jjism3

[riseatlantisss]

The end we start from

Pairing : Astarion x female!reader/Tav Around 1,8 words Takes place after the events in Cazador's palace in act 3 (non-ascended Astarion, established relationship) Angst with a happy ending (and loooots of sex) <3

Astarion doesn’t feel good enough. you show him he’s everything.

TW : 18+ MDNI, unprotected sex, very angry/angsty/rough sex, fingering, mature language, mentions of death and depression, mentions of blood

A/N : when i don’t work, i do two things: i take care of my dog and i play BG3. i don’t eat. i don’t sleep. i don’t socialize. i just play BG3. and I write stuff about *him*.

Astarion is many things. Quiet is not one of them. But lately, that’s all he’s been, and you’ve been worrying about him night and day. Tonight is no exception. You wake up in the middle of the night and realize two things : not only is Astarion’s side of the bed empty but the sheets and pillows are untouched, uncrumpled. His side hasn’t been slept in. This isn’t right. Of course, he doesn’t really need to sleep but he always, always lays next to you at night, spooning you, playing with your hair and whispering sweet I love yous in your ear until you fall asleep. His absence means something’s off. Unable to shake off the anxiety, you get up in one swift motion, determined to find him. No chance you’re falling back asleep now anyway.

Your bare feet hit the cold marble floor and you shiver as you make your way accros the bedroom in a hurry. You think of searching outside in case he went for a hunt, but it turns out you don’t have to look too far. There he is, silently leaning against the wall by the window, gazing into the pitch-black night of the Underdark. The light in the room is so dim that you couldn’t even spot him from your bed. You approach him and your heart breaks a little when you notice the lingering sadness in his crimson eyes, enhanced by the faint light of the burning candles next to him.

You want to ask him if he’s ok but it’s obvious he’s not so instead, you remain silent and close the space between the two of you, wrapping your arms around him and gently resting your head on his shoulder.

“What are you thinking about?” You ask softly after a while, your voice barely above a whisper.

Astarion averts his gaze and gives you a faint smile, nothing but a twist of lips.

“Nothing,” he replies. “I’m just being selfish, as usual. Forgive me, y/n.”

You frown and stare at him incredulously. “You’re not selfish,” you say, surprised at how intensely he means it. “Why would you even say that?”

“I –” He pauses, rethinks his words. This does nothing to make you less worried. “I caused you great pain,” he finally says. “I put you in danger. Repeatedly, ever since we met. You could have died a hundred times and it would have been my own, entire fault.”

You look up to him and feel a lump form in your throat. You have never seen him look like this – grief in his eyes and etched into the lines of his face.

“I’m not dead, Astarion. I’m right here with you.” You say as you wrap your arms around his neck. He makes a sound somewhere near a sob and your arms tighten.

“But I did put you in danger and now you’re stuck with me for eternity, in the middle of nowhere, and you—" Again, he stops. He’s bad at this, at talking about emotions. But he fights through it because it’s you. And nothing can be left unsaid between the two of you. Not after everything that’s happened. “You deserve so much better. You deserve the world, and I can’t give it to you.” You’re not sure where this conversation is going but you don't want to find out. His lower lip quiver but he goes on, words spilling out of him like blood from a wound. “I can’t give it to you, and I’ll never be able to forgive myself for it. It’s killing me all over again.” You crumble under each one of his words. His lips are trembling now and you can’t stand it. You can’t but you can’t do him the dishonor of looking away either.

“Astarion, I chose this life.” Your hands flutter to his face, each one cupping a cold cheek, forcing him to look at you. Your heart is pounding, and you know he can feel it. “I had a choice; I could stay, or I could run, and I chose you. I’m not stuck here. I’m home.”

Astarion heaves a faltering breath in an attempt at composure. “Sometimes I think you would be happier without me. Better off.” He barely mouths the words, but you hear them all distinctively, nonetheless. “You should go and leave me here. Walk in the sun. Be happy and live your life.” You draw your hands away from his face and he steps back, speaking louder now.

“It won’t get any better in here,” he continues, gesturing urgently around the room. “It’ll always be cold and dark, I’ll always be a blood-thirsty monster. I belong to the shadows, and I’ll never be able to make you happy, so you might as well just leave.”

His words knock the air out of your lungs and, for a moment, you cannot breathe. You feel your pulse pounding in your veins and blood thrumming under your skin as your heartbreak turns into anger. That fucking idiot, you think, looking up at him through eyes blurred with tears.

“You don’t know what makes me happy. You don’t,” you shout, surprised by the vehemence in your voice. "And you certainly don't get to speak for me." Astarion looks at you in such confusion that you almost feel bad for a moment, but you continue.

“You – you make me happy, Astarion, gods you do. I would rather live an eternity in the Underdark with you than one more day in the fucking sun.” Your heart is clenching in your chest, and you can feel the heat pooling in your cheeks. “By no means would I be better off, let alone happier, without you. I can’t believe that you could even think –” You trail off and sigh in frustration. You can’t bring yourself to scream at him any longer because that’s all he’s ever known before you, screams and shouts and abuse, and you can’t do this to him. But that doesn’t leave you with many options to get through to him. Astarion opens his mouth to say something, but you don’t let him.

Without warning you grab his shirt to pull him close and your lips crash into his, knocking the breath out of both of you with the force that you collide with. It only fuels your rage because the moment his lips are on yours, you can’t help thinking that you almost lost this once and you can’t actually lose it. You won’t let that happen. So you kiss him harder. It’s rough and desperate and sloppy. It's harsh breath and biting teeth.

He turns you around and backs you against the wall. You take it rather hard, but you welcome the sting. Anything to shut him up about not being good enough for you. He crowds in closer, presses you even harder against the wall, shoving his knee between your thighs. His cold lips connect to your throat, making you eagerly tilt your head to give him access to your thrumming pulse dancing at your neck. You have absolutely no qualms about it. If he wants it, it’s his.

But he doesn’t take it. Instead, his mouth sucks and licks, making you squirm and rock your hips against him. You cling to him, grabbing his shoulders and sliding your hands down his shirt and to his back. He hoists you up like you weighed nothing and you wrap both legs around his waist. You tangle your hands in his curly silver hair and pull him forward to feel that mouth on yours again. His tongue running over your lip makes you grind faster, searching for more, more, more. You moan when his hand reaches beneath your gown and through your damp underwear.

Firm, icy fingers are stroking you into madness. You make a sound that’s close to a whimper, but more like a groan, because damn it, you are so impatient now. You are clenching – aching to have him inside.

He is gasping at the feeling of your fluttering around him, and you must be gasping too, but you’re not sure; your head falls back and it feels like you’re breathing, but you could just as well be drowning.

You dig your nails hard into his back - you need to channel the anger into something. Maybe you’ll be the one drawing blood this time. You lean forward to rest your dizzy head on his shoulder and groan in anticipation. Not wasting anymore time, he pushes his hard, large cock into you, going steadily until he’s all the way in.

“Harder. Fuck me harder.” You plead and he obeys.

He sets a pace that graces all the right spots, spurred on the increasingly desperate noises escaping your mouth. This is no effort at all for him, holding you up easily and fucking you hard with determination. But you can see it when you rest your forehead against his – the sheer weakness you feel is reflected right back at you and you know he needs this just as much as you do.

You are so close. You need to concentrate on breathing, just so you simply don’t die. Your lower back thuds against the wardrobe with your oh gods and fucks singing in tandem. The vampire trails open-mouthed kisses and little bites down your neck while maintaining the almost vicious pace in and out of you. Every stroke curls and loves and breaks you into submission. You forget to be angry because your release is in his hands and your body is desperately handing itself over to him.

Your thighs start to quiver around him, the sounds of wetness and the feeling of his own explosion of pleasure deep inside you taking you so high that eventually, you shatter into him. You’re so grateful for the strength holding you up, so you can fall apart.

Your repeatedly moan his name on your way back to consciousness, lips brushing softly against his pale skin.

Before you know what is happening, you break into a sob.

“Please…. Please don’t ever tell me to leave, ever again.” You try to articulate, your voice shaking uncontrollably.

He sinks down onto his knees, holding you in his lap and whispering, “Shh,” into your ear.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice is low and full of gravel. He never sounded so sweet. “I love you, always have and always will. And you’re not going anywhere.”

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Rumours abound! Do we need to ready the crabs?

Probably not, but I can tell you what I personally am hoping for, to whit:

Charles survives this. It's quite important to the crumbling of the royal brand that he lives as long as possible so we have a dramatically unpopular king for as long as possible, because this is the age of "I get to vote for who wins the jungle, WHAT DO YOU MEAN I can't vote for a prettier king"

Steven Colbert has just announced that William has been having an enthusiastic affair with some Marchioness of somewhere or other. I want this to be true.

There will be some royal announcement of something today. It will probably be about Charles' cancer prognosis, but I hope - God do I hope - that it will actually be the announcement that Kate is divorcing William for infidelity, because I cannot stress enough that the best case scenario here is that the only popular one left is massively tarnished by grubby scandal. Even if Charles does then die, the replacement is his gross grubby son who has taken after him in the one way that made Charles himself hated by the public. I want to see the headline "Like father like son: Diana would be appalled" across the front page of the Daily Mail, with side by side photographs of a weeping Diana and Kate to highlight the parallels. I want to see the Times call Kate our 'Queen of Hearts' as she nobly and sadly leaves Buckingham Palace with her crying children. I want everyone to remember that Camilla was the evil Other Woman who should never have been queen, as they now gaze upon the Marchioness of Chumbawumba (I literally don't know where she's from) and shriek 'homewrecker'.

Will this happen? Probably not. But I can dream.

[harunayuuka2060]

MC's brother: Peek-a-boo!

Baby Liora: *giggles*

MC's brother: Omg! He definitely likes me!

MC's brother: Because of that, here's a gift for you~.

MC's father: What is he going to do with your photo?

MC's brother: Father, this face of mine can ward off evil spirits. Duh~. 🙄

MC's brother: This will work as a protective charm for him. 😌

MC's father: Evil spirits are not scared of your face. They are just annoyed.

MC's brother: Father, you're such a hater. 😒

Falena and his wife: *chuckles*

Falena: Your father and your brother are fascinating to be around, MC.

MC: ...

MC: At times, yes.

Leona: Though the sister is a different case. Tch. Good she didn't tag along this time.

MC's brother: *heard him* Well, she said she needed to do something and it was unfortunate that she wouldn't be able to play with her nephew.

MC's brother: Like I'm going to believe that.

MC's father: Still, you need to be nice to your sister.

MC's brother: Being nice goes both ways. She was never nice. Why would I be nice to her?

MC's father: You should at least pretend to be considerate. Unlike you and MC, she didn't get the chance to meet her mother.

MC's brother: What the heck? MC didn't get to meet theirs too and you never tried to be considerate of them. What's that? Favoritism?

Falena and his wife: ...

MC and Leona: ...

MC's father: ...

MC's father: I am so sorry. My son doesn't know how to control his mouth sometimes.

MC: ...

MC: Playtime's over. I'm bringing Liora back to our room.

MC: *their brother handed Liora to them*

MC's brother: Bye-bye, Liora! See you next time?

Baby Liora: *lets out a cute smile*

MC: ...

MC's brother: Sorry.

MC: It's fine. We can't really do anything about your talkativeness.

Leona: ...

Leona: You never got the chance to meet your mother?

MC: I was entrusted to her loyal servant.

MC: And the nanny would show her portrait to me from time to time.

Leona: ...

Leona: I see.

MC: ...

MC: Is there something more you would like to ask?

Leona: Do you know where your mother is?

MC: She must be living somewhere in Briar Valley.

Leona: Hm. Do you want to visit her? We can go there and spend a few week's vacation.

MC: There's no need when I feel no attachment to her.

Leona: Okay. If you say so.

MC: *watching Liora sleeping in his crib*

MC's mother: Oh dear... How beautiful you are...

MC's mother: I wish Mama could watch you grow.

*Her kissing their forehead.*

MC's mother: I love you.

MC: Even if you had disappointed me the day you were born,

MC: I promise to never leave you, Liora.

Baby Liora: *smiling in his sleep*

Leona: *who is listening behind the door*

Leona: ...

A servant: My lady, I have refilled your honey glass jar.

MC's sister: Alright. You may go now.

*The servant bowed and left.*

MC's former attendant: My lady, have you been craving honey again?

MC's sister: Yes. I could never live a life without honey. To be honest, I'm planning to share it with MC the next time we visit to the Royal Palace.

MC's sister: I'm sure they're going to like it.

[catscidr]

// what's the difference between scotch and whisky anyways //

i. note — /edit/ i said i would fix the formatting later and Now is later hi hellooo. sorry for not posting, i suddenly couldnt bring myself to write for more than five minutes at a time lmaoa ദ്ദി ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ ) but i hope the dottore enjoyers like this at the very least. rn im working on chapter 3 of fbbts and a darker, separate dottore/reader one shot and a couple of jjk fics if anyone would even be interested in reading them lol. but in the meantime, here's drunken shenanigans ft everyone's favorite war criminal ii. includes — dottore x gn!reader, webttore (beta) and omega cameos. various mentioned harbingers iii. cw — fluff, crack sorta, alcohol stuff, dottore is ooc because he's Not Sober, everyone is clingy. fun stuff yk iv. wc — 3,5k -> ao3 link

It’s a popular stereotype that Snezhnayans are heavy drinkers, but the fact lies within the fatui. They’re shameless; whether it’s showing up to work inebriated or drinking on the job, they’ll hold onto the ‘snezhnayans have a high alcohol tolerance’ stereotype with clenched fists and a bottle at their lips. 

However, that fact only applies to the lackeys—agents that are stationed for hours on end without a break, agents that, at times, need liquid courage to face the horrors that come with the job. The Harbingers are an entirely different case. 

They balance each other, in a way. Where Tartaglia can down three shots of fire water and come out virtually unscathed, Damselette would rather not be caught within a hundred meters of a drop of alcohol. Where The Knave occasionally enjoys a glass of wine in her office, The Balladeer sneers at the choice of drink. 

None came together to go out for drinks, if not because of their job taking up a lot of time out of their days. No, none of the Harbingers were really close enough to let themselves be seen so vulnerable, if one dared drink themselves to the point of being unable to walk in a straight line. 

Thus, there had only been rumors circulating the halls of Zapolyarny palace. Hushed speculations spoken between coworkers, told with an air of excitement. No one has ever seen their Lords in a state other than wholly glorious, so it’s only human nature to wonder just what they would be like if their dignity were knocked down a peg—how they would be if they indulged in simple human vices. 

There are two kinds of Harbingers; ones that lack any rumors about their drinking habits, and ones that are so intriguing that if you were to strike up a conversation with a fatui agent, you would start theorizing about what kind of drunk they’re like before saying hello. Tartaglia and The Knave are part of the former, along with The Rooster and The Fair Lady. The latter consists of (unsurprisingly) The Balladeer, our sweet Damselette, and the two big shots at the top. 

Rumors of The Captain’s drinking habits are usually quite short-lived. People either have too much respect for him to speculate about something as childish as how he acts when he’s had too much to drink, or fear him too much to risk spreading rumors. 

But regarding The Doctor... 

It’s no secret that, even if he is eccentric and has a penchant for unconventional research methods, he has quite the loyal following. Agents will rally to defend him if they hear anyone slandering him, insisting that he’s reasonable and logical. ‘If you simply do your job, you have nothing to worry about’ is what they’d say. 

Although he’s amassed his fair share of fans within the fatui, they’re unlike The Captain’s loyal following; The Doctor’s subordinates are the first to whisper theories about their boss’ drinking habits. He’s only part human now, so maybe alcohol doesn’t affect him the way it does normal people like Tartaglia. Oh, but he seems the type to need to unwind occasionally, so maybe he has a secret stash of wine somewhere in his office? What if, in his free time, he creates various concoctions and cocktails to drink? 

Seeing as he understands science deeper than anyone else, mixology should be a walk in the park for a scientist as lucrative as him. 

Wrong. 

“Shouldn’t you be working?” 

The glare sent your way is nothing short of vicious. There stood in front of you one of his segments, the one with the infamous short fuse. “Why are you here?” 

You internalize the sigh you want to let out, deciding against making him mad when it seems he can’t even stand straight for longer than a few seconds. 

“Lord Pantalone dismissed me early.” You strategically omit why he let you go in the first place. “Where’s Prime?” 

As per anything retaining to Il Dottore, your relationship was unconventional at best. The term closest to what you were, if you wanted to describe said relationship, would be lovers—but... not quite? Still. Neither you nor Dottore cared enough to put a clear label on it, so you’ve resorted to letting people speculate— it can be quite entertaining to listen to people guess while being loud and wrong, anyways. 

You used to work under him as one of his many researchers. When you both started taking your relationship seriously, he threw in the idea of promoting you to being his personal assistant; that way he could (give you special treatment) have someone more competent than his last assistant take care of “menial tasks” like his tedious paperwork. 

You refused the generous offer, insisting that it would be unprofessional to work under him as his partner. After many late-night discussions (and stubborn headbutting of differing opinions) you both have come to an agreement in which you would work for Lord Pantalone as a financial planner. 

(You finally managed to convince him by bringing up how you could, hypothetically, pull some strings on your end in his favor—that you could persuade Pantalone to allot more funding for his research. If he had any shame left, it would have been embarrassing how quickly he shook your hand to accept your conditions.) 

Now, while you spent most of your time in an office in The Regrator’s office building near the Palace, you occasionally came by to drop off documents. Of course, you would use your short trips as an excuse to go see Dottore (even if you could do so at any time anyways, given how much authority he had.) 

However, sometimes you just want to work. 

You’ll leave the comfort of your cubicle to go see him and the extensions of himself, sure, but you still had a job to do. Papers piled up, clients grew impatient, and even your boss wasn’t immune to their nasty attitude whenever he held a meeting with a particularly irritating client. Thus, sometimes you wished you could truly focus, lose track of time and work until your wrist forced you to take a break. 

This wouldn't happen today, clearly. Seeing as one of Dottore’s lackeys rushed to your office to bring you to the Haeresys, you most likely won’t be seeing your desk until further notice. 

Now you were stuck with a cryptic Beta, trying your best to use what little knowledge about the clones’ machinery you managed to wring out of your stubborn lover. 

“Where’s Prime?” You run a hand over your wrinkled coat sleeve, keeping your voice calm and steady. Patient, else you’d be subjected to the segment’s indignation. 

“Dunno.” 

You sigh. Is he a scientist or a child? “You do know. Where is he?” 

“I told you I don’t know!” He throws his hands up, accidentally striking his mask in the way—effectively leaving it to rest at an angle on his face. Most of his mouth showed now, instead of the half you’re used to seeing. And the holes for the eyes don’t quite go where they should... 

Blinking, you take in the sight in front of you while he calms down. His crimson eyes were glassy, and his lips formed a permanent pout, vastly out of character for a segment that supposedly represented The Doctor at the most volatile stage of his life. Azure locks curled around his cheeks, though they were usually tucked out of the way. His clothes were all wrinkled, in a way that left you wondering if you shouldn’t tend to him instead. Dealing with his attitude is annoying, but it’ll be amusing to think about later, I guess. 

“Do you really not know...?” 

“No.” 

“Then, do you know why I was called to the lab?” 

“No. Yes... probably not. Uh,” he crosses his arms over his chest and loses his balance for just a second, “I think I do.” 

You raise an inquisitive brow, silently encouraging him to continue. 

“Give me a second.” Beta shuts his eyes, shoulders slumping. His mask was still crooked—you had half a mind to fix it, but held back the twitch in your fingers. After a few seconds he pipes up, uncrossing his arms to reach out to you. 

