#tips for playing bards

[awesomechocolatesauce]

Violin playing is very popular in the Myconid Colony. 🎻

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Hey. Hi. Hello. Today I learned about the existence of 15th century Welsh poet Gwerful Mechain and that she apparently has a surviving work of erotic poems.

Please. For Christmas. For Yule. Please tell me more because I can't read Welsh.

Heh heh. Oh, Gwerful Mechain is the absolute best.

(Quick housekeeping to keep the post manageable - I previously wrote about things like cynghanedd and cywydds and englyns and such here, so check that if you need an explanation.)

What's fun is that we don't know a ton about her, because not a lot got written down about people in her time. Her surviving work covers a 40ish year span at the end of the 1400s to just into the 1500s, but we don't know when she was born or died or anything like that. We know her parents' names? And that she was from Mechain, hence the bardic name. And that she married a guy and had a daughter, something which actually does mark out her body of work as different from her contemporaries; being a wife and mother, she couldn't do the usual bardic role of travelling the country to spread news and play at courts. This means she doesn't have any of the praise poetry that a lot of male bards produced about the lords that hosted them.

But, there's stuff we can piece together about her. For one thing, she was not just literate (not a universal skill for anyone at that point, but especially for women), but she was astonishingly well-read and had what appears to be a classical education, given her poetic references and traditional Welsh meters. For another, her work often had recurring themes of religion, sex, and women's rights, sometimes all at the same time.

At the point Gwerful was active, Welsh bardic culture heavily featured ymrysonau. An ymryson is like... well, I hesitate to say "sort of like a rap battle" after the way everyone and their dog now thinks that's what the Mari Lwyd does, but they were like a cross between a rap battle and the publication war between two rival academics. A bard would write an englyn and publish it in the local parish newsletter. Another bard would see this, and write their own englyn about how stupid the first bard's englyn was, and publish it in the same newsletter. The first bard would see this and retaliate. The second bard would retaliate to that. And on and on it would go, like a printed tennis match for all the parishioners to enjoy, until someone wrote a conclusive verse OR until someone went "Lol, you got me good there" and bowed out with dignity. Sometimes, these things were fucking vicious; but other times, they were just banter between two bards who knew each other and were enjoying the chance to keep their poetic skills in tip top condition.

Now, Gwerful was an active and enthusiastic participant in ymrysonau. We have many examples of her work from these. There are two of particular note that I'll list here, each against a different bard:

Dafydd Llwyd o Fathafarn. Mathafarn and Mechain are not so distant from one another, so no real surprise that these two locked horns a lot, but the impression I always got from their ymrysonau is that they were good mates, actually. These fell into the 'banter' category more often than not. Dafydd was a Welsh Nationalist who was hoping for a Welshman to rise up and throw off the yoke of English oppression, and most of his work is about that, but he turned up the filthy erotic shit for any ymryson with Gwerful because BOY HOWDY was that her specialty. IIRC she did occasionally poke fun at his Welsh Nash leanings, especially his obsession with Mab Darogan (OLD Welsh idea that translates to the Son of Prophesy - the Arthur-style figure that will one day drive out the English overlords), but mostly their ymrysonau were incredibly beautifully-written odes that could be summed up as "Dafydd, my man, my good friend, I mean this sincerely: suck my entire clit".

She often won.

Ieuan Dyfi. God, what a fucking asshole. This one was not banter. Gwerful played for blood with this prick.

We actually would know nothing about Ieuan Dyfi if not for Gwerful Mechain, because it was her poetic response to him that meant his only surviving poems made it to the modern day; that, and the record of him being brought before a church court where he admitted adultery with Anni Goch, a married woman. Oh, and the record of him being brought before the law courts at Liverpool, accused of domestic abuse and gambling? If I remember right?

Two things to know that set the scene for what came next:

One of Gwerful Mechain's surviving poems is an englyn considered to be possibly the oldest extant poem about domestic violence written by a woman: I’w gŵr am ei churo (To the husband who beats her)

Dager drwy goler dy galon - ar osgo I asgwrn dy ddwyfron; Dy lin a dyr, dy law’n don, A’th gleddau i’th goluddion.

There are a lot of translations for this one to try to keep its poeticness, but this one is pretty good:

Through your heart’s lining let there be pressed, slanting down, A dagger to the bone in your chest. Your knee smashed, your hand crushed, may the rest Be gutted by the sword you possessed.

She has others, too, that deal with sexual assault, and something scholars often note about Gwerful is her remarkable knowledge of the law as it pertained to women's issues. So she was not, you see, a woman with a high view of a man accused of domestic violence anyway.

But then Ieuan Dyfi wrote five poems about Anni Goch, the married woman he'd fucked, each more "Wow dude, she said no" than the last, culminating in I Anni Goch; a full cywydd of misogynistic Medieval-incel bullshit about how false and evil women are, which listed all the false and evil women of history including classical and mythological figures.

And. Well. Gwerful had some views.

Her responding cywydd - I ateb Ieuan Dyfi am gywydd Anni Goch - basically blasted the guy back into his own impact crater and disintegrated him. What she did with it, essentially, was to mirror his cywydd. Where he'd gone "Isn't it so true how great men throughout history have always been brought low by women, amirite lads? Here's examples", Gwerful went "Isn't it so true how 'great men' throughout history have behaved appallingly and fucked up through their own actions and then somehow managed to blame women, amirite lads? Here's examples." Where his examples had been historical figures, so were hers. Where his had been classical, so were hers. Where he went Biblical, so did she.

And what's so interesting about that last one is how pointed she was with it - for some reason, in his big list of evil women, Ieuan Dyfi did not go for the most obvious and low-hanging of fruit (no pun intended) - he doesn't cite Eve. In response, Gwerful also sidesteps the most obvious and low hanging of fruit - she doesn't cite Mary. In so doing, she makes it clear that she doesn't even need to.

There is no record of him responding to her. IIRC, there is a record of him doing three years in prison.

But! Outside of all of that, the big thing Gwerful was known for was her erotic poetry. You'll be unsurprised to hear that it wasn't written for shits and giggles - much like today, women of the time were told that most of their value was in their looks, and they had plentiful insecurities about their bodies. Gwerful wrote her erotic stuff to confront those insecurities and shine a light on the issue. There are so many examples of this, but far and away the most famous is definitely Cywydd y Cedor - roughly translated, 'Ode to the Vulva'. Though I have also seen it titled Cywydd y Gont - Ode to the Cunt. It's such a shame that the English language is literally, physically not capable of cynghanedd, because it means unless you learn Welsh you will never understand the beauty and the lyricism of the piece, and how it elevates and undercuts the content at the same time; but it's a joyful, masterful, irreverent work that uses the fancy language male poets were forever dedicating to the rest of a woman's body and applies it squarely to the vulva. In fact it basically opens with "Men are cowards, describe more cunts or gtfo" before launching into its main subject matter. The last line is pro-pubic hair, too, like I really must stress how much Gwerful Mechain would have to offer Tumblr if you could speak Welsh. This is probably her most widely translated piece, though, you can definitely find English versions. Although you can tell how blushing and reticent the translator is - and therefore how sanitised their translation is - by whether they've called it Ode to the Vulva/Cunt, or Ode to the Pubic Hair.

Needless to say, the original is not sanitised.

(Actually, I should also say - this one is also a response piece, probably, but in this case to a bard who lived a century earlier - Dafydd ap Gwilym, the absolutely legendary and uncontested king of Welsh romance poetry. He wrote a poem called Cywydd y Gal - Ode to the Penis. I have only just put two and two together on that.)

As a final note, I should say that my personal favourite Gwerful Mechain poem on this subject, mind, is actually I'w morwyn wrth gachu - to the maiden who is shitting. It's an englyn written in Gwerful's customary high poetic form, but it is what it says - it describes a woman taking a shit, and farting as she does. Beautiful and magical and disgusting and banal, all in one go:

Crwciodd lle dihangodd ei dŵr - ’n grychiast O grochan ei llawdwr; Ei deudwll oedd yn dadwr’, Baw a ddaeth, a bwa o ddŵr

Funnily enough, it's hard to find a good translation for this one lol.

My attempt:

She crouched where her water escaped - creased From the cauldron of her heat; Her two holes were arguing, Shit came, and a bow of water

Eh. It's so bland in English. Honestly, if you could read Welsh...

Anyway, if anyone reading this can read Welsh and wants to read some of Gwerful Mechain's stuff - including some of the pieces she was responding to in the ymrysonau - you can find a load here. Otherwise, I hope you enjoyed!

[docjayfeather]

All of the Ren Lore i’ve compiled from his single player series and old streams

Favorite meal is roast lamb and roast potatoes

Has an ex-girlfriend

Hates One Direction

Was on a boating team in high school

His mother’s first cat’s name was Ebony

His single player world started in 1.2

Ren’s favorite language is Spanish

Ren has been to Spain several times

His brother had a dog named Rorschach

Ren’s favorite armor set in the original Diablo was the Moon set

Ren and his brother used to have to shower/bath together, then dry off infront of an electric fireplace. Through a series of events, young Ren got his butt stuck to the glass pane of the electric fireplace, and has had a scar on his butt since.

Ren has said “I always think about [Ren’s brother’s username] when I think about my butt”

Ren knows how to do a cats cradle

Ren used to have frosted tips

Ren’s favorite commander deck is Kraum/Tymna

Ren got kicked in the literal butthole by a horse

Ren likes burning things

Ren created a rigged marble slot machine in high school

Went on an introspection journey, visiting all the places he lived and all his jobs pre-YouTube

Did the insane thing of asking the lady who was now living in his first house if he could go inside and check out his old room

Ren had a patreon tier where he’d sent his patrons a “Ren Crate”, a lootcrate full of stuff

Ren doesn’t drink (anymore)

Officially has OCD

Ren loves apple juice

Ren loves driving games

Event manager for The Deftones once

Plays MtG on Sundays

Ren wants to retire with Doc

Ren’s wants his spirit animal to be a shark

Ren’s favorite book series is LotR

Ren is “below-average hairy”

Ren’s favorite season is Autumn

Ren’s birthday is October 11th

Ren is a slut for tiramisu and ice cream

Ren wants to open an LGS/tabletop cafe

Ren is not a religious person

Ren worked in a seedy pool bar

Ren almost got an upper back tattoo

Ren loves green tea

Ren is Left Handed

Ren was at one point a vegetarian for several years

Ren has lost his wallet multiple times, once leaving it on a train

Ren eats a whole lemon every day, and drinks lemon juice straight from the lemon

Ren got in trouble at boarding school for “trying to summon demons”. He was just playing MtG.

Ren has had a pair of lucky underwear since he was 18

Ren’s favorite ice cream is strawberry

Ren loved getting aggressively physical in rugby

Ren loves cinnamon buns

Ren used to have super long butt-length hair

Ren really liked playing with fireworks when he was younger. They’d bury huge ones in the sand near their house to make craters.

Ren loves Love Island

Ren can only sleep on his arm

Wears exclusively Star Wars socks and has matching pajamas

Beat Gabriel Nasif in a Magic Grand Prix

Ren hates Oysters

Ren’s favorite dog breed is a chihuahua??

Ren’s favorite dnd class is bard

Ren enjoys cleaning the bathroom the most out of any room

Ren’s favorite musical is Les Miserables

Ren has a favorite kitchen knife, and used to cook a lot.

Ren’s favorite tool is the hoe (of course)

Ren and Iskall used to play League

Never farts irl

born in the same city as J R R Tolkien

Ren named his first car Maximus

Ren is a bath person

Natural Mace Race runner

Ren really likes pet rats

Ren has a very consistent shopping day of tuesday

Ren has an extremely strict sleep schedule

Ren has 7 pairs of the same pajamas to wear 24/7

Ren has a BA in English

Ren does 100 push-ups a day

Ren does a 15k bike ride every day

Ren had a max weight of 110 kilos, is now down to 80

Ren uses youtube in light mode

Ren has seen Metallica live

Ren wore fake glasses in college

Ren has 20/20 vision

Ren has been in plays during school, and blinded the lead with glitter accidentally during one of them, trying to spice up his one line.

Ren has a “black book” of atleast 9 board game ideas

Ren gets pretty motion sick

Ren enjoys mosh pits

Ren really likes competitive monopoly and risk

Ren burned his eyebrows off with a bunson burner once

Ren still cries at The Lion King

Ren plays Ornn, Urgot, and Tristana in League

Ren was allegedly born in 1982

Ren drunk-puked into his shirt in a german taxi the night he met Doc infront of the people sponsoring them

Ren drives stick shift and loves it

Ren thinks he might have a gluten allergy

Ren puts butter in his coffee

Ren tried to write a YA fantasy novel, got 80k words in before scrapping it

Ren would like to live with Keralis hypothetically out of any of the hermits

Ren’s favorite superhero is wolverine

Ren has tinnitus 

Ren convinced Cleo to start streaming, partially leading to her going full time 

Ren once barbecued on radio in the studio 

Ren stayed on his ex-girlfriend’s floor for the first six months of him moving to england

Ren got kicked in the balls trying to sell tickets to musicals in Leicester Square 

Ren loves playing golf and tennis 

Ren hates soccer

Ren loves queues, maybe ironically maybe unironically

Ren drinks four cups of tea a day 

Ren’s favorite season is 3rd life

[ellitx]

Third Wheel Anecdotes | Venti x Reader

Venti is so expressive of his love for you he wants everyone to know you’re dating the greatest bard in Mondstadt; aka Dvalin, Diluc, Aether, and Paimon feel like they are third wheeling 

rahhh happy birthday to my hubby <33 here's one of the bday special fics ive written for him. supposedly it's gonna be a three different post, but given they all have the same premise but different plot, i just merged them instead. also it's up to you if these three stories are the same mc or not :>

word count: 4k

Dvalin (Stormterror’s Lair)

“Stay put! I can’t properly apply the eyeliner on you if you keep moving,” you huffed as you shifted on his lap and leaned forward, carefully drawing the black tip over his eyelids.

“Alright, alright. You’re too irresistible.” Venti smiled with his eyes closed, his hands over your thighs while you kept your focus on him. He hummed a random tune while waiting for you to finish. After a couple of minutes, you moved back and admired your handiwork.

Venti looked like the most adorable model. The winged eyeliner accentuated his large eyes and made him look even prettier. You had opted to go for a lighter lipstick for him, as he would have complained about the taste, but you decided to apply a simple lip tint nonetheless.

“Can I open my eyes now?” he asked, only to let out a grunt as you moved against his lap once more. Your giggles brushed past his ears in airy breaths before he felt something soft pressing against his cheek. 

“Keep them closed. I want to test the others,” you murmured, already rummaging through your pouch looking for a good test to apply to him. He let a smile crawl on his face and his fingers drifted down to your thighs, tracing slow, affectionate patterns against your skin. 

You shifted a little, reaching for another lip tint that you had packed and hoping to find just the right shade for his delicate, annoyingly perfect features.

You have two options: Valberry Dew and Sunsettia Kiss. Both of them would look great on him but you couldn’t choose. 

Your eyes wandered and caught sight of a familiar, massive figure curled up in the distance. Dvalin was resting under the shade of a tree nearby, his wings folded neatly around his body, one sharp blue eye half-lidded as he watched the two of you.

“Dvalin! Which color do you think would look great on Venti?” you called out, holding up both options toward the dragon.

Dvalin lifted his head slightly at the sound of your voice. His nostrils flared as he considered the colors, sniffing once, then tilting his head toward the Sunsettia Kiss. 

“Good choice!” A pleased grin spread across your face.

Venti, still blindfolded by his own closed lids, let out a chuckle. “What did he say?”

“Nothing~” you replied sweetly, already uncapping the tint. “But he has excellent taste.”

The dragon gave a short huff in reply and nestled back into his resting spot, content to play silent witness to the ridiculousness unfolding in front of him. When out of nowhere, a loud gasp came from your direction, alerting him.

A pair of lips suddenly pressed against yours. 

Your breath hitched, the lip tint falling out of your grasp while Venti kept one hand behind your head. His lips moved against yours with practiced ease. It was soft and gentle, far from the usual teasing pecks he’d sneak when you were distracted.

When he finally pulled back, he licked his lips and tilted his head, eyes fluttering open with a sly, thoughtful look.

“Did you put on a new lip tint? It tastes different.” 

You blinked, completely thrown off as blush crept up to your cheeks. Flustered, you looked away and tucked your hair behind your ear.

“Oh— um, uh… y-yeah…”

“Can I taste it once more?” he asked, already leaning in again. His gaze locked onto your tinted lips and lingered there.

Before you could even think to answer him, he was already on you. 

His arms wrapped around your frame, completely trapping you, and your hands curled into a fist against his chest. His lips found yours with a touch more insistence this time. He kissed you once, twice, then nibbled lightly on your bottom lip. He hummed thoughtfully as he pulled back a fraction, just enough to speak.

“Is it cherry?” Venti guessed with his eyes half-lidded, lips barely brushing yours.

You shook your head and your lover pouted before leaning down once more to press another kiss. His brows furrowed together and you couldn’t help but giggle at how frustrated he looked trying to guess the new flavor, completely forgetting— or in Venti’s case, ignoring— Dvalin’s presence.

“What flavor is this? It’s fruity than your usual,” he muttered as he pulled you close to him, making yourself comfortable sitting on his lap. 

You looked away, trying (and failing) to hide your flustered smile.

Venti didn’t waste a second to latch another kiss.

“Watermelon?” he guessed again. 

“Nope.”

He planted another kiss.

“Apple?”

You shook your head, holding back a giggle as you leaned into him expectantly, silently urging him to try again.

And just as you hoped, he fell for the bait. The next few minutes were spent with his lips repeatedly on yours, guessing the mystery flavour. With every kiss, every failed guess, his frustration grew.

“Berry? Grape? Plum?”

All you gave him were soft, breathless no’s.

At this point, the taste of your lip tint was no longer there, only to be replaced by the familiar taste of him. He broke the kiss with a whine.

“Put some more on. I can't taste anything anymore." 

You chuckled, seeing that his lips were smudged with your lip tint. You gently wriggled in his lap to grab your pouch. He loosened his grip to let you move with his eyes trailing your every motion.

You caught him watching and quickly hid the pouch behind you.

“Hey, no cheating! I don’t want you to see the label,” you told him with your cheeks puffed together. Venti quickly squeezed his eyes shut and you could barely hold in your laughter as you applied the lip tint carefully, taking your time.

Once you applied a decent amount, you tossed the tube aside and slipped your arms around his neck to pull him down.

“Done,” you whispered.

Venti smiled and returned to kissing you. 

His lips moved against yours more slowly. His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks, causing you to giggle softly. When his tongue slid along your bottom lip, you parted your mouth instinctively and let him in.

The kiss deepened.

Just before Venti could enjoy the taste of your lips on his and take another guess, a sudden force yanked at his cape.

“What the—?!”

Venti was torn away from you with a loud yelp. You gasped as the motion caused you to topple sideways onto the grass, managing to catch yourself just in time. When you looked up, he was hanging in the air, his cape in between Dvalin’s maw.

The dragon’s eyes were narrowed and a deep, rumbling huff escaped his nostrils that was less threatening and more exasperated. He gave Venti a small warning nudge before the bard slipped off his cape and fell on the grass with a dull thud.

He groaned and rubbed his head. “Really, Dvalin? Just when things are getting better?”

Dvalin let out a low growl that almost resembled a sigh before flopping back down under the tree.

You pressed your lips together, shoulders shaking with laughter as you crawled over to Venti and helped him sit up.

“I think he’s done playing the third wheel,” you said, amused.

Venti glanced over at the dragon, then at you.

“What a jealous dragon,” he muttered with a smug little hum. “He's just jealous you put a lot of attention on me and—” he pointed to his lips, smudged with a deep, rosy pink hue. "—I get to taste my darling's sweet lips."

You rolled your eyes, swatting his arm lightly. Just as he leaned in, a wicked glint flickered in his eye, already scheming his next move.

“Mind if I take another guess?”

Aether and Paimon (Mondstadt City)

Crossing paths with the blonde traveler and his floating companion was not on Venti’s list. 

The day had started perfectly. The sunlight dripped gently through the canopy above as you sat beside him beneath the great tree at Windrise. Your head rested on his shoulder, his fingers absently brushing through your hair while the wind hummed soft tunes around you. 

The morning was peaceful and quiet. Just the two of you, nothing else but the rustling of leaves.

When he saw the sky was clear, he turned to you and invited you to walk with him in Mondstadt city. He wanted to spend more time with you, keep this date a little longer until the day ends.

Of course, you accepted it.

As the two of you strolled along the main path, your fingers laced together and shoulders bumping gently with each step, Venti often flirted. He spoke in that lyrical, teasing tone of his— half flirty, half poetry— as he commented on every flower, every bird, every little thing that reminded him of you.

You giggled, hands over your lips to stifle your laughs while Venti kept looking at you with those familiar lovesick, smitten eyes he always wore when he was with you.

Just as he was about to make another flirty remark, you heard a familiar voice joining in.

“Heya, Venti and [Name]!”

That high-pitched voice was so recognizable and unmistakable. Venti saw your eyes light up as you turned, and your eyes met with Aether’s golden ones. 

“Oh! Aether and Paimon! It’s nice seeing you both again here in Mondstadt!” 

Aether returned your smile with a wave, walking up to you while Paimon floated slightly ahead of him. The two didn’t seem surprised at all to see your fingers laced with Venti’s or how close you stood together. 

They were already well aware of your relationship. But there was a subtle look exchanged between them. The kind that said oh, they’re being like that again.

“It’s good to see you too,” Aether said and looked back between you and the bridge leading to the city. “You two heading back to the city?”

“We are,” Venti answered. “The breeze told us Mondstadt would be especially lovely today.”

“And by breeze, he means he got bored and dragged me along,” you added with a playful roll of your eyes.

Venti gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “How dare you reveal my secret agenda! Now I’ll have to serenade you twice as much to win your forgiveness!”

Paimon floated between you all with a sigh. “You two are so mushy sometimes… but it’s kinda cute, not gonna lie.”

Aether chuckled under his breath, then offered, “We were just thinking of grabbing lunch at Good Hunter. Wanna join us?”

You glanced at Venti, and he smiled softly, brushing a bit of hair from your cheek. “Sounds delightful. What do you think, love?” He asked you.

“Sure! Lunch sounds perfect.”

Now, back to the present. Venti had planned to spend some alone time with you. The encounter with the two companions may have some changes in plans, but that didn’t mean he would stop admiring you. 

With the four of you settled beneath the shade of a veranda, you and Venti sat side by side with your shoulders pressed together. He leaned in as he spoke, whispering playful little comments that only you could hear, and teasing you with half-finished lines and exaggerated pouts. Your laughter bubbled up more than once, and each time it did, Venti’s eyes sparkled.

Aether tried to keep the conversation going. From talking about commissions to new monster sightings, but his gaze kept flicking between the two of you. Your entwined hands resting on the table, the way Venti’s fingers lightly traced yours as you listened to the Traveler’s stories with a faint smile, it’s hard to feign ignorance.

Even Paimon, usually chatty and animated, had gone unusually quiet. When you felt Venti’s gaze on you when the two companions had gone silent all of a sudden, he just smirked and twirled your hair around his finger without a word. Paimon watched the couple with a blank and deadpan expression.

Fortunately, the meals arrived, ceasing Venti’s nonstop flirtatious antics. But it didn’t end there. Goodness, no. 

When your eyes glanced at Venti’s honeyed apple tart, your lover immediately caught on to it. He didn’t hesitate to slice a piece and held the fork up to your lips.

You blinked, then reluctantly leaned forward, taking the sweet tart on your lips. Venti’s small smirk hadn’t faltered yet as he rested his chin onto his palm and watched you quietly chew with warm cheeks. It was as if he were deliberately trying to make Aether and Paimon uncomfortable, letting them be third wheels in what was clearly a romantic date.

“So, uh… how’s things going on—“

“Mind if I try yours?” Venti cut off Paimon, ignoring their stares as he looked at you expectantly. 

But he didn’t care. All he wanted was to jump on you and kiss and bite your cheeks if you didn’t stop being so adorable.

Paimon’s face turned to one of disgust and annoyance at the bard’s rude interruption. How did you even end up falling for him? What was so appealing about him? How did he even manage to get the heart of Mondstadt’s sweetheart? 

