You interrupted me right when I was actually getting somewhere, do you know that?” You’d scolded, more than once. 

“Darling, it’s been several hours, not just a few. Why is it not possible for you work on your gift somewhere else? I need use of this room, too, you know. Unless this is somehow your way of telling me you’d like to sleep in separate rooms from now on, my sweet?” He’d challenged more than once, quirking his white eyebrow at you with a rakish smirk. Then he'd sweep into the room with a brief kiss to your temple and ready himself for bed or a bath.

“If I could work on it elsewhere, I would! But I can’t. You’ll see why.” You would always huff in response, wrinkling your nose impatiently at your husband. “And don’t pretend you’d be able to sleep a wink if you were made to lay in the guest chambers, Lord Ancunin. Don’t tempt me with any ideas.”

Astarion would sigh and dramatically roll his eyes at you, but continue to oblige your long stints alone in the bedchamber, nonetheless. He never mentioned that he only ever interrupted you when you exceeded more than six hours holed up in the bedchamber alone; even a vampire had to bathe and sleep at some point, after all. 

As for Astarion? He was regularly in the middle of meetings or reviewing contracts when you were working on your project, so his time had been allocated a bit differently. He would often prepare his gift while you slept… you’d always needed more sleep than he did. The vampire would slip out of bed and down into the parlor, where he would spend a few hours curled up in the sofa at work before cozying back up to you before you woke. 

Soon enough, it was time for the Midwinter Banquet. It was the Ancunin’s turn to host a dinner party; the Ravengards had just done Highharvestide, the Dekarioses had hosted Midwinter the year prior, and Lae’zel and Shadowheart lived a rather nomadic lifestyle that didn’t allow hosting parties. Technically, it should have been Karlach and Dammon’s first year to host, but as they were fresh newlyweds that had barely purchased a property that same month, you’d kindly offered them a pass.

As was typical for an Ancunin dinner party, the dining hall had been completely decked out by the staff. No surface was left untouched from the beautiful combination of candles, pine trimmings, and bunting you’d roped a reluctant Astarion into helping you string. You were quite proud of the bunting, which was handmade with dried oranges, cranberries, and touches of greenery. 

You were, as always, meandering about the dining room, far too fixated on the most minute details of the table settings. Astarion made his way over to you, as he did every time you hosted a party, to force you from your nervous habit of hyperfixation.

This year you were saddened to immediately notice the absence of Scratch as your husband entered the large wooden doors of the dining hall; the dog had passed that summer. Astarion, out of habit, flexed his fingers downward to make contact with the dog’s scruff, only to drag his fingers through the empty air. You’d seen this maneuver from your husband more than once, and as you watched him enter the dining hall, you made a mental note to find another furry companion soon. He’d never admit he was taking the loss quite hard. 

“Darling, it’s time for you to dress. And, it’s time for us to exchange presents before everyone arrives.” The vampire murmurs, taking your hand and pulling you from the dining hall and into the adjacent parlor, where your presents are sat underneath a tree adorned with baubles and more of that fruit-filled bunting you two spent an entire day crafting. 

You grab the small red and gold package sitting under the pine tree and grin, handing it to your husband. “Here, open mine first.” 

Astarion raises his eyebrow as he examines the package, giving it a little shake as he holds it to his ear. The package doesn’t make a sound, and he hums in idle curiosity as he undoes the red ribbon tied around the gift. You’re practically bouncing with excitement and anticipation as you watch him carefully undo the wrapping. 

“Just tear it!” You exclaim impatiently, and the pale elf chuckles at you and rolls his eyes before obeying your command and tearing the paper off the gift. 

Astarion is speechless as he stares down at the labor of your love. It’s a small painting, roughly the length and width of a book. The painting depicts you and… well, it must be him, cuddled in bed together. His arm is wrapped around your shoulder, and your hand is gripping the fingers dangling from that same arm. The two of you are laughing underneath the familiar maroon and gold bedspread always located on your four-poster bed. He’s in awe of the details: the little fangs in his mouth, his scarlet eyes and the glint within them, the pinprick scars on your neck, and the freckles along your arm. 

“Turn it over.” You whisper, watching as the vampire obliges with wet eyes.

On the back you’ve written: “My Favorite Place” in your delicate, flowing script. And as his scarlet eyes read the words, your husband loses his barely held composure, cold lower lip trembling as salty tears fall over his waterline. He tugs you into a crushing hug, placing repeated kisses in your hair, and you’re beaming because for once you’ve rendered the loquacious vampire speechless.

You’re teary eyed as well when you sniffle and pull away from Astarion. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve tried to get it right. It’s taken me years, my love. I even snuck in lessons on my trips further into the city to meet with the other Counsellors or Wyll. But I hope you can see us how I see us, now.” 

Astarion nods slowly before placing the gift down on the end table, still overcome with sentimentality. He gives a soft chuckle as he wipes his own eyes and then yours. “Well, darling… now I’m quite worried my gift will pale in comparison, to be honest.” 