“Come.” 

The segment grabs your wrist and drags you into the hallways of the Palace, ignoring your yelp of surprise and the stares of various agents lingering in the halls. You pass by ornate statues and paintings, the sight more unfamiliar than not. 

“Beta, where are we-” 

“Hush, I can’t walk when you’re talking my ear off.” 

...Right. Something is definitely wrong. 

After about five minutes of running around like headless chickens you tug your arm back, making Beta turn around indignantly. You lift your hands up in front of you before he can speak. 

“Did you mean to bring me to Lady Signora’s office?” you ask, lips curled up into a small smile seeing his mask still laid crooked on his face. With a gentle hand you fix it, cold fingers grazing his burning cheek. 

“...” 

Beta’s brows furrow as he avoids your gaze, huffing dramatically. Poor guy, you mused. 

“Alright, let’s go to the lab, then. He must be there, right? Where was Prime last time you saw him?” 

“...his office, probably,” he murmurs. 

With a nod and a smile akin to someone doing some gentle parenting, you place a hand on his back and help guide him to Haeresys. The stairs were hard to walk down, but with just a bit of patience and a bit of Beta clutching your arm while shouting that you were trying to assassinate him, you make it down in one piece. 

You remove your gloves and place your palm into the scan, then input the lengthy password to open the laboratory’s large doors. They slide open, revealing the absence of normal researchers and noise. You spot Omega standing over the remains of a ruin machine with a clipboard in his hands and look back towards Beta. 

“Go sit, I’ll go ask Omega about Prime’s whereabouts.” 

The clone nods, trudging his legs along to lay down on the leather couch tucked away in the lab. 

As you put away your large coat and hang it up in the small rack near the doors and make your way towards Omega, you notice the slow rhythm of his handwriting—when he’s usually seemingly speedrunning writing down notes, he’s now leisurely writing away, unaware of your presence. 

“Omega.” 

The latter turns to you, masking his surprise with a small smile instead. “My dear,” he practically purrs, putting away the clipboard in a swift movement, placing the pen in his coat pocket. 

“I was alerted that something was... off, with Prime. Do you know where he is?” 

And where you thought Omega would pick up on Beta’s lack of decorum, you were sorely mistaken. The clone walks up to you with that same smile brightening his features, placing both hands on your shoulders oh so gently. 

“He’s in his office. But enough about him, I haven’t seen you in a while, beloved. Why must you keep me away from you?” he muses, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your cheek. You tilt your head to avoid being stabbed by his mask’s beak, raising your hands to press against his chest to make some distance. The action proved to be futile, of course. 

We saw each other yesterday, you murmur. “I’m sorry, I’ll get back to you in a moment, alright?” You offer him a warm smile in hopes that he’ll listen, seeing as he seemed to be quite... mushy. 

It works, and he lets you go with a curt nod, retreating to go... somewhere. You didn’t linger around long enough to figure it out, since you knew where to go now. 

Walking across the lab, you note how things seemed to be more out of place than usual. It couldn’t have been a researcher, they always had to clean up after themselves, courtesy of their boss. So, the mess had to be caused by them... 

You finally stand in front of his door, raising a fist to knock. A yelp leaves you as you’re whisked away, the door slamming shut just as quickly as it swung open. 

“Dottor-” 

“Can you fucking believe how inept these agents are? They dare speak to me with such disrespect after delivering the lousiest job I’ve ever seen.” Dottore rambles, pulling you deeper into his office. You observe the state of his workspace, namely the papers scattered onto the ground and the... bottlecap on the floor, right next to his trashcan filled with crumpled up paper...? 

“Showing up in the lab with their damn hands empty save for the half empty bottle of scotch they tried to hide. Idiots were too shitfaced to notice how I noticed.” 

“Okay, Dottore, what are you-” 

He gestures wildly as he speaks, his hands the only way for you to read him as his mask hid most of his features. The blue lines taunt you; though you’re tempted to take it off, you feel like he might just lunge at you if you did. 

“And then they had the gall to insist that the bottle was theirs when I confiscated it.” Dottore pushes you down to sit on the couch, a small oof leaving you in consequence. “Anything that enters this fucking lab belongs to me, I’m the boss, I decide what flies and what does not.” 

Absolutely unaware of your muffled giggles as you piece things together, he keeps ranting, turning his back to you as he stomps away towards his desk. “Not to mention these damn lackeys have had multiple warnings up until now,” he spits out. “Lord Harbinger, we’re sorry! We’ll clean up the lab to make up for this offense! Lord Harbinger, it won’t happen again! Who do they take me for, a moron?!” 

The higher pitch he uses to imitate (and make fun of) the agents almost makes you lose it. But you keep your composure, sitting demurely, listening. 

Dottore comes back with a bottle in hand, orange liquid swirling around the thick glass as he stumbles closer to where you sat. He joins you without warning, creating a dip in the sofa next to you—almost forcing you to lean onto him for support. His free arm drapes over the back as he sighs loudly, making you stifle a laugh behind your hand. 

A pregnant pause stretches between the two of you as his anger simmers down to embers. You lean forward, attempting to take a look at the label on the bottle in his hand. 

“What’re you holding there, love?” you ask sweetly. Glancing up you’re able to steal a peek at his eyes from underneath his dark mask—Archons was he absolutely gone. 

It takes him a second to respond, almost as if he forgot you were even there in the first place. 

“Whisky.” 

“I thought it was scotch.” 

“Same thing.” 

“No it isn’t.” 

“Yes it is.” 

“No it’s n-” 

“It is.” 

Maybe it wasn't the brightest thing to do, messing with him while he’s this inebriated. But it sure was entertaining. 

“Alright. Well, how much did you drink?” 

“A sip or two.” 

As if on cue, he brings the bottle up to his lips and takes a swig. Your grin widens, thoroughly entertained by the show; who else had the privilege of seeing The Doctor so drunk he could barely formulate something that made sense? 

You bring his attention back on you as you place a hand on his knee, leaning close. Dottore immediately snaps into place, gaze flickering down to your lips from the proximity. 

With a swift hand you grab the scotch from his hands, inspecting the amount still left in the bottle. If he said it was half empty when he confiscated it, then... 

“Dearest, did you drink a quarter of this bottle?” You're not even supposed to drink it straight from the bottle, either is what you wished to add, but seeing how defensive he was already, you figured it would just make things more complicated than they needed to be.

As if stung by the Tsaritsa’s delusion, he immediately stiffens and defends himself. “I did not, I told you I only had a sip.” 

The way his bottom lip jutted out was almost cute, if you dared to describe him in such a way. Compliments could wait though; you had answers to seek. 

“Mhm, a sip. Well,” you put the bottle down on a coaster on the coffee table and turn to face him properly, “what happened to the segments? They’re all a little... woozy.” Your fingers trail his arm, tracing circles in their wake. 

Dottore swallows, Adam's apple bobbing as he opens his mouth to speak. “We’re connected, albeit loosely. They could be affected by the few sips of scotch I drank, though I would have some work cut out for me if that were the case. I can’t let them be so weak after all.” 

The way he spoke sounded, for lack of better words, pouty. 

Was he... sulking? 

“And since we’re connected, I know you spoke to Beta ‘n Omega earlier.” 

He most definitely is. He's even slurring his words, now...

“Yeah? I was asking them where you were so I could check up on you, baby.” You chuckle softly, taking the liberty of putting his mask away. Bright, glassy red eyes stare down into you, and you hold back the urge to smother his face in kisses. 

“You didn’t have to talk to them, you could have just asked me.” 

“I was looking for you, so I couldn’t have.” 

“Why not?” 

You scoff, smiling as you adjust yourself on the couch. Dottore notices and takes the liberty of pushing you down, laying his head down so his ear is on your chest, cheek pressed up into you. “I’m sorry, I’ll ask you next time,” you respond. 

That satisfies him, enough to render him silent for a handful of seconds before he speaks up again. 

“...I need to get back to work,” he huffs. 

You bring a hand up and run it through his disheveled locks, careful not to tug at the small knots in the hair at the back of his neck. Twirling the hair of his mullet you hum, noting how his weight seemed to grow heavier as the seconds passed. No way is he going to get any work done if he falls asleep here. 

“Take a break, you deserve it. In the meantime, you can think of a suitable way to punish those stupid agents from earlier, right?” 

A quiet hum is all you get in response. You look down expecting to see his unnerving red eyes to be staring up at you, but you’re met with the sight of his features completely lax instead. Azure hair pools around his face, settling on your chest where his face rose in time with your breaths. 

You would have dimmed the lights and turned off his computer if you knew he was going to keep you hostage on the couch. Though you can’t really complain at the turn of events; it’s rare for Dottore to be the one to initiate skinship in the relationship. 

It was quiet, but you managed to hear the low dear? that left his lips. You hum, not wanting to speak as to not break the quiet atmosphere lulling you to a sense of peace. 

After a minute of silence, you decide to repeat yourself—this time a little louder than before. “What is it?” 

Another minute passes, just as quiet as the last. The sound of his slow, deep breaths fills the room, accompanied by the low scratches of your nails on his scalp. His hair parts where your fingers tread through it, and you quietly note that you should trim his hair soon. 

Il Dottore’s poor alcohol tolerance will always be a mystery to the public, because there’s no way you would ever let anyone in on the way he cuddles up to you when he’s had too much to drink. 

[egooppidum]

Astarion's comments after final battle

Ascended!Astarion: The Underdark? You poor thing. I have a palace, you can sleep on one of a hundred couches until you're on your feet.

Spawn!Astarion: The Underdark? Now that's a thought. Just not to the Drow - they don't treat pretty boys too kindly. Or any boys at all, really.

Ascended!Astarion: How wonderful, but do try not to limit yourself. You've just saved the world, now is not the time to become boring.

Spawn!Astarion: Just remember who your friends are, will you? In case you start to become... well, you know, hungry.

Ascended!Astarion: I suppose we'd better honour Gale - perhaps there's a library somewhere that has a bar and a room full of virgins.

Spawn!Astarion: I suppose we'd better honour Gale, - perhaps there's a library somewhere that has a bar...

Ascended!Astarion: It's not so bad in the dark. Only about half of the Baldurian sewers are active.

Spawn!Astarion: You are braver than I could ever dream to be. I hope we will meet again, on a cloudy night.

Ascended!Astarion: Yes! We should see if the Elfsong's still standing. It's been so long since I've had a fine wine. And we have more than earned it.

Spawn!Astarion: Yes! We should se if the Elfsong's still standing. I won't imbibe, but I'll be happy to be away from here, and in your company.

Ascended!Astarion: Although I suppose there is a lot to do here - power to consolidate, a palace to claim. It will take time.

Astarion: But first, you and I are going to find the most hedonistic establishment in this city, and we are going to have a night that will go down in legend.

Astarion: After everything, I think I've earned it.

Ascended!Astarion: Walk safely into the dark. You were truly tentacular.

Spawn!Astarion: I hope the nights and shadows treat you well. You're an odd friend. But, I suppose, a friend still.

Ascended!Astarion: You're joking. After everything we've been through, you expect me to do manual labour?

Spawn!Astarion: After everything, that's your suggestion? Aren't you tired? I'm tired.

Ascended!Astarion: Why stop at Amn? There's a whole world out there - we just have to take it.

Spawn!Astarion: It would be good to travel. It's been so long, kidnappings aside.

Ascended!Astarion: True, we have served our respective purposes. We're free to go wherever we wish.

Spawn!Astarion: Oh, you can't mean that. After all this? (devnote: to suggestion of the party going its seperate ways)

[izzabela]

Broke - Bi Han x fem!reader

in which you can't pay for dinner and Bi Han makes you pay (one way or another)

a/n: a private request i got during my vacation. thank you, anon, once again for another req!

ship[s]: bi han x fem!reader

warning(s): MDNI - smut, hate-fucking, spanking, semi-public sex, outdoor sex, against a wall, f!reader = f!genitalia, rough sex, degradation, unprotected sex, breed kink(?), hella aftercare

You and Bi Han are sat together in a booth inside a fine dining restaurant, somewhere beyond Arctika.

And inside said fine dining restaurant, you both dressed to the nines. You, in a risqué black dress, sheer tights, and little red pumps. Fashionable makeup, glittery eyeshadow, and a bold red lip.

Bi Han was in a dark navy three-piece suit. His dress shirt was black, and it went well with the dark navy pants.

The sight of him in this attire made your heart flutter a bit- his clothes were tight enough that his muscles were practically pressed against the fabric, but loose enough for movement.

Unfortunately, you couldn't get him to change his shoes. No matter though, as you both wined and dined, chatting amongst yourselves about, well, everything.

You both got a rare break from the Lin Kuei, and you suggested to Bi Han to go somewhere far, far away. Away from the palace, duty, or anything related to the hunt for his brothers.

The Lin Kuei lived modestly, funds used only for items related to the betterment of the clan.

However, Bi Han took some out for this. After all, you were his girlfriend, but it was also in case you were short.

And he was damned right.

You rummaged through your purse to find the paper notes you "supposedly" brought with you. However, Bi Han watches with a scowl and down-turned eyebrows, seeing through your lies.

The way you bat your lashes to the waiter. The way you dramatically had your hand above your chest, exclaiming how you didn't have the money to pay.

Bi Han saw through your little play, show, whatever you call this stunt of feigning embarrassment and shame.

The waiter, blind to your seduction, hands the bill to Bi Han robotically- as if he were under your spell. Without breaking eye contact, he sighs the paper and slaps the bills on the tray that holds the receipt.

Fuck, he almost broke the table.

At this, you glare at him with a look a mother would give her child.

Behave, you communicate through your eyes. Bi Han just ignores your attempt at telepathy, grabbing your wrist as he drags you out of the restaurant.

"Ah!" you yelp, and you apologize on his behalf as he drags you away and out the doors of the establishment.

It's a warm evening, and the restaurant was dwindling down the guests they had hour by hour. As you both get out, Bi Han turns the corner and pins you against the wall.

He only needs one hand, as your wrists were small enough for his rough hand to capture yours.

His pants are against your leg, and you realize he's spreading your legs apart with his knee. You gasp, but his free hand catches your worried cries.

"It is one thing to suggest a night out," he growls lowly into your ear, and your eyes are wide.

"It is another to suggest such games," now he's looking at you, into your eyes as he puts you under his command.

As much as you're putting up a fight, your lower region forsakes you. You internally scold your own mental fortitude.

Your thong is practically soaked, the fabric only covering the front portion of your sopping wet cunt. You whimper, bucking your hips lightly to try and get off on... anything.

Unfortunately, Bi Han corners you again. His knee holds your leg open, and he removes the hand that covered your mouth.

He tweaks your nipples a bit, teasing them to get them puffy and agitated. The fabric that covers your tits becomes uncomfortable, and you lament him onward, to engage some sort of sympathy from him.

He chuckles darkly, "If can't pay for what you got, why bother?"

Fuck this guy, he's making you pay one way or another.

His hand makes it to the bottom hem of your dress, and it slithers up to rub your clothed, damp pussy. You moan, eyes half-lidded as the entire situation brings you erotic delight.

Behind a building, albeit still rather public, not in the confines of the bedroom, while your lover mercilessly plays with your pussy.

Bi Han can feel the rapid changed of your cunt, more slick covering his hand as he pieces together what you're thinking.

"Dirty woman," he spits with venom. "You're getting off to this, huh?"

You shamefully nod your head, and he immediately shoves two of his fat, rugged fingers in your greedy hole.

"Is this how you pay for all your dinners?" he ridicules. "Spreading yourself wide open. What if it weren't me, hm?"

You imagine yourself getting slammed into a wall by a stranger's cock, relentlessly hitting your cervix as it pumps in and out.

Again, your privates betray you, and you squeeze on his fingers at the debauched thought.

"Harlot," he roughly takes his fingers out, also taking the hand that bounded your wrists above you.

He spins you around, face uncomfortably resting on the concrete as you can hear him remove his trousers and underwear.

Despite no hands on you, you don't dare turn around. You don't disobey, you don't move or try to escape. A plaintive whimper leaves you, and you feel a burning sensation on your bum.

Ah, he spanked you.

You turn your head around slightly and see Bi Han gripping your little love handles, plush body fat that rolled over your hips. He chuckles and spanks the other cheek, and your cry is caught in your throat.

"Disgusting woman," he sneers, spanking you again in the same spot. It burns, but you enjoy every little sensation this man was giving you.

You smile happily, borderline sadistic, as you push yourself against his throbbing cock.

Unfortunately (well, maybe fortunately for you), he pulls your hair and pulls you close to him.

"Do you take any form of payment?" you tease, your hand finding its way to his leaking length.

He groans at your stroking pace, but he doesn't stop you. As you stroke him, he flips the bottom half of your dress over and holds your thong to the side with his thumb.

"I need my money's worth," he takes his dick from you and lines himself up in front of your drooling cunt.

"How I get it is my concern."

At that, he pushes deep inside of you. You almost scream, but his other hand covers your mouth to make sure you don't give your current position away.

Your hot breath is in Bi Han's hand, and your body adjusts to his dick.

He's decently sized, but what he lacks there makes up in girth and technique. He's wide, and it stretches you good on the inside.

In fact, he's molding your cunt to perfectly fit him, and only him.

"Comfortable?" he asks, but you can't answer as he immediately begins his quick pace.

The sound of damp skin slapping against one another is ironic to the question. Your face is on top of your hand to protect yourself from the roughness of the brick, but your makeup smears against the back of your hand.

Your moans are muffled as he keeps driving into you, a pace that could rival that of a wild animal.

It's quick, needy, and greedy- he wants to remind you who you belong to.

Who owns everything about you, including the money you spend.

Bi Han shifts his hand over your mouth, shoving two of his calloused fingers in your mouth to suck and choke on.

The feeling is too much: cock buried in your wet cunt, fingers slobbered by your needy mouth, a mixture of spanking and gripping your hips.

Bi Han chuckles, feeling the smile that grows on your face from his fingers.

"Take it all then," he snarls.

Your mouth is freed from its fleshy prison. Each of his hands takes your wrists, your shoulders stretched as he plows himself into you with an inhuman speed.

Your moans are obnoxious, echoing into the night as Bi Han doesn't relent his pace. He's punishing you with every thrust, every spank, every hair pull.

While you aren't supposed to enjoy any part of this at all, your heart is practically leaping out of your chest.

There's a sudden change of pace with Bi Han's rhythm (he's practically not human at this point). They've become more erratic, desperate, and you squeeze your cunt with the knowing fact he's about to roll over the edge.

His moans are a little more breathy, grunting still present, but more airy. His forehead is touching your back, and both of his hands grab your still-clothed breasts.

Your arm weakly reaches around to him, and you give a gentle squeeze to indicate the fact you feel him.

"May I?" he asks politely, a complete three-sixty degree change from his harsh demeanor from earlier. You hum, letting your hand drop and return to you as he lets himself go completely.

A couple more deep thrusts and his vision is white, heavily panting as you can feel his seed fill you whole. You had also lost your grip with yourself, cumming as well and bits of your own juices roll down your thigh.

You're sticky, but satiated, and you can hear Bi Han's clothes rustle and move. Seems to be he's fixing himself up.

You try and wait for him, but your knees collapse due to the stress and strain of staying arched against the wall.

Right before you hit the ground, though, Bi Han catches you. On time, he put his clothes back on, and buttoned up his pants.

However, his blazer is not on, and you realize he had wrapped it around your waist to cover up the... mess you two had made.

"Wha..." but you couldn't talk anymore as Bi Han swept you off your feet, carrying you bridal style and away from the back of the building.