While Paimon was busy internally cursing Venti, you scooped up the sliced Meatnado and brought the fork close to Venti’s lips. He leaned forward and opened his mouth, a small smile tugging at the corners as the flavours of the meat sparked in his tongue with each chew. 

You giggled and put the utensil down to wipe off the small sauce on his lips with a napkin. Venti gazed at you with loving eyes, taking in every little detail about you that made him fall for you all over again. He felt so lucky to have you. It was almost like you were sent to him by Celestia.

“So, how did it taste?” you asked.

“Hmm, your cooking tastes better.”

“Venti!”

You lightly smacked his arm, glaring at him with a red face. “Don’t say that here! It’s rude to give comments like that when we’re eating here!”

“I’m just being honest!” Venti pouted and raised his hands in the air in mocking defense. His eyes softened when he saw your flustered state. He cupped your face and turned it so you were facing him. Your gaze locked with his, making you feel flustered even more.

Venti leaned forward and gave you a kiss on your cheek. His hand caressed the other side, rubbing soft circles. You placed your hand over his, feeling his warmth spread through your body.

Paimon watched the two lovebirds being affectionate, her eyes deadpan and twitching as one tiny hand held her fork against the honey roast. Aether chewed, doing his best to ignore the hearts being smacked right at his face.

You and Venti were really into the moment that you forgot Paimon and Aether were there.

The Honorary Knight sighed and turned to Paimon. The fairy grumbled and looked at him with the same disgusted and tired face. 

“I don’t think I’m in the mood to eat…” she mumbled. “Bringing them here together was a mistake,” she added, only for her to earn a glare from her companion. 

Fortunately, you two were too in love to hear her remark. If Venti had heard that, he would’ve flung Paimon with a snap of his finger while your attention was elsewhere. Instead, she busied herself chomping on the delicious food. Might as well eat this all up when they have paid for this meal. Paimon didn’t like to waste such good food.

Aether glanced back at the couple, only to be smacked by multiple hearts again, this time it increased by a tenfold he was close to drowning from being a third wheel upon hearing Venti flirting with you and you giggling. 

The bard rested his elbow against the wooden table and placed his chin on his palm as his other hand twirled your hair around his index finger. He leaned close and whispered to your ear, earning him another one of your lighthearted chuckles as you pushed his shoulder away. Venti smirked and continued playing with your hair as you brought the fork to his mouth once more.

Oh, to be in love… 

Diluc (Angel’s Share)

The small bell ringing across the tavern’s door caused the red-haired bartender to shift his attention from the glass he was cleaning. Upon seeing your face, he let out a relieved sigh.

“You finally came. He’s over there, passed out.” Diluc said, flicking his eyes over to the green-clad person asleep on the wooden table.

You gave him a grateful nod and carefully treaded to the sleeping figure. Gently, you nudged Venti’s shoulder.

“Love? Wake up, it’s getting late.”

The bard softly groaned as his fingers twitched. Then, his head lifted sluggishly, tousled hair swaying as he blinked his glassy teal eyes at you.

“Darling…?” he slurred with a slow smile before suddenly lurching toward you and wrapping his arms around your waist.

You nearly stumbled backward as he buried his face into your neck, lips brushing against the skin in sloppy, affectionate kisses. “Mmm, I missed you sooo much,” he mumbled, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine as his lips found your pulse.

“Venti, not here…” you scolded gently, hands pushing at his shoulders in an attempt to pry him off. “People are watching.”

“But I missed you…” He whined, lifting his head and puckering his lips. “Can’t I show my love to you in front of everyone?”

He leaned in, clearly aiming for a kiss. You quickly placed your palm over his mouth before he could get any closer.

“Not like this, sweetheart,” you murmured with a small sigh.

Venti blinked, eyes unfocused and adorably confused. With a gentle tug, you led him back to the seat he had abandoned in his excitement and eased him into the chair.

“Stay here, okay? I’ll ask Diluc for some water.”

As you moved to the bar and requested a glass, Venti leaned forward with his arms out like a child demanding to be held. The moment you returned, he pulled you close again. This time, he rested his head on your chest with a sigh of contentment as you wrapped your arms around him, cradling him like a fussy toddler.

“There, there… you’re okay now,” you cooed softly and took off his beret. Your fingers stroked through his messy locks while he nuzzled against you.

“[Name]…” he mumbled, voice muffled into your collar, “I really, really love you. I wanna marry you and live together forever…”

You let out a soft chuckle as you continued brushing his hair. “We’re already married, silly.”

You held up your hand and showed him your ring where it sparkled faintly in the tavern’s lighting.

Venti squinted at it then pouted.

“Then… I wanna marry you twice. No—thrice!”

You laughed, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head. “You can marry me as many times as you want. But only if you sober up first.”

He groaned dramatically and buried his face back into your chest.

“…That’s so much work…”

Diluc walked to your table and silently slid the glass of water toward you with a dry, unamused look.

You smiled and mouthed a silent thank you.

It took almost forever to get Venti to sober, but at least his mind was halfway clear. He was no longer swaying, though he stubbornly remained nestled against your chest like a clingy cat. His fingers were laced with yours beneath the table, and his thumb occasionally brushed affectionately over your ring.

Still tipsy, he sometimes muttered and whispered sweet nothings to you, but the silence, together with your hand brushing his hair, was the best feeling he ever had. Just basking in your presence and letting your words drift in his ears like a lullaby, it almost made him fall asleep.

All was peaceful to ease Venti’s drunken state, until some patrons from a few tables away let out a wheezy laugh.

“Aww, look at the bard! All cuddled up like a baby bird with his missus!”

“Should we get you a bottle or a pacifier, Venti?” another chimed in.

A few others laughed, clanking their mugs together. One even mimicked a kissing noise. The teasing was good-natured and the usual drunken shenanigans. Venti, however, froze.

Still clinging to you, he lifted his head with a dazed, mildly irritated squint toward the laughing crowd. “Hah…? A baby bird, was it…?”

You stiffened, already recognizing the sharp glint flashing in his eyes.

Before you could stop him, Venti sat up straighter with his brows furrowed together. “I’ll show them who’s a baby bird.”

Then, without warning, he cupped your face in both hands and pulled you into a deep kiss.

Your breath caught as he kissed you right there in the open. His lips pressed hungrily against yours, and he tilted your chin just right, coaxing a little noise from you as his fingers wove into your hair. 

Gasps erupted around the tavern. A few clapped, some whistled in amusement, and one let out a scandalized woah.

You barely managed to push him back as your face burned hot. “Venti!”

He turned over his shoulder, drunkenly glaring at them before shouting, “And for your information, good sir, this is my wife. And I love her more than your wife loves you!”

The words were slurred and a bit incomprehensible, but the message? It was loud and clear. No one could ever mishear him.

You covered your face with your hand. You were too stunned, too flustered to even scold him.

But the crowd loved it.

Cheers erupted from every corner. Some raised their mugs and howled with laughter. Others began slapping their tables, hyping him up even more. It only took one bold voice to start the chant:

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

And suddenly, half the tavern was joining in. The chanting and noises were like a rowdy festival. You felt bad that the loud ruckus inside the tavern might have disturbed the other houses nearby.

Venti rubbed his lips with his sleeves and gently took your chin between his fingers and tilted your head up. 

The tavern held its breath.

Chairs scraped. Mugs stilled mid-air. Some leaned over their tables to get a better view. A few even stood, their eyes wide, waiting for the moment your lips would meet again.

“Is he actually going to…?”

“No way…”

“Oh my archons, someone paint this—”

Venti slowly leaned in. The gap was closing in… Just a little closer—

Clink.

The sound of glass slamming against wood snapped like thunder through the air.

"Alright, that’s it."

Diluc’s voice cut clean through the commotion and all heads turned. The tavern owner’s crimson eyes glowed with irritation.

“Out.”

You and Venti froze, his lips still hovering inches from yours.

Diluc’s eye twitched. “Out. Both of you. Now.”

Venti blinked, clearly still tipsy and confused. “But—but I haven’t kissed my darling wife yet—”

“Get. Out.”

The tavern door slammed shut a moment later.

Outside, the night air was cool and quiet, a sharp contrast to the chaos behind you. You had to drag Venti out by the arm, and he stumbled slightly, pushing you back until you were pinned between him and the wall.

He turned to you with a dreamy sigh. “I was so close…”

You huffed and glared at him. “You made a scene.”

“I made a statement,” he corrected proudly, snuggling into your shoulder. “Also, you’re welcome. Everyone now knows I love you. A lot.”

He nipped your neck and chuckled when you yelped, feeling him suck at the skin there.

“Venti…” you warned, placing your hands firmly on his chest to push him back, but he didn’t budge. His body leaned heavily against yours, and his arms circled your waist.

“Come on, admit it. You enjoyed it when I kissed you there, sweetheart~” He nuzzled his cheek against yours, his hands sliding over your sides and caressing your body. “Or maybe you want more than a kiss?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Kiss me again and you’ll be sleeping on the couch.”

He raised both of his hands in surrender. “Not the couch. Anything but the couch, my love.”

[no-road-home]

Stewpot: Tales from a Fantasy Tavern on Backerkit now!

Stewpot: Tales from a Fantasy Tavern is a GMless one-to-three shot TTRPG based on games like MF0: Firebrands and The Sundered Land. It's a collection of 20 mini-games where former adventurers open a tavern together and reintegrate into society after a life on the road.

What happens after the adventure? What does daily life in a fantasy world look like? Stewpot draws inspiration from stories like Dungeon Meshi, Redwall, Frieren, and Bartender, as well as various aspects of D&D. It's a great way to wrap up a long-running fantasy TTRPG campaign.

Start a garden, cook monsters, run a festival booth, reforge old weapons, flirt with mysterious strangers, and more in a new version of the game with tons of art and new storybook-style layout!

(more info and full description of the mini-games in the read more!)

The structure of the game is based on characters having an Adventurer Job, with Adventurer Experiences that represent their abilities and powers, and a Town Job with Town Experiences. You can make new characters just for the game, or bring in old characters and recreate them with the existing Experiences or write your own.

As you play the game, you'll cross off Adventurer Experiences as you let go of them or let them fade into the background, and gain new Town Experiences that take their place. Along the way you'll upgrade your Tavern and give each other Keepsakes!

Games from the old Itch.io PDF version (0.41):

The First Step: Before you decided to put down roots here, before you found this group of friends, what were you doing? What was the first thing you learned about how to live in town?

NPC Sidequest: Your adventuring days may be over, but there are plenty of people in town that could use your help.

Wear and Tear: There’s always something to fix, or clean, or pay off.

Market Day: You never would have guessed how many things you need just to keep a tavern running. 

Homegrown: There’s something special about using ingredients grown nearby. Why not give growing your own a try?

Sliced: Sometimes supply routes get disrupted. Or maybe you just want to stand out from the rest of the taverns. Whatever the reason, you’re playing this game because you want or need to do one thing: cook with monster parts.

Romancing a Stranger: Someone in the tavern makes eye contact with you, and their gaze lingers a little longer than you’d expect. Your co-workers urge you on, and make every excuse they can to send you over to talk to the lovely Stranger.

Off the Clock: Where do you go after the tables are wiped down? Who’s heard every story you have about the worst people who have walked in?

A Friendly Tavern Brawl: Every tavern has its rowdy patrons. You know they’re good at heart, but sometimes when the ale is flowing and spirits are high, things get a little out of hand. How do you handle the situation?

Festival Day: Your town has a few festival days a year, and they’re some of your busiest. How do you prepare? How do you handle the influx of people?

A Bard's Tale: During your time as an adventurer, you accomplished many daring deeds. In fact, some of those deeds are retold to this day by travelling bards.

A Glass of the Gods: Sometimes a troubled adventurer will come in, looking for answers, and letting them drink themselves into oblivion is the wrong answer. It's up to you  to  mix the perfect drink, something perfect for the situation that can push the adventurer to look inside and find the answer on their own.

A Distinguished Guest: Someone important is in town, and they’re already almost here. The tavern has to be at its best for this guest. After all, they might leave a generous tip.

In the Rhythm of Things: Time passes. Rough edges are sanded down. Before you know it, life in town has become like breathing. You gather in your favorite part of the tavern and wonder where the time has gone.

New games for this crowdfunding campaign:

Shields and Skillets: Enchantments are volatile things, especially when they sit unused for long periods of time. You have to let go of your old equipment before it’s too late.

Shelter from the Storm: Early one morning, you feel it. A familiar ache in your bones. Something is coming.

A Funeral: As an adventurer, you said farewell many times. Sometimes it was only temporary. Most of the time, it wasn't. 

Retracing: You've left town for something: an errand, a vacation, an old favor. Suddenly, you recognize the route you're traveling. You've been this way before, during your adventuring days.

A Fleeting Memory: Something about the way the fire flickers lingers in your mind. The smell of hay and clover brings a tear to your eye. A fading memory resurfaces.

A Familiar Face: An old friend you haven't seen in a while has stopped by. Why not show them around the town and the tavern?

[sh1-n0bu]

yall this is my first time requesting something from someone so im a bit nervous but

imagine overstimulating venti until he cries 🤭

also can i be 🌊 anon ? PLEASE tell me if anything i asked made you uncomfortable!!

♡︎ 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙚𝙢𝙤 𝙜𝙤𝙙’𝙨 𝙙𝙚𝙫𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 ♡︎

characters: sub!venti x nb!dom!reader

warnings: overstimulation, size kink, dacryphillia, reader’s genitals/pronouns are never mentioned so the cock can be interpreted as a strap on

notes: of course you can be 🌊anon! and yes, i’m slowly coming back to life. man author’s block is hard to beat. also, if this get’s flagged by tumblr when i wake up tmrw, i’ll delete it and post it again so don’t get too scared if it’s suddenly gone bbies

venti, or better yet known as barbatos to his people, was never really much of an archon.

he never plays by the rules, governs over his people nor even tries to abide by celestia’s rules. often, the wind spirit simply prefers to lay back and watch as his people takes care of any problems. they’re strong after all, his children always has been. of course, the windborn bard slurs out words of being the anemo archon in his drunk dazed self but no one ever takes it seriously.

and another thing was that, venti never worships the celestia. the floating island in the sky is full of nothing but liars, manipulators and cowards. besides… why would he worship those pathetic things when you’re right here?

why kneel before them when he can kneel before you?

why worship those who spat venom everytime they open their mouth when ballads and praises, songs of life flow from yours?

why chase after meaningless praises when your words sting like the strongest alcohol, burning his throat, making his eyes water as he becomes more and more addicted to you?

that’s exactly why the anemo archon prefers to worship you instead. when you braid his hair and comb out the knots as he nuzzles against your form, dazed and sleepy.

when you’re there to console him, help him through his darkest days when those wretches of celestia has done nothing.

when you’re kissing away the tears that spill from his eyes, shushing his slurred speeches and sobs of pleasure as you continue to ram into that one spot inside him, making him shriek and spill over his stomach again and again.

the windborn bard could worship you for eternity.

spilling another load into his stomach, the god in your arms spasms and twitches as his legs weakly wrap around your waist to at least try and calm the twitching of his small body.

dear stars above, you felt so big he could almost feel your tip in his stomach in his sex drunken haze. slurred whines of what seems to be your name flowing out of his mouth as he tries to keep his last threads of sanity together but how can he do so when he can just feel your previous loads slipping out of his rim and down to the sheets.

it all felt so hot, the room was so hot, everything was spinning. the warmth of your cum seeping out of his hole, the slight bulge in his stomach, the feeling of your finger wiggling in next to his already stuffed hole and pushing the cum back inside while your cock stays in — venti lets out a weak sound.

“look at you, little bird. you’re leaking out my cum that i worked so hard to put in you. can’t have my hard work being spent, right?” you coo out teasingly, a grin bit too sadistic tugging on your lips as venti writhes under you when you add in another finger. stars above, were you trying to break him?

venti couldn’t respond. he couldn’t even fully understand and register your words. brain too fried from the previous rounds of your just absolutely handling his small body around, pinching, teasing, smacking, leaving marks and hickeys but he loved it all.

as a response, the bard only weakly bucks his hips back into your strap again seemingly wanting more. my, what an insatiable little bird.

throwing his leg over your shoulder, you take out your fingers from his hole and squeeze his tiny waist once in a warning before fucking back into him again. small whines, weak noises and slurred whorish moans spill out from under you, the anemo archon far too fucked stupid to even try to properly say your name anymore.

making a grabby motion with his hands — a silent ask to hold you close while you fuck him full of your cum again — you decide to be nice and lean down, the absolutely filthy wet noises of your cock easily entering him causing venti to dig his blunt nails into your back, pulling you closer to himself.

feeling another orgasm building up embarrassingly quickly, the archon chases after your lips with weak whines, a sob following as you deny him of a proper kiss. instead teasing him by kissing his soft cheek. he didn’t even realize he was crying.

but soon those soft and weak whimpers and slurred words turn into a sharp scream as he feels himself cumming into both of your stomachs again, a sob of your name following along as you chase your high, getting more frantic with your movements.

the archon feels himself getting filled up again when your hips stutter, causing the short man under you to whimper a quiet “[n-nameee…❤︎︎]” in your ears.

after having caught your breath, you pull away from him slightly. pushing his hair away from his face, you couldn’t help but laugh as you wipe away his tears. but that laugh is cut off short as the archon bucks his hips against yours again, a cheeky grin pulling on his lips.

[greer2301]

My Mothers Keeper

Daemon X Fem!Reader

|Step father x step kid fantasy taboo|

Reader is of age!

Smut! MDNI !

He looked so good, his blonde hair cut short, brows pulled together as he leant back and took a sip of his wine with his free hand thudding his fingers along the edge of the table.

I know what those fingers feel like. The euphoria they bring me when he plays with the bundle of nerves between my legs, I know how they fit in my mouth and how my juices taste on them. Daemon Targaryen, my step father, my mother’s keeper and the only man to know what I truly desire.

He sat conversing with Jace about his swordsmanship, he didn’t give away if he noticed my hand creeping up his thigh. Having been leant against his chair for quite some time now no one questions when I lean in a little more. Mother too immersed in what Luke has to say to pull away her attention, I work my hand over his clothed length smirking when I feel him harden in my palm and his body slightly tenses. I loosen the lace on his pants just enough to pull him out, slicking my hand with his seed as I begin to stroke him slowly. I take the opportunity that no one’s paying attention, slipping beneath the table as I keep working his cock.

I wait a moment for someone to notice, my core throbbing as I stroke his thick cock knowing anyone could catch us if they paid any attention. I take him in my mouth, licking from his base to the tip swirling my tongue and tacking him in fully hollowing out my cheeks, bobbing my head quickly and stroking what I can’t reach while twisting my wrist. Daemons hand moved from the table to hold my hand that rested on his clothed thigh, squeezing at times to let me know it feels as good as I think it does. His hand moves to my hair and he shoves my head down without warning, my gag reflex triggers as he blows his load in the back of my throat I swallow and pull off slowly. I clear my throat after I sit back in my seat, taking a sip of wine and placing Joffrey on my lap as his nurse maid brings him in.

Slowly everyone disperses from the dinning area, I step into my room to take my bath, the boys are gone down to the dragon mont, Joffrey is off with his nursemaid and I have no idea where mother and Daemon went. I strip of the days clothes and get into the bath, unbraiding my hair as I breathe in the rose and vanilla oils in the water humming a tune from a bards ballad. I was washing my hair when he came in through one of the old tunnels, quietly sitting at the table across from me and pouring himself some wine as he watched me finish bathing. As I was ready to get out he brought a drying sheet, extended me his hand helping me down the steps while admiring my bare self.

“You’re truly an amazing creature” Daemon started “A little fox, sneaky, beautiful and vicious” Daemon teases as he wraps his arms around me, pulling me close and kissing my neck. Running his hands around my damp curves as he walks us to the bed, his lips molding with mine before he removes my towel and lifts me onto the bed. Daemon wastes no time as his fingers immediately make contact with my aching core, my slick coating his fingers as he skillfully manipulates my clit. “You’re such a pretty whore, a whore for your daddy huh” Daemon grumbles out, his voice thick with lust as he looks into my mixed coloured eyes and watches the look of pleasure on my face.

“Only for Daddy” I tell him with a tremble, gasping as he inserts two fingers in my aching cunt and starts ruthlessly thrusting into me. “Mmm- you were fucking made for me” Daemon says as he moves over me, removing his hand from me and placing his mouth on my clit, his tongue drawing shapes as he applies more pressure. “S’good daddy, please don’t stop, fuck” I moan out as he places his fingers back in and sets his pace again his mouth slurping my juices relentlessly as he shakes his head with a moan. “Need yo- your cock, Daddy please” I moan arching my back as I feel my climax coming. Daemon just moans in response pressing his head against me harder, with one last flick of his tongue I cum. Shaking and sweating, hands holding his head in between my legs moans flowing loudly out of my mouth as he rubs my thighs his tongue slowly helping me ride out my high.

“Now you’ll take Daddy’s cock you little slut” Daemon demands as he unlaces his pants, pushing them down and rubbing his hard length between my lips collecting my slick, without warning he thrusts into me, my hand finding his hip and our eyes locked as we both moan at the sensation. Daemon is ruthless in his speed, slamming his hips into mine with each thrust squelching sounds being heard around the room as his dick forces my cunt open. Our moans are hardly held back, his hands holding my legs bent and pushed back as one of mine plays with my nipple and the other grips his wrist. “Daddy feels so good!” I moan out, back arching off the bed as he thrusts deeper, his head thrown back a little before he looks back at me with a smirk “This is Daddy’s perfect fucking pussy. I’ll burn any man who tries to claim it” Daemon groans as he lets go of my leg and moves to wrap his hand around my neck, cutting off blood flow with the new position his pelvis slaps my clit with each thrust.

“Gonna fucking cum Daddy” I moan out as I scratch his wrist, my pussy tightening around his cock as I start to see stars. “Cum on Daddy’s cock sweet girl” Daemon demands, speeding up his thrusts and pushing me over the edge, shaking as I choke out a moan and cream all over his pretty cock, Daemon moans as he spills his seed in me and stays still for a moment. “You’re going to bare my child, you will never know another cock” Daemon says breathlessly, walking to the basin and grabbing a damp cloth coming back to wipe me off and then himself. Daemon says nothing else as he crawls into bed and holds me close, caressing my shoulder as I snuggle into his side. “We are not naming him fucking Aegon” I tell him finally realizing what he said. “On that we agree” Daemon says with a chuckle.

[aurossaga]

We Were Nothing the Wind Couldn't Catch - pt. 2

>>Part 1<<

Venti x gn!reader

Genre: Fluff, Rivals with repressed feelings

Word count: ~1.8k

Warnings: Sassy bard

Summary: You find yourself strumming a tune that's been on your mind as the day comes to a close, only to find that even as night draws near, you still have an audience.

The moonlight drapes over Mondstadt like a muted shawl. The flames of lamps and lanterns flicker on their crooked posts, their oil nearly spent as the street’s signs creak where they hang, tired banners swaying in the breeze with no one left to see them. You settle on the edge of the fountain in the market square, the cold of the stone seeping through your sturdy clothes, the familiar weight of your lyre resting in your lap. The square is empty. Even the wind whispers only in hushed tones at this hour.

You didn’t exactly plan to come back here tonight. You had a great few days, your performances vastly improved after your last encounter with Venti. Somehow, that irritated you too. You were improving at your craft, but it still felt like a loss.

Your fingers move anyway, ghosting over the strings. One note, then another, light as breath, unsure as an unasked question. You tell yourself it’s just to loosen the tension in your hands, to not let the cool wind of the night give you a chill… But you can’t fool yourself entirely.

And still, somehow, it’s his melody that comes.

Soft and slow, an elegant composition. The one he left, scratched in ink on a scrap of parchment that must have somehow slipped into your pocket a couple mornings ago.

You pause, press your thumb hard against a string, constraining the sound before you let it go. But it’s too late. The wind has already taken the notes, winding them through shuttered windows and sleeping streets. They sound different in the open air… Gentler, almost tender.

You hate that.

You hate how the lyrics lingers in your mouth. How your hands keep finding the chords.

How he’s not here, and somehow it still feels like you’re playing for him.

