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hunnythebee · 1 year

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Stow Away

Chapter 13: Villas of Theed

Jo had learned to expect the unexpected when it came to her Mandalorian, but even still he caught her offguard. The night's not over yet, and he still has more surprises in store.

3.5k words - third person - female original character - explicit

Chapter 12 | Chapter 14 | Masterlist

Tags: Din Djarin x OC, Mandalorian x OC, love, confessions, mask FINALLY comes off, kissing, Din being a sweetheart, festival of lights, naboo, theed, fluff, domestic life

Warnings and Fic below cut

Warnings; Smut, Oral F receiving, PiV, unprotected, creamp!e, overstimulation if you squint, f!ngering

Hello everyone. I don't even know where to begin... my life spun out into chaos in the last couple weeks and I truly wasn't able to write a single word for a long time... but now I am back! I was inspired and finally picked up my laptop and finished this chapter. I can't guarantee that I will have the next chapter ready by next week, but know that I am still writing and this fic is far from abandoned. I do have some other fics in the works as well that I want to put a little more effort into but I want to tie this one up first before really getting into anything else. Thank you for your patience, and I look forward to writing for you all some more.

Jo couldn’t believe her eyes. There he was. The face of the man whom she had loved for so long. He was even more handsome than anything she could have ever imagined. Her gaze fell from his eyes, trailing down along his slightly hooked nose to his lightly bearded mouth that was displaying the most attractive crooked smile. She followed along his strong jaw and back up to meet his eyes, that still burned with a ferocity that made her flutter. His gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips and his tongue darted out to wet his lower lip and his stare found her eyes once again.

“I– You– What–” She stammered. Her heart was racing and she couldn’t take her eyes off of him.

Din took her hand in his and cupped her cheek with the other. “I have loved you since I first laid eyes on you. You are the one I dream of at night. If I close my eyes, you are what I see. When I thought I had lost you forever I became a shell of a man. I lost my way in every sense. And when I thought you were dead I was shattered… but somehow… somehow you came back to me. I have my strength back because of you, and I never want to lose you again…”

“I- I love you too, Din Djarin. I don’t know when it happened, but I fell for you. I thought of you every day we were apart.” She answered with tears in her eyes. Din pulled her in for a long awaited kiss. When their lips touched, it was as if the whole galaxy stood still. She threw her arms around his neck and he held her tight by her waist. Jo felt him smiling against her mouth, causing her to smile in return. Their world melted and blended together into a blur of lights and the sensation of one another. She broke away from the kiss and he tried to chase after her, but she stopped him with a single finger pressed gently to his lips. “Wait… please. I want… I want to see you. Really see you. Please?” Jo begged, her eyes pleading with him.

“Anything for you cyar’ika.” Din smiled and reached out, running his knuckle along her cheek and up into her hair. He twisted one of her braids in his fingers, fixated on every minute detail of her. The attention he was paying her would have made her nervous had it been anyone else, but this was Din. This was her mandalorian. Jo sat back and took in the image of him. She memorized the curvature of his jaw and every line on his face that would deepen when he smiled. Jo brought a hand up to touch his cheek and the moment her skin made contact he melted. She watched in awe as he relaxed into her palm, the softest smile on his lips. Jo leaned in once more for another kiss.

Their lips met with a fervor. There was no more timidness, nor shyness left to be had. All that was left was the raw unbridled love and passion for one another. A chill ran down her whole body. A warmth that was all too familiar spread throughout her. She wanted to kiss him like this for hours, but that was not going to happen here. The curtain was drawn back slowly by the protocol droid from before. He was spouting a pre-programmed spiel of how he hoped they enjoyed the show and to have a pleasant stay on Naboo, but Jo and Din were too busy readjusting themselves to pay any attention. By the time Jo looked back at him, Din was already sporting his mask and hood. Her heart sank, despite knowing that it was necessary.

He was checking on Grogu who, despite all the noises and flashing lights, had fallen asleep in a nest of hors d’oeuvre crumbs. His cute little face was sticky from fruit juices, but was altogether peaceful. Jo took the napkin that had come with her plate and dabbed gently at his mess, smiling to herself as she did so.

“Jo? Is everything alright?” Din put a gentle hand on her bare shoulder and she looked to him.

She sighed happily, “Everything is wonderful. I was just thinking…”

“About?” He urged her to continue her thought.

“I was thinking about the fact that, I get to have this. You and him, forever,” Jo was beaming with the tears of joy still threatening her lashes.

Din shifted his hand from her shoulder to cup her cheek, “And we get you forever cyare.”

They found their way out of the viewing areas and back into the city streets. There were easily triple the amount of people as before. Attendees filled the walkways, shoulder to shoulder, eager to get to the next celebration or event. Everything was loud and vibrant, and to Jo it was home. Din and Jo took their time roaming the streets hand in hand, enjoying the sights and smells. Music echoed throughout the whole city it seemed. The night was alive with parties in every sector. Grogu’s carrier followed gently behind them as they strolled, the lid closed tight to block out the light and the noise.

Eventually they found their way to a quieter part of Theed. A residential sector lining the riverbank. Tall, ivy covered buildings lined the waterside, each sporting a warm glow from inside. They reminded Jo so much of her old home. These were obviously much more grand, but the design was the same. Din pulled at Jo’s hand as he stopped at the steps to one of the houses. She turned around with a look of utter confusion.

“What’s wrong? I thought we were going to the hangar,” she questioned.

Din shook his head and gave her hand a light squeeze before ascending the steps with her. When he reached the door he tapped a keycard to it and it slid open for him. He moved Grogu’s bassinet inside ahead of them and turned to face Jo.

“I never said we were going back to the hangar tonight,” he said with a slight smugness.

Jo’s brain was still catching up, “You never said… You mean to tell me we are staying here?!”

Din laughed. It was music to her ears. “Yes, mesh’la. We are staying here.”

Her eyes lit up. She followed him into a large round foyer where a protocol droid was waiting to greet them. A grand staircase led upwards to a second floor loft. Further into the house was a kitchen and a sitting room, adjacent to which were a set of double doors. The doors opened into a beautiful master bedroom with a huge plush mattress with a golden duvet and matching pillows. The whole of the home’s interior was decorated with warm tones, not a harsh color in sight. Out the back of the house was a balcony that had a beautiful view of the waterfront. It was here that Din found her after settling Grogu into the upstairs loft.

She was bathed in the moonlight. Her sunset hair blowing gently across her shoulders and her dress billowed with every small breeze. She leaned against the bannister in a similar manner as she had on Tatooine, but there was something about seeing her here that just felt right. Din remained silent, wanting to watch her in her element without interruption. He quietly leaned against the wall a few feet behind her and just watched.

Jo turned around and met Din’s soft gaze. He had removed his mask and hood entirely, casting them aside along with his cloak. He looked so comfortable. Jo had never seen him in such a state of ease. His aura of relaxation was radiating off of him and taking over her own. Jo approached him, a certain confidence in the sway of her hips as she moved. Din’s eyes trailed down her figure, a hunger growing in them as he made his way down and back up to meet her eyes. The way he was looking at her made her flush with heat. She was so used to the expressionless visor, which gave away nothing except for the occasional tilt or audible hitch in his breath. Now she could see everything. The way his eyes wandered, how he bit into his lower lip and smiled, and how dark his eyes got.

Jo finally closed the distance, pressing him into the wall he had been lazing against. He grunted from the force as his eyes lit up with excitement. His hands roamed her every curve and gripped at any part of her he could, pulling her into him as close as possible. His breathing was shallow, ragged even. Jo traced the outline of his nose with her own, teasing him with the possibilty of her kiss but not quite giving it to him. Their lips were but a hair apart, lightly brushing against each other. She draped her arms over his shoulders and tangled her fingers in his hair.

“I need to feel you mesh’la…” He begged breathlessly. “Please…” His voice was low. A needy growl.

“I’m yours, Din.” Jo proclaimed just before their lips met. The kiss was heated, but slow. It was as if they wanted to make every moment last. Drink the passion in slowly. Din’s hands made their way from her hips, tracing along the exposed skin, up to her neck where the dress was fastened by three small pearlescent buttons. His fingers carefully unfastened each one as he kissed along her jaw and down her neck. As the neck line fell slack he chased the material with his lips till he met the edge of her shoulder. Din’s mouth found hers once again as the dress fell to the ground, revealing Jo to him entirely. He gripped her thighs and lifted her, wrapping her tightly around his waist. His hardness dug gently into her pelvis as he carried her across the room to the large bed, coaxing a soft moan from her lips.

Jo settled softly onto the bed with him hovering over her. “I want to see all of you, Din,” Jo pleaded as she played at the edge of his waistband.

Din smirked and moved his hands to grip the back of his shirt and pull it over his head in one swift movement. He stood tall over her as his hands moved to his trousers. “Whatever my cyare wants, she shall get.”

Din’s words caused her heart to race as he slid his bottoms off. He bent over to cast aside the pants, and in doing so fell into eyesight of her dripping pussy. Jo’s need was evident and he was overcome with the craving to taste her on his tongue. He lunged forward, his mouth making contact with her in all the right ways. Jo’s back arched against the bed and her hands found his hair. Lost in the ecstasy of having her lover taste her in such a needy way. His tongue collecting her juices and moaning into her, taking as much pleasure in the act as she was. Din’s lips locked around her swollen bud and suckled, causing her to gasp and moan out his name. “Mesh’la,” his honeyed voice spoke from between her legs, “Eyes on me.” Jo propped her head up with the use of one of the multitudes of pillows and did exactly as instructed.

The sight was intoxicating. He lost himself completely in her, looking up at her eyes with a heavy lidded and lust filled gaze. It was almost predator like the way he looked at her. Din’s hands gripped her thighs and pulled her closer to him as his tongue worked her with an intensity.

Jo felt her climax approaching, a heat building and rising. She squirmed in his grasp, which only encouraged him and caused him to bury himself deeper and hold her tighter. The room was filled with the sound of her panting and moaning his name as her release reached a fever pitch and poured into her veins. He slowed his movements as she rode out the high, but did stop till it had passed. The moment it subsided his mouth was on hers once more, the tip of his hard cock teasing against her over sensitive nerves. Jo whimpered into his mouth causing his cock to twitch against her.

“Din…” She moaned, “I want you now. I need you now.”

He hummed in her ear, as he grinded against her still. “Tell me mesh’la. Tell me how badly you need me to fill you.”

“I’ve wanted you for so long…” she panted. “Dreamt of you every night. Only you. I’m yours Din please.” Jo grinded her hips against him desperately. He conceded. Din sank into her slowly, burying himself in her completely and reveling in sound of her as he finally gave her what she craved. What they both were craving.

Jo cried out in ecstasy as Din buried himself in her. He propped himself up over her and stared lovingly into her eyes, breathing heavily. The worlds stood still for in that moment as she took in the fact that never had she been able to see him when they were intimate. Not his face at least. He had always been either shrouded in darkness or masked by his helmet, but not tonight. Tonight he was laid bare. Jo could see his pupils, dilated with lust, and his brows knitting together as he attempted to keep his composure and failed. She brought her hand up and cupped the side of Din’s face. He closed his eyes and leaned into it, placing a soft kiss to her wrist.

He leaned down and caught her lips in a passionate kiss. As they melted into each other, Din’s hips began to move causing her to gasp out his name. He moved slowly, each thrust angled perfectly. Jo tossed her head back and moaned as he trailed kisses down her jaw and neck. He chuckled as she was coming undone beneath him. Din enjoyed the sight of her letting herself go and giving in to the pure pleasures that he could give her. He pulled his hips back, almost leaving her entirely and causing her to let out a needy whimper before he snapped back into her. His thighs met hers with a satisfying slap. Jo cried out for more. Clawing desperately at him, hoping to convey how badly she wanted him but he maintained his pace.

Din’s hand found her jaw as her eyes began to flutter shut, “Keep your eyes on me, Mesh’la. Only me.” He began to pick up his pace, feeling her clenching around him. The sensation of him thrusting into her was building up and she was getting closer.

Her eyes felt heavy, and she couldn’t think but she followed his command. She watched as he bit in his lip and threw his own head back, exposing his muscular neck. His eyes found hers again and they were so lost in each other that she hadn’t even noticed what was coming until it was already happening. Her body vibrated and spasmed as she moaned and screamed. The sensation was already almost too much but then Din’s nimble fingers found her clit and she was destroyed.

Just for a moment the world was just blinding white. She saw nothing, felt nothing outside of the sensations he was giving her. Bliss, ecstasy, and pleasure. Jo managed to regain some semblance of conscious thought once again and watched her lover who was lost in his own climax. His muscles her tensed and his brow was furrowed. Her name poured from his lips like a prayer and his eyes refused to look away from her face. He released inside of her. A warmth spread through her, as he moaned out in pleasure. Din’s full weight came down on top of her as he took a few more desperate thrusts before becoming still.

Jo traced along his spine absent-mindedly as he came down from his high. His face was buried in her neck, where he was placing hot sloppy kisses and cooing unintelligible praises. Once Din’s mind came back to him, he rolled to her side and traced across her curves with his hands.

Jo turned onto her side and propped her head in her hand, “That was… incredible.” Their chests were rising and falling in unison as they both took deep steadying breaths.

Din let out a breathy, low chuckle. “You are incredible mesh’la.” He leaned in and gave Jo a soft peck on the cheek before leaving the room for a moment.

She smiled and began to feel the after effects of sex sinking in, but it didn’t last long when she felt her body being dragged down the bedding towards the edge. Din had returned with a glass of water and hunger in his eyes. He handed her the water and she took a big long sip. A little bit spilled down her chin and the droplets fell on her breasts. Din got on his knees and cleaned every droplet off her skin with his hot mouth. Slowly working his way down to between her legs once again.

Jo let out a gasp of surprise as she felt his mouth on her oversensitive nerves. “Wh-what’re you doing?” she asked breathlessly.

Din smirked against her and simply said, “What gave you the idea that we were done?”

Jo smiled to herself and laid back onto the bed as he continued.

She lost count of how many times he made her orgasm that night, and at one point they all just blurred together. They had carried on till they physically couldn’t anymore and fell asleep in each other’s arms. Jo woke with his arms still around her and her head still resting on his chest. She shifted slightly, so as to see his face. He still wore no mask, no helmet, nothing. The sun was just beginning to peek into the room and little streams of sunlight danced across his face. His features were relaxed and peaceful, with a small smile playing at his lips.

Jo could stay in bed and watch him sleep for hours, but there was something else that she wanted to do this morning. A surprise for him to say ‘thank you’. She carefully untangled herself from him and stood from the bed on shaky legs. Her whole body ached, but it was a good ache. The kind of ache that reminded her of the events that led to the pain. She picked a robe off a hook by the door and proceeded into the kitchen.

It was just like old times. She filled the villa with the scent of her cooking, which summoned Grogu down from his hideaway and resurrected Din from his slumber. They both came into the kitchen at the same time, but the appearance of Din made Grogu freeze. He was still missing his hood and mask, walking around the house fresh faced and groggy. Grogu watched as Din kissed Jo and wished her a good morning, and then as Din came over to greet him.

Din picked up the wide-eyed child and held him tenderly as he went and sat at the breakfast nook, setting Grogu on the counter. Din and Grogu sat and watched her cooking, nostalgia washing over them at the sight. When she turned around and saw him fixed on her, with the largest smile she paused.

“What is it my love?” She asked playfully.

He let out a soft laugh and replied, “just like old times, isn’t it?”

She returned his smile and teased, “yeah, except we aren’t in that tin can you called a ship and I can see your face. But other than that, just like old times.” She turned and placed the plates of food in front of Din and Grogu, then fixed herself one and sat beside Din.

He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and thanked her. “It looks delicious mesh’la. Thank you.”

She blushed a little at the compliment, “you’re welcome, now eat up.”

A comfortable silence fell as the three of them dove into their food. Once they had all finished and the kitchen was clean, Grogu went to watch the boats pass in the canal while Din and Jo relaxed in the small seating area.

All morning, Jo had been contemplating something. She wanted to tell Din her story, but was unsure how to approach it. Luckily, Din was able to provide her with the perfect opening.

His deep brown eyes were searching hers, an expression of concern in them. “What’s on your mind mesh’la? You seem lost in your thoughts.”

“I am…” she began, “I’ve been thinking… and after everything you’ve given me, I want to give you something in return.”

He took her hand in his and smiled, “you don’t have to give me anything. You are enough.”

She gave him a small smile, “I want to though. I want you to know me as no one else ever has. I want you to be the one person in the whole galaxy that is allowed to see me completely. Which is why I think it’s time I told you my story.”

Chapter 12 | Chapter 14 | Masterlist

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geminigirl0298 · 2 years

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The Course Of True Love

Relationship: Loki Odinson x Original Female Character

Summary: Loki Odinson never expected to see his mother hurrying down a hall with a smart-mouthed, soot-covered figure who was supposedly the princess of Vanaheim. He never expected her to stay more than a week, much less an entire century, and he surely did not expect their initial animosity to morph into the fluttering, tickling feeling he got in his stomach every time she was near.

Word Count: 4.1 k

A/N: This story is almost complete, so updates will be weekly. Feel free to ask to be added to taglist.

Warnings: Smut later on (will be marked), 18+, loss of virginity, fingering (female receiving), oral (female receiving), unprotected sex, cursing, inappropriate language

Previous Chapter Masterlist

CHAPTER 2

My dearest Sigrid,

I write you today with much overdue good news. Our efforts to root out the remaining Vanir traitors are almost complete. Tensions have lessened amongst the people and a tide has begun to turn. It seems that they have forgotten the ways of the prejudiced and will soon be ready to accept you as their princess. I would suspect it should not be long now before a visit home is on the horizon.

My dear, your patience and grace has not gone unnoticed by me. I know the centuries have been trying, and your heart aches for the day we will be reunited at home. All I can do is ask you for a little more faith and send you all my love.

Sigrid smiled down at the half-read parchment in front of her. Letters were the main means of communication between her and her father, and whilst they were often delivered with some frequency, the past few months had been few and far between. And yet, this letter somehow made up for it. Her eyes lingered on the little word he had used but twice; home. It made her grin widen. She had long accepted Asgard as her home—how could she not when she was being looked after by the Allmother and the Allfather—but not being able to return to her place of birth always left a void in her heart.

That did not mean she was ungrateful for the life that had been bestowed on her. Frigga, the Queen, had slipped into the role of a second mother without having to be asked. She raised Sigrid from a young girl into a woman alongside her own sons, both of whom had grown into fine men over the centuries. Thor, the elder of the two, had long begun regarding her as the younger sister he never had. He protected her as fiercely as he shielded his brother, although with arguably less teasing and jest.