"Fixing the mess you made?" you tease him, yawning after such.

He simply tuts, "I am covering you up. Wandering eyes and whispers are unnecessary, especially since you are mine."

You blush at this. Despite all the roughness, he treats you like the most precious thing in the world. A fine piece of china, a marble statue- the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

You smile happily, arms wrapped around his neck as you snuggle into his chest. His body may be a bit cooler than most, but it's warm enough for you.

A portal opens in front of you, and suddenly you're staring at the grand entrance of the palace. The wooden doors swing wide, and both ninja and attendants are at Bi Han's side.

"Prepare a bath, her favorite tea warmed, and fresh clothes for both of us," Bi Han commands. After they bow, they're quickly doing their tasks.

You're slightly delirious as Bi Han carries you. You see flashes of the halls, and then one blink later you're in your shared bedroom. He sets you down gently at the edge of the bed, gently lifting your arms as he takes off your clothes.

No words are spoken, but the attention to care and delicacy he's taking when it comes to you is enough evidence of his undying love for you.

He plants the gentlest kiss on your head, and he picks you up again to take you to the bathroom.

It seems the attendants did their jobs, the bath is warm with steam rising. A detachable table sits over the water with yours and Bi Han's favorite tea, and the water smells like magnolia flowers.

Bi Han sets you in first, slowly of course, and then gets in behind you. The water slushes and splashes, and finally settles with both of your bodies in.

You moan in delight of the warmth, and the heat of the bath sends you to an immediate sleep.

Despite your slumber, you could feel Bi Han's scarred and harsh hands glide over your body softly. Like picking a flower, he carefully scrubs and washes you of any filth and muck from tonight's raunchy activities.

He's even cleaning your insides out, and although a normally lewd thing, he does it with such gentility and care. And with presence of mind that you're already exhausted.

Afterwards, Bi Han leaves the bath, tenderly setting your back against the tub as he quickly dries and dresses himself. He picks you up from the bath, quietly drying your body and hair of any water that could get you sick as you slept.

He dresses you, albeit with some challenges since you were knocked out, but he succeeds as your light blue night set is on.

Coincidentally (and oddly charming), it matches Bi Han's sleeping attire.

Bi Han smoothly tucks you in, your little head hitting the feathery pillow. The comforter is thick and warm, but you instinctively find and curl up next to Bi Han.

His arm wraps around you as he pulls you in close, and your brain can finally shut down, sending you into dream-filled sleep.

===================

oh good grief guys, my req. box went up to four LOLOL

the prompts, though, are amazing, and i'm so happy that you guys chose me to see your ideas come to life

stay tuned for more, and i'll see yall in the next fic!

[gojos-thot-patrol]

Please please please please please I actually beg, I need a fluff where Sukuna is cuddling with you, his head on your chest while he tells you about… I don’t know, how this is because he doesn’t love you and you’re only good for being a pillow, knowing that is not the case. (Also HIII I ABSOLUTELY LOVE YOUR CONTENT!!! Thank you very much for reading this and I hope you have a lovely day, whether you choose to respond or not :D 💞💞💞💞💞💞)

I DROPPED EVERYTHING TO WRITE THIS ITS TOO FUCKIN CUTE AH-

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Starring: A battle weary Sukuna

You were never really sure what to do with your nights when Ryomen was away. Normally, you would spend the twilight hours in his room, in his arms, and in his sheets, curled into his side afterwards and falling asleep to the sounds of his heartbeat slowing down. But, that was out of the question tonight, just as it had been for the last week. He was off conquering something somewhere- you honestly didn’t really care. You just wanted your man- your lord back. Luckily, he was due back tomorrow evening. 

Without having many other options, you found yourself curled up on your bed with a book from the palace library. Not a bad way to spend an evening per say, just a lonely one. Ryomen was never a huge fan of cuddling unless it was after he was inside of you- and even then he was more on the take it or leave it side of things. But, his presence was still always appreciated, and on cold nights like these you desperately wanted him home to warm your bed.

You wondered what the fuck was in your tea when you saw him standing in your door way, convinced you were hallucinating. “My lord?” You asked, taking in his battle weary from. “You’re home?”

“Clearly.” He grumbled, death shambling over to your bed and collapsing on it. Admittedly, you were a little put off by it- the metallic smell of blood still clinging to his skin, as if he left the battlefield and went straight to your arms. You didn’t have a lot of time to realize how true that statement was before his arms were wrapped around you, pulling you as close to him as he possibly could and resting his head at the crown of your breast. It almost scared you just how needy he was being. 

“You’re home early…” You pointed out, only for him to roll all four of his eyes at you.

“Refer to my previous statement.”

“I’m asking why my lord.” His jaw ticked at your words. He’d killed nobles for less,what made you think you could take that tone with him? He should cut your disrespectful tongue out for even considering to question him. 

“We were able to slaughter their forces faster than we expected. None of them were higher than grade two.” He explained, closing his eyes to try and relax.

“Oh, that’s great! Another successful battle.” You smiled, running your fingers through his hair. You swore you heard him purr.

“Yeah.” No. No it absolutely was not. Yeah, none of those foot soldiers were higher than a grade two, but that didn’t matter when there was so fucking many of them. A hoard of roaches could kill a snake given the right numbers, and Sukunas entire force was out numbered, for every one soldier he had that asshole had over a hundred grunts. 

It got bleak. Bleak to the point where Sukuna had to really consider the fact he might not be going home. That he might die at the hands of fucking novices of all things. That he might not ever be able to hold you again, to kiss you, to see you. And he didn’t even say a proper goodbye before leaving. For the first time in Ryomen Sukuna’s existence, he was terrified. It wasn’t the first time he had been at deaths door, he was actually a frequent visitor. But this was the first time he made the trip when he had something to live for.

So he pushed through. Unleashed a fourth domain expansion even after the second one took everything he had left out of him, fought harder than he had before, and even felt a black flash. At some point, the enemies stopped flooding in, and it was just him and was was left of his army in the war zone. Yeah, he won, but he would never consider that a successful battle. 

You didn’t need to know that though. All you needed to know was he was home. He watched you read your book, content for what felt like the first time ever as you played absentmindedly with his hair. Moments like these were the ones he dreaded losing the most. Soft moments, where he could actually let his guard down and be at peace, even if it was only for a few seconds. He sighed softly, closing his eyes and snuggling closer to you.

“I missed you too, my lord.” You smiled gently at him. His eyes snapped open. You just had to speak, didn’t you?

“I didn’t miss you.” He scoffed in disgust, but still couldn’t find it in him to move, “Know your place whore.” The “whore” was so half-hearted it was laughable. Normally he was able to put some venom in it, but he was feeling particularly de-fanged right now. 

“Oh of course. That’s why you're clinging to me like this, because you absolutely did not miss me, right? You don’t love me at all.” You teased him.

“I do not.” He snapped, lifting his head up to properly look you in your eyes so you knew you were on thin fucking ice. “You think this is because I love you? Do you think the sky is red too? You’re comfortable wench, that’s all this is. You’re no more valuable to me than a pillow, or a chair. Love is an entirely human emotion, don’t project it onto me.” He lashed out, before dropping his head back on your chest with a limp thud. “You’ll to well to watch your tongue slut, before I cut it out.” He grumbled, managing to find some venom there this time. 

“I’m sorry my lord.” You sighed, returning to your book. A soft, self satisfied smirk did find its way to your lips when you felt him put your hand back in his hair, prompting you to continue playing there. 

“Mmm.” He grumbled. Truth be told, Love was a human emotion. Most curses would never feel anything even adjacent to it in their lifetime. But no matter how much he tried to deny it, Sukuna was human once. Mortal blood once flowed though his veins, and a human heart still pounded in his chest. A human heart you held in soft hands, gently protecting without even knowing. You’d never know how hard he fought just to be by your side tonight, not if he could help it.

You turned off the bedside lamp, settling into bed with him. He gently kissed your forehead, a soft action that was forced to go unnoticed, least he have to make good on any of his threats. Or worse, admit he was a fool in love. 

[7-wonders]

Literally, if Calliope held my face and gave the affection that’s described in World We Dream About, I would fucking die. All I can think about is how the reader could only wonder how Morpheus would ever separate himself from someone as tender, gentle, and utterly radiant as her-

(Read more of my Calliope/Morpheus/Reader stuff here!)

"Can I ask you something?"

You're sitting in the gardens of the palace of the Dreaming with the Lord of Dreams himself, who slowly looks up at you over the top of his book (some report on a nightmare doing who knows what) like you're a nuisance. You know that's not the case though, since he's the one that sought you out and invited you to join him.

After your...memorable first meeting with Morpheus, followed by a tearful goodbye with the woman goddess who had been your roommate for the past few months, you had never been expecting to see either again. They were important beings of myth and legend, after all—you were just a regular human. Practically nothing compared to them! That's why it was so surprising when you went to sleep barely a week later and found yourself face-to-face with the Sandman once more.

"I owe you a boon, whether you believe yourself worthy or not," he said. "And I imagine that you have many questions relating to the information you received that fateful night. Therefore, you may ask me your questions, and I shall do my best to answer them."

He was right, of course. You did have questions. So many of them that it almost made your head spin when you tried to think of the first one that you wanted to ask. But ask you did, and he dutifully answered each and every one of them.

It was definitely appreciated, and you felt that the conversation gave you a lot of answers and closure to this chapter of your life. In your mind, it was the end of a chapter. Calliope was gone, off to Greece and Mount Olympus and her sisters with no sign that you would ever see her again. Morpheus had deigned to meet with you once more, and now that his perceived obligation was fulfilled, you expected that to be the end of any sort of magic in your life.

But then you saw him again.

And again.

And again.

Now, you see him at least once a week. Each time, he comes to you in your dreams, and each time, he acts as though he's simply being charitable by offering Calliope's human friend some company. You know that's not the case, though. No, Morpheus will never admit it, but you think he's lonely. And now that you both have a shared person, that gives him a connection with someone...even if that someone is the mortal that his ex-wife found herself accidentally belonging to in what you can say in retrospect was a true comedy of errors.

"You just did," he points out cheekily.

You remain unamused and roll your eyes. "C'mon, you know what I mean."

He nods. "I do. Continue."

"Please don't answer if it makes you uncomfortable, but I'm curious. Why...why did you and Calliope break up?" How did you manage to so severely fumble the bag? is what you really want to ask. "I mean, she's Calliope."

What you mean by, "she's Calliope," is, of course, that she's Calliope. Beautiful and kind, wise and strong, charming and witty, and a whole dictionary's worth of other characteristics that can only hope to capture who she is. You had never met a person like her before, and you doubt you'll ever meet somebody like her again.

Most mortals wouldn't dare to speak to an Endless like you just did. Unfortunately, prior experience has made you bold, and you know now that Morpheus is begrudgingly fond of you and therefore won't smite you if you overstep. Somewhere along the way, you stopped feeling so wary of the Dreamlord. Now, you like to think that your relationship is something close to a sort of friendship.

(If you're being honest with yourself, lately your feelings for Morpheus are complicated, as are your feelings for Calliope. That's a conversation for another day, and it definitely does not factor into your current conversation, thank you very much.)

A small, small smile plays on his lips, Morpheus understanding exactly what you mean. "Yes, she is. We were both much younger in the days of our marriage, if one as young as yourself can believe such a thing."

You appreciate that he's trying to find a bit of humor in what is assuredly a heavy moment, so you smile encouragingly at him.

"Mistakes were made by both of us throughout the course of our relationship, myself more. Ultimately, it was..." Morpheus pauses, and when he speaks again, it's much quieter. "In the end, the loss of our son proved too much for us to overcome together."

Well, now you feel bad. Calliope had only talked to you about Orpheus a handful of times, but with what little information you have, you know just how loved he was by his parents, and just how devastated they still remain by what happened. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

He shakes his head. "When last we parted, Calliope suggested to me that it would be wise for us to talk about Or—our son together. That remembering him might help to be able to properly grieve." Morpheus says that last word like it's foreign to him. It probably is, actually. "I am starting to find that she is right."

"She's right a lot. It's kind of annoying," you commiserate.

This helps to break the heaviness that talking about death (not Death) and loss brings, and Morpheus lets out a breath in his version of a laugh. "She does tend to be right fairly often."

Now that your question is answered and you know that you didn't just ruin his day, you gesture towards his book. "Okay, I won't bother you anymore, promise."

"You are not nearly as bothersome as you believe yourself to be." He gets a look in his starry eyes when he says this, one that conveys there is much more being left unsaid within this single sentence.

His confession makes your chest feel warm, and you try not to act as pleased as you are. "I'll endeavor not to change that, then."

[flowerwrites06]

devil on his knees — kth

DEVIL ON HIS KNEES | Taehyung | Oneshot | Request

Original Request: Taehyung as a villain who is willing to kill anyone to protect his beloved oc. This pic literally left me speechless, I low-key want to see villain tae🥹  @yoonberriez Plot: An exiled princess takes her throne with a shamed general. Pairing: General!Taehyung x Queen!OC (Name: Althea) Genre: Royal AU Type: Oneshot Rating: 18+ Word Count: 7.1k Warnings: violence, blood, gore, explicit sexual content (quickies, oral sex), murder, mentions of sexual harassment. Author’s Note: i enjoyed writing this a lot! writing an unhinged couple is definitely an interesting experience. I hope you like this!

It was so easy to forget the blood trails when they were behind Althea, covered by the train of her coronation dress. The crown ripped from her brother’s head rested gently on her own by the high priest as the crowd of people cheered for her arrival. Althea had waited four years, hidden in forests and cowered in tavern rooms until she gathered enough forces to reach this palace. Her home.

As the weight of the crown settled on her head, Althea watched the shadow behind her walk forward. A chill settled in the room when General Taehyung stepped closer to Althea’s feet, eyes darkened and face hardened from the lives he had taken. Everyone with a conscious told her not to bring him into court. That the moment his sword began swinging, there would be no end to the bloodshed.

But they failed to realise Althea wanted blood. Her own brother kicked her out of her home, just as they had been mourning their father. He wanted her to die in that forest, starved and freezing. So why should Althea gather any semblance of kindness?

It was Taehyung, an exiled general who helped her back into the comforts of her life. Not the court members who happily kissed her brother’s feet, not even her maids who quickly rushed to the side of her brother’s wife. No one helped her but him.

Althea loved him for it.

The hardened face cracked into a small but satisfied smile as Taehyung lowered himself for a bow, keeping his eyes fixed on her. As Taehyung made his place known by her side, cheers erupted and echoed through the room.

They had won.

The kingdom of Dysminia was hers to keep.

-

Althea walked into her bed chambers with a breath of relief. The servants had cleaned and freshened it up during the coronation to ensure. The windows looked at the lit up city, the resonance of celebration echoing through the night, delighting her senses. Ambrose’s inability to rule was inevitable from the moment he started mistreating his servants.

An innocent mistake, the court members used to say when a serving maid left the room with a bruised cheek.

Now he was gone. Buried in a shallow grave somewhere, unknown to anyone. Just the way he hated to be.

She changed out of her dressing with the help of her new maids, back into the soft night dressing of sweet silks and perfumed pillows. Althea dismissed them to be alone for a few minutes. As much as she wished to rejoice in her victory, she also wanted to ruminate and rest her exhausted body.

The tightness she felt in her chest for years, wondering when she’d be able to lie on her bed like this and think of her parents freely. Althea could let a few tears down her cheek, allow herself to be vulnerable in the silence instead of keeping strength until she got what she wanted.

Althea was a queen now.

“Relishing well, your Majesty?” Taehyung’s deep voice reverberated through the room.

She turned to see him standing next to the pillar, wearing his black shirt, untied at the chest and showing off a deep scar near his clavicle. Althea smiled, sitting up on her bed. “I’m sure you enjoyed getting your own army again.”

“They’re a bit frazzled and lazy after Ambrose.” Taehyung crunched his nose. “But they’ll learn soon enough. Also the case of the court members.”

Althea sighed. Fifteen of the twenty selected court members were executed by Taehyung’s sword due to their continued support of Ambrose. The five who lived were essentially too young to care about Ambrose or Althea’s father and their quest to maintain order. They just wanted to survive. “We can deal with them tomorrow morning. I think a few nobles would like those seats.”

“Nobles who sat in between cushions while Ambrose was around.” He walked closer to the bed, standing in front of her like a tower of onyx. “Do you want to trust them with seats now?”

“They’re soft and gullible. But having three of them may smooth the transition to my ascension.”

“I’d call this ascension anything but smooth.”

“I’ll handle the nice things then while you train our army.” Althea leaned back with a smile. “How’re your new quarters?”

“Better. A bit cold.”

“Cold?”

“Missing something.” Taehyung leaned in, playing with the string of her dress.

Althea chuckled through her nose. “They are only a passing courtesy. The court members would want me to be available for any negotiations.”

Taehyung hummed low, the back of his fingers trailing her chest before he pulled on the string fully. “So we should keep this very quiet then, shouldn’t we? As to not offend.”

Althea shook her head with a playful pout. “Of course not.”

Taehyung knelt between her legs, rough fingers pushing up the hem of her dress as the callouses brushed up her skin. “Be very silent then.” He whispered against her lips before moving his head under her dress.

He pulled her core to his mouth, wrapping his lips around her clit causing Althea to gasp.

She touched the top of his head through the fabric of her dress as the pleasure prickled through her lower belly. Althea was forced to only feel, feel his lapping tongue and the heat of his breath as she leaked on the sheets.

Her legs hung over his shoulders as Althea gripped the blankets behind her. Head thrown back, her toes curled, feeling the pressure of his tongue against her clit grow feverish and relentless.

Althea closed her eyes when her vision blurred from the spike of pleasure, moving her hips against his mouth to prolong the sensation. Taehyung slowed, tracing her arousal with his tongue to torture her before latching completely and kissing her inner thigh. He bit onto the soft skin until it ached, intent on making a mark.

Nails dug into her bottom, pushing his tongue into her slit as Althea fell on her back, a moan escaping her lips before she placed her hand over her mouth.

Taehyung stopped with a disappointed hum, pulling away completely making Althea whimper.

“It wasn’t that loud,” Althea whispered.

Taehyung chuckled breathlessly as he pushed her legs apart. “I caught it,” he said.

“You have the ears of a bloodhound, that’s why.” Althea smiled.

Taehyung hovered over her, kissing with an unexpected passionate sweetness. So warm and inviting. Fingers brushed against her hairline. Then he broke the kiss and placed his palm over her mouth, dark eyes fixed on hers.

He snuck her finger into her sodden core, immediately making her hips jerk. Taehyung didn’t wait. Sneaking a second finger and curling to her sensitive spot, pulsating until all Althea could do was hear the squelching of her cunt and the pleasure rolling to the blurring vision.

Choked moans shook through Taehyung’s palm. Arousal leaked to his wrists as he leaned in and kissed her sweat sheened forehead. Thumb brushed against her clit. Althea’s legs trembled as her release shivered across her body in a flare of heat and ecstasy. Her moans turned into a light scream grazing her throat.

Taehyung let out a shaky breath, feeling a gush on his palm of her release.

He took away his hand from Althea’s mouth, letting her release shaking moans as she shook through her orgasm.

Taehyung kept a slow pace to let her feel every minute of her bliss. He kissed her sweetly. “First time I did this to you on a soft bed.”

Althea laughed breathlessly, cupping his cheek. “You can keep doing it.”

Taehyung hummed. “I intend to.”

-

The council meeting with all the leftover nobles was about as pleasant as a gangrenous wound. Morning came and whoever survived Taehyung’s sword dragged their feet into the dark wood halls of the palace, the beautiful sunlight through the windows contrasting with their pallid faces.