“Nonsense!” You promise, as you sit down on the sofa and hold your hands out expectantly. You’re bearing a child-like grin as you wiggle your fingers, bidding the vampire to continue on.

Astarion is nervous. You can see it in his crimson eyes and the twitching of his hands as he grabs the silvery package and gives it to you. His ears are flushed in that subtle way that only appears when he’s extremely embarrassed or aroused… though in this case, you’re quite sure it’s embarrassed. 

As you’re unwrapping the gift with much less care than your husband had unwrapped his, the elf in the midst of explaining himself away, “Darling if you end up not liking it, I’m more than happy to—“ 

But he’s interrupted by a thrilled gasp and ecstatic squeals as you lift a heavily embroidered blanket out of the plain wrapping box. 

“Astarion, how could I not love this? This is beautiful!” You exclaim, quickly opening the blanket and draping it over the couch to admire your husband’s stitch work, “I knew you were talented, my love… but I am blown away.” 

Astarion is beaming now, his ears completely red with some combination of embarrassment and excitement at your praise. He comes to your side and places a hand on your waist as the other one points to the bottom corner of the blanket before tracing up the width and then down the length in a repeated clockwise motion. 

“It’s… it’s symbolism, my darling. Of our love story.” He explains in a still-nervous whisper. 

You move closer to examine the piece and your eyes pick out bits of embroidered details between the floral filigree; you notice you recognize many of the plants from your own night blooming garden. As you move in the direction Astarion pointed, you note several obvious points of symbolism: a dagger, stars and a campfire, glasses of wine, that familiar forest clearing lit up by the moon, his old hand mirror, Lathander’s Mace (he’d conveniently left out the fallen crèche he’d saved you from), Moonrise Towers, the Warding Bond rings you two now kept in a jewelry box upstairs… on and on and on.

You follow the story all the way to the center, where there is a beautiful design of the sun, moon, and stars. At first, you think this is in reference to his proposal, but then you realize it would be in the wrong order. You can't quite figure out the meaning.

Your fingers stroke those center celestial stitches, the only pieces done in shimmering gold and silver thread. “And what does this symbolize, my love?” 

Astarion shifts slightly on his feet, fingers still flexing with anxiety. Your brows furrow as you look from the piece to your husband, wondering why he’s still so nervous when you clearly love the gift. He inhales sharply and bends down, putting his hand in the forgotten gift box that you’d all but tossed aside in your excitement. He pulls out a smaller piece of fabric. It's an infant’s blanket. 

You feel your heart stop in your chest as the vampire slowly unfolds the tiny blanket to reveal a beautiful scene of the sun, moon, and stars all done in that same gorgeous, shimmery thread. 

“My love, I… well, I think it might be time that we consider expanding the family. And Gale seems to be making great strides with the Wish Spell preparations and it seems that might be a real possibility soon and—“

You interrupt your husband’s explanation, crashing your warm lips into his cold ones, and he’s knocked off balance, forced to collapse into the sofa by the weight of your body careening into his. When you pull away from him, both of you are grinning like idiots and slightly flushed at the mere thought of such an impossible possibility. You simply give the vampire a little nod, and then break into delighted laughter, soon joined by him. 

Your husband kisses you softly, and then leans towards your ear, voice dropping into that devilish murmur. “How much time do we have before the party, darling? Perhaps we’ll do a test round before we dress. I would like the two of us to be well practiced when the time comes.” 

You smirk at the vampire when he pulls away from you, his face wearing that irresistible cocked eyebrow and a glimmer of playfulness in his scarlet eyes. You press a finger to your lips and feign humming as if in thought. “I think we might have time for one practice round… if you can catch me, that is.” 

“Why you little—” 

You don’t hear the rest of Astarion’s scolding, but you feel his fingers narrowly miss the curve of your hip as he tries and fails to grasp you. You’re off like a bow shot from an arrow, speeding out of the parlor and down the hall toward your bedchamber, swerving around the poor maid with a shouted apology. You’re grinning as you run down the hallway, thinking that for once you won this little game you liked to play with your love. But then Astarion is snapping his arms around your waist just as your hand reaches for the bedroom doorknob, and you’re laughing boisterously as the two of you crash into the bedroom and onto the bed. 

It isn’t until the maid is knocking on the door roughly thirty minutes later, announcing the arrival of the ever-timely Duke Ravengard, that the two of you hurriedly dress and rush out to greet your guests. Your friends would have been none the wiser, too, if it hadn’t been for the little love bites slowly blooming across your chest throughout dinner. Astarion brimmed with hedonistic delight, and perhaps a bit of subtle pride, as everyone slowly realized what you two had been doing moments before the party and tried with all their might to politely avert their eyes.

Sure, you two had been a bit naughty just before everyone arrived… but hells, if it hadn’t been exceptionally nice.