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minihotdog · 4 months

Text

The Scout

Pairing: Ghost x Fem!Reader

Summary: Ghost runs into an old... Friend? Enemy?

a/n: idk man I'm just justing

c/w: adult themes MINORS DNI

Word Count: 8k

Ghost excused himself from the group of men after exchanging his post with Gaz for the night and headed towards the grey, empty room he’d been calling his. His body was worn out, along with his mind.

The mission had been going on for weeks and was moving at a snail’s pace. They were pursuing a militia that had recently aligned with Makarov’s forces. Laswell had received intel on a shipment of weapons that were heading for said militia’s hideout intended for Makarov. The shipment was set to arrive within the month and the task force intended to intercept it, but that meant a lot of time spent sitting and watching in shifts.

The detachment facility was concealed but close enough to intercept coms without being detected

Ghost was getting tired of waiting. He was used to action, and adrenaline, and the slow pace was wearing him and his comrades down even more than the countless neverending firefights they were accustomed to. As much as those moments left permanent marks on his psyche, he and everyone he knew craved it in some twisted, bloodthirsty way. At this point, he was doing a thousand pushups a day for “excitement”.

He blew air through his nose in frustration as he sat on the twin-sized wrestling mat he called a bed. He placed his gun on the floor next to him and threw his heavy vest against the wall to use as a pillow.

The weight coming off his shoulders leaves him rubbing his aching shoulders in relief over the sleek material of his sweater. He lies back on the paper-thin foam and his spine lets out a series of pops, finally releasing the pressure built up from hours holding the same position.

He groans quietly, reaching under his mask to scratch his scruff.

M’as well sleep on the floor, this mat is shite.

He rests his hand on his chest and the other on the knife sheathed to his belt. His eyes shut and he chases his rest fully clothed, boots and all.

-Time Skip: Approx. 0300-

He didn’t dream often, especially on the job. On the contrary, nightmares plagued him when he was home and a threatening darkness encompassed him on the field. But this feeling wasn’t right. Even asleep, Ghost was on alert. He could sense to his core that the air in the room had changed and a wave of uneasiness flooded him in his dreamless state.

He couldn’t pull himself from the darkness as he usually could. No matter how hard he subconsciously tried, his body was begging for rest against his efforts.

Ghost felt a weight lower itself onto his lap. Another person’s hands slide lightly from his waist to his chest.

Bloody ‘ell, wake up!

His body tenses involuntarily under the fondling. The zipper on his sweater carefully unzips. The cool air hitting his bare chest causes him to twitch in the battle between mind and body. The grasp the darkness had on him was lethal.

Small, warm hands graze the exposed skin of his abdomen, lightly tracing the patches of thick scar tissue that littered all over his body.

A soft, feminine voice coos at him as he twitches and his mind rushes to fill in the blanks, sending different scenes through his closed eyes in a poor attempt to mask the sound as a dream.

C’mon, wake up!

He felt as if he was floating through dimensions as he began the process of regaining full consciousness, eyes still refusing to open.

The mysterious woman lowers herself onto him, her nose gently nuzzling his neck. She takes a deep breath as if she’s trying to savor his musky scent. Her head pulls away from his neck and he feels fingertips graze his throat.

She fiddles with the hem of his balaclava before it begins to catch at the sides of his jaw. He feels his mask being pulled up and a shock shoots through his body. His limp state disappears instantly and he reaches for her. His other hand remembers its place on the knife.

His fingers wrap around her wrist, preventing it from going any further.

“Don’t worry, darling.” She coos as her free hand caresses his cheek. “I won’t pull it off, that’s not nice.” His grip tightens but she pays it no mind. She moves her hand from his cheek and uses it to pull his mask enough to reveal his lips. Her thumb outlines his bottom lip and she swoops down to plant a small kiss on his lips. He feels her lips through her mask.

His eyes flutter, trying to rid themselves of the blurriness. Moonlight pours into the room just enough for him to make out her figure above him and some of her features.

“I’ve been watching you for so long.” She wines, bottom lip quivering slightly under the material. “I couldn’t help myself. I needed to see you.” Her eyes crinkle as if she’s smiling under the mask. The black mask only covers the lower half of her face and a long single braid falls over her shoulder. He sighs, staring up at the ceiling.

“Y/n, we have to stop meeting like this.” The rasp in his voice sends shivers down her spine. She chuckles and tilts her head.

Ghost releases her wrist and wraps his fingers around her throat so quickly she doesn’t have time to react. Her hands come up to hold his in place and a whimper falls from her lips. Her eyes stare into his, lust clouding her pupils. Ghost shifts beneath her, feeling the heat radiating off of her. Her hips involuntarily grind against his in a jerking motion and arousal begins to stir inside of him.

Even through the mask, he could see her jaw go slack, her eyes burning into him. He couldn’t stop himself from giving her a small squeeze and watching her body come alive for him.

Fuckin’ ‘ell

He snaps himself out of the trance and slides himself up until his back rests on the wall taking her with him. He lets out a shaky breath before speaking.

“Why are you watching us this time?” He shakes her roughly when the words refuse to fall out of her open mouth. He unsheaths his knife from his belt and presses the blade to her throat just about his thumb. “C’mon, love, keep this easy.”

She grips his wrist and attempts to push the knife away but he doesn’t budge. A look of panic flashes in her eyes. “Decided to toy with the enemy and this time it isn’t going your way, huh?”

His bare lips graze her ear. “If you were under my command, I’d take you bound and gagged to teach you a lesson, you little minx.” His words drip with poison. She fights against his grip to no avail. “Tsk, tsk, tsk.”

The hem of his fatigues grinds painfully against her clit. He catches himself nearly panting at her little cries.

“I’m here to warn you, you stupid fuck.” She chokes out, clawing at his now painful grip on her jaw.

“Warn me of what?” He growls.

“Makarov has men heading this way. He thinks the task force has been tipped off.” She winces at his tightening grip.

Ghost chuckles, his plump lips tugging into a cocky smile. He sheaths his knife and his grip on her neck loosens and she gasps, finally being able to breathe properly.

“You’re working for Makarov now? That’s fuckin’ hilarious. You just keep getting worse.”

He tosses her backward onto the floor. He jumps to his feet, throwing on his vest and grabbing his gun. He readjusts his mask and turns back to her.

“Well, I recommend you disappear now.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes, “So no goodbye kiss?”

“Fuck off.”

He places his headset over his ears.

“Bravo 6, Ghost. How copy?”

“What is it?”

“A little birdie told me Makarov’s men are heading our way.”

“All units pull out!”

Gunshots begin sounding through the hallway nearby. Ghost assesses the hall. When his head turns back she’s gone and the window is wide open.

He leaves the room behind to join the fight with his brothers. A trail of destruction leads to the vehicle barreling towards the compound for them. As Ghost enters the humvee he looks back to the dark building. Somewhere in the dense treeline, he could swear she was perched up watching him.

- Time Skip: UK -

“Makarov knew we were there. We did not prepare for that possibility. He could’ve used the gun deal to drag us out there and intended to have all of us killed.” Price sits at the head of the table looking to Laswell at his left.

“How’d you get out in time?” She looks over the images and reports plastered on the table.

Ghost interjects, “He had a scout visit before the attack, a familiar one.”

“Viper visited you before the attack?” Her eyebrows furrow. “This gives us plenty to look into. That’s enough for now.” She turns to Price. “Speaking of scouts, we’re gonna need one to plan for the next mission.”

They all dismiss from the debriefing, everyone heading their separate ways except Soap and Ghost.

“Yer tellin’ me she told ye they were coming? Tha’s a first.” Soap says in disbelief. “I guess Makarov isn’t payin’ them like he used tae.”

They say their goodbyes and Ghost heads to his barracks room.

#simon ghost riley #ghost #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #tf141 x reader #my writing

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thecameronchronicles · 1 year

Text

Undercover

TW: Extremely Dom!Rafe. Smut. Language. Coercive behaviors. Degrading language. Bondage. Mentions of drugs. Use of drugs. Choking kink. Good girl kink. Slapping. Gun play.

SUMMARY: You are undercover to bust the drug ring within the higher class of the Outer Banks, unaware that Rafe is on to you, and means to make you pay…

WORD COUNT: 4200

*ORIGINAL CONCEPT*

Undercover

Your eyes narrowed to him from over the rim of your chosen mocktail, a guise of drinking among the masses to keep from blowing your own cover. All to study him and wait for the perfect moment you would offer yourself in order to ‘strike’. A subtle obliteration he wouldn’t understand until he was left in the debris of what you intended. But even as your eyes surveyed him, you couldn’t deny the way he was a pleasing subject to look at. The effects of his chosen vices having yet to touch his youthful looks as you bit the edge of your cup in thinking of differed circumstances would make him a target as a one night stand.

But you had a job to do. And you were not one to allow your hormones to get in the way. And yet, you’d never met someone quite like Rafe Cameron before…

“One hit each and I’m expecting payment for more, it’s the good shit…come on, don’t be cheap or I’ll throw your ass to the pogues…” He caused the group to chuckle as you added yourself into the feigned humor to keep from drawing suspicion. But from the second you made yourself known, all eyes were suddenly peeled to you. Just as you had observed him, he had done to you. Shameless stripes made of his eyes, up and down your physique, as you’d worn something just enticing enough to give the appearance of confidence battling low self esteem and the need to quell your daddy issues.

“Is this all you have?” You asked, the group suddenly silent as he pulled another two bags from his pockets, an impressive amount on hand for what was rather courageous considering you could have been anyone. A detective even…

“I was looking for a real party…You don’t even have enough to last an hour…” You shot, aware girls who threw themselves to his feet were what he’d be used to. Therefore flattery would get you nowhere. Or at least not where you wanted to be. For that, you journeyed to your feet before being pulled by his grasp. A quick and harsh grasp that was anything but compassionate. If anything, it was a threat of what could happen if you weren’t careful.

“You got the cash?”

“You got the coke?” You shot back, throwing your hand back to your side as his jaw cocked.

“Sort this out for me, yeah?” He asked a friend, leaving the other supply behind before following you. From a simple observation with his hand on your lower back, it would appear as a decent enough interaction. And yet the raging fire behind his eyes would validate it was anything but.

“Through here…” He finally offered after taking you through the entire extent of the house. A beautiful plantation plagued with the recklessness of adolescence. Stains of carelessness worn into the walls as you crossed over the threshold of a private room with the door closing behind you. Once the door locked, your eyes flashed to him in concern.

“Don’t want any interruptions now do we?”

“Where is it?” You asked, appearing as gluttonous as his eyes were for you.

“In that closet. Top shelf.” You turned to open the doors, finding one to stick before forcing it open. On the very tips of your toes, you were able to see the racks he spoke of. Only they were only housing perfectly stacked shoe boxes and a handful of nicknacks of a lack of importance.

“It’s not-” But as you turned to counter him, he was already at your back, pushing you against the closet door completely. The way he hovered over you nearly swallowed you whole as you had prepared yourself for this very thing. His reputation made it clear he was one quick to anger. Kook or Pogue, didn’t make a difference. Yes, you had accounted for everything.

Except how your body would respond to him.

“You think I’m stupid, don’t you?” Before you could answer, he continued his apparently rhetorical question, “A pretty girl I would have noticed at any other party suddenly wants more coke than her ass can handle and you think I wouldn’t care? I wouldn’t find it suspicious-” But as his eyes washed over you in a display of clear lust and need, his head cocked as if doing so allowed him to gain a better view of what you offered gladly as eye candy.

“If you don’t have what I need, you could have just said so…Guess I was wrong…” You shot back, narrowing your eyes, before turning to leave. Only you weren’t allowed even a step before his arm projected before your face. A thick forearm roped in muscle acting as a starting point for the climb of your eyes to reach back to his blue irises darkened by desire. Carnal or chaotic was yet to be determined.

“You were wrong…Thinking I wouldn’t notice what you’re trying to do…” He pushed you into the wood of the closet door, his knee rising between your legs to keep you from raising them to escape or angled against him in any way.

“What are you doing?” You asked quickly as his fingers took hold of the silk you’d chosen to wear. A tight blouse that hung low as he ripped it directly down the center. His jaw set aside in disbelief but also pride in himself as he came upon the microphone set between your breasts. You swallowed hard.

“Now what would you have this for?” He asked, playing coy. Before you could respond, his fingers dipped just far enough in your bra to trace the chilled skin beneath.

“Think you can take me down? Then you’re going with me…” His second hand was in your panties before you could stop him. Your body quick to arch and your lips immediate in a separation as you rode into him.

“Let them hear how good you are at your job, you little slut…If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I was actually making you want to come…” Your lips came open to object, but he only forced those same digits into your mouth as he lowered the microphone to your thighs. Offering a look of warning, he brought his fingers back to your sex, caution left to the wind as you squelched to each piston.

“Go ahead, the more you fight it, the harder you’re gonna come…” He lowered himself closer to your ear. “Don’t torture yourself. That’s my job.” With that,he withdrew his fingers.

“This what you wanted?” You asked as he pulled the dime bag of cocaine from his back pocket. But as you expected him to bring it away, he used his fingers still slick with you, before dipping it into the container.

“Mmm…” Your cheeks became hot. Too hot.

Enough to remind you of what was at stake if you allowed yourself to remain. Rafe wasn’t some innocent bystander manipulated by those he trusted. He wasn’t in a situation in which his life was on the line if he attempted to do ‘the right thing’. He was just as responsible for the lives lost from drugs like this. And yet his presence was intoxicating enough that you understood why every warning against them could be easily ignored.

Yet at the last moment in which temptation held you within its clutches, your eyes flashed to the door. Your feet set off before you could second guess yourself.

“I’m not near done with you yet, baby…” He explained as he pushed you against the door just long enough to make this threat before pulling you by your hair until you were on the edge of the bed.

“If you were any other girl, I would have you ass up on this bed until you screamed my name in pleasure…” He brought you closer to him until your lips teased him.

“But you’re nothing but a liar and a slut who needs to be taught a lesson.” He tossed you onto the bed, moving to the bedside table and producing a gun.

“Tell me why you’re really here.” You paused as he stood between your legs at the end of the bed. The cold nose of the pistol at the tip of your knee and descending between your thighs. Closer and closer to the pulsation he made from a mix of danger and anticipation.

“I want to know what you know.”

“Enough. I know enough…”

He leaned over you, threatening your panties to the side with the nose of the gun before using it at your lower lips. He pulled them apart as you trembled, truly uncertain of what he would do. And yet every nerve in your body was exhilarated by it.

“So you know I’d hurt you and not think twice about leaving you somewhere nobody would ever find you…” You swallowed hard before he quickened the weapon.

“But not until I have my fun first. Maybe showing me you’re worth keeping around.” He withdrew the weapon and replaced it with his cock as you moaned in approval. Your stomach twisted and tightened to the voices within your head reminding you how immoral and unjust this was. You spent years in an academy and within a job to ruin soulless individuals like the male Camerons. Ones that used intimidation and threats such as this very one to keep their role in society. And yet, the way his touch burned you from the outside in had been enough to ignore this reminder.

“Knees." He spoke simply, as if a king demanded his subject. For the briefest of moments of silent rejection you watched his eyes shine with amusement.

"If I have to ask again-" he interrupted himself.

"Stand up." Your eyes flashed before he pulled you back up by your hair.

"They got to hear enough…" He explained while tearing the microphone from your body, separating it from the pack at your back, and sending both to the floor in ruin.

"Everything else you say and do will be for me." He traced the gun between your breasts, circling your nipples. He watched and basked in every flinch of your body, getting off on the fear behind your eyes more than the soft moans from your lips.

"Take off what's left of your shirt." After a hesitation, you submitted to his order. Your fingers gingerly peeled the fabric freely from your arms until it fell to the floor.

"Did I say to drop it on the floor?" He hesitated for a moment.

"Pick. It. Up." You obeyed before watching him set the gun onto the bed. Of course with your training you could easily maneuvering against him. And yet, you simply didn't want to. Whatever he had in store, you wanted to endure. Curiosity and lust too strong to silence.

"Can't have you trying anything stupid." He left knots right enough to cause the perfect bite into your skin. Just enough to be reminded of his dominance without the temptation to slip free.

"Perfect…" he confessed, the only kindness he had shown so far. And the only kindness he would.