Althea opted to wear something sweet, a light lilac of soft airy material with her hair partially down. She didn’t want to demure to them but perhaps a sight of friendly would help in easing their mind. She only had animosity towards her brother, not people who were willing to see a changed world.

Taehyung kept to his colours happily though but she welcomed it. At the very least, if anyone took advantage of her kindness, it would padded by the lines of soldiers in tight expressions and black armour.

Althea attempted a small smile as the nobles finally gathered. Most of them young and curious of what was about to happen but there were three older nobles with a clear disappointment on their faces. “Thank you for attending this council. I understand it’s been a trying few days but I do not mean for that to be the path of my reign.”

The nobles were still quiet, some of their eyes flickering to Taehyung and his soldiers.

“Please, you are allowed to speak freely.” Althea gestured to the Taehyung. “They are only here for the utmost of emergencies, not free speech. I understand Ambrose had been barring a lot of changes.”

One of the young nobles shifted. “The treasuries, your Majesty.” His voice was low and careful. “His—Ambrose, I mean, had been scrapping the coffers for monuments and making estates of his concubines.”

“We will cease the making of those monuments and direct the builders to repairing damages in the village houses,” Althea explained. “A lot of them looked destroyed. More than I’d ever seen it.”

The young treasurer nodded with a shift of shame. “He hiked the taxes and—” he cleared his throat. “—Ambrose threatened people of the village to either pay taxes or. . .or hand over the female members of the family. Some of them refused.”

Althea’s heart dropped. She had received glimpses of how bad things were but not quite to this extent. “So those ‘concubines’ are…”

“By force, Your Majesty, yes.” The treasurer kept his head hung.

Althea rested back on her chair. Ambrose used to be cruel to his female servants but to go this far. Ripping families apart for pleasure. “I will speak to the women and try to track their families or provide them jobs here in the palace to rebuild their lives. In the meantime, we need reparation on our trade relations to restore our treasury. I’ll sign what’s needed and talk to dignitaries if it’s dire.”

The trade masters nodded along with the treasurer.

“And the matter of taxes? Will it be lowered?” The treasurer asked.

“Back to the way it was. We need to get business running again and merchants travelling for them to get income,” Althea said.

“And what of your marital status, your Majesty?” One of the older nobles asked and it reverberated silence. “You did say we were free to speak. I’d like to know how you plan on securing alliances and having a king by your side to ensure a strong lineage. That is equally important to lower taxes and trade relations, surely.”

“That can be a matter of a later date,” Althea said, trying not to see Taehyung’s reaction. “These are your priorities to keep the people feeling comforted again.”

“And what of our comfort? You came in here to paint a shamed general’s sword with the blood of our colleagues.” The noble barely acknowledged Taehyung’s presence as he mentioned. “He had his hair cut, he was an enemy of the kingdom. You brought him here and rewarded him for the way he massacred thousands.”

“A massacre that was ordered by my father,” Althea said. “And approved by you from what I remember. You had signed an agreement without reading it.”

The noble pursed his lips together with a pathetic sense of pride. “I am a servant to a king. And I have been for longer than you decided to have dreams of becoming a ruler.”

“So you agree that following orders that you must do without any conscience,” Althea said. “Then how is that different from General Taehyung’s values?”

The noble had puffed himself up to say something but the words hadn’t quite formed.

“Because he is not a noble, is that it?” Althea asked. “He was from a lower family and he was easy to shame. While you continued to kiss the feet of my father and my brother. Even as I was exiled.”

“You were exiled for becoming a distraction. You were speaking against the king, it was treason.”

“And I refused your pathetic son,” Althea said and the silence turned leaden. Her eyes were harsh, diminishing any softness from her dress. “Master Kang, I haven’t forgotten you. Are you aware of this?”

Kang shifted, a stupid part of him wanted to keep looking her in the eye but Althea saw it flickering. Because he knew the story as closely as she did.

“For anyone who was confused about my exile, Master Kang’s son took me to a garden while we were discussing marriage.” Althea spoke loud enough for the council to hear.

“That is not relevant—”

“His son put his hand under my dress. . .and I cut it off with a dagger.” Althea kept her face neutral. “It wasn’t even difficult, his wrist was a pathetic spindly thing just like his father.”

Kang stood from his chair. “You will not humiliate me this way, you wench.” He pointed at her. “You brought your fate upon yourself. Hurting my son and then continuing to debase yourself with the general.” He spat. “We know what goes on behind closed doors with you two. You’re nothing but a whore.” He kept taking a step at each word and getting close.

Too close. Close enough that it was no longer in Althea’s control.

A scythe like blade glinting in silver came in front of Kang’s neck, pushing him back until he let out a choked breath. His breath fogged the perfectly polished edge.

“A few steps back, Master Kang, if you please.” Taehyung’s deep voice was calm and collected.

Kang let out a scoff but it was with a confidence that hung on a thread. “Is how you will govern us now?” he glared at Althea.

“Just people like you, Master Kang. Who think suffering is a necessary evil when you are not the one suffering it.” Althea shook her head. “Your son got to go back and live in his warm palace. While I froze in a forest, mourning my father and feeling violated.”

“My son lost his hand.”

“I lost everything.” Althea felt a fire of anger in her chest. “And I wanted to provide some kindness, bring you back to court and hopefully repair something. Unfortunately, it seems you insist on supporting Ambrose and his ways.”

Kang couldn’t reply to that. His cheeks more red than ever as the other court members watched him with embarrassment. He looked more like a toddler who created a tantrum for spilling his own milk than a noble who wanted some tainted justice for his stupid son.

Althea did offer kindness. She was trying to be a good queen.

Kang, at this moment, was an idiot who didn’t understand an opportunity when he saw one. “If you are going to punish anyone, it’s my son. I am speaking as a father above all else…and that may make me speak out of turn.”

Coward.

Althea kept her expression soft, looking at Taehyung with a reassuring nod. Taehyung moved the blade away and stepped back as Kang let out a deep shaking breath. “Very well. Bring your son during the evening.”

Kang bowed low. “Your Majesty.”

-

Kang and his son, Hyeon stayed in the same dungeon together, as a family. The women of the family were given reimbursements and Kang’s wife was free to remarry for new heirs if she wished.

A quick execution was in the plan for these two men but Taehyung was now a stationed general with his own resources. Which meant these nobles were his first official assignment ever since his dismissal.

And Taehyung savoured it beautifully.

Althea came to visit the dungeon while Taehyung was on his little trips. She heard whipping sounds and a screaming Hyeon, the same satisfying sound that he let out after realising he didn’t have his hand anymore. She remembered how confident he was, how much he felt he was owed to touch her. Now she could watch all that confidence melt in terrified piss and well-deserved bloodshed.

Taehyung looked over his shoulder when he saw Althea enter. His chest glistening with his sweat and the veins on his arms protruded from the force of his whip. “Your Majesty,” he said in the calm tone.

Hyeon let out a cry to Althea through his bound mouth while Kang cowered in the corner, staring into nothing.

“Your wife has denounced both of you from the family,” Althea said.

“That was quick.” Taehyung placed his whip back onto the steel stand while it created a track of blood. “What happened?”

“Apparently, Kang had forced his wife to marry him and Hyeon had his wife give up their first daughter.” Althea knew they weren’t pleasant people but the stories that emerged from the household itself only made this sorry sight all the more necessary. “They don’t want anything to do with them. Not even burial.”

“I’m almost done,” Taehyung said. “We can have the executions tomorrow morning.”

“One day…” Kang breathed out. “His thirst to kill will make you pay.”

Taehyung turned, giving Althea a view of the old man glaring at them with red eyes.

Althea returned the stare, unblinking. She gently walked towards Kang and crouched in front of him, watching him shift back with a raised chin. She smiled. “I will pay that price. Just as I have for everything else.” She stood back to her feet and faced Taehyung. “Have them executed this afternoon.” Her fingers wrapped around his wrist sweetly. “So there’s no commitments in the morning.”

Taehyung smirked and nodded. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

-

Althea watched the execution from the balcony of her bed chambers, wearing a black dress with a beautiful transparent black robe embroidered in gold floral emblems. She kept her expression solemn as if she regretted the unfortunate decision. Even though the loss of these two men was no less inconvenient than getting rid of an abscess.

Taehyung stood at the execution altar, covering his face with a cloth to prevent any splatter as he brandished his sword in the purpled sunset light.

Kang and Hyeon were on their knees with their heads held low as all cowards did when they reached a certain point of their fate.

Taehyung stared up at Althea, awaiting her approval even though they had already discussed what to be done. It was that extra nudge of loyalty sent a thrill down Althea’s spine.

Althea nodded and Taehyung turned his focus back to the task at hand.

Raising his sword, Taehyung swung with precision and took off one head. Kang began to shiver as his son’s head rolled across the wood. He stepped to Kang’s side then.

The old noble began to speak again, foolishly trying to protect his own life. But any word that uttered was cut off with a splice. Father and son united at the edge of the execution block, without their bodies which had been softened and pleasured by greed and luxury.

Taehyung cleaned his sword calmly with a cloth before sheathing it. Dark eyes flickered back up to Althea, giving a respectful bow.

The people dispersed with an neutral understanding. They had no connections to these nobles and if anything, a thrum of relief fell through after how much Ambrose kept the nobles happy and fattened. This was a sign that nobles were not safe in maintaining corruption. Their new queen would protect them from such things not inflate it for self-gain. It was a victory and Althea accepted it like a forbidden sweet.

Her council was set and the kingdom was in her palm.

-

“I’ll have to find an alliance,” Althea said as she straddled Taehyung, their skin sheened prettily from the heat of the room and their antics. Her black robe thrown haphazardly on the edge of her bed. “As it stands, marriage is the strongest way to go.”

Taehyung hummed, keeping his hands trailed up the curve of her waist.

“Is that all?” Althea asked.

He chuckled. “We discussed that it would happen. A marriage between a queen and her military general causes conflict of interest.”

“On the other hand, if we’re married then we might seem more terrifying.” Althea pressed her palms against his heated chest, heartbeat gently thrumming on her skin.

“Are you trying to get me to convince you against it?” Taehyung asked.

Althea shrugged. “Perhaps. You’re very convincing usually.”

“Not with words,” he said.

Althea squinted her nose. “That I know.”

Taehyung lifted himself, chests pressed against one another in the quiet comforts of her chambers. The night was silent in this part of the palace save for the most distant of sounds from the active districts of the city. “Whatever you decide, I will follow. That was the agreement. All I wanted to be reinstated as a general, I don’t need anything more.”

Althea tilted her head. “Nothing more?” Her lips pushed out to a pout. “Not even this?”

Taehyung softened his expression, tracing a calloused fingers down her hairline, releasing some of the strands matted to her forehead. “Would your new husband be alright with that arrangement?”

Althea scoffed. “My father had consorts and Ambrose had slaves practically. I just want you. Is that bad?”

“I’m the last person to judge what’s good or bad, your Majesty.” Taehyung chuckled. “But I’m not opposing.” He pulled her as close as possible, completely pressed until there was no escape. “He can find a way to get over it.”

Althea grinned, leaning in to press a kiss on his lips. A subtle nudge of pain bloomed in her chest thinking about having to kiss another person, have them by her side instead of Taehyung. As much as people outside liked to pretend this was some dirty affair, Althea cherished these moments and Taehyung’s faith was the strongest thing she had ever fell back on.

Some king from another land wasn’t going to ruin this, even if he tried.

-

King Yuto resided from a faraway island kingdom named Saoshima. He was young, around Althea’s age. Also handsome with soft brown eyes and sharp features that mimicked warriors of myth. Yuto was one of the few kings who supported Althea’s rise to power since he detested the mistreatment of two Saoshima women who were taken in Ambrose’s so-called ‘harem’.

Upon Althea’s disbandment of the harem, those two Saoshima women were given positions in her court with the promise of returning home should they wish to rebuild. One of them left while the other offered to be one of Althea’s lady in waiting to which she agreed. This news especially moved Yuto to arrive days earlier than they had initially planned, perhaps concerned about Taehyung’s rigid security at the ports and borders.

On the day of the meeting, Althea wore an elaborate gown and thick robe of red and gold silk, embroidered with the respective colours to create textures that lit against the morning light. Her hair was tied up loosely, pinned by gold and ruby pins.

Yuto arrived in a beautiful robe of white and gold with emblems of white lilies as the mark of Saoshima. He smiled easily as his crown of gold florets shone like a halo of sunlight. His collection of soldiers in their brightly shining white gold armour was a stark contrast to Taehyung’s army but Yuto was hardly fazed by it.

Yuto stopped his soft gaze at Althea. “Your Majesty, it’s a pleasure to meet with you. I’m happy Dysminia is in much better hands.”

“I understand you weren’t fond of my brother,” Althea said.

“He slowed down trade, not a good sign for my kingdom. Not to mention the clear disregard of my people.” Yuto explained but a grin quickly formed on his lips. “But this shouldn’t be a time of dour topics. It’s a time to celebrate.”

Althea smiled, feeling the weight of Taehyung’s presence behind her. “I’m surprised you agreed to the arrangement.”

“My mother has been hounding me about marriage for years now. And I have deeply missed our silk and sugar trades.” His eyes seemed to shine in all the right places when he spoke. In a twisted way, Ambrose had the same effect on people until he lost his mind from drinking and drugging his intelligence. “So long as you are comfortable with this idea, I don’t see why we can’t proceed.”

Althea knew Taehyung could keep a strong face but something about the burning down her spine, she felt his gaze. They needed trade relations and he was right, marrying her military general was a bad move. Althea needed to be a separate figure to her military, a connection to something higher and elevated from the earthly events of war.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Althea smiled and nodded. “It’s settled then. Saoshima and Dysminia will be connected once more.”

Yuto smiled from ear to ear. “I’m looking forward to it.”

-

The events from signing the papers, getting dressed and arriving at the banquet to celebrate her marriage was a blur. Althea remembered herself sitting at the table, wearing her beautiful white and gold dress with her hair pinned up in little shapes of florets while Yuto enjoyed the dance performance with a wide grin. Despite being married for a few hours, Yuto comfortably placed his hand on hers whenever he got the chance.

Althea smiled politely back, knowing that he was potentially trying to make smoothing their marriage transition easier. Or he was making himself home too quickly for her liking, she wasn’t sure how to react. Instead she kept drinking her wine.

Her eyes went back to Taehyung who was standing at attention, using his training far too well. He wore a celebratory tunic, still in his usual black but it was embroidered beautifully in silver thread and had feathers at the collar to represent the wings of a raven.

“Do you want to dance?” Yuto asked.

Althea had to push herself back to reality when he stared at Yuto’s glazed eyes. He was already tipsy. She smiled quickly. “Yes, of course.”

Yuto practically pulled her to the dance floor in the fray of her nobles and royals, thrumming from their wine. Althea smiled and chuckled along with Yuto’s movements, even letting him touch her waist since Taehyung intended on maintaining his stoic face the whole ceremony.

Eventually Althea fell into the chaos of dance, switching partners and losing Yuto. When she moved to the edge of the crowd, trying to coax Taehyung into the mix, he was gone from his post.

Althea walked to the front table, taking a sip of her wine, wondering if he wandered outside or perhaps found some cheeky noblewoman who was curious to flirt with the general. She could go out to find him. She could and clutch to him at the end of the night instead of the inevitable duties she would have to perform. It was a momentary, she told herself. Only a few minutes.

Have three children and hope he never touches her again. She took another thick sip before a scream uttered from the crowd.

Althea turned to see the people scatter away like scared cockroaches. She saw a puddle of what she hoped was wine. . .but she’d seen enough fresh dead bodies to know it wasn’t. Thickly painting the floors as a body jerked over and over again. Yuto’s body, face crushed by the force of heavy punches.

Taehyung’s punches. No armour, just knuckles now dripping with red as it stained the white purity of Yuto’s clothes.

Yuto didn’t respond, his fingers unmoving, only shifted by Taehyung’s incessant assault.

Althea’s heart dropped, roughly placing her cup on the table before rushing to Taehyung. “Stop, stop.” She pulled him off, trying not to look for too long at Yuta’s face which was mostly the shape of Taehyung’s fist than his own shape. “Taehyung!” She yelled until her throat hurt. “That’s an order!”

Taehyung latched off with a trained precision as his body radiated with fire. Blood streamed down his jaw and neck, fist coated with Yuta’s blood, dripping off his fingers as he tried to relax them, trembling with fury.

Tears blurred her vision but she tried to blink them away. “Guards.” Althea called out, gesturing to Yuta’s body as they began to clean it up.

“You demon!” A Saoshima guard unsheathed his sword, marching to Taehyung but Taehyung’s army was faster as they closed in on the Saoshima soldiers, outnumbering them.

“Stand down! All of you!” Althea kept her voice harsh.

“You do not order us.”

“I am your closest in succession as it stands. Unless you want to deal with General Taehyung and his men yourself.” Althea spoke through gritted teeth.

The Saoshima guard gulped, eyes flickering to the floor with a tight jaw. He lowered his head, keeping the glare on his face.

“Taehyung, you’re dismissed. Get yourself cleaned up,” Althea ordered without looking him in the eye. “Now.”

Taehyung stayed silent, taking a deep breath before bowing and stepping out of the hall. Drips and footprints of red followed a trail behind him.

Althea let out a shaky breath as she gave herself to look down at Yuto’s body. Her shaking fingers desperately touched the back of his wrist. Perhaps it was only his face that needed repair. No pulse. No heartbeat. Tears fell down her cheeks but she let out a long, deep breath to keep calm. “Tell the morticians what you need for his funeral.” she asked in a low tone as the Saoshima guards shifted in discomfort.

“And the general?” The same Saoshima guard spat. “This could be an act of war.”

“Yuto is an only child with an ailing mother and a country that’s becoming poor from lack of trade.” Althea stared up at them with reddened eyes, sitting in a puddle of her late husband’s blood but her voice still stood strong. “A war will be on your head, not mine. Tread carefully.”

The Saoshima guard pursed his lips together.

“Take his body away.” Althea tried to stand back up. A lady in waiting rushed to her side but she raised a palm and got to her feet, the blood soaked in her dress now weighing her down. “I’ll deal with the general.”

-

Althea found Taehyung in the armoury as he was trying to clean off his hand. There was little light in the room with only the silver moonlight shining through. The smell of metal and blood wafted in the air as Taehyung’s form hunched over a bowl of water, the clear liquid progressively getting more opaque with red.

“Yuto was not an enemy.” Althea stomped closer to him. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“He knew about our affair and started bragging,” Taehyung said simply which was not surprising yet this felt different. A taste of his violence in a way that Althea felt was out of her control.

“So what?” she winced. “That’s no reason to kill him.”

“He was bragging about being with you. Being king of two kingdoms.” Taehyung threw the cloth onto the table next to him, staring at her. “He was voicing treason.”

“He’s a smile-happy fool who was drunk. You are only supposed to enact when I order you to,” Althea said. “That was the agreement. If people see you punching around anyone that says something stupid then they’ll think the kingdom is in anarchy.”

“My job is to keep you safe and that idiot was going to be your side as king.” Taehyung gestured to the door. “If he got the slightest taste of power, he’d become dangerous. At the very least he didn’t have enough soldiers to fight back.”

“But his people loved Yuto,” Althea said. “That was the point to find someone who was easy. Now we’re risking rebellion and war.”

“Saoshima runs on trade, you know that, it doesn’t have a military to save its life.” Taehyung shook his head.

“That’s not the point, you killed the man in anger. It’s cruel.”

Taehyung raised a brow. “I’m cruel now?”