The last few notes trail off, barely audible beneath the soft rusting of leaves in the wind. You don’t play another chord at first. You just sit there, staring at your trembling fingers like they’ve betrayed you. Because they have.

They often do when Venti’s concerned.

You try to summon the old feeling. The irritation, the sharp edge of your voice when quarreling with the bard. The way his grin makes your blood rise, how every word from his mouth is just clever enough to be unbearable. You want to be angry. You should be angry.

But here you are. Playing his music, as an admission of defeat.

You lean back, letting your head tip toward the sky, eyes half-closed as the stars blink down at you with a cold indifference. Venti’s melody still echoes through your mind, like the echo of something you never agreed to carry. You should’ve burned that scrap of parchment before the notes burned themselves into your mind like that. Before the lyrics etched themselves into your mind and played over and over again, refusing to die down unless you were to utter them out loud.

You think of his hands. Quick, smug, impossibly sure of himself. The way he plays as if the whole world exists only to listen, muses as if the very heavens seek to be his audience. You recall the way he looked at you last time, head tilted, voice a little too quiet, like he’d caught onto something you were trying to conceal.

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. This is nothing. He’s just in your head because he put himself there. That’s what he does. That’s how it always is. How else would he rise to such popularity so quickly? It’s not like his compositions are that vastly different from the tens of other bards running around Mondstadt.

And still, his melody lingers on your lips, in the very back of your throat as you choke it back with all your might.

You’re not thinking about how his hands held yours so much more softly than you expected of him, how the light flutter of his cloak graced your thigh, how the rumble in his chest when he whispered patient instructions to you resonated within your own.

You’re not thinking about any of that.

Another gust of wind sighs through the square, cool against your cheeks. You curl your fingers tighter around the lyre’s frame and close your eyes.

You tell yourself it’s just a stupid song.

You tell yourself it doesn’t mean a single thing.

You repeat it until your fingers strike upon the strings again, strumming out the melody for what you once again swear is the last time tonight. 

"You chase the sun with stubborn feet," The words are so simple, and yet not at all. You don’t know why you foolishly keep singing it. You don’t want to know why this song of his feels like it’s stuck in your throat now.

You press your thumb against another string, stilling it before strumming the next chord. "I watched you once and lost my beat." Your voice falters just a little. You can't help it. You do lose your rhythm quite often, don’t you? Lost in the moment you realize you aren’t playing just to pass the time anymore. The melody caught you, and you’ve been chasing it ever since.

A quick, almost bitter breath escapes you as you strum again, the next line slipping out without permission. "You play like joy’s a clever thief." The words are sharp, almost accusing. You want them to sting. You want to believe the song is a game, something to pick apart and break into pieces… But it’s not. It’s too beautiful. It’s too true.

You push your fingers across the strings harder than necessary, and sing the final line, the one you’ve been avoiding even in your own mind. "And I, a song you half-believe." The words linger in the air like they’re meant for someone else. You let the last note fall, resonant yet final, and the indifferent silence of the summer night that follows feels heavier than any of the chords you’ve played up until now. As the final note fades and you sit there with your hands still on the strings, you hear the faint yet unmistakable sound of steps against the cobblestone. The voice that speaks up soon after is equally distinct. Of course it had to be him again…

"Ah. So that’s where my composition went."

You almost flinch at his comment. How in the world are you supposed to explain this now…? You don’t look back. You don’t dare to just yet. Venti’s footsteps are soft against the worn stones as he approaches, slow and deliberate. He comes to a stop behind you, hiding right at the edges of your vision. You can practically hear the grin in his voice, even if you can’t see it.

"I thought it sounded familiar," he muses almost idly. "Though, I have to admit, I didn’t expect such a heartfelt recital. You flatter me."

Your jaw clenches. You hate how warm your face suddenly feels again. You tell yourself it’s the summer air, a breeze too warm. The memory of the sun on your skin. Blaming anything but your racing heart. You try to focus on the lyre’s sturdy strings instead. One is slightly out of tune. You pluck it once, twice, and ignore him.

"Really, I should thank you," Venti says, casually, like he’s merely commenting on the weather. "That song needed the right voice. Yours will do nicely."

You finally reply, low and flat. "It’s the middle of the night. Don’t you have somewhere else to be?" He hums in mock thought.

"No. Not really."

Then nothing. Just him standing there, the breeze ruffling his cloak, and the quick, steady thrum of your heart hammering in your chest. He’s waiting. You don’t know for what, and you’re not about to ask.

Venti lets the silence stretch for a beat longer before leaning back on his hands, voice as casual as ever.

"You should perform it."

You blink, stare at the ground. "What?"

"The song," he says, and you can hear the grin widen in his voice. "Our little collaboration. I think the townsfolk would love it. A tale of stolen sunlight and repressed affection… It practically begs to be heard, no?"

You finally look at him, glare sharpening. "It’s not a collaboration."

He raises a brow teasingly, smirking slightly askew. "Could’ve fooled me. You sang it like you wrote it."

You turn back to your lyre, strumming a sharp, tense chord. "I wouldn’t perform for you if the square were on fire and I had nowhere else to be."

He chuckles. "Oh, don’t be like that. It might even improve your usual material. Give it some actual feeling."

You shoot him an incredulous look. "...Excuse me?"

"I’m only saying," he continues, with the smug ease of someone very aware he’s hit a nerve, "Your last piece about the moonlight and the dying tree? It lacked a certain… How shall I put it…? Conviction. A bit hollow, as if you were writing for applause, not from the heart."

Your fingers dig into the wood of your lyre. "And yours are?"

"Mine at least have grit. And the occasional soul."

"You really think highly of yourself."

"Not at all," Venti says, smiling faintly now. "Just high enough to know when you’re running scared."

That shuts you up for a couple seconds.

You strum a single note, low, rough-edged. "It’s just a song."

"Of course," he says, far too easily. "All the best ones are."

You rise slowly, careful not to let your movements betray the knot in your chest. The lyre stays on your lap a moment longer, your fingers still curled tight around its carefully carved frame, like it might steady you. Then you set it down gently. It doesn’t deserve to face the brunt of the frustration simmering beneath your fingertips.

You dust off your clothes, focusing on the motion and the grain of the fabric beneath your palms. Maybe if you keep moving, he won’t see the heat still clinging to your face. Maybe if you leave now, you won’t have to think about the way his voice sank on that last line, like he meant it.

"Get some sleep," you say, low and tense, not quite a dismissal, but almost.

Venti doesn’t reply right away. You can almost feel his gaze on your back, weighing more than it should.

"Sweet dreams," he says finally, and there’s no teasing in it this time. Just something quiet. Something bordering on genuine. Something you refuse to give any further thought.

You pick up your lyre and walk away without another word, before your throat can betray you. The stone beneath your shoes is uneven, every step heavier than the last. You don’t look back. You insist to nobody in particular that it’s because you don’t care. But the melody lingers in your mind, soft and persistent, long after the square is behind you. No matter how many twists and turns you take through the empty streets, you just can’t seem to walk far enough to leave it behind.

[rottencherrypie]

R-18+; The Watchtower (Alpha!Bard x Omega!Fem!Reader)

Summary - Sprinting through the town, you find yourself in desperate search of a place within reach for you and your lover to "reconnect" in. It just so happens, the watch tower is the only one with an open door.

Warnings - Smut, language, female reader, afab reader, omega!reader, alpha!bard, dom!bard, mention of breasts (reader), mention of female genitalia (reader), mention of male genitalia (bard), momentary voyeurism, oral sex (reader receiving), weird descriptions (I got in a weird zone), the reader's pussy is referred to as "she", vaginal sex, unprotected sex, size play, pet names, name calling, slight praise kink, slightly rough sex, biting, knotting, creampie, slight breeding kink.

Pronouns & POV - None (unless you count the reader's cunt being called she), third-person-ish

Word Count - 3,890+ (I got carried away)

A/N - I got a bit carried away, this is a bit all over the place but I wanted to get it done so it could be posted today. There was originally going to be a different direction this was going to go into, so I might write that at a later date, but for now this is the part that it went. Smut under the cut.

Read on Wattpad Read on AO3

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The thump of your beloved's steps approaching you pulled you out of the temporary daze.

The pace of your limbs fell back into rushed strides as your gaze darted from building to building as you sped past, desperately searching for an open door to run into. And then, as if sent by the gods, you saw it.

The Watchtower.

Without a second thought -- as if you could form another -- you rushed in.

The sight of you before the guards made them pause in their tracks. The robe slid down your right shoulder, exposing the glistening bare skin that lay beneath the smooth fabric, as your glazed-over eyes bore into their frames with a mixture of desire and urgency.

"Out." The word left your lips in a strained pant, as your chest rose and fell at a rapid pace while the tips of your nails began to embed themselves into the door's wooden frame for a sense of stability. The sickeningly sweet scent of your need weighed heavy within the watchtower. An aroma so potent that it sunk deep into the old oak walls.

The guards were not allowed a chance to utter a single question, though if they could they would not know where to start, for the moment the command left your swollen lips, your beloved appeared behind you. His sturdy, toned arms snaked themselves tightly around your waist, hands resting against your center as his thin lips met the flesh of your neck, teeth lightly nipping against it as his calloused hands began to glide up and down the front of your covered figure.

The weight of your head tilted back into your lover as you allowed his warm, dominant hands to explore your flesh. Flesh kept away from the fullness of his warmth by the mere thin fabric that shielded you from the full nip of cold.

"Out!" He snarled against your neck, the vibrations of his anger sent a shiver down your spine. The guards stood there for a moment, mouths agape like fishes plucked straight from a stream as the flesh of their cheeks began to burn at the erotic display before them. "Or stay and watch. But stay out of my way!" The pure dominance of his tone, how his calloused hands toyed with your body, and the warmth -- and hardness -- of him pressed against you made a whimper fall from your plump lips.

The guards quickly snapped from their trance at his dominant command. The rushed tap of booted feet scrambling to the exit echoed throughout the watchtower as they scurried away from the flustering sight as if they were stray dogs being shooed away from a delicious piece of meat.

As the final guard scurried out the door, the air quickly filled with the rip of fabric. Bits of the smooth fabric fell upon the stone wooden floor as your bare flesh was revealed to the full nip of the chilled air.

A sensation that was soon paired with the warming embrace of your lover's harsh hands engulfing the flesh of your chest. A harsh, possessive grasp as his hands began to need at the mounds of flesh as his rough thumbs traced slow circles around your hardened nipples. The nip of the winter air lightly bit against both sets of sensitive nerves, the ones above and lower, as the hypnotic sway of your lover's ministrations continued, further dampening the slickened flesh between your inner thighs in anticipation of what was to come.

But, as soon as the hypnotic ministrations began, it soon ended as your lover released you from the warmth of his grasp.

"Love--" The name for him had barely hung in the air before the clatter of objects hitting the floor replaced it. The sight of your lover frantically shoving various maps and strategizing pieces from the table with harsh clinks and clatters filled your view before the blur of his tousled auburn hair replaced it as he whipped his head back to face you.

The flame of lust within his emerald eyes burnt ablaze, the muscles in his jaw flexed as he clenched his teeth down together as his nostrils flared, filling his lungs with that sweet, erotic scent of your need for him.

"Y/N." The growl of your name leaving his hungered lips worsened the slickness between your legs, nearly soaking the flesh between your thighs as you clenched them together tightly. The weight of your body threatened to sink to your knees, yet your grasp upon the door's frame was the one thing that held you steady.

"Please." You breathed, your nails scratching against the wood surface as your chest arched outwards to your beloved. As if your body was attempting to sway his decision with the delicious sight of your exposed breasts. "I can't, I just...please." The words left your lips in a pitiful whine as you relented to your desires, much to the satisfaction of your lover.

Not an ounce of resistance was left in your veins, nor was there an ounce of care as you verbally, and physically presented yourself to your betrothed.

"Get on the table. Now." The harshness of his command made the weakness in your knees further if such a thing was possible. Yet, your limbs moved to his command as you scrambled to the table like a rat desperately rushing for a piece of cheese.

The corners of his thin lips curved into an amused, lustful smirk as he watched you clamber onto the table. The rough scratch of the worn-down wood dug against your sensitive, slick skin as you positioned yourself before him.

The flesh of your back was thankfully still covered by the thin fabric as you laid against the harsh wood, back flat upon the table, yet the soles of your feet felt the harshness of the wood as your knees stuck up to the air, legs falling open slightly leaving your glistening, hungry cunt on display for your alpha to see.

"Good omega." He purred, the loud thump of his steps nearing bounced around the old wooden walls. A pounding which the blood within your skull began to sync with as you watched him with the utmost anticipation.

The harshness of the wood dug into the flesh of your palms as your nails burrowed into it, your lustful gaze shooting up to meet his as beads of sweat trickled down your brow.

The table creaked as your lover rested his elbows down against it, leaning down into you as he positioned himself between your legs. The alluring scent of his deep desire flooded your nostrils, the deep aroma full of salty sea air and desire so overpowering that it muted all other scents to you.

"My good little whore." The heat of his breath grazed against the sensitive skin of your neck, the old wooden table creaking as the weight of his body pressed into yours. The wetness of his tongue meeting the sensitive spot on your neck made a shiver wrack throughout your body, one which extended onwards as the glide slowly made itself down from your neck, across the flesh of your abdomen, and down the inner flesh of your right thigh as he sunk onto his knees.

There was no time wasted by the hungered alpha, as he quickly shifted his head, his tongue gliding against your drooling hole.

A hungered growl vibrated against your sensitive, gushing cunt as he began to lap up the sweet tang of your nectar. The prickle of his stubble grazed against the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, the hair of his upper lip becoming moist from the sweet nectar that flowed from your cunt, as he continued to feast upon the heavenly nectar. A sensation that began the electrical waves of pleasure to splash throughout your body, starting from the tips of your toes and slowly beginning to move upwards.

The wet caress of his hungered tongue soon shifted focus. No longer did it lap at the entirety of your aching cunt, but it began to trace the surrounding flesh of your entrance, the tip of the muscular organ now only grazing the hole the sweet nectar dripped from.

The sound of lapping wetness echoed throughout the once-silent watchtower, accompanied by your desperate mewls and whimpers as your alpha continued to feast upon your heat. Pressure began to build in the tips of your nails, nearly splitting as they desperately clawed into the harsh wood beneath you. A similar pressure rose within the center of your core, a weight that squeezed and tightened as the alpha continued to taunt you with his tongue.

The tip only ever grazed the entrance of your dripping cunt, never delving into its depths regardless of how you swayed your hips to lure him in. He was swift and clever, like a cat chasing after a rodent for fun rather than for the thrill of the kill. The moistened muscle would always be a hair away from delving in, giving you a falsehood of hope as the tip would plunge a millimeter inside of your overflowing hole before he would shift his head ever so slightly after your nectar coated the tip of his tongue. Refusing to give you the moistened caress of his tongue within you, the relief you craved.

The harmony of whimpers soon turned to irritated whines and grunts, a burn began to burn within your hips from how frantically you chased after the sweet relief of his tongue. Yet the bastard refused to give it to you. Any inhibitions gone from your now lust-raging mind, the only thoughts being processed in the deep depravities within of how good the stretch of his cock would feel inside you.

"Alpha." His title left your lips in a breathy whine, you looked as you sounded: pathetic. Eyes glazed over with lust, chest rising and falling with desperation, legs quivering with each lick around your dripping hole, and plump lips in a frowned pout as you stared down at your auburn-haired lover. "Please, just fuck me already." No longer mincing your words as your gemstone-colored eyes bore into him.

You could feel the corner of his lips curving into a smug grin against your gushing cunt as his emerald gaze shifted up from the beautiful waterfall of your lust, to meet your desperate gaze.

The weight of his head shifted back from your aching entrance, the chill of the air nipping against your sensitive bundle of nerves causing your body to quiver. The fog of his heated breath filled the air as he rose from his knees, the floor creaking at the shift of his weight as he stood before you.

"Oh?" He purred, the heat of his breath grazing against the flesh of your exposed chest as he leaned down, towering over you. The rough glide of his hands moved out from your inner thighs, trailing up from your hips to the dip of your waist; gliding up and down between these spots as he gazed down upon your lustful form.

His left hand hovered around your waist as his right continued to slide up and down, trailing up to the top of your ribs before gliding back down to the lower flesh of your hip.

"Let's see what she thinks." The words sent shivers down your spine, the tips of your toes beginning to curl as you knew exactly who she was. Your cunt.

His hovering left hand slowly slid down your hip, the calloused sensation of his fingertips gently caressing every mark, indent, and scar upon its trail downwards filled you with a sense of love and anticipation as he silently admired you. After all these years, and all the pups you bore him, you were arguably more stunning than the night he first claimed you.

Your body was no longer as youthful, nor as untouched, but that is what he loved about it. That is what fueled his lust. The stretch marks that decorated your hips and stomach, signs of the pups he put inside of you, the signs of aging upon your skin -- the sign of life you swore to spend with him and only him. It filled the alpha's heart with a sense of pride and possessiveness as only he got to see these changes, got to make these changes with you.

And though this action was sweet, you could not help but groan in anticipation. You knew well how deeply your alpha loved you and the life you made with him, but now was not the time for such novelties. You needed his cock, and you needed it now.

The rough caress of his hand eventually found its way down to between the flesh of your drenched inner thighs, the heat of his hand radiated against the sensitive flesh of your pussy, protecting it from the bitter air.

The sudden pressure of his thick fingers pressed against your desperate hole, a heavenly sensation as you were mere breaths away from the stretch of his thick fingers carving inside of you. Yet, they remained halted, resting on the entrance despite his futile attempts to push into you.

"Too tight." The words left his lips in a snarl as he continued to press his fingers against you, finally slipping the tips of his fingers inside. The bitter, burning stretch of his fingers made your body tense. Had they gotten bigger since he had left? Or had you merely tightened in his absence?

A whine left your lips as you felt his thick, calloused fingers pump into you slightly, not even a third of their length slid into your sopping cunt.

"Shh, shh." He shushed, the soft press of his lips landed on your neck as he kissed against the sensitive skin. "Relax for me, omega. Open up for me." He breathed against your neck, continuing the trail of kisses and nips against your scent gland as his fingers continued to slowly carve their way into your clenched walls.

"If you want my cock, you need to be a good slut and relax for me." The words vibrated against your neck, his left hand continuing its slow ministrations as his right one slowly slid up and down your side sending a shiver down your spine.

The lids of your gemstone-colored eyes slowly fluttered shut, a soft exhale slipped out of your lips as you allowed your tense muscles to give into the sensations. The sensitive, drenched flesh of your inner walls relaxed around his thick fingers, allowing them to carve themselves deeper into your throbbing cunt. Calloused tips grazed against your most sensitive spots as they explored your depths, the weight of your body sinking further back into the harsh wood of the table as your thighs fell to the side leaving your soaked pussy on display.

"There she is." The alpha growled in pleasure, feeling the tension of your inner walls ease as it engulfed his thick fingers. The tight clench around them was replaced with a snug squeeze as he continued to pump into you, curling his fingers upwards into your most sensitive spots to watch your body quiver at the sensations.

"That's it, just like that, omega." His praise sunk you further into the depths of pleasure, your inner omega practically cooing over praise from her alpha. A soft mewl escaped your lips as the weight of your skull sunk further back into the harsh wood, melting into the glide of the bowman's fingers as they struck your core repetitively. A familiar knot began to weave itself within your belly with each motion as you lay there, at the mercy of the alpha who loomed over you. His sharp teeth nipped at your scent gland, not enough to pierce it but enough to send a familiar electric heat throughout your desperate body.

As the heat began to burn hot within you, it was suddenly doused by the departure of your beloved's fingers exiting your hungry cunt. A pitiful whine left your lips, the lids of your gemstone-colored eyes snapping open to find his smug-filled ones.

"Patience." He taunted, the heat of his hand sliding away from your throbbing cunt exposing it to the chilled air as he stepped a foot away from you. Before any whined protests could leave your lips, the swish of fabric falling onto the floor graced your ear. The mouthwatering sight of your beloved's thick, throbbing cock blessed your line of sight. The aching wetness of your heat flooded from your core as you sucked in a breath through your teeth, the anticipation near torturous to you.

The fat, cherry-colored tip throbbed within the bitter air. White pearls of precum rolled down from the mushroom-shaped head, as his large, calloused hands wrapped around his thick base, slowly pumping up and down the large shaft as he inched closer to you.

A smirk rested upon his thin lips as he made himself comfortable back between your thighs, grasping at his cock as he slowly slid the fat tip up and down your entrance. A final taunt as he spread his precum across the glistening folds as if marking you externally before allowing himself to align with your entrance.

The slow, stretch of his fat cock pressing inside of you made your back arch at the relief you had been craving. The lids of your gemstone-colored eyes began to flutter as he bottomed inside of you, the throbbing tip pressing up against your most sensitive spot as he gave you a few moments to adjust to the familiar, heavenly stretch of him.

"Gods..." The word left your lips in a pleased moan, the grip you once held upon the table loosening as it began to creak with the shifting weight of his thrusts. "The gods aren't the ones fucking you, omega." The alpha growled into your ear as he leaned into you, his weight pressing into you allowing the force of his thrusts to deepen.

The watchtower flooded with the squelching snap of his cock carving itself deep into your pussy. The once tight entrance now choking upon his thick cock as he continued to feed your drooling cunt, the stinging stretch of being filled to the limits made your toes curl further, the joints within your toes straining as the tenseness in your lower body returned as your inner walls embraced the bowman's mighty length.

A throaty growl vibrated against the most sensitive spot of your neck as he felt your sopping cunt clench around him, his lips circling the sensitive spot as he suctioned against it. He had no mercy on your aching hole, he had waited far too long for this moment and was not about to give you mercy after you had begged oh so sweetly for his cock.

The harsh slap of his hips meeting the flesh of your ass bounced throughout the watchtower's walls, the sound accompanied by the string of your squeaks and gasps of pleasure as his throbbing, thick cock continued to stretch you out. The blushing tip bounces against the most sensitive spot near your cervix, beating at it as if his cock was a boxer and your sweet spot was his opponent.

"Bard!" His name left your lips in a sob of pleasure, the strong grasp you had priorly held on the table now found its way to his sturdy, toned arms. The tips of your nails buried themselves into the toned muscles of his forearms, a pleasurable sting that further fueled the pumping of the bowman's hips. His thick cock pulsated within you, a rhythm that whisked you away, nearing you to the edge of pleasure.

The sound of skin meeting each other in a slap grew louder, the sound flooding out of the watchtower and into the streets of the quiet town alerting all town-goers that an omega was in the process of being marked. A familiar fire began to burn within the alpha's hips, a sign that he was nearing the edge of his own as the base of his cock began to swell, threatening to knot you early.

A snarl vibrated against your neck, a sign he was not ready to let go until you did, and you knew what was next. The sudden sting of his teeth sinking into the most sensitive nook of your neck shoved you down into the glorious depths of pleasure.

The familiar pleasurable static you had yearned to feel for months finally roamed throughout your body, his name glued to your lips like a prayer as your body quivered like a scared sinner begging for forgiveness, yet your quivering was from the blessing of pleasure.

A pleasure you would extend unto him, as the milking sensation of your inner walls fluttered and clenched around his cock, coaxing him to continue moving into the tight grasp of your cock, to keep pounding his worries away into the sweet nectar that flowed through you.

A loud, guttural moan fell from the bowman's lips as he sunk his teeth deeper into your scent gland, the pleasurable burn flooding your body as he pushed deep into you. The sudden stretch of his knot swelling inside of you, blocking any cum he was about to spill from escaping your drooling cunt, pushed you further into the depths of pleasure as the familiar, hot gush of his thick seed flooded into your core.

A small bump distended from your lower abdomen as the white-hot ribbons of his seed continued to paint the inner walls of your womb, showing that the bowman yearned for you as much as you had for him during his time away.

As the waves of pleasure faded away for the alpha, the lingering scent of sex danced throughout the air as the bowman released your scent gland from his teeth. The swell of his knot still throbbed deep within you, ensuring that not a single drop of his cum would be wasted and that another pup was sure to come from this.

Yet, you were still stuck in the throes of heat. A soft whimper slipped through your plump lips as your grasp tightened around his toned arms, your gemstone-colored eyes desperately peering up at him, pleading for more.

"Shh, shh." The alpha soothed, the deep rumbling of his chuckle vibrated in his chest as the warmth of his calloused hand encased the side of your soft face. "Let's get you home, omega." He spoke, his words full of tender care as he slowly began to lift you from the table. The man was strong, there was no denying that, after all; he had fought against orcs, aided in lifting a dragon out of the lake, and had hauled hundreds of pounds of wine and fish, you were like a feather to him.

The warmth of his sturdy arms encased your lower back as your legs wrapped around his, the gentleness of your weakened arms looped around the back of his neck as you leaned your head against his sturdy shoulder.

"We still have a few hours before our dwarven companions seek us out to deal with our pups." A hidden promise lingered within his words as he carried you off to your home, ensuring that the tattered robe kept the sight of your bareness shielded from prying eyes on the way.

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<< Previous Part

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[miriamforster]

Okay so I’m running two sorcerer Tavs right now, one where everyone got a level of bard early and one where no one bards at all. Results so far;

1. Most characters being bards is definitely better than no bards. I’m gonna try barding at least some people every game.

2. Gale especially in early level has no real bonus actions, so adding a healing spell and a way to buff that doesn’t take a spell slot is really useful for him.

3. Tav is the same, but I’m going to try and wait to bard her at level seven so she can get the power boost that comes at level six.

4. The only people I didn’t give a level to on my all bards playthrough were Lae’zel and Shadowheart. The level bonuses for fighter and light cleric were just too good to give up.

5. There’s a fun flavor to a fight where everyone is healing and boosting each other. It feels very interdependent and teamwork-y.

6. LOTS of available bardic boosts to ability rolls, which is super nice.

7. In the bards version, Gale plays the violin, Wyll plays the lute, Astarion plays the spider lyre, Karlach plays the drum, and my halfling sorceress and Halsin both play the flute.

My new BG3 strategy is to give everyone one level in bard. This does two important things.

1. Gives everyone healing word as a bonus action.

2. Lets me start a folk band

[razorblade180]

Heartstrings

Jean:Hello Rosaria. Have you seen Barbara. Work is almost over, right?

Rosaria:For most. My job is just getting started at this hour. As for her, Barbara actually left a little early today.

Jean:Really? Was she not feeling well!?

Rosaria:Heh, I guess that would be the main reason you or her would ever take off early. No, your sister looked healthy. Though I suppose you could say she’s a certain kind of sick. *mimics a bard*

Jean:Ah, I see.

Rosaria:Something come up? I can deliver a message.

Jean:It’s nothing urgent. I was going to walk her home is all. To think she’d actually take off work early for once.

Rosaria:Boys are bad influences like that. Hopefully he doesn’t get her into too much trouble.

Jean:Speaking of trouble, why did I get a certain report regarding you, Kaeya, and the confessional box?

Rosaria:I thought I told you. Boys are trouble.

Jean:Please behave in a house of worship.

Rosaria:Yeah yeah. Though I’m a little shocked. You would think some sort of divine judgment would happen after an act like that. Our god must truly be forgiving, or has a sense of humor.

Jean:To be frank, I fear Lord Barbatos has that exact sense of humor at times. Regardless-

Rosaria:I will mind my conduct. Though if that’s your belief of the Anemo Archon, I fear you specifically have to take matters into your own hands for your sister’s sake. Venti has her smitten. It might embolden her.

Jean:*smiles* I’m not too worried. If anyone’s smitten, it’s him. As a matter of fact, I’m sure I know exactly where they are.

[Windrise]

Venti:*laying down*

Barbara:*playing with his hair*

Venti:Ya know…I could probably lay here forever.

Barbara:You’d get hungry.

Venti:I don’t know. This is pretty filling.

He rolls over on her lap, wrapping his arms around her waist as she giggles like a fairy. The way her finger tips scratch his scalp lulls him into shutting his eyes while releasing a deep sigh.

Barbara:You’re extra affectionate today. Is everything okay.

Venti:Yeah. I just love you a lot.

Barbara:*red*…..How could you say that so confidently? I always stutter or second the moment.

Venti:It’s okay. Everyone says it in their own way. I hear if every time you sing. The warmth; the care in the words.

Barbara:Hehe, is this your way of asking for a song request?

Venti:Pick whatever you want. As long as I’m right here, it’s perfect.

The deaconess smiles softly, her eyes looking towards the setting sun and the shimmering stars of the fast approaching night fall.

Days seem sometimes as if they'll never end

Sun digs its heels to taunt you

But after sunlit days, one thing stays the same

Rises the moon

Days fade into a watercolour blur

Memories swim and haunt you

But look into the lake, shimmering like smoke

Rises the moon

Oh-oh, close your weary eyes

I promise you that soon the autumn comes

To darken fading summer skies

Breathe, breathe, breathe~

Venti:*eyes shut*….

Barbara:*smiles*

Days pull you down just like a sinking ship

Floating is getting harder

But tread the water, child, and know that meanwhile

Rises the moon

Days pull you up just like a daffodil

Uprooted from its garden

They'll tell you what you owe, but know even so

Rises the moon

You'll be visited by sleep

I promise you that soon the autumn comes

To steal away each dream you keep

Breathe, breathe, breathe~

Venti:Zzzzz

Barbara:Hehe. Have the most beautiful dreams, my lovely bard. *kisses forehead*

[ticklygiggles]

Late night company | Diluc x Venti

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY LOOOOVE ( @otomiyaa ) ❤️🎉🧁🎂 I hope you enjoy this little gift~ I'm still on time hehe ❤️

I'm wishing you the best, sweetie 🥺❤️ I loooove you so muuuch MWAH 💕❤️

Summary: 🤭🤭🤭

“Until tomorrow, Master Diluc!” 

“Yes. Have a good night.”

Slowly, the last customers began to leave, the employees yawning and wishing Diluc good night after their shift. Diluc stayed inside the tavern, finishing arranging some chairs, cleaning some tables and perhaps, doing a little inventory to see if anything was missing for tomorrow. 

He worked in silence, adjusting here and there, his cheeks a little flushed from the heat inside the tavern and his feet a little tired after having played not only bartender but also as a waiter, but being busy also kept his mind busy and there were times when he just didn't want to listen to his own thoughts. 

Luckily for him, there was something else that was still keeping his mind more occupied than the work he was doing. 

Well, actually... someone. 

He couldn't resist, his eyes just moved on their own to the bar where a very drunk Venti was talking and talking about archons know what. In fact, Diluc could barely understand half of his words. He was stuttering, unable to form very long words and slurred his speech. The r's became b's and some vowels changed sound too. It was kind of funny and cute.

It was already a habit for Diluc to have Venti accompany him until late at the tavern when everyone else had already left. At first Diluc thought it was just so he could drink more, but no matter how much he asked him to leave, Venti flatly refused, and if Diluc was honest, Venti's company didn't bother him at all. 

The nights passed like this and over time, Diluc began to notice Venti. Really notice Venti. He had a lovely face, really adorable. His blue eyes always sparkled while he talked and talked with a huge, toothy smile; his rosy cheeks looked like apples about to fall from the tree. Diluc's heart began to race at the thought of spending more time with Venti and he looked forward to every night, even his duties as a Darknight Hero were affected, but that was another story. 

In short, Diluc had fallen in love with Venti, but there was no way he was going to confess. That would be... complicated and overwhelming not only for him, but for Venti as well, plus, the bard was usually too drunk to understand a word Diluc said. It just wasn't worth it. 

“And then, and then!” Venti continued his story, his arms flailing around and his legs kicking a little. “The traveler was there and- and I was-” 

Traveler this, traveler that. He certainly didn't make any sense, but his face lit up at the mere mention of the traveler. It bothered him. He has never been a jealous person, not even when Kaeya came into his life, but now... why did he feel that way? 

“And then, the traveler grabbed his sword and-”

“You've been staying overnight for almost a month.” His voice came out a little too abrupt and dry. Venti finally stopped talking and the silence was deafening. 

Venti tilted his head to the side. “And?” 

“And?” Diluc put down the rag he was wiping down a table to look at Venti, his arms crossed over his chest. “You haven't paid me. Not even a single day. Do you think you can drink for free just because you stay late?” 

He didn't really care, but making this scene had worked to get Venti's dazed brain to stop thinking about the traveler. Diluc took it as a victory. 

“I thought you liked me keeping you company.” Venti pouted and Diluc felt the tips of his ears heating up and his heart tingled when Venti giggled. “I will pay you, definitely!”

Diluc raised an eyebrow. “Will you now?”

“Yes! I'll definitely pay you… with a performance!” 

Diluc's brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed. The bard laughed nervously and it seemed like his cheeks had reddened even more. Diluc looked at him for a moment and then walked over, stopping right in front of him. 

“A foolish performance isn't enough to settle your debt." Diluc leaned forward, placing his hands on the edge of the bar, caging Venti in his arms. Venti leaned back as far as he could, stuttering as he tried to speak again. 

“W-What are you s-saying! My performances are a-always s-so- so good!” The bitter smell of alcohol hit his nose and he wrinkled it slightly, it was a smell he had never liked, however, in Venti, Diluc thought it wasn't so terrible. The bard gulped and Diluc saw his pretty eyes moving from side to side, looking for a way out of his predicament. 

He didn't seem as dizzy as he had been a few moments ago, but his brain really couldn't handle his own limbs yet.

“Th-Then, I'll-” His warm breath hit Diluc's cheeks again. Now that he thought about it, his cheeks not only looked like apples, Venti also smelled like one. “I'll p-pay you with-”

“Your body.” 

Silence reigned and Diluc was sure Venti had stopped breathing as his eyes widened. His heart was also beating hard and now the shells of his ears started to get warm, but he tried to act calm. He let out a soft chuckle and his hands closed around the other's waist. Venti squealed and he kicked a bit, but Diluc easily lifted him up and sat him on top of the bar, placing himself between his legs as he pulled Venti’s body closer to him. 

“W-What are you d-doing?!” Venti squirmed, his cheeks and ears reddening. “M-Master Diluc, this is not appropriate, I- I can't pay you with my body… here.” 

“Yes you can,” Diluc said calmly, just a couple of centimeters away from Venti's face, their noses almost touching, their breathing mingling. “And you will.” He moved a little closer to Venti's face. Diluc felt him tense, his breathing quickening as his eyes closed tightly. What was Venti expecting exactly? He couldn't help but feel butterflies. 

Diluc smiled softly as his hands began to move on Venti's waist, tickling him. 

Venti jolted and gasped and Diluc fought the urge to laugh when he saw him opening his eyes wide as his lips started to tremble into a smile. “What- what are y-you- no! Nohoho! Why?!”

“Hmm? Didn't I say you'd pay with your body?” 

“Not like this!” Venti's hands wrapped around Diluc's wrists, trying to push his hands away. 

“Oh? Did you have anything else in mind?” He smirked, his hands squeezing Venti's tiny waist. “Please do tell me what it was.” 

Venti's face turned incredibly red and Diluc couldn't help but blush as well as his heart skipped a beat. However, his hands did not stop for even a moment, he wiggled his fingers up and down Venti's sides, squeezing here and there to make him squeal and jolt as if he had been touched by electricity. 

Venti was laughing wildly, trying to make Diluc stop, his smile was really huge and his nose was scrunching up a little, making him look even more adorable and carefree. His laughter was so bubbly and funny, Diluc had to chuckle himself as his fingers gently dug into Venti's ribs, pinching and rubbing each bone, causing Venti to squeal and cackle and arch his back. 

“M-Master Diluc!” He gasped between laughs. “I c-cahahan't!” 

“We’re not even halfway through it.” Diluc moved down to Venti's tummy and Venti giggled brightly, curling forward, his forehead resting against Diluc's shoulder. “At this rate, I'll have to do this for weeks until you pay me off.”

Venti shook his head, unable to speak as Diluc vibrated his fingers against the center of his stomach and he laughed and laughed like a little kid. His hands still desperately tried to push Diluc's away and cover the spots Diluc went after. 

“Tch.” The tickling suddenly stopped, but Venti could barely relax before Diluc grabbed his wrists with his hands. “These pesky hands are on the way, don't you think?” 

“H-Huh?! N-Noho! They're d-dohoing their work defending me from your pesky finge-e-ehehers! Lehehet gohoho!” 

Diluc gathered both Venti's wrists in one of his hands behind Venti's back, exposing his torso completely to his tickly fingers. The bard tried to fight him off, but Diluc's grip was like iron and so Venti could only kick his legs and squirm from side to side like a little fish out of water. He looked at Venti fondly, his smile gentle. Oh, he was so head over heels for him. He really, really liked him. He really wasn't going to do anything about it? 

“AHAHAHA! Not thehere! Nohohot there!”

“Stop moving.” 

Diluc's hand had found Venti's armpit. His fingers wiggled, dug and vibrated against the spot, making Venti shriek with laughter, little tears gathering in the corner of his eyes. His head low, face so close to Diluc's. So close, he could angle his head up just slightly and their lips would meet. Just… a slightly… tilt of his head and…

The laughter suddenly ended and a sharp breath echoed through the Angel's share as Diluc pressed his lips against Venti's smiling mouth. Diluc closed his eyes, his lips parting slightly to poke his tongue out and touch Venti's lips. Venti gasped, opening his mouth and Diluc pushed his tongue in, kissing him deeply, one hand holding Venti's waist, pulling him close. The other was still holding his hands behind his back. 

The bitter taste of alcohol filled his mouth, but he couldn't care less. That felt so good. Pleasant chills ran up and down Diluc's spine, his heart hammering against his ribcage, he was sure Venti could feel it because he could feel Venti's. The bard seemed to have turned to jelly in his arms. His body practically melted against Diluc's, kissing him slowly and gasping softly every time the tip of Diluc's tongue touched the roof of his mouth. 

Diluc also felt like jelly, his knees shaking a little and his hands trembling. He didn't want to stop, what would happen next? He didn't want to know, but Venti was already breathless from laughing so much and Diluc was scared he would pass out from the lack of oxygen, so he slowly pulled apart, enough to look at Venti's eyes, their noses gently touching. 

Venti opened his eyes slowly and he blinked a couple of times, the tears falling down his cheeks. Diluc didn't know what to say, but he was glad Venti did:

“T-That kiss was worth like one m-month of payment.” 

Diluc widened his eyes slightly before letting out a bright laugh. “Yeah… I guess you're right.” He let go of Venti's hands and he quickly wrapped his arms around Diluc's neck, bringing him closer to him. Diluc gasped, holding onto the bar. 

“Now I really want to pay you with my body, you know?” Venti smirked, leaning close to Diluc's ear. “And I'm not talking about tickling, Master Diluc.” 

Diluc breath hitched. He shuddered, feeling Venti's warm lips against the erratic pulse on the side of his neck and then his hot tongue licking a path to the hollow under his ear, making him whimper slightly. 

“... Don't forget about this in the morning.” Diluc whispered, his hands untying Venti's corset. 

He giggled. “I won't, Master Diluc. How could I?” 

Diluc was going to have to clean the bar again, but it didn't matter. Not when Venti was making sounds that sent shivers down his spine and his soft skin felt like silk against Diluc's. 

Venti looked at his eyes and smiled. “I like you, Master Diluc.”

Diluc smiled back and kissed him deeply. Yeah, he liked him too. Very much. 

[glitchgh0sty]

Don’t mind me,, just writing a thing for the first time in forever [Transformers x dnd mayhem] ⚔️🐉🤖

Transformers Cursed Knights au, chp 1 [under cut <33]

Jazz always loved the night. Under the dim light of a bio lit city. The constant sway of metal, wood and magic pulsing through the air finally ebbing as the bright twisted sun hides its face. Jazz always loved the dark, how its comforting grasp could hide the details of his face. He had just finished the longest shift ever near the tips of the city's necropolis and had positively smiled his own face stiff from under that spotlight’s harsh gaze.

Clenching and unclenching his hands, as they were sore and calloused from countless days of playing the lute, people shouted in his mind and at his face, “Play another Rico! Nono, not that one,, bard play something else. Can you sing any louder? Why must you pick these disgraceful tunes? Play the Primes ballad, play the primes ballad, play the primes ballad!” Request, after request running through his mind on repeat

They always ask for the Ballad of the Primes.

It’s not even a cool story really, Jazz didn’t understand why the court marshals would keep begging him to sing it.

‘Once upon a sunny day, toil in the heat as you may,, under the crown of a filthy king, who controlled the world with an iron fist, near free thought or lovely bliss,, how dare ye Pax, how dare ye still,, loose your monsters on us all, you beg us to plead and fall,, under their talons, breath and teeth,, you and your court of beasts shall fall, make room for the primes, make room for us all,, your heart is made of metal and your mind is made of flame,, so you how dare you betray what you have sewn,, your 13 beasts of burden flatten hills far and wide, all around our country from far side to side, so fall down fall down fall down to the pit from hence you came, we banish you and your unlawful crew to death on this day,,

Doodoodoo yada yada yada,, keep the monsters out, keep us safe and sound oh court of high. Something like that.’

Court. Safe.

Pft- Filthy rich little buggers.

He had been playing for the noblemen that night on the necropolis. People who were in good with the court, so his coin bag agreed to his sacrifice as he swayed down the street. Rico was a name he had supplied to nearly every employer he had as a way to save his face, determined to keep his theatrical and personal life as separate as possible.

Not that it often worked though. As people would call him out down at the market, on strolls across the energon fields, down at the metal smither’s and around every local energy deposit, all swarming and swooning for his voice.

He was borderline sick of it. But hey, that’s just business, his coin bag replied.

He hadn’t had time to change into his commoner clothes before rushing out of the venue so he messed with the cloth of his extravagant collar uncomfortably. It was worth it though, to get out of there so that the light of his spot on the stage might not unmask his disdain for this whole charade.

Whatever

He opened up his side vents a bit to grasp the cool air of the night and ex vented as he entered the field that marked his home. He would have chosen a place a little closer to his buddy Blaster, but the town of Nevercon was only insufferable nowadays. He looked around the comforting dark and decided to scope out a long way home today. I mean what the heck, if he had only the night to breathe, then he might as well wander, without the prying eyes of the town reaching for his voice.

His voice, his voice, his voice..

He was tired of it all, too tired to sing for himself really anymore so he wandered to the border of the woods in silence, letting the noises of the energon stalks swaying in the field and the sound of his own feet on the damp mulch fill the void instead.

He made his way around the woods, enjoying the calm of the night. Passing the trees one by one, over streams and around logs. The berries of the wood and the spirits of the night glowed dimly in the eve so that he knew where to put his feet but not much more.

Thirty minutes, an hour? had passed in the dim of the night before he began to grow weary of his steps. Maybe he should turn around? He had never really come this far before? He dismissed that thought almost as soon as he’d had it. As the further he wandered away from the town, the lighter the weight on his chest had become. He felt like he could finally breathe. But he was growing tired. Maybe he could spend the night out in the woods, like he used to before the court had closed the borders.

He used to wander the world, bringing his tales from land to land, song in his heart, lute in his hand, and not a coin in his bag. But those days were long gone and his expensive regalia itched at his joints uncomfortably as he contemplated sitting down. His outfits were tailored for him by the people who asked for his services, so he would probably never hear the end of it from his employers if they found so much as a speck of dirt on it.

Deciding to quit testing his luck in the dark for the night, Jazz turned to start making his way back to the shabby little house on the hill, but was soon caught dead in his tracks. He listened for the sounds of the world, and his muscles tightened as he could no longer hear anything, any response from said world at all. No whistling wind through the trees, no twinkle of spark lights, no spark lights at all?? It was like the forest was holding it’s breath, lying in wait for something. Or someone.

When did everything get so quiet?

The stories he told came rushing back to his mind suddenly, though he had been singing them all day long. ‘Loose your monsters on us all,’

There’s no way that’s right, his mind whispered with a start as his hands started to sweat. Jazz had been told tales of these woods by worried passerbys, Red Alert for the most part, but nobody had really believed him. Monsters were a thing of legend, and everyone had told Jazz that Red Alert had a screw loose. These were just stories people make up for nothing but entertainment. Jazz would know. But he couldn’t fight the countless memories, quips, tales he had seen countless people whisper about them all the same from tavern to tavern, town to town.

Listening for a moment more, Jazz made up his mind. He was going to run back home like a blitz of thunder and hope to the dead Primus that nothing would catch him. But just before he started off, he heard it. A thump, soft but audible. Or was it more of a bump? No, that would imply that something is here right? But he couldn’t see anything. Ooh he was in it now. Rubbing his sweaty hands on his vest as quietly as he could, Jazz resolved to pick the closest tree he could get his hands on, duck behind it, and prey whatever’s here has absolutely horrible nighttime eyesight. He couldn’t risk trying to run away from a creature of the night, especially in these stiff garments.

Feeling his way around, he cursed as the chains and beads around his sheathed flute let off a light jingle. Stifling that noise with one hand he felt around with the other.

Come on people. Trees?? I’m in the MIDDLE of a FOREST. This shouldn’t be that hard…

Jazz really couldn’t see a thing.

Feeling around and grasping at nothing but air for a while his hand finally slammed into something!

A tree! a smooth. cold tree. Wait. Smooth!?

Jazz gasped in silent disbelief and kept his hand as still as he could muster, though it felt like his spark was trying to claw out of his throat.

Maybe, whatever is here, doesn’t know I am here? I mean who am I kidding, maybe it’s a rock? Yeah, a very cold, smooth, shifting, cool rock. Wait no, that doesn’t work.

Jazz tilted his head up to try to understand the sounds around him, silently hoping the forest would give him a hint as to what his hand might be pressed against.

The ‘rock’ expanded a little, just enough to really test Jazz’s resolve before a low rumble shook the ground beneath his show boots.

Rocks don’t make noise. They shouldn’t make noise? Rocks don’t thump, rocks don’t beat,

Jazz shifted his fingers in desperation, surely hoping he had misread his predicament. As a slow but steady pulse ran up his fingers and down his spine.

Yep no, I read that right the first time, rocks don’t thump, rocks don’t rumble, rocks don’t beat. Holy Primus..

Rocks don’t breathe…

————————————————————————

Thank you @paradoxtheconfused for convincing me to write something after not having picked up the pen for literal years TuT <333

Some context ✨:

[gatorbites-imagines]

Astarion Ancunín x Bard Tiefling Male reader

Headcanons

I’ve been playing Baldurs Gate 3 little by little, and I’ve fallen for this vamps’ charms. I blame Twilight. Reader is a Tiefling Bard cuz that’s what my player character is. I also have only played DnD like twice, so I know nothing about races or canon. If you guys have any cool dnd facts, let me know, id love to hear them.

Heres just some light and overall headcanons, there’s no specific theme.

In the beginning like any relationship started with Astarion, it wouldn’t be romantic from his part in the start. You, being a bard, have met and experienced a lot of people, so you can read between the lines in his actions though.

You aren’t cruel when it comes to helping others, not one to fit the stereotype some people seem to have for Tieflings and bards. You are just perspective, and you’ll need a reason to do something, having been burned so many times in the past by trying to be good.

Early on, before you knew he was a vampire, the two of you could regularly be found sitting a bit away from the fire at night as the others slept. You would play your instrument at a low volume, as the sound helped your allies sleep, and Astarion would stay nearby since you guys were allies.

Overtime it would develop into something more, you two would flirt, and feelings would actually bloom. It even reaches a point where you might start writing poems or songs about Astarion and your feelings for him, though you’d never show them to anyone, especially not Astarion, his ego is already big enough.

Astarion would struggle with the feelings he is developing for you, as we all know he would. In the beginning he would deny it, and try to convince himself that it was just something going hand in hand with lust, or something about being free and in the sun.

As the story goes on though, we all know that Astarion becomes softer and finally accepts his feelings for you. The two of you being shunned in ways from society, him being a vampire, and you being a Tiefling, probably helps build some solidarity too.

After you guys officially get together, hed start making jokes about you writing ballads about him and his excellence, and you’d joke there’s no need for that. In the end he would figure out the songs you wrote about him before you guys even got together, and of course he preens like a peacock.

I don’t know if Tiefling blood tastes different or has different properties, but to Astarion, the first time you let him feed on you, he would never be able to feed on anyone else. You are perfect to him, from the top of your horns to the tip of your tail.

When you guys cuddle your tail curls around him, and it even seems to do it without you realizing during the day. It becomes a joke amongst your friends, much to your embarrassment.

You being a Bard and Tiefling also means higher charisma, you two are probably lethal when it comes to persuasion or anything involving your charms and lies, especially when you work together.

I don’t know if Astarion plays any instruments, since he wouldn’t have been able to do so for all the years, he’s been under Cazador, or I assume so. But even if he did, I could imagine him asking you to teach him how to play your instrument.

You being a Tiefling also means you are warmer to the touch, and Astarion being a vampire means he doesn’t have any body heat. So, he’s like a big lizard or cat when you guys’ cuddle, just curling up in your arms or melting against your chest.

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

the knight and the minstrel

Pairing: Sir Gwaine x Reader

Word Count: 10.1k

Summary: A prodigal musician with nothing but a lute and a sharp tongue — and somehow stumbled into the arms of Camelot’s most infuriatingly charming knight.

A/N: This was better in my head honestly but the pool for this fandom is incredibly shallow so I imagine not many will complain DX

The great hall of Camelot was no stranger to music. Minstrels, bards, flutists with trembling hands — they came and went with the passing of seasons, offering their talents to the court in exchange for coin or favor. Their melodies wove through the stones of the castle like threads of fleeting magic, vanishing with the next changing wind.

But this… this was different.

“They say she plays the harp like it’s an extension of her soul,” Murmured Lady Vivienne, her voice barely above a whisper, as if even speaking it aloud might shatter the delicate reverence surrounding the claim. Her gloved hands were folded primly, eyes alight with something between curiosity and awe, “And the lute. And the viol. Even the pipe organ, if you can believe it.”

Arthur, lounging slightly on his throne with one leg hooked lazily over the step below, raised a brow, “She? The same musician whose name has been passed around more than Merlin’s secret wine stash?”

“The very one, sire,” Sir Leon confirmed with a nod. His arms were crossed over his chest, expression serious, but not untouched by intrigue, “They call her a prodigy. More skilled than any noble-born court musician in Albion.”

“Impossible,” Scoffed Lord Wintour from his place near the hearth, where the fire danced merrily against ancient stone, “No commoner could master the lyre of Eiran or the court flute without years of noble tutoring. Those instruments aren’t exactly passed around in the village square.”

“And yet,” Came Merlin’s dry voice from beside the throne, “Everyone’s heard of her. Even Gaius has, and he barely listens to anything that doesn’t involve poultices or potions. He said she played for a wounded knight in the western isles. Calmed his fever. Soothed his pain. He swore her music made the dreams go quiet.”

Arthur turned his head slightly, eyes finding Guinevere beside him. Her posture was graceful, regal as ever, hands folded neatly in her lap. But her expression was soft, faraway — already imagining the music, perhaps.

“What do you think?” He asked her quietly.

“I think,” Guinevere said, lips curling into a thoughtful smile, “I’m curious.”

Arthur straightened, “Then we should invite her.”

The finality in his tone carried the weight of decision. The chamber fell still for a moment, letting it settle.

Sir Leon was already moving, nodding sharply, “I’ll have the messenger ready by morning.”

“Make it a royal invitation,” Guinevere added, her voice gentle but certain, “Let her know her talents are not just welcomed — but honored.”

A few murmurs stirred among the nobles, quiet threads of speculation and excitement, but in the corner of the great hall — where knights and servants mingled more freely under the shadow of high arches — Gwaine leaned against a carved pillar lazily. His smirk was unmistakable.

“A girl who can play every instrument under the sun?” He said, cocking his head toward Percival, who stood just beside him, “Sounds like a tale spun by a drunk minstrel and a wild night in the tavern. I'd know. I once thought a jug of mead whispered me a limerick.”

Percival let out a low laugh, clapping Gwaine on the shoulder, “You’d believe anything if it came from a jug of mead.”

“Exactly,” Gwaine grinned, “Which is why I know how unreliable it is.”

He tipped his cup toward the throne, “But I’ll say this — if she can do half of what they say, she’ll be the first court musician who ever made me stay awake past the first verse.”

“Oh, so you do listen.” Percival teased.

Gwaine only winked, raising his cup again in salute — whether to the king, the court, or the mysterious girl they spoke of, even he wasn’t sure.

But for the first time in weeks, the wind around Camelot stirred with something more than politics or patrols.

Something new was coming. And she carried music in her wake.

***

The market was alive in that way only Camelot could be — a mosaic of sound and scent and motion. Traders barked over one another, their voices layering over the clatter of hooves on stone and the soft thrum of distant music. The sharp tang of roasting meat drifted through the air, mingling with sweet spice and the warm aroma of fresh bread.

You moved through it quietly, your hood drawn — more out of habit than necessity — the edge of your cloak catching on the uneven cobbles. The world bustled around you, but your eyes were steady, curious, absorbing everything.

It wasn’t your first royal summons. You’d played in grander cities, for kings who dressed in gold and called their praises poetry. But Camelot…

Camelot didn’t boast. It didn’t glitter. It breathed.

You paused at a modest stall of woven shawls, fingers ghosting over the deep orange fabric. As though the sunset had bled into the lap of the craftsmen and then had been woven into a beautiful scarf.

“That one would look lovely on you.” Said a voice to your right — low, smooth, and far too confident.

You turned, slowly, head tilting as you met the gaze of a man leaning against the wooden frame of the stall. His hair was tousled like he'd only half won a fight with the wind, and his smile curled like it knew something you didn’t.

“Bit bold of you.” You said, arching a brow.

“Bold?” He placed a hand to his chest in mock offense, feigning scandal with all the subtlety of a stage actor, “I was paying you a compliment. It’s a terrible flaw of mine — I see beauty and can’t help but speak.”

You fought the twitch of a smile. Even as you turned back to the shawls, your amusement lingered at the corners of your mouth.

“Do you say that to every girl in the market?”

“Only the ones who look like they belong in a painting,” He said, stepping closer. His voice dropped a little, teasing, “Or perhaps a dream.”

You cast him a sideways glance, “A dream you say? And what would you know about dreams?”

“Oh, plenty,” He said, “Mine usually start with a beautiful woman giving me her name.”

Your lips curved, “And do they ever end with her giving it?”

“No,” He said, with a grin that was somehow both roguish and resigned, “But I remain ever hopeful.”

You gave him a look — part skeptical, part amused — and began to move away from the stall. He followed easily, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Let me guess,” You said without looking back, “you’re a knight.”

“Guilty,” He replied, his tone making it sound like a badge of mischief rather than honor, “Sir Gwaine, at your service.”

“Sir Gwaine,” You echoed, testing the name like a note on your tongue, “Bit of a reputation, don’t you?”

“Only the flattering parts, I hope.” He dipped into a shallow, theatrical bow, nearly knocking over a basket of apples behind him, “And you? Are you just visiting Camelot, or do the gods truly favor me enough to have moved you here permanently?”

You laughed then — light, sudden, like bells in the morning — and the sound made something in him still.

“Visiting,” You said, glancing ahead, where the castle loomed distant beyond the market’s chaos, “Though I can’t say how long I’ll stay.”

“Then I’ll consider it my personal mission to make your visit… memorable.”

“Oh?” You stopped, turning to face him directly. There was a spark in your eyes now — not just amusement, but challenge, “And what exactly do you offer that would make it so?”

Gwaine opened his mouth — surely ready with something scandalous or smug — but then paused.

Because suddenly, there was something in the air between you that hadn’t been there before. The way you held his gaze. The way the crowd seemed to part around you without you noticing.

He blinked, once. Shook it off with a smile that had softened at the edges.

“Well,” He said, more gently now, “you could let me show you around. Properly. Camelot has its charms. But most people miss them, unless someone points them out.”

You studied him for a moment — the easy stance, the ridiculous confidence, the flicker of sincerity hiding beneath the grin. Then you reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Maybe I’ll let you try,” You said, “If I’m still here tomorrow.”

And just like that, you stepped back into the current of the crowd, your hood rising once more. The swell of people swallowed you whole.

Gwaine stood there for a long moment, lips parted, brow slightly furrowed.

He still didn’t know your name.

But he was already planning to find out.

***

The great doors of Camelot’s castle loomed before you — ancient and tall, carved with dragons, crowns, and echoes of a kingdom’s legacy. As they opened before you, the hum of the court reached your ears: the soft murmur of conversation, the rustle of silk, the faint clang of a sword shifting in its sheath.

You stepped inside with quiet confidence, the hem of your cloak brushing the polished stone. Light from the high windows filtered through colored glass, casting jeweled patterns along the floor.

Guinevere saw you first. Her gaze caught yours as if plucking a thread from a moving tapestry, and she stepped forward, her smile warm beneath her crown. “Welcome,” she said, her voice a gentle lilt — kind, but with the grace of command.

Arthur turned next, eyes sharp and curious, the measure of a king in the way he regarded you — not as an entertainer, but as something new.

“Your name has traveled far,” He said, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet the woman behind the legend.”

You inclined your head with practiced poise. “Your Majesties,” You said, voice smooth, “It’s an honor to be received in your court.”

“We’ve heard much of your talents,” Arthur continued, his tone courteous but expectant, “Would you honor us with a performance?”

You offered a faint smile — gracious, polite. But your answer, when it came, was carefully chosen.

“I’ve found,” You said, “that music, like most things with power, is at its most true when properly valued. Inspiration is free, yes. But performance... tends to require arrangement.”

The words weren’t sharp. There was no edge to your voice. But the meaning rang clear as any bell.

Guinevere blinked once — not in offense, but in appreciation — and a faint smile curved her lips.

Arthur leaned back slightly on the throne, a brow raised in what might have been amusement or admiration. Perhaps both.

“Well then,” He said, sitting forward again, “Allow me to extend the arrangement.”

He exchanged a glance with Guinevere, who nodded with that calm royal grace.

“We would like you to play at tonight’s banquet,” Arthur said, “And you will, of course, be compensated — generously — for your time and talent.”

You inclined your head once more, a delicate, fluid motion, “In that case, I would be glad to lend my hands to the music of your hall.”

Soft murmurs rippled through the court — nobles shifting, impressed, intrigued. The prodigy was no servant to flattery or command. She had presence. She had power.

And from the shadowed edge of the hall, Gwaine stared openly now — not with offense, nor even shock. No, what he felt was something far more dangerous.

Interest.

Not the fleeting kind he wore like a cloak in taverns or side streets, but something deeper, stirred by the poise in your voice and the unshakable stillness in your spine.

He let out a low breath, almost a laugh, to himself.

Well. Now he really wanted to know your name.

And tonight, at the banquet — with the court in its finest and the wine flowing freely — he intended to find out.

***

The court began to stir again after your exchange with the king and queen—murmurs spreading like ink in water, a ripple of intrigue following in your wake as you stepped back from the throne.

You felt eyes on you. Not the polite kind, or the curious kind—but the kind that tracked like a storm on the horizon.

And sure enough, before you’d taken more than a few steps toward the grand corridor, a voice fell in beside you.

“Well,” Said Gwaine, walking easily at your side, his grin ever-present but tempered now by something keener beneath it, “You certainly know how to make an entrance.”

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, the hint of a smile curling your lips, “Is that a compliment or an accusation?”

“Both,” He said brightly, “You appear, steal every gaze in the room, speak like a goddess in disguise, and vanish without even offering your name. Honestly, I’m a little offended.”

“Because I haven’t told you my name?” You asked, amused.

“Because you didn’t even glance my way,” He said with mock heartbreak, placing a hand over his heart, “I thought we shared something real in that market. I thought what we had was special.”

You laughed—a soft sound, tugging the corners of his mouth into a grin.

“I thought you only dreamed of women who have yet to give you their names,” You said, stepping closer, “Shouldn’t I still be a mystery to keep your fantasies alive?”

He tilted his head, a slow smile blooming across his lips, “Oh, I don’t know. There’s something thrilling about having a name to whisper in the dark.”

“Bold.” You said again, echoing your words from before, though this time your tone was warmer.

“And consistent,” He said, “I pride myself on both.”

A flicker of silence passed between you—not awkward, but full. Charged.

You were close enough now to see the faint scar near his jaw, the way his eyes danced even when his smile didn’t quite reach them. Charming, yes—but not careless. Not with his actual thoughts. Not with a stranger like you. Not yet.

“You’ll say anything to have a woman fawning after you, won’t you? You rake.” You teased.

He chuckled but didn’t deny it, “You wound me, my lady.”

“I imagine you’ve been called worse.” You said.

Your gazes locked, and for a beat, neither looked away.

“While I would love to be entertained by you for longer, I must go prepare for my performance tonight.”

“Then I’ll have to sit near the front. You know, for the acoustics.”

You hummed, eyes forward, “Of course. It’s not at all to admire the view.”

Gwaine’s eyes dropped briefly to your lips before a roguish grin spread across his face, “I can’t deny that the view is certainly admirable.”

You didn’t respond—not with words. Just that look again, the one from earlier. That quiet, composed curve of your mouth that wasn’t quite a smile but was far too much to be nothing.

Then you turned, stepping down the left corridor without another word.

Gwaine watched you go, a hand rising to rest on the hilt of his sword, though he didn’t know why.

He let out a soft, self-deprecating breath.

“I’m in trouble.” He muttered to himself.

***

The banquet hall of Camelot glittered beneath candlelight and crystal.

Laughter and conversation echoed off the high stone arches, accompanied by the occasional clink of silver against porcelain. The scent of roasted pheasant and honeyed wine lingered thick in the air. Nobles in silks and velvets lined the long tables, and knights sat straighter than usual in their polished mail. Even the stone walls seemed less severe tonight, softened by ivy garlands and flickering sconces that cast firelight across ancient tapestries.

At the head of the room, beneath a hanging banner bearing the Pendragon crest, Arthur and Guinevere sat crowned in gold and flame.

Laughter had echoed earlier — bright and loose — but now, as the last dish was cleared and goblets refilled, the mood shifted. Anticipation settled over the room like perfume.

The murmurs stilled as you stepped into the space just below the dais.

No announcement. No flourish.

Just you — and the violin resting in your hands like something sacred.

It was unlike anything the court had seen: carved from dark wood with a faint, reddish sheen, as if it had been soaked in centuries of sunsets. Silver filigree twisted along its neck in unfamiliar patterns, too delicate to be merely decorative. When you raised the bow… the room exhaled.

The first note rang out — clear and crystalline, like ice melting beneath sunlight. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. The sound curled through the air like a spell, catching in the rafters, wrapping itself around torchlight.

Knights stilled. Nobles leaned forward unconsciously, barely breathing.

The melody wound through the hall like a river — rich and fluid, ancient and alive. It spoke of heat and dust, of wind-borne secrets, and lands beyond any map pinned in a council chamber. It didn’t just fill the room.

It woke it.

Then you began to sing.

The language was foreign — old, lilting — its syllables slipping like silk into the stillness. A tongue from across seas, from wind-swept cliffs and half-forgotten gods. No one in the hall understood the words.

But they felt them.

Your voice was rich and resonant, steeped in memory and longing. It spun stories they didn’t know they knew — stories they couldn't quite understand but clung to anyway, breath held, eyes wide. They hung onto every verse. Every rise and fall. Transfixed.

Arthur leaned forward, brows furrowed in concentration. Guinevere’s eyes shone, one hand rising unconsciously to rest over her heart. And across the court — warriors, mothers, kingsguard, diplomats — all stood rooted like statues, as though to move would break the spell.

And then — your gaze shifted.

To him.

Gwaine.

He sat among the knights, wine forgotten in his hand — a first. His laughter had been the loudest earlier, his presence the most familiar. But now he was still. No grin. No clever aside. Just a quiet furrow between his brows, and a gaze locked to yours like it had never belonged anywhere else.

You met his stare head-on, and in your eyes, he saw it: mirth. That glimmering, teasing light that danced there — the same expression you'd worn in the marketplace when you chose not to give him your name. And now, you were singing in a language he didn’t know, directing words he couldn’t decipher right at him.

When your voice dipped — softening into the second verse — it became something intimate. Not just beautiful, but personal. The court blurred at the edges. The air thickened.

The way your lips moved. The way your fingers coaxed sound from the strings. The way you looked at him — like he was the secret tucked between the verses.

Gwaine’s jaw tightened, just slightly.

He knew he was being toyed with. Your voice strung invisible thread around him, tugging with every word. He should have looked away. Should’ve broken the spell.

But he didn’t. Couldn’t.

He was caught — and you knew it.

The song swelled, rising like breath before a confession. You shifted the bow in a final flourish, letting the last note tremble in the air — golden, aching, final.

And then — silence.

Not emptiness. Not pause. Reverence.

You lowered your bow with the elegance of someone untouched by effort. Not a single breath rushed. Not a single lock of hair out of place.

And then — slowly — the room remembered itself.

Guinevere rose first, clapping with stunned grace. Arthur followed, offering a few soft words of praise that you barely heard.

Then the court erupted — applause rising in waves, nobles rising to their feet for a better view.

You flushed prettily, but remained composed. You bowed to the king and queen, then again to the court — your movements measured and graceful.

And when you lifted your head, you found him.

Gwaine. Still seated. Still watching.

The look in his eyes was part wonder, part disbelief — and part something far more dangerous.

You smiled. Not sweet. Not shy. Coy. Elegant. Calculated. A tease. An invitation. And a warning.

Then you turned, violin in hand, and walked off the dais with the ease of someone who knew exactly what power looked like — and how quietly it could be held.

Behind the velvet curtain near the musicians’ gallery, you vanished into shadow.

And still… Gwaine watched.

His goblet sat untouched. His fingers drummed restlessly against the wood of his chair.

After a long moment, he stood.

And followed.

***

The corridor was hushed, lit only by the soft spill of moonlight through towering stained-glass windows. The sounds of the banquet — clinking goblets, laughter, the echo of applause — had faded behind you, muffled now by stone and distance.

You walked slowly, the weight of your violin case familiar in your hand, the click of your boots quiet against the worn floor. After the performance, it felt like you were still coming back to yourself — like the song hadn’t fully left your body.

You breathed in deep. Let it go.

And then—

“That was some confession of love you sang tonight.”

The voice behind you was unmistakable — low, smooth, threaded with amusement and something softer beneath it. You stopped, head turning slightly.

There he was — Sir Gwaine, hair slightly mussed, that ever-present half-smile curling at the corner of his mouth. He leaned casually against the wall, like this conversation was a happy accident. Like he hadn’t been following your shadow since the last note faded. The smirk was crooked, as always, but his eyes — his eyes were fixed on you in that sharp, startling way that made it impossible to look away.

“Excuse me?” You asked, arching a brow, trying not to show that your heart had just skipped.

He walked toward you at an easy pace, all casual confidence and velvet voice.

“I mean, I’ve been flirted with before,” he continued, “but never in another tongue.”

You stared at him, half-incredulous, “Somehow, I find that hard to believe.”

He grinned, “And in front of an entire royal court, no less. You really do set the bar high.”

“While I’d hate to miss an opportunity to make that big head of yours even bigger, Sir Gwaine… I wasn’t singing to you.”

“Oh, come on,” He said, tilting his head, eyes glinting, “I’ve never heard anything more heartfelt in my life — especially when you looked straight at me.”

“I looked at everyone.”

“Yes,” he said, “But only one of us knew what you were saying.”

You blinked.

He smiled — slow and knowing — and then, without hesitation, he spoke the line from your song. The one no one else should’ve understood. The one tucked between verses like a secret folded in silk.

The air left your lungs.

You turned to face him fully now, startled, “You… understood that?”

He nodded, the smile still playing faintly at the corner of his lips, “More or less. My accent’s probably terrible, but I think the meaning holds.”

“You know the language?”

He gave a small shrug, “Bits and pieces. I traveled through the southern coast once — small fishing village past the white cliffs. Spent a few weeks with a caravan merchant and his family. Their daughter taught me how to curse in four dialects. I picked up the rest by listening. Songs. Prayers. Old lullabies sung at dusk.”

You were quiet — studying him.

The open collar of his tunic, the relaxed posture, the rakish smirk… it all made sense until now. Everything you’d assumed about him — this unraveling version didn’t match. This wasn’t a man who stumbled through life on charm and bravado alone. This was someone who had seen things. Heard them. Chosen to remember.

“You’ve been outside Camelot?” You asked, more softly than before.

He stopped just a few steps in front of you, looking down with an expression you couldn’t quite name — one that made you want to look closer.

“I’ve been a lot of places,” he said. “Didn’t always wear the armor or the title. For a while, I was just… no one. So I wandered.”

His voice wasn’t heavy. But there was something behind it — a glimpse of solitude, of silence carried across roads most people never walked.

The shadows between you stretched long and silver-blue, soft at the edges. You could hear the faint hum of the feast behind you, but it felt distant now — like a memory you hadn’t made yet.

You parted your lips, but no words came.

He wasn’t teasing you anymore. He wasn’t performing. He was just Gwaine — still with that glint in his eye, yes, but tempered now with depth you hadn’t expected to find.

“You consistently seem to surprise me.” You said at last, voice soft.

Gwaine’s smile flickered — not cocky this time. Just warm.

“I’m full of surprises.” He said, then paused like he might say more… but didn’t.

You studied him a beat longer, your fingers relaxing around the handle of your violin case.

He noticed. Didn’t push. Just watched you in that moonlight like he wasn’t sure whether to make a joke… or tell you something real.

For now, he settled on, “Walk with me?”

And for the first time all night — maybe all week — you nodded without weighing the answer.

“Yes,” You said, soft and sure, “Alright.”

And together, you walked into the quiet.

Your shoulders close, your footsteps in rhythm, your words still wrapped in everything unsaid. The music behind you had faded entirely, distant now as a dream.

Ahead of you was only stone, and shadow, and moonlight.

And something new — something unnamed — beginning to bloom in the space between your footsteps.

***

The sun was still rising behind Camelot’s towers when the knights began to gather at their usual long table in the great hall — the one tucked close to the hearth, warmed by the crackling fire and the scent of baked bread and roasting meat.

Mugs of spiced cider steamed in their hands, plates filled with honeyed figs, sharp cheeses, and slices of smoked ham.

Leon was the first to arrive, already dressed for patrol, polished and sharp as ever. Percival followed, shaking his head of any remaining droplets from the bathhouse like a dog. Lancelot looked suspiciously well-rested. Elyan, unbothered, was already on his third fig and second roll.

They were halfway through trading quiet banter when the great doors creaked open.

And in he strolled.

Gwaine.

Still dressed in the same clothes from the night before — though he’d ditched his cloak somewhere along the way — shirt slightly wrinkled, hair delightfully mussed, and a grin tugging at his lips that could only be described as smug.

Leon looked up over his mug, “Morning, Gwaine.”

“Look who decided to join the land of the living,” Percival teased, raising a brow as he set down his spoon.

“Late to breakfast, aren’t you?” Leon added with a grin.

Without a word, Gwaine slid into his usual seat, not bothering to deny the delay, “I have my reasons.”

“Oh?” Lancelot leaned forward, brows raised, mischief flickering in his eyes, “Do enlighten us.”

The conversation caught the attention of the monarchs. Arthur turned toward the knights with an almost boyish grin, while Guinevere’s eyes twinkled with growing amusement. Merlin, passing by with a tray of eggs, snorted quietly at the scene.

Gwaine hesitated a beat too long — then rolled his eyes and began piling cheese on his bread. “You lot are insufferable,” He muttered, though there was a smile beneath the words.

“Oh, come now,” Leon said, feigning innocence with all the grace of a fox in the henhouse, “You disappear halfway through the feast, don’t return to your chambers, and yet show up this morning looking like...” He gestured vaguely at Gwaine’s disheveled, tired state, “That.”

“We’re just curious.” Elyan chimed in with a cheeky grin.

“Concerned, really.” Percival added, his voice mock-serious.

“Spill it.” Merlin said, settling at the table with a sly grin.

“Nothing happened.” Gwaine replied, a little too quickly.

“Ohhh...” Elyan said, arching his eyebrows knowingly.

“So something definitely happened.” Leon pressed.

“No!” Gwaine put down his bread, exasperated but grinning despite himself, “We didn’t—gods, must you all behave like gossiping washerwomen?”

“Not until you tell us where you were.” Merlin said, taking a bite of bread.

“And with whom.” added Lancelot, his grin positively wolfish.

Arthur cleared his throat, his grin betraying any attempt at decorum. “If it concerns the lady currently under my royal invitation,” He said with mock seriousness, “I’d like to be informed as well.”

Even Guinevere leaned in slightly now, chin resting on one hand, looking far too entertained.

Gwaine sighed dramatically, “You lot have filthy imaginations.”

Merlin’s grin widened, “So deny it, then.”

“I am denying it.” Gwaine leaned back in his chair, eyes rolling toward the vaulted ceiling as if seeking patience from the very stones, “Nothing happened.”

Elyan raised both eyebrows, unconvinced, “Nothing?”

After a beat, Gwaine answered, voice low but steady, “We walked.”

“Walked?” Percival repeated, voice dripping with skepticism.

“Just walked,” Gwaine said, “We talked. About traveling. About music. About places we’ve seen.”

Silence fell over the table as the knights exchanged amused glances.

Then—

“Awwww.” Lancelot cooed, entirely too delighted by the confession, “A moonlit confession.”

“Taking a quaint little stroll with your love, were you?” Elyan teased, a wide grin splitting his face, “How Romantic.

Arthur chimed in, "What’s next? Poetry under starlight?”

“Perhaps a duet,” Leon said, “He’ll be picking flowers like a forlorn page by week’s end.”

“You can all kindly jump off the highest tower,” Gwaine muttered, but the corners of his mouth were curving helplessly.

Arthur tilted his head, “So let me get this straight — the infamous Sir Gwaine disappears with a beautiful musician who just sang a foreign love song in front of the entire court… and all you did was talk?”

“Yes,” Gwaine said firmly, “I was a perfect gentleman.”

That, of course, only made everything worse.

Leon sputtered into his drink, “A perfect gentleman, he says.”

“A new era,” Elyan said, wiping tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes, “Mark it down. Gwaine, model of chivalry.”

Gwaine only shook his head and smiled — softer now, a little quieter, “She’s not what I expected.”

That settled the table.

Leon blinked, the teasing fading into something gentler, “That so?”

For a moment, no one knew quite what to say.

Until Elyan muttered, “Poor fool.”

And the laughter resumed — just a little more fond this time.

***

The sun hung warm and golden over the bustling town square, where cobblestones shimmered beneath soft light and laughter rolled in gentle waves. Children darted between market stalls, merchants called out their wares, and villagers leaned casually against fountains and barrels, all drawn to the sweet strains of music weaving through the air.

At the heart of it all sat you—perched gracefully on a low stone bench, a lute cradled in your hands. Your fingers glided effortlessly across the strings, coaxing out a melody that was light and playful, a tune meant more for joy than grandeur. The notes fluttered like birdsong, making old women smile softly, dogs tilt their heads in curious delight, and strangers pause mid-step, caught by the enchantment.

Gwaine spotted the gathering crowd from across the square, curiosity tugging at him like a tide pulling toward shore. He threaded his way through a cluster of giggling children until he stood where the music blossomed brightest—right before you. Your hair caught the sunlight in a cascade of warmth, your eyes half-closed, caught somewhere between deep focus and fondness.

He folded his arms, leaning casually against a nearby post, his smirk growing as he watched the way you commanded the square’s attention.

When you finally lowered the lute, letting the last note drift gently on the breeze, the crowd erupted into applause. Coins clinked into a small woven basket at your feet, though many offered nothing but their smiles and gratitude.

“That was lovely.” Gwaine said, his voice carrying that familiar mixture of charm and teasing challenge as he stepped forward.

You didn’t look up immediately, but the corner of your mouth twitched into a smile.

“And free,” he added, hands clasped behind his back as he leaned in just enough to catch your attention, “Which is curious… considering you only perform for payment.”

You raised a brow, eyes locking with his, “Do I look like a liar to you?”

“Never,” he said with a slow grin, stepping closer, “But I seem to recall a certain royal audience where someone insisted she only performed when properly compensated.”

You gave a small, playful shrug, “Believe me, I will be quite rewarded for that performance.”

Before Gwaine could reply, you bent down and took the hand of a small girl standing shyly nearby. The child’s eyes sparkled with innocent excitement, cheeks flushed from the warm day.

Then, turning back to Gwaine with a sweet smile, you said, “This is Lady Tilda. She promised me a thousand gold coins if she ever becomes a princess. How could I refuse the future princess’s humble request?”

Gwaine’s grin widened, eyes crinkling with amusement as he stepped closer to the little girl, “Well, when you put it like that…”

“She’s good for it,” You said with mock solemnity, “We have a verbal contract.”

Tilda nodded eagerly, clutching your skirt as if it were a treasure.

Gwaine knelt down to meet the girl’s bright eyes, “Did you enjoy the song, Lady Tilda?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “She played it just for me.” The girl beamed, pride shining in her voice.

“She did, did she?” Gwaine glanced up at you, his smile softening, “Lucky you.”

Your gaze lifted to meet his, warmth pooling in your eyes. The noise of the square faded into a gentle hum as something unspoken passed between you. You found yourself eager to talk to him again, to lose yourself in hours of quiet conversation and shared stories, like you had the night before.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke. The silence was not heavy—it was comforting, filled with the quiet breath of being near someone who saw beyond the surface and chose to stay.

“Sleep well?” He asked, his voice softening, a vulnerability slipping through his usual easy confidence.

You glanced at him, the corners of your lips tilting upward. “Eventually,” You said simply, “You?”

He gave a faint smile, the flicker of night’s fatigue still present, “Eventually.”

The silence settled once more, but now it was warmer, threaded with something golden and new. There was no pretense anymore—not about who he was, not about who you were. Last night had stripped away a layer from both of you—not completely, but enough to glimpse something real beneath.

Suddenly, Tilda piped up, her voice full of childlike wonder as she stared between the two of you. “You’re to be married, aren’t you?”

You stilled, caught somewhere between a laugh and a gasp, your cheeks warming as you turned to glance at Gwaine — who, to your dismay, looked utterly delighted.

“Well,” He said with a mock bow toward the child, “if the future princess so declares it, who am I — a humble knight of Camelot — to defy such royal command?”

Your brows lifted, lips curving into a smirk as you shot him a pointed look, "Not even in your wildest dreams, I'm afraid."

Tilda, entirely pleased with herself, beamed between the two of you, “Mama says when people smile at each other like that, it means they’re in love.”

Gwaine choked on a laugh, quickly pressing a fist to his mouth in a failed attempt to muffle it. You turned slightly, shoulders stiffening as heat crept up your neck.

“Your mother says too much.” You muttered, fighting the smile that tugged at your lips.

“She says it all the time,” Tilda went on, entirely undeterred, “Especially when she’s looking at the baker.”

That made both you and Gwaine pause.

You glanced at her, then at each other — the same thought clearly occurring to both of you.

“And the baker is…” Gwaine began delicately, “…your father?”

Tilda shook her head with cheerful obliviousness, “No. My father rears sheep.”

You both blinked, sharing a wide-eyed glance of barely concealed alarm and amusement.

“Well then.” You said at last, clearing your throat.

“Indeed,” Gwaine agreed, his voice pitched a little higher than usual, “A… fondness for bread, perhaps?”

“She says he’s got strong arms.” Tilda added proudly.

Gwaine covered his mouth again, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. You shot him a look that was equal parts horrified and entertained.

“Tilda,” You said gently, “perhaps we keep some of Mama’s wisdom just between us, hm?”

The girl nodded solemnly, as if she’d just been entrusted with a royal secret.

Gwaine leaned toward you slightly, still grinning, “I rather like her. She’s brutally honest.”

You gave him a look, amused and exasperated in equal measure, “You would.”

***

You’d been invited to the palace for what was meant to be a simple meeting — a short discussion with Queen Guinevere about the upcoming tea gathering she planned to host for visiting dignitaries. She’d asked for music, light and sophisticated, and had offered you a formal commission to compose and perform.

You accepted — how could you not? But the queen, warm and disarmingly thoughtful, had asked you to stay just a little longer to finalize the arrangements. And so, you waited in the drawing room, the air scented faintly with beeswax and roses, a soft breeze drifting in through the tall windows.

From your chair near the hearth, you could hear the hum of conversation across the room. Guinevere stood at a long table with two male advisors, one of whom spoke with a particular air of authority — all of them bent over plans for the luncheon.

“The Rosenthal china, I think,” Said the older of the men, tapping a parchment, “The gold-rimmed set from the Andalusian trade. It shows strength. Wealth.”

You glanced up at that.

“Forgive the interruption,” You said gently, rising partway from your seat, “May I offer a small suggestion, Your Majesty?”

Guinevere looked up with interest, “Please.”

You stepped forward with quiet confidence, folding your hands, “The Rosenthal set is exquisite, truly — but might I suggest something simpler? Perhaps the sage porcelain or the white-and-cobalt set from Albion?”

The advisor raised a brow, “And why would we serve foreign dignitaries on second-tier tableware?”

You met his tone with nothing but poise, “Because one of the guests — the Lady of Lys — will be attending on the anniversary of her father’s passing. He was their king. The gold embellishments, particularly the eagle motif on the Rosenthal, may unintentionally echo symbols once used in opposition to her house. A more understated set would not only reflect sensitivity but offer elegance without ostentation.”

There was a brief pause.

Even Guinevere blinked, as if surprised — pleasantly so, “I hadn’t considered that.”

But the older man standing beside Guinevere — a lord in richly embroidered blue, his face too long and mouth too thin — gave a small, dismissive chuckle.

“Commoners and their kitchen gossip,” He said, “Your Majesty, perhaps we ought to rely on those trained in such matters of etiquette. This young woman is here to play songs, not instruct the royal table.”

You slowly lifted your gaze to him, still smiling — though now it carried a sharper edge.

“Oh, you’re absolutely right, my lord,” You said, voice light with perfect grace, “I should not have assumed the responsibilities of the lady of the house were being managed by a lady.”

There was a pause — just long enough to let the insult settle.

You inclined your head slightly, a picture of decorum, “My sincerest apologies. I forget myself. It was presumptuous of me to assume such things. Clearly, you are more than capable of handling the arrangements typically overseen by a hostess.” You smiled wider now, barely containing the glint in your eyes, “My la— I mean… my lord.”

A cough disguised as a laugh sounded from somewhere behind you. One of the knights — Elyan, perhaps. Gwaine, leaning in the archway, had the audacity to look impressed. Merlin was biting his cheek to keep from grinning. Even Guinevere’s lips twitched with something dangerously close to smug satisfaction.

The advisor’s expression soured, but he said nothing — merely adjusted his cuffs and cleared his throat, retreating a step with wounded dignity.

Guinevere gave you a subtle nod of approval. “I do hope you’ll stay for the tea itself,” She said, voice smooth, “I rather think we’ll need your eye for refinement.”

You smiled again. This time, just a bit sharper.

“I’d be honored, Your Majesty.”

"I'm not the only one full of surprises." Commented Gwaine underneath his breath.

***

The sun had barely shifted across the courtyard when the next visitor arrived — not heralded by trumpets or fanfare, but by the heavy tread of boots, the jingle of polished reins, and the unmistakable colors of high nobility.

“His Grace, the Duke of Elenfort.” The herald announced.

The atmosphere shifted like the air before a storm.

Conversations halted. Heads turned. Even Arthur, mid-discussion with Leon and a visiting councilor, straightened in his seat. Guinevere’s smile faltered for the briefest moment before slipping back into practiced grace.

You froze.

That name hadn’t touched your ears in years — and hearing it now, in Camelot’s great hall, was like a tolling bell you hadn’t realized you’d been dreading.

The man who stepped through the great doors had a presence like thunder. Tall, silver-haired, cloaked in hunting green and sable, Duke Alaric carried himself like someone used to command. His signet ring gleamed as he gave a bow — just deep enough not to be called disrespectful.

Arthur rose from the throne beside Guinevere, posture formal, “Lord Alaric. Your arrival was… unannounced.”

Alaric offered a short bow, shallow to the point of insult, “Forgive the breach of etiquette, Your Majesty. But I believe I am owed a word.”

A rustle moved through the court. Murmurs stirred like dry leaves.

Arthur gave a cautious nod, “You are welcome in Camelot, Your Grace. What business brings you here?”

The Duke turned — and his eyes landed on you like iron.

“There you are,” He said, “Enough of this charade.”

Gwaine moved before you could even react, stepping instinctively between you and the duke, his posture loose but ready, “Care to explain yourself, my lord?”

“I am the Duke of Elenfort,” Alaric declared, turning back to Arthur, “And this girl is my daughter.”

The silence that followed was total.

Even Merlin, passing with a tray of scrolls, paused mid-step. Leon looked stunned. Elyan raised both eyebrows in disbelief.

Arthur blinked, “Your… daughter?”

“My only child. The Lady of Elenfort,” Alaric said tightly, “She fled our estate three years ago — abandoned her name, her duties, her betrothal — all for some fool’s fantasy of becoming a performer. And now I find her here, parading herself in court.”

You stood a little straighter.

Gwen frowned, “She is here by invitation of the queen. Her conduct has been nothing but honorable.”

The Duke barely glanced at Guinevere, “With all respect, Your Majesty — she is meant to be married. She has lands. Titles. A legacy to uphold. The life of a wandering musician is one of disgrace. One step above beggary. It is not fit for a woman of her breeding.”

Each word struck like a slap.

Alaric turned on you, “You ran from a life people would kill for. And now you make a mockery of our house, dancing on tavern floors and performing for peasants.”

Your voice was cool and even, “I was invited. I’ve done nothing to disgrace your house but live a life I chose.”

“And yet here you are,” He sneered, “Living among knights. Playing for coins. Singing like a tavern wench.”

“Watch your tongue,” Guinevere said sharply, stepping down from the dais.

Arthur raised a hand, “Enough.”

But the murmurs of the court were already rising — knights exchanging glances, advisors whispering behind their hands.

“I will not stand by while she tarnishes our name,” Alaric snapped, “You will come with me—”

“I will not.” You said, voice like steel.

The Duke’s jaw clenched, “Then I will petition the king—”

“You already are,” Arthur said, gaze tightening, “And I am trying to prevent this from becoming something worse.”

“I won’t have her become some common whore with a pretty instrument—”

Gwaine moved so quickly Leon barely caught his shoulder. “Do not speak of her that way,” He growled, “Duke or not, I’ll make sure you don’t walk out of this hall upright.”

Your gaze flickered to him — but Gwaine didn’t look at you. His eyes stayed fixed on your father, sharp and furious, as he took another step forward, positioning himself directly between you and Alaric.

“Stand down,” Arthur ordered, voice cracking like thunder, “That is enough.”

A silence thicker than steel followed.

Guinevere now stood beside Arthur, “She deserves to stay. If that is her wish.”

Arthur’s eyes scanned the room — from the queen, to the knights, to you… then finally to the duke.

“She is a noblewoman by birth,” The king said slowly, “And the daughter of a sitting Duke. This puts us in delicate territory.”

“And if she refuses to return?” Gwaine asked, gaze hard on the king.

Alaric cut in again, voice rigid, “I expect this court to respect the laws of nobility.”

“And I expect,” Arthur said, teeth clenched, “this court not to descend into shouting matches.”

“I will take her back by force if I must.” the Duke snarled, stepping forward—

“You will do no such thing—” Guinevere began.

Tension snapped tight as a drawn bowstring.

“I won’t go back!” You said, loud and unshaken — the words slicing through the court like a blade.

Voices clashed.

Gwaine took another step forward.

Alaric raised his voice over everyone’s.

And you stood — fists clenched, heart pounding, Gwaine’s shoulder nearly brushing yours as he prepared to fight a whole court if it came to it.

And then—

“Enough.” Arthur said again — the word quiet but final.

Still, the Duke turned toward you.

“You will come with me.” He said — voice low. Icy. Absolute.

The air was thick with tension. Duke Alaric’s voice still rang in your ears — the threats, the venom, the absolute refusal to see you as anything but a wayward daughter who needed to be dragged home and locked away again. A pawn to be placed neatly back on his board.

You could feel the weight of the court pressing in — the uncertain glances, the restrained whispers, the queen’s steady presence at Arthur’s side, the knights standing tense in a line of silent solidarity.

But when your eyes found Gwaine, standing just off-center, you saw it — the smallest smile. Just for you. Subtle, a flicker at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t his usual grin, all teeth and swagger — it was quiet. Meant only for you. And it said: I’m on your side.

And gods help you, you trusted him.

You straightened, chin lifting with calm resolve, “I’m afraid I can’t return home with you, Father.”

The words fell into the silence like stones into still water.

Alaric’s head snapped toward you, his mouth already curling in disbelief, “Excuse me?”

“Because I’m a married woman,” You said, voice clear and unwavering, “I belong here. With my husband.”

The silence shattered.

Gasps. Murmurs. One of the kitchen girls near the back dropped a platter. Leon swore softly into his mug. Merlin choked on air. Gwen’s hand froze midair as though she’d been paused mid-spell. Arthur… Arthur looked like someone had hit him square in the face with a pie.

And Gwaine — Gwaine blinked.

His head jerked toward you so fast it was a miracle he didn’t knock something loose. His eyes flew wide, blinking hard — just once — before you gave him a sharp, pleading look. Just go with it.

And bless him, because he did.

He straightened, rolled his shoulders back, and stepped toward you with the kind of swagger only he could pull off without looking like a fool. “That’s right,” He said, voice full of infuriating ease, “We’re married. Happily.”

Another ripple of disbelief passed through the room like thunder.

Arthur looked between the two of you, visibly trying not to smirk. Leon blinked slowly, eyebrows halfway to his hairline. Merlin covered his mouth with his sleeve. Guinevere was still frozen, a teacup raised halfway to her lips.

“Married?” Duke Alaric spat, “To him?”

Gwaine gave him a dazzling smile, “Pleasure to meet you, Father-in-Law.”

You cleared your throat primly, “It was a quiet affair. We didn’t want to attract attention, given my... complicated family situation.”

Alaric turned to Arthur, furious, “I demand the marriage be annulled. This was clearly done in haste.”

You tilted your head, “Oh, we can’t annul it.”

“And why not?”

“Because,” You said, voice syrup-sweet, “the union was witnessed by a member of the royal family. It’s legally binding.”

You turned to Gwen, who was watching you like you’d just tossed her a dagger and a crown at the same time. Your life was in her hands. Your eyes begged: Please.

And Guinevere, glorious woman that she was, didn’t even flinch.

She straightened, regally, and nodded once, “Indeed. I witnessed their vows. It was… a deeply moving affair.” She tilted her head just slightly, “So much love in the room.”

Arthur looked like he was trying not to laugh. Merlin bit the inside of his cheek. Leon was actively shaking with silent mirth. Elyan had to turn away.

Alaric looked between you all, flabbergasted, “Fine. Then you will divorce.”

“Also impossible.” You said at once.

“Impossible?” he echoed, voice rising.

You held his gaze and delivered the final blow with a smile that could cut glass. And with the poise of a queen, the calm of a saint, and the nerves of someone absolutely lying through their teeth, you said,

“We consummated the marriage.”

Silence.

Guinevere inhaled sharply. Arthur made a strangled sound. Leon nearly dropped his goblet. Merlin outright choked.

Gwaine blinked, “I’m sorry, the marriage has been—?”

You gave him a look. That very specific look that said: Gwaine. This is the part where you help me or I kill you with my bare hands.

He stared for a heartbeat. Two.

Then, with that same ridiculous flourish he used when gambling or charging into battle, he stepped beside you, wrapped an arm around your waist, and flashed a grin so rakish it could have brought the ceiling down.

“Oh. Yes. Right,” He said, “Absolutely. Consummated. Thoroughly. Best day of my life.”

Leon choked on a laugh. Elyan whispered “He’s going to die” to Lancelot, who only nodded solemnly. Your father looked a hair’s breadth away from a heart attack.

Arthur cleared his throat, “Well. That would make the union valid under every law I know.”

“And irreversible.” Guinevere added smoothly.

Duke Alaric’s face flushed a furious crimson. His jaw locked tight, a vein pulsing at his temple as he cast his gaze between you, Gwaine, and the royal court — many of whom were now struggling to conceal their amusement behind goblets, gloved hands, or tightly clenched jaws.

“You have humiliated yourself,” He hissed, voice low and shaking with rage, “And disgraced me in the process.”

You tilted your head, lips curving into a smile as sweet as it was sharp, “Well,” You said lightly, “the list of advantages to this marriage appears to grow by the moment.”

Alaric’s hand twitched at his side, as though tempted to strike the words from your mouth — but not even he was foolish enough to try. Not here. Not with Arthur watching him like a hawk, and Gwaine standing half a breath away, one hand already perilously close to the hilt of his sword.

Alaric’s gaze flitted to Arthur, to Guinevere, to the silent wall of knights lining the edge of the court — and found no allies among them.

“So be it,” He snapped, “You’ve made your bed.”

He turned on his heel, his cloak swirling behind him like a banner of war, “When this charade collapses around you, do not come crawling home. You are no daughter of mine.”

And with that, he stormed from the hall, boots striking like thunder against stone. The great doors boomed shut behind him with a resounding crack.

A heavy silence followed.

Then—

“A word,” said Arthur, voice calm but cutting, “Sir Gwaine. Wife.”

Still standing shoulder to shoulder, Gwaine’s hand a steady warmth at your back, you exchanged the faintest of glances — and followed the king and queen from the hall. You were led into a side chamber, quiet and sunlit, the scent of lavender and parchment rich in the air. But you noticed none of it.

Because the moment the door clicked shut behind you—

You turned and launched yourself into Gwaine’s arms.

He caught you at once, stumbling a half-step backward as your arms wound tightly around his neck, laughter bursting from your chest.

“Gwaine,” You gasped, breathless with adrenaline and disbelief, “you were brilliant. I could kiss you.”

“You owe me a drink.” He said under his breath — though one arm settled instinctively at your waist, fingers brushing against your ribs like he didn’t quite want to let go.

“I owe you far more than that,” you said, voice softer now as you met his gaze, “Truly. I can never repay what you’ve done today.”

His smile gentled, and for a heartbeat it felt like you two were the only people in the world.

“You owe me nothing,” he murmured. “I would do it again. A thousand times.”

A pointed cough broke the moment — theatrical and not at all subtle.

You turned, cheeks flushed but glowing, to see Arthur standing with arms folded, his expression somewhere between disbelief and deadpan irritation. Guinevere, beside him, looked perilously close to laughter.

“That,” Arthur said, his tone dry, “was quite the performance.”

Guinevere grinned, “One I thoroughly enjoyed.”

Arthur’s gaze returned to you, “Lady (Y/N)… are you certain of this path? You’ve turned your back on land, power, a title that many would kill to claim. Is this truly a decision you won’t come to regret?”

You didn’t even blink.

“Never, Your Majesty,” You said with bright conviction, “I would sooner die than return to my father’s estate.”

Arthur blinked, “You’re… smiling. Rather excessively.”

“I can’t help it,” You laughed, “I can’t stop. Is this what joy feels like? My heart won’t sit still.”

Gwaine chuckled low beside you, the sound warm and unguarded, “Feels rather the same from this side, too.”

You turned to him with a grin that could have lit the room, “Truly, my cheeks ache. I feel as though I might take flight.”

Arthur looked between the two of you, then turned slowly to Guinevere. “I believe,” He said, “this may be the first time I’ve seen anyone cheerful about waking up married to Gwaine.”

“Jealousy,” Gwaine said, without missing a beat, “is unbecoming, sire.”

Guinevere laughed — light, delighted, and wholly unrestrained.

And you just stood there, beside the man who had helped you reclaim your freedom, your name, your joy — smiling so hard your face hurt, heart light as a feather and full as a kingdom.

***

The days that followed passed in a blur of whispers and watchful glances. Your “marriage” had become the scandal of Camelot — retold in courtyards, corridors, and kitchens with growing flair. By the time it reached the stablehands, you were either a runaway princess, a bardic enchantress, or a spy sent to seduce the king’s best knight.

But beneath the laughter, beyond the amused jests, lay the quiet truth: the marriage had been a ruse. A clever, desperate ploy. And now that the storm had passed and your father had ridden off in outrage, it was time to untangle the knot.

You had never meant to stay.

Camelot was golden, yes — full of music and kindness, sunlit towers and friendly halls. But it was not the road. Not the ache of strings beneath your fingers, nor the wind in your cloak as the world unfolded beneath your boots. You were born for songs and silence and sky. And Gwaine… he’d known that from the start.

You stood at the castle gates with your pack slung over your shoulder and your lute at your back. The sun was cresting the towers, casting long shadows over dew-damp fields. A breeze stirred your sleeves and lifted your hair. And for the first time in days, you felt like yourself again — unanchored, wild, free.

Gwaine was already waiting. Leaning lazily against a post like he’d been there since dawn, arms crossed, hair tousled by the morning wind. His expression was unreadable — but his eyes softened the moment they found yours.

“So,” He said, straightening with a small smile, “you’re really going, then?”

“I am,” You said, voice quiet but certain, “I have to make use of this newfound freedom you lied so spectacularly to give me.”

He huffed a soft laugh, “A noble lie, surely.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was weighty — like words left unsaid were pressing gently at the seams.

You looked at him, “Thank you, Gwaine. For everything. I’ll never forget what you did for me.”

He tilted his head, his grin a little softer than usual, “Wasn’t all bad. Always wondered what it’d be like to have a beautiful wife without the effort of commitment.”

That made you laugh, light and real — and it brought a twinkle back to his eyes.

But his voice dipped, gentler now, “You’re sure about leaving?”

You nodded slowly, “I’ve been still too long. This… this is all I’ve ever wanted. And the road’s always called to me louder than any ballroom or banner ever could.”

“I never meant to stay,” You added, your tone lowering to something more fragile, “Not forever. As lovely as Camelot is, I don’t belong behind stone walls.”

He nodded once, “I know. I never expected you to.”

You looked at him — really looked. His armor was gone, sleeves rolled to the forearms, hair wild from wind and sleep. And in his face was everything you’d come to know in the brief, beautiful madness of the past few days: mischief and loyalty, steel and softness. Knight. Fool. Friend. Something more.

You shifted your pack higher, readying to leave — but before you could turn, Gwaine stepped forward and reached into his tunic.

He held something out to you: a pendant. Silver, worn at the edges, stamped with the sigil of his house — a lion’s head wreathed in curling vines.

“For protection,” He said, trying to sound casual, “If you get into trouble. Or, you know, if some drunk tries to impress you with his third-rate lute playing.”

You blinked at it, “You’re giving me your crest?”

“Temporarily,” He said quickly, “Don’t get any sentimental ideas.”

“Heaven forbid,” You replied, though your fingers curled around it gently — reverently. The chain slipped over your head, the pendant settling over your heart like a second shield. Or a vow unspoken.

Gwaine watched you in silence. Then, with a crooked smile, he stepped closer and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Go,” He whispered, “Before I say something foolish.”

You placed your hand gently over his chest, where his heartbeat beat steady and unguarded beneath your palm. His hand rose instinctively to cover yours, holding it there.

“In my experience,” You murmured, voice warm and sure, “foolish words often lead to the most beautiful things.”

He smiled at that — truly smiled. But neither of you spoke again.

You lingered for a breath, then let your hand slip away.

And you turned.

Boots light, lute slung across your back, the wind tugging at your cloak like it couldn’t bear to see you go. The gates of Camelot opened before you, and the road beyond stretched wide, wild, and waiting.

Behind you, Gwaine stood on the steps, arms crossed over his chest, watching.

He stayed until long after you vanished from view.

And even then, he didn’t turn away.

***

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

@haniscrying

@superheroesaremyjam113263

@writers-whirlwind

@paankhaleyaaar

[girlwithadragonheart]

Farewell, Wanderlust

Halsin x Fem!Reader

Summary: This takes place long after the events of bg3. Halsin is visiting Baldur’s Gate, and he makes a stop at the Blushing Mermaid. He meets a serving girl that reminds him of himself, and finds himself drawn to her.

Word Count: 9.8k

Warnings: Tension, teasing, mentions of the Struggles of Women™, Cursing, Mentions of assault, molestation, rape, etc. Halsin sees through your bullshit, Mentions of Halsin’s trauma (the Shadow Curse), You are a caretaker of a younger sister, Tav x Astarion mentioned, tav x astarion make an appearance physically, banter between Tav/Halsin/Astarion/you, so much tension, did I say tension? Smut, piv sex, nipple play, body worship, talking you through it, this is more for the feelings than the smut, be aware of that before diving in, oral f receiving, unprotected sex, switch dynamic, so many feelings

This is smut. I am not responsible for the media you consume

Gaelic translation: Mo Chridhe means My Heart

A/N: I made this post about this concept because it's been floating around in my head. This song is a vibe and it's the vibes of this ✨

The music flowed through you as the men shouted and cheered along with the racy tune. You sang and clapped along, keeping things lively as they got deep in their cups. A soft touch on the shoulder here, a nudge of the hips there. It was as easy as breathing to you, and the tips made it worth it.

Hiking up your skirts, you stomped your boots against the floor and climbed up onto the table to dance. The men hooted and hollered as you tapped your heels along to the beat, clapped your hands and let your voice ring out with the bards on stage. 

Swinging your skirts, you danced away from grasping hands, tsking with a condescending tone at the lust-chasers. Their hands were covered in grease and rot, trying to soil you with their intentions.

Moss green eyes followed you from the back of the room. Halsin leaned against the far wall, watching the display, his drink all but forgotten in his hand. He watched the way you nimbly escaped the leering men, pressing two fingers to their foreheads and pushing them back enough that they fell back into their chairs.

As much as he was loath to admit it, he understood the way they were feeling. Something about the warmth of your smile was all-encompassing. It wrapped around him like twisting vines, urging him toward you.

The crowd cheered louder as you spun, skirts swirling, but beneath the noise and smiles you felt the weight of their stares. It was strange how such lighthearted music could surround you while you danced on the edge of frustration and loathing, smiling as you always had, even when all you wanted was to disappear.

He crossed his thick arms under his chest to regain some sense of control. It lasted him all of a second as your eyes swept the room, catching his with a small smile. Your gaze raked over his form, and there was a glint in your eye that wasn’t there before. He felt laid bare by your eyes alone, and while he was conscious of the way he stood out in a crowd, this was different.

You had the masses at your feet, but you sought out his attention. His cheeks flushed under the weight of your appraisal. He was used to it, however. He knew by many standards, he was considered exotic, being such a large elf. He had never quite been able to bend to the whims of the elven beauty standards, constantly trying to stoop too low to fit under that bar. He was much too large, and much too masculine for the non-conformity his race often had.

So no, he wasn’t beautiful, not by any standards other than the exotic ones. At least in his mind, this was true.

You, however, had other ideas. Something about those warm green eyes reminded you of sunlight filtering through trees, and though he looked battle-worn, there was a gentleness to his presence that you couldn’t quite decipher. It was drawing you to him, and you weren’t sure you would be able to stop once you let that feeling take root.

His presence was such a contrast to the rabble you normally dealt with. The rough clawing hands trying to tear your skirts and see your skin. The men hoarding, drunk on ale and lust. But there was something more than lust in his gaze. It went beyond just a carnal desire, and it was trying to reel you in.

As you twirled and spun, the joy of the music faltered in your steps for a moment. It was overshadowed by a pair of eyes that lingered a bit too long, a bit too low. Your smile didn’t slip, but something inside you did. A little crack. You caught the man’s gaze, tsking with a teasing smirk, but it was harder to shrug off than you wanted to admit.

The music rose like a great wave, and you spun, your voice ringing out, harmonizing with the instrumentals behind you. Your voice crested and fell, your chest rising and falling with great breaths as you posed on the table, skirts held out in one hand, the other poised in the air delicately.

You caught his eye again---the large elf in the back, his presence calming in the sea of drunken faces. There was no hunger in his gaze, just… interest. Curiosity, even. It was such a stark contrast to the clawing, desperate hands you had just brushed off. You smiled at him, but something stirred inside you---a yearning to be seen for more than just this dance.

Halsin put two fingers to his mouth and produced a loud whistle as everyone cheered and applauded. Your eyes caught his and you winked before disappearing behind a partition.

The elf took a sip of his drink, feeling it warm his chest before setting it down, lest he make a fool of himself.

Behind the partition, your smile fell. The music and cheers were muffled now, but their clawing stares still clung to your skin. How long had you done this? Pretending it didn’t bother you, letting them think you enjoyed their attention, their touch. It was exhausting, yet you did it every night. But why?

You freshened up your face with powder as your chest heaved with the effort of breathing beneath your stay. Carefully running fingers through your hair to give it that desirably unkempt effect that everyone always loved.

When you came back out, you felt the eyes following you. They made you want to be desperately and completely unattractive. Their eyes crawl and claw along your skin, marring you with their intentions. It’s impulsive, the way you want to pull your face off, to be around them it’s fucking impulsive.

You didn’t know why you did it every day, every night, the masses lusting after you in that disgustingly toxic way that had you leaving with bruises on your hips and welts on your cheek.

For every woman is a work of art and should be treated as such. They are not men, they are made of ass and glass. Their skin is clay and painted blue, their head can detach. They are statues with a pulse they are art you can fuck. 

They are paintings with legs. 

They are art you can fuck.

Wife, whore, mistress, maid, mother.

To be admired takes precedence over admiring. To be desired takes importance over desiring. 

Take the screaming one because a woman who doesn’t want it is much hotter than one that does.

You can be anything you want, you could be anything, but not theirs. You would not be theirs.

With practiced poise, you square your shoulders and straighten your spine, tying an apron around your waist to serve the people.

Halsin watched as you worked, seeing you flit around the space like second nature. As though this was where you belonged. But he saw beneath the brave face. He saw the twinge of your eye when someone got too close. He saw the twitch of your fingers when someone got handsy with you. He saw the grit in your jaw when you smiled.

You may seem like this was your home, but he knew that was likely the farthest thing from the truth.

It was a beautiful facade, and once again, Halsin found himself drawn to you. He saw parts of himself in you that he hadn’t seen in years. It made him yearn to know you. To know himself. To see himself the way others did.

As you flitted between tables, balancing trays of mugs and pitchers, you caught the Druid’s gaze again. Unlike the others, his eyes didn’t follow your every movement with hunger. Instead, there was a quiet warmth in his gaze. One that made your steps falter, just for a second. He lifted his goblet in a gentle, unspoken request. You nodded, disappearing through the crowd for a moment before reappearing to refill his drink.

Your hand was steady as you refilled his drink. 

“Your dance was… captivating.” His smooth deep voice washed over you from head to toe as he watched you pour the amber liquid. The compliment was genuine, and it didn’t hold the same lustful undertones that most did. “I am Halsin,” he said, introducing himself.

A smile graced the corners of your lips. “Thank you, Halsin, I am glad you enjoyed it. It’s not often we get such… interesting company in this part of the city.”

He chuckled, “Interesting, no doubt? None more intriguing than you, I’ll wager. Tell me, if you find this company so repulsive, why torment yourself with the work?”

“Repulsive? What gave you that idea?” You said smoothly. He simply raised a brow, bringing his newly filled drink to his lips. “It pays,” you sighed. “I need the money, really. It’s not easy trying to support more than yourself in this city.”

“I see,” he hummed. Halsin leaned forward, voice soft and kind. “It must be tiring dealing with these crowds every night.” He paused, studying you carefully. “Perhaps after your shift you’d like some fresh air? A walk under the moonlight… It’s quieter out there,” he suggested.

The offer caught you off guard, your lips parting slightly. A walk? With him? He had a presence, a calmness that intrigued you. A break from the noise, the stares, sounded too good to be true. Certainly too good to refuse.

“Maybe,” you offer a teasing grin. It was less theatrical now. “If you promise not to ask me to dance again. My feet are killing me.”

Halsin chuckled, the sound deep and comforting. “Only if you want to.”

“Alright,” you said, pushing off the beam and adjusting your apron. “But if you get any ideas about trying to twirl me under the moonlight, I might have to reconsider.”

Halsin’s grin widened, warmth in his gaze. “I’ll behave… for now.”

The noise of the tavern slowly dimmed behind you as you stepped out into the cool night air. The breeze was a welcome contrast to the heat and chaos inside. You paused at the entrance, pulling your shawl tighter around your shoulders as the weight of the night settled over you.

Halsin was waiting nearby, a quiet presence amidst the shadows. His broad frame seemed even larger beneath the glow of the moon, but his expression was soft. Patient. He offered you a small smile, and without a word, you both began to walk.

In the back of your mind, you worried, but you pushed those thoughts aside. She would be alright on her own for a while longer. She was likely asleep by now anyway.

The night was calm, and the streets of Baldur’s Gate were quieter at this hour. Only the occasional murmur of drunkards stumbling home or the distant clatter of hooves disturbed the peace. Your footsteps fell into an easy rhythm, and for a while, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable---it felt like a release after the constant noise of the tavern. You found yourself stealing glances at the elf beside you, watching how the moonlight caught in his hair and softened the hard lines of his face.

After a while, Halsin broke the silence, his voice a low rumble that blended with the night air. “I can see why you’d want to escape from all of that,” he said. “The noise… the attention.”

You nodded, letting out a soft sigh. “It’s exhausting,” you admitted quietly. “They think it’s all fun and games. And maybe sometimes it is, but most of the time… I feel like I’m wearing a mask for the performance’s sake.”

Halsin glanced at you, his gaze thoughtful. “A mask?” He knew of course what you meant, but it felt like an invitation to speak of your troubles to someone who just wanted to lend an ear.

You gave him a small, wry smile. “To keep them at bay. To keep myself from… I don’t know. Feeling too much. Letting it get to me.” You kicked at a loose pebble in your path, watching it skitter ahead of you. “It pays well, but I’d give almost anything to get out of that place.”

He nodded, his understanding evident in the way he listened without judgment. “And yet you stay. For someone else, no doubt.”

You hesitated, then nodded. “My sister. She’s younger, and I’m all she has. This job is what keeps food on the table and a roof over our heads.” You laughed softly, but the sound lacked humor. “Not much choice in that, I suppose.”

Halsin’s eyes softened. “You care for her deeply,” he said softly. “It takes strength to carry such a burden. I understand what it’s like to protect someone.”

The empathy in his voice surprised you, but it shouldn’t have. “Do you?” You asked, curiosity piqued.

He paused, as though contemplating how to share what was on his mind. “Once, long ago, I fought on the front lines against an evil that plagued Reithwin. I was friends with a young fey boy who relied on the lands to survive just as they did him. We failed that battle, and the land was plunged into darkness.”

“The Shadow Cursed lands,” you said thoughtfully. “I’ve heard of the horrors that used to roam there.”

He nodded solemnly. “It took a century, but I found myself aiding a group of adventurers that had to pass through there. The evil they fought had turned out to be the very same man who had cursed the lands all those years ago. With their help, we relinquished the curse and brought light back to Reithwin. The fey boy, Thaniel, nearly hadn’t survived. The world is not kind to those who cannot defend themselves.”

There was a weight to his words, one that mirrored something deep inside you. “I’m sorry,” you said softly, your earlier lightheartedness slipping away. “You say you lost the battle. It sounds like you lost much more than that.”

“We all lose, in time,” Halsin said gently. “But I’ve found that with loss, there comes clarity. And with clarity, a chance to rebuild.” He glanced at you, his gaze intense, but warm. “You, too, have that strength. I see it.”

His words struck a chord in you. The way he looked at you---not with hunger or desire like so many others, but with genuine respect---made something inside you stir. You’d spent so long being admired for your beauty, your charm, but here was someone who saw deeper. Who understood.

You walked in silence for a while longer, the path beneath your feet turning from cobblestones to a dirt trail leading toward the outskirts of the city. The sounds of nature began to replace the distant chatter of the city---the rustling of leaves, the quiet hum of insects, the occasional hoot of an owl. The moon hung low in the sky, casting everything in a soft, silvery light.

Eventually, the path led you into a small clearing surrounded by trees. The air was crisp and fresh, and the moonlight bathed the space in an ethereal glow. You stopped, turning to face him. “This… this is nice,” you said softly, your voice barely over a whisper. “Peaceful.” 

In truth, you had no idea this was out here. You’d been born and bred Baldurian and there was no reason for you to ever travel when everything you needed was right there in the midst of the city. Finding somewhere quiet in nature was often the last thing on your mind. But here, with him, it was at the forefront.

You glanced up at him, watching as his eyes took in the surroundings with a calm familiarity. His presence was grounding, and for the first time in a while, you felt like you could breathe without putting on a show.

“It is,” Halsin replied, his voice a deep rumble in the quiet night. “Sometimes, when the world is too loud, I seek places like this. It helps me remember what matters.”

“I hate the way they look at me,” you admit to him. “As if I’m something they have any right to. Something they own,” you spat.

His expression softened, and he stepped closer, his warmth enveloping you. “You’re not,” he said firmly, his voice like a steady heartbeat. “You’re more than what they see. More than they could ever understand.”

The sincerity in his words hit you hard, and before you could stop yourself, you stepped closer to him, your body craving the solace his presence offered. His hand found your cheek, rough but tender, and you leaned into the touch, your eyes fluttering closed.

“I…” your voice was barely a whisper. You could feel the pull, the magnetism between you, a need for connection that went beyond words.

Halsin’s breath was warm against your skin as he leaned down, his forehead resting against yours. “I see you,” he whispered, his lips brushing the edge of your temple.

The space between you disappeared,and your lips met his in a soft, tentative kiss. His touch was patient, gentle, as though he were holding back a great storm for your sake. His other hand moved to your hip, holding you softly, not like something to own, but something to cherish. The kiss deepened, your lips parting to welcome the sweep of his broad tongue, and your heart raced in your chest. But just as your hands found his broad shoulders, a tremor of doubt ran through you.

“I… I can’t,” you stammered, your fingers still curled in the fabric of his tunic. “I don’t… I’m not ready. Not yet. It’s---”

Halsin brushed a thumb along your cheek, and you quieted. His eyes softened. “You don’t have to explain,” he said gently. “Not to me. You should never feel rushed. I’ve been alive for three hundred and fifty years, I can wait a bit longer.” 

You nodded, a mix of relief and guilt swirling inside you. “I’m sorry…”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” He stepped back and cool air rushed between you. The warmth of his presence was sorely missed. “When you’re ready.”

The intimacy hung in the air between you, a tether that hadn’t snapped but was left suspended. You both turned, continuing the walk in silence, but the weight of what could have been lingered in your chest long after you returned to your apartment above the Elfsong.

You’d been thinking about that night for days. The way Halsin’s presence had calmed you, the way his touch had stirred something inside of you that you hadn’t felt in a long time. And now, with every passing day, you couldn’t shake the feeling of regret. Why had you pulled away? Why hadn’t you just allowed yourself that moment of connection?

Tonight, the tavern was rowdier than usual. Men sloshed their drinks, and the noise was deafening, but your mind was elsewhere. Your thoughts kept drifting back to him---to Halsin, and what could have been.

Things were harder since then it felt like. It was more difficult to pull on the mask, and even more difficult to pull it off when you were done performing. All of those clawing hands felt like they were gripping everywhere. Like they were trying to restrain you and pull you back in to keep you from feeling fulfilled. To keep you from having fun. To keep you from being free.

After your shift, you headed out into the night, the streets quieter now. The air was cool again, but this time it didn’t bring the same sense of peace. You felt the weight of eyes on you---eyes that you had learned to ignore but never fully escape.

The alley was dark and narrow, the dim light of the tavern barely reaching the cobbled street as you stepped outside to catch a breath. The night had grown quieter, but you still felt the ghost of eyes on your skin, crawling and biting like the memories of lecherous hands from nights past.

You didn’t hear him at first---the heavy footsteps that followed as you made your way down the alley, the stench of ale and filth drifting toward you on the wind. The faint clink of a bottle hitting the ground. Then, the voice---low, slurred, but unmistakably familiar.

“Oi,” came the rough, rasping call. “Where you off to in such a hurry?”

Your heart thumped loudly in your chest as you quickened your pace, the cold weight of dread settling in your stomach. You knew that voice. One of the drunkards from the tavern. His slurred words echoed in your mind, followed by the clumsy grad he’d attempted earlier in the night. You’d laughed it off then, but now… Now you were alone.

A hand shot out from the shadows and grabbed your arm, yanking you back with brute force. You let out a sharp cry as your back hit the rough stone of the alley wall. The smell of alcohol and sweat overwhelmed you, and his breath, hot and rancid, fanned across your face.

“Didn’t get a good enough look at you earlier,” he slurred, his voice thick with menace. “But now… I’ve got you all to myself.”

Your blood ran cold, terror sinking its claws into your chest as his filthy hands grabbed at your waist, his body pressing you hard against the wall. The alley was too narrow, too dark. There was no way to scream loud enough, no way to escape the iron grip that pinned you in place.

You struggled, pushing at his chest, but it was like pushing against a brick wall. His hands roamed, pawing at your skin, tugging at the ties of your dress and corset, nearly tearing the thin material. Panic surged through you, your vision narrowing as rage and and fear tangled in your throat.

“Let go of me!” You snarled, but your voice wavered.

He laughed, the sound dark and predatory, like a wolf toying with its prey. “Come on now,” he taunted. “You wanted this. All that dancing, all those smiles. Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy the attention.”

Your mind screamed as you writhed against him, but his grip tightened. You could feel the anger rising, hotter and more dangerous than the fear when there was nothing you could do about it. It swelled in your chest like a damn about to break just as tears filled your eyes.

They would never know what it was like to dance in the fear that you did. Forever living in headlights, the hunted, the deer. You were only prey for the predators. Not the top of the food chain, but certainly higher on it than you were.

Whore, mother, sister, slut.

Nurse, sinner, virgin, bitch.

It didn’t matter what title you had, you were seen by most men the same way.

Sex doll, slave, toy, cunt.

Your elbow connected with his ribs, hard enough to make him grunt, but he didn’t release you. His hands scrambled for purchase, his grip brutal and unrelenting. He was stronger than you, even drunk. You kicked, you clawed, every inch of you thrumming with violent desperation.

Your vision blurred with tears of frustration. Your mind was a blur of survival and sheer, primal rage. You clawed at the ground, searching for something---anything to fight with. But before you could find purchase, the drunkard’s grip tightened again. His weight pressed you down like a stone, and you felt your body beginning to numb from the terror, the suffocation.

Then, just as your world began to shrink to the horror of his hands on your body---

A deep, thunderous roar split the night.

Halsin.

In an instant, the weight was gone. The drunkard was torn off of you as if he were nothing more than a rag doll. You gasped for air, rolling onto your back just in time to see the massive druid towering over the man, his broad chest heaving with fury.

“You dare lay a hand on her?” Halsin’s voice was low, dangerous---like a storm about to break. His eyes glowed with barely restrained rage as he looked down at the man crumpled at his feet.

The drunkard groaned, scrambling back, but Halsin was quicker. His hand shot out, grabbing the man by the throat and lifting him effortlessly into the air. The man’s feet kicked helplessly as Halsin held him aloft, his grip tightening with every second.

“You will never touch her---or any other---again.” Halsin’s voice was a growl, primal and unyielding.

For a brief, terrible moment, you thought he might snap the man’s neck right there. But instead, Halsin threw him to the ground with a sickening thud. The drunkard lay there gasping, clutching his throat, eyes open wide with fear.

Halsin took a step forward, looming over him. “Run,” he commanded, his voice deadly calm. “Run before I change my mind.”

The man didn’t need to be told twice. He scrambled to his feet, stumbling and tripping over himself as he fled down the alley disappearing into the night.

Your body shook as the adrenaline slowly drained from you. You sat up, your breath coming in ragged gasps, trying to gather your wits. The fear, the rage---it still clung to your skin like a second layer of filth. On top of the first layer which you felt you would never wash off. All the places where he had touched you burned on your skin.

But then Halsin was at your side, his expression softening as he knelt before you. His hands were gentle now as they brushed the dirt from your arms, his gaze filled with concern.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice low, soothing.

You shook your head, your throat too tight to speak. Your heart still pounded in your chest, but you felt… safe. His presence was like a balm, the rage that had once twisted his features now replaced by an almost unbearable tenderness.

“You’re safe now,” he whispered, his large hand cupping your cheek, brushing away a stray tear. His thumb traced a soft line across your skin, grounding you in the present, reminding you that you were no longer alone.

Tears brimmed at the corners of your eyes again, this time from relief rather than fear. You had been so close to breaking, to losing yourself, but now here he was---strong, unyielding, and yet so impossibly gentle.

You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes as you finally allowed yourself to feel the weight of what had just happened. He pulled you close, wrapping you in his arms. The alley was quiet now, the only sound the faint rustle of the night wind and your own uneven breaths,

You leaned into him, your face buried against his chest, listening to the rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear. It was steady, like the forest after a storm. His scent---earthy, like pine and damp leaves---calmed the last of your trembling nerves. For a moment, it was all you could do---just breathe and be held.

Finally, you pulled back slightly, your hands still resting against his broad chest. His eyes, normally so warm, were now shaded with worry. Halsin’s hand brushed the side of your face, tucking a stray lock behind your ear. “I should have been here sooner,” he murmured, his voice thick with regret. “I should have protected you.”

You shook your head, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall again. “You did,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “You saved me.”

For a long moment, he said nothing, just watching you with an intensity that made your chest tighten. His hand moved to your shoulder, the touch gentle, as if he feared you might break beneath it.

“You are so much stronger than you know,” he said softly, his thumb grazing the curve of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. “But you should never have had to fight alone.”

His words hung heavy in the air between you, and for the first time, the full weight of what had happened hit you. The fear, the rage, the helplessness---it all came crashing down. You tried to swallow it back, tried to keep it together, but it was too much.

Your breath hitched, and before you could stop it, a sob tore from your throat. You turned your face away, embarrassed, but Halsin was already there, his arms tightening around you, pulling you back into the safety of his embrace. “It’s alright,” he whispered against your hair. “Let it out.”

And so, you did.

The sobs came hard, each one ripping through you as the shock and terror of the attack poured out in a flood of tears. Halsin held you through it all, his large hand stroking soothing circles on your back, his presence a solid anchor in the storm.

“You remind me of a willow tree,” Halsin said, his deep voice cutting through the noise in your mind. “Strong, but flexible. A willow bends in the fiercest storms to withstand it but never breaks. It sways with the wind, rooted deeply in the earth, steady and enduring. You are like that---resilient. Even when the world presses against you, you bend, you adapt. But your roots remain strong.”

His thumb brushed over your cheeks, wiping your tears gently. His voice was quiet, but filled with warmth. You found yourself unable to tear your gaze away from him as he speaks, your mind stilling to his gentle tone.

“And yet, like the willow, there is a softness to you, a grace. The way you move, the way you face life’s challenges with quiet strength… it reminds me of the branches that gently sweep the ground, giving shelter and peace to those who need it.”

He paused, his eyes meeting yours as he gathered you against his chest, cradling you like a mere babe.

“But you are also like the forest,” he continued, his tone shifting as though he were speaking of something sacred. Perhaps it was sacred to him. Perhaps you were sacred. “Vast, full of life, ever-changing.” He said, standing with you as though you weighed nothing. “There is a wildness to you. Something untamed and beautiful. The forest does not seek to control or be controlled; it simply exists in harmony with itself, with all its seasons and cycles. Like the forest, you have a depth that cannot be easily understood---mysteries, strength, and a wild spirit that draws others in. You are captivating.”

He pressed his forehead to yours, green eyes filled with sincerity. “In the forest, there is peace, but there is also power. You hold both within you. Like the trees that grow tall and proud, and the earth that nourishes all, you are a source of strength for others, even when you don’t see it.” His voice was barely over a whisper. This was meant for your ears only, to soothe your mind alone. “And like the forest, you are ever-growing. You change with the seasons of your life, becoming something new, something more, while still holding the essence of who you are.”

Halsin’s gaze lingered on you, as if he saw not just your present self, but the many versions of you that had come before and those still to come. “You are the willow---graceful, strong. And you are the forest---wild, deep, and full of life. Both are beautiful, in their own ways, just as you are,” he said softly. “You are far more complex than the drunks of this city like to think, and more beautiful than the sun filtering through autumn leaves.”

You heard everything he told you and everything he didn’t. You heard him say that you were worth more than just your beauty and your body. You were worth more than what they made you out to be. And you knew now. You knew he could see you for what you truly were. For what you always had been.

Gradually, your tears subside, and you squeeze his shoulder, moving so he can set you on your feet, though you keep a hand in the crook of his elbow.

“Would you like me to take you home?” He asked. “Or somewhere else, perhaps?”

You thought about returning to the Elfsong. You thought about the noise and the people and the constant hum that filled your mind when you were there. Always double checking if the door was locked, making sure the windows were shut and locked, making sure no one was hiding in the dark spaces of the room to hurt you.

But then you thought about someone else. “My sister---”

“I sent Jaheira to check on her. She’s staying with her and her children tonight,” Halsin said. “She’s safe, don’t worry.” You almost cried again, just at the notion that someone had cared enough about you not only to protect you, but to protect someone you cherished by extension. He must’ve seen it in your smile or your eyes because he just smiled softly at you, a quiet assurance that things would be okay.

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” You told him honestly. “My only other option is my parents in the upper city and…” you scoffed. “They’re about as likely to help as the man who did the hurting.”

Halsin was silent for a moment, his mouth drawn into a thin line. He wished he had done worse to that man. “I have somewhere you can stay. Tav and Astarion own a house in the upper city, we can stay there. You’ll be safe.”

“The woman who saved the city?” Your eyes went wide. “I couldn’t possibly impose on them.”

“You can, and you will,” he said, tone gentle but leaving no room for argument. 

Halsin’s hand rested lightly on the small of your back as he guided you through the city gates. “Come,” he murmured, his warmth steady beside you. “Let’s get you somewhere quiet. You’ll feel better once we’re away from all this.”

The two of you walked through the dim, cobbled streets of the Upper City. The night was cool, the stars above shimmering faintly through wisps of clouds. The silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. With each step, the tension of the night began to loosen, like vines slowly unwinding from your heart.

The thought of staying with Tav and Astarion left you unsettled at first---two legends in their own right, people you'd only ever seen in passing. They had saved the city, but still, the idea of intruding on their space made you hesitant. Yet there was something about the way Halsin had said you will---firm, but not unkind---that reassured you. He wouldn’t take you anywhere you didn’t didn’t belong.

When you arrived, Tav greeted you at the door, all warmth and open arms, as though she had expected you. “Come in, both of you,” she said with a smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. “We were just about to have dinner.”

Astarion leaned lazily against the doorway to the parlor, dressed in silk that shimmered like moonlight. He was definitely pretty, and you could see the appeal. He kept his eyes on Tav, swirling his wine glass. He looked serene as he watched her, body relaxed and a small smile on his face as he regarded his love.

You stepped inside, the warmth of the house wrapping around you like a blanket. The air smelled faintly of roasted meat and herbs, and a fire crackled in the hearth, filling the space with a cozy glow. It was a far cry from the Elfsong---quiet, safe, and comforting in a way that felt foreign to you.

“Make yourselves at home,” Tav said, waving a hand toward the dining room. “There’s plenty to share.

“Come, sit with us,” Astarion added, his voice smooth as butter. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes. “We don’t bite. Well, I don’t---not tonight, at least.”

You managed a weak smile at the vampire’s teasing. Halsin guided you to a seat at the table, sitting beside you as Tav set an extra plate in front of you. The meal was simple but hearty---roast venison, roasted vegetables, and warm bread.

“You’re welcome here for as long as you need,” Tav said softly, sitting across from you. Her words were earnest, her expression kind. 

“Thank you,” you managed a smile at her.

“Of course,” she said. “Halsin has spoken so much about you, it’s only right.”

You glanced over at him, the tips of his ears pink as he ate, ignoring the teasing stare from Tav. “He has?” You blinked. You were surprised he had thought about you beyond that first night, but perhaps you shouldn’t be. 

“Of course,” she said. “He had said he was going to invite you here this night, I am glad it worked out.”

Halsin cleared his throat, and you just stared at him. “Not exactly, Tav…” he said carefully. “Our dear Y/N narrowly escaped an attack tonight, I was lucky I got there in time.”

There was a time Astarion wouldn’t have cared, and may have felt a bit smug that he wasn’t the only one. Perhaps his time with Tav was helping him grow. He rested a hand over yours and squeezed gently. His skin was cold to the touch. “No one deserves that. I know better than most. You are safe here,” he promised.

You could only nod. The knots in your stomach loosened a bit---enough for you to eat, and appreciate the meal being shared with you. Astarion, of course, didn’t have any food in front of him, but he sipped his wine.

“So,” Tav said. “Halsin says you’re a performer?” She asked, a knowing glint in her eye that told you she was changing the subject to alleviate some of your stress. “I can understand why, you must have the masses swooning at your feet.”

Your cheeks warmed. Something about Tav saying it changed the way it felt. Rather than the men grabbing after you, you had this woman appreciating your beauty. “Only occasionally,” you told her. “Most of the time I’m just a server.”

“Ah, I see, so Halsin got lucky then,” she shot a teasing smile in his direction. He shook his head fondly, eating his roast rather than dignifying her with a response. “Well, I for one would love to come watch. What say you, Astarion?”

“Oh, darling, you know I’m always down for a show,” he flashed a grin, his sharp canines glinting in the light.

Your blush deepened, and you took another bite of your dinner. Halsin seemingly had it right, not to bother arguing with them. But you felt him nudge your side, as if to say I see you. “She sells herself short,” Halsin said. “It’s far worth any amount of coin you can pay, and a shame you get nothing from it.”

You looked up at him. “I get tips,” you said quickly. “It’s not as though I gain nothing from it. It’s how I met you, after all,” you smiled up at him.

Tav watched you thoughtfully. “Do you have any family in the city?”

“That matters? Only my sister. My parents live around here in the upper city,” You told her. “The (l/n)’s. We aren’t particularly close.”

You saw Astarion’s face twist. “I know that name,” he was silent for a moment, as though trying to remember something. “They had ties to the Szarr family, did they not?”

You saw Tav’s eyes go wide, and you looked between them. “They did when I was young. I’ve not kept in touch with them after fleeing with my baby sister.” You watched Tav squeeze Astarion’s hand. His eyes went unfocused, the epitome of a thousand-yard stare. “I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to cause upset--”

Astarion loosed a breath, chuckling without humor. “You haven’t dear.” Your gaze flicked around the room. “I haven’t thought about that in a long time. You said you escaped? Good on you. So did I.” He raised his glass to you, draining the rest.

The dinner passed in a blur of conversation, though you mostly listened as Tav and Astarion spoke with Halsin. Their camaraderie was easy and familiar, filled with inside jokes as playful banter. It made you feel like a welcome guest rather than an intruder, and slowly, the tension in your shoulders began to ease.

When the meal was over, Astarion poured wine for everyone, his gaze flickering between you and Halsin with sly amusement. “I do love hosting surprise guests,” he said with a grin. “Especially ones who bring such interesting company.”

Halsin gave a low chuckle but didn’t rise to Astarion’s bait. Instead, he turned to you, his hand resting lightly on your back. “You’re tired,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “Let’s get you to bed.”

You nodded, exhaustion settling over you like a heavy cloak. Halsin stood, gently guiding you to your feet, and Tav gave you a reassuring smile. “Sleep well,” she said softly. “You’ll be safe here.”

Halsin led you up the stairs to one of the guest rooms. The bed was large and covered in soft blankets, a small window cracked open to let in the cool night breeze. It was the kind of room that invited rest, but when Halsin turned to leave, you caught his large hand in your own.

“Stay,” you whispered. The word came out softer than you intended, but it carried the weight of everything you couldn’t quite say.

Halsin’s gaze searched yours for a moment, and then he nodded. He didn’t ask any questions---he simply stayed.

He helped you out of your outer clothes, his hands gentle and deliberate, as if he understood how much care you needed right now. When you were down to your shift, he cupped your face gently, stroking his thumb over your cheek.

Something about his touch was the only thing keeping you grounded, keeping you sane. Slowly, as though waiting for you to change your mind, he sat on the edge of the bed, removing his boots as he looked at you.

You bit your lip in quiet contemplation as you watched him get comfortable in this space with you. You both were laid almost bare before the other, a show of silent trust. You stepped between his parted thighs, carefully cupping his cheeks and tilting his face up to you. His moss green eyes searched yours, and slowly he rested his hands on your hips.

You let the breath you were holding from your chest, eyes fluttering closed from the warmth of his palms against the thin fabric separating him from your skin. Somehow, you were closer to vulnerability than ever, and yet you knew you were completely safe here, with him.

You leaned down, lips a hair’s breadth from his, and you closed your eyes, pressing your forehead to his with a sigh. Halsin’s thumbs rubbed soothing circles against your hips. “You don’t have to do anything,” he reassured you softly.

But gods you wanted to. You wanted this. You wanted to make this choice. It was your choice, and it was one you regretted not making sooner. “I want to,” you whispered. “I want to replace their touch with yours.”

You felt his voice rumble in his chest as he spoke. “Come here, to me.” His hands trail reverently down the backs of your thighs, pulling you forward to straddle his lap, needing no further encouragement.

His hands returned to your hips as you pressed your lips to his softly. The kiss was slow and deliberate with a tenderness that made you ache. He kissed you as if every touch was a promise to erase the memories of all the hands that had hurt you before—replacing those memories with thoughts of him; his scent, his touch, his warmth, it consumed you and you thanked him for it.

His hands began to map your body like the roots of a tree seaking the earth—gentle, insistent, and sure. Where others had taken, Halsin only gave, only cherished. His kisses were soft, coaxing you open, and his touch was reverent, as though you were something precious to him.

“You are safe,” he whispered against your skin, his breath warm on your neck. “And I will keep you safe. No one will ever touch you again.”

His words settled deep in your bones, wrapping around the places where fear had taken root,soothing them with a steady warmth. His hands, still at your hips, were grounding—tangible proof that this moment was real. That he was real. That you had chosen this, and he would honor that choice without hesitation or expectation. The tenderness in his gaze was almost too much, and yet you craved more, needed more.

You shifted in his lap, sliding your arms around his neck as his hands roamed up your back. His touch was slow, reverent, as if each movement was deliberate—like a druid tending to the forest, patient and loving. His fingertips traced the curve of your spine, a soothing pattern that made your breath hitch. There was nothing hurried in his exploration. No rush, no demand. Only the steady reassurance of his presence.

When you kissed him again, it was deeper, more intentional. The softness of his lips against your carried a weight that sent a shiver down your spine. This was not just a kiss—it was a reclamation, an act ofhealing, a promise that what came next would be only what you desired. Halsin’s hand cradled the back of your neck, guiding you closer without ever forcing you. His other hand remained at your waist, anchoring you to him, letting you set the pace.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, drawing a low rumble of pleasure from deep in his chest. The sound vibrated through you, spreading warmth across your skin. His kisses trailed from your mouth to the curve of your jaw, then down your neck, each press of his lips a silent affirmation: I am here. You are safe. This is yours to take. Yours to have.

You tilted your head to give him better access, and his lips traced a path to the hollow of your throat. His breath ghosted over your skin, sending sparks down your spine, and you gasped softly, your body arching into him.

His hands slid beneath the hem of your shift, brushing along the sensitive skin of your thighs. His touch was gentle, as if he feared he might startle you—but you leaned into him, silently urging him on. Halsin responded with a deep exhale, as though your trust was a gift he didn’t take lightly. Slowly, his hands traveled upward, caressing the soft curve of your hips, his fingers splaying wide as if trying to memorize every inch of you.

“You are beautiful,” he whispered, his voice low and reverent against your collarbone, as though the words themselves were sacred.

You shivered under his touch, every word, every kiss, unraveling the tension you had carried for so long. His hands reached the small of your back, pulling you closer, pressing you fully against him. The sensation of his solid frame beneath yours made you feel both protected and powerful, as though reclaiming something you hadn’t realized you’d lost.

“I want to see all of you,” he murmured, his voice thick with affection, but not impatience. “If you’ll let me.”

A flutter of anticipation stirred in your chest, but there was no fear, only want—want for him, for this moment, for the peace his touch brought. You nodded, your heart pounding as you reached for the hem of your shift, drawing it slowly over your head.

Halsin’s breath hitched at the sight of you, but there was no savagery in his gaze—only awe, as if you were a rare and precious thing. His hands followed the path his eyes traced. His touch was light and gentle despite the calluses on his warm hands. He was sure of his path as he caressed your bare skin. With every stroke of his fingers, you felt the ghosts of unwanted touches fade, replaced completely by this moment.

“I will care for you,” he whispered, his voice full of quiet devotion. “And I will never hurt you.”

Your chest tightened at his words—not from anything other than the overwhelming sense of safety they carried. You leaned down to kiss him again, your hands bracing on his broad shoulders, and he met you halfway, his lips soft and coaxing as your lips parted to his tongue. There was no rush, no urgency, only the slow unfolding of something deeper—something neither of you needed to name.

His hands roamed over your body, mapping every curve and dip with reverence. He treated you like something sacred, his touch steady and deliberate, as if he were tending to the delicate petals of a flower or coaxing life from the soil. And you bloomed above him, your skin tingling under his palms, your breath hitching with every kiss he pressed to your skin.

You shifted in his lap, the soft friction drawing a low, satisfied hum from Halsin’s chest. His hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements without controlling them, letting you find the rhythm that felt right for you. There was no expectation, only the slow, deliberate merging of your bodies and hearts.

The shift in his lap stirred a quiet groan from his lips, low and rumbling, the sound vibrating through your skin where your bodies touched. You leaned into him, relishing the way his hands tightened every so slightly on your hips, as if he needed this connection as much as you did. His hands against your skin were taut, not to control, but to anchor himself to you, as though you were the only thing tethering him to the ground. His lips parted against yours, and his breath came in warm, shallow waves, brushing your skin like a summer breeze stirring through the canopy.

You felt the warmth growing between your thighs, and your fingers slipped beneath the hem of his tunic. His body radiated heat, and he only pulled back to allow you to slip his shirt off. Your hands trailed his muscled chest and shoulders, nails scratching lightly at the hair on his chest.

His stomach was soft but you could feel the muscle beneath as he tensed with ragged breaths as you explored his body, mapping it in just the same way he had mapped yours. Your fingers trailed over his strong shoulders to the large biceps that were wrapped around you. It wasn’t a cage, it was a blanket. It was a soft landing after all the nights you spent with knees against bricked roads.

"I want you," you breathed, shifting down against his lap. "I want all of you." It's both a plea and your consent. His hand trails up, cupping your breast and rolling your nipple experimentally. You moan, arching into his touch as his mouth savages your neck, licking, kissing, biting wherever he can.

“And you shall have me,” He murmured against your skin. He lowered his mouth to your other breast, swirling his tongue over your nipple and nipping lightly against the bud. You whined, pressing up against his mouth.

He teased you until your buds were red and raw, overly sensitive from his attention. Leaning back, he pulled you with him until his back was flush to the mattress. He watched you like you were his goddess and he was ready to worship you completely.

His hands trailed over your body reverently. When he held your waist, his thumbs nearly touched with how large his hands were compared to you. Your wide hips, though, were soft and the perfect grip for him as you ground down against him with a smile gracing your lips for the first time in days.

He groaned, hips bucking up into you as his head dropped back. “Silvanus preserve me,” he mumbled. If this is to be my end then so be it, he thought. “Mo chridhe…” He squeezed your hips, fighting the urge to grind up into you. You watched his mossy green eyes flash golden before returning to their normal color.

You leaned over him, lifting up to untie the laces to his breeches. With his help, you pushed them down his thighs, feeling his thick length slap up against your ass. You smirked as he loosed a breath heavily feeling you grind back against him eagerly.

“Is this for me?” You tease, sliding your lips over his chest, pressing kisses and love bites where you can.

“All of me is yours, mo chridhe. Every part,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion and need. He had waited centuries to find the person who would so thoroughly complete him.

You smiled, leaning forward to press your lips to his, a kiss that was so soft compared to the heat of this moment. Reaching behind you, you guided his length to your core, gasping soundlessly as you lowered slightly. The stretch of him was much more than you were used to, and his eyes widened as you slid just past the tip.

Your thighs held you suspended as your mouth dropped open in a silent whine. “Shh, little dove,” Halsin rubbed his large palms soothingly over your thighs. “I know. Easy,” he murmured, moving his hands back to your hips and back to your ass, squeezing to distract you from the sting of the stretch.

When your breathing had evened again, you made yourself drop all the way down, ass and thighs slapping against his hips. “Halsin,” you moaned, your eyes rolling back as your body adjusted to the intrusion.

Halsin let out a guttural moan, hands tightening on your hips. “Gods. You feel… exquisite.” You managed to look at him to watch the green and gold in his eyes battling for dominance. His abdomen was tense and chest tight, as though holding back.

“Take me,” you tell him. “Have me. I am yours.”

“Are you sure, my dove?” He asked breathlessly. “I fear if I take control I will not… give what you deserve.”

“Please,” you whimpered, shifting slightly with a moan as he reached the deepest parts of you. Halsin’s eyes went straight to the bulge in your lower abdomen where he rested, and he groaned.

With a smooth motion, not disconnecting the two of you, Halsin flips you onto your back, holding himself over you with one hand beside your head. “You are beautiful,” he muttered, free hand trailing over your body.

Slowly, he began to thrust, the drag of his cock numbing your mind to any thoughts but those of him and this moment. “Fuck, Halsin,” you moaned. His thrusts weren’t fast, but they were hard and deep, hitting every sensitive spot in you.

You threaded your fingers through his hair, pulling him down for a kiss. His lips were soft and warm against yours, and the feeling of being so completely taken was both terrifying and exhilarating. But with Halsin, you knew you were safe. His hands roamed over your body, his touch gentle but firm, guiding you through the sensations.

As he thrust deeper, you arched your back, meeting him stroke for stroke. The friction between your bodies was almost unbearable, but you welcomed it, needing the release it promised. Halsin's breathing grew ragged, his muscles tense beneath your nails. You could feel him tensing, and with a gasp, he ground his hips into you one last time. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him into you.

A low growl rumbled in his chest as he thrust deeply, hips snapping as he emptied himself into you. His body shudders as he lets out a long, satisfied groan, his eyes locked onto yours. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close as he collapses on top of you, their hearts beating in sync.

"Halsin," you whispered, running your fingers through his hair. His weight was a comfort, his warmth seeping into you. You closed your eyes, letting the feelings wash over you. This was more than just sex—this was a connection, a bond forged in passion and trust. And in this moment, you knew that you were finally whole.

His eyes met yours, and a smirk fell over his lips as he started trailing kisses down your chest, down your stomach, biting your thighs, as he settled his lips around your clit and sucked.

Your voice broke as you moaned, back arching up off the mattress. “Oh–” Your mouth fell open as your hands tangled in his hair. You couldn’t decide whether you were trying to pull him closer or push him away.

You felt his tongue swipe through your folds, and he moaned, tasting both your essence and his, and by the gods if it wasn’t the best meal he’d ever had. "Fuck," you hissed, feeling the pleasure build up inside you. Halsin's tongue and lips worked in tandem, driving you wild with each flick and suck. Your hips bucked up against him, seeking more contact, more of that incredible sensation.

You could feel your body tense, every muscle coiled tight. "Halsin," you gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders. And then, with a cry that echoed off the trees, you shattered. Waves of pleasure washed over you, leaving you panting and weak as you came down from the high.

Halsin kissed his way back up your body, his green eyes full of love and satisfaction. He pressed his lips to yours, tasting your warmth mixed with his own. "My heart," he murmured, trailing his fingers down your side.

You sighed, curling into him. The world seemed to melt away, leaving only the two of you in this perfect moment. You knew this was just the beginning, but for now, you were content to bask in the afterglow of your union.

He pulled you against his warm body, cradling you like a babe as he rubbed your back, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Worry no more, mo chridhe, I have you.”

“What does that mean?” You asked sleepily. “You said it more than once.”

“My heart,” he answered. “For that is what you are and what you hold,” he told you.

You only hummed in response, nuzzling your face into his chest. “Will I see you again?” You were not a fan of asking the hard questions, for you always feared it would end with your heart broken.

“As long as you wish it, I will be here. I have responsibilities in Reithwin, but I promise to visit often,” he squeezed your hip lightly. “Push those worries from your mind and rest. It has been a long day and a longer night. Sleep, little doe. I will be here when you wake.”

You didn’t need any more encouragement to fall into a peaceful slumber.

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A/N: This was so freeing to write and just enjoy while I'm trying to cope with life. I can’t believe it took me a literal month.

I hope you enjoy!

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