You were pushed into your back until you collided with the mattress, the fabric tied to the headboard. Yet, you were positioned in such a way that allowed you to hang off the edge of the bed. And this was his intention.

"Don't want to tell me? Then show me what good your mouth is before I put a bullet in it instead." He set himself into your upside down mouth, your eyes closing to the pressure at the back of your throat.

"Fuck!" He breathed deeply no matter your fight. As your toes gripped onto the sheets beneath you and you reacted violently to the way he held you down with force, his fingers came to your clit. The angle was uncomfortable. The pain was excruciating between breathlessness and stretching. But that touch was enough to forgive everything.

"Jesus, you're such a fucking slut for me, aren't you? Don't even have to try and you're willing to do anything to come…" He held himself in the back of your throat as you trembled beneath him, withdrawing ss stars set behind your eyes, and repeating this process in preparation. Not a moment of comfort. And it made you so fucking wet for him.

"If you only would have gotten on your knees when I asked, could've been better for you…" he scoffed to his own words before aligning himself into you from behind.

"Now…you shut that pretty little mouth before I leave it bruised. And just maybe you can come…" He was inside of you before you could object, not that you could or wanted to. Your body a mere outlet for his tensions as you favored his brutality. Even as he buried your face to the sheets below, every battering made you moan out for him. Every smack to your ass sending you to sing in labored winces, before he finally pulled you against his chest. A single pull of your bonds allowed your hands my mobile enough to be taken by him but still bound at the wrist.

"How many people have you arrested?"

"Ah…" you moaned to his fingers at your clit, teasing and pulling before he hit the sensitive bundle of nerves.

"That's an easy question…or you too fucked out already?" He smirked against your cheek. "You think that's bad…you aren't prepared for what's coming…" he abandoned you at his bed. His absence sent you to turn and face him, watching him return with his belt that was hanging on the closet door prior.

"I've already made your ass the perfect shade of red, don't worry…" He paused.

"This is for me…" he bound your thighs with the belt, forcing it together, before hiking your legs over his shoulder.

"You can't stay fucking still…this should help…" he hovered over you, tightening the loop until it ate into your legs as his hand came to your neck.

"Shame you don't have your cuffs, might have let you tie me up, God knows it's the only way you'd get me…" he teased.

"Please…" you whimpered.

"The big bad detective wouldn't be begging now would she? Your pussy that desperate for me?" You nodded, teeth tensed closed, as your eyes attempted to plead with him.

"Then tell me why you're here…"

"B-barry…" The name of your informant slipped from your lips. Whatever code of conduct was ashes to your feet.

"Sold me out?" You gasped as he slowly thrusted into you.

"But you should get a reward for telling me, don't you think?"

"Yes!" You begged as he smirked. One hand to your breast as he twisted your nipple. But as you found comfort in this, a cold sting came to your cheek.

"Stop closing your eyes. You look at me and show me how grateful you are that I'm being nice or I'll have to go back to hurting you…Believe me…I prefer that much better…"

You kept your eyes to him as you watched his face contort. Perfect pleasure as he pulled himself into an arch.

"Jesus, you feel so fucking tight. Not what I expected for such a little whore…" He scoffed.

"Come here-" he unlatched the belt around your thighs and brought it around your throat. In one grip he held the tail to the belt as well as the binds of your arms before retying the knots at your wrist.

"You're gonna ride me until you make me come. Do it how I want and you can come on my face…"

Your eyes rolled as you worked for that reason. Every inhibition shattered and every warning ignored as he pulled you down onto him to initiate the beginning.

"Work for it." He instructed again. Only as he had, you took complete dominance. Your body worked overtime to please him, not a moment of pause as you attempted to dry him out within you. You would have given nearly anything to have that power over him. Even if only for a moment.

"You are desperate…shit!" He groaned as he pulled himself deeper.

"Changed my mind…get up here…" he moved you to his face until your thighs framed him.

"You do it quick or you don't get to come at all." His tongue and teeth worked in unison against you. A cruel hit on your hip, leading you faster. But with each motion came your reaction. You were tired but desperate, washing over him in rushed bibs before he pinned you down and spread you wider with the same force.

"Fucking come already!" He spat between suction as you moaned over him, your hands desperate to return the favor to him as he sent you in tremors.

"Yes!" He growled, turning you as you shivered from the rush, eating you through that orgasm. Your hands remained pinned behind you as he pulled you harder into his tongue.

"So fucking sweet…" he spoke while rising from your thighs.

"Now it's the fun part…" he teased, hitting at your clit as you gasped beneath him. Quick slaps from a low height that worked with the same sensations a vibrator would have left against you. Overstimulation sending your thighs in a threat to close as he hit your breast.

"Keep your fucking legs open."

"I can't!"

"Do I gotta stick my cock back in there to make you behave again?"

You were tempted to rival him just to taste him again. To have dominance over him again. But he was too convicted to his own ambition.

"Dirty fucking girl…come on…" You weren't sure what he was asking for specifically. But your body seemed to answer that request as you came again. A wave too strong to silence as you shook beneath him. Your hips bucking as he kept you flat.

"There…now you stay fucking still for me. You've got yours. Now it's my turn " he thrust sharply. Snaps made of selfish motions as you were nearly dissolved into the mattress. Every minor sensation intensified by the two orgasms he carefully curated to tease the third incoming. All for this moment.

"If you come before me, you'll be fucking sorry…so greedy. You'll wait." He slapped your cheek as you arched. Your mind dizzy with how much you should loathe him. Yet, you felt you were in debt to him. For the orgasms. For the pleasure. Even for the pain…

God, the pain…

"Ahhh…"

"Turn around. I don't wanna see you come again. You've had your fair fucking share…" To this, he grunted and groaned, his cock refamiliarized with your dripping folds.

"Ass up-'" He explained while pulling your hips high.

"Yes…good girl." He used the back of his hand with the ring to leave a mark on your left cheek.

"Isn't it better when you behave? Not so fucking hard either is it?"

"I wanna watch you ruin that pretty little manicure in my sheets-" he untied your hands and allowed them freely as you obeyed. Your nails gripped sharply into the sheets as you were rooted into the same fabric. Your body a mess as you were close to yet another unbuckling beneath him.

"Don't fucking come!"

"Then slow down-" He pulled the belt around your throat until it tightened. You were set at his chest as he used the hold to both interrupt your breathing and remind you of your forgotten submission.

"You don't tell me how to fuck you. Did you have to when you came the first two times, baby?"

"No-" he answered for you. "Now,' He used his second hand at your clit again. Pain and pleasure battling once again as you fought to keep from coming undone for him. You didn't want to allow him a third. But the tightness around your throat only worsened your need. An unknown kink set alight as you trembled in front of him.

"You're acting like a fucking virgin, coming so much…"

"You're…"

"Too good?" You nodded.

"I know baby…so don't piss me off so I can give us what you both want…" he took turns between your clit and ass, fisting and contorting your breast in the final moments before he released the belt.

"I wanna hear you scream. Make sure everyone on the other side of that little microphone hears you too-" he produced it from his side, having taken it when he left for the belt.

"Bet every guy listening wants to come just hearing how wet you are for me…" he moved his lips to the microphone.

"So…fucking…tight." He set the microphone to your joint hips. Every depraved sound is nicely memorized in the echo as you were lost to another pulsating orgasm. Only this one was painful as he continued to fuck you through it.

"Hear that? Making her come again …don't fuck with me." He threw it away before turning you to face him. A grip to your jaw.

"Think you can pull one over on me and get away with it?"

"Answer me!" He slapped your face, pulling your hair to force you to view him withdrawing from you.

"Oh, you like watching it? Then watch-" he pulled you higher. The sight made your eyes roll as you winced.

"That sound right fucking there is better then when you come….does it hurt baby?" You nodded.

"Good, should teach you your lesson…" he explained as you moaned beneath him.

"Please .."

"I don't think you've learned it baby…"

"I swear!"

"You just wanna coke again…"

You paused. Unable to deny it.

"Battered little pussy is already crying. And you still want one more?"

"Answer me!"

"Yes!" You shouted back.

"Fuck me!" He rutted into you. Deep penetration too swift to comprehend before he became sloppy. His finish dripping from both of you as he withdrew. And yet, he remained convicted against you.

"I'm not done." He pulled you between his naked thighs, your ankles pinned beneath his on the side of the bed while his fingers attached your sex.

"We're not done until you squirt."

"It hurts." He slapped your cheek, softly, as if such a thing could exist.

"Do you think it will feel any better if you try and stop me?! No…you're gonna squirt because it's gonna be so fucking hot…and you're gonna do it just for me…" He groaned into your ear.

"So shut the hell up and fucking spray for me. I'll even make it easy…" he was vengeful to your pussy, pistoning fingers as you rose up to follow only to feel him withdrawal.

"Ugh!"

"Yeah?"

"Yes! Fuck! Rafe!"

"I like when you scream my name baby…let's see if you still can when I make you come this time…" his fingers pistoned and then focused on your clit, denying you the pleasure of both sensations.

"Please please please! Rafe!"

"You wanna be my good girl? Wanna make me proud?"

"Yes…" he followed his hand as he scoffed.

"All over my hand. Right now. I know you're desperate. There she is! Look at you! Yes…making such a fucking mess all over me…" Your body betrayed you completely as you chased that bitter high. His hold at your nipple and the other at your clit sendong your body to new heights in every sense as you squirted over the sheets before you. But in the middle of your high, he was inside you again.

"I told you…I wasn't near done."

By the time he has been, your body was stretched and pulled well beyond limits. Your name spoken in ecstasy from his lips as it came off of hatred from your own. Cum staining every visible surface as you blushed to the scene left behind.

"Now you're smart enough to know what would happen if you try to go against me, right baby?" His hand took hold of your breast.

"No another night like this…and I think we both need it…" you paused, biting your bottom lip.

"You want more?"

You nodded.

"Then meet me back here in an hour. I need to handle some business…and then that ass is mine…" he smacked your backside before leaving you alone in the room.

You dove to the microphone when he left.

"I'm earning his trust…I just need another minute…" You explained, hoping it was believable, tearing through this room before realizing he wouldn't store it somewhere so obvious. Instead, you moved throughout the party, careful not to be seen by him, until coming into an office. Having done so as he was in search of you, nursing another swollen erection as he climbed the steps to make you handle him.

Insatiable bastard.

Not that you could judge as you were tempted to follow him. Willing to drop to your knees and do what was necessary for his fingers to end up back in you-

Focus!

"What…" Your eyes narrowed to the contents of the drawer you'd happened upon. One left open in a hurry. A pair of glasses set in place that were identifiable enough to know they didn't belong to Ward. But a missing person.

Big John Routledge. Who went missing a year prior.

Suddenly this was more than drugs. This was more than a small bust. And it gave you an excuse to return to Rafe and rectify a night of promised orgasms…

TAGLIST: @hopebaker @drewspisces @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4tangerine @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @camilynn @sweetestdesire @onmykneesforrafe @jjmaybanksangel @phildunphyisadilf @mashdan0916 @belcalis9503

MASTERLIST

RAFE CAMERON MASTERLIST

MARCH MADNESS MASTERLIST

2ND RAFE CAMERON MASTERLIST

3RD RAFE CAMERON MASTERLIST

*LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANTED MORE PARTS!*

#rafe x reader #rafe fanfiction #rafe smut #rafe cameron #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe cameron smut #rafecameron x reader #outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks smut #outer banks rafe #outerbanks #outerbanks fanfiction #outerbanks smut #obx #obx fanfiction #obx smut #drew starkey

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luffyvace · 4 months

Text

RANPO X LAZY MALE READER!!

Enjoy lovely readers! for these are the headcanons that won the poll!!♡

ranpo with a lazy male reader..an interesting topic

definitely. Especially since ranpo himself, is lazy

you two (dazai making it a trio) are the ultimate lazy duo

you guys never get work done outside your skills

maybe not even then

unless it serious y’all basically eat snacks all day and well…lazy around :)

Ranpo will only share some of his snacks with you

partly because your his lazy buddy and partly because your his boyfriend

even if you get your own if he runs out or sees one of his favorite snacks he’ll steal some of yours

To which you often move away from him to get him to stop

also don’t bother storing your snacks in your locker he’ll figure out the lock combo and eat them

bonus points if you break in his locker and steal his

at this point it’s a ‘would be romantic if you weren’t stealing it from each other’ war of buying each other snacks

also meaning you buy all his favorites and store it in your locker, knowing he’s gonna steal it, and he does the same for you

fukuzawa and yosano are used to you two’s antics of not wanting to do anything but kunikida just can’t take it

he thinks he might even go insane

actually this time

atsushi wouldn’t mind as much if your work load didn’t get dumped off on him

or if he didn’t have to clean up after you and ranpo’s snack mess

okay maybe atsushi is a little annoyed..

On the bright side you get lots of cuddles with ranpo

he’s the little spoon

likes to rest his head on your chest

wants to hear your heartbeat so he can fall asleep

your only complaint is that he gets snack and chocolate stains all over your shirt

even worse since your too lazy to do laundry

Oh well

if you wanna be the little spoon ranpo will whine and complain

“awhhhhh but m/nnnnnnn I’m so comfyyyyy”

you both keep persisting until you fall asleep

that cycle repeats every time you cuddle

even if he were to say yes you’d be too lazy to move

you’d likely end up just falling back asleep

ranpo would still get his way as the little spoon in the end

if you two live together oh boy you either call someone to do everything for you (kunikida)

or wait until said kunikida comes over,

turns on mom mode,

and scolds you while cleaning up + making dinner

it’s constant battles between who will do what

about literally anything too

”noooooo ranpo you do the laundryyyyy”

”but m/nnnnnnn I’m the worlds greatest detectiveeee, don’t you think I deserve spoiling??”

”you do but I’m too lazyyyy 😞”

”wowwwww so that’s how you feel about your boyfriend?? Your great detective??”

you: rolls over goes to sleep

”m/nnnnnn!! Get uppp! I did the laundry last timeeeeee!”

you, muttering before dozing off to sleep: “liarrr…”

ranpo pouts, flips over and goes to sleep as well

the laundry never got done 😋

honestly….how do I write these headcanons?!

you two are so lazy..! Nothing gets done!!

your dates are all in doors

there’s no cleaning

barely cooking

what do I say?!

I already covered physical affection too 🤦‍♀️

🧍‍♀️

stop being so lazy this is putting strife on me too!!

now I see how kunikida and atsushi feels..

what are we gonna do with you two..🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️

Wellllll…ranpo likely gives lazy kisses

theyre a bit long and not much effort is put into them, but love sure is

same with you!!

you two often give each other slow and gentle kisses while lazying around in bed<3

so cute!!💗

if you could ever get ranpo to cook somehow it may not taste good considering he doesn’t cook a whole lot..

your the same, except you get to choose whether your good or not

..laundry?

you rewear your same favorite clothes and ranpo pretty much does too

ranpo has worn your clothes before, claiming its his when you clearly remember buying it

you figured out it was yours but he was too lazy to take it off

“Awhhhh but m/nnnnn it took so much energy to get it onnnn”

”what?! I was planning on wearing that today!!”

”awhhh can’t you wear it tomorrow and I wear it today?!”

”only if you promise to wash it!”

”awhhhhhh!! 😞—

but I’m so lazy m/nnn”

he sits on the edge of the bed pouting

to which you take the opportunity to yank off the clothes he stole from you

”HEYY!! It took forever to get this on!! Don’t take it off!”

”it’s not yours! And if you don’t wanna wash it, you can’t wear it!”

”okay! okay! I’ll wash it! I’ll wash it!”

”good!” you: walks off to the car ”wait m/nn!! Come back! help me put it back on!!”

just for the record when you got back home it didn’t get washed

it got disregarded on the floor for a cuddles and kisses date on your bed

(yes your dates take place in your bed)

it takes forever for you two to arrive at work

your late more often than not

especially when debates about who has to drive happens

which is where kunikida steps in…again

he scolds you both for being too lazy to even move your hands and feet to get to a job which is very important because it brings in money that feeds you and..blah blah blah blah blah….