“When you do things like this, yes it’s cruel.” Althea attempted to keep her voice steady even though his gaze looked like he was peeling her skin to show the truth. “Killing in cold blood.”

“I saw the way you were dancing with him.” Taehyung walked closer, the shadows of the room making his features harsh as he towered over her. “You’re saying you didn’t want me to be angry?”

Althea scoffed lightly. “You are not blaming me for your behaviour.”

“I do everything else under your orders, what’s different about this?” Taehyung muttered.

“I didn’t order it.”

“You didn’t want to go to bed with him.” He leaned in, nose just nudged against hers. “You didn’t even want to marry him. You wanted to check off a list.”

“It was a strong alliance,” Althea whispered.

“And now the kingdom is yours. No alliance required.” Taehyung’s eyes flickered down to her dress. “Did you mourn in front of everyone?”

Althea narrowed her gaze. “I didn’t want him to die. Especially not in that way, you could’ve make it quick.”

“That was a misstep.”

“A misstep?”

“Am I going to be punished or are you going to take Saoshima for yourself?” Taehyung asked with a touch of impatience.

Althea frowned. “I might just do both since you’re set on being unbearably brutish.”

“You enjoy nothing less, don’t deny it.”

Althea let out an irritated breath, turning on her heel to leave before Taehyung grabbed her from behind. She tried to pry free but he kept the grip tight, making her groan.

“I can feel when you’re disquiet,” Taehyung whispered in her ear. “And that fool’s charisma would’ve caused us a headache. Killing him was not the only choice, no, but it was the strongest.” He placed his palm over her stomach. “Did you want to carry his children?” He cooed, caressing it and ever so gently moving down to her core, swaying her away from anger. “Hm?”

Althea kept her lips pursed together, still trying to be frustrated. “No.”

“Louder?”

“No,” she said but it was shaky.

“The way he kept touching you, pushing against you, he had expectations.” Taehyung moved his hand up to her neck, stroking her jawline. “He wanted to put a child in you that night. Were you going to let it happen?”

“I’d make you watch,” Althea said to maintain some of her anger but it only made Taehyung chuckle.

“It could be comical to watch you be disappointed.” Taehyung began to untie her outer dress where all the blood dried at the hems.

“You didn’t have to make it so public,” Althea said as her breathing grew ragged from the ghost of his lips down the crook of her neck.

“I suppose that was my own little desire.” Taehyung pushed the sleeves down, letting it drop to the floor before Althea kicked it away. There was still splattering left on her inner dress but it wasn’t quite the weight of the former. “I need to have fun too.”

“I think you have plenty of fun.” Althea turned around but Taehyung kept her pressed close to him. “Tell me the truth.” She kept her gaze fixated on his.

Taehyung’s expression softened.

“Say it,” she said. “Was my monstrous general threatened?”

He smirked bitterly, grabbing her chin. “He’s the one lying in the throne room.”

“So it’s true.” Althea smiled. “It has little to do with protecting me.”

Taehyung kept his lips pursed. “It’s a part.”

“You didn’t want him to touch me because…” Althea leaned in, nudging her nose against his jaw. “Tell me.”

Taehyung took a breath to say something. She saw every conviction in him to maintain the playful attitude of this terrible man who only killed because he liked. Because he could control himself. He raised his chin, his expression growing serious which sent a wave satisfaction in Althea’s body. “I don’t want anyone to touch you like that.”

Althea grinned. “Was that so hard to say?”

Taehyung groaned under his breath, grabbing onto her and pressing her against a pillar. His breath hot against her face as he ripped the skirt of her inner dress.

Althea let out a light chuckle, untying his pants to pull out his member.

Taehyung grabbed onto her thighs, not waiting to slide himself into her.

Breath caught in Althea’s throat as he pushed all the way until she was full of him. She gripped onto his shirt, whimpering as Taehyung thrusted with little mercy. She cupped his cheek.

Taehyung kissed her bottom lip, licking across before becoming rough, impaling her. He kissed her jaw, biting the soft skin of her neck. “You’re mine.”

Althea moaned in response, gripping his hair tight which only made his biting harder.

Red bloomed on her skin. Taehyung hooked her legs over the curve of his elbows, pistoning into her until the sound of their skin slapping echoed across the dark, quiet room.

Althea could only imagine it reverberating down the hallway, the mix of grunting and desperate sex right after her husband was killed. This wasn’t the way she should’ve been seen. If a single disloyal servant came in here, her reputation amongst Saoshima would tarnish. She grabbed onto the pillar, back arching. Moans turned to pleasured cries as the warmth in her lower belly fired.

Taehyung pulled her close again, taking her into a kiss as his moans began to grow desperate, getting closer to his release.

Althea smiled through her kiss. “Come inside me,” she whispered.

“You sure?” Taehyung smirked.

Althea responded with a moan, nodding frantically. It only took a few seconds before she felt him pulse inside her, slamming into her as warmth filled her womb.

Taehyung rested her back onto the pillar as he filled her to the brim, moaning against her cheek.

Althea threw her head back, her entire body trembling and pulsing against him.

Taehyung pressed his forehead against hers. “Peace treaties, this time. No more fucking marriages.”

Althea laughed breathlessly. “I promise.”

-

Morning arrived with a lightly aired tension as the Saoshima soldiers and council members awaited for Althea’s announcement on what was to be done with Taehyung. The captain spoke for them again, his eyes still darkened and suspicious when he looked over at Taehyung.

Althea wore black to ensure that people knew she was in mourning while Taehyung did away with his armour.

“What is your decision, your Majesty?” The captain kept a level of respect towards Althea, despite looking like he wanted to kill Taehyung.

“General Taehyung will be suspended for his actions and kept in the tower until the year of mourning is over,” Althea said.

The captain didn’t look pleased. “Killing a king is cause for the death penalty. Only a year of imprisonment?”

Althea sighed. “As it stands, your military prowess isn’t strong enough to hold trade protection. And General Taehyung has the most experience in that area. I still need him to train any future generals.”

“We’ve done well for our trade protection,” the captain said.

“A few of your ships have been raided just this month.” Althea waved her hand. “Pirates find your ships easy to attack. You need stronger naval protection.”

The captain stayed silent. “And I can be assured that this pardoning of the general has nothing to do with any…personal feelings.”

Althea leaned forward. “Would you like me to make it personal?” she asked.

“I am only assessing.”

“Right,” she smiled as she rested back. “Then I suppose we can also assess the flower boats floating near Saoshima.”

The captain’s brows relaxed, eyes flickering around the room. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Althea waved her hand, beckoning one of the nobles to open a stack of papers. “We have reports of young girls and boys being forced into so-called flower boats so officials, including Saoshima military guards, are able to have services performed outside of jurisdiction.” She placed an unblinking gaze on the captain, watching sweat pearl on his temple. “I may be a new queen, captain but I do know what I’m doing. Care to explain?”

The captain blinked shakily. “Those cases do not hold in this territory.”

“Yes, but this also indicates that the people of Saoshima aren’t as trusting of their nobility and royalty as it may seem. You disguised forced labour and violence under a pretence of good business,” Althea explained.

“Even with all that, your Majesty.” His tone turned bitter. “Widows of our king will have no power over Saoshima. That is not how our succession works. It will go to the king’s nearest of kin and nothing else.”

Althea hummed. “Then it is truly a tragedy that you don’t have strong naval protection.”

Confusion for a moment. Then a darkened realisation waved over the captain’s face. “You’re lying.”

“It was either this or you embarrass yourself in a war you wouldn’t have won,” Althea said in a calm tone.

“You conniving bitch!” the captain raised his sword.

In a flurry of black, silver swords brandished in the daylight and private throne room splotched with blood. Taehyung’s own sword sliced through the captain’s neck and his head rolled in front of Althea onto the table.

The Saoshima officials trembled and yelped at the sudden violence.

“We serve the queen!” One of the officials cried out, bowing terribly and almost falling over. “We serve the queen, please!”

“Taehyung,” Althea called out.

Taehyung and his army paused immediately as the puddle of blood spread across the stone floor.

Althea put on a kind smile for the officials. “Don’t worry, gentlemen, you can safely return home with compensation.”

The same official smiled with shaking breath as he tried to pick up his robes so the blood wouldn’t stain the fabric. “You are most kind, your Majesty.” He bowed again. “Most kind.”

They were escorted out of the throne room in silence while the servants hurriedly tried to clean off what was left of Yuto’s chaperones. Althea dismissed the nobles, leaving only her and Taehyung in the room.

“All yours, your Majesty,” Taehyung cooed.

It was hers. Not a kingdom. An empire. 

masterlist

[lookingfts]

Word prompt : princess jealousy angst

Women like Kathani were not meant for men like him.

Princess Kathani. He must never forget that, lest he forget himself and slip up in front of her. He could be beheaded for something so disrespectful.

Even if, deep in his heart, she was simply Kathani. The most beautiful woman in her kingdom, and the smartest and kindest beyond that. The woman who would one day be queen, while he would never be more than a guard. Bickering with her about her safety, the only outlet for his passion that he would allow himself.

Well, not his only outlet. Anthony was not proud of where he found himself many nights, in the arms of women he paid to help him forget, even for a moment. He was not proud of the way Kathani’s face would flash in his mind as he fell apart.

He was not proud of the way she had been roaming the halls late one night to find him stumbling back to his room, smelling like smoke and inexpensive perfume. Or the utter devastation on her face when she realized what he had been doing. “Your Highness,” he said softly, trying to ignore the presence of her other guard, Thomas, behind her. “I-.”

“Get some sleep,” Kathani said, her tone clipped and icy as her face became a mask of royal disinterest. “We have a long day tomorrow.”

She stormed off, and she had not looked at him since. Day after day, Anthony stood by her side, unacknowledged except for a curt nod. It chipped away at him, the slowest death, though it should not have meant anything – Princess Kathani had always been, and would always be, out of his reach.

The idea of seeking refuge in another woman made his stomach churn now. He did not leave the palace to seek such pleasures, simply allowing his desire and guilt to eat him alive.

That did not stop her look of disdain when they happened upon each other in the stillness of midnight. She gave him a look of fury that would have made the most fearsome conqueror shake. “Another night of iniquity?”

“No,” he said, stepping toward her slightly, not missing the hitch of her breathing. “I did not mean to upset you, Kathani.”

She stiffened at the use of her given name, quiet for a moment. “Please leave us, Thomas.”

“Your Highness-.”

“I am safe,” Kathani rebutted, gesturing toward Anthony. Thomas looked between them, then nodded, leaving to station himself somewhere nearby in case he was needed. “It is not my business what you do or who you do it with.”

Her voice was tight, as though she was trying to sound resolved but could not manage it. Alone, in the silence of the night, Anthony felt emboldened. In the light, he was unworthy of her presence. But here, in this world outside of time, she could be his for a moment.

“That is not what you want,” he said, hesitantly placing his palm on her cheek. Kathani’s eyes fluttered shut, and she leaned into the touch.

“It does not matter what I want.” Her eyes opened, blown wide in the dim light, the glow of the lanterns making her skin gleam ethereally.

“I do not think that is true.”

Conflict danced across her features, and then she was closing the scant distance between them, her lips soft and warm against his. Kissing him as though they could change their fates if only they fused themselves to each other.

“Do not visit other women,” she whispered, a command and a plea both. “I will come to you at night. You will have me.”

It was an impossible dream, foolish and reckless, bound to end with his heart broken and bleeding. But he was a weak man and a greedy one, and he loved her. “It will only be you, Princess.”

[vodika-vibes]

congrats on 650 followers!!! i would like to please request a romantic fairytale AU with wolffe (i know not requesting wrecker is such a surprise from me lol)? i was thinking of a sleeping beauty type fairytale specifically. no rush for this and again congrats on 650 followers!!!✨✨

Trapped

Summary: The old palace has been surrounded by, apparently magic, thorns for as long as you can remember. No one has been in the palace in your lifetime. In fact, no one you know remembers the last time the palace was open. You plan to open the palace, and nothing will stop you.

Pairing: Pre Commander Wolffe x F! Reader

Word Count: 2885

Prompt: Sleeping Beauty AU

Warnings: Swearing

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly @kimiheartblade @mire-draws-things

A/N: So, this isn't quite as romantic as, maybe, you were hoping. But I hope you still like it! Sleeping Beauty has a very specific storyline that never quite felt romantic to me, lol.

“It’s not going to work,”

“Not with that attitude it isn’t,” You counter as you open the military case and scan the bottles inside.

Good, they’re all there. 

Seven bottles of bottled fire. More commonly known as White Phosphorus. 

“You run the risk of burning the whole palace down,” Eri says sharply, even as he hands you your harness and pouch belt.

You roll your eyes, close the case with a snap, and take the items he’s handing you, “We’ve been over this. I’ll need two bottles to make an opening in the vines big enough to slide through. And then I’ll need another two to get out. The remaining three are just in case I run into vines inside the palace.”

“Yeah, but—”

You straighten and round on your best friend, “We’ve done the experiments. We know that the vines will grow back faster than all of them can burn. That’s why we’re using bottled fire.”

He sighs and pushes his hand through his hair, “Walk me through it again? Why are we doing this?”

“Uh, because we have no money and no one will hire us and we’re about to starve.” You shoot back as you strap the belt around your waist and then grab the harness and pull it on. 

The only way to get to the palace, and through the vines that coat the walls, is to use a zipline from a nearby building. The harness is for your safety and will be left behind at the zipline once you’re over the wall.

“And who’s fault is that?”

“Yours. You’re the well-known con-artist.”

Eri leans back, “Oh. Yeah.” He pauses and then sighs, “What if there’s nothing in the palace to take?” He asks. “I mean, it’s been hundreds of years.”

“Then we starve. It’s really not that hard.” Once you have the harness on, Eri helps you strap the case to your lower back, and he checks to make sure that everything is secure on your body.

“This is risky,” He murmurs, “No one knows what caused the vines in the first place, and we won’t be able to contact each other once you’re on the other side of the wall.”

You sigh and turn to Eri, “Look. This is what we were hired to do. Our client is going to pay us a couple of million credits if we get them anything from inside the palace. That’s enough for us to move away, start a new life somewhere.”

Eri sighs once more, “I know, I know.” He takes a step back and holds an empty canvas bag out to you, “Just…be careful. There aren’t many of us left.”

You make a face. He’s not wrong.

Once upon a time, you and Eri were members of a 20-person crew. Men and women who walked on the other side of the law. Thieves, hackers, safe-crackers, forgers, hitmen, assassins—your crew had all of them. The best of the best, professionals who all worked under the same man, your boss.

However, after the government shifted, becoming more militant and less democratic, it became harder for the crew to survive in this country.

Of the 20-person crew…only you and Eri are still alive.

You, a master thief, and Eri, one of the planet’s greatest con-men.

If you get caught breaking into the palace, it’s an automatic death sentence. For you and Eri. Which, really, explains his anxiety.

But at this point, it’s a damned if you do, damned if you don’t situation. If you don’t do this one job, you and Eri will be kicked out of your home and starve to death. If you do this and get caught, you and Eri will be killed by firing squad. 

Your only chance is to do this and hope, against all hope, that no one catches you.

No pressure, right?

You roll your shoulders and shove all of your anxiety into the small box where you shove all of your negative thoughts, and then clap your hands. “Alright. I think I’m about as ready as I’m going to get.”

“Then let’s get to work,” Eri replies with a small grin, excitement washing away his anxiety. 

The building the pair of you are in has been condemned due to water damage. No one lives or works here anymore, as the building isn’t safe.

It’s also the only building that will allow you to get over the walls without running into any of the vines.

Quickly, you follow Eri up the stairs and onto the roof. He leads you over to the zipline that’s connected to an open spot on the palace walls.

You pull your gloves on, grab the hand trolley, and jump up to attach it to the wire. Eri grabs your hips to keep you from going before you’re ready.

“See you on the other side,” He says with a nervous grin.

“Goddess willing,” You agree, “Give me a push.” You feel him tighten his grip, and then he starts running. Eri releases you as soon as he reaches the edge of the roof, and you pull your knees up to go faster.

You have to pull yourself up a little higher as you pass over the wall, and then you drop to the ground next to the palace. You appear to be in the garden…or what was once a garden, perhaps.

It looks like there are spots where flowerbeds once laid, though time, weather, and magic have turned what was, most likely, a beautiful garden, into a desolate waste.

Pity. Flowers would get you a good price on the black market these days.

You strip the harness off and toss it on the ground next to the hand trolley, then you pull the case off your back and slide the seven small vials into one of the pouches on your belt.

Then you pull a map out of another pocket and you scan it thoughtfully. 

If this is the garden, the entrance to the old wine cellar is—

You turn your attention away from the map, looking to the left, and then to the right.

Ah, there it is!

You fold the map and slip it back into your pocket, and then you jog over to where you know the old wine cellar door is located.

As you thought, it’s covered in thick vines.

Ugh, they’re slimy. Gross.

You pull two vials out of a pouch, make sure your goggles are secure over your eyes, and then throw the vials at the vines.

There’s the sound of glass breaking and the familiar woosh of a fire igniting, and you squint at the flames.

They’re spreading slowly. Far too slowly, but slowly an opening appears in the vines, revealing the rotten wine cellar door.

Quickly, before the vines can grow back, and before the fire goes out, you kick the rotten door in and allow yourself to fall into the dark cellar. As soon as you’re down the stairs, the light from the outside fades completely as the vines grow over the opening.

“Right…magic evil vines.” You pull a flashlight out of your pocket and turn it on.

Now that you’re inside, you’re flying blind. There aren’t any maps of the inside of the palace. Done, presumably, to protect the royal family who lived here.

However, logic dictates that anything of value will be located somewhere else. Perhaps in the living quarters?

The wine cellar is filled with wine. You wouldn’t call yourself a wine connoisseur, however, you wouldn’t bet that this wine is worth anything. Even the oldest bottles wouldn’t earn you a single credit.

That’s the thing about magic, it ruins everything.

You sweep the light from the flashlight around the room, and your eyebrows creep up in surprise. It looks like the vines are only on the outside of the palace, as there aren’t any inside.

“Curious.” You say to the empty room, and then you start walking. 

You go up the stairs and find yourself in a hallway that had probably been grand at one point in time. Old tapestries are ripped and moth-eaten, and family portraits look to be crumbling into dust.

Although, one of the pictures looks to be in good shape so you walk over to it and shine your light on the image. And then you tilt your head.

“Huh. That must be the king and his sons.” You murmur, “Weird…the king almost looks like Mister Fett.” In fact, the only real difference is that Mister Fett, your employer, keeps his hair short.

“Trippy.” You say to the painting, and then you move on. You need to find something a little more solid to bring back to Mister Fett. Jewelry, maybe, or perhaps silverware?

You open a door…well, you touch a door and it nearly falls on you, and find a staircase.

“Ooh. Where does this go?” You really need to stop talking to yourself.

You go up the stairs, as high as you can, and find yourself in a pitch-black hallway. Everything inside you is screaming to go back downstairs, that there’s something wrong and evil here, but common sense has never been your superpower, so you steel yourself and step into the dark hallway.

Even with your flashlight on the highest setting, it barely cuts through the dark of the hallway, and you find yourself throwing open the first door you come to, just to get out of the oppressive hallway.

And then you have to clamp your hand over your mouth to muffle your scream. As you fall to the ground in surprise.

There’s a person. A man. He’s stretched out on the bed, still as a corpse.

It’s been hundreds of years. He should be bones…if even that much.

Slowly, you crawl across the half-rotten carpet until you reach the bedside. Now that you’re closer, you can tell that he’s one of the boys from the portrait downstairs. And, now that you're closer, you can see that he’s breathing. 

“Holy shit.” You whisper as you scramble to your feet and place your hands on his chest. You shake him roughly, “Hey! Hey! You need to wake up!”

The man exhales and then stops. 

Panic washes through you, and you scramble to kneel on the bed next to him. You’re not supposed to do CPR on soft surfaces, but you don’t think you could move him if you wanted to, so you fold your hands on his chest and start compressions.

You do the thirty chest compressions, and then lean in to give him two breaths, before you adjust your weight to do more chest compressions.

But before you can start your second round of chest compressions, the man coughs and groans, and his eyes flutter open. He has one brown eye and one grey one, though it quickly becomes clear that his grey eye is a prosthetic of some sort.

“Ah! You’re not dead!” You exclaim cheerfully.

“Not yet,” He replies, his voice raspy, likely from disuse. Slowly he sits up and you topple off of the bed with a pained oof. He watches you, almost impassively, and he arches a single brow, “You…do not work for my family.”

“Uh…no.”

“Who are you?”

You hold up both of your hands, “No one special, really. Who are you?”

He swings his legs off the bed, and then shoots you an odd look, “My name is Wolffe. I’m the Second Prince.”

“Uh…nice to meet you…your highness?”

He chuckles, “Just Wolffe is fine.” There’s silence for a moment, “Why’s it so dark?”

“Oh, that would be the magic vines wrapped around the palace.” You reply, “They’ve been here for…hundreds of years? No one remembers when they first appeared, actually.”

Wolffe stares at you, and you shift uncomfortably, “If these vines are covering the whole palace, how did you get in?”

“Oh, I used…” You pull a vial out, “My employer gave me seven vials. I had to use two to get in.”

“Your employer?”

“Oh, well. I was hired to recover something from inside the palace.”

“What?”

“Anything that I thought would transport well.” You admit with a shrug.

He narrows his eyes at you, “So, you’re a thief.”

“I really prefer the term recovery specialist—” You start, only to squeak when he grabs you by the collar and pulls you so that you’re face to face with him.

“And why should I allow a thief to steal anything that belongs to me.”

“Ah…well…because I saved your life?”

He stares at you hard, and then releases you, “You raise a fair point, I suppose.” Wolffe narrows his eyes at you, “You’re a woman?”

“...how in the name of all that’s holy did you—?”

“I looked down your shirt.”

“...I should have let you die.” You say flatly.

“I didn’t do it intentionally.” Wolffe counters with a roll of his eyes.

“That’s no excu—” You stop midsentence when a shriek, unholy and hair-raising, echoes through the palace. Your head snaps to the hallway, and then, when you hear the sound of metal dragging against leather, your head snaps to Wolffe, who’s now holding a sword. “Where did you get—?”

“You didn’t deal with the creature?” He demands.

“What creature?” You demand right back.

Wolffe grabs you and flings you behind him as the door bursts open and something enters the room.

Even later, you would never be able to describe what this creature looked like. All you would remember is the eyes, the acid, and the claws.

Wolffe tackles you out of the way as the creature lunges at the pair of you, and he half drags you out of the room and into the oppressive hallway. “Stay close.” He orders as he takes your hand and starts running, “How’d you get in?”

“Wine cellar.” You answer, as you sprint after him.

“Too far,” He throws open a door and shoves you into a closet before he joins you and slams the door shut.

“Great, you just trapped us in a closet.” You hiss at him.

He rolls his eyes, expressively, and ushers you to the back wall, where he opens a wall panel and reveals a small lift. “Get it, it’ll carry both of us to the kitchen.”

“Um…” You doubtfully eye the ancient machine, but before you can argue properly, he climbs into the box, and then pulls you in after him, settling you on his lap.

Wolffe shuts the door, and adjusts you slightly, his arms secure around your waist, “The rope in front of you,” He says, his breath hot against your ear, “Grap the one farthest away and pull on it.”

“Uh…right.” Clumsily, you do as he asks, and the small lift starts lowering.

“Well done.” He praises, “Sorry that you’re not going to get anything from inside the palace though.”

You make a face, “Well, it was a long shot anyway.”

There’s a thump as the lift comes to a stop and Wolffe pulls the door open. He glances around for a moment, and then pulls you out of the lift with him, effortlessly manhandling you as if you weigh nothing.

It should be twice as annoying and half as attractive as it is.

“There, the side door.” Wolffe pulls you over to the door and rips the door open onto to come face to the vine, “Fuck.”

“I warned you.” You say as you pull three of the vials out of your pouch, pull him back, and then throw the vials at the vines.

The opening that the fire makes is big enough for both you and Wolffe to escape, and you quickly pull him out of the palace before the vines reclaim the building for their own.

“My zipline is over in the gardens,” You say as the vines snap back into place, “If we’re lucky, we’ll get out and no one will be the wiser that we were here in the first place.”

“And if we’re not lucky?”

“Ah…we die.”

“...lovely.”

“Well, welcome to the future, your highness.”

He laughs quietly, and you flash a small grin at him. Wolffe opens his mouth to say something, only for the inhuman wail from the creature inside the palace to echo across the grounds.

You look up just as a wall explodes outwards and the creature flings itself over the wall and into the city proper.

“I think the creature escaped.”

“Is that our fault?” You ask.

“It would have happened eventually, I think.” Wolffe tries to reassure, “But we need to go. Now.”

“Right. Right! This way,” You take his hand to pull him towards the garden, only for him to pull you back and press a quick kiss to your forehead, “...what was that for?”

He just grins at you, “You saved my life, which makes me your problem now.”

“Wait, that isn’t how it works—”

“It is for me, come on. Let’s get out of here.”

You huff out a sigh, “Fine. But only until I can drop you on someone else.”

Wolffe laughs, “I’m more than capable of wooing you, pretty girl. Just you watch.”

And you can feel your face heat, which Wolffe also notices based on the smug smirk that crosses his face. “Let’s get out of here, Eri’s probably worried sick.” Still, getting wooed by an actual prince might not be terrible.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Let’s assume for a second Meghan has been‘flagged’ as a fixated person or even a person of concern, can they be eligible for IPP? If she has been identified as a concern, can the government simultaneously give her that level of protection and access to intel?

This is all just speculation.

Disclaimer first: This is beyond my knowledge of national security.

Can a fixated person be eligible for IPP? Yes. Because everyone is eligible for IPP.

Would they actually get it? Mm, probably not.

Let’s talk it out.

First, the kind of information that protected people get in this case is information about the security threats against them and details of security plans designed to keep them safe. They wouldn’t be getting information about other protectees unless they’re at the top of the hierarchy (like say Charles or William) or the other protectee is their minor child because the compartmentalization of whereabouts and security plans is part of the safety plan.

Could a fixated person extrapolate the knowledge from their security plans to make educated guesses about someone else’s plans? Yes, they could. So that’s a risk that would be taken into consideration while determining someone’s IPP status.

But by and large the issue with fixated people (as I understand it) is not access to information but access to the person of their fixation. Which is why security exists in the first place. As long as there’s a degree of separation and security - and there would be between Meghan and Kate because Kate is the Princess of Wales and that comes with a totally different security posture than, say, the Duchess of Edinburgh - that’s really all that’s necessary. The security posture could change if the fixated IPP is in the same room, for instance like at the Platinum Jubilee service of thanksgiving where William and Kate sat in the front row of Section A but Harry and Meghan were sat across the aisle in the interior third row of Section B with sleeper agents positioned all around them.

Second, all the IPP (Internationally Protected Person) designation means is that the person has diplomatic status worthy of a protection detail. That’s all. It doesn’t come with a special security clearance or unrestricted access to anywhere or anyone their cold black heart desires. There are still rules and procedures they have to follow because all being IPP means is that they’re protected from the public. IPP does not mean that they don’t have to follow the rules and procedures of *other* IPP.

So what does that mean? It means that if the IPP fixated person wants to go somewhere near the subject of their fixation, they still have to follow the rules and procedures of the subject’s security team. They don’t get to just waltz right through the security checks and get all up in Michelle Obama’s business (IYKYK).

In other words, just because Meghan is IPP doesn’t mean she has free access to Kate. She still has to follow the rules set by Kate’s security team and I would imagine that if Meghan were to return to the BRF, William would draw his family’s security net even tighter to block any chance of Harry and Meghan trying to get through. For instance, there’s renewed gossip that Harry wants to move into KP Apartment 1 and/or KP Apartment 7 (Apt 1 being the former Gloucester residence next door to William and Kate’s 1A apartment, which supposedly the Waleses have taken over for more office space, and Apt 7 being part of Diana’s former residence). William will mostly likely probably block that because his family still uses 1A. And likewise, he’d probably block the Sussexes from returning to the Windsor estate, since his family is there now as well. (Meaning Harry and Meghan’s only options is St. James’s Palace or a country estate outside of London…neither of which meet Meghan’s very exact specifications.)

Third, the last piece of the puzzle: the security risk and threat assessment. Everyone who goes up for IPP status (or heck, even just to take a job in the civil service - which, let me remind everyone, the BRF is. They’re essentially government workers who live very cushy lives supplemented by generational wealth) has to go through a security risk and threat assessment where everything from our families to our hobbies to our known associates to our health to our travel to our neighbors and home is investigated and assessed via background checks and investigations.

(And yes, this most likely means that anyone who marries into the royal family who does not come from a known associate - eg a family known to the BRF like the Spencers and Fergusons were - probably has had background investigations done for them to be able to meet principal members of the royal family. Kate and the Middletons probably had one, though perhaps not as in depth since she and William were together for so long, but there certainly was one done on Meghan when Harry got serious enough with her that he wanted her to meet The Queen.)

Now the thing about background checks and investigations, security clearances, and IPP status is that if you leave the civil service to go work in the private sector for a few years and then you decide to come back and be a fed again, your old checks and clearances aren’t there waiting for you like an old coat you buried in the back of your closet for 5 years. You have to undergo a total and complete reinvestigation. And if there are things that pop up in your reinvestigation over behaviors or diagnoses or actions you did while employed by a fake mental health startup and Netflix (for example) that have violated certain codes, standards, ethics, laws, or that exponentially increased your vulnerability to being exploited by foreign adversaries, or that have exposed you as a significant threat to the mental, physical, and social wellbeing of a principal staffer, well, then, you’re not getting that job and you can kiss your old security clearance or your old diplomatic status or your old RAVEC status goodbye. Even if you’re related to the principal staffer(s) in question.

So to sum up. A fixated person is eligible to be declared IPP. But they still have to go through all the checks and threat analyses to actually receive IPP status, and that’s where the issue is.

Ignoring “fixated person” (since again, that hasn’t actually been confirmed and is only just gossip and speculation), this is why Harry’s latest tactic is to say “if only my father would just give it back to me.” He is eligible for IPP just on the basis of being King Charles’s son, and he has Tier 3 (case-by-case) status because of that. But Tier 3 isn’t good enough; he wants Tier 1 (25/8 permanent) status, but RAVEC’s position is that Harry is disqualified Tier 1 because of his own behaviors and actions. Harry wants Charles to overrule the government and so far Charles hasn’t, because he’s likely read the report that bringing Harry back in poses more danger to the Waleses than leaving him out.

To which I say yes, that’s true, but bringing Harry in means they can better control him and what he does, so it’s a safer security posture to begin with. The issue is Meghan, who has proven time and time again that she doesn’t play by anyone’s rules but her own and has no interest in being on a team. In that case, it’s a safer security posture for her to be on the outside and away from everyone where it’s easier to monitor her so that her arrival or appearance can be more easily and more carefully planned for.

Which is ultimately the core conflict. Harry wants Meghan. The BRF doesn’t (or can’t). So Harry will emotionally blackmail everyone to force them to accept her. They refuse. Meghan says “it’s me or Kate and if you don’t choose me, you’re all racist.” The BRF laughs and chooses Kate anyway. They go on a worldwide tour of privacy to declare everyone is racist. No one cares. So they go crawling back to the BRF. The BRF says “only Harry, no Meghan.” But Harry wants Meghan. The BRF doesn’t. And around and around and around we go.

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

can i ask for leona with birds of paradise + tulip?? am a sucker for the lion man

(I only do one flower per request!)

Leona Kingscholar: 

Birds Of Paradise - giving a gift to the other person that they’ve always wanted. 

You don’t think you’ve ever lived like this before.

When you rolled out of bed you were greeted with the sunrise, the silky sheets sliding off your body as you planted your feet on the warm floor.  You could hear some hustle and bustle despite the early morning hours in the palace, a little smile coming to your face at how lively it seemed at all hours of the day. Leona might have disliked his home for his own personal reasons but it hadn’t taken you long to grow fond of it, his brother and sister-in-law being quite welcoming to the person that brought Leona back home.

You had fights about this before, about how welcoming his home was despite the rumors that might be whispered throughout. You tried not to ignore Leona’s feelings but when you remembered your own home, the overbearing dread you felt every time you stepped foot in your house when you were sent home from NRC during holidays, you just couldn’t wrap your head around it. But you hadn't seen the dark side of the palace, of being royalty, and you couldn't pretend to know even as his future spouse.

You’re lost in your thoughts, trying to hide from the ghosts of your pasts, the sound of your parents’ voices drilled into your head. Despite such a good start to the morning when Leona had gotten into another tiff with his brother, it had reminded you of all too unpleasant memories. Leona himself needed a moment to cool off and you had let him go do so, finishing out the lunch though it was an extremely strained one after the shouting match. Before either Fareena or his wife could address you, you scurried from the room, feeling like being alone yourself.

You don’t remember details as much now, it’s like your childhood is a black hole with only a few spots here and there that you could look back on. You settled yourself somewhere you could feel the warmth of the sun on your skin and yet these memories still sent a chill through your body, rubbing your arms in an attempt to get yourself together. It had been so long since you’d felt this dagger of anxiety lodge itself in your chest, afraid to remove it in case it caused you to bleed out. Your fingers dwelled over your heart, urging it to slow down for just a moment, wanting to simply catch your breath.

“What are you up to?” You feel a flick to the back of your head and are surprised to see Leona looking down at you, an eyebrow raised. It was nearing dinner and you always went on a walk with Cheka to get some of his energy out before you all ate together, but you had been notably missing from his routine.

Cheka had pouted to Leona about it, and his sister-in-law had confided that you had left lunch rather upset. She had her own worries and, since the relationship was new, she wasn’t sure what the right thing to do was or else she would have followed you. Leona knew what was on your mind even if you had never specified your own memories; the way you argued with him about his own family situation had let him in on precious details that you couldn’t seem to speak aloud.

“You’ve got that little brat worried about you, and I don’t want to deal with it. Let’s go back.”

“Just need another few minutes.”

“Mm.” Leona flopped himself down beside you and then in another practiced move rested his head on your thigh, eyes sliding shut. “I’ll wait here.”

This was one routine you’d never grow tired of, hand resting on his chest, thumb rubbing soothing circles into his skin. You could truly lull him to sleep if he wasn’t on high alert from your sad mood, trying to formulate a plan to lift your spirits.

“They like you more than me,” He stated coolly, an abstract fact that you don’t think is quite true but it might be how he sees it. You let out a little laugh, patting his cheek playfully.

“Don’t say that. They love you, you’re family.”

“And you will be too.”

He wasn’t wrong, after all, your wedding date was set in stone and your calendar was filled with endless appointments for a variety of wedding activities. The king and queen had been more than happy to inform you more of their culture, wanting you to know of more of their traditional dances that were performed at weddings as well as getting a traditional outfit made that suited you perfectly. They had done everything they could to make you feel welcome, like part of the family, never acting as if you were a burden despite how busy they both must be.

“Leona…”

“I’m your family now.” Leona’s eyes suddenly opened, his hand reaching up to hold your face. “I won’t be letting you go easily. Remember that.”

A lifetime ahead of you with a new family, people to fill in those blank spots in your memories. A family who wanted to know you, who loved you unconditionally, who would create new memories with you that you’d want to recall. Leona himself had been the one to suggest moving back home first before finding your own place in the world, and you were thankful for it. He might not entirely understand you either, or your desperation for a family to call your own, but he still brought you here to be around them.

Leona had given you the gift of security, a family to call your own, and you couldn't be more grateful for him.

[astarionancuntnin]

Die For You (Chapter 9)

summary: your encounter with Sir Virric didn't go quite as planned, and now, you have to free yourself from his hold before its too late.

rating: E

word count: 6.7k

pairing: astarion x you (fem!reader, reader is tav)

cw: 18+. big angst hours, kidnapping, blood, noncon (rape, knife and blood play included there), graphic depiction of violence/torture, panic attack. full list on ao3

a/n: fair warning that this is a long and heavy chapter, and if you're uncomfortable with any of the CW please skip out on this one, i will add a brief overview of what happened in this chapter without the graphic descriptions at the beginning of the next chapter, but if all of this is gucci to you, please let me know what you think, as this was my first attempt at writing torture ~

a/n²: guess whaaaaaaaaat, yea theres yet another chapter before the epilogue, but its all happy from this point on dw

Last update next Friday!

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What will you do when she takes your throne?

Beg for her power or throw her a bone?

All that she has traded for love is yours

What will you do when she takes off her clothes?

Beg for her body or touch her soul?

When you're alone dreaming of her you sigh 

-

You wake up with a weird churning in your guts, and a throbbing headache. When you finally come back to your senses, you get to the awful realisation that you’re locked up somewhere you don’t recognize, chained up — again — and the wound at your waist stings like hell. Wherever you are, it isn’t the Crimson palace’s dungeons, that’s for sure. 

The place, you assume, is another dungeon located in a cave of sorts, or maybe the sewers — it's hard to tell, but you're underground certainly — as uneven rocks surround you. The air is damp but cold, and for this sole reason, you’re thankful for your new undead body. Had you been mortal, you would be freezing cold, but now, your surroundings matched the temperature within you. While uncomfortable, you certainly weren’t suffering because of it.

Your wrists are chained to the wall, and as you gulp, you sense the chain also attached to your neck. 

Really? My neck? Even Astarion didn’t go to these lengths when he kept me captive.

Wait. Astarion! That’s it!

You close your eyes to focus on initiating the connection through your bond, searching for his mind, and when you think you successfully reached him, you almost shout in your mind.

“Astarion! Can you hear me?”There’s a deafening silence that fills you with dread just before his voice echoes in your mind.

“By the Gods, where in the Hells are you?!” Finally hearing his voice again, you let go of a breath you didn’t realise you were holding in as you choke back a sob.

“I’m in a dungeon, I think? Or a cave, maybe, I’m not sure —  how long have I been gone?”

“A few hours. I sent Amedee after you when I sensed something wrong — rightfully so — she took care of Alstaer.” His words are spoken faster than you can process them before he jumps back to his previous question. “I need you to tell me everything about where you are — I swear it on my grave, I will find you, or I’ll burn the world down trying.”

In truth, you had not the slightest idea of where in the nine Hells you could be. The last thing you remember before passing out was Virric’s hands over you and his disgusting laughter. The thought alone made you want nothing more but to rip off his tongue with your bare hands and make him choke on it. Just as the thought crosses your mind, the door to your dungeon swings open with a loud screech, making you wince at the sound. Your connection to Astarion withers before you can give him any information, as your focus switches to the monster walking towards you, with a rolled up leather case.

“Good morning, Princess.” 

Speak of the devil.

“Fuck off.” Although not in your habits to swear, this man had a way to turn you vulgar with his mere presence; you had no patience for whatever he had planned and you wanted to be the farthest thing from polite with him.

He sets down the leather case on a nearby table before approaching you. “Now, that’s no way to talk to your betrothed. Did your parents not teach you manners?”

If your eyes could roll further back in your skull, they would. “Gods, what kind of curse has you constantly spouting about our engagement? It’s been five years, Virric, you act as if the world stopped turning when I left.” You sigh, looking away, as you mumble. “Plus, I doubt this contract is even valid anymore. Must’ve been void the second I vanished.”

He crosses his arms in his back, walking around your cell as he speaks, “You see, after your little escapade, my reputation — along with your family’s, mind you — were tainted. No other Lord or Duke of the court with a suitable daughter took a chance on me — a man who made his bride-to-be run away without even meeting her — you can imagine the scandal. I gave my word, not only to your parents, but to the court, that I would find you and bring you back to me.” 

You don’t comment on this, but you think that if he took five years to find you again — and without even recognizing you the first time — he mustn't have been doing that great of a job at searching for you. That, or you were just very good at hiding your tracks. Either way, you had outsmarted him, and you can’t help but feel proud about yourself.

He continues, “Once they see that I have accomplished not only this, but have you be obedient and respectful, submissive — as you will be — they will see that my convictions go beyond promises, that I act on my intentions. And when I bring forward the proof that Ancunín is nothing but a fraud, finally, I’ll earn their respect back. They will have no choice but to include me back into their inner circles.” He pauses his rambling, cocking his head to the side, fixating on your right hand. “I already made the arrangements, so you won’t even have to use that little head of yours.”

You turn your head to take a look at your hand to find a new golden ring with a clear crystal in the middle, now adorning your finger. You’re taken aback by its presence, the urge to rip it off burning in your chest, but you try to push the feeling aside, taunting him instead, “A random ring on my finger doesn’t mean anything, especially if I didn’t agree to it.”

He laughs humorlessly, “Oh dearest, you are simply adorable to think you have any say in the matter. I never needed your permission, you are mine by right. And as your first duty as my bride, I require you to tell me everything you’ve learned about this mysterious Lord Ancunín.” 

Bride. You frown at the mention of the word, which sounds twisted and bitter when it falls from his lips, as opposed to the way Astarion had made it sound so precious and beloved. You might be a bride, but not by his definition, and even less Virric's. 

“I’m not telling you shit,” you finally spit out.

“Oh, you will, eventually,” he pauses, suggestively as he approaches you, eyeing you up and down. “Willingly, or… by other means.”

Unimpressed, you scoff. “Holding me hostage won’t change my mind. This is hardly my first time.” He would have to be creative to get you to say anything; if you had survived the mind flayers and your breakup with Astarion, along with everything that happened following that, Virric should be a breeze to go through. 

He leans in closer, breathing down on you. “When I have my power, I will take the time needed to break and reshape every single part of your mind and body, until you are built perfectly in my image,” you notice the corner of his lips turning into a smile that suggests things you don’t even want to consider, the thought alone making you sick to your stomach. “You will bow before me, and you will do so willingly.” He leans back, taking his casual, disdainful look again. “But, until then, I think I may have a way to… encourage you to act reasonably, so to speak.”

He turns back around to the table where he had laid out his case to open it, displaying its contents. Before you, he unravels a collection of blades, ranging from razors to saws of different sizes. The sight of them along with his previous words is enough for panic to overcome you, a tightness in your chest rendering you breathless for a few seconds. 

“So,” he picks out a short razor-like blade from his set before he approaches you again. “Do you intend on sharing Lord Ancunín’s dirty secrets or am I going to have to pry them out of you?” He says, tapping the blade over your nose as he emphasises the word. 

“I don't know anything,” you fight yourself not to show the shakiness in your voice, and terribly fail at doing so.

“That's a shame, truly,” he says, his voice devoid of any emotion.

He lets the blade trail near your collarbone before slowly sliding it down to your chest, the deadly sharp tool slicing through the fabric of your dress down to your hips, as if it were air. You shriek at the gesture, partly glad it wasn't your skin he cut — yet — but also worried of where this was going to go, as you now stood exposed to him in your undergarments, with the ripped fabric of your dress hanging from your arms. 

“I'm gonna give you one more chance, princess. This could go very easily for you. I just need one dirty secret that can help me take down Ancunín while securing my place among the right people. I'm not asking for much! One, simple, yet meaningful secret, and all of this can stop.”

You fight through the fear in your chest, trying to paralyse you. Torture here or torture later wasn’t much of a choice. You would die before you let him win over you, before you would sell out Astarion. “I have nothing to tell you.”

He sighs dramatically, “Fine! If you don’t want to talk about him yet, maybe we can discuss of your little secrets.”

The knot in your chest finally relaxes, if but for a moment, “I thought you knew everything there was about me.”

He nods, “Everything from your family, your childhood — your past, mostly — yes, I do. But nothing in those papers mentioned you being anything remotely close to a monster.”

You scoff, “What could possibly make you think of me as a monster?” Your tone is unapologetically sarcastic. “Between the two of us, I would be tempted to say you’re the monster, Virric.”

In the blink of an eye, his knife is up to your throat, tipping your chin up by the tip, to meet his gaze. You hiss as the blade penetrates ever so slightly your skin underneath, the same way it did, that night in the gardens.

“Listen here, girl, you may think of this as a game, but in case you haven’t realised, there is no way for you to win. I can either make this quick, or so very, very slow.” He digs the blade deeper as he tilts it, cutting along the side of your jaw. The feeling of the knife piercing your skin left a burning sensation that had you writhe in pain as you tried to pull away from it. “Which one will it be, doll?”

And just like it left, the knot in your chest was back. The terror paralyzed you, as you succumbed to the feeling of powerlessness, and visions of the worst outcomes manifested themselves in your mind. 

You were going to die here.

Met with your lack of answer, Virric continues. “If this is how you wish it to be.”

The blade leaves your jaw to drop to your hips, where he slides between the fabric of your panties and your skin, before swiftly pulling down and away, slicing the fabric in two, and nicking your skin in the process. Whether it was voluntarily or not didn’t matter, he rejoiced in your pain nonetheless. You hiss at the faint burning sensation of the blade and twist over yourself, trying to hide what the fabric used to conceal.

“If a beast you are, then a beast I shall tame.”

His knife travels up to your belly, as he continues to dig deeper into your skin and you wince at the pain; you’ve experienced worse injuries in your battles, but  somehow, Virric’s blade cut deeper into you than any arrow you might’ve received. This was personal, bigger than a misunderstanding, or than a lost arrow on the battlefield. Your very existence, your fate, hung in the balance, and now that you were undead — even if unbeknownst to him —  he had the power to drag out this torture forever.

The sharp dagger makes its way up, bleeding you out in the process, and stops right before your bra, hovering over the simple fabric that held your breast together; the last thing covering what left you had of decency.

“Do you have something to tell me now?”

Weighing your words, and between deep breaths, you growl. “Fuck. You. Virric.”

The smile that reaches his cheeks is nothing short of evil. “I was hoping you would say that.” 

In one swift flick of his wrist, the blade cuts through the lace of your bra, grazing the skin between your breasts as they get released, and a whimper escapes you before you can stop it. He pulls back if only for a moment to marvel at the sight of your pale skin.

“Ah,” he sighs. “A blank canvas. Perfect. I've been wanting an excuse to use my toys.” As he draws over your chest with his dagger, marking your skin with new scars, you fight through the tears swirling around your eyes and the whimpers getting stuck in your throat; you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of watching you break so soon, but the temptation to give in was becoming too heavy to ignore it. Met with your defiant, yet watery glare, Virric only chuckled.

“I can drag this on all night long.”

—

And so, the night went on. Your clothes were entirely discarded, completely cut to ribbons, as he continued to experiment on your body with different blades, branding you, touching you in places he hadn’t had the chance to before, that night at the ball, and doing more atrocities you wished you could forget. Your cries only encouraged him — as much as you tried to conceal them — and he even went on to comment on the fact that they were “a melody he couldn’t believe he had missed out on all these years”. 

You passed out from the pain at one point, and when you finally came to your senses, you were not sure how long had passed. Virric, at least, was nowhere to be seen. Surely, there was no point torturing you if you were unconscious, and he left you alone once he didn’t have any reaction out of you. After all, he needed you alive — if he was going to kill you, it wasn't going to be this soon, and it wasn’t going to be this quick, he made sure of that.

You took the opportunity of his absence to try and reach out to Astarion, hoping his mind would be open to you.

“Astarion? Astarion, please tell me you’re there…”

Your connection was feeble, weakened by your injuries and threatening to break at any moment, but just before despair claimed you, his voice echoed in your mind.

“Oh Gods, Darling, finally— please, tell me exactly what is happening, I can’t have you vanish on me again without knowing what is causing this pain.” His voice was controlled but you sensed the desperation underneath.

“I’m— Wha— What pain?”

“The cuts, the burns — I feel everything.” Then, you heard it in his voice, in the way it was shaking. The anxiety, the anguish… the guilt.

You stayed silent, for what felt like forever as you processed the information, “...How?”

“Our bond goes beyond our minds. Our bodies and souls were intertwined when I made you my bride. Your pain is my pain, as much as mine is yours.”

When you were stabbed in your fight, he must’ve felt it. When you kept your mind closed to him, he must’ve instantly known something was wrong and tried to reach out, only to be met with silence. When you passed out from the poison, you couldn’t reach out to him, because he must’ve been affected, too.

“I didn’t realize—”

All the torture you went through, he had to go through it, too. It didn’t matter that he had killed Cazador, or that he was the most powerful vampire in all the realms. Because of his connection to you, he was back in those dungeons, getting tortured.

All over again.

You’re unable to silence the cries that followed, your voice trembling in your mind, “Astarion— I’m so sorry—” 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, my love. I knew the weight of this decision when I made it, when I proposed it to you, and I will bear it with you by my side, until the end of our days.” 

There was a pause, as if he was debating with himself, as if what he was about to say weighed heavier on him than he let on. “If anything, I should be sorry for keeping this information from you. I trusted you enough to defend yourself, to take on this fight. I should have trusted you further with our bond, but I was… selfish.” 

There is a small silence, the heavy weight of guilt flowing through this bond that united you, before he continued, his voice now assertive. “I won’t make the same mistake again. Virric hasn’t been seen since the soiree; wherever you are is well hidden. Now, I need you to guide me, to know where you are. Give me any information, anything at all.”

But where could you even start? So much had happened in such a short period, and yet, Virric hadn’t given you more clues as to where you could be kept.

Anything at all, he said. Just tell him everything you can. 

“I'm chained up — my wrists, my neck — I can't fight him. There's no one else here, I— don't even know how long has passed, there’s no one else but him here, and it's so damp, and cold, and—” You pause, as you feel the panic rise to your chest. “He… he has these tools — these blades… he calls them ‘his toys’... Astarion— He’s gonna keep going until I break and reveal a secret about you, he wants to take your place and… And then he’ll keep going until I cave in and marry him. Astarion, I can’t—” Your burst into tears, unable to finish your sentence.

“I”m going to fucking kill him,” his anger reverberated in your mind like an impending heartquake, before calming down, but his voice kept its devotion. “My love, I swear on my life, I will find you. Be strong, I know you have it in you. You are stronger than anyone I know. Keep fighting. You can fight him.”

Your connection faltered, and you were met with a lonely silence once again.

That night, you cried until sleep claimed you.

—

Another day of torture went by. Some of your smallest and oldest cuts had already partially healed through the night — not that it was discernible under the newest cuts he made, not that you wanted to look at them, either — as the sight of your body in cuts only made you more desperate. You had glanced over them once and it had broken your spirit; it only made you live those moments over and over again. When Virric finally graced you with a moment of respite, supposedly bored of you for the moment, you spent your time trying to rest, and gain back your energy. You tried to come up with a plan at first, but nothing came to mind; he kept his tools out of reach; there were no guards to subdue; there were no windows to look out of, and no additional information as to where you were kept. Just this same underground cell, with this same damp air, and those same rock walls.

In the worst moments, when he took advantage of you the way he had wished back in the gardens, you wished you were dead instead. Your fear turned into anger at first, when you still had it in you to fight back, until it turned into despair, as his lingering touch violated your body through your pleas. He didn't care for your utter disgust — if anything, it only seemed to entice him more. He became more daring, and when he got tired of playing with you, he forced himself onto you. 

His knife found its way just under your breast, where he skillfully cut around it before roughly squeezing your breast, forcing the blood out of you. You cringed in pain and he only let go once your blood was practically flooding down your belly, mixing with the remains of old blood from his previous operations along with your older cuts. When you finally opened your eyes again, he had removed his trousers, his cock out and hard, and no word came out of you. You refused to believe this was going to happen, a part of you still hoped that Astarion was going to burst the gates to your cell open and save you from this fate, that something, anything, was going to stop him, that it was just a twisted joke and he would draw back. 

But he didn’t. This was Virric, the psychopath who relished in torturing you to no end, cutting you up and leaving you to bathe in your own blood. He couldn’t just rape you, he had to do it his way. 

He cupped a portion of the blood that had leaked from your chest to smear it over his dick, pumping himself a few times before he lifted your legs, to position yourself at your entrance, and it didn’t matter that you kicked and trashed against him, he had you pinned to the wall and impaled on his cock the moments that followed. It felt as if he tore through you, the pain of each of his thrusts rippling through your legs. He kept at it, panting in the crook of your neck, his breath damp and hot until he came, emptying himself inside of you. His moans in your ear — too close, too loud — as he smiled with satisfaction at your tears, before sliding out of you, leaving you with the remains of his climax.

Then, you felt yourself break. For the first time, you considered death, as it felt like the only mercy that would free you from this torment. Long gone was the sassy fighter who enjoyed bantering, even with her worst enemies. The light within you — your will to fight — was fading; your very soul, the remaining part of you that made you human, was a few cuts and touches away from vanishing like your pulse. 

When Virric enters your cell the next day — or night, for all you knew — you don't even lift your head to defy him.

“No insults today? And here I thought I would be able to drag this out for another tenday before you broke under my thumb.”

Another? No, it couldn’t have been that long, you couldn't have been out for more than three days, could you? A tenday is impossible— No, Astarion would’ve found you by then, he would’ve—

“You’ll never understand how glad I was to have finally found you back,” he sighs. “I’ve been thinking about all the things I have wanted to do to you since you slipped my grasp five years ago. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

You don’t notice him making his way towards you, and picking up his favourite knife — you guessed, as it was the one he used the most — a dull one that made you scream for the first time when he cut through the inside of your thigh; he had used your bloody thighs to relieve himself that day. Your legs were still sticky from the resulting outcome. 

You only realise how close he has gotten when you feel the tip of his dagger flick over your nipple hardened by the cold air. You hiss when his hand touches your waist where he stabbed you, the night of the soiree. “It’s disappointing, if not impressive, that your wound is almost healed already. I was looking forward to playing with a new hole.” 

You wince, turning your head away and gulping hard as the disgust threatened to come up to your throat when he let his hands roam freely over your form, until something clicks in your mind from what he said.

You were almost healed already. 

You blame it on this identity still being relatively new to you, on top of the exhaustion from the torture, for not realising it sooner, but with more blood, you could heal completely. You might just break free with the rush of strength it would give you. 

Thinking quickly, you establish what you’re going to do; you would just need him to get even closer than he was, as awful as it sounded, to be able to bite him. With the shackle around your neck, you would need to be almost face to face — or rather, face to neck — with him for this to work. You would only have one chance at this, and you wouldn’t have more time if Virric found out about your vampiric nature — something you had managed to keep secret, as he seemed to have believed you when you justified your feral attack on Alstaer on your feminine nature; long nails were just your birth right and in the heat of the moment, you didn’t know better than to slash his face instead of using your sword. “Silly, silly woman.” He ate it all up.

But if you were to do this, there would be no room for error. If he found out you were a vampire, he would instantly track it down to Astarion, and they would go on a monster hunt against him and his spawn. Worse, even, he would linger on the torture if he had confirmation that you would never die from it. He would keep you balancing between life and death, forever; breaking your spirit, what was left of your humanity. You need to get him to believe he has won this fight. 

You need to submit.

When his knife slides between your thighs, you initiate your plan.

“Please! Please, stop,” You shout with what you have left in your voice, before letting your head fall, feigning to give up, “I… I’ll tell you what you want, but please, I beg you; mercy.” you plead, your voice small and broken as you push another sob. The constant screaming had roughed up your throat, making your voice almost unrecognisable when you spoke for the first time in days.

His knife finally stops its ministrations when he steps back to look at you. “Did my pet have a change of heart?”

Pet. This name hurt more than the others. 

“I can’t… can’t take it anymore… Virric, please” you pant, without looking up to him, as tears stream down your face. As much as this was part of your façade, the words weighed heavy and true — if this didn’t work, you would take your own life at the first chance you got.

He takes your chin between his thumb and finger, forcefully tilting your eyes up. As you slouch over the wall now, you stay much smaller than him. “First of all, you are to refer to me as Master from now on. Am I clear?”

Another angry tear silently falls from your eye, “Yes.”

You barely register how fast he moves when the back of his hand collides with your cheek brutally, “Wrong answer.”

“Y-yes, Master.” The only thing stopping the bile from coming up your throat at this point was the lack of contents in your stomach.

“Good. There is still hope yet for you.”

You take a few shaky breaths before speaking up, “I just… I need to know… What will happen after I tell you… his secret?”

“Exactly what I said would happen: he will be stripped of his title — not that he ever deserved it — and I will receive it in his stead, along with all his assets, which will attribute to me the respect of the high society.” He speaks as if it was already a done deal, as if this was only moments away from being his reality.

“And… me? What are you going to do with me?” You say, your voice merely a whisper by now, as you force out another tear to aggravate your desperation.

“Depends. Obviously you will be mine once more, back where you belong. Perhaps, serving me on your knees, obedient and silent, as any ideal wife should be. That is, of course, if you are a good little puppet, and you follow every and each of my orders. I might even reward you if you are especially complacent. Otherwise,” he eyes down the knife in his grip, dangerously threading down to your navel, making you groan in pain as he cuts you further. “I will have to keep you locked up, and punish you until you learn your lesson. I do not appreciate insubordination.” He lifts your chin up with his other hand, taking in your distress like an aphrodisiac. “I think I’ll keep the collar on you though, it suits you quite well.”

You force your eyes shut once more as you sob, not from the continued pain from his torture — not anymore — but from the mere idea that this was almost your life. This could still be it, but had you not impulsively ran away from your home back then… gods, you don’t even want to think about it, this was torture enough. You thank all the gods that you are an only child, as you don't think you would’ve been able to live with yourself if you had abandoned a sister to this life by running away yourself.

When you feel his blade between your legs, you realise you’re out of time.

“Stop— stop!” you say, your voice cracking, as it comes out between cries. “I’ll tell you what you want.”

You miss the smile of satisfaction on his face, one that you would be too happy to tear off, as he sets down the knife at his table. “I knew you would see reason, princess. Don’t be shy now, tell me everything I want to know, and I’ll make sure to reward you appropriately. We might even pay your parents a little visit! Show them the progress we’ve made with you.”

If you had to see your parents again, especially your father who had sold you off as if you were nothing but cattle, you don’t think you would have the force to restrain yourself from killing them, too.

“I… just… need…” you mumble, your speech barely audible as you feign exhaustion, panting after each word.

“Speak up, girl. I won’t repeat myself.”

It takes everything you have left in you not to spit at him. “Come… closer…” you whisper to draw him where you need him to be, and the fool obliges you, too blind on his power trip to second guess your intentions as he turns his ear to you, finally exposing his neck to you.

“He’s… he’s a…”

You wait for the right moment, when his neck is just under your chin, to finally bolt up on your legs and dive your head down, plunging your fangs deep into his skin. Your teeth manage to keep him still long enough for you to take three great gulps of his rich blood, which seems to burn as it goes down your throat. He shoves himself away from you, stumbling back to the table with his knives, and brings his hand up to cover the wound in his neck. 

His blood gives you the results you hoped for; your open wounds heal in the blink of an eye, your will to fight springs back to life, and with your renewed strength, you easily tear off your bindings from the wall behind you, before ripping off the one at your neck, finally setting yourself free.

One look at him in his pitiful state awakens something within you, a hunger — for blood, yes — but a blood bath. You can now hear how fast his heart is beating against his ribcage, terrorised at your sight. 

“A vampire?!” he screams, incredulous, as his voice trembles.

You give him a toothy grin, frowning through the tears in your eyes and the blood on your lips, proudly displaying your hidden fangs. “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

Before he can reach for his arsenal, you whip up the chain linked to your shackled arm to strike his right arm down. The blood loss affecting him messes up with his reflexes, and he receives your hits without a chance of dodging them. He screams when the chains make contact with his arm, and then you finally understand what he meant about your own screams; his pain elicited something extremely satisfying within you, and you wanted more.

As he tries to reach for another blade with his left arm, you repeat the same move, swinging the chain in your hand towards his legs, making him trip, and knocking away the table and his arsenal in the process. When he sees you pick up daggers from his collection, he crawls backwards in panic until he hits the locked door of your cell. He doesn’t even bother to cover his neck which is still profusely bleeding from your feeding, as his eyes look you up and down in a fright that suited him far better than the arrogance he wore before. 

Breathless, he asks, “Ancunín is a bloody vampire?!”

You approach him like a predator would their prey, with a glint in your eyes as you inspect the knife you hold, “Honestly Virric, I can't believe it took you that long to figure it out. The man is a high Elf — you of all people should know there are no high elves with red eyes, come on now.”

“There was word that he was a drow—”

“A drow? With his complexion?” You scoff, crouching to his level. “Maybe you really are as stupid as he painted you out to be.”

“How dare you—” He snarls, as he tries to get to his feet, but you stop him before he can get anywhere, as you plunge the knife in his thigh and twist through the muscles. He cries out, so loud it echoes through the tunnels of his hideout, and you rip out the knife from his leg before you get up to take a look at the state of him.

“You know,” you say, void of any emotions, “I would tell you to send my regards to my parents, but I don’t intend on letting you live long enough to get there.”

As you wind up your next hit, he lifts his arm in protection, yelling to wait. You halt in your tracks, simply by curiosity of what he would say in his moments of desperation, and lower the knife, waiting to see what bullshit he would spit out.

“Think about it,” he pants. “People are going to ask around. You wouldn’t risk going to prison over killing me, would you?” He smiles as he lowers his arm to gauge your reaction, but for the first time, his smile was out of desperation. It’s uneven, shaky, uncertain; he’s terrified of you.

“Beg.”

“W– What?”

“You want me to spare you? Beg for it.”

He remains quiet, blinking anxiously at the sight of the vampire bride that held his life between his hands, and with a shaky voice, he breathes, “I’m— I’m not—.”

You lunge, holding the bloodied knife against his throat just as he had done to you so many times before, pushing against the soft spot between his neck and under-chin, “Speak up, pet.”

He sneers, refusing to comply and you push the knife deeper into his throat, “Unless this precious life of yours isn’t really worth anything?”

“P– Please!” He finally snaps when the knife cuts through the soft skin of his neck, choking on his words. “I— I’m sorry! I’ll disappear, I'll leave Baldur's Gate, you’ll never hear of me again, please! I- I beg you, spare me!”

Under your hand, Virric shakes. Not only his voice, but his whole body; you dare to think that you’re shaking his spirit, too. And all of this only in the span of a few minutes, yet again beating Virric at his own game. You drink in his terror, and decide to play some more. “Gods, you sound pathetic.”

You pull away, straightening up, “I don’t think you’re worth my mercy, Virric.” You eye the knife in your grasp, inspecting it as you keep talking, “What was it that you said that night at the ball? You wouldn’t want people to see you like this, now would you?” You shoot him a deadly glare, before grabbing another knife that was discarded earlier, and as you walk towards him, he lifts his remaining working arm in an attempt to try and stop you, “Wait! How will you explain my disappearance?”

You smile faintly, your words are devoid of emotion, empty, yet, threatening. “I’ll find something.” You step closer, the dagger burning in the palm of your hand for retaliation going straight into his other leg. After his screams settle back down, you crouch and lean closer to say, “After all, no one would have respected you if they knew you were bested by the very woman you swore to force into submission.” 

You lean into his ear, whispering. “I’ll make sure everyone knows.”

Before he can say anything to stop you once more, your knife is deep in his guts, once, then twice, then more times than you can count. You finally pull away, watching as his life leaves his eyes, drinking in the horror of his last moments alive.

As his body goes limp, falling to the side, you step back, dropping the blade from your hand before falling to your knees, the adrenaline that pushed you through this encounter leaving you all at once. Your breathing accelerates without you being able to control it, seemingly forgetting it wasn’t a vital necessity to you anymore, and you physically feel your heart tightening in your chest. You try to compose yourself, try to tell yourself you’re fine, but a wave of raw emotions hits you all at once and tears flood your vision. 

This man would never hurt you again, and your bleeding wounds had healed, but you had to drink his blood for this to happen. His blood, in your body, just like he had been without your consent, for days. Your skin itches at the thought of feeling his blood course through your veins and you want to rip off your skin, leave this body for a new one, remove the stains from his abuse, scratch away his touches — no more, no more, no more.

In the distance, you hear frantic footsteps and you lift your eyes towards the sound — guards. That must be them, posted further away, just in case Virric had the need for them, and they were coming for you. Quickly, you grab back the longest dagger among Virric's tools, and get back on your feet, preparing yourself to attack the first guard — no, not a guard.

Astarion.

Your body refuses to move, frozen in place by some magic, refusing to see him there, standing before your cell — he had come for you after all — and the moment after he rips away the door to your cell, you are in his arms. Still frozen, still unbelieving. 

“Oh darling… My sweet love… I finally found you. It's me. I'm here.” He pulls back, his hands reaching to cup your face between them. “I'm here. It’s over.” 

“He… He’s…” You wanted to try to explain, but there was never the need to, not with Astarion, not when he had felt every cut and bruise and touch Virric had imposed on you.

“I know, my love. I know.” In the second that followed, you dropped your weapon and the one after, you cried, and cried, until your cries turned into screams, unable to keep the emotions bottled up anymore. Your voice is guttural, broken between sobs, depicting just how broken you were inside.

He pulled back from you to surround you with his jacket, warm from him wearing it, and protecting your body from any unwanted eyes, before picking you up in his arms.

“Let's go home.”

You walked away without a second look at Virric's butchered remains.

-

The gods have made us a virgin hunter

Who in the storm becomes stillness

I always wondered why they all came back for more

Came back for more

Thank you for reading! Comments, reblogs, and likes are very much appreciated <3

tag list (comment or message me if you want to be added!): @grimistheangerinmystares @silverfangmarks @roguishcat @nyx-knox @anacdoce @jwera @annnagennnie @angeldarkness95 @marlowethebard @hellethil @frankie-mercury

[rjthirsty]

Bound Forever

Gilbert/Reader Roderic/Reader

Words: 2k

CW: Major Character Death. Angst. Tragedy. Grief. Smut. Route Spoilers.

A/N: @scummy-writes did a piece on Gilbert dying called Normalcy Bias that inspired this piece. We've spoken at length about our Gil headcanons, and I admire her as a writer, so I wanted to give myself a chance to mimic the depth of emotion I read in her works. I'm honestly hoping to cause some tears with this.

Gilbert had disappeared again.

It was always terrifying when he vanished, because you knew the only reason he had for leaving without saying a word - he was unwell. Like a wounded or sick animal, Gil removed himself from the palace to find a place he could rest until either he felt better or he perished. Thankfully he had always returned, but you still hated every time he left, feeling helpless and worried sick that you might not see him again.

Walter knew before you did. He always knew when Gil left, but he wasn't allowed to say anything. That, in itself, was a giveaway on why you couldn't find your husband. Just looking at Walter these days answered the question for you since you had danced this routine enough times to know when Gil had told him to keep things from you. Today, Walter refused to make eye contact with you when you visited his office in the medical ward, pretending like he didn't see you enter. You didn't even need to ask. That was enough.

Roderic knew, though he didn't know where Gil ran off to, or even if it was the same location each time. Walter was likely the only one who truly knew where Gil was. Roderic was painfully aware whenever Gilbert disappeared, scared that his master - his friend - would never return. Since you became a part of their lives, Roderic would stay with you on those long days that Gil vanished and the two of you would hold hands and try to keep each other's minds off the possibility. Neither of you wanted to voice that possibility.

As night fell, the black castle felt darker and more hollow without Gilbert's presence. Alone in your shared room, you restlessly waited for your husband's return. Some absences would span a few days, some only a few hours. Today turned to tomorrow, and a sleepless night passed you by with still no word from him.

Another day with Roderic for company. Another attempt to keep your thoughts from spiraling to the worst case. Perhaps baking would help. Gil could return to an abundance of sweets and maybe, just maybe he'll understand how hard it is for you when he goes off like this.

Another dusk leaving you alone with your fears for company in your shared room. Another sleepless night. Another morning that looks more gray than the previous. Three days was the longest he had ever spent away. It had only been two. There was still hope he would return, though that hope was a candle in the fury of a storm right now, barely keeping lit.

“You need to sleep.” Walter scolded.

“I want to see him as soon as he comes home.” It was a silly reason to keep yourself from sleeping, but even if you attempted to rest, you'd be haunted by the thought of him dying somewhere alone. He was alone right now. Alone and sick.

“I'll wake you when he gets back.” Roderic offered.

You're tired. A short rest would be good for you, but… “I'm scared.”

The tears start falling as you hug yourself. Walter looks away, cursing Gilbert for putting you through this. Roderic watches you, unable to offer any assurances. He's scared, too.

Laying on the large bed you share with your husband, it feels so cold and empty. The sunshine doesn't touch here even with the curtains opened. Your pillow is wet from your tears. You can't seem to quell them.

“I'll be right outside,” Roderic promises.

What good would that do? You're still alone in this large room. Exhaustion weighs your eyelids down until you fall into darkness.

You wake into darkness. The large windows are filled with the night sky. The room has no candles nor lamps lit. A shadow stands near the bed, far enough that his presence is hidden but the dull, midnight light from the sky beyond the windows outlines his form. His black hair shines like obsidian and you draw in a sharp breath.

“Gil?” You whisper his name, fearful that the slightest noise would wake you from this dream and he would fade away like an apparition.

He doesn't answer. He's not really there. Again tears well in your eyes and stream down your cheeks.

“Don't cry, Little Rabbit.” He steps towards the bed, out of the shadows. “Did you miss me that much?”

His red eye gleams from the starlight. His smile is perfectly placed. Now that he's closer you can see the layers he's wearing, still in his cloak, he must have just arrived. You glance towards the door, wondering why Roderic didn't wake you. The closed door gives no answers, though it is clearly late so perhaps he went to bed.

Throwing the blankets off, you jump out of bed and run to your love. You throw your arms around him and nuzzle into his chest and the tears come faster. “Yes, I missed you that much!”

Shakily drawing in breaths between your outpouring of feelings and the sobs you try to swallow down, you continue as you cling to him. “Everytime you leave like that I don't know if I'm ever going to see you again! It's been three days! I thought the worst and I couldn't sleep and you can't keep doing this to me!”

Slowly, Gil's arms wrap and you. Gently, he rubs circles on your back to soothe you. He leans down to softly drop a warm kiss to your forehead. He has no words to comfort you. He makes no promises. He never does.

“That was the last time.”

Except, this time he does.

He's warm in your arms.

You draw back as the horrible realization hits you. Looking up into his single red eye that holds more emotions than Gil ever expressed, you take a step backwards. Shaking your head as if it would do any good to convince yourself this wasn't happening, you back up another step.

“No no no. No. Please. No!” A third step has you stumbling into the bed, falling onto it. You can't even feel your legs anymore.

The man posing as Gilbert slowly came closer. The man who hadn't woke you on your husband's return, because he had never returned. Roderic delicately cups your jaw. Warm hands. He wipes your tears, even as new ones fall. Warm fingers. He speaks in such a sweet voice. A voice you love. “It's alright, Little Rabbit. You won't have to miss me ever again.”

Grief so deep you never thought possible drowns your heart and sobs wrack you. Warm lips kiss your eyes as your pain pours out.

Somehow he was on the bed next to you and you fall against his shoulder. Warm arms hold you close.

He murmurs words of affection and hushes soothing encouragement. And when your sobs finally die down to hiccups and gasps and shuddering breaths, you find a handkerchief already in hand to help clean your face. He guides you through the movements you are too numb to manage on your own.

His lips touch the corner of your mouth. Dazed, you turn towards him and your husband's face looks so forlorn. Fingers touch below your chin, lifting it for lips once again to touch yours. So soft. A slow blink from you and you find your voice.

“Roderic–”

“Gil.” He corrects, and the offer is so tempting.

You knew this was always the plan. You hoped it would be a long time from now, and you had pushed it from your mind. But the time has come and now… it would be so easy to close your eyes and pretend it was all a bad dream.

“Gil.” You repeat, your eyelids falling close.

“That's right, Little Rabbit.”

It's his voice that gusts across your lips. 

A nibble on your bottom lip and a longing sigh rises from your throat. It's his teeth that catches you, so familiar in pain and pleasure.

His tongue touches yours and you can almost believe that he's still there with you. Your mouths move together, chasing the memory of the man you love through clumsy movements that aren't quite right.

It hurts so much. Your chest aches and head throbs and you just want to forget. 

Fingers find clasps, and pull ties, and brush clothing from both of your bodies. Were they yours or his? Does it matter?

Teeth sink into flesh and tongue soothes the pain and your body responds to the training you've endured to appreciate the way his love feels on you. Marks blossom on your skin from his mouth that burns too hot.

Your eyes burn, tears forming between eyelids squeezed tight.

Your chest burns, bleeding out from the inside.

Your groin burns, desire whispering sweetly that if you just let go it'll be alright.

Think of him.

Think of him.

It hurts so, so much.

Your fingers tangle in his hair. His fingers push inside of you. You cry out his name as he rubs along your inner walls, exploring you for the first time, finding the places that cause you to buck into his hand and whimper and moan.

He learns quickly. He has always known.

New overlaps with old as your husband touches on memories from times before. Building that sweet ache in the pit of your belly. Causing your cunt to throb and drip making lewd sounds that your lusty moans overshadow.

You're on your back and he's over you. When did you lie down? He pulls his fingers out of you and you whimper in frustration. You were so close to covering the hurt in your heart with the pleasure of climax and he snatched it away.

He's gone.

A single sob breaks between your gasping breaths. Tears brim again between your closed eyelids. They fall hot, so hot down the sides of your face. You're empty. Alone.

His cock touches your wet folds and you crack your eyes to see your lover with damp lashes. He looks away and buries his face in your neck as he buries his cock inside of you. Your back arches and thighs cling to his hips, as he clings to you with strong arms and roaming hands.

He pumps into you and you can't help but rock with him to squeeze and drag and churn his dick inside of you. Fingers digging into his back. Nails biting skin. He gasps and whimpers and moans near your ear. You love to hear him. His teeth dig into you. It hurts so good.

You're not alone. Your voice grows louder. He's relentless. Pounding your sex and knocking every moan out of you. Biting you again, and again, and again. Your cunt clenching tight as the pressure in your pelvis reaches a tipping point.

His thrusts turn too eager. His rhythm lopes out of pace. But you're so, so close! Please! Just– “Ah! Gil!” His hot hands grip your hips and he slams into you finding his rhythm again and he moans and heat and orgasm and shivers and spasms snap through you.

Your thoughts go blank, flooded with relief from the throbbing from before. Euphoria washes over you, wave after wave as your cunt continues to clench sending another crashing over you, then another. Gil slowed down his pumping to ride out the squeezing milking his cock. And just as you finally thought you were coming to the end of your climax, Gil thrusts deeper, his pelvis flush against yours, trying to push further still as he spills his seed into you.

You gasp. He breathes heavily on top of you. You hold him pressed against you– too hot. So hot. He's stifling. He clings to you. He needs you to smother his own pain. Pain you understand because the both of you share it. Pain neither of you can ever talk about.

He's gone. The two of you are together but his absence in this room you share with your husband is felt, as if there was a void that could never be filled. You hold each other, your hearts bleeding for the same person. Silent tears will be shed and it hurts. So. So. Much.

[atoledefresa-delulusversion]

Time to fangirl about Helluva Boss: My predictions for "Full Moon"

Stolas wakes up. He's sick, he's nervous, he's conscious what day it is and what will could posibly go right or go absolutly and irremediably wrong.

We know the episode starts with the duet, so Stolas proceeds to vent his feelings the only way we've seen him be able to do: through songs. So they sing.

Stolas sing about being aware of the power inbalance in their... situationship. So he plans to give Blitz the choice to stay or leave. Of course, if Blitz choses to stay it would be perfect; but if he doesn't, Stolas would lose the only thing close to "love" he has.

Meanwhile, Blitz sings about keeping things the way the are. Of course, he doesn't like change. He's probably becoming aware of his own feelings but as long as they don't talk about it, everything will be fine, rigth?

After that, they're gonna show us IMP at the end of a job, using the grimoire (maybe) for the last time. And they are happy because everything is going up for them. Moxxie talks about how it would be disastrous to lose that but Blitz just ignores him 'cause he has somewhere else to be.

Bitz's suit has blood so he changes and goes to Fizzarolli for advice on how to please his high status demon so he can make sure they go back to how it was. And Blitz gets A LOT of things.

And finds Stolas waiting for him on the bed... but he's dressed? And so the torture begins.

Stolas is not good with words, we already know that. We also knew Blitz would take "the talk" as a subtle pitiful way of Stolas saying he doesn't wanna have anything to do with him anymore. And Blitz breaks. My boy tried to do, say and look his best to make this night special and turns out his efforts were in vain. Doesn't matter if he pushes people away because people will abandon him even when he's not trying to do so.

I've seen people theorize that Stolitz are gonna parallel themselfs when they were kids, with Stolas portaling Blitz to the tree where they played when they were little and confess or solve their problems there, but that's not the case. Here my evidence:

Look at the plants on the first background and the barely visible plant on the scene where Blitz is screaming at Stolas. It seems Blitz is chasing Stolas through the palace, but WHY? And here:

Right after Stolas portals Blitz away, we see a tree some believe to be the same as the one when they were kids, but it's actually one of the trees from the entrance. Stolas teleported Blitz OUT of the palace. Brandon has to agree at least we have this theory right.

Me & Brandon:

We also have this scene and I''m curious WHY does Stolas looks so formal? With the hat and everything:

For the red light on the corner, I assume this is from the same scene when they talk. Maybe he's not waiting for Blitz on the bed, maybe that's a completely different scene, but they DO have the talk in Stolas' room. Maybe this clip is first: he puts his hat on, ready to be professional so Blitz will take him seriously as he explains why they can't keep doing what they're doing the way they're doing it.

I have no idea what could Stolas had possibly said to trigger Blitz so bad to the point where he snaps (and maybe says some hurtful things) and Stolas ends it by teleporting him out. Maybe, in his dramatic solitude, the epise ends with Stolas saying: "Thank you, Blitz, for making me so happy even if only for a little while" as a form of closure.

Anyway, I give you nothing. I'm slowly spiraling into an abyss of delusion in order to survive the wait.