Sigrid had also managed to pick up some friends along the way, courtesy the two princes. There were many as the years passed, notably the Warriors Three and the Lady Sif, the latter of whom was walking next to her down the palace corridors. Her ferocity in battle was unmatched, and it coupled with her beauty and high-born standard to give her the well-deserved title of a warrior maiden.

“Why are you smiling like that?” inquired Sif with a toss of her sleek ponytail.

“It must be a letter from her prince,” chimed a new voice. It belonged to Ingrid, her youngest lady in waiting. The girl had been born a bastard to a high lord who was already married without a care for the consequences of his actions. He had cast the girl and her mother aside for years until Sigrid heard the story from one of the Queen’s ladies over tea. The girl was too old to be a ward, yet young and pretty, so Sigrid had taken her on as a lady.

“The letter is not from Loki,” Sigrid informed her, rolling up the paper and securing the seal. There was quite a bit to read, and she decided it would be best to do so in the privacy of her own bedroom.

“I never specified which prince.” Ingrid’s lips quirked up in a teasing smile. The nonchalance in her tone did nothing except add to Sigrid’s exasperation, although it was not the first time such an implication had been made. Whilst Thor was like a bother, Loki was her closest friend. Try as she might, she could not come to think of the raven-haired prince in a sibling-like manner. To her, he was always just Loki.

“You…” Sigrid reached out to grab the girl’s ear — lightly, of course—only for her to duck away in a whirl of red hair. Sif just let out a laugh. “Your jest, whilst usually appreciated, is not needed now. Go find Agathe and see if she can’t find something for you to do. Lest you mock me the entire day.” Ingrid gave a small curtsy before skipping down the corridors.

“I’ve always liked her,” Sif commented with a grin. “Tis a shame about her father. Odin knows she’s better off with you.” Sigrid could not help but agree.

“She’s awfully resilient. A bit talkative at times, but it’s a welcome distraction from the monotony that has fallen in Loki’s absence.” The duo paused at the balcony, both leaning over the banister to look out over the training area. They had both visited it earlier for their weekly sparring match. She appreciated the exercise and the ability it gave her to defend herself, but violence had never been her high on her list of likes. Sigrid preferred to talk things out, to understand the opposing side rather than see who could shed more blood. And she was getting quite good at verbal navigation thanks to her silver-tongued best friend.

“And the barrage of unwanted compliments and advances of all the men trying to be the next king of Vanaheim,” Sif added. “Although they seem to keep their distance when Thor or Loki are with you.” Sigrid’s face faltered, only for a second, but it was enough for Sif’s to fill with concern. “Have I said something to upset you?”

“It’s not you,” Sigrid admitted, holding up the letter, “it’s my father. He wrote to me.”

Sif placed her hand on Sigrid’s free one. “This is good! I know how upset you’ve been seeing as he has not visited in a while. What did he say?”

“He-Oof!” As she was explaining, a bony figure ran straight into her shoulder. It caught her so off guard that she pitched forward towards the banister. Sif, with her battle-hardened reflexes, righted her with one strong grip. “Excuse me!”

Two women stood before her, neither of whom she recognized. They were both dressed in fine clothing that betrayed their high stations. They were polar opposites, the women, one tall with dark brown hair and eyes and skin and the other shorter, possessing the typical Aesir traits of fair hair and blue eyes. The latter regarded her with disinterest.

“Have you no sense of direction?” Sif wanted to know. “You almost knocked the princess over the balcony!”

“Many apologies, princess,” spoke the taller woman. “I am Lady Hilda.” Her slender hand raised to point at the girl next to her, and Sigrid could see the dark fingers were adorned with numerous jeweled rings. “This is Lady Eva.”

“So very pleased to meet you, princess.” Lady Eva’s eyes had not left Sigrid’s, and something about her detached greeting made the hair on her neck rise.

It was no surprise that Sigrid did not trust people with ease How could she when her own countrymen had turned on her? The entire ordeal had left her with a complex when meeting new people, one that she had actively worked to overcome. Yet, despite her efforts, she could not help the alarm bells the fair-haired woman set off in her head. There was something about her that grated Sigrid’s very soul.

“It’s okay,” she addressed the two women, although Eva had yet to apologize. “It was an accident. But do tell me where you are hurrying too. It must be important for you to have veered off the walkway.”

The only indication that her subtle sarcasm had been noted was a tightening of Lady Eva’s eyes. Hilda, however, gave a sheepish smile. “Again, so sorry, princess. We’ve heard that the princes are soon to return. We were on our way to our rooms.”

Both Sif and Sigrid glanced at each other. “The princes?” Sif echoed. “They’re back from Alfheim?”

“On their way back,” Lady Hilda corrected, in a kind fashion. “My father is an advisor to the King and they’ve just received word. Prince Thor and Prince Loki were successful in their endeavors. There is to be a celebration in their names tonight!” She stopped to clap her hands together excitedly. “Oh, we must get ready!”

“You must,” Sigrid agreed, sharing a knowing look with Sif. Hilda was of no danger. She was just another girl enthralled by the palace and its offerings, and maybe hoped to get the attentions of one of the princes.

“It was nice to meet you, princess.” Hilda bowed and took ahold of her friend’s arm. “Have a lovey day.”

“Same to you.” Hilda walked off, dragging Eva behind her, and it was only when she rounded the corner did Sigrid release the breath she was holding. “Well, there’s yet another hopeful for the hand of one of the princes. I think she’d go for Thor, though. Loki would grow quite irritated with her enthusiasm.”

“In that case I hope she goes for him.” Sif’s words were bitter. She reached up to grab the ends of her hair, seemingly lost in thought.

Sigrid watched her with a raised eyebrow. “You’ve not yet forgiven him for cutting your hair,” she deduced.

Sif’s eyes snapped to hers. “If you’re going to defend him-”

“I’m not.” Sigrid raised her hands in surrender. The loss of Sif’s hair had less to do with the length, and more to do with the colour change. Whatever Loki had done transformed the previously golden locks to a deep, chocolate brown. He had claimed it was not intentional, merely a side effect of his magic, but Sif would not hear it. She had thoroughly and effectively thrashed the prince before bestowing some choice words. Loki had told Sigrid all about it the day after during their walk in the gardens.

“Good.” Sif nodded brightly. “Because you do that a lot, you know? And forgive me for saying this, but I’m afraid he does not always deserve it.” The brunette beauty shook her head. “Valhalla knows how someone like him was able to obtain a friend like you.”

Sigrid gave a rueful smile. It was a comparison she had heard a thousand times over. Save for their quietness and inclination towards books, she and Loki could not be more different. She was a princess by all standards— just, respectable and never without kindness. He was the long-proclaimed God of Mischief, and deceit was his forte.

In the early days, their close friendship was met with a lot of weird looks. Many had thought she would cling to Thor. He was, in their eyes, the better choice. Instead, the strange little princess from the neighboring realm had gone and chosen the introverted, ball of angst that was the younger son of the crown.

“Loki is not only what he appears to be,” she said. “There are many other sides of him he chooses not to show to the public.”

Sif blew out air from between her cheeks. “I wish he would appear far away from me at all times. He’s annoying. I’ve no idea how you stand him. You’re so good.”

“He is a good man. I would not have been his friend had I thought the opposite.” Sif made a face, but said nothing. “Although, it is easy for me to say that considering I’ve never faced his ire. I must be lucky.”

“Yes. Lucky.” Sif teased.

“Oh, hush.” Sigrid gave her friend a good-natured bump with her hip, and tugged her down the hall. “Half of Asgard already makes such assumptions. I’ll not have you make them too.”

ooOOoo

Evening brought the palace celebrations into full swing. There was already a crowd of persons there on any given day, but that always tripled in number for events. The throne room was lined with adoring Asgardians vying for a rare glimpse at the royal family in all their glory. Some-the more important ones like noblemen and advisors- were sitting in the boxes strategically placed in a semi-circle high above the crowds. Each allowed for smaller groups to gather, and one, right in the middle, held Sigrid and her ladies.

“I don’t know what it is about her,” she was saying to Agathe, “but I don’t trust her. I’ve never even seen either of them before today.”

Agathe’s grey eyes were wide with understanding. “She must be the daughter of a dignitary or nobleman. You know how often they come and go. It’s not too much of a surprise that today was your first time seeing her. But if you’re not sure, you can always ask the palace gossip.”

“I am not a gossip!” exclaimed Ingrid from her position near the banister. She was leaning so far over Sigrid was afraid she may fall into the crowd below. “I just happen to have a lot of relevant information pertaining to a lot of people in the castle. Now point her out this ‘Lady Eva’, if you please.”

Sigrid leaned forward off the couch a bit. Her eyes searched the visible crowd below, then shifted to the boxes on either side. “I don’t think I- There! The one in the pink dress next to Lord Erik.”

“Hmm…” Ingrid tilted her head, studying the girl. After a while, she turned back to the older women. “I don’t know who she is.”

“How shocking,” Agathe whispered in mock horror.

“But I will find out for you, princess. Some of the other ladies are bound to know.”

Trumpets sounded through the air, announcing the arrival of the king and queen. The sound went through Ingrid like a firework, causing the younger girl to vibrate with excitement. She knew, as did everyone, that Thor and Loki would soon approach. “Thank you, Ingrid, now go find your friends and enjoy the party. I’ve no further need of your services tonight.”

“Thank you, princess!” Ingrid gave a wide beam and made to leave. “You are truly the most kind.”

“That one is trouble,” Agathe said, “but I am fond of her. A little more discipline and she’ll be a fine lady.”

“She’s already a fine lady,” Sigrid corrected, noting the way Agathe’s eyes were heavy with fatigue, “as are you. But you are also my friend, and as your friend I think I can tell you that you look dead on your feet. Is Anni better at all?”

Agathe sighed. She, like Ingrid, had an unusual entrance into palace employment. Born a peasant girl, Agathe had lived a simple life and entered an arranged marriage. Her husband-a young man in the guard-had been killed in war, leaving her alone and heavily pregnant. Sigrid had happened upon her during a walk in town with Sif. She was attempting to steal fruit from a vendor when someone alerted the vendor to her thievery. The two women intervened and managed to prevent her from losing her hand. A few months later, she had given birth and begun working as her lady.

“She’s better, but I still worry. I only left for a few hours because she’s asleep and I know I’ve been scarce. I apologize-”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Agathe. Your child is sick. Any mother worth her salt would be beside herself.” She gave her a small smile. “Now I insist you take the night off as well.”

“Sigrid, I can’t leave you all alone,” Agathe protested. “Ingrid is off Odin knows where and your usual entourage is absent. I’m staying.”

“You’re going. Thor and Loki will be here soon and I’ll join them for the celebrations. I won’t be alone.” Agathe still looked unsure, so Sigrid let a hint of authority bleed into her voice. “I insisted but I’ll command if I have too.”

Agathe smiled ruefully. “Thank you, princess.”

Once Agathe was gone, Sigrid walked over to the balcony. It was tall enough for her to place her elbows on and lean over, surveying the scene below. Odin was at the head of the room, Frigga taking her usual place beside him. He addressed the room in his low tones, voice as regal as the first day she had met him so long ago. He was much older now, the age showing on his face and in his one good eye, yet the way in which he commanded respect never changed.

“… and I am pleased to welcome home my sons, Prince Thor, and Prince Loki.” The crowd erupted in cheers, practically beside themselves as the princes came down the aisle.

Thor came out bold, as always, cutting a striking figure in his red cape. He swung Mjolnir around like a toy, hyping up the crowd for his return. He truly did love the attention he got from the people, and they loved giving it to him. Thor Odinson was their light prince, who commanded thunder and lightning and always provided an entertaining show. And who didn’t love a show?

But to Sigrid, flashiness was not the be all. She much preferred the entrance of the younger prince. His stride was graceful at his brother’s side, waving at the crowd in gentle motions. His back was to her, but she assumed he was wearing his trademark smirk. Unlike his brother, he carried no weapon and his colours were mute save for the golden horns that sat atop his head. Loki loved his helm. Much thought and care had gone into the design, and Sigrid made sure to confer an equal amount of teasing upon seeing the finished product.

It was only when he took his place at the steps of the throne did, he turn so his face was visible. Sigrid propped her chin on steepled fingers as she took him in. It was true that he was not broad or as muscular as his brother or father, nor did he share their familiar fair hair. Instead, his was as black as night, curling at the ends when he let it get too long. His facial structure was all high cut cheek bones and sharp jawline as opposed to the more rugged face of Thor. Even his frame was different; slender, paired with long limbs and arguably the most elegant hands she had ever seen on a man.

The only resemblance she saw were the mannerisms between himself and his mother. The way he spoke, how he carried himself. The little smirk before a mischievous act. The way he waved his hands to cast his seidr instead of flicking his wrist like the long hand of clock. It all came together to make him truly unique.

“If you like staring at me so much I can always have a portrait made.”

Sigrid whirled around. Loki was standing before her, a little smirk playing on his lips as he took in her confusion. “What?” She turned towards to throne again, only to see that Loki was indeed standing there next to his brother as his father droned on. As if sensing her, his eyes slid up to hers to give a little wink. Sigrid let out a sigh. “You and these damned illusions.”

“And here I was thinking you’d be glad to see me,” Loki mocked hurt. “Would my princess prefer if I’d returned to the front of the crowd? Or maybe back to Alfheim for another month?”

Unbidden, Ingrid’s earlier words about Loki being ‘her prince’rang in her mind, dusting her cheeks in a light blush. Loki would often call her all sorts of endearments, particularly when teasing her, but she had never taken it to mean more until Ingrid had made that joke. “Don’t be dramatic. And sit down before someone sees you. Surely your mother will figure out it’s not actually you down there.”

Removing his helm, Loki took a seat on the couch. Sigrid slid next to him, tucking one leg under her body as she rotated in his direction. One of her arms rested on the back of the chair, bent at the elbow to prop her face. Loki settled deeper into the couch. His long legs were spread wide, allowing his left knee to touch her right.

“How was Alfheim?” she wanted to know. “Is it as picturesque as they say?”

“Even more so. I’ve read about the lands and seen pictures in books but seeing it in person was something else entirely.” Loki paused for a second, a brow lifted in thought. “Although, I’m not sure I could live there. There was something too calm about the way they operated. I quite like the chaos of Asgard’s inner rulings.”

“Well you would, seeing as you cause half of it.” She reached out to flick his ear. “And what about the people? I��ve heard the Light Elves are some of the most beautiful in all the nine realms. The women, especially.”

“Beautiful, yes, but the title of ‘most’ is already held by the princess of Vanaheim.” He tucked a stray curl away from her face as he usually did when her stubborn hair refused to stay in its binds. Compliments were not a thing the God of Mischief gave out on a regular basis, yet Sigrid received them in abundance. Just like all the times before, she brushed it off with a simple joke.

“There goes that silver tongue again. I’m sure you handled all the negotiations with the Queen whilst Thor stood there with his hammer all fetching.”

Loki laughed out loud. “He was rather prepossessing. A new girl at his door every day, and we know how our beloved Thor cannot turn down the affections of a simpering woman.” There was no hate in his his voice, nor did jealousy enter his tone. He and Thor had never shared the same taste in lovers, so this was not a point of contention for the brothers. They never had to worry about fighting over someone with whom they wished to share a bed.

“And what about you?” Sigrid inquired with a wiggle of her brows. “Surely one of the light elves met your standards, high as they may be. You are a very picky person.”

Loki turned the full force of his green-blue eyes on her. In all the time she had known him, Sigrid could never quite find a single word to encompass their colour. They jumped between the sea and a blade of grass with changes in light, and it was always a joy to see what shade they would take on at any given time. “There’s nothing wrong with knowing what you want. It’s kept me from getting involved with the wrong people.”

“That is a lie,” Sigrid wagged a finger at him. “All the lovers of your past have disliked me immensely. The only one that was not terrible was Fjor.”

“Ah, Fjor.” Loki let out a breath of air, eyes glossing over at the mention of the man. He had known Fjor before he had known Sigrid and harbored the most intense crush on the boy during his teen years. In the end it was Sigrid who pushed him to make a move by locking the two in the library during a party. “He was fun.”

“I liked him a lot. Tis a shame his father arranged that marriage to that advisor’s daughter. You loved each other so much.”

“Fjor and I were never going to last,” Loki told her with a shrug. “As gracious as my parents have been about my desirabilities, it is the unspoken truth that I will have to wed a woman for the sake of heirs.” He stopped then to give her a sudden look. “Of course, that day is not near. Thor would have to well be king and married before that trouble starts for me.”

Sigrid shook her head. “The day Thor gets held down by one woman will be a feat in itself.”

“I trust the good Lady Sif is already working on tha-”

Shouts rose from the crowd below. Perturbed, they both shared a look before scrambling to peer over the banister. The entire crowd was chattering away, some pointing at the throne whilst others covered their mouths. Thor was standing next to Loki’s illusion, staring at it with narrow eyes. Suddenly, he thrust his hand towards it, only for his large fist to go straight through the facsimile. “Brother? BROTHER!”

“Whoops!” Loki let out a nervous laugh. Both Thor and his father were peering through the crowd looking for him. His mother, calm as ever, just lifted her face to meet the two of them. There was a slight smirk on her lips, as though she had already known where he was. “It seems I’ve been found out.”

“You better get down there,” Sigrid told him. “And I want you to make it clear I had nothing to do with this.”

Loki gave no verbal response. He just picked up his helm, gave her a wink, and then disappeared in a flash of green.

Chapter 3

Taglist: @mischiefsarawr @howdidurhammergrowchris

@speedy-object

#loki fanfic #loki oc #loki smut #best friend to lovers #loki x original female character #marvelau #lokiau #thorau #loki x ofc #loki odinson #loki laufeyson

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kurimiaki · 3 years

Note

T, R, N and P with Diluc please?

the uncrowned king of mondstadt, diluc ragnvindr.

yandere alphabet via dear-yandere! revisions i made are flaky so. my bad wwwww

cw: dark content, physical abuse, kidnapping, confinement, claustrophobia, extremely unhealthy relationship.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Just because Diluc may be attending to business elsewhere, does not mean you are free from his heady grasp. Distant yet coddling; his attentiveness is a curse just as much as it can be a blessing. You’re never without security, that much is true. Dawn Winery is his eyes and ears, every single servant wrapped around his finger, wrapping around and constricting you. Self isolation could never be a possibility, not when Adelinde ushers you out of bed without a minute left to spare, always in such a hurry, as if wallowing in utter boredom for days on end is anything of importance. From the very beginning, Diluc had made it a point to ensure your physical health was a top priority to those surrounding you; strict itineraries have maids silently mourning over their packed workload. A plethora of duties— take you on brief walks outside the winery, never longer than 15 minutes, feed and serve meals delicately planned and catered to your health, eyes and ears constantly watching, watching, watching. They keep you like a dog on a leash, no matter how pampered. They do so dutifully. They must. Who could possibly decline such a hefty pay at the expense of silence?