(you don’t even remember the rest you tuned out)

I honestly couldn’t choose as to whose more lazy between you two so I’ll let you do it

but in the case that your lazy and can still get some things done,

your really just burnt out not lazy yet it gets labeled as that

your tired from working and doing daily activities

especially if you have a cramped schedule like kunikida

well, maybe not like kunikida, just really packed

(No one can out-schedule that man I know it)

either way you likely do more cooking and a little bit more cleaning than ranpo

If your muscles are sore ranpo will give you a massage but your both laying down-

LOL

he might hire a professional chiropractor for a big event like your anniversary

also I feel ranpo’s love language would be quality time and physical touch

quality time because he just genuinely likes being around his boyfriend

it’s free and he feels good spending time with the one he loves?? Why not??

physical touch because it’s simply a easy and effective way for him to display his love to you

he probably leans more towards kisses in private

hand holding is his go two in public (mostly when he’s not eating snacks at the moment because he needs his hands to stuff his face—and so do you)

hugs/cuddles can go either way :)

Ngl the ada members find it cute when they see you two all snuggled up on the couch after eating a bunch of snacks

even if you two get on their nerve a bit, they can’t deny it’s truly adorable♡

thank you all so much for voting on my poll once again!!

I appreciate you all and deeply hope you enjoyed these headcanons!!!

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ollypopwrites · 27 days

Text

From Depths Unknown; Part 1

Rolan x F!Tav (AFAB, she/her) *Tav is a Storm Sorcerer, but no actual reference to her appearance.

Rating: M

Tags & Warnings: [18+ MDNI] Language, Canon-typical violence, drinking, sexual content (very brief, very not detailed BUT slight dom/sub dynamics), slow burn, slightly enemies to lovers but not quite, background Bloodweave, the use of ‘idiot’ as a term of endearment.

Series Summary:

The entire first half of Rolan’s life was spent feeling helpless and angry. Even after escaping his childhood home, Elturel and then the Grove, fate seems to be intent on reminding him of how small he really is.

Tav is the gallant hero, always swooping in to save him and it is infuriating. To add insult to injury, despite himself, he actually likes her.

Notes: hooooo boy. This got crazy. It was supposed to be vignettes leading to some smut and now we have a whole multi-part fic exploring both Rolan’s character as an outsider of the tadpole crew but still closely acquainted and the weight of responsibility on Tav during the entire narrative of the game. Smut will happen, promise, but first — some light whump and heavy yearning.

Read below or on Ao3

“Did you lose something, darling?”

Tav had upended her pack, a huge pile of random junk, valuable magic artifacts, potions and rations by the fire. She was

Frantically digging through it, sorting through jewelry and shoving it aside.

“You haven’t seen my necklace laying around have you? The one with the pearl pendant?”

“I haven’t stolen it if that’s what you’re really asking,” he replied.

“Sounds like something someone would say if they did steal it.”

“Ha-Ha,” Astarion snarked. “Last I saw it was when I fed from you last night,” he sighed, “such a lovely chain wrapped around an even lovelier neck.”

“It was a gift from… someone special. I can’t find it.”

“When did you last remember having it?”

“I wear it everyday,” she groaned frustratedly. “I noticed it was gone when I got dressed after my bath upstairs.”

“And before that?”

“We fought off that horde by the lake,” Tav frowned and then gasped. “Shit. It must have broken during the fight.”

In her mind’s eye she could imagine when it may have happened. She had been positioned directly in front of the portal in which Halsin had gone into the Shadowfell. Gale and her kept directly in front of it to hold off stragglers, while Karlach and Shadowheart flanked in front of them. A flock of undead Ravens had descended upon her and Gale, clawing a scratching and she had lost her balance careening into the water. Some undead Harper’s had made an effort to keep her from climbing back up on the stone outcrop.

She had made it back to her position, but only barely. Tav still felt herself tense and worn down after what was the longest five minutes of her life. The dead just kept rising, new apparitions of horror springing up when they finally had the upper hand.

“I’ll be back.”

Tav stood and left the camp they had set up near the docks below the Last Light Inn. Her feet took her to the same edge of the lake where even now there were remnants of their battle littering the ground. She checked up on the stone outcrop where the portal had been, dancing lights guiding her eyes as she scanned for a glint of metal from the lights.

Nothing. She danced the lights closer to the water but it was impossible to see through. Tav dug for the last dredges of her magic to cast detect magic, she felt something below. Not too far but hard to pinpoint exactly where with her magic so spent.

Tav examined the water. It was just as dark as the rest of this place, and who knew what lingered below its surface. With a sigh, she took off her shoes and stripped down to her small clothes. She dipped her foot in, the water was as cold as it was when she was pulled in earlier that day.

Then she leapt in. Darkness surrounded her, the muffle of the water creating a sense of pure nothingness around her. In a way, it was peaceful, and quiet, but she had to find her way to the bottom and find that necklace. It was not too deep, but she had to fully submerge herself to reach the floor and when she did she tried not to think about what she was grabbing as she blindly felt around.

With only the vague sense of detect magic to guide her, she grabbed blindly. She felt the metal of armor, maybe a rock or a long rusted weapon, but nothing that felt like a thin necklace chain. She had to thrust herself up to the surface to gasp a breath of air.

Just as she went to dive under again she heard a shout, “what the bloody hells are you doing?”

Her head whipped around to the stone she had jumped from. Tall and lithe, standing rigidly straight with fists balled at his side and eyes glowing slightly in the dark. It was Rolan.

“Are you insane?”

“I lost something!” She said back. “Just a minute!”

His call of, “wait!” Was cut off as she dunked under again. Her hands frantically searching, focusing on the detect magic spell that would fizzle out any moment now. She let it lead her, let it show her the pulsing of the magic it was picking up from the bottom of the lake. There was no way of knowing if it was her pearl, but she had to try.

Her hands dug into the muck of the bottom of the lake, pulling some up and bringing it back to the surface. She could barely see, but there in her hand the pearl sat amongst rot and mud. She choked on a gasp, her eyes stinging either from tears or the grime that no doubt was in the water. The chain was long gone, but the pendant was there.

The gold of the delicate clawed setting that held the Pearl of Power was dirty and dented, but the pearl itself seemed to be in good shape.

“I found it!” She called.

“For the love of — get out of the water!” Rolan yelled.

Carefully she tread towards the stone again, reaching it and dropping the pendant onto the stone so she could pull herself out. Just as she lifted herself up, something caught on her foot, and then tugged. She hit her chin on the stone, teeth clacking together and then she slipped into the water again, skin scraping against rock and her vision going dark as the depths.

Rolan’s hand delved deep into the water, clutching at whatever piece of Tav he could get a grasp of and pulled. Her hand emerged, his hand tightly around her wrist as he grunted with the struggle to lift her above the water's edge. When her face emerged she gasped for breath.

“Something’s pulling me,” she yelled.

Rolan had little time to think, and just kept pulling as Tav’s free hand grasped at the rock and started to get herself onto it. As she did, the rest of her torso was revealed, then legs where he saw a long dead, gnarled and rotten hand grasping her calf. He let go of her with one hand to cast magic missile, the angry red jets of magic landing each hit until the hand let go of her.

Tav crawled onto the rock, coughing up water, and catching her breath. She stayed on hands and knees, her hand coming out to grab the trinket she had dived in for.

Rolan turned on her in a rage. “What in the hells is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” she breathed, “thanks to you. Appreciate it.”

“Weren’t you telling me not to go wandering off into the curse just yesterday?” He seethed.

“I told you not to go alone,” she clarified, “but I guess your point still stands.”

“Thank you,” he said sarcastically. “I watched you and your friends hold off an undead army just here earlier, another truly noble venture I’m sure — “

“We were trying to help lift the curse—“ she stood.

But Rolan’s ire was truly raised and he trampled over her words without acknowledging them. “You cannot truly be this stupid,” he spat, “you know what lurks in this land, what could possibly be so important you need to jump into the accursed lake?” Despite himself he found himself saying, “another hero’s errand, no doubt, the long lost heirloom of a poor, pathetic creature that will simper and whine your praises.”

Tav looked like she might hit him. Instead she grabbed her discarded clothes and started to walk away.

“You’re welcome,” he called after her.

“I already said thank you,” she turned to snarl at him, a spark of lightning curling off of her in her anger. “Would you like me to stay so you can yell at me more or can I go? Will that make you feel better? Will it bring Cal and Lia back?”

Rolan was charging forward before he could stop himself. “They are only gone because you can’t keep your nose out of other people’s business.”

Tav’s angry expression faltered, something he couldn’t quite parse flashed over her face. “Rolan -“ she started and then sighed, shoulders slinking into a hunch.

For the first time he noticed that she looked tired. The kind of tiredness that not even a good night's rest would fix. Bone -deep, mental and physical exhaustion written in the bags under her eyes, the downturn of her mouth. His stomach dropped, his jaw clenched and a new anger flared in him.

Prick, idiot bastard is what you are, Rolan, the thoughts set off in his mind, taking the flashing of rage with them. Can’t save the only family you have, and you kick the one person who can while they’re down. Useless. Idiot.

“Tav? Darling, are you alright?”

Both of them turned to find Astarion, accompanied by Gale who had a suspecting frown on his face. “By the stars, Tav, you’re soaked,” the other wizard said, coming forward, removing the cloaked cape he had and wrapping it around her shoulders.

“And quite underdressed,” Astarion quirked an eyebrow, “not taking advantage were you, little wizard?”

Rolan had hardly thought about her state of undress. Had purely been driven by whatever it was that made him run up when he saw her dunking into the lake. The worst case scenario had crossed his mind, she had fallen to the curse and it was pulling her under. It very nearly did.

Now he was very aware of it. Embarrassment and pure concentration to not look at her legs which were still bare kept him from saying anything in response.

“Rolan helped me, I fell into the lake.”

“You jumped into it,” he found himself saying.

“Why on earth would you do that?” Gale scolded.

“My pearl!” She held it up. “Chain must have broken earlier.”

Gale hummed thoughtfully, eyes slinking towards Rolan, then to Tav. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I believe another bath is in order.”

“Probably best,” Tav sighed, pulling some grime out of her hair. “Goodnight, Rolan.”

Rolan said nothing in return as Gale walked with her back to the shore, his eyes flicked up to the elf waiting for them. Astarion and him never spoke much, he was around and had a smart remark to provide at someone’s expense but they had rarely ever spoken.

There was something unsettling about the elf as he peered at Rolan while he waited for his companions to make their way. A stillness of his body that was unnatural, a look in his eyes that was half warning and half challenge. A predator, guarding its territory that almost immediately softened once Tav and Gale were next to him and they began their walk back to the inn.

Rolan rubbed his hands over his face, and made his way back to the inn. He needed a drink.

Tav had smiled sheepishly at Jaheira after requesting another tub of water. Gale and Astarion had slipped away after whisking her away from Rolan, and now that she was alone she found herself truly feeling exhausted. She bathed and went back to camp, found a chain from the endless piles of jewelry she had hoarded to sell for camp funds and slipped her pearl pendant back on.

The weight of it on her chest was comfortable, a sense of normalcy in a place that was far beyond her everyday life.

Tav played with the pendant as she laid in her bedroll, despite the tiredness her mind was reeling.

Rolan had been so angry with her. When they had rid the path of the goblins and held their little party she had comforted herself in knowing that the two of them parted on friendly terms. Her encouragement of his siblings to stay and help their kin had paid off, and she had spent a good chunk of the night talking with them.

The last time she saw him he was full of laughter, showing off his prowess which landed him a position as an apprentice with a well-renowned wizard.

Her mind played over their interactions. His drunken fury after Cal and Lia were taken, his resigned anger after they saved him from the cursed wraiths near moonrise - he was always so angry with her.

Perhaps he had a right to be. They had rid the path of the goblin threat and sent them straight into a horror beyond imagining. All her talk of doing the right thing, helping who you could and ‘playing hero’ as he put it was for nothing.

Laying in the dark with her eyes wide open became too much and she got up from the bedroll. She could grab some wine from their wares and head inside, not wanting to take anymore of the Last Light’s limited supplies.

“And where are you off to?” Shadowheart asked. They technically did not need a watch shift due to the Harper’s having their own but it was routine now.

“Need a drink,” Tav said. “I’ll be back.”

“No more dips in the cursed lake, if you please,” Shadowheart called after her.

Tav waved her off and headed inside. The Last Light was always somewhat active. Everyone’s sense of night and day was off kilter, at least one shift of Harper’s and the Fists were milling about at any given time. Healers were needed at all hours for returning scouting parties, and the bar with its meager offerings always had someone behind it.

She sat close enough to keep an eye on the children behind the bar, and look out at the space. There was still damage from the attempted kidnapping of Isobel, winged horror guts and blood stained the walls. Tav uncorked the wine in her hand and took a swig.

“You’re cut off for the night!” Umi said, head barely coming above the line of the bar with his hand pointing upward.

“I’ve had one glass, you little brat!”

Tav’s eyes slid towards the tiefling at the bar, robes still a little wet from fishing her out of the lake, and wearing his typical grumpy frown. At least he did not seem belligerent and the irritation in his voice held no bite for the child. Not like it had for her earlier.

“Give him a glass of mine,” Tav held out her own bottle. “He earned it.”

Rolan’s head snapped up and she immediately regretted speaking. It was meant to be a last ditch effort for a truce, but the way his face curled into snarl made her want to shrivel up and die.

“I don’t need any more charity from you,” he snapped.

Her heart dropped, her face got hot and she took a deep breath. Turning on her barstool, she leaned her back against the bar. She never could win with him. She wanted to apologize, she had been out of line by bringing up his siblings before. He had started it, but she was not too proud to own up to her own part in it.

It was clear he wanted nothing to do with her, so she turned her back to save him having to even look at her. She took a long swig of the wine, it was cheap and bitter, but it was what they had.

The scrape of wood made her look over. Rolan had sat in a stool on her side of the bar, not right next to her, an empty seat between them. He faced the bar, not looking at her as he held a tin cup out towards her. Tav leaned over to share some of her wine.

He was quiet, and that was better than yelling. And watching the activity in the inn was better than staring up from her bedroll all night. It would have to do.

“No chaperones with you this time?”

“They went off to… “ Tav trailed off, she didn’t know what Gale and Astarion were doing. Just that they slipped away as they had been doing more often lately. “Well, it’s not our business what they went off to do.”

Another stretch of silence. Tav played with her necklace in between sips from the bottle. They had to make their way to moonrise again tomorrow, finally entering the belly of the beast to figure out if they could free any prisoners and find a heading towards finishing all of this.

“What’s so special about it?”

“Hm?” She turned to Rolan.

His eyes flicked up from where he was watching her toy with her necklace. “The pearl.”

“Oh,” she said dumbly. “It’s a pearl of power.” She looked down at it, “an heirloom. Passed down from my father.” Her thoughts trailed off again, “when I thought I’d lost it…” she shook her head.

There was no world in which she imagined he wanted to know about her or her family. This was a truce, and he was being more gracious than she expected. She thought she may as well keep it as neutral as possible to prevent an argument.

Rolan was quiet again. For a long time neither of them spoke, at one point she heard the clack of tin on the wood and found he had put his cup out again. She poured him some more wine, and she felt at least relieved he was not unwilling to sit with her. Albeit quietly and only with her offering him wine, but it was something.

They sat quietly until the bottle was done. Tav felt her eyelids getting heavier and heavier. She thought she may finally be able to sleep if she laid down. Her heart still felt full of the weight of guilt, her body weak as if it knew only more horror awaited her the next day. But she didn’t get to rest more than one night, the chain of events of her life recently had made that very clear.

There was a lot she had to make up for, and a storm to weather before she could find harbor.

“If Cal and Lia are alive in Moonrise, I’ll bring them back,” she said, not having the courage to look at him. “I promise.”

She felt him staring at her but she still couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye. Guilt weighed too heavily on her, the weight of the journey ahead looming over her in the face of yet another promise she was not sure she could keep.

Bidding him goodnight, which was met by silence, she walked away from the bar.

Tav had left with a small group to head to Moonrise, leaving behind the Archdruid who was dead set upon helping out around the inn. This encouraged others to pitch in, Dammon was lending strength to fixing up the broken railings and doors at the inn. Rolan made himself useful, he had magic to spare and nothing else to do.

He employed two mage hands to help lift a beam of wood to repair one of the holes that had been created by winged horrors dropping through during the attack. Isobel chanted out on the balcony, while he and Guex worked. Tav had been in the room when it happened, he thought to himself, always in the right place at the right time.

Except by the lake. Even now he had no idea what possessed her to strip out of armor to get inside waters full of bodies in a place which undead walked so freely. In his mind’s eye he could see her bare legs, and though at the time he had not thought about her state of undress now he found himself trying to piece together any snippets in his subconscious of what the rest of her had looked like.

“Rolan,” Guex called. “Bit higher, mate.”

“Sorry.” He said, the mage hands lifting the wood up.

His mind kept drifting to her. The way she played with the pearl she had so desperately been trying to find. Her laughter as it carried over the sounds of the crowd from her camp. More annoyingly the glimpse of her legs he had gotten just a couple nights ago. She was pretty, objectively, he had noticed immediately, but he wasn’t a naive boy so easily distracted by a pretty face.

The storm behind her eyes as she had gone toe to toe with him at the lake seemed to haunt him. what she said had hurt, yes, but he was a little distracted by the vision of her soaking wet and looking at him with so much feeling.

“Rolan, if you need a break just say so,” Guex said.

“No,” he growled, shaking his head, “no, I’m fine.”

He was a wizard. He could control his own mind. He focused on the weave, the sensation of it taking shape into the mage hands before him. Rolan made it a point to close the door on any further thought of her while he went about his business.

Until the second day with no word from any of the party that had ventured into Moonrise. He had even gone as far to venture into their camp, where the remaining four of her companions were sitting around the fire.

“Rolan,” Wyll greeted him warmly. “How are you?”

The Blade of the Frontier was an invaluable asset during their time on the road into the grove. Rolan liked him, although he preferred him when he wasn’t doing his folk hero act.

“I’d rather not say,” he said. “I didn’t come here to dampen your mood.”

“Have the Harpers seen any sign of our companions returning?” Halsin asked.

“Not yet,” he said. “That’s why I’m here. Your tadpoles, they can transmit to each other can’t they?”

“There’s quite a distance between here and Moonrise,” the half-elf Shadowheart said. “I’m not sure our tadpoles can connect to each other so far.”

“Unlikely,” the Githyanki grumbled. “Attempting to do so is an unnecessary risk.”

“How?” Rolan asked.

“The ghaik tadpole could reach anyone, and give away our location.” She explained, haughty as if he was an imbecile for not realizing it.

“If anyone can get your siblings out of Moonrise, it’s Tav,” Wyll said, making eye contact with him.

“If they’re even alive.”

“Take your self-pity elsewhere,” Lae’zel replied. “You chose to save the offspring.”

“Should I have let them get taken?”

“No.”

A strange pause happened, Lae’zel expressionlessly staring directly at him .

“I think,” Shadowheart said, “what Lae’zel means is you made the right choice. Your brother and sister would have done the same.”

The only confirmation was a single nod from Lae’zel. “Your offspring are weak. Untrained. In order to maintain the continuation of your species you must protect them.”

“That’s her version of a compliment,” Wyll clapped him on the shoulder.

“Chk.”

Shadowheart laughed softly, and Wyll stifled a smile. “Join us,” he offered, “we have plenty of room by the fire.”

On the third day, Rolan was at the bar. Not drinking, well, not drinking as much. He liked to sit around with Umi and Ide, it felt sometimes like watching them play a game of pretend. Acting like grown up barkeeps, as if they’d been running the Last Light for more years than they’d even been alive. Everyone was willing to play along, and Rolan found himself playing the part of the grumpy regular.

“Hey arsehole!”

Rolan’s hackles went up at the sound of Lia’s taunt. Prepared to be annoyed at his sister — until he realized that it was Lia. A rush of relief spread through him so thoroughly that it made him shudder as he looked over.

“Oh, thank the gods.”

Lia was beaming, and behind her Cal had a goofy grin. They were there, in front of him. Alive and whole as far as he could tell, no trick of the curse making them strange and hollow. Just as quickly as relief came over him, anger flared. Nights and nights of constant worry not even dulled by multiple bottles of wine.

“Is that all you have to say, to me? Did you enjoy yourselves while I battled that wretched darkness? What were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry, we got captured by murderous lunatics.” Lia was just as ready to fight.

“I thought you were dead, you ass,” Rolan seethed. “Both of you!”

“We’re all safe, Rolan,” Cal finally said, trying to keep the peace as always. “That’s what matters.”

“Good thing you’re back!” Ide shouted from behind the bar. “He’s been drinking about it for a week straight!”

“I was just…”

Worried sick, grappling with the thought that I nearly lost the only family I had, rendered helpless and faced with my own failings.

“Overwhelmed.” He settled on. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I’m sorry,” Lia folded first. “We should have been here.”

And how would they have done that? It wasn’t their fault they were captured.

“No - no,” Rolan winced. “It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have shouted. I’m sorry.”

Lia came up to hug him then. They were never very affectionate physically. Even when he had moved into their home he had shared a bed with Cal, Lia always teased them for the way they had to struggle for space as Cal grew stocky and Rolan grew ever more lanky.

But this was a comfort, to hold his little sister in his arms. Safe, and whole. Not even his pride could overpower the gratitude he felt to have them back, and as Cal’s bulky arms wrapped around them both in a steel tight hug he had to laugh.

“We thought the curse got you,” Cal said. “When Tav told us you were alive —“ his brother’s voice cracked and the rest of the sentence died.

Tav. He opened his eyes, half expecting to find her and her crew watching on as she seemed to be in every major upheaval of his life lately. But the only new faces were some deep gnomes, and a few other tieflings from their caravan from Elturel.

“Where is she?”

“Who?” Lia asked, rubbing Cal’s back as he tried to maintain his composure.

“Tav.”

“They needed to save face in Moonrise. Her and her friends had a big fight with the warden as a distraction while we got out.” Lia replied. “Apparently they’re posing as cultists.” His sister’s eyes narrowed, “why?”

“I — “ he started. “I owe her an apology. And thanks.” He cleared his throat, “but that can wait. I have a room upstairs and there’s baths, you two reek.”

“You’re such an arsehole.” Lia grinned.

“I’m starved,” Cal groaned, the only evidence that he was crying were some trails in the muck that coated his face. “They have food here?”

“We do!” Umi called. “But it'll cost you!”

The light of the inn was in sight. It had been a rough couple of days, but they had found their next heading. Tav was ready to debrief Jaheira, take a bath and sleep.

“The inn will be bursting now,” Gale said, “with the deep gnomes and the tieflings.”

“I hope they all made it okay,” Karlach said. “They’ve been through enough.”

“More than enough,” Tav agreed. “We will check in on them. Add that to the list.”

“Noted,” Gale tapped his temple.

As they passed through the barrier of light around the inn a weight lifted off of them. Traveling through the cursed lands was always exhausting, it was a suffocating darkness that covered the land and something always felt like it was lurking nearby.

After discussing with Jaheira and the rest of the camp, Tav took some time to check in with the rescued deep gnomes and tieflings. Barcus had bounded up to her before she could even take a mental count of who was present, dragging her over to Wulbren Bongle.

The leader of the Ironhands brushed both her and Barcus off, as if the former hadn’t just broken him out of a prison and the latter hadn’t begged so earnestly for her to do so. If she was not so tired she may have made a comment about it, but Barcus looked mortified and Tav didn’t have the energy.

As she moved on, she nodded to Lakrissa who was glued to Alfira’s side at the bar. There was no sign of Bex and Dannis, but she could only imagine their reunion was something they wanted to have in private. She saw the back of Cal’s head at the bar, heard Lia’s loud laugh and approached to find Rolan with them, leaning over the bar.

The two she had saved seemed better than she had found them. Clean, smiling and animated. Rolan’s shoulders were still an even line, but they seemed to have dropped a few inches, no longer settled up to his ears in tension.

“It’s you!” Lia grinned.

“I’m glad you lot made it back alright,” Tav smiled. “He’s been a pain in the ass.”

“Yeah,” Cal grinned. “But he’s our pain in the ass. Thanks for dealing with him while we were gone, we’ve got it from here.”

Tav just nodded. Rolan was staring at her, but she could not decipher his look. She awkwardly shifted and then said, “well, I was just checking in. I’ll leave you to it.”

“Wait,” Cal turned. “Thank you - for saving me. And the two idiots. I never thought I’d see them again.”

“It was nothing,” she shrugged.

“That black eye you're sporting says otherwise,” Lia said seriously. “I saw those hits you took. It wasn’t ‘nothing’. I’m not the best at showing it, but I love Rolan and Cal to death. They’re family - thanks for bringing us back together.”

Tav felt suddenly uncomfortable with the praise. Rolan had suggested before he thought she got off on playing the hero. His siblings' thanks felt like it would only prove his point further.

She just smiled, “I’m just glad you three are together again.” Clearing her throat, “I ought to check on my camp.”

Rolan stood suddenly as she turned, “Tav.” She waited, half expecting another comment about her heroics. “I’ve lashed out at you. Drunkenly and otherwise, and you helped anyway. You didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry. And thank you.”

With a nod she took off for a bath. She checked in on camp, hearing any intel and updates she needed from those left behind. Everyone quickly began discussing strategies and next steps, they needed to find their way to this Balthazar and find Ketheric Thorm’s weakness. There was also the matter of finding Art Cullagh’s lute, seeing if they could find any hint that Arabella’s parents were alive and figure out how to finally put this curse to rest.

Even after a victory there was still so much left to do.

She slipped away to sit on the outcrop of stone by the lake again. Everyone at camp meant the world to her, but every once in a while she needed her space. It was dark and creepy, but if she closed her eyes she could hone in on the lap of the water against the rock. A soothing sound.

“Not thinking of taking a swim, are you?”

Tav jumped, and turned. Rolan stood not far off, a bottle in his hands and to her surprise a small smile on his face.

“Gods, you scared me,” she placed a hand over her heart. “I wasn’t expecting —“ she cut herself off. She wasn’t expecting anyone, let alone him and smiling no less.

“I’ve got a bottle of Arabellan dry, if you’re up for it.” He walked up and sat down next to her, showing her the bottle.

Tav considered him for a moment. “Is it poisoned?”

“Very funny.” He said sarcastically. “I would not waste poison in a wine such as this.”

“And where did you find it?” She looked at the bottle.

“I stole it from the cellar, the last bottle,” he said, popping the cork. “I brought cups, but I know pulling straight from the bottle is more your style.”

“I’ll try a cup,” she hummed.

He poured them each a cup, and held his up to clink against hers before the first sip. Rolan hummed in pleasure. “Gods, that’s so good.”

“It is,” Tav agreed. The flavor bloomed on her tongue, smooth and without the bite of the cheap stuff she had been drinking of late. “What’s the occasion?”

“An apology. A proper one,” He muttered. “You went out of your way to help us, it’s only right you get something in return.”

“You don’t have to —“

“You were right,” he said before she could finish. “I wasn’t really angry with you. I was angry with myself. Angry at the gods awful hands we’ve been dealt on this journey.”

“It’s alright if you were a little angry with me,” she admitted sheepishly. “I shouldn’t have used Cal and Lia against you.”

“That was rather wretched of you.”

“It was,” she agreed. “But I think I more than made up for it.” She was teasing, testing the waters in this new peace they had found.

“I thanked you once already,” he said haughty tone overdone and just as playful, “don’t be greedy.”

Something about the tone, about the smile on his face and the words themselves spurred her imagination into overdrive. Him above her, wrenching an orgasm from her only for her to ask for more. Don’t be greedy, she imagined him saying it again, condescending and admonishing. A truly mortifying high pitched giggle escaped her. She took a gulp of wine, her body hot and shocked at the instantaneous reaction.

She was very glad he did not have a tadpole.

A silence stretched between them that made her itch, he did not seem to mind but she felt like she would start to fidget if she didn’t say something. Luckily, he spoke while she floundered for something to say.

“I never asked, are you alright?”

She did have a black eye and possibly a concussion. She had left camp before Shadowheart could offer some healing. “Bumps and bruises,” she said casually. “Occupational hazards, nothing to worry about.”

“Hm,” he huffed. “That’s what you get for being a meddlesome hero. But I shan’t say more, you’ve done too much for me lately.”

“Karlach, Astarion and Gale were there too, you know,” she said.

“Yes, well, I won’t be sharing my favorite wine with them,” he said stiffly.

“Oh, and what makes me so special?”

He took a drink of wine, looking into his cup. “You are — “ he started, “particularly infuriating.”

“I’m special because I’m infuriating?”

He grimaced. “Yes.”

“You don’t make a bit of sense,” Tav laughed in disbelief.

“I make perfect sense,” he said haughtily. “You’re the one jumping into cursed lakes. Or risking your life for someone who has never been particularly nice to you.” He drank the last of his cup, pouring another as he added, “top up?”

She offered her cup for him to fill. “I told you why I jumped in the lake. A precious family heirloom was at the bottom.”

“And the gallant rescuing?”

Tav frowned, taking a drink. “I don’t know. I just… if I can help, I don’t see why I shouldn’t.”

Rolan didn’t seem to find that worth responding to. The silence stretched on again. He cleared his throat and held out his hand. For a moment she thought he was asking her to hold it, and she felt a strange tingle throughout her body. On his pointer finger was a ring, old and a bit scratched up, but with some kind of inscription in a language she couldn’t read on the flat surface.

“This was Cal and Lia’s grandfather’s ring.” He said looking at it. “Their mother gave it to me when I came to stay with them for good. It’s not enchanted, nor is it worth much but it — it’s proof. We’re a family, bound by something stronger than blood.”

That sunk in slowly for Tav as she pieced it together. She had questions: if Cal and Lia were not his biological siblings what happened to his parents? How long ago had he been one of their own? These felt invasive, and they had been getting along so she chose not to voice them; happy to have been trusted with a small tidbit of his past.

Delicately her fingers came out to run over the inscription. As she did her fingers brushed over his, and perhaps it was the wine, but she grabbed his hand to bring it closer to her face. The writing was maybe infernal, with some sort of emblem.

“What does it say?”

Rolan didn’t respond.

Tav looked at him, finding him very intensely focused on her. She dropped his hand, “sorry, I shouldn’t —“

“It’s fine,” he replied tersely.

An awkward silence filled the gap and she kicked herself internally.

Rolan cleared his throat. “It’s his title and rank, he was a Hellrider.” He pointed it out on the ring and she ran her eyes over it. “The Hellriders protected their lodges with wards, and could only be accessed with ward tokens. This was his.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Elturel?”

“Yes.”

“We had nothing there, even before it fell,” he said.

Tav nodded her head. “So, Baldur’s Gate was always in the plan?”

“An apprenticeship, regardless of where it was, that’s what I was after.”

“Gale says Lorroakan is a well-renowned wizard,” she left out the part where her friend called him a ‘cad.’ They were talking and getting along and she didn’t want to ruin it. “You must be excited.”

“When I get to the gates I'll be excited,” he sighed. “The journey so far has been one disaster after another.”

“We’ll get you there, Rolan.”

He looked at her for a long while. “Another promise, little hero?”

“I know how much you love when I’m gallant,” she smiled.

“That’s the problem with you,” he pointed at her with a smile playing on his lips. “I believe you. I believe you will get me there.”

Tav wasn’t sure what to say. Her face warm and her smile wide as she felt the need to look away from him. She drank the rest of her wine.

“So,” he said, “what’s the promise this time, Tav?”

“Rolan,” she began, “I promise that when we get to Baldur’s Gate, I’ll buy you a new bottle of Arabellan Dry. since you so generously shared yours with me even though I saved your ass from the Shadow Curse. It was rude of me to come to your rescue, and you’re being just so gracious about it.”

He laughed a rich deep sound that made her heart flutter, and the rest of the night her only goal was to get him to laugh again.

Part 2 will be out very soon! Thank you for reading 💜

#rolan fanfic #rolan x tav #rolan x oc #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #Olly writes

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lephamquynhnhu · 6 months

Text

Panacea

Chapter 1: Pretty ripples on water

Dan Feng x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS/ TAGS: The reader has a default name, OOC. (This is a work of fanfiction, events are not aligned or relevant to the original work)

Word count: ~1,1k

Summary: He met you on a drizzling day when hydrangea fully bloomed on its field. Amidst the sea of mild pastel petals, Dan Feng never thought the flowery domain that intertwined your fate was the precise thing withered with you. They said he was a dragon, a hero, a sinner, but never a person with love, hatred, sorrow, or joy like everyone else in this world. However, it was a demi-truth. He committed the cardinal sin because of you.

Note: Do you like...pain?

The soothing melody of raindrops falling through the thick foliage barely touches his hair as Dan Feng strides on the worn path underneath. The Ten-Lords commissioned him to investigate the supernatural phenomena in the Faery Forest, which inhabitants rumor it recently haunted. The golden sun conceals itself behind the aloft gloomy clouds draping an eerily grey ambiance, and the voidness of birds singing wafts a scary serenity.

There are plenty of stories and myths about the woods, but the infamous one was a wise Nymph who guarded the forest as the Alliance established. When the first Denizen of Abundance occurred, to preserve her homeland from the crossfire of the war, the Nymph divided herself into divine fragments asunder to enhance the endurance of the woods. Thanks to the Nymph's might, her forest remained intact after devastating battles. However, she could not regain her strength to unite divinity, so the wise Nymph gradually faded, her name eventually fell into oblivion, and the story is no more than a mythopedia. It is said that her Authorities dissolved in the forest to protect her beloved homeland forever. The native Loufu named the woods based on that story, and whatever the stories are, this forest has sustained through many sanguinary warfare and become one of the most venerated destinations.

The report says that citizens who live near the haunted place or some passing by currently hear a bizarre resonance in the Faery forest at dawn, and they even claim to witness jack-o'-lantern at twilight. To verify the statement, Dan Feng's presence from the blush of morn strolling around an hour and finds nothing akin to the rumor. The drizzle is getting heavier as raindrops start seeping through his attire. Looking at the overcast sky through a dense web of leaves, he forecasts it will soon be a downpour. When Dan Feng considers postponing the commission, a weak sound threads through ancient arbors, which beat like a song - a nursery rhyme. Simultaneously, a chilly breeze permeates with moisture rises as though pushing him toward the siren as soon as the resonance appears. The glint of surprise quickly quenches when Imbibitor Lunae decides to follow the sound's origin.

He keeps running with all senses on guards under the last remnants of light dimly lit his way until a field of flowers welcomes him when exiting the forest. Dan Feng never thought there would be people living beyond the woods and isolating themselves from society. Reflecting in those cyan irises is a girl standing amidst the hydrangea fully bloomed on its field, who raises her voice while one hand holds a cart of multi-colored flowers and the other curls around the axis of her umbrella. Suddenly, when detecting a foreigner's existence, you stop singing and tilt your head toward his position. To your right, an emotionless man with a prominent horned crown atop his forehead whom you know precisely. The drizzle turns into rain as water continuously trails down the High Elder's porcelain face.

"Your Majesty, it may become torrential rain. Would you like to shelter at my house?" - You kindheartedly open an invitation while sauntering to Dan Feng and sharing your umbrella. A weary inquiry escapes Imbibitor Lunae's lips as he notices you use the title in greeting, but Dan Feng only receives a mysterious smile.

Outside the limited space, raindrops seem progressively heavier when they drum on the umbrella panel, and the surroundings are covered in a misty veil. The calm demeanor in the Long Scion's eyes never wavers, and you can tell he sights right through your soul, searching for something. A familiar feeling creeps up his mind, yet somehow different. "Yes, please lead the way." - Dan Feng eventually accepts your invitation after a brief moment as he gently takes the shalt from your gloved hand.

After avoiding the rain at your house, all suspicions were clear, and he assumed to close the case because the enigmatic echo was your singing voice, and the fen-fire originated from your paper lantern. When Dan Feng mentioned those phenomena, an astonishment tinged your face yet soon morphed into grinning. "My sincere apologies, Your Majesty. But, you may conclude your commission now." - You breathlessly said while trying to regain your formal posture.

The crispy sound of embers crackling mingles with thunderbolts from afar, which craft an inexplicably refreshing atmosphere. Compared to the natural noise outside, Dan Feng thinks your voice seems to dissolve into the ether. Although those emerald orbs never leave the white wall made from endless heavy raindrops, his attention still focuses on your conversation. Besides, the High Elder learned you are a florist who has settled here about three years. "I succeeded in my grandmother's business after looking after her ailment.'' - Your tone is monotonous, but a distant feeling boiling up while leisurely replenishing his teacup. Dan Feng keeps practicing a good listener's role and slowly sips the tea. The smoky steam flowing at the brim that carries a floral scent of Wildrose thread through his nostrils reduces mind stress.

Unknowingly, your one-way dialogue at the wooden terrace goes smoothly under the chilly downpour of early summer. When the homemade delicacy marries with the beverage is out of stock, and the tea is drying up in the pot, the shower stops falling, which renders a landscape as spectacular as pictured. At first, Dan Feng thought your lifestyle was a little too austere as if the only living being at a monastery and sealing away the community. Nevertheless, he comprehends the reason as the sunlight shines brightly again. The previous rain aqua absolutes all reveal a Shangri-La with a boundless field of vivid flowers. Boasting butterflies start levitating around the garden while a rainbow faintly appears on the horizon.

Imbibitor Lunae intended to carry his commission, but now, this Elysium might cast a spell to change his mind, to return once again. Furthermore, the treat you offered also brings up his appetite, so Dan Feng wants to taste them once again.

"Do you wish to grow any plant's breed?" - The High Elder says as he stands up from the wooden chair, fetching his cloak with eyes still fixed on the flowery domain unfold. You tilt your head quizzically because it is uncommon for him to open the conversation, unable to respond immediately. "I want to compensate you for your kindhearted hospitality." - He quickly clarifies your inquiry as if possessing mind-reading arts. This time, Dan Feng initiates eye contact with you; a gentle wind blows through, causing dispersed petals to swirl around. His lashes lightly move in approval when he hears your answer. Empirical Peony sure will gorgeously bloom under your care. Before leaving, Dan Feng abruptly halts his foot as he realizes he has forgotten something essential.

"What is your name?" You look at his tall back while snickering behind your palm to suppress the giggles. A cozy orange hue from the blazing flame that nestles in your fireplace shimmers on your face as you answer "Yi Ting. Yi in ripples on water, Ting in pretty."

#hsr x you #honkai star rail x you #hsr fanfic #honkai star rail fanfic #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #dan feng x you #dan feng x reader #Dan Feng fanfic #hsr dan feng

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queers-gambit · 2 years

Text

Sands of Time

prompt: before his Bronzed Bitch, all he had was her. amongst the smoke of salt, sea, and war, Daemon gambles with more than he ever wanted.

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x female!reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 5.4k+

note: GRRM was right, ugh, this bad boy does something to me. here's to me having a thing for rouge men being simps for their ladies! this is a stand alone, and not part of a series (yet).

warnings: i think there's cursing, mild suggestive situations, mild canon-typical violence. mhm, Daemon's gotta rescue his lady-love from the Crabfeeder - yikes. mild angst 'cause open-ended ending. OC!Daemon 'cause he's a total simp! idk what else i missed.

part two: The Battle Above the God's Eye

"And who will tell him what has become of her?" Corlys Velaryon demanded of his war council, fearing for the Prince's temper regarding their newest intel after witnessing him beat a man to death only moments prior.

The men returning from the latest battle were bloodied and worn out, but there was a notable absence in the form of one of Velaryon's top generals. The very same general who had come on the back of Caraxes, the Prince's dragon, armed to the teeth and ready to jump head first into battle; leading many men to death, but more to victory.

Her fierce determination had pushed her along the ranks, and now, her presence was desperately required at their war strategy council. Laenor Velaryon had given his battle plan, something akin to heartbreak zinging through his blood as the Lady was a staple in their camp. He feared to admit he missed her, and developed a plan with her in mind - hoping beyond hope someone could rescue her in time.

In response to his father's question, the young heir lifted his head, declaring, "I will."

"No," Lord Corlys snapped, knowing far too much of the Prince's temper and brutality; and if he learned of this atrocity, his son would be the brunt end of it all. "Not you - "

"If not me, anyone else would be fed to Caraxes for lying," Laenor pointed out. "Yes, it will be me, Father. He will believe me about her."

Before any reply could be given, Daemon had returned from his tent; storming towards them with an unreadable expression. His brother, King Viserys, had sent word of his reinforcements and Daemon had not only beaten the messenger for carrying the scroll containing words that set his blood boil, but then stormed off to prepare for what was hoped to be the final stand.

When his woman was not found in his tent, he turned back for answers. Laenor met him halfway, "My Prince - a word?"

"Where is she?" Daemon demanded through a clenched jaw and grit teeth, fists forming into a white-knuckle grip.

"Listen - "

"Where. Is she?" He repeated, showing his patience wearing thin. Caraxes growled and loomed over them all, his eyes set on the Velaryon heir as if to detect dishonesty.

"Prince Daemon," Laenor swallowed, sighing in defeat, "she's been lost to the Crabfeeder." Daemon blinked once, trying to find the lie; yet the young lad only held sincerity and heartbreak to his words. "I am sorry - "

"Where?"

When Laenor told him where they had been informed of her fall, the Prince's eyes steeled with emotion, "Bloodstone, Prince. Look, I know you want to rescue her, but there is a war - "

"I am well aware, and yet I will remind you that we would not be nearly as far along as we currently are without her," Daemon snapped, turning away from the boy as if to turn away from reality. He sighed deeply, "She will be staked along the shore... The tide will come in..."

"We've only 6 hours before she's drowning, Daemon," Laenor nodded. "If we pull this off, there might be time yet."

He heaved a breath inward, muttering, "She will not be left behind."

"I agree."

"Good," Daemon nodded, eyes casting down, "for I fear we are the only ones who would do anything to ensure her safety. I know she is dear to you," his lilac gaze lifted to meet that of his distant cousin's. "Which means we will make quick work of this," he nodded firmly, "have your father ready his men and move into position along the straights. I will row alone and offer surrender, bait them from their caves. You will not attack until their army is out in full."

"How will you - "

"I will offer my sword," Daemon lifted his chin, petting over the legendary Valyrian Steel sword at his hip. "He will not pass that up."

"No, Prince, I would think not," Laenor agreed. "I will have your boat prepared, you cast off when you're ready."

"Make haste, then," Daemon decided, turning to stalk into his tent once more with renewed vigor. He stripped of his armor, didn't bother cleaning himself, but paused to braid his hair again; wishing it was her hands caressing his scalp.

Laenor had the long boat prepared and helped cast the Prince off towards the Bloodstone Island, whose mind was ringing with words of his brother's note, and the last moments he had with her.

Night had fallen, and the men fell with exhaustion. His breath was ragged, tears brimming his eyes - but would never fall - after returning to their tent following a late night strategy session. She had been unusually quiet that night, and Daemon was growing restless.

"They want me to send for the King," he grumbled to himself, pacing angrily. She was setting aside her own weapons and padding, hoping to lay down for a few hours - even if Daemon wanted to pace himself into a hole. "To ask for Royal aid - despite having the Crown's Navy all but here. More, they want."

"Hush for now, please, Gods, I just endured hours of this speech," she sighed, hands catching his arms to pause him and pull his belted scabbard from his hips. She set it with purpose beside their bed, showing him where it would remain. "You're thinking far too much, Daemon."

"It's been - "

"Fuckin' years, yeah, I know," she interrupted him, being the only person ever known to do so. "We've been fighting the same fight, but I can't help but wonder why. What's your goal here, Daemon? Hey? Your goal, not the Army's - not the Navy's. Not the Velaryon's. You, and your goal for this war, my Prince."

His head shook, "I fear I might not know anymore."

"Then do not send for aid," she shrugged, "for this is your war, not your brother's, and if there is going to be any Targaryen victorious in this, it will be you, my sweet Prince."

"You speak with such conviction."

"Perhaps it is only faith that I have," she shrugged with a small smirk. "It has served me well, and I would continue to see us succeed." Pausing a moment, she stepped closer to him after his armor was shed; allowing her hands to raise and hold the sides of his neck, another rare move for anyone else, "Daemon, Lord Corlys came to you for a reason, and Viserys knows that. Let him sit safely on his throne, away from it all, as you prove why Targaryens are written about in the history books. What will he be remembered for, hmm?" She smirked up at him, Daemon loosening up and tugging her in tighter, eyes tender. "The King whose arse went numb from sitting so long. And you, my Prince? You will be the brother who passes into legend when your time comes."

"You know how to flatter a man," he breathed.

"How easy to compliment the man that even his King brother is jealous of," she replied smoothly, letting his lips descend heavily onto her own; backing her up to their bed.

Her back crashed to the material as he followed over top of her, legs spread to hold his hips against hers; lips fighting for dominance before Daemon easily won - like usual. "You will be the death of me, my dove," he breathed when he pulled back, lips fluttering over hers, "and how heavenly it would be to meet my end this way."

"Not tonight, Prince," she smirked, licking into his mouth with a slow moan. "Tonight, you'll live - and love. Tomorrow tells a new tale, but tonight is in the stars - and they speak of us, my love."

"Fuck," he breathed in her ear, nudging her jaw to allow access to her bruising neck. "When this is over, you'll be mine - I swear it."

Her head shook, "You are Prince, you cannot marry me."

"You dare doubt me," he snipped, lifting his head to stare down at her.

Her hand reached up to cup his cheek, biting her lip, "Never, Daemon, but you know your brother would not allow it. You would be mine, and only mine, when the time is right."

He sighed, "Your Lord of Light tell you that?"

"Perhaps," she smirked, reaching to bring him closer again, "or maybe I want to be the only one in your life - no mistresses, or other wives that would steal you from me."

His hips ground into hers; bulge humping into her and forcing them both to breathe unevenly, "I will be yours, I am always yours." The promise was followed by another roll of his hips and a hand latching under her jaw, pressing just enough to make her moan. "Marriage is political, my darling, but I swear to you, that one day... One day I will only be yours, and we will marry for love."

She laughed lightly against his lips, "We must survive first."

"We are alive tonight," he growled, teeth gnashing against the sensitive skin of her neck, "and that's enough for me."

She moaned into his mouth when her tongue hooked around his; hips lifting to roll on their own accord, and hands tangling in blood and mud splattered hair.

The same hair he had braided alone today.

His anger caused his arms to pump faster, rowing towards the still-smoking Bloodstone Island; the dead littering the shoreline and beyond. His gut lurched when he saw the captive lined up in the surf; waters lapping at their feet and ankles. He wouldn't have much time left before she was drowning, if she was even alive - and judging by the stare of the soldiers he saw as he hopped out of the long boat, he prayed she was at least in one piece.

"Daemon?" A voice cracked to his right, tearful, lilac eyes turning to see her bloodied, bruised, beaten, and restrained to a stake in the sand. Her eyes scanned over him before smirking, "Give 'em hell fer me," her voice was slurring and he knew someone was watching his every move.

"I will be right back for you, darling," he promised, trying not to move his lips. "Stay awake for me."

"Mhm," he heard her mumble, head lulling against the wooden stake as Daemon had to swallow his tangible, physical worry to storm inland for the caves.

Sniffling the emotion down, Daemon found a frayed sail and tore it from the trapped wood. After tying it to a piece of drift wood, he rose the universal sign of surrender above his head and mounted the dune of sand that would face the caves.

His blood boiled when he caught sight of the Crabfeeder; knowing he and his minions were responsible for the state his lover is in. Yet, he restrained himself out of sheer need to end this war and save her life - and right now, keeping everything as close 'to the plan' as possible was crucial.

Daemon waved the flag in figure 8's, tempting his surrender.

He drove the wood into the sand, freeing his hands for offering.

He pulled Dark Sister from the belt on his waist, making a show of dropping the sheath from both his hands as the sword was held up; a sign of his skill as warrior, being bested.

From the center of the battlefield, Daemon watched the Crab give some signal that encouraged at least 10 men from various caves. As they neared him, he took a knee - a final show of his surrender - and waited for one of them. His eyes darted around to take note of where the other men halted themselves, a plan almost lining itself out in his mind.

Archers from above lined the cliffside.

The Crab checked the skies for any sign of a dragon - finding none. He felt the surrender was true, and the Targaryen ruse was working.

Three men climbed the hill; one approached Dameon, the other two standing post. His eyes shut and hands offered his beloved sword, almost as if he couldn't bare to watch his own actions; and when the soldier turned to regard his companions, Daemon took his lunge.

Dagger yanked from his belt, he stabbed and slashed the man before him in order to regain control of Dark Sister - before setting out at an unstoppable, anger-fueled bolt towards the other soldiers.

In the future, she would ask him again and again to tell the story of how he took the beach almost by himself - but for now, he was purely running on adrenaline as the tides were soaking into her hips. Daemon ran faster than he's ever run, and only when two arrows struck his chest and one more to his calf did he go down, and require shelter.

Delirious with pain, Daemon wriggled for a moment as his mind flooded with images of the woman laid in the surf. He heard the rest of their Army and even Laenor's dragon taking out the archers, but he knew this couldn't be over until he ended it.

Her words rang in his head - about passing into legend... And Daemon was leaping to his feet, sprinting for the caves as the rest of the armies were distracted and engaged with each other. Daemon had a clear shot for the Crab, and while he was a fierce competitor, nobody could stand against the Rogue Prince when his woman had been put in jeopardy.

Killing any who sheltered the Crabfeeder, Daemon snarled as he swung his sword and literally cleaved the man in half. Taking hold of his wrist, Daemon drug the corpse's top-half out of the cave; blood soaked as the day he came into this world, and standing on a dune to prove the war had finally come to an end.

Only, Daemon dropped the corpse, and turned to race back towards the shore; the tide fully in, and lapping crabs and ocean water up the prisoner's bodies.

She was struggling to keep her nose above water, but it was becoming futile. She gasped and coughed, losing consciousness, when he dropped to his knees.

"Daemon," she gargled, his body turning to straddle her and attempt to block the ferocity of the waves crashing over them.

"I'm here, I'm here, my dove, I've got you," he panted, dagger used to slice the ropes tightened around her wrists; instantly dropping his arms to curl under her own and pull her up some - just as another wave rolled in. She gasped in pain, trying to cling to him, but mostly crying in pain from the tenderness of her arms.

"I-I thought - I thought I was a goner," she choked into his neck, letting him support her full weight as she was grateful to be above water. "D-Did anyone e-else survive?"

"I do not know, nor do I care," he rushed, caressing the back of her head. "I cared only for you - "

"There could be survivors, Daemon - "

"Not anymore," he muttered softly, pulling her into his arms as he got to his feet. "You are safe, and that's all that matters."

"Daemon," she begged, tears collecting in her eyes.

"Sh, do not worry over this - not now," he spoke quickly, "we've got to get you out of here."

"I don't think - "

"Do not - "

The two were cut off when the ground trembled, Laenor landing his dragon before them. "Get on!" He called, and the Prince wasted no time in clinging to his woman to pass her up; following swiftly, and holding her tightly as Laenor directed them to the Driftmark.

On the way, he told the bloody Prince of the battle, assuring they won this battle, and due to Daemon, the war. He barely reacted, carefully shifting the woman in his arms as he was more worried over her than anything - even feeling elated at the end of the war.

No, he could feel nothing but sorrow and worry.

When they landed, Laenor took them straight to the infirmary, and the once mighty general was taken straight away. Daemon was tended to, but only with great difficulty and convincing. The three days it took for medics and Maesters to work on her, Daemon didn't move from pacing in front of her door after being released from their care. He did not eat, he did not sleep, he did not visit Caraxes; he waited. Impatiently.

Laenor was there second to most, wondering what was happening, but neither receiving an update. His mother forced him to bed, but nobody could make Prince Daemon abandon his post; so, they brought him a chair, blankets, and meals. Though, he seldom ate.

"Prince Daemon?" One of the Maesters called, opening her chamber door. "She is asking for you..."

Daemon stood from his wooden chair so fast, it toppled over, and he shot into the room; all but pushing the Maester from his way. Her name fell from his lips like a prayer being answered, his eyes bulging almost out of his skull as he took note of the bloodied rags left around.

"Worry not for that," the Maester assured softly, "we are still cleaning. She faired well, Prince."

"Yeah?" He breathed.

"She will recover," the Maester clapped Daemon's shoulder. "We will leave you..."

After ushering the other Septas from the room, Daemon slowly approached the bed; where her bright eyes were watching him with a softness. "You're here," she whispered, his hand sliding in hers.

"I did not leave," he assured, kneeling at her side; lips pressing relieved kisses to her skin. "I was too worried."

"So the Maesters told me," she teased lightly, grimacing lightly when her chuckle was cut short.

"Rest, my love," he whispered with a deep frown.

"Daemon," she shook her head. "You cannot linger here."

"You are not well - "

"When I am, I will return to Essos," she whispered.

"You have not lived there in ages," he argued, stare hardening. "Since you were a child of only eight!"

"I know," she nodded. "But I do not belong in the political battlefield of Westeros... I love you," she promised, hand to his jaw and cheek, "but I cannot remain here."

"I will marry you - "

"Not with you still in court," she smiled sadly. "It's where you belong, my Prince, and I... I cannot remain. When I am able, the Master of Tides will grant me a ship so I might go where I need."

"And you need away from me, is it?" Daemon shook his head, refusing to accept this fate.

"I would happily spend my life with you," she smiled, hand to his cheek fully, "but as your only wife, not the second wife."

"I'd kill her for us," he swore, taking her hand from his face in fierce seriousness. "You know I would, my darling girl."

"And then what? You, Prince Daemon, would marry a common nobody?" She smiled sadly, "Someone with no title, nor family, nor lands? No, my love, you could not; for you would be expected to make other alliances, and I offer you nothing."

"You've offered me life, sweet girl," he shook his head. "Do not make me beg. I would have you for our lives, wherever that might be."

"I would never make you beg, sweet Prince," she teased. "But you know you could not offer me the life you want to with all that is going on." Her hand reached up to rake through his hair, "You will return to your place in court, my Prince. And you will live another two lives before we meet again..."

His head shook with confusion, "You mean to leave me so soon? This is our final moment, is it?"

"No," she confessed, "for I am not able to travel."

"I would not leave you until then," he nodded.

"No," her eyes filled with tears, finer tips stroking the skin of his face, "you will return, and leave me here. I will be gone soon after."

This time, Daemon shook his head, "No. I would not leave you."

"You have to, Daemon, for you have to be the one to walk away," she swore. "We will meet again, but we must live apart from each other. You will come to see, I promise you - "

"You think you can cast your flames, and speak the truth?" He demanded. "You think - "

"I do not think, I know what I've seen," she begged him to understand. "And believe me, if we do not part now - if you do not leave now - then our destinies will change. That cannot happen," she reached for him again, "for our future now is bright, and full of possibilities. We will suffer greatly while apart, but for our future, we must endure almost too much now."

His eyes filled with tears that slowly fell down his still-dirty cheeks, "I cannot leave you now. Even you do not know the future - "

"The Lord has shown me, Daemon, please, trust me now," she whispered, pulling his forehead to her own. Her wrists and forearms were bandaged after being shaved of infection, and her neck, torso, and ankle bore more gauze. Her bedding was stained with blood, and it was evident that the moment she was conscious, she sent for him. "Do you love me?" She wondered, gently petting over his lips with her calloused fingertips.

War took anything 'dainty' about her and spat it out again. Gnarled skin, mangled scars, and burns that should have never appeared sat over once smooth plains of flesh.

Her words rattled his soul, and he was confessing as if at an alter, "More than anyone. That, I am sure of."

She nodded, speaking against his lips, "Because our flames are one, Daemon."

"Then do not leave. Come to court with me, as my wife - "

Her fingers gently pressed to his lips again, halting his rambling. "You are returning as more than Prince Daemon now... You cannot arrive with me, there is more at hand. Please understand that this is not what I wanted for us, but what must be. Think of it, my Prince," she smiled, "you were my first friend in Westeros, this strange, strange country that you showed me how to love. I cannot thank you enough, my Prince, for showing me there was always more to life. And for loving me the past decade - "

"Or more," he teased lightly, hands tight to keep her close - almost forgetting her injuries. "You are certain? We will meet again?"

"It will feel as if I am wrong," she nodded, "but I swear to you, I will find you again, Daemon. If you leave me now," tears and emotion flooded her, making him try to pull her closer still; her body on the very edge of the bed, "then I swear to be the one who finds you again."

He was used to getting his way, but the War of the Stepstones had claim much in the years it waged and left all participants unsatisfied. He grew frustrated that she would become just one more thing stolen from him. "If I agree... Would you grant me just a little more time with you now?" She found nothing but fear in his eyes, hand caressing his jaw. "I thought I lost you, for three days, I did not know what was happening..."

"Please stay," she nodded, sniffling her tears down. "For only three days more, Daemon. There's more in motion than I can explain."

He sighed, "It's odd, isn't it?"

"Hmm?"

"Since you were eight, and I was ten, we have been inseparable. Now, we must part ways?"

Her nose swiped up his, nuzzling closer, "Do you remember when we found out you were to be married?"

Daemon sighed, a small groan escaping him. "Why remind me?"

"Because it was the first time you told me you love me," she purred.

He sighed, letting her pet over his still-stained hair.

The sixteen-year-old Prince escorted his then fourteen-year-old friend through the Royal Gardens, enraptured by one of her many history books that she was fascinated by; balanced on his arm. She did not live within the palace itself, yet, knew it better than some due to the time Daemon invited her around as his personal guest.

He found he enjoyed her company far too much; the young woman was something akin to a firework they sold on boats from Volantis, and created excitement within his heart, mind, and soul. So, when a guard came storming into the courtyard as if a dragon were at his heels, it confused the Prince why he was being summoned during one of his 'tutoring sessions'.

"Go," she encouraged lightly.

"I'll find you right after," he promised, squeezing her hand and turning to take his leave. "Maybe you could... Hang around?"

Truth was, there were a few rafters under construction; providing a decent hiding place to the throne room. He winked as she smirked, waiting until the courtyard cleared before moving in another direction. She went down different halls and secret staircases, leading up and up and up and up, and over, and up, and up, until she was laying on her stomach, looking down to the throne room.

The echo of the room made Daemon's grandmother's words - the Queen's words - to ring loud and clear, proclaiming that Daemon would take a wife, and that would be the end of it. There would be nothing else. There would be no discussion, only an instruction of obligation, and as if to add insult to the wound, he was being 'sold off' to the Royce's - a lesser house that offered nothing to the crown.

She hung there, shock making her blood sing with adrenaline and anxiety as Daemon tried to protest, but was overruled. In a fortnight, he'd be married off to Rhea Royce, a young lady who she thought was pretty enough, but wondered why the Crown would make such a match...

"Might that be it?" Daemon grit, hands dutifully behind his back. He'd been knighted only a week ago, and apparently, with a knighthood, came a wife.

"Your friend is also not to be seen in the castle walls again," the Queen demanded, looking almost...smug about her words, and how devastation colored Daemon's face clearly.

"She has done no wrong!"

"It's is final, Prince Daemon," she sneered.

"The Lady has done no wrong, Your Grace, and your King Husband has given her permission to learn in our walls," Daemon defended. "She will remain for her education, and I assure you, for no other reason. She is a Lady - in all but official title."

"Then be gone," the Queen waved, and she sprung to her feet; the movement sending a light flurry of dust to fall from the ceiling, catching Daemon's attention. He turned and stalked from the throne room, going the long way, in case any servants followed him, until he reached their secret meeting spot.

Daemon liked pushing envelopes, and the two often would crouch in the hollowed dragon skulls decorating the bowels of the Red Keep. Vast candles decorated the walls, and there, in the fire light, she stood - waiting for him - with matching emotion in her eyes.

They reached for one another the moment they were close enough.

"They cannot force me," he spoke rapidly, taking her in his arms like a man taking hold of water after wondering the desert for days and nights. "They cannot force me to marry her, I won't do it - "

"Your Queen has spoken, Daemon," she whispered meekly, trying to smile; hands flat to the front of his bicep, fingers splaying up to his shoulders. "And what an honor she's bestowed, you should be grateful for such a match."

"No, I will not be grateful for this is not an honor, but a horror," he shook his head, cradling her face in his hands. "Just come away with me now, we can leave on Caraxes - "

"And go where, Prince?"

"I don't know - "

"Exactly," she shook her head, pressed against his chest. "Your name holds no weight in the world apart from here, in Westeros. We wouldn't get far, my Prince, but you should be grateful that your future Lady-wife will make a fair bride."

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Pretend this does not affect you, too," he shook his head at her. She sighed gently, making him blurt, "Tell me you don't love me, too, and I'll marry the bitch gladly. But if you can't - "

"You would never be so stupid as to sacrifice duty, service, and honor for a girl," she snapped. "Do not put that on me, Daemon," she begged, panting as the situation settled on her soul. "But you need to know, that I love you, too. And it pains me to know you're to marry someone not me."

"Then tell me not to."

"I cannot," she sniffled, holding his hands over her cheeks. "If I ask, you would do it, and you have a duty to uphold... I am simply in the way - "

"You will never be in my way, for you are always at my side," he rushed, pressing their foreheads together in a sign of love that would come to pass many times between them through the years. "Do not part from me, we can work this out - "

"I will not be a mistress," she refused.

"No," he agreed. "You are my heart, and you will have more honor than that."

"For now, I am just a student," she whispered fore lonely.

"For now," he agreed, lifting his lips to her forehead, "because you and I are going to figure this out, my Lady love, I swear to you."

She giggled lightly, "Lady love?"

"Too much?"

She hummed, "Just right, my Prince."

Young Daemon smiled down at her, leaning in to press his lips to hers in a heated exchange of passion; hands smoothing over her hair as her own pushed into his silver locks.

"You need to wash the blood out," she whispered, hands sticky from the blood soaked in his hair.

"In a moment," he promised. "I need this for now, if I am to lose it."

"Not forever, my Prince," she whispered, letting his lips press to hers after. "The war is won, but there is something more brewing - "

"And you want us to part ways? Be far from me, where I cannot protect you?" He huffed, bowing his head to rest on her lap as she sighed and leaned back. Hands going to his tangled mane, she assured,

"I don't want this, my Prince. But it must come to pass. Besides, I do not often require saving, this past time being a mild exception."

Daemon sighed into her lap. "I know... I know, sweet girl, you are right, but I am going to miss you. You are here with me now, still under my hands, and I miss you."

Her hands thread through his long locks, gently picking at bloody clumps. Her voice quivered and the sands of time slowed to allow the couple a few moments more as she promised him, "I'll miss you, too, my love. But I will find you."

Three days later, Daemon, with shortly cropped hair hosting a crown of mangled driftwood to symbolize both his victory and loss in the Stepstones, where he won the war, but lost the girl, departed by himself on Caraxes' back. From the Drfitmark, back to King's Landing, Daemon flew alone - and forced himself to get used to the loneliness her absence created.

For years, despite the marriages he found himself bound in, he would dream of her face; smell her plaguing his nostrils; and phantom touches of fleeting flesh warming his own before he realizes he's woken up with the Lady Laena, or years later, his Lady niece-wife. He would wake with an ache in his heart, never telling his wives what weighed his soul down; never knowing when he'd see her again, but letting the desire drive him forward.

part two: The Battle Above the God's Eye

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

#daemon targeryan #daemon targaryen x y/n #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen imagine #house of the dragon #game of thrones #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #game of thrones imagine

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greaterstolenlandspolycule · 1 month

Text

OC Profile—Liesel (from Pathfinder Kingmaker)

Art done by the wonderful @moyashidoodles ! Go commission them (if you want of course)

Name: Liesel

Aliases: Gertrud/Gertrud Elise (by the people who raised them); Ainsel (generic fake name given out)

Alignment: True Neutral

Pronouns: they/them

Race: "Human" (actually a fey)

Homeland: The River Kingdoms

Birthday: Neth 1

Religion: Formerly Erastil; currently none, but pays lip service (and a few coins) to Hanspur for the sake of safe travel

Class(es): Sorcerer (Fey Bloodline)

Professions: Spinning, weaving, etc (formerly); general farmwork on their family's farm and around their village (formerly); itinerant mercenary (formerly); Baron of the Stolen Lands (currently)

Languages: Taldane, conversational Hallit, a smattering of Skald and Varisian

(The rest is going under a cut because this is long)

Skills: As a result of spending most of their life in a rural farming village, Liesel has a fairly in-depth understanding of nature, despite not having an education that someone from a city would consider “formal”. Their mercenary work essentially forced them to become light on their feet in order to dodge blows from attackers they wouldn’t be able to withstand and to get out of melee combat so as to be able to safely launch their own, arcane, attacks. Whenever possible, though, they prefer to avoid combat, something they are surprisingly adept at despite their innate difficulty socializing, due to being in an environment where they felt their safety depended on spending agonizing hours studying the patterns of social cues and rules in order to mimic and exploit them (a process more like learning a foreign language completely unrelated to one’s birth tongue with no dictionary, or figuring out a complex code, than anything else), and due to an innate, extremely subtle, almost definitely supernatural effect on others (while they are skilled at masking in this way, it is incredibly draining for them; additionally, while they are good at assessing the situation and figuring out what people are expressing and how they are supposed to respond, this is very much an intellectual understanding, and they have pretty significant difficulty empathizing with others). They have an inexplicable aptitude with magical items, which they find uncommonly easy to detect and command the magic of. (In game terms: Lore (Nature), Mobility, Persuasion, Use Magic Device)

Romance(s): Octavia, Regongar, Tristian, Secret Romance

Appearance: Liesel appears to be a fairly average Riverfolk human in their midtwenties. Slightly wavy brown hair in a pixie cut frames a face with somewhat tan skin and black eyes that betray little of their emotions. Their nose is just the slightest bit upturned, and, although they often don't smile wide enough to show it for long, they have a gap between their two front teeth.

They dress comfortably and casually, in colors that blend into the background--almost exclusively shades of black, grey, white, and brown--and their outfit is always completed with their beloved gray cape. While this is very much practical, it is also done deliberately, so as to not bring attention to themself, or risk seeming odd.

They generally try to keep as much of their skin covered as possible, especially their hands--indeed, unless the situation absolutely requires they not, they always wear a pair of well-worn leather gloves. This serves both to prevent direct exposure to cold iron and to limit any unexpected unpleasant sensations.

Fighting Style: Although they are fairly athletic due to a life spent doing farmwork, Liesel is nonetheless a sorcerer, and thus stays out of melee combat on account of a) your average farmer not being a match for people specifically trained for combat and b) the gestures and focus it takes to properly channel their spells leaving them open to attacks from anyone too nearby. As a result, they stay on the backline of battle–although sometimes not as far back as they would like, given the limited range of many of their spells. They primarily focus on debuffing and generally causing problems for the enemy, whether with spells that directly do so (such as Sleep, Hypnotism, Entangle, and Scare), spells that do so in addition to dealing damage (such as Ear-Piercing Scream), or, occasionally, simply “debuffing” the enemy’s HP (read: using damaging spells to help even the odds against enemies resistant or immune to mind-altering effects, whether through significant or chip damage). They also wield a crossbow with surprising (but not at all remarkable) accuracy when necessary. When forced into close combat, they tend to default to using Laughing Touch to disable the attacker, then running away. Should that not work, they will reluctantly take out their +1 Cold Iron dagger (which they keep on (gloved) hand both to make sure that nobody else in the party could somehow use it against them, and to provide evidence why they couldn’t possibly be fey, just in case) and attack with the ferocity of a cornered animal.

Personality: Liesel’s personality is rather hard to pin down because, quite frankly, they’re so used to putting on a mask and playing a role that nobody, including them, has any idea what their true “face” would look like beneath. It’s much easier to define Liesel by the roles they’ve performed/are performing, both for practicality’s sake, and because the ways in which they adapt their behavior provide hints as to why they do so, glimpses at whatever it is that lies beneath.

For most of their life, they played the role of Gertrud Elise. The only child of two farmers, she had exhibited some odd behavior after experiencing a serious illness as a child, but had recovered to be known throughout the town as, in many ways, an ideal girl, and, eventually, young woman. She was kind, courteous, and always knew the exact thing to say when talking to others, but spent most of her time not socializing but working–often apart from others in the fields or pens, although she would sometimes join others at the loom. If there was no work to be done at her own family’s farm, she would even go work at others'. Nobody could resent her for the time spent away from others, for not being part of the community, not when she so clearly did it for them. And besides, it wasn’t as if she was a recluse–the time she spent away working was absolutely unusual, but it wasn’t extreme.

After fleeing their home village–and the simultaneously comfortably familiar and stifling nature of playing the same role day in and day out–and becoming an itinerant mercenary, Liesel began presenting radically differently in different situations, swiftly learning to assess the situation and adapt to be whatever was advantageous and needed for the job: the unflappable rock, the politely threatening negotiator, the detached and uncaring freelancer, et cetera. Since they worked with so many different people, and often under different names, there was no real need to maintain continuity. While it was radically different from what they had been used to, over the course of a few years, they got used to it.

As a result, being in the same group for an indefinite amount of time–as they have been since they accepted Jamandi Aldori’s quest–and thus needing to play the same role for an indefinite amount of time is an odd experience, both familiar and unfamiliar. “Liesel”–for, indeed, the name “Liesel” itself, which has no real special significance other than being the fake name they were using when they got word of an opportunity from the Aldori and thus being the one they are stuck with, might very well be seen as a part of this role–is a capable leader who always listens to others’ opinions and takes them into account (even if they don’t always act as others want), who is slightly uncommonly quiet and observant, but not at all stoic or severe–instead, they are rather carefree, simply not speaking up when there’s no need, content to let things flow along until they see a need to act or a true purpose for their input. They are skilled with words, whether in the form of their occasional jokes or in their deft handling of tense negotiations–and in the latter case they can reveal an ability to wield their words like a deadly weapon that sends foes sputtering and retreating without a fight. In one-on-one conversations with their companions, they are very personable, and give graceful compliments that often match exactly what the person wants complimented, to the point of flirtation at times. If this flirtation is rebuffed, they are completely without resentment, but if it is received positively, they will gladly go as far as the other person is willing to.

At times, however, they reveal another side–one far more wild. On a lighter level, this can be revealed when their emotions get the better of them and they do something impulsive and kind of silly. On a darker level, though, if an enemy is able to charge from the front line and engage them in close combat, they display a surprisingly vicious side, striking repeatedly and somewhat recklessly, willing to do anything to preserve their own life.

History/Hooks: (CW child death, low-key ableism, discussion of a trans person prior to their transition)

On Neth 1, 4684 AR, in the River Kingdoms, in a quiet farming village nestled between the arms of the Echo Wood, so small you would be hard-pressed to find it on most maps, a child was born and named Gertrud Elise. One day, not many years later, they ran out to play, past the rye-fields that surrounded the inner village, into the woods beyond, lured by the excitement and wonder of nature and too young and foolish to think they could fall victim to its dangers. They never came back.

(Had this never happened, this child would have grown into a gregarious, hearty man named Hedwirg. He would have become a mercenary in order to pay for an expensive transitioning potion, and eventually become known for the strength of his blows and of his moral code. But this happened instead.)

After a few days of frantic searching, the child’s parents found a child that looked just like their own in the woods, distressed and feverish and covered in soil. The desperate parents, who had feared their child would become another one of the stories used to warn children not to wander, didn’t question it.

When they recovered from the fever, the few memories they had at that age were somewhat hazy, as if they’d occurred years before they did, or were particularly vivid dreams. The parents didn’t question it, though–they were happy as long as they had their child back, regardless of whether that child was whole. Besides, while fey weren’t known for giving back what they stole, they were known even less for giving replacements–and it was perfectly plausible that the child had merely gotten lost in the woods. Any oddity or change was attributed to the trauma and the fever.

As the child called Gertrud grew up, they had trouble fitting in with others. Whispers of having been permanently “damaged” by whatever happened during their disappearance, or, rarely, of something worse, terrified them, and so, when with other people, they spent all their effort on figuring out how to behave so as to fit in. The act was more or less successful, but it was exhausting, and so they took any opportunity they could to limit the time they needed to perform by working whenever possible (whether in the farm, the house, or generally around town), earning them a reputation of being a good, solid, dependable kid whose selfless and helpful disposition balanced out any slip-ups that snuck out.

This continued into adulthood, until one day when a traveling merchant came by. While the adult called Gertrud didn’t really have wanderlust, per se, they always liked and were curious about things from outside the village, so they examined the wares. When they touched one item–a dagger–their skin burned with pain as if they’d touched freezing metal. They were not naturally very expressive, and practiced at hiding their feelings besides, so they concealed the reaction, and asked casually if there were any unusual wares. This was when they learned that the dagger was cold iron.

They made their excuses (easy, because they were known for being hardworking and didn’t have much pocket money), and left for the rye-fields, where they panicked. The whispers they and their parents had dismissed their whole life were true–hell, they weren’t even their parents!

Terrified that, if they had found out that they were fey, someday–maybe even someday soon–everybody else would, that night, they packed a small bag with a few necessities, left a vague note, and took off into the darkness.

As they traveled, going by a variety of fake names, they slowly discovered they possessed magical abilities. While they feared these abilities, and didn’t understand them–and especially didn’t understand how natural they felt–they proved incredibly helpful in the mercenary work they took up. Over the course of the next few years, they garnered a reputation that, while small, nevertheless earned them an invite and offer of a mysterious job proposition from one Jamandi Aldori in Rostland.

Unbeknownst to them, Liesel is the creation of the Green Mother, the Eldest of intrigue, carnivorous plants, seduction, and the urges that lead the unwary to their death. While they are very much flesh and blood, they were grown in the First World from a plant that was planted on top of the shallowly buried corpse of the child they replaced.

Trivia:

I often use common cuckoo (Cuculus canorus) imagery with Liesel, on account of their whole deal.

The name Liesel isn’t fundamentally special to them, other than deriving from the middle name they thought was theirs; it was initially just another fake name, but since they are in a situation where they will be using it for the foreseeable future, and it is used by people they are growing to care about, they are becoming attached to the name.

Some of the specifics of their backstory are inspired by German folktales about the Rye Mother/Rye Aunt.

The way in which Liesel grew from a plant is partially inspired by barometz from Dungeon Meshi.

Liesel’s whole “autistic but obsessively studied and takes advantage of social cues and social norms” thing is inspired by Nick from Hell Followed With Us.

Liesel is really good at weaving.

Liesel’s personality is partially inspired by Siffrin from In Stars and Time.

Liesel’s outfit is going to change significantly in later Acts as they progress their character arc.

If they existed in the modern day, they would be a huge fan of Kabru Dungeonmeshi and. Probably relate to him too much because they share a few very important and key traits despite being radically different people.

Liesel has very inconsistent–and some would say entirely lacking–principles, but one of their few consistencies is that they highly value the Six River Freedoms.

They believe strongly in religious freedom, and would have no issues, for instance, with someone worshiping Lamashtu, so long as they don’t, for instance, kill people about it. They would, in fact, struggle to understand why someone would have issues with a Lamashtan who wasn’t making their religion other people’s problem.

#liesel #oc. liesel #pathfinder kingmaker #pfkm #oc profile

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reixtsu · 1 year

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Silent Gestures

Characters: Dazai Osamu, Nakahara Chuuya.

Once again, the Armed Detective Agency finds itself on a mission to apprehend a group of rogue Ability users. The intense battle leaves Chuuya Nakahara, known for his fiery temperament and exceptional combat skills, with torn gloves. The tattered fabric barely clings to his hands as he returns to the Agency, exhausted and visibly frustrated.

Dazai Osamu, ever observant and perceptive, notices Chuuya's predicament. He knows how much those gloves mean to his partner – they are a symbol of Chuuya's pride, a testament to his strength, and a physical embodiment of his indomitable will.

As the rest of the Agency disperses, finding solace in rest and recovery, Dazai approaches Chuuya, who sits alone on a bench, his hands resting on his knees, gloves discarded beside him. Dazai's eyes soften, a rare expression of genuine care crossing his face.

Dazai: "Chuuya, may I?"

Without waiting for an answer, Dazai reaches for Chuuya's damaged gloves. The air hangs heavy with unspoken emotions as Dazai delicately inspects the torn fabric, his fingers tracing the frayed edges. With each passing moment, it becomes clear that this act is more than just mending gloves.

Dazai: "Your gloves... they've seen better days, haven't they?"

Chuuya's guarded expression wavers, his anger and exhaustion giving way to vulnerability.

Chuuya: "What's the point, Dazai? They're just gloves. They can be replaced."

Dazai: "Ah, Chuuya, my dear partner, you underestimate their significance. These gloves hold your determination, your unwavering spirit. They have been with you through every battle, every triumph and every setback."

Dazai's voice is gentle, a soothing melody in the midst of chaos. With practiced ease, he takes Chuuya's right hand in his, carefully sliding the glove back on. His touch is tender, the closeness between them almost palpable.

Dazai: "These gloves are a part of you, Chuuya. They remind you of the strength within, the power that surges through you. Together, we've overcome countless obstacles, and I believe that we will continue to do so."

Silence envelops them as Dazai repeats the same meticulous process with Chuuya's left hand. The worn fabric obediently conforms to its rightful place, as if embracing its purpose once again.

Chuuya: "Dazai, you... you don't have to do this."

Dazai: "Perhaps not, but it feels right, Chuuya. Your gloves may be a small aspect of who you are, but they represent something much greater. They are a symbol of your unwavering resolve, a shield against the darkness we face together."

Chuuya's gaze softens, a silent understanding passing between them. Dazai's actions speak volumes, transcending words. In that simple act of donning Chuuya's gloves, Dazai affirms his unwavering support, acknowledging the strength and worth within his partner.

Dazai: "Remember, Chuuya, no matter the battles we face, I am here by your side."

The air buzzes with unspoken emotions, the weight of their connection settling comfortably in the silence. In that moment, Chuuya realizes that while his gloves may eventually wear out, the bond he shares with Dazai will remain steadfast.

Hand in glove, their partnership endures, unyielding against the trials that lie ahead.

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elejah-wonderland · 26 days

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elejah_au

Divination

#elejah #elena gilbert #elijah mikaelson #alternative universe #elena and elijah #divination #fanfiction #battle worn detectives

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kn96artworks · 5 months

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...

The bright light from an alien sun beats down onto the battered ground following a fierce battle. Strange cricket-like creatures cries, filling the otherwise calm and silent air. It seems to be sometime equivalent to an earthen summer in this strange alien land. A space ship lies rest on a nearby plain some distance away from the battle grounds.

Riku slumped down onto the worn couch of the Nebula House. He had a feeling the monster he detected was a going to be a pain but he didn't expect for it to literally multiply just as he thought he managed to get it down. Thank god help came or else...

"Hah, that was something..!" Haruki flopped down on the floor nearby, letting a loud tired sigh. "-I was getting real panicked then. Thank goodness you came in time..-!"

A soft groan preceeds the reply from the other person sitting against the wall across the two of them. "..Still, that much would be hard to manage alone even for me. Riku held on well on his own." Riku replies with a weak 'thank you' to Gai's words.

The ship is empty save for the three exhausted ultramen. Laiha and Pega went out to a nearby colony a while before the monster came to find supplies. He stayed back with the excuse that he'll keep watch but before he could even boot the console for a gaming session, a loud explosion came from outside together with a violent shake. The familar ping of REM announcing a monster is nearby couldn't be anymore conclusive. Riku heaves a long sigh, gradually deflating.

[Riku, everyone, I would like to run a diagnostic tests on the three of you to assess for any injuries sustained from the battle.] REM's familiar robotic voice rings breaking the prior silence.

"Right, that sounds like a great idea." All three of them move from their respective spots, slowly picking themselves up as REM directs them to stand still while the scan is in progress. A soft ping sounds after a brief period.

[The scan is done. It seems there are no serious injuries sustained other than general physical strain and fatigue]. A simplified diagram of the three men appears on the holographic monitor together with various notes and measurements. [I suggest sufficient rest and meals for adequate recovery].

"Thank you, REM." That's really good to hear.

"--Ano," Haruki suddenly raises his hand as if to call for attention in a classroom before continuing. "--What is this?" He asked while pointing towards an oddly shaded spot on Gai's lower abdominal area. "Gai-san do you feel any pain right there?"

Gai looks down on himself while patting around the indicated area. "No, not really."

REM flickered for a few seconds as the system formulates an answer. [The scan detects increased activity within the reproductive system. It is determined to be within normal range.]

"Wait, what do you mean 'increased activity in the reproductive system'?" Riku turns towards REM puzzlingly. Another blink follows.

[There seems to be active gestational process underway. I believe it is called a 'pregnancy'].

"Oh, I see....--Eeh?!!” Haruki nods in understanding before breaking into a shock together with Riku.

And as for Gai..,

--Eh let's say that it's news to him too.

#random #ultraman orb #ultraman geed #ultraman zett #uhh shenenigans on an alien planet #minific #my brain and me

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meowsgirldrawing · 6 months

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Chance Encounters

Dragon age: Inquisition- Cullen x Bellatrix (Female Lavellan)

Cullen has some doubts, some that Bellatrix feels the need to get rid of.

Warning- Slight suggestive content but not really, violence (Battle), mention of stupid elf slavers

AO3 Link

Word Count- 3,249

“I think we met before..” Cullen mumbles, rubbing his thumb over her arm. With her sitting/laying sideways on his lap, in his chair, it’s easily the comfiest way to show affection without moving too much(at least in their opinions.)

“What, the hell you talkin’ about, Blondie?” Despite her words, no discourtesy is detected, only confusion. Even with her tight grip on his rarely worn tunic, he knows it’s simply Bellatrix’s way to stay closer.

“I mean…” He pauses, pressing his lips against her short hair. “I..swear I remember meeting you before. Before all of this, before the Inquisition, the Breach.”

Bellatrix sighs, “Blondie, I adore you, but if this is another sentimental line of yours..”

He chuckles, giving her a gentle squeeze, “I hope I don’t sound that emotional.”

She shrugs and leans against him more, nudging at his neck, “No comment.” She smiles at his laugh, kissing his cheek.

He returns the topic, “I assure you though, I remember speaking with an elven white-haired girl at Kirkwall,”

“There are many elves with white hair, dear. Take Hawke’s lover for example if you're that desperate.”

“I remember her having purple eyes that startled me some.”

That causes a better reaction. Bellatrix jerks up with eyes wide as plates, a grin as her hands grab his shoulders, “I startled you?!” her wild laugh gets cut short when he smirks, “So, you remember?”

He earns a pout, a roll of eyes, her letting go and turning away from him slightly. His grin seems to double, patting her arm with his palm. “You definitely do.”

“Shove it.”

Ignoring her reply, he tugs her closer. “Come, Love. I’m only returning your jokes.”

Cullen’s chuckles continue more as the elf keeps her vague sights on the latter that leads up to his private quarters. Her teeth are threatening to grit while her cheeks burn red. She’s really rubbing off on him, ain’t she? She almost growls. A bit back smile it’s only obstacle from turning full.

Creators yes, she remembers. It was all a simple encounter. A random one. Maybe normal. Something that happens to all- well… She smirks….maybe not all …

Cullen strides past alleyways of Hightown, hand tight on his hilt with eyes similar to a Hawke’s. His armor glints against the moonlight, proof of the un-eventful day he’s had. He’s already decided by now that he’ll just wrap up this last patrol before heading back to the barracks.

A huff as he adjusted his poster. Just as he’s turning the corner, the street holding Blooming Rose and several manors in view, a yell from the alleyway he just passed up erupts along with the clattering of crates and other various objects.

“-UCK! GET THE HELL-ARG-” His body jerks, swiftly turning to the alleyway and pulling his sword out. Without thinking, his instincts drive him to enter. The sight..surprises him.

A person, who by their attire tells him it’s a slaver, is thrown on the ground, a knife doused into their side as the other one swings at their opponent. Their opponent, being an elven woman with white, undercut hair, shines a wicked grin as her hand summons an enchanter blade from her knuckles. She doesn't hesitate to slash at the Slaver’s neck, growling curses. Blood splatters against the walls and her unarmored outfit but she doesn’t seem to care.

Cullen stands frozen, watching as the woman grabs the remaining enemy and pulls him up before smashing him harshly against the wall. Finally, he finds his voice.

“You there!”

The Slaver looks too dazed from the blow to notice, but the elf does. Her purple eyes still him longer. A searing glare joins an exhausted smirk.

“What? The hell you want?”

He unconsciously readies his sword, just in case..he thinks. “What is going on here?”

She rolls her eyes, “What do ya think? These bastards thought they could get a nice little elf to add to their collection of ‘em.” She sends a glance to the pinned man, “..Guessed they didn’t expect some claws?” She shrugs. Cullen’s eyes stay on her as he moves closer.

Nor does hers. The smirk turned into a grimace. Her body stays tense, ready to strike out at any sudden move. “I’ll ask again..what do you want, Tempe?”

Before he can move, or say anything else, the Slaver calls out, “HERE! THE KNIFE-EAR IS H-” His words cut as the elf slashes with her returned blade, “Goddamn it…” Her mutter is followed by elven words. Curses, he assumes, judging by the glare.

Cullen straightens when she spins towards him while dropping the Slaver to the ground, “Leave or fucking fight. I don’t care, just don’t get in my damn way.” With that, she turns and launches a fireball at one of the coming reinforcements.

Screw it, with nothing to do, and quite frankly for being bored, he joins in, starting to cut down enemies.

It was an easy fight. Fairly similar to the normal ones of patrol really. The Slavers must’ve been new recruits or just weren't expecting a templar to help the mage.

Soon, the last Slaver falls. The two take a moment to catch their breaths. The elf leans against the wall, holding her side. “Mother..” She growls as she returns the kick from the prior alive man on the ground, “Fucking-shit!”

“Hey..” The Templar glares as she turns to him, reciprocating the look. “They’re dead. No need for that.” He pants heavily, back against the other wall and keeping her in view. Yes, the fight was easy, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t take a good ounce of energy from him.

She rolls her eyes, “Let me guess: Some fucking honor? Respect the dead?” With an obnoxious wave of the hand, she gestures towards the body, “You should’ve heard the crap spilling out of his mouth before you interfered. Talking about how great of an elf helper I’d be. “ Just needs to be tamed ” How’s that respect for ya?“ She quotes, then gives the body a middle finger. …..She certainly has a thing for courtesy.

“Tamed my ass.”

“What happened, anyway?”

“What do you think? Asshole and his goons tried to screw me over, they came, and I kicked their asses.” She pauses, tilting her head in ponder. Her skeptical gaze gives him a once over,, “I suppose I should say we, though.”

Cullen shakes his head, hilting his sword away. He glances over the corpses, grimacing at the paperwork he’s soon to handle. He guesses he forgot that bodies come with it, not just their soon-to-be rotting stench.

In the midst of his recuperation, he never realized the elf was still staring at him. “..Why did you interfere?”

He jerks up, looking back at her. He hides his fumbling hand by grasping his hilt, only to take it off when she tenses with a harsher glare. Right, He’s already exhausted and doesn't need an angry mage to turn her rage onto him . The excuse he inwardly explains as he instead stands straight with hand taut at his side. “I….”

A moment of silence. The two standstill. Eyes straying on one another. The brother of goosebumps chills on his neck the more the purple eyes linger on him. By now, he’s sure she can tell what he’s feeling just by looks alone- despite all his efforts for otherwise.

He clears his throat finally, finding his voice. “ I was on patrol. I overheard some yelling and believed it was in my right to investigate.”

She crosses her arms, “Ok..Then why stay?”

He can’t even try to hide the raised brow, “What?”

“You could’ve just turned a blind eye and left, there was no need to join the fight. You realized that, yeah?”

He finds himself in a pause, thinking over her words and events. No matter how much he wants to say the opposite, the mage is right, he could’ve just left. Let her try and fight her way out. She seemed more than capable; even without proper armor like the Champion and others wear daily, she’s clearly one to not back down from simple Slavers. “..I suppose…I’m not sure.”

“Well, whatever it was, there’s no need. I’m fine. My goods are fine, “She signals towards the boxes beside her before smirking at him, “The wee elf can handle herself, sweetheart.”

“Unless…” She pauses, staring at his chest plate. He doesn’t have to look down to understand.

He shakes his head- a recurring motion tonight, “I’m….” Not going to kill you? Not going to capture you and force you to the circles?

“I was only doing patrols. No need for any more violence tonight.” He nods, mostly to himself.

“Good.” She nods back and grins a feral one. As he is set on edge once more, a strained frown while she simply walks over to a crate and pops open the lid with minimal effort. After reaching in and searching around, she finds one of the saveable wine bottles then holds it out to him. Cullen studies it in exasperation.

“You’re just giving that to me? After all that?”

She shrugs, waving it lightly in place, “Why the fuck not. Consider it a peace offer. A payment for not sending me to your human circles, something to go get drunk with, a token for my ‘elfy’ appreciation- whatever you please, Tempe.”

Without waiting for his response, she tosses it at him, forcing his decision. Grasping it in his free hand, he watches with a frown as she grabs ahold of one of the crates. She kicks a body out of the way- he doesn’t even try to speak up, he knows she won’t listen either way- and packs it back into the now noticeable cart.

Even after, he stands there, unsure what to do as she continues cleaning up. She raises a brow at him when she takes over, “..Thanks for guarding?”

With an awkward nod, he turns, walking out of the ally. He hears a small grunt and looks back. She has everything back in her cart, dusting off her hands and blood on her pants, wincing at her side.

“What’s your name?” The question startles both of them. Her watchful gaze falls on him and he narrows his eyes at her curling smirk.

“Wouldn’t you like to know…”

“Yeah yeah, anyway-” Present Bellatrix waves her hand, “Since you’re clearly not going to let this off. What about it?”

Cullen goes quiet. His hand slowly and gently runs along her tall boots, which were thrown over the side of his chair, bouncing lightly. Moving over her knees and to her side, his thumb pressing against her white, buttoned up tunic. Like him with his armor and hilted sword, she rarely parts with her corset. It being a core aspect to her usual outfit with her dark purple, leather tailcoat. This time they have gotten comfortable enough to both change into different attire, something to relax in on their matched off day.

The thought, which usually gives a flutter to his chest of her trust in him, only adds to his sudden solen tone. She seems to have already taken notice.

“Blondie?” Her palm at his shoulder, “Hey, what’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” Bellatrix forces a giggle, but it comes out hollow. Too nervous at his silence.

“Cullen, Hun?”

“...I could’ve hated you.”

She blinks. She sits up as her brow furrows, “You’re talking about your time at Kirkwall, yeah?”

He looks up at her. Eyes filled to the brim with guilt. Oh, she can’t even ignore the tightening of her gut . A look that screams at her instincts to soothe the down feelings from him. She listens without a second to waste.

Her legs sit against his outer thighs, straddling his lap as her pale fingers gently run through his hair. It makes Cullen instinctively lean his head back a slight, not that he minds.

“Cullen.” His eyes match hers, boring in, “Yes, you could have. Hell, I probably hated you at that time as well just for being a Templar. We had different lives, completely different viewpoints back then.”

She continues, “Especially,” she lifts her hands and slips off her gloves, his gaze stays on her. “Since I had my sister and I to watch out for.”

“And I could’ve fought you instead. I could-”

“I would have killed ya, honestly. Or at the very least, wounded ya.” She smirks at his chuckle. It’s still solen, but at least it’s something. Her smile grows at his response.

“True. You’re very violent at times.”

“Hey, talk shit, get hit. You know how it goes.”

He rolls his eyes, despite his own smile. “Say that when I have to bandage you up for trying to spar with Cassandra and Bull at the same time..again.”

She shrugs. Then she returns back to the topic. , “Remember what I said at the Winter Palace though?”

Cullen does. Of course he does. It was the moment he realized how much he truly loved her, wanted to stay with her, the moment he stopped caring about appearances or faces when around her.

“I don’t think this is a great idea…”

A groan in reply is followed by, “Blondie, don’t, just don’t.”

“But-” He erases the nerves in his throat, glancing around them as if waiting for the lingering looks to attack him at any second. His eyes land back on a glaring Bellatrix. “You’re the Inquisitor and I, the Commander. Honestly, we should just return to the balcony, it’s better for-”

“The Inquisition? The so-called precious image of the Lady Cirdan Inquisitor? Please, I’ve heard much worse when I was just a low ranged mercenary. Besides,” She crosses her arms, before noticing a lady noble glancing at her and putting them behind her back with a silent growl. Cullen chuckles at her reaction, not stopping at her directed glare towards him. “If Josie thought our relationship would damage our images then she would’ve made it known and told us to stay apart during this. At least in public.”

“Yes, but-”

“But nothing, Blondie.” She turns to him, “If it’s a human and elf, a mage and a templar, a mercenary-”

“They don’t know you were one,” He mutters, earning a smirk.

“..and a Former Knight-Captain- it doesn’t matter. I don’t give a damn about what people add to any of those. I don’t give a damn if they go and say impossible rumors or any other made up scandal. I’m just a woman who wants to dance with her handsome boyfriend.”

A short smirk lifts on his lips as he crosses his arms. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees some nobles watching them, some he recognizes as the ones corning him at his previous post. Before, when Empress Celene was still in danger, it was an annoyance, but now…

He manages to keep his smirk from growing at Bellatrix’s increasingly harsh glare at the pillar near his shoulder. No doubt she sees them too.

“...You want to establish that I’m your lover.”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “Figured you want that too since I keep seeing some guy staring at my ass the past hour I’ve been over here.”

“What.” His arms unfold, narrowed gaze flicking around the ballroom. It turns back to the elf who just grins at him, “Seeee?”

“So there was no one?”

“Oh no, there was. Dorian and I acted as if we were planning something while sending him the strangest of looks. You could practically see the color of his cheeks turn as pale as his obnoxiously made suit.”

His deadpan face gives Bellatrix a fit of laughter. Ignoring the looks from around them, he shakes his head, a barely hidden smile on his lips. A reluctant sigh soon comes from him as she calms down. Giggles still manage to escape nevertheless.

“Alright, but if you have any second th-” .A groan.

Without a moment too soon, the snow-elf grabs ahold of his front collar, pulling him close enough to smash her lips onto his. Wide eyes before lowering into a close, pulling her closer. An arm wraps around his neck, teasing at the soothed back hair. His gloved hands rest on her hips and grip tightly as her other hand cups his cheek. She smirks against him, chuckling at the shocked gasps and murmurs.

“Second thoughts who?” Her head tilts after she pulls away, grinning like the cat that swallowed the canary. Cullen can just barely hear Dorian’s wolf-whistle and Sera’s high-pitched laughter from the sidelines. Blood pulses through his ears, his cheeks burn red but he doesn’t care at this point. The woman in front of him is all he cares about. Her bright, purple eyes staring up at him, half lidded but full of adortion. A lazy smirk graced across her lips, quirking at the reactions of the people around them. Josephine is going to flip her lid on them.

Just like her, however, he can care less. He quickly takes her hand, pulling her towards the stairs that lead down to the dancefloor. Her heels click and ring like her laugh, making his smile finally appear outwardly. They pass by The Iron Bull and Estel; the qunari laughing before bending down a slight to whisper in his lover’s ear, who gapes then turns to wack his chest. Bellatrix, as if hearing whatever comment he made, hugs Cullen’s arm closer before turning her head and winking at Bull. The couple can hear another laugh trail behind them.

Cullen puts his hand on hers and leads her down the steps. Once at the bottom, footsteps away from the dancefloor, he looks at her only to find her already watching him. “Second thoughts, Blondie?” She asks, almost smug.

He actually returns her grin. With a pull at her hand, his lips land a kiss on her gloved knuckles. “Not a single one, love.”

“Good. Now let’s get on with it!.” She chuckles. He doesn’t waste a single second in tugging her into the dancing groups.

Cullen’s smile softens. He tugs her hand to his lips, exactly like he did that night. Her hand then moves to cup his chin and gently direct it towards her.

“You know what I mean then, yes?” She tilts her head.

His free hand shifts to her hip, rubbing his thumb against the fabric. She continues, “ I don’t care about our differences, nor our pasts. I only care about us in the now.”

Her hand moves the side of his face which he nudges against, unconsciously tugging her closer as his brown-filled eyes regard her form. Bellatrix suddenly smirks, causing him to furrow his brow, “So…”

“So?”

She leans closer, purple eyes half-lidded and zoned completely on him as she starts to slowly ruffle his hair. Her fingers run through, pressing against and pushing up the curls. It’s always her favorite thing to do for some odd reason. A cat fascinated by her favorite toy is the picture-perfect image that ponders his mind.

Cullen delved too far into the feeling of her soothing hands that he just barely catches her next words, “-You with me, Blondie?”

“Hm?”

She giggles, kissing his forehead, “I said, from now on, are you with me?”

He smiles, “Till as long as you’ll have me.”

“Good. Cause I plan to keep you for a very, long, time.” Bellatrix smirks, and leans down to give a well wanted needed kiss on his lips.

#dragon age 2 #dragon age inquisition #dragon age #Dragon Age Cullen #cullen rutherford #cullen x inquisitor #cullen x lavellan #Bellatrix Cirdan #Inquisitor Bellatrix #oc x canon #Oc inserts #female inquisitor #female lavellan

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