It would be a blatant lie to say your physical health had declined any whilst under his... care, however, the same cannot be said for your mental well being. He can’t, despite how much he hates his inability to do so, prevent your tears. And by the archons, do you cry. Diluc is unable to approach you some days, those days when the illusion of normalcy and domestic living he works so hard to put up simply melts away, when you can do little more than curl in on yourself and wretch into your silk sheets with a litany of tears flush in your eyes. He wills himself to allow you the mercy of a few hours alone, albeit with check ups and that blatant discomfort of his when you wail at the slightest touch to your shoulder. Of course, it’s a different case entirely when such cries are symptom of punishment— whereas Diluc will weakly attempt to comfort you with softened eyes when you work yourself up, flaky and visibly uncomfortable, his resolution is unflinching and unwavering should you choose to act out of turn. Wail, sob, beg and beg for mercy, for forgiveness, his mask of nonchalance will stay firm.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

No. Diluc is understanding that the situation he has thrust you into may not be ideal, he anticipates a lack of reciprocation and overall resistance, but he feels absolutely no guilt. In his eyes, this is for the best, the world is much too cruel— who better than him to make that judgement for you? Even if you do prove yourself to be capable of taking care of yourself, (with Diluc himself to measure up to) this Darknight Hero will find every minute, minuscule little thing to prove you otherwise. Just about every one of your shortcomings Diluc will try and use to his advantage, to put himself in a better light. Who else is as capable as he is, who else can prove themselves worthy of your companionship, your devotion, in the ways that he has? The longer you stay in his grasp, not that the possibility of leaving will come otherwise, the more difficult it becomes to prove him wrong. He feeds you with the utmost care, keeps you healthy, entertains you should you need conversation or otherwise, and provides, provides, provides. There may be a lack of freedom on your end, but really, do you have much room to complain? Without him, you may very well be dead. He ensures that point is driven straight to your heart, however many times is necessary until you grow compliant.

His will and rationality is fully reasonable, in his mind, hence why his wishes to keep you by his side shall forever remain solid. Perhaps it is the idea of you keeping close to him that entraptures Diluc so entirely, for he is a distant admirer. He would be contented growing old and without your touch, merely sharing your company for as long as life allows. All the same, he wishes to swallow you whole, skin, blood, guts and tears, if only to keep you with him. It is selfish, but he tells himself that is something of which he is deserving. He must.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Diluc is nothing if not dedicated to his goals, a driven man in everything he sets his mind to. In order to maintain the position he thrives in, he is forever alert, forever adapting, prepared for any strenuous situation thrown his way. Should you push past a line you are never meant to cross, jab at him a tad too harshly, well... it’s not as if he gives no thought as to how to keep you in line. Rarely are you knowing enough of his inner workings to be able to push him past the point of no return, a point where even you, his dearest, are not spared from his wrath. Emphasis on rare, for he is wholly tolerant and gentle with you, to an extent. Any person has a breaking point, and Diluc, despite his detached disposition and stoic attitude, can only withstand so much. He bottles up so much to remain composed, after all. When he snaps, he is unable to hold himself back any longer.

He is not one to take pleasure from the suffering of others. Lest they truly deserve it, is what he’ll tell himself, to at the very least maintain the illusion of normalcy. Sway not from the path of righteousness, forget not the splendor of dawn. His mind is able to concoct the most horrific scenarios he could possibly put you through, for he does the same with his enemies. In a way, when you act out of turn, an instinctual part of him, cultivated after years spent at the whims of the dangerous and unknown, sees you as just that— an enemy. He doesn’t often choose the more unsavory methods to keeping you in line, ie: beating or threatening you with his vision, further keeping true to said threats should you continue. Diluc is wholly capable of restraining the urge to simply slap the snark off of your face (he had done so regardless, once or twice), and much prefers isolating you on his own terms, away from everyone and everything, even himself. It’s a small room, not even on par with that of your shared bedroom, much more similar to a closet or crawlspace.

A room, but a cage all the same. Splintered wood floors, dank cobblestone surrounds you and few cracks in the stone leaves room for bugs of all nature to crawl through, allows the elements to rain hell upon you should you end up locked up during the harsher months. A lone maid, not even Adelinde, the head, attends to you, sparing meek glances should you call out when she gently places a meal of one roll, a piece of meat, and a few shoddily cut slabs of potato. No begging and weeping and screaming you may do will soften Diluc into coming back for you- again, his resolve is akin to that of steel, his will forever unyielding. He decides when you are thoroughly broken in, and when it is time to hold you in kind, he shines through like that of The Darknight Hero the people proclaim him to be. In the end, what is necessary is that he shows you how much better off you are when with him. He’s much too possessive and to a point, coddling, to ever consider discarding you into the wild and at the whims of hilichurl camps and abyss mages alike.

His hold is firm and grounding. Had he always been able to hold you with such ease? Had he ever truly held you in kind, as he does now? He’s warm. A familiar, comforting scent of smoke and acidic wine fills your senses and him, oh, him. He had left you, left you alone, all alone, in that room, not even a room, all alone, and yet you can do little more than gag and writhe and latch onto him with pleas of his name whispered hoarsely— ‘Diluc, Diluc, Diluc’. A cry of your savior.

He can’t look at you, won’t look at you. Won’t give you the mercy, but he couldn’t be angry. Not anymore. He holds you tighter and so flush to himself, with a ferocity narly shown to anyone but you, not in kind, not with this passion. You smell of dust, a husk of yourself. Faintly of his sheets, faintly of iron, of vomit, of filth.

Fresh memories of your betrayal burn hot in his mind. He’s contradicting himself. He cannot relent. It comes out as a whisper, barely even heard to himself, and he curses his very soul the moment it passes his lips.

“Strive to do better. Lest you want your time there to increase tenfold.”

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

He can bear with defiance and unwillingness on your part, to an extent. He can anticipate as much, for he is not delusional enough to fool himself into thinking your relationship is even somewhat typical to that of a normal couple, no matter how much he wishes that to be the case. No, for the initial few weeks of your captivity (he’s always gotten so mad when you refer to him as such, a captor) Diluc allows you to lash and sob and attempt to reason with him, attempt to soften him, attempt to hurt him. He’ll allow you to do so, but he himself remains impenetrable, unblinking, almost uncaring. He is prepared for about anything and everything, always expecting the worse possibilities as to save himself from further harm. For you, as well, he is constantly anticipating and observing. In hidden, minute little ways. It may even come as a shame to him if the fact that he enforces the maids to note down your every little move ever reaches your ears.

All in all, Diluc’s complete preparation for anything and everything you may throw his way makes him extremely patient, for better or for worse. Difficult to crack, impenetrable, almost— on one hand, the distance he keeps from you to accommodate for your lack of reciprocation may come as a blessing, but it makes it all too difficult to try and pester him into letting you go, to try and understand his goals and motivations in keeping you locked right away. Your complacency is inevitable, sooner or later, Diluc will begin approaching and weaseling his way into your routine in the smallest of ways, gradually and unconsciously causing you to grow fonder of his presence. It’s a slow process, one he had planned from the very moment his wishes of a domestic life with you grew much too much to handle. He loves you completely, yearns for your love, and for it, he will wait as long as necessary.

Blazing red eyes leer down upon you, your shame increasing tenfold for each second that passes subjected to that gaze of his. A fit of expaseration, you will admit, had sent the cutlery dear Hillie had so delicately prepared flying off of the white tablecloth and onto the hardwood floors, further staining the expensive rugs with wines and crumbs and oils from his favorite meal, a concoction of pasta and steak and cheese. He had prepared yours alongside with it, striking tonight as a tad more special than the rest. You didn’t blame yourself for what you did, not when he had proposed something as outlandish as marriage.

He keeps silent, leaning back in his seat, his throne, as if he were a king observing a mere peasant begging for mercy— quite frankly, you should be. But perhaps tonight he will be more lenient, you ponder, averting your gaze to the flickering embers sparking from the fireplace beside you.

He sighs, suddenly, worn and thoroughly put out by your antics, further embarrassing you by his facade of nonchalance. No, you could tell from the way his leather gloves creaked from gripping himself too hard, he was barely concealing his own anger.

“You hardly let me finish my scentence. Come, we’ll continue this conversation upstairs.”

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witchyweasley · 3 years

Text

Product Testing- George Weasley

Pairing: George Weasley x fem!reader

Summary: George and his girlfriend have fun in the shop after hours.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: smut, 18+ themes, light bondage, daddy kink, dirty talk, squirting

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Fred, go ahead and leave! We are capable of locking up the store!” I said, pushing Fred towards the door.

“But what about-,” he started.

“We can do it. What we can’t do is save you from the wrath of your hot girlfriend if you’re late to another date,” I said.

“She’s right, you should get going before Angelina puts you out on the couch again,” George laughed.

“Fine, fine! I’m going!” Fred said, grabbing his jacket and finally heading out the door. We watched as he turned the corner, before continuing with our closing duties.

As I was on a ladder, dusting a high shelf and reorganizing products, the curtains on the windows in front were drawn in quickly. I looked and saw George had his wand out and had drawn them shut.

“What are you doing? We don’t normally do that until we have to leave?” I asked.

“Come down here,” he said sternly. I furrowed my eyebrows and descended from the top of the ladder.

“What’s up?” I asked. Instead of answering, George grabbed my face and crashed his lips hungrily onto mine. Moaning slightly into the kiss, I kissed back with the same ferocity. His hands trailed down to my waist massaging my hips before sliding a hand underneath my skirt to hold my hip. He bunched up the skirt and stepped back, looking to see what I was wearing underneath.

“You wore my favorite pair of underwear and expected me to not fuck you senseless?” He laughed, snapping the silky fabric against my hip.

“I forgot I was wearing them,” I admitted.

“Well I didn’t, every time you got up on that ladder or bent over to pick up something I had to restrain myself,” he growled, kissing me again.

“Who says you have to restrain yourself now?” I teased.

“Exactly,” he said, his large hands grabbing my ass and pulling me into another heated kiss. I moaned into the kiss, snaking my hands up his neck to tug lightly at his ginger hair.

“In fact, I was hoping we could try out a new product,” he said as I kissed down his neck, my fingers working at the buttons on his shirt.

“George, we already know the love potions won’t work on me,” I said.

“No, these are um, new products. Adult products if you will,” he smirked.

“Oh, what are they?” I asked.

“Well, how do you feel about being tied up?” George said.

“I’m interested,” I said.

“So we got these ties that will attach to anything, so people could be restrained without needing specific bed posts or something like that,” George said, heading to the back to find the tester.

“Let’s test them out,” I said, sitting on the counter. George held out two of the red ribbons for me.

“Put these on your wrists” he said. As I slid them onto my wrist, George slipped the other two onto my ankles. Once the ties were on me, I started unbuttoning my shirt, shrugging it off my shoulders. Sliding my skirt down along with it. George just watched me with his mouth gaping open.

“What? I don’t trust you to not rip up another uniform and I’m tired of buying new ones,” I said.

“I’m not complaining. Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he said softly, standing between my legs and pressing a soft kiss to my lips. “Remember the safe word?”

“Pluto,” I said, confirming the word.

“Now let’s see how well these things work,” George said, stepping back. He aimed his wand at my left hand and muttered a spell, suddenly sending my arm back towards the edge of the counter, my right hand soon following it. He then muttered the spell while pointing at my ankles, sending the ribbons down to the floor and spreading my legs open.

“How’s that?” he asked. I tugged against the ribbon to test its strength. It didn’t move, but it had enough give so that it didn’t hurt me.

“Pretty good,” I said.

“Fuck, you look so beautiful, all tied up like this,” George breathed out, his hands tracing the length of my thighs. He pressed a harsh kiss to my lips, massaging the outside of my thighs.

His hands moved from the outside of my thighs to my inner thighs, dangerously close to my dripping pussy. My hips moved upwards, trying to find contact where I wanted it.

“Patience baby,” George said, moved his hands back down towards my knees.

“Please, Georgie,” I moaned.

“That’s not my name,” he whispered into my ear before lightly tugging it with his teeth. It’s not often that he enters a more dominant space, but when he does he goes all out.

“Please… daddy,” I moaned out.

“What do you want, baby?” He asked.

“You,” I sighed.

“You’ve got me already. What do you want me to do?” He asked.

“Touch me, daddy,” I begged, looking up at him. He smirked and brought his hands back to my inner thighs. His thumb pressing against my clit gently before rubbing slow circles around it. His other hand reached up to cup my breast, his thumb rubbing over my hardening nipple.

His hands then moved my underwear to the side, rubbing his fingers in my wetness.

“Hmmm, who’s got you so wet baby?” George smirked.

“You, you do daddy,” I moaned as he brushed over my clit again.

“Is it good when I touch you here?” George said, brushing my clit again.

“Fuck yes,” I moaned out, trying to buck my hips up to meet his hand.

“Ah ah ah, stop moving like that. I’m in charge here,” George said, pulling his hands away.

“I’m sorry daddy,” I said, hoping he would return his hands.

“Just don’t let it happen again,” George said, moving to stand behind me. He pressed soft kisses along the back of my neck, slowly pinching and pulling at my hardened nipples. My breathing deepened as one hand slid back down to my soaking core, gathering some of the wetness before slipping one finger into my pussy.

“Oh thank you daddy,” I moaned out as he pumped his finger into me.

“Such a good girl for me,” George whispered into my ear, his hot breath leaving shivers down my spine. He slid in another finger, stretching me as his other hand came down to rub my clit.

As soon as I involuntarily bucked my hips, George’s hands were off of me and I was begging for him to put them back.

“Please! Please daddy! I was so close,” I whined.

“Too bad darling, I told you not to move like that again and you did anyways. I’m not sure if you should be allowed to cum,” George said, walking back to my front.

“Please please please daddy, I’ll be a good girl,” I begged.

“I don’t know, Maybe I should leave you like this, that way anyone who wanted to use you could have a go with you. Would you like that?” George smirked, playing with the ribbon of the restraints on my wrists.

I couldn’t even form an answer as I watched George take his long, hard cock out from his trousers, stroking it. I just moaned in response, desperately wanting him to fuck me into the counter.

“Hmm, would you like that? Being a good little slut for the store? Letting people eat your delicious pussy and suck on those gorgeous tits,” George said, rubbing his cock against my slit. “Or even fucking your tight little pussy?”

I moaned out as he slowly slid into me, watching his cock disappear in me.

“Oh fuck daddy, you’re so big,” I moaned out.

“And you’re taking me so well, such a good little slut for daddy,” he said, grabbing my neck and pulling me in for a harsh kiss. He didn’t put pressure on my neck, but the action alone was enough to edge me dangerously close to the edge.

“Daddy please, I’m close,” I moaned.

“Already? I’ve barely done anything,” he teased.

“Please daddy, can I cum?” I begged, tears in my eyes from holding back.

“Cum on daddy’s cock baby girl,” he growled, slamming his hips into me. I cried out as I came, my legs shaking against the restraints. George didn’t stop though, he continued pounding into me. Grunting as he fucked me the hardest he ever has, bringing his hand to rub my already overly sensitive clit.

“Come on, I know you can do more than that,” he grunted, making me see stars.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!” I cried out, trying to move my hips away as I had the most intense orgasm of my life.

“Holy shit,” George said, coming down from his own high. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Do what?” I asked breathlessly, trying to calm my shaking legs.

“Baby, you just squirted,” George said in awe. Before I could respond, George’s mouth was attached to my incredibly sensitive pussy, licking up whatever juices he could. He then kissed up my body, pressing a harsh kiss to my lips as I tasted myself in him.

“I...Well, wow,” I breathed out, “I think it’s safe to say this product is safe.”

#smut #harry potter smut #george weasley x reader smut #george weasley x reader #george weasley smut #weasley smut #weasley twin #george weasley #george weasley blurb #harry potter requests

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deaththesyd · 3 years

Text

To The Brink Of Confession: Chapter 2, Fester

A bit shorter, but there's gotta be a build-up, right?

@mytanuki-kun

Summary: The feelings of worry, frustration, and hurt fester.

Deflecting onto Hidan only worked for a short while after their conversation. Despite what Hidan seemed to think, she had been aware that her feelings were somewhat reciprocated, at least until recently. Kisame was always so friendly, and dare she say sweet with her that it was hard for her to ignore the inkling that he was interested. It was all so circumstantial though, that it was hard to find any clear moments she could point to. Bumping into her, always steadying her with a chuckling apology, saying he just never saw her. Always finding that he was in close enough quarters to brush against her gently, something that with any other would have made her uncomfortable. Taking care of her, constantly looking out for her, making sure she ate enough, rested, offering his large cloak whenever she was cold, even though it was so large on her that it dragged on the ground. These were all things that made her heart flutter with hope, yet could all be brushed off as just him being friendly and feeling responsible for her since she wasn’t a shinobi.

Confidence was something she actively had to work at. Showing her affections came naturally, she had never had any trouble being forward with her feelings, but allowing herself to pursue perceived affection from others was so much riskier than giving a compliment or saying she appreciated someone's company. Risking looking arrogant and self-important made her doubt what she so wanted to believe were the signs that he was as greedy as her. Months of questioning his actions had led up to her deciding to say something, to confess, but before she could he was gone. It hurt that their banter was missing from her days, his sharp grin now only visible when she walked in on a conversation he was having with someone else. No longer was he close enough to accidentally nudge her in the kitchen, nor did he sit on the couch next to her taking up more room than he needed, pressing a muscled thigh against her soft one, arm lazily slung over the backrest behind her. It was clear on his face when she tried to talk that he was uncomfortable, and he practically ran away when he could. All the built-up confidence was toppled over by his very clear avoidance of her.

It hurt. More than she would have expected. Even if she had managed to work up the courage to say something and he turned her down, she would have been fine with that. As long as he could still be her friend, someone she didn’t feel guilty relying on, who always had her stomach aching with the laughter he tore from her. His possible rejection was something she had been preparing for, but his complete absence was unaccounted for.

Following Hidan and Kakuzu for the remainder of her stay had left her plenty of time to think in between mediating the two violent criminals, and when she had been returned back to her home she was left alone to think even more. The doubt that he had ever had any feelings for her grew, and eventually turned to fear that she had been projecting onto him while he was merely tolerating her antics. Maybe he had simply been, making the best of his situation by trying to find entertainment with her, but she just wasn’t enough. That thought stung hard and she tried to force herself to focus on other things. Work, family, friends, hobbies, distracted her for a while, but it was always in the back of her mind. ‘What did I do?’

Weeks of him taking up her time and worry eventually turned her hurt into frustration. ‘He’s a grown man, why’s he avoiding me like a child?’ She mentally huffed. Resentment was bubbling under the surface, making her snippy at work, short-tempered with her friends. As mad as she was becoming with him, there was still the ache of loss that she tried to bury under her rising fury. The days passed quickly, yet they dragged so slowly as the date of the Akatsuki’s return approached. Prepping for their arrival was a routine and distracting task which she greatly appreciated yet dreaded as it meant the reason she felt so distressed was closer to coming face to face with her again. ‘That's if he even lets me see him,’ she thought bitterly.

Itachi hadn’t taken long at all to notice the change in his mood. Presuming that Kisame was simply disoriented with the sudden change in environment was proven wrong as the dark and prodding humor of his partner morphed into something that seemed fueled by pessimism instead of the usual attempt to make his straight-faced counterpart smile. The reason wasn’t exactly clear, but he had a guess as to why the normal hunger for violence had doubled seemingly overnight. He was torturing himself.

Romantic feelings were prohibited by his own past and his future plans; Itachi had no space and no desire for complicated emotions like those that swarmed his tall, blue, friend. His inability to relate didn’t mean he didn’t care. Dulled as the world was to him now, he had always been a sensitive person, someone who couldn’t help but take the burden of others so as to lessen their strain in life, and Kisame’s burdens were impacting him already as they seemed to leave every battlefield scattered with shredded fleshy lumps that almost resembled bodies. Allowing the bottled-up angst to fester would only cause the lid to burst off with force, he trusted Kisame in the middle of a fight, but outside of tearing flesh and covering his partner back, he was less predictable. To Itachi, it was becoming clear that the extra aggression was his way of compensating for the lack of freedom he allowed when interacting with her. It would have been humorous if it wasn’t pitiful to see the clear hurt his actions caused her. For someone who had made it clear he would tear limb from limb anyone who did her wrong, he was ironically treading down the path of having to kick his own ass.

Stepping in had seemed the correct decision, yet all he was met with was denial and deflection. It was clear that the topic was undiscussable for the time being, and was unlikely to be resolved simply by Itachi’s intervention. As the day of their return to her residence was growing nearer, Kisame’s ferocity intensified, and Itachi’s patience with his partner’s lack of communication began to wear thin.

#kisame #itachi #kisame x reader #Changed the name cause I hated it

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sleepy-sunlight · 4 years

Note

Hey have you been busy or have you not been getting many requests? I miss your writing! If you have the time could you write something where the inquisitor has a child (around 5 years old) and the child stays with Cullen and the others at Skyhold whenever the Inquisitor is away? Thanks, I hope you've been doing well 💞💞

I’m a mix of busy and living for the next time I sleep so it’s been a bit messy life-wise but I’m trying to start things back up! Ideally, I’m trying to set up a Monday-Wednesday-Friday schedule where I post a prompt on one of my three blogs each day because I should be totally free during those days!

Anyways, thank you for your patience, and have a fantastic day!

———————————————————————————————————–

Cullen grew up the second oldest of four. Most of his early childhood was spent parceling out responsibilities for watching over Branson and Rosalie with Mia.

Branson was the epitome of what his mother had liked to call a ‘wild child’. He’d climb up to the tallest trees in Honnleath and when he found himself too high to properly come back down his solution was to swing from the branches until they broke. One could only guess how well that turned out.

Rosalie on the other hand was a fan of collecting every insect or small animal that crossed her way. Cullen could still remember the yelps his mother would try to hide at the sight of Rosalie holding a long, winding centipede in her palms. The worst was a feral fox cub that’d subsequently became loose in the house. That’d been an eventful evening.

Neither sibling was ‘ideal’, but he supposed even he had his own faults.

Nevertheless, it made Cullen oddly ideal with children. For all his military abilities and fighting talent, most were astonished at how in the snap of one’s fingers, Cullen could stop even the worst wailing from a child. Josephine once said she’d “pay him double his Inquisition salary to babysit her siblings.”

Cullen had responded with “what salary?”

Considering money was Josephine’s department, the subject was swiftly dropped.

However, that didn’t take away from the actual babysitting Cullen found himself in.

Very few, after all, expected the Inquisitor to have a child.

Your child’s name was Olivia – just five years old and more of a firecracker than you were. Her hair was often in braids, so for all her running and scrambling about, she wouldn’t get caught on anything. For her birthday Varric had given her a little yellow ribbon, and she’d wear it to sleep if you didn’t insist otherwise.

She was a troublesome little thing, but she was one of the few bright things in your world, and you clearly treasured her. She’d race to you as fast as her legs could carry her when you’d return to Skyhold and every time you’d scoop her up in your arms and swing her until you both were left dizzy and stumbling throughout the courtyard. No matter where you went you always came back with something for her, and whether a fanciful toy or simply a flower, Olivia adored it.

She even had a secret hiding place for all the presents you brought her. She’d shown Cullen one evening and despite knowing just about every detail of the gifts, he’d still ask like it was the first time he’d ever laid eyes on them.

Curiously enough, Olivia had a fondness for the Commander. Often times when you and Cullen would take walks along the barracks Olivia would follow behind, holding loosely onto the end of his shroud. She liked it especially when each of you would hold one of her hands and swing her back and forth. It was… domestic in a sense. Far more than Cullen ever expected for himself.

He’d hardly even expected to meet someone like you – so full of life and passion for all that you did. You were a breath of fresh air in the coldness he’d so well known. Cullen hoped Olivia hadn’t noticed how he stared but she was nosy – she took that from you.

She’d been given plenty of opportunities to be nosy since you’d left, asking Cullen specifically to watch over her.

“I won’t be long,” You’d told him the evening before you left. “But there are reports of red templars making advancements towards a village and I-”

“I know,” Cullen hesitated but set a hand on your shoulder. He didn’t know if his smiles helped you at all, but he offered one anyway. “You don’t need to explain. I’ll help however I can, including taking care of Olivia.”

You let out a sigh of relief and laughed. “Thank you I-” You couldn’t figure the words and so instead hugged him, winding your arms around his neck. “You’re the best.”

He was left stunned for a moment. It wasn’t like he’d experienced much affection in his life once he’d left for the Templar order – so much as a hug was almost foreign to him. However hesitantly, he managed to return the gesture. His hovering hands shifting to hold you tight.

He forgot how much he missed such a simple thing as a hug.

You left shortly thereafter both of you a little sheepish but warmhearted, nonetheless. Olivia followed you to Skyhold’s gates, holding your hand but still stumbling to keep up despite her best efforts. When you knelt to meet her, she nearly ran right into you, only caught by your grip shifting to her shoulders.

“Woah there, soldier!” You laughed softly. “You know you can’t come with me.”

Olivia immediately began to pout. “But I’ll be good! I promise!”

“It’s not a matter of being good, it’s dangerous.” You smiled warmly, squeezing her shoulders. “Even for the toughest kid around! You got to stay here, keep everyone safe.”

Before Olivia could object you spoke once more, lowering your voice to a whisper. “In fact, I’ve got a super-secret mission for you. I need you to personally look after Commander Cullen – keep him out of trouble.”

Olivia shot a quick glance to Cullen who stood a little way off, pretending to look at a set of reports.

“Okay! I know you like him!”

Cullen had to work very hard not to look up and see your expression in that moment. But he supposed he wouldn’t want you to see how red he’d become either. At the very least, he heard a gasp.

“I-It’s ah – it’s our little secret though! Don’t forget, okay?”

Olivia nodded. “I won’t!”

“Promise?”

Olivia huffed. “I promise!”

You chuckled. “Alright, alright. I love you, Olivia.”

Cullen looked up to see Olivia jump up to hug you, burying her head in the crook of your neck and failing to hide the tiniest sniffle. She always hated seeing you go.

“I love you too.”

With a wave of your hand, you and the rest of your team left. Olivia refused to budge an inch before you disappeared beyond sight. Even then she only moved a few steps forward, perhaps in hopes to catch one last glimpse of you.

“Miss them already, do you?” Cullen approached the child steadily, making his heavy boots clearly known to not startle her. He even spoke quietly.

Olivia gave a meek nod, wiping at her eyes quickly.

Cullen pretended not to see – if she was anything like you it’d only make her more embarrassed.

“I miss them too.” Cullen said. “But while they’re gone… would you want to sneak a few extra treats from the kitchen? I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Olivia perked up just a tad. Cullen offered his hand that practically swallowed Olivia’s when she accepted it. But she smiled.

“Okay.”

She hid an entire extra loaf of cinnamon bread in Cullen’s shroud. It was awful, thinking of the sugar and sticky cinnamon that was sure to attract insects of all sort, but worth it. She giggled the whole time, and still considered it an ‘extreme scheme’ even though no one cared and at least three kitchen-maids watched them the entire time – pretending to hide little Olivia from everyone else.

She didn’t even bother to have the bread cut into slices, sitting in his office breaking it apart in chunks and pieces.

“I can cut it if you want, you know.” Cullen told her, his brows furrowed.

“No, I like it this way. It’s a surprise every time!” Olivia raised her head to the Commander, swinging her legs in the seat across his desk. “Do you want some? I’ll share, but you can’t tell Varric! He’ll get jealous.”

“Why would he-” Cullen immediately remembered Varric’s proud title as Olivia’s ‘partner in crime’ and found the answer for himself.

Admittedly Cullen would’ve said no. He never had much of a sweet tooth. However, Olivia clearly wanted to give him a piece and already had two corners of the bread pinched between her fingers to give him. It was just something a person couldn’t say no to.

“I’d love a piece.”

It was just as sugary and sappy as he’d imagined.

“Oi, metal britches!”

The yelling came a few hours later, when evening started to paint the sky overhead and the sun dripped in through his windows. It didn’t take a genius to recognize Sera.

She nearly kicked the door in, and as if that wasn’t enough, slammed her firsts against his desk with enough ferocity to shake the very earth. The mischievous glint in her eyes was anything but good.

“As appealing as the name ‘metal britches’ is, could we try another name next time?” Cullen frowned. “Perhaps my real one?”

“Nah, I like this one better. Listen, I’ve got this great idea for an ambush on this Orlesian snobs – and I know you hate Orlesians just as much so I was thinking I could get your head of your ar-”

Cullen nearly jumped out of his seat trying to stop Sera. “Reserve the language for when children aren’t around?”

“Wha-” Sera wrinkled her nose only to twist her head and see little Olivia, watching Sera with the utmost awe. Olivia happened to look up to Sera with her ‘fun-loving’ pranks. It brought comfort when you were gone. “Oh! Pipsqueak! I was wondering where you’d run off to!”

She peered over to see the last bits of the cinnamon bread. “Mind if I swipe a piece?”

“Mm!” Olivia eagerly gave Sera the rest. Of all the people Sera loved to torment, Olivia was never one of them. If anything, she had a soft spot for the child.

“Oh no that ain’t necessary but you’re a sweet thing for offering.” Sera leaned in to Olivia, pretending to whisper, but only brought her voice louder for Cullen to clearly hear. “See, I was trying to get Mr. Boring over here to have some fun for once, but I don’t think he’s gonna budge.”

“Cullen!” Olivia exclaimed, puffing out her cheeks.

Sera stopped her further protests. “I know, what a bore! But I’m thinking if he won’t have some fun – why don’t we?”

“Now Sera-” Cullen rose from his seat. “The Inquisitor asked me specifically to look after Olivia while they were gone-”

“We’re not going to Halamshiraal get your knickers out of a twist!” Sera snorted. “I’ll bring her back in one piece, but a kid can’t sit around all day!”

“I…”

Olivia was gripping excitedly at the edge of her seat, and if her toes could reach the floor they would’ve been tapping too. Anyone could see she desperately wanted to spend time with the ‘fun rogue’. Cullen could be fun too – it just didn’t include putting buckets of water over their ambassador’s door. Less dangerous fun.

“Nothing reckless,” Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose. “If I see so much as a scratch on Olivia, I’ll have your quarters repurposed to a storage closet.”

“If I get a hair on the squirt’s head out of place, I’ll banish myself, does that make you feel better? I won’t get in the way of your crush on the boss.”

“I do not-”

Sera and Olivia were already gone before he could even finish, giggling as the elf lifted the girl onto her shoulders and scrambled out. It was almost fascinating how quickly he could come to regret a decision.

They were gone for a few hours, when night arrived and a chill soaked into the floor Cullen began to pace, anxious and ready to go searching top to bottom for Olivia.

He only made it to the grand hall when he found the two of them. Sera, snoring with her head fallen back in her ornate seat with Olivia, sleeping sound in Sera’s lap. A blanket was slipped over the two of them, and just a few feet away in another chair was Varric, watching the fireplace crackle.

“Don’t you worry Curly, I kept them distracted.” Varric laughed and took a sip of his wine. “You’d be surprised how much Buttercup loves a good story.”

Cullen let out a sigh of relief as he made his way to Olivia. She was clutching onto to Sera and her head was laid lazily on her stomach, a slow rise and fall lifting her up and down. She looked so comfortable; it was almost hard to wake her up.

“Was she a handful?” Cullen asked.

“Olivia or Buttercup?”

“Either one.” Cullen scoffed.

“Buttercup is a given, but Olivia is always a pleasure. It’s nice to have someone actually enjoy my rough drafts – they’re just what put Sera to sleep.” Varric laughed to himself. “Everyone’s a critic.”

“I’m surprised the Inquisitor didn’t take you with them,” Cullen remarked. “Dorian, Blackwall, and you are typically their regular party.”

Varric simpered. “As old as Blackwall looks, I’m older – and you’ve got to give the elderly a break.”

“You can’t be beyond your late thirties.”

Varric raised a glass amusedly. “Or maybe I just age that good. Either way, mentally, I’m in my sixties. I like to have the occasional night in!”

“Does that mean Olivia could call you ‘grandfather’?”

“Don’t you dare put that idea in her head Curly.”

Cullen turned his attention back to Olivia with a laugh. He gently scooped her up in his arms, and Sera only mildly objected in the form of halfhearted tugs at his gauntlets. The second Olivia felt the fur of his cloak she sank against it; even attempting to wrap herself up like a blanket.

“Thank you for watching over her, Varric – even if only for a short time.”

The dwarf shook his head. “No trouble. You just make sure that one gets some shut-eye.”

Cullen took Olivia to your quarters – It had a grand enough bed that you shared with your parent when they were here anyhow. The few times Cullen had entered early, Olivia would be snuggled up among the silk sheets like a burrowed rabbit. She’d never get out if you didn’t make her.

He pulled back the blankets and set her down gently. The second she recognized just where she was, Olivia grappled at the sheets and pull them up to her chin – even her cheeks were smothered against her pillow.

Cullen would’ve left to return to his own room when Olivia reached out for his hand and ruined that plan.

“Can you stay, Mr. Rutherford?”

She only used that name when she wanted something out of him. It worked every time.

Cullen paused briefly, relenting as he sat down at the foot of the bed. “Of course, Olivia.”

“Can I ask you something?” She mumbled, eyes only a tiny bit open and words slurring.

He smiled softly. “Of course.”

“Do you… do you like them?” She clearly peeked one eye open at this point. Olivia was far from subtle.

“Like who?”

“You know… my… parent…” Olivia sat up, rubbing at her face groggily but far too curious to sleep just yet.

Cullen’s heart jumped into his throat. He swallowed hard, and even then, his chest heaved like a drum. “Why ah – why would you ask that?”

“I see how you stare – and how they stare. And I…” Olivia brought her knees up to her chin. “I want you to be a part of our family.”

The rapid beating of Cullen’s heart stopped, his fidgeting fingers stopped, and his panicking brain stopped. All that remained was a warmth, gentle, and protective like a lantern in a dark night. It never felt so easy to say exactly what he meant.

“I think I’d like that too. But I’ll have to be a bit braver before I can tell them.”

Olivia saw his faint, nervous smile and leaned over so that she drooped over his shoulder. She did her best to drape a bit of the blanket over him but even at her best, she only managed to cover his knee. A valiant effort.

“I’ll cheer for you then,” Olivia yawned. “so, you can get brave. Would that help?”

Olivia truly was just like you. Maybe that was why he found himself adoring her just so much. You were always so encouraging and supportive – even at your worst, you found a way to brighten someone else’s day. You passed the kindness in your heart down to Olivia, and it showed.

Perhaps when you returned Cullen would finally tell you all the things that’d be brimming inside of him. How he cared for you like he’d never known before and wanted nothing more than to simply do the same for you. For the first time, he felt like he could.

“I think it already is.”

Cullen would’ve thought Olivia already fallen fast asleep were it not for the little grin spread across her face.

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scoutsbattlecats · 3 years

Text

Toothcrag

Thunderclan Medicine Cat

Huge dark brown tabby tom with two protruding snaggleteeth that alter his speech

Mother: Willowbird

Father: Brutalclaw

Siblings: Couragefang, Whitefire

Mentor: Pigeonfluff

Apprentice (unofficial): Burntkit/Burntpaw

—————————

When Brutalclaw, a senior Thunderclan warrior known for his ferocity in battle entered the nursery to meet his first litter by his mate Willowbird, he was overjoyed the see that one of his kits was his exact likeness - a huge dark tabby tom, an appearance that Starclan would grant any Thunderclan kit destined to be the fiercest, most formidable warriors in all the clans. He gave the newborn kit the name “Fiercekit”, and held great expectations for the newborn, having to be prodded to name his other two kits: Couragekit, the gray tabby tom, and Whitekit - the solid white she-cat, who Brutalclaw had nothing but doubts about.

It quickly became apparent, however, that Fiercekit wasn’t quite what his father, and the rest of the clan, had been expecting. While his siblings spoke only about wanting to become warriors and fight for their clans, Fiercekit preferred to spend time with the elders listening to stories, lying outside the nursery sunbathing, and more than anything else, spending time with the jolly old medicine cat Pigeonfluff.

When Fiercekit’s teeth began to come in, and he began to speak, they came in crooked, and his misshapen jaw caused a speech impediment. His father, who had been losing faith in his largest son, felt a spark of optimism as the kit’s teeth made him look even more wild and fearsome, as long, he thought, as he wouldn’t speak to his enemies.

Once he reached four moons old, however, Brutalclaw’s wishes for Fiercekit were finally put to rest. Overhearing a conversation between the litter, Brutalclaw heard Couragekit and Whitekit discussing how they’d shred a Windclan warrior, and Fiercekit speak up on protest, saying that he’d rather talk it out and that he thought it’d be better if they could just be friends.

Having lost his patience, an enraged Brutalclaw went straight to Stonystar, informing him that the kit would be referred to as “Toothkit”, as there wasn’t a hint of ferocity in his blood, and that he would never be a warrior. Leaving before the leader could say anything, he went right over to his kits to inform Toothkit.

When told he would never be a warrior, furthering Brutalclaw’s rage, Toothkit responded with excitement and joy. While Couragekit and Whitekit stared at him with disdain, and Brutalclaw looked about ready to kill his son, Toothkit ran off in excitement to tell Pigeonfluff, who was equally giddy about the prospect of him as his apprentice. It is thought that him running off what was saved his life from his father that day, as well as a scolding from Willowbird, who always loved her gentle son.

At six moons, Toothkit became Toothpaw, the apprentice of Pigeonfluff. He was a very skilled medicine cat from the beginning, as he’d begun learning as a kit. Toothpaw and Pigeonfluff had perfectly complimentary personalities that helped him succeed as an apprentice.

Like Pigeonfluff, Toothpaw was eager to befriend all the other medicine cats, and looked forwards to every half moon gathering. He instantly liked Duckpaw, the apprentice of Frostberry, although the Riverclan cat seemed shy and unenthusiastic at every meeting. As far as Toothpaw was concerned, they were still good friends.

After being apprenticed, he grew apart from his family (save for Willowbird), with his father and littermates ignoring him to the best of their ability. Toothpaw never minded or even noticed, always remaining good-natured and friendly, despite their hostility.

During Toothpaw’s apprenticeship, he assisted in the birth of a kit that would turn out to be important in his life: Burntkit. The tiny tortoiseshell was born angry, it seemed, and as soon as she spoke it was apparent to the tabby tom that she had a very strange sense of humor - seemingly insulting both him and Pigeonfluff at every opportunity.

Burntkit was entering the medicine den to give orders from the moment she could leave the nursery, and both Pigeonfluff and Toothpaw found this incredibly amusing, frequently teasing the runty kit, despite her rage. This unfortunately led to Burntkit contracting a bad case of greencough during an outbreak, which should have killed her, but during a strange dream in which Toothpaw was visited by former Riverclan medicine cat Tansybloom, the apprentice was informed that the kit could not die now, as she had been put back in the clans for a reason.

After the outbreak, Pigeonfluff decided it was time to make his apprentice a full medicine cat. Toothpaw became Toothcrag, as his teeth resembled crags of rock jutting from the roof and ground of a cave. Toothcrag was intensely proud, and so was Willowbird, though his siblings and father remained cold.

Shortly after, Toothcrag’s friend, Duckpaw, the cranky Riverclan medicine cat apprentice, and a young Windclan she-cat named Rabbitsong, betrothed to the newly named deputy and very recent warrior (his father, the leader, broke the code and named him deputy the same day he became a warrior) Glintfang, were believed to be killed by foxes at a gathering. Windclan’s leadership decided to go to war against all foxes, with Glintfang becoming more and more obsessed as Leaffall turned to Leafbare.

Ramstar, the leader of Windclan, was found dead under mysterious circumstances one night, and Glintstar became the youngest clan leader in known history. When he became leader, the war against foxes turned into a war against both Shadow- and Thunderclan, which ultimately resulted in both clans being forced to leave the lake territories.

During the journey to the famed sun-drown place, Toothcrag, Pigeonfluff, and Burntpaw acted as medicine cats. The journey was hard, and many cats died, including old and weakened Pigeonfluff. Toothcrag deeply mourned his beloved mentor, who had become more of a father figure to him than Brutalclaw ever had been, but he knew he had to stay strong for his clans.

Thunderclan eventually reached their beach territory and set up camp, though the resident cats’ culture of not keeping territories frequently caused conflict with the clan cats. Not that that matters to Toothcrag, who is mostly concerned with the lack of familiar herbs in their new territory. He and Burntpaw spend most of their time hunting for familiar plants, in hopes of finding them things that work.

Starclan still visits with Toothcrag in his dreams, despite there being no moonpool or half moon gathering due to the clans having broken apart. One night, he is visited by Tansybloom, Pigeonfluff, and an unfamiliar black tom - later revealed to be Steadyheart, the littermate of Merlelight, the famously long-lived former Riverclan medicine cat.

The three Starclan cats inform Toothcrag that they will not allow him to name Burntpaw a full medicine cat, as it would go against their plans for her. Toothcrag protests, as he was very fond of Burntpaw and knew she’d be heartbroken by the decision. When he tries to explain the situation to Burntpaw, she ignores him, saying that Starclan will change their minds. All Toothcrag can do is wish that she can find peace with the decision, no matter what that ends up looking like.

Personality: Toothcrag looks fierce and intimidating, but he’s a lovable gentle giant. Laid-back, calm, and good-humored, it was apparent from his kithood that he would never hurt a fly. He was always polite with the elders, thoroughly enjoying their stories, and intensely curious about Pigeonfluff’s work, often trailing the gray and white cat around all day. His father often saw him as unintelligent and described him as such, but truthfully Toothcrag became a very bright, skilled medicine cat and was always a quick learner, especially under his beloved mentor Pigeonfluff. Toothcrag has an appreciation for all living things, especially young animals, and has never met a cat he didn’t want to call friend. Toothcrag is often socially oblivious, possibly due to his extremely confident and calm personality. He has a loving heart, and the death of Pigeonfluff was the first time he felt genuinely hurt and lost his happy-go-lucky attitude, though it soon returned.

#profiles #Toothcrag #I haven’t done one of these in a while and I wanted to do this big fuzzy idiot #I love him

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heauxplesslydevoted · 4 years

Text

Miami Nights (Ethan x MC)

Warning: 18+, NSFW.

Summary: While in Miami to celebrate their upcoming wedding, Ethan and Naomi sneak away from the festivities to have their own celebration.

A/N: Like all of my NSFW fics, this was 100% self indulgent and written with only me in mind.

Tags: @fanmantrashcan @ao719 @x-kyne-x @colourmeshy @writinghereandthere @paulfwesley @ramseyandrys @perriewinklenerdie @aworldoffandoms @thatcatlady0716 @drakewalker04 @canknot @hatescapsicum @lapisreviewsstuff @senseofduties @badchoicesposts @ethandaddyramsey @the-soot-sprite @chasingrobbie @zodiacsign1 @choices-lurker @miyakokurono @trappedinfandoms @my-heart-beats-for-ya @adrian-motherfucking-raines @riverrune @edith-eggs1 @thatysn @bellcat2010 @theeccentricbibliophile @cecilecontrera @junehiratas @choices-love-affair @openheart12 @kaavyaethanramsey @caseyvalentineramsey @desmaranj @mal-volaris @whatchique @nazario-sayeed @aestheticartsx @ruinedbypixels @mvalentine @nooruleman @rookie-ramsey

As always, let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged. And if your tags do not work, I’m sorry, and blame Tumblr. ~v~ In a perfect world, Ethan Ramsey would be at home, on his couch, a good book in one hand and a tumbler of scotch in the other. The last place he necessarily wants to be is in the crowded bar of a Miami hotel, sandwiched between a 21 year old girl and her friends, and some guy crying into his pint of beer.

The things Ethan does for love.

Coming to Miami was Naomi’s idea. She wanted a fun weekend away for their bachelor and bachelorette parties, and Miami was the only place she even considered going. What better way to celebrate their upcoming nuptials than to go to the city, specifically the hotel that started it all?

He hasn’t seen her all day, her friends kidnapping her as soon as their plane touched down. He misses her. They’ve been attached at the hip ever since they began dating, even more so after she moved into his condo, and being without her feels strange, even if it’s only for a night. And while he’s grown fond of Naomi’s merry band of misfits, spending the entire night with Bryce, Elijah, and Rafael requires more patience than he has.

He’s spent the entire day with them, and his capacity to be around other people has reached its limit. So while the guys were making plans of going to a strip club, Ethan left altogether, quietly slipping out of their room.

Ethan feels a tap on his shoulder. “Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

He’d recognize that voice anywhere, the slight drawl of Naomi’s accent when she has to pronounce certain words. Once he’s turned around, all thoughts of what he could possibly say are gone.

After two years together, Naomi’s beauty shouldn’t stun him anymore, but she still manages to render him speechless.

“Wow,” is the word his brain finally settles on.

Forever the drama queen, Naomi twirls around so her fiancé can get a full look at the sparkly dress she’s wearing. “I take it you like the dress?”

“You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Her eyes sweep over Ethan, taking him in. He’s not doing anything in particular, but his presence is still commanding and magnetic. “You look pretty handsome yourself. Now, do you care to tell me why you’re missing your bachelor party?”

“I didn’t want to go to a strip club,” Ethan says simply. “And Lahela kept referring to us in third person, calling us ‘The Boys’ all night. It was becoming tiresome, so I left.”

“You can’t leave your own bachelor party.”

“Says the woman who ditched her bachelorette party,” Ethan shoots back.

Naomi rolls her eyes. “I only left my bachelorette party because you texted me to meet you down here.”

“I was simply over the night,” he says with a shrug. “We did a bit of gambling, we went to a cigar lounge, we got dinner. That’s more than enough entertainment for me. The other guys will be fine for the rest of the night if I’m not there.”

“Well if you’re checking out for the night, so am I.”

“No, you can still enjoy the festivities with your friends.”

Naomi shrugs. “Kyra and Sienna went too hard on the tequila shots at the club, and they’re currently passed out. Aurora, Jackie, and I were just in their room talking.”

“About anything in particular?”

“Mostly hospital gossip, nothing major.” Naomi takes a step forward and wraps her arms around Ethan’s neck. “Take me to our room, we can order room service and have our own celebration.”

One of Ethan’s eyebrows raises at the command. His hand travels to his fiancée’s hip, squeezing roughly. “Oh yeah? What kind of celebration?”

“I don’t know,” Naomi says, playing coy. “But I’m sure you can come up with something, doctor.”

~v~

They manage to get to their floor in record time, after Ethan requests that a bottle of wine get sent up to their room, which is a miracle because they spend entirely too much time stumbling through the halls, stealing kisses and touching each other.

Because they got separated early in the day, Naomi didn’t get a chance to see the room she and Ethan would be staying in for the weekend. As soon as he slides the key card through the door and pushes it open, Naomi just knows.

It’s the same suite she and Ethan shared the first time they visited The Celestial. “Ethan, this is...wow.”

“I take it you’re surprised?”

“I’m more than surprised.”

Naomi wanders around the room, her fingers lightly touching all of the fixtures. The bedding is still the same, white and lavender, the room open and light. It even smells the same, and suddenly she’s transported back in time, 3 years ago.

Leaving Ethan where he’s standing, Naomi heads to the balcony, throwing open the sliding glass door. Everything is so still, weird for a city like Miami that’s constantly buzzing with energy. She doesn’t notice Ethan step out a minute later, a chilled bottle of merlot and two glasses in his hand.

He pops open the bottle and pours them both a glass, handing one to her. “Would you like to toast?”

“Sure.” Naomi raises her glass. “Here’s to us, our upcoming nuptials, and the best marriage the world has ever seen.”

“That’s a bold toast.” Ethan gently clinks his glass against hers. “I’ll drink to that.”

Naomi takes a hearty sip, ignoring all of the tips a sommelier usually gives on how to drink, the fruitiness of the wine taking over. She watches as Ethan heads to the railing, his own glass less than full.

“I still can’t believe you managed to get this room,” she says, sighing wistfully, overlooking the ocean from her vantage point. “How did you pull it off?”

“Everyone has a price. I said money was no object, and when I told them it was a surprise for my fiancée, they were a bit more inclined to help.”

“Really?” Ethan hums and nods in response.

“I told them the room has sentimental value to me,” he explains further. “It’s the room where I realized I was utterly helpless against your charms.”

“Ethan Ramsey, you’re truly a romantic at heart.”

He’ll never get used to hearing her praise him so openly. Ethan ducks his head down so Naomi can’t see the flush creeping up his neck at the compliment. “You bring out this romantic side of me.”

She goes to join him at the railing. He doesn’t say anything, but he slips his arm around her waist, pulling her close.

Butterflies bloom in her stomach at his words. It’s nice to know that their first trip to Miami means so much to him, because it was an absolute game changer for her.

“I remember everything about that night so vividly,” Naomi says, her voice almost a whisper.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Losing to Declan in that poker match, coming out here, sharing a bottle of pinot noir, and talking about Naveen and my dreams for the type of doctor I want to be. I remember it all.”

“And then we kissed,” Ethan adds.

“Oh yeah, we did kiss, huh? I can’t believe I almost forgot that.”

“Ha ha, Rookie.”

“You know I’m just kidding. Of course I remember that kiss. It was the start of quite the journey for us.” A pained look flashed across Ethan’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“I kissed you and then I immediately reneged. I started us on that ridiculous journey and wasted so much precious time because I didn’t want to admit that I was falling for you.”

“Hey.” Naomi grabs Ethan’s hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “I love you, and look at where we are right now. We’re getting married next week, we’re starting the rest of our lives together. Yes, the journey took a bit longer than I had hoped, but I don’t think I’d change anything in our past. It’s led us to this moment right here.”

“How are you so much more...wise and articulate than me?”

Naomi shrugs. “It’s a gift. Not everyone is privileged to possess it.”

“You remember all of the broad strokes of that night in Miami, but I’m more fond of the tiny details.”

“Like what?”

“I remember your blue dress and how it matched my eyes,” he starts. “I remember the sweet smell of your perfume, jasmine. I remember your coconut shampoo. I remember the way your pupils dilated when you saw me step out of the shower.” Ethan pulls Naomi closer to him and one of his hands gently cups her face. “It’s the same look you gave me when you realized that I threw that poker game for Naveen’s benefit, one of pure awe.”

“Your skin was incredibly soft,” Ethan continues, his finger tracing a nonsensical pattern on her collarbone. “Like silk. And it still is. But you want to know my favorite memory of that night?”

“Wh-what?”

A hand underneath her chin, Ethan tilts Naomi’s head up, their lips dangerously close. If she moves just a hair closer, they’ll be kissing. She’s tempted to just take the plunge, but she’s frozen, trapped under a spell of his.

With that, Ethan’s mouth descends on hers, pulling Naomi into a kiss with a ferocity she wasn’t expecting. She melts into it immediately, moaning, her hand flying to the back of his neck, getting tangled in the hair at the nape. She can taste the wine of him, the sweet taste of cherries as tongue slips into her mouth, deepening the kiss.

Ethan pulls away only to nip at the corner of her mouth. “That fucking moan of yours. The tiny little noise you make at the back of your throat whenever you’re aroused. It’s been playing in my head on a loop ever since.”

His beard scratches a path down Naomi’s neck and shoulder as he kisses her.

“You want to make that sound for me again?” Naomi nods frantically, desperate for whatever is about to come her way. “Good girl.”

Taking her hand, Ethan pulls her away from the railing. Instead of heading back into their suite, he presses her into the tall pillar next to them, barely giving her enough time to put down her wine glass. The exposed skin of her back collides into the pillar with a soft thud.

“Out here?” She asks with a squeak as Ethan tugs at her dress.

Ethan shrugs. “Why not?”

His lips are on her neck again in an instant, clouding her judgment and making it harder to respond. “Someone can–” she dissolved into a fit of moans at Ethan’s ministrations. “Someone can see us.”

“We’re thirty floors up,” Ethan deadpans. “And it’s pitch black out here, no one will see us.” He grabs her hips, pulling her flush against him, and Naomi gasps at how hard he is. “Now hearing you, that’s another story. You’re loud and I have every intention to make you scream.”

If he wasn’t holding onto her, Naomi is sure she would’ve fallen over at his words. Ethan’s cockiness is on full display, and arrogant Ethan was definitely one of her favorite versions of him.

Ethan pulls away, giving Naomi a bit of breathing room so she can properly think again. “Does that sound like a plan, Valentine? Me having my way with you right here on this balcony?”

“God, yes.” She ignores the way he smirks at her unbridled eagerness. Ethan has a healthy enough ego without her stroking it.

“Correct answer, Rookie.”

Ethan’s hand wraps around the silky material at the top of Naomi’s dress and yanks it down. Naomi hears the ripping of the material and her eyes fly open in shock at the cool Miami air hitting her exposed chest.

“We’re going to have to talk about the serious lack of respect you have for my clothing.”

“You told me you got this dress because someone you called a “Pictagram influencer” advertised it and had a coupon code making it 70% cheaper,” Ethan counters.

“Yes, the dress was cheap, but you have to stop ripping all of my clothes.”

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“With a new dress?”

Ethan rolls his eyes at his fiancée’s quip, but he ignores it. “Something better.” He kisses down her neck and chest, stopping to wrap his lips around her nipple, biting down gently.

It takes a second for Naomi to register that the source of the unladylike growl filling the air is her. She grips Ethan’s shoulder to steady herself, her nails digging through his shirt, and her head falls forward at the sensation.

“You’re always so responsive to me,” Ethan murmurs softly. His mouth descends on her other nipple, his tongue flattening over the pebbled bit of flesh. “And I don’t even have to do anything to you.”

“Well, can you do something to me?”

“You young people have no patience,” Ethan clicks his tongue teasingly. Slowly, he sinks down to his knees in front of Naomi, tugging her dress down with him. He’s already ripped it, there’s no use in exercising any more care. The sparkly dress pools at Naomi’s feet and she kicks it away.

“You old people move too slow–”

The words die on her throat as Ethan hooks a finger into the band of underwear and tugs them down at a frenzied pace. His calloused fingers dig into her hips, hard enough to bruise. She always calls him old, teasing him into accepting whatever challenge she’s thrown his way. “I’ll show you old, Rookie.”

Leaving her hip, one of Ethan’s hands travels to her knee, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He hooks her leg over his shoulder, giving him more leverage.

She can feel his breath, warm and tickling on the inside of her thigh, so close, yet so far away from where she actually needs him to be. Her hips fly forward, a silent plea for him to continue this little game they’re playing. Thankfully Ethan doesn’t tease her any further as his tongue flies out, licking at her folds.

Naomi inhales sharply and she nearly hikes up the wall at the sensation. “Oh, God.”

“You’re so wet for me, Naomi,” Ethan whispers against the overly sensitive flesh.

He dives back in, moaning against her and Naomi throws her head back at the vibration. “Always for you.”

She can tell by the way his blue eyes sparkle as they lock eyes that he’s smirking. But Naomi doesn’t have time to care about that because his lips wrap around her clit and he sucks hard. Naomi cards her fingers through his hair, tugging at him roughly, like she will die if he doesn’t keep his attention right where it is.

It doesn’t last long though, and with ridiculous strength and skill, Ethan manages to grab her wrists in one hand, and keeps her hips planted against the pole with the other. Naomi receives the message loud and clear: he’s in control here, unequivocally.

Secure in the fact that she won’t be doing too much moving, Ethan doubles down, his tongue lapping at her. The familiar scratch of his beard against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh only makes her more delirious with lust.

Molten core levels of heat prick at every bit of her skin, from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. Her stomach tightens and there’s a tingle at the base of her spine. She’s close and it’s not fair that he can make her come this quick, and she’s not sure if she hates it or loves it. “I’m gonna–”

“I know.”

Ethan pulls away slightly, but Naomi doesn’t get the chance to whine about it. In an instant, he’s slipped a finger inside of her, earning a groan. He is just so...relentless in his goal, and Naomi barely has a chance to breathe before she’s keening (something so dramatic and unlike her. Ethan will never let her live it down). Her orgasm is swift, crashing into her like a tidal wave, knocking her off kilter almost instantly. Ethan doesn’t back away, his mouth still on her, working her through the release.

Her entire body is buzzing, still wracked with aftershocks when Ethan finally stands up. His eyes are dark, no longer the ocean blue they usually are, now taking on something closer to the midnight sky, fully dilated and hooded. His mouth is wet, slick with...well her, and Naomi has never wanted to kiss him more.

“That was a promising start,” Ethan says. “But it’s just that: a start. I’m nowhere near done with you.”

A start? If Naomi had the energy to do so, she would laugh at him, but one look in Ethan’s eyes lets her know that he’s being serious. She gulps audibly. She’s a shaky puddle of goo right now, and that was only the beginning?

“Turn around, hands against the pillar,” Ethan commands.

“Wh-what?”

“You heard me loud and clear, Naomi. Hands out, ass up.”

He’s using his commanding doctor voice on her, and she loves it. Naomi does what she’s told, palms flat against the pillar holding up the balcony.

She hears rustling from behind, and she’s sure he’s undressing. Now she’s extremely aware of their power imbalance: she’s stark naked, save for a pair of high heels, while he’s still fully dressed. It’s not fair. Shifting slightly, Naomi lifts a foot and shakes it, hoping to get the shoe off in one fell swoop.

She’s stopped short of her plan as a sharp smack is delivered to her ass. She’s unable to contain the expletive in her throat, a loud, “Fuck!” drifting into the Miami air.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Ethan asks.

“Taking off these heels.”

He tsks at her, as if the answer isn’t good enough. “I don’t remember giving you permission to do so.”

The authoritative tone zips straight through her, and Naomi turns to face him, putting on her best doe eyes. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Christ.” Naomi didn’t know it was possible, but Ethan’s eyes darken even further at the word. He doesn’t bother stripping out the rest of his clothes, just quickly undoing his belt and pushing his pants down until they pool at his ankles. Without warning, Ethan wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him. Naomi’s back collides with his chest with a hard thud. “Kiss me.”

That’s not a command that needs repeating. Naomi tilts her head back in an attempt to kiss him, but their vast height difference and Ethan’s death grip on her make it a challenge. She just barely manages to capture the corner of his mouth before Ethan growls impatiently, and grabs her neck, forcing her head back to deepen the kiss.

It’s overwhelming and heady, and she’s so caught up in it, she doesn’t even realize his cock, hard and pulsing, is poised at the entrance until he plunges into her in one smooth thrust.

If he wanted her loud, he got what he asked for, because Naomi breaks their kiss in order to scream at the welcome intrusion. The air rushes from her lungs, and she can’t even begin to breathe again before Ethan pulls out and enters her again with just as much intensity as before.

She feels delirious, and she can’t pinpoint why. Maybe it’s the fact that they’re 400 feet above solid ground, and one look down makes her head spin. Maybe it’s the fact that someone, somewhere in this hotel knows exactly what they’re doing. Maybe it’s the fact that every inch of her skin burns deliciously as Ethan has her stretched at full fucking capacity, and she has nowhere to run or hide. There’s no sheets she can pull, no pillows to muffle her moans, nothing she can grab onto to anchor herself to reality. She’s suspended in this moment, and she can’t do anything but simply take it as Ethan fucks into her like a madman.

The noises she’s making along with the sound of their skin slapping together is wildly obscene, and it only spurs Ethan on. Abandoning her throat, his hand travels down to her chest, his forefinger and thumb pinching her nipple, bringing the tiny nub to an almost painfully hard peak. He makes sure to give the same level of attention to the other nipple, torturing his fiancée until she’s whining unintelligibly.

His lips find her earlobe and he bites down. “Are you close again?”

“Yes,” Naomi answers.

Instead of speeding up, Ethan slows down, his thrusts slowing down to an agonizingly deep pace, fully pulling out of her and thrusting in again at a leisurely pace, the sole intent of driving her insane.

“Ethan,” she whines. She’s a shaking mess, unable to do much else besides cry out and occasionally moan his name. Her spine curves, back arching and her head falls against his shoulder. “Fuck! Ethan, please.”

“Please, what?”

Despite his teasing, Naomi can tell he’s just as desperate as she is. His breath is coming out in ragged and uneven pants, there’s a thin layer of sweat, slick and coating his chest, and she can feel his heartbeat, wild and erratic against her back. He’s just as tortured as she is.

In a Hail Mary attempt to get what she wants, her inner muscles clench down on him, stopping him mid-thrust. Ethan’s knees buckle, the move unexpected and throwing him off-kilter.

“Shit, Naomi,” he manages to rasp out. “You don’t play fair.”

Being fair has no place in this, she plays to win, but she has no time to throw it back in his face as he presses into her clit with the pad of his thumb, applying just enough pressure to make her yelp.

If her last climax felt like getting slammed with a tidal wave, this one feels like floating down a river: languid and unrelenting, refusing to stop. It consumes her entire body, engulfing her in pleasure so white hot and intense, she’s sure stars are popping behind her eyelids as every bit of pleasure is wrung out of her body until there’s nothing left to give.

Ethan’s thrusts speed up again, messy and spasmodic, all rhythm gone. His hips snap against hers before she feels him coming, his entire body going rigid.

Thankfully, Ethan has enough energy left to pull them into a chair because Naomi was more than willing to simply collapse onto the concrete and stay there. She curls into his side, her face finding a spot in the crook of his neck.

They don’t speak for what feels like forever, both just trying to regulate their breathing and return back to normal.

Ethan breaks the comfortable silence, but Naomi barely realizes he’s talking before it’s too late to fully listen. She tilts her head back so they can lock eyes. “What?”

“I asked if you’re okay,” Ethan says.

“I can’t feel my legs,” is all Naomi manages to say. Ethan chuckles and reaches forward, slipping Naomi’s heels off, the relief pretty much instant.

“Better?”

“Much.” She sighs sleepily, her eyelids growing heavy. She burrows deeper into his side, Ethan’s body heat lulling her to sleep. “This was much better than staying in the girls’ room.”

“And it was much better than going to a strip club with your friends,” Ethan adds.

“You like them. They’re your friends too, don’t deny it.” Ethan doesn’t outright confirm or deny anything, which is all the confirmation Naomi needs. “Told you so.”

“How about a shower, Miss Know-It-All?”

“Sounds great,” Naomi huffs, but she makes no effort to move.

“This is doing more for my ego than you’ll ever know.” Ethan is careful, extracting himself from Naomi’s grip in order to get up. He then hooks his arms underneath her, lifting her up bridal style to carry her back into their suite.

Naomi might as well be unconscious because she’s dead weight in his arms as he maneuvers his way to the en-suite. Thankfully the shower isn’t complicated and all Ethan has to do is turn a few knobs for it to turn on. He waits a few seconds to make sure the water is the perfect temperature, before pulling Naomi in with him.

They don’t spend too much time in the marble and glass box, as Ethan can see Naomi is probably seconds from passing out. The shower is over almost as quickly as it began. Both wrapped in large hotel robes, Ethan nudges Naomi back to the bedroom where she collapses face down onto their bed.

Once Ethan is in bed with her, Naomi rolls over, her face firmly planted on his chest. Upon making contact, Naomi sighs.

Ethan kisses the top of her head. “I can practically hear your thoughts. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” Naomi assures him. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“It just feels...surreal, being back in Miami, being back in this room,” Naomi explains. “We’re getting married next weekend.”

Ethan lifts Naomi’s left hand, her engagement ring sparkling in the moonlight. “It does feel surreal.”

“I think we should make it a tradition, coming out here.” Ethan looks down at her, a curious eyebrow raised. Naomi feels the need to explain herself, the words rushing out of her mouth. “It doesn’t have to be annual or anything, but I want this to be our special place.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Ethan says. The next they come to Miami, she’s going to be his wife, and the thought spends a thrill down his spine.

“And we have to have sex on the balcony. It’s tradition now.”

“I’m starting to think you only want me for my body.”

“Of course not,” Naomi argues. “I’m in it for your money, too.” Ethan pinches her leg for the teasing, and she squirms away from him, laughing.

“When I die, I’m bequeathing all of my money to Jenner.”

“He’s a good boy, he’d share with me.”

Ethan rolls his eyes and pulls Naomi in for another kiss. They don’t make it very far though, as the sound of a cell phone pierces through the air, making them spring apart.

“Yours or mine?” Ethan asks, eyes scanning the room for the source of the noise.

Naomi bends over and sees her cell phone on the floor by their bed, and not on the nightstand.

Weird. She picks it up, and her eyes widen at the amount of texts she’s received in the past minute, the vibration so strong, it knocked the phone off of the table. “It’s mine.”

Bryce L: DUDE!!!

Bryce L: Where the duck r u?

Bryce L: ????????????????????????????????

Bryce L: Srsly not funny, did u run away from ur own bachelor party?

Bryce L: Pick up fone. Nay will murder us for losing u.

Bryce L: But I will murder fist, 4 running away

Bryce L: Oh shut. Naomi, ignore this!!!

Bryce L: JK, false alarm

Bryce L: Ethan is fine, picky promise!

Between the misspelled words and strings of emojis, Naomi can tell that her surgeon friend is completely drunk, but she manages to figure out what he’s saying. “So Bryce is having a meltdown because he lost you.” Taking the phone from Naomi’s hand, Ethan holds it up to his face, squinting as he reads. “And he thinks he was texting you, when he really just texted me.”

Ethan chuckles slightly, and mere seconds later, his own cell phone rings ‘Dr. Bryce Lahela’ flashing across the screen. “He’s figured it out, and he’s calling me now. Should I answer?”

“No. Let them have their Hangover moment.”

“Their what?”

“From The Hangover. The movie with Bradley Cooper, Ed Helms, Zack Galifiniakis where they get totally shitfaced and lose their best friend a day before his wedding,” Naomi explains. Ethan just stares at her blankly. “Oh my gosh, you’ve never seen it?”

“How does this come as a shock to you, Rookie?”

“Well, we can't get married until you’ve seen the entire trilogy.”

That makes Ethan’s brows fly up. “There’s 3 of those movies that you want me to sit through?”

“God Grandpa, you’re so lame,” Naomi groans and her hand reaches out onto the nightstand, grabbing the remote control. She points to the large flatscreen tv in front of them. “Hopefully we can order movies on this. If not, I brought my laptop so–” Ethan plucks the remote from her hand, and tosses it to the edge of the king sized bed. It lands softly. “Hey!”

“I don’t care about some stupid movie.”

“It’s not stu–” He tugs at the knot holding her robe together until it falls open. “Ethan…”

“You have options, soon to be Missus Ramsey,” Ethan starts. He rolls over until he’s on top of Naomi, his arms bracing either side of her cage, caging her underneath him. “We can watch that movie, or we can pick up where we left off on the balcony. Which choice do you prefer?”

“The movie,” Naomi quips back with a smirk.

She laughs at her own joke and Ethan’s eyes darken mischievously, taking on the challenge. “Just for that, I’m going to guarantee that you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

#ns*fw #playchoices #choices: stories you play #open heart #open heart 2 #dr. ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #pixelberry

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dragonsfictavern · 4 years

Text

Saving My Savior

Loki Laufeyson x Reader

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 4K

𝗮/𝗻: This is an AU for Loki’s time with Thanos. It’s in-between Thor and Avengers. The MC is another daughter of Thanos. She looks human enough but she has these powers of the mind. She can make people believe anything she wants. Whether they are seeing something or she’s making them believe they’re in pain and a bunch of other powers that include the mind.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: Swearing, talks about, and shows torture.

Gamora swung, punching me hard in the face. I grunt, stumbling back and wiping the blood from the corner of my lip. Both of us were breathing heavily as we moved back into our fighting stance. We had been training for hours. I was losing. And I never lost!

I wasn’t too surprised though; I was once again asked and expected to torture the man I was in love with. Thanos didn’t know of course. And I couldn’t let him. I couldn’t imagine what pain Thanos would inflict on Loki and if he found out about our love.

I threw a punch of my own yet Gamora moved to the side. I punched, aiming for her throat, her stomach, her face. Yet every time she moved to the side as if I was moving in slow motion and she had all the time in the world. I growl under my breath. I was losing patience for this...

Finally Gamora moved, she kicked out her foot and aimed at my chest. I caught it and tugged her forward, using my other hand to latch around her throat. Gamora was quick to snap her own hands to my throat. We stand closely, both of us squeezing and both of us losing our air supply. Teeth barred to her, I stomp my foot against her knee and she buckles.

She crashes onto the metal floor. I let go of her and step back. I barley have time to collect myself before she lunges out. One hand goes to my jaw and the other on top of my head. I freeze. She sees this and her eyes harden.

“What’s wrong? Can’t figure your way out of this one?” She goads. I assess the hold she has on me. It’s loose. I scream and roughly push her away from me. The force knocks her back onto the ground. She looks up at me with ferocity, clutching her side loosely. I eye the movement intently. Interesting...

Gamora grunts as she stands, still keeping her arm across her stomach to guard her side. “You’re growing weak, sister,” she hisses. I inhale sharply and clench my fists tightly.

I scream, stomping towards her and delivering blow after blow anywhere I could make contact. But Gamora was ready. She stepped back and side-blocked each move I made. My patience was getting thin and I needed to win this. With a sharp inhale I swipe up her feet and thrust the palm of my hand to her chest. Gamora when flying back. But with her body in the air she barrel rolled and kicked me in the face.

We both fell harshly onto the metal floor. Gamora and I groan in sync. I don’t bother trying to get up, instead, I lay on the floor and stare up at the ceiling of this level of the ship. I see Gamora sit up from my peripheral vision.

“You’re getting weaker sister. I don’t usually come this close to beating you,” Gamora comments, a hint of amusement in her voice. That was it; my patience snapped like a rubber band. I make my way back to her, rage spilling over me in waves.

“I. Am. Not!” I yell, focusing in on her and honing my powers. In an instant Gamora is screaming in pain, my powers forcing her to believe she was in the worst pain imaginable. Gamora’s body arches before she begins to contort and wither in pain.

I soon let up on the illusion and crouch down next to her. Gamora relaxes and looks up at me lazily.

“Know your place,” I spit out lowly. I place my hands on my knees to help me stand back up. I don’t look back at her as I head to my private quarters to freshen up.

I let my hair fall from its towel before I start to re-dress. It’s only when I’m zipping up my leather jacket that someone knocks on the door. I look in the mirror and smile. The outfit I wore was dark green, black, and gold. I had taken to Loki’s colors with fondness. I move with hurried pace to open the door. Standing in front of me was one of Thano’s little lackey’s: Ebony Maw.

“Maw,” I greet distastefully. Ebony’s lip curls into a snarl.

“Thanos requires your assistance,” he says back, the mutual hate between us evident. Yet I stiffen at the phrase he spoke. It was a code of sorts, a calling for me whenever Thanos needed me to torture someone. It just so happened to be Loki that it had been leading too these last few months. I give him a curt nod. What was I supposed to do? Refuse Thanos? That’s wishful thinking.

Ebony Maw turns on his heel and starts leading me towards the torture chambers. We enter the lower levels of the castle. Before we are about to turn a corner, I almost bump into my sisters. Nebula held Gamora up and Gamora was still guarding her side. I look over them and try not to scoff. And she thinks I am the weak one, I think to myself.

“Gamora... Nebula.” I nod, even letting a smirk grace my face. Nebula senses the smug tone in my voice and she straightens. Always trying to prove herself; the little runt of the family.

“Sister,” Nebula responds cordially.

“Come now,” Maw snaps. I look and realize he’s all the way at the end of the hall. I start to go on my way when Gamora grabs my for arm in an iron grip.

“Please, sister. Don’t do this. If Thanos finds out—“

“And he won’t... Will he?” I interrupt, looking up at her. She stares at me deeply. I know she worries, but I can take care of myself. Gamora breaks from my gaze and looks down to the ground. I rip my arm out of her hold and continue to follow Ebony Maw.

As we walk down the corridors I can’t help but think back on the time Gamora had walked in on one of my sessions. It was around the time I had started to grow feelings for the troublesome god. Instead of using my powers to torture him, I would use them to give him peace. He would sit against the wall and beckon me into his lap; a comfort we both needed. Then I would use my illusions or conjure moments of peace and happiness for us. But Gamora had walked in and broke the spell. There was a lot of yelling— mostly on her part. There was a lot of nervous tears—mostly on my part.

But at the end of the day, Gamora wanted me to be happy for as long as we could manage to pull this off for. She always told me she wouldn’t risk my safety for the god of mischief. And over the past few weeks, Thanos has been growing impatient. He wanted results and he wanted Loki ready. Of course Loki was fine— mentally. Physically he was malnourished and dehydrated. But he was not as susceptible to Thanos as Thanos thought.

Ebony Maw stops in front of a metal door that had two guards stationed out front...More of Thanos’ so called “children”: Proxima Midnight and Corvus Glaive.

“Open the doors,” Maw commanded. Proxima nodded and turned to the door. She entered in a code even I didn’t know and the steel doors opened with a snap. Maw moved to the side and motioned for me to walk inside. I swallow thickly and enter the plain grey room.

The only decoration in the room was laid in the center. Chains hung from the ceiling and some more were sealed to the ground. In those chains were Loki. His head hung low and his knees ghosted over the floor. I could tell he was clearly starving, thirsty, and exhausted. I hated seeing him like this. If only he could get away...

My heart rattled. Of course I didn’t want him gone and away from me, but who was I to have him stay here in pain? If he could get out, I would let him go. I would help him go! Anyway I could...

I stand, stiff and tense. I can feel all of their gazes on my back. I wait impatiently until I hear the snap of the doors. As soon as the seal clicks my shoulders slump and I race towards him. Skidding to the floor, I grasp the chains at his feet and use my key to unchain him.

It’s only then that Loki even senses my presence. The chains around his wrists clank and he eventually manages to pull his head up and look at me.

“You’re here,” he croaks. I smile, taking his face in my hands and kissing him lightly.

“Of course I am. And I’m about to make everything better.” I nod, assuring him and trying to assure myself. He looks up at me as I stand and reach for the chains around his wrists. When I get an arm loose, Loki immediately latches it around my waist. I unlock the other and his arms wind around my hips to support himself. I brush my fingers through his hair tenderly. I can feel his steady breathing against my stomach and my mind calms down. He’s here, with me. He is ok.

When I feel he’s ready to move, we both separate. Loki sits on his arse and scoots against the wall without any help from me. His cheeks looked hallow and the dark circles under his eyes were a heartbreaking sight to see. But he held out his hand and motioned for me to sit in his lap. My brows furrow as I walk over to him. He looked oh so fragile. I attempt to sit down carefully when his arm wraps around my waist and he curls me into him. He hums in approval and a smile grows on my face. I slide my right hand against his chest and burrow my face in his neck. He responds by tightening his hold on me.

“Are you ready?” I ask quietly. Loki inhales slowly before letting out the breath.

“Yes, I think I am,” he confirms.

And just like that, the world around us shimmered away. We now stood in Asgard’s ballroom; a memory I had taken from Loki’s mind. I laugh quietly as Loki’s face immediately brightened. He spun slowly, looking around the place in awe. My smile widens as I look over the love of my life. In my illusion I painted him how I always imagined him. Like a king.

He looked full, quenched, and well-rested. He looked immeasurably happy. Loki turns full circle and lands on me. His lips curl into a wicked grin as he sees my dress.

“Well don’t you look marvelous,” he compliments. My gown fell to the floor and was an abstract design of green, black, gold, and white. I nod and motion back to him.

“As do you, Loki, Prince of Asgard,” I say back. Both Loki and I look down to admire his apparel. He wore Asgardian robes. Green and gold colors adorning it that gave him a refined look. Loki chuckled, happiness radiating off of him as he took everything in, once again. I simply stand and watch him. Seeing and feeling the happiness he feels whenever we go somewhere was simply the greatest feeling in the world.

Loki suddenly grows very serious and I fear I did something wrong. Did I mess up the illusion. He walks towards me, a determined yet slightly nervous edge in his posture. He stops about a foot away from me and holds out his hand.

“May I have this dance?” He asks, his voice silky and smooth. I bite my lip, wanting to suppress that certain smile only he can cause. I nod, not trusting my voice. He grins as if he could possibly know and delicately takes the hand I hold out for him. He pulls me towards him and wraps his free hand around my waist. We hold onto each other with a hand each and I use my free one to rest it across his back. We begin to sway. Realizing that we might need some music, I begin playing a song taken from a memory of a random person on Midgard.

‘A Thousand Years’ by Christina Perri starts playing. Loki jumps, looking up at the sky and I begin to laugh.

“What in the Valhalla?” He muttered. I laugh again, causing him to look down at me.

“It’s from Midgard. It’s what mortals are listening to,” I explain. His lips part and he looks back up to the sky.

“It’s quite nice,” he whispers, then without looking at me, rests his cheek on the side of my head. I smile and pull him impossibly closer.

“I thought it fit,” I say with a shrug as the song continues to ‘I have died everyday, waiting for you. Darling, don't be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years. I'll love you for a thousand more.’ With my head on his chest, I hear the deep rumble of Loki’s chuckle.

“Yes, I suppose it does,” he agrees.

We dance steadily till he surprises me, stepping back and guiding me to spin in a circle under our lifted hands. I do so and gasp as he pulls me close again. I look up at his smiling face and revel in the fact that I was the one causing that.

‘And all along I believed, I would find you

Time has brought your heart to me, I have loved you for a thousand years

I'll love you for a thousand more.’

Loki leads us through the room. He spins me, he guides me, he moves our arms fluidly with each new move of the dance.

‘One step closer

One step closer’

He steps back, holding out his arm. I don’t hesitate to take it, walking back into his comforting embrace. He moves his hands and his touch begins near my shoulders. They glide down along my exposed skin, causing goosebumps to rise. I shudder. He smirks as if it was the exact reaction he had been wishing for before he softly places my arms around his neck. He winds his own arms around my waist and draws us close.

“This has been lovely,” Loki murmurs, his head ducked down close to my ear. I merely respond with the slight ‘mhm.’ I was tired. Using my powers for so many things for so long was beginning to take its toll. “When must it end?” He asks. I look up; leaning my head out as far as to see him, though my eyes slightly drooped. I look into his eyes and see the sadness and pain creep up on him. The thought of going back to being malnourished was not something anyone would look forward to.

“We can stay for a little while longer,” I assure him, trying to give my best uplifting smile. Loki’s gaze immediately hardens and his hand moves to cup my cheek.

“You’re tired,” he states. I flop my shoulders in an attempt to shrug. His jaw clenches as he sends me a look. “Do not lie to me,” he grits out. I sigh deeply and let my head sag into his hand. Clear worry replaces the mask of anger on his face at the sight of me.

“It’s hard, I’ll admit. The limit on my power is being stretched thin,” I explain. His brows furrow deeper. “Casting multiple illusions for a multiple of people… I have you and myself here. I have our clothes, your health, the music, and I am casting illusions onto Proxima Midnight and Corvus Glaive,” I give in and explain. Loki’s thumb brushes my cheek.

“What for?” He asks softly. I wince. My head spins and my arms shoot out to hold onto his forearms.

“To make them believe I am torturing you. The sound of your...screams. To avoid suspicion.” I look at him deeply.

“Then we should leave.” Loki nods. I shake my head rapidly.

“No, no. Loki, I’ll be alright. This is all you get. Fleeting moments with me. I want to make them worthwhile,” I express. He chuckles.

“Even the shortest of moments with you are worthwhile.” I shake my head. I hang my arms back around his neck and I hold him close.

“Can we— can we just finish the song? Then we’ll go,” I whisper. I hear him sigh, but eventually he nods and holds me tightly.

I have died everyday, waiting for you

Darling, don't be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years

I'll love you for a thousand more

My lips part. I certainly felt faint. I don’t dare do anything or react. Feeling exhausted was worth doing this for him; because once the illusion was shattered, we would both be back in Thanos’ home. We would both be miserable. A trickle of a feeling passed over me. Something was wrong… but the weakness was consuming my body and I couldn’t tell what was happening. As much as I wanted to focus on Loki and Loki alone, I thought deeply on the sense of dread coursing through my body.

And all along I believed, I would find you

Time has brought your heart to me, I have loved you for a thousand years

I'll love you for a thousand more

“Thanos,” I whisper, realization flooding me. A look of horror graced my face as Loki leant back to stare at me.

“Pardon?” He asks. I gasp.

“Thanos.”

Suddenly our world shattered. I scream, being yanked by my hair. I look at Loki as he crumples to the floor, only being held up by my dear brother and sister. I crane my head upwards only to see Thanos gripping my hair tightly. His jaw was locked and if he could, his face would be red with anger. I guess it turned a little brown…

My eyes fall over to Gamora who held her hands over her mouth, regret in her eyes.

“You bitch!” I growl. She closes her eyes. Thanos yanks my hair back and I groan, feeling the strain on my scalp.

“Your sister did the right thing. She exposed me to the traitor in our midst. I just never thought it would be one of my children.” Thanos spoke darkly.

“I’m not your kid,” I spit out. I cry out after he yanks my hair back once again.

“We’ll put them in separate rooms. We have months of work to catch up on,” Thanos orders.

“Loki,” I whisper as Thanos turns around, dragging me out of this room and into the next.

Thanos throws me onto the floor of an empty room. I grunt in landing.

“Let’s get to work,” Thanos says with a wide smirk.

Hours later…

Everything hurt. He had performed every form of torture known throughout all the universes. And there was a lot. When he had finished, I hung from the wall. We both knew I wouldn’t be able to stand on my own. Thoughtful, wasn’t he? He bends down to look me in the eye.

“Let us go show your lover what being with him costs. Maybe that will get him to comply,” Thanos says through clenched teeth.

Thanos rips the chains off my body and carries my by the back of my neck. I groan in pain from just about every move made by me and Thanos. The door to the room Loki’s in opens and Thanos throws me inside. I crash onto the ground and I groan, feeling parts of my body throb in pain.

“What? What did you do?!” Loki shouts weakly, his own injuries not redenering him the most useful. Loki was sprawled out on the floor. He cried out, moving to get closer to me. Thanos stepped in front of me.

“Do you love her?” He asks lowly. Loki flinches, turning his gaze to the floor. “Do you love her, boy?!” He yells.

“Yes,” Loki says weakly. A sick smirk grows on Thanos’ face.

“Then look upon what you have done to your beloved, because this,” Thanos growled, stomping around and gripping the hair at the base of our heads. He yanks us both up to stare at each other. “Is what happens when you go against me,” Thanos speaks darkly. Tears fall down my face. My scalp felt like it was on fire. Loki’s jaw was clenched as if he was trying to hold in all the pain. He let us both fall to the floor and I gasped, tears falling quicker by the minute. This was agony.

Thanos moves around me, pulling and tugging at my limbs to get me in another set of chains that must have been brought in. He then moves and I watch as he starts chaining up Loki. I close my eyes, trying to focus on better things. Thanos eventually steps away from us and looks at his work.

“Look at what your betrayal has led to… I’ll be back for you both soon enough,” he explains before walking out of the room. Once the seal closes I let the illusion shatter. Loki suddenly noticing he wasn’t in chains, scrambles up into a sitting position.

“What is?” His eyes flicker up to me. He inhales sharply as he moves to cup my face with his hands. “What are you doing?” He croaks out. I close my eyes briefly before I smile as much as my injuries would allow me.

“I promised myself that if you ever got the chance to leave, I would let you. More importantly, I would help you. This is me helping you,” I whisper. Loki shakes his head.

“But I- I can’t. I can’t leave you here,” he whispers out desperately. As much as it hurt, I pushed forward and leaned my forehead against his own.

“Please…” I trail off. We stare at each other for what feels like an eternity before he nods, determination flooding his features.

“What do I do?” He asks. I exhale in relief.

“Use the tesseract. Get out of here and find help. Thanos will not stop once he’s lost you. He will find another and create the same chaos he first intended. Find the most powerful beings in the multi-verse and stop him,” I explain, putting as much strength as I could muster in my voice.

“I will,” he says, standing up. “And I will come back for you,” he states. I grin and do my best to shrug no matter how much it hurt.

“I’ll be waiting…”

Loki chuckled and hauled himself up, groaning in the process.

“I’ll try and keep an illusion around you as long as I am able,” I tell him. He nods and kisses my forehead softly.

“Don’t strain yourself, love,” he says against my forehead. I peer over my shoulder and watch him move out of the room. I was already beginning to feel tired.

“Hurry,” I whisper.

Third person.

Loki reaches the room that held the tesseract. He was surprised no one had noticed him but he chalked that up to her not listening to him. He walked up to the blue cube and reached for it.

“If you leave, I will kill her,” a deep voice grumbled. Loki spun on his heel and was met face-to-face with Thanos. Loki let his hand fall to his side. “But… if you go to New York and allow the Chitari through, I will let you and her go. Fail me, I’ll kill you both,”

Loki froze. He needed to save her. He couldn’t let her die after she risked everything to save him. He couldn’t do that to her. He sighed and dug his hands into his greasy hair. He didn’t want to do this, he knew she wouldn’t want him to do this… but he saw no other choice.

“So, will you do it?” Thanos asked expectantly. Loki let his hands fall before looking Thanos in the eye.

“I will.”

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princess-of-riviaa · 4 years

Text

The Last Daughter

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x reader

Summary: Your family has been haunted by a monster for six years. Being the last remaining princess with virgin blood, the monster is now after you. Your father is desperate enough to ask for a witcher’s help. Once he agrees, you’re more than willing to show him your thanks in any way he wishes.

Author��s Note: For those of you who aren’t familiar with higher vampires in The Witcher world, this description came directly from The Witcher Wiki page: “True higher vampires can look exactly like a human being and can even evade detection from a witcher's medallion, only revealing themselves at their own convenience. Higher vampires are also incredibly intelligent, and possess numerous - and often individual - abilities. Unlike their lesser cousins, higher vampires do not need to drink blood to survive; however, the consumption of blood offers an experience not unlike the consumption of alcohol.” P.S. I’m really bad at writing fight scenes so don’t expect anything great, it’s pretty anticlimactic.

Warning(s): virgin reader, innocent reader, (kind of) slow burn, protector Geralt

Word Count:

The throne room has never been so quiet. It’s empty, save for your parents, the king and queen of Aedirn, a handful of guards, you, and the witcher. He introduced himself as Geralt of Rivia a minute ago. The deep bass of his voice, and his impressive form, had your interest piqued.

“I’d like to know why you requested my presence, Your Highness,” Geralt said to your father. He gave a humbling smile to cover the rudeness of his curt words.

“We have a monster problem in the castle,” your father said vaguely.

You switched from foot to foot beside him. The material of your yellow and red dress itched your skin. Since you’d lost your eldest sister--the monster’s first victim--you’d had a sword in your hand. Your parents had bought out the best physical trainers and weapons masters in the entire country. Because of that, you spent most of your time in mens’ clothing, training until you were drowning in your own sweat. You weren’t used to dresses and they bothered you every time you were forced to wear one.

“If I’m to prepare myself properly,” Geralt replied, “I’ll need more information than that. What kind of monster?”

“A higher vampire,” your mother answered, her voice shaking. She was a good queen and always showed strength in front of her people, but any talk of your family’s monster ended with your mother in tears.

Geralt looked between your parents, as if waiting for them to say they were joking. “Higher vampires aren’t dangerous to humans, and unless the monster poses a threat, I won’t kill it.”

“Six years ago I had seven daughters,” your father spat. “Y/N to my right is the only one still alive. Every year the vampire has taken a daughter from me, and I’m not about to let it take the last one I have.”

For the first time Geralt’s eyes flicked to meet yours. His eyes dragged down your body, then back up, and though his gaze wasn’t imposing or inappropriate, you still felt butterflies in your stomach. His gold eyes flicked back to your father.

“Vampires don’t have a specific type of prey. They especially don’t go after just one family, royal blood or not,” Geralt informed you all.

“Are you accusing me of lying?” Your father yelled, his angry voice bouncing off the walls and echoing throughout the room.

Geralt didn’t look at all intimidated. You imagined that, after spending a lifetime fighting and killing monsters, a king with temporarily wounded pride wasn’t scary. “I’m merely saying--”

“The vampire has targeted my family,” the king interrupted, having no patience for the witcher’s coolness, “for six years now. On midnight of the summer solstice is when he comes and my daughter’s bodies are drained before dawn. I ordered you here to kill the monster plaguing my family, not to question my integrity.”

Geralt nodded curtly. “My apologies, Your Highness. I meant no offense. With your permission I’ll take the next day to gather my strength and sharpen my weapons. By the end of the solstice you’ll be one monster shorter, though I can’t assure you if it’ll be me or your vampire.”

Your father gave a grunt of approval. The meeting was dismissed.

...

“Your footing is off,” the witcher said from the doorway.

You spun to find him watching you. The guards around you struggled to their feet and drew their swords. You’d just succeeded in knocking five of them to the ground in under a minute. The witcher said nothing about the talent he’d just witnessed, but nor did he make a comment about what young women should actually be doing with their time, so you couldn’t reasonably be offended.

“It’s alright,” you told the guards around you. “You can all clean up. I’m done for the day.”

The guards moved towards the exit, warily eyeing the witcher as they left.

“What was it you were saying about my footing?” you questioned when you two were the only ones left in the room.

“It’s off,” he repeated, stepping further into the room. “You’re right-handed?”

You nodded.

“Fighting hand to hand is different from sword fighting,” he explained.

You scoffed. “I didn’t start doing this yesterday. I know they’re different.”

“Your body doesn’t,” he replied.

You felt your cheeks burn. Being a princess, being the last princess of Aedirn no less, made no one talk back to you. Hearing it for the first time made you angry.

“I know what I’m doing,” you insisted.

With one swift movement he took off his sword and its sheath and set them on the ground. He neared you on the mat and said, “Fight me then.”

You laughed. “What?”

“If you know what you’re doing,” he said, “then you’ll be able to get me on my back. If you can’t, then we’ll both know you were wrong.”

“I can take down five of my men--” you began.

“They’re all afraid to touch you,” the witcher said. “Of course you can handle them. One look from you and they faint on command. If you really wish to prove yourself, you’ll fight me.”

You frowned. “Shouldn’t you be doing something? Memorizing the land around the castle perhaps?”

He gave you a knowing smile. “I did that before meeting with your father.”

Of course he had.

He stood in front of you, waiting for you to hit him.

So you did. Except the jab that was intended for his shoulder only hit air, as he dodged your hit milliseconds before you would have hit him. You growled, feeling your annoyance grow. You weren’t going to go easy on him now. You threw a series of jabs and swings. Geralt easily evaded them, moving around you like you were moving in slow motion. The dance between the two of you lasted for a full minute before you actually hit him. Your fist collided with his jaw--hard. When he looked back at you, his lip was bleeding. There was a wild ferocity in his gaze now.

A second later he tackled you to the ground, holding your wrists above your head. You both breathed heavily as you took in the other person--and the lack of distance between the two of you. Those nauseating butterflies returned to your stomach as he hovered over you. He straddled your narrow hips, his thighs flexed tightly around yours, and you gasped when you felt something hard press against the space between your legs. You looked down with a frown as you felt a strange heat come to life in your stomach.

“No one’s ever touched you,” the witcher said, more to himself than to you.

You looked back at his gold eyes. “What are you talking about? I’ve been touched. My mother insists we link arms every time we walk through the gardens, and my guards, despite what you may think, get pretty physical every time we spar.”

He chuckled, the sound deep and rumbling, and the warmth in your stomach spread through your body. You couldn’t decide if it was annoyingly uncomfortable or pleasingly sweet.

“That’s not what I meant,” he clarified.

You were curious enough to ask, “What did you mean?”

He adjusted himself on top of you so that he was no longer straddling you. His right leg slid between your own, nudging them apart, and he pressed his thigh tight against your core. You gasped at the sudden pressure. It took a second for your brain to register that the sensation actually felt good. Your body began moving to its own accord as your hips bucked against his leg, wanting to feel more.

You found yourself out of breath, your body burning, as you asked, “What-what is that? Why am I...?” You didn’t know how to finish that sentence.

The witcher didn’t take his eyes off of you. There was a darkness in those gold eyes, though you couldn’t decipher the emotion in them. All you knew was that look made the fire lick up every inch of your body until you were aching for something you didn’t understand.

“That’s something for a prince to answer,” he said, “not a witcher.”

Before you could find words again, he was gone, leaving you cold and uncomfortable in your lonesome.

...

The eve of the summer solstice came too soon. The plan was to use you as bait. The vampire only attacked you and your sisters, so Geralt decided that there must be something in the scent of your blood that tempted the vampire enough to dare entering the castle gates. You were to stand in the center of the courtyard and wait for the vampire to appear. Meanwhile, Geralt would be somewhere nearby, waiting for the opportune moment to kill the monster. Your father had forced Geralt to promise that he wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Geralt had sworn that the vampire would have to tear him in two before he let the monster put a finger on you.

As you stood in the courtyard, nothing but a soft breeze whistling around you, you tried to breathe. Tried to gather courage. Tried to not run and lock yourself away. You’d been expecting to die on this night for the last six years, so even if Geralt failed, the outcome wouldn’t be a surprise to you. You’d had time to come to terms with your death. You’d pictured it in your head enough to ensure the thought of it didn’t completely terrify you. But now that it was here... Now you wanted to vomit.

There was a change in the air. You couldn’t explain how you knew, but you were certain that meant the vampire had arrived. Your limbs turned to ice, freezing you in place.

“Eager enough to wait for me?” A male voice, too beautiful to be human, said from all around you. It was impossible to tell what direction he was coming from. His voice came from everywhere and nowhere at once. “And here I was, thinking I’d have to tear your castle down brick by brick to dig my teeth into your sweet little veins.”

You were too terrified to breathe. Tears slipped down your cheeks, though you didn’t even remember your eyes beginning to water.

“I can smell the fear on you,” the vampire hummed, his voice echoing around you. “I’ve saved you for last, sweet Y/N, because I knew you would taste the best. You were the dessert to my six-year meal, you see? And now I’m starving.”

Suddenly he was in front of you. He was--oh god, he was beautiful. He was a mirage, too perfect to be human. His hair was pure gold, his skin a milky white, and his eyes a bright crimson. The sight of him should have terrified you, but instead you took a step closer, wanting to memorize the microscopic details of his face. He smiled at you and you noted his fangs, sharp as any blade. You returned the smile as your body was pulled towards him. You were under a spell, part of you knew, but you couldn’t fight it. No. You didn’t want to fight it. This was such a beautiful way to die, you thought. And all this time you wasted in fearing it! He placed his hands on your shoulders when you were near enough and looked down at you with bloodlust dripping in his gaze. He brushed your hair back from your shoulder.

“You’ve no idea how many days I’ve spent dreaming about this,” he hummed, his voice a perfect symphony.

You just smiled at him and tilted your head, granting him full access to your neck. “Drink from me,” you said, though the words were not your own. Your mouth moved on its own like he was pulling the words out of you. “Take what’s rightfully yours. Drink me dry.”

His mouth brushed across your neck and you shivered as you felt how cold he was--

And then the feeling was gone. You opened your eyes to find his headless body fall to the ground in front of you. His head rolled back and then stopped several feet away, his unblinking eyes staring into nothing. You watched in horror as his skin began to shrivel and blacken, revealing what his body really should look like after all these centuries he’d stolen from the earth. You couldn’t take your eyes away from the head of the monster that a moment ago you would’ve let kill you.

You didn’t realize you were shaking until Geralt pulled you tight against him, the movement of his chest rising and falling with each breath slowly calming you. He ran a soothing hand down your back. His other hand held onto his silver sword, dripping with black, inky blood.

You looked up at Geralt as the world began to spin around you. “You saved my life.”

You caught one brief glance of his gold eyes before the world went dark.

...

You slept for sixteen hours. Both of your parents were at your bedside, grateful tears staining their faces at the sight of you alive. You demanded to know where the witcher was. The second you were given an answer, you dressed yourself and ran through the halls.

His room was on the first floor just across the hallway that led to the ballroom. You knocked once, twice, three times--desperate for him to open up. He finally did. He had his mouth open, and if his scowl was anything to go by, he was prepared to yell at whoever was bothering him, but paused when he saw you. Before he could say anything you threw your arms around him. He was very hesitant to hug you back, clearly unused to this kind of physical affection, but he finally did. He buried his nose into the crook of your neck as his arms wrapped around you, pulling you against him until there was no distance left between you. You felt so tiny in his thick arms--you felt safe.

“Thank you,” you said into his chest. “You saved my life, Geralt, I don’t... I can’t put into words what that means to me.”

He merely hummed in response.

You pulled back from him enough to look him in the eyes. “I know you do this all the time and you’re used to saving people or whatever, but I... my mother had my funeral arrangements prepared by the time I was fifteen years old. No one expected me to survive past last night, and now suddenly, because of you, I have a whole life to live.”

He merely watched you, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“How do I thank you?” you wondered.

“Your words are thanks enough,” he said, though there was that familiar darkness in his eyes again.

“Don’t lie to a princess,” you threatened. “Surely there must be something you want.”

“Your parents have already paid me in full,” he said.

You tried to hide the growing disappointment in your chest. “So there’s nothing you want... from me? Nothing I can give you?”

He hesitated, then asked, “How old are you, Y/N?”

“Last night marked my twentieth year,” you said. “Why?”

He answered you with a kiss. The touch was so brief, so gentle, that you hardly felt it. He pulled back from you, a question in his eyes. You answered it with a kiss of your own. Though you were inexperienced to much, kissing was one thing you knew how to do. And because it was basically the only thing you knew how to do when it came to physical romance, you’d spent the last few years getting very good at it. Your lips moved against his only roughly enough to leave him wanting more. He groaned against your mouth and that strange fire reappeared in your stomach.

“You’re good at that,” he murmured, sounding surprised.

“I’m not good at much else,” you admitted sheepishly, daring to meet his hooded gaze.

The way he looked at you, like he wanted to eat you alive, made you shiver. Not in fear, but in desire. In want. In need. It was strange--you’d kissed your fair share of princes, dukes, and guards, but none had ever made you feel like this, like you were being set on fire with just one look.

“We don’t have to do anything else,” Geralt said. “In fact, we shouldn’t. You should save it for your wedding night.”

“Then marry me,” you replied.

His eyes widened and he froze.

“It was a jest,” you reassured.

He relaxed against you. “Sorry, your highness, it’s just--”

“No.” You shook your head as you brought your hand up to the side of his face, brushing your thumb along the stubble on his jaw. “I don’t want to be a princess with you. And I don’t want you to be a witcher. I just want to be me, and I just want you to be you, Geralt of Rivia. Nothing more. Let the rest of the world give us our lousy titles that do nothing to encompass who we really are--when I’m with you, I just want us to be us.”

He pressed his forehead against yours and slowly let his eyes close, breathing you in. “I don’t know how to be anything but a witcher.”

“Try,” you breathed against him. “For me. Just for tonight. Try.”

So he kissed you, and this time he didn’t hold back.

#geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt x you #geralt imagine #netflix the witcher #the witcher #geralt fluff #the witcher fluff #henry cavill #henry cavill witcher #henry cavill fluff

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magneticmage · 3 years

Text

Quiz Meme; OC-style

I was tagged by @rozhevisny to take this quiz.

I also ended up doing a number of my OCs. They are under the cut for length.

I am tagging @awellboiledicicle @mikkeneko @changeling-fae @higheverweave @yusukesmomjeans @dalishious and @draxen1123 but don't feel pressured to do so if you don't wanna! It's all for fun.

(Inquisitors)

Paeriel Lavellan="You're choking on how much you have to try". Accurate by the time of Inquisition (specifically around Skyhold) as Paeriel very much embodies the virtue of suledin. She can handle the amount she's dealt with but it is still a burden and she worries about how it will affect others if she slips and drops under the weight. She doesn't want more harm to come to innocents and those who are already struggling under their own burdens (mages, dwarves, elves, even the templars to some degree), and yet it is a fight that continues on and on seeming without end. Just as Solas walks his path to break the systems oppressing people, she tries to work within those same systems to better chances for those who need it.

Armashok Adaar="You were meant to". Accurate prior to his joining the Inquisition. He spent so much of his life struggling to find his place as everyone told him what to be; silent, obediant, a weapon to be protected against. He chafed and struggled to find comfort in it and yet he ultimately realized that he was his own person. No one could tell him who and what he was or was meant to be, not even his wife. So he chose for himself; To be Armashok Adaar.

Ransley Trevelyn="This isn't enough for you" Also accurate for pre-Inquisition Ransley, as he balked against his family expectations. They wanted him to marry a nice noblewoman of status and wealth. He courted them but couldn't quite bite the bullet as something about them just lacked....something. Even when he met his lover, he struggled against the fact that they had to be discreet for her reputation as a Knight-Divine. His family demanded he become a Templar, he decided the Seekers would be a better use of his talents. Always when he was told something, his innate ambition would push him for more and better things. While he can give up things as needed, he dislikes it. That last part is something he struggles with-and notably fails during Trespasser-post-Inquisition. This is a trait that Josephine can understand, though like their lover Cassandra, she tempers it in herself and him with patience.

Naranka Cadash="Because you have made mistakes you cannot swallow" Pfft. Yeah, this is very much her. She seeks redemption just as badly as Paeriel does for Solas, just as badly as Blackwell-her love interest-does.

(Inner Circle)

Kara Adaar="Because you cannot hold freedom". Very true. She's seen what freedom has cost her parents to give her a better life and plans to make the most of hers. That desire to enjoy life is shared with Sera. The desire to understand the world through the lens of ensuring that freedom for others is something she shares with Dagna.

Emilyse Trevelyan="You swallow pain and fold around it" Yikes. This is accurate to her time in the Circle, however. She spent much of her time trying to be a "good" mage, despite a number of abuses by the Templars and the Chantry. It was only when her brother visited her during his training as a recruit that some of those abuses came to light and she was brought to the Circle in Ostwick, closer to home and with the newly added bribes to ensure her safety, she did much better. However, this newfound life did not for too long as the Rebellion broke out and she was left adrift for a time before making her way with some other refugees to the Conclave at Haven. She was nervous about so many Templars, but eventually found solace and peace with Cullen as they each began to heal over their own traumas of their respective sides, and together as they began a family shortly after Trespasser.

Samrel Lavellan="because you cannot hold freedom" Interesting. He's actually one of my simplest OCs; a simple life with his clan and husband, First to the Keeper and cousin to Paeriel, is all he wants. Unlike some of my other Dalish OCs, he hasn't faced quite the same level of hardship and loss, and though he does mourn the loss of his clan, he seeks to rebuild it alongside his husband and the few survivors that managed to escape the humans' blades. So perhaps that defiance of the losses inflicted harkens back to the Dale's and the elves' refusal to submit to the Alienages, by simply standing up and saying "No, you cannot silence us" is enough? That could be a type of freedom and there is power in that refusal. Thoughts to consider more later.

Pyrmar Cadash="This isn't enough for you". Oh that's interesting. Pyrmar is one of those characters that seems super simple (ex-surfacer Carta bruiser with a notable penchant for leadership as a Champion) and, for the most part, he is. He likes drink and fun as much as any other mercenary like the Chargers. But, like Dorian, he sometimes feels inadequate in some way. As if he is meant for more; to be and do more. Most notably for basic respect and care, something his upbringing in the cutthroat nature of the Carta was missing. Dorian shows him that he is capable of love and being loved and The Iron Bull gives him the respect and belonging he lacked previously. While he can still fall orey to his baser nature at times, his heart as grown much over the years and so it becomes less common to "want more" as he used to.

(Last Court)

Aurore de Serault="Because you have made mistakes you can't swallow" Ooo. She does carry some lingering guilt and grief over her late husband's death at the hands of the Game. She struggles with the Orlesian court at times, and much prefers solitude and peaceful quiet to gossipy ballrooms and noble Lords and ladies demanding a dance, a bonding point for her and her love interests of The Silent Huntsman and the Elegant Abbess. However, it's not that she's unskilled in the Game; in fact, she's quite good at it. She simply prefers simplicity to more complex machinations. All that said, she does regret the ferocity with which she holds grudges; she had gone on to murder the entire families of those individuals responsible for her husband's death.

Marcel de Serault="You swallow pain and fold around it". Hmmm. Not sure of this one. Marcel divorced his wife to pursue a cloistered and scholarly life in pursuit of knowledge (he was once a Chevalier). Eventually he began to crave the adventure of the Game again, which is how he fell for The Wayward Bard and the Dashing Outlaw. Again, not too sure but it's interesting. Perhaps he simply internalized his losses and pain?

(Hawkes)

Knight-Commander Jasper Hawke of Kirkwall="because you've made mistakes you can't swallow" Oh cool! Jasper watches his younger siblings-three of his fellow quadrupled and Carver- go off into the Deep Roads expedition. He made the decision to stay behind to protect Bethany and their mother in case things went south. Despite assurances from his departing siblings, things did go south. After being pissed at Batrand, he sighed and went to work for the Templars. Shortly thereafter, despite his best efforts, Bethany was caught by Templars and taken to the Circle. Jasper did what he could to protect and shield his sister from the worst abuses of the Templars under Meredith's command, no matter the personal costs and enmity it earned him from his siblings and companions. It even ended his relationship with Anders around the beginning of Act 2. After Meredith was defeated, he worked with Cullen to try and reform the Templars and rebuild Kirkwall post-Chantry boom. His efforts were strained once red lyrics began to show up and corrupt his fellow templars. Despite narrowly avoiding being swept into the group while infiltrating it to gather intel, he succeeded in driving them out. When Cullen left for the Inquisition, he stepped up to continue reforming the Templars for protecting the mages. While he originally balked at the pro-mage decisions of the Inquisition, he ultimately agreed that the Chantry had abused all of its charges-mages and templars both. He began to reshape the Templars under his command to fit in line with the changing world; a choice to take lyrium, and a recovery and rehabilitation plan set in stone for all members who wished to leave, new rules and regulations in place to protect the rights and dignity of both mages and Templars, slowly making them a secular force beyond the Chantry but under the control of Vivenne's newly reformed Circle of Magi perhaps. He does what he believes to be right and for the best of his family, even if they dislike his decisions. A trait he no doubt picked up from his mother.

Lord Gray Hawke of House Amell="You swallow pain and fold around it" This is fitting for Lord Amell. While Jasper and Violet always held loft goals to pursue and Skye simply wanted to go and see the world for all it was, Gray preferred to remain at home and tend to their family. He is the one most connected to the Amell legacy rather than the Hawke self-made determination. That's not to say it isn't there; he's more than willing to help others and make something of himself, but it comes back to wanting to appease and help his family in whatever ways he could. He pines for Anders for a great deal of time, but doesn't make a move due to either Jasper dating the mage or simply not wanting to be a rebound for his brother. In the end, however, Anders surprises him (perhaps nudged on by Skye and Violet) by initiating a kiss and the two quickly develop into a stable relationship. He is even willing to leave all he'd built to go on the run with Anders and further aid him in his cause. Gray is just a cutie who wants a simple meal and a nice husband. If he gets to watch Anders shoot lightning at fools, well, who is he to laugh?

Viscountess Skye Hawke="Because you cannot hold freedom". Accurate. Skye loves her freedom. While she is certainly ambitious, it often comes down to more power means more freedom. She rules as Viscountess of Kirkwall for a time until abdicating in favor of Varric so she can pursue Tallis across the seas, but also to simply go back to adventuring and exploring. While she does not care for the Qun and its Qunari, she cares about people and her family most of all. It is one of the few tethers she did not choose but it is the one she keeps above all others. After all, even the Sky must touch the earth at some point just as a Hawk must return to its nest to rest and tend its young.

Champion Violet Hawke of Kirkwall="Because you have made mistakes you cannot swallow". Fitting given that Violet is both a blood-mage (also a spirit-healer and force-mage) and extremely pro-mage freedom, and her choices often led her to conflict with Jasper due to their views and lives. She has only ever wanted to be free to live her life as she chooses, with is how she fell for Isabela. She fell for Fenris because she's a bleeding heart who wants to help everyone as much as she can. Kirkwall left its mark on her and she's struggling to do better than what she views as a failure due to her diplomatic nature in the name of mage freedom by the time the Inquisition comes around. While just as driven by the cause for equality as Anders, she often privately struggled with her mother's death among the many other revelations and choices of her family, fearing the loss of all she called dear. Luckily Fenris and Isabela returned to her and they made a pact to live well on the seas after everything had settled down and Champion Hawke was no longer needed.

(Awakening)

Senior Warden Dion Caron="This isn't enough for you" Okay. So, Dion joined the Wardens to escape the Templars (p.s. it didn't work) and his adopted sister Victoire-Ainsley was already joining and he had promised to protect her for their parents. He's happily married to Garam and spends much of his time training recruits and fostering camaderie in the ranks of the Wardens. What more could he want? Perhaps it is nothing and the doubt is simply there as is human nature, perhaps he frets about his dwindling time in the world before his Calling, perhaps he does want more. Who can say?

Senior Warden/Warden-Constabke Victoire-Ainsley Caron of Orlais="This isn't enough for you" Pfft. Victoire-Ainsley's ambition to make a name for herself and her family (she came from a long line of Chevaliers) nearly cost her her life and resulted in her father's death. Her mother adopted an orphan boy-Dion-in the hopes it would curb some of her darker tendencies. It partially succeeded. While she did not go as far as she'd once been willing, she still acted ruthlessly and this earned her quite the name in the Game for a time. However, her fall from grace was just as bloody as her rise, and she was only spared by the intervention of the Wardens' Conscription. She lost a great deal and was now forever barred from reclaiming it. She acted out for a time and was surprised when the Wardens allowed-encouraged even-it. However the death of her husband to save them during a nasty skirmish against a powerful broodmother she'd led them against resulted in a mission successful but at a cost she hadn't wanted to pay; only her, Dion, Garam, and I senna made it out alive. Since then, she had been working towards redeeming herself, opening up to the criticism and vulnerability she'd been so afraid of, much like Loghain is when he is sent to Orlais. And so while her pride demands more of her, she focuses instead on what she can provide and tries to bite back the bile this causes. After all, this is for the best and that is enough. Right?

Senior Warden Isenna Andras="You were meant to" Isenna lived first under the Orlesian cruelty in the Alienate and then the Templars' in the Circle. It is no wonder she fights to carve a name for herself in history, to make herself her own, to be what she was never meant to even dream of. She wants to be a hero but struggles against her own inner nature to survive. She is driven by the conflict of selflessness and self-preservation. Perhaps Mhairi's idealism is enough to tip the scales for her.

Senior Warden Garam Kader="Because you have made mistakes you cannot swallow" Accurate. He joined the Wardens after passing off the wrong Carta Boss and then spent years helping Victoire-Ainsley and her brother grow their ambition and then....his unit died beyond the four of them. And all the glamor of the Wardens fell away and he realized just how far some would go and he began to wait for them to step back, hoping they would step back. Victoire-Ainsley and Dion and Isenna did. He did. But the Clarel didn't. He hopes Loughlin will do better as the Warden-Commander of Orlais. He knows he will do better and he knows his husband, Dion, will.

(Wardens)

Warden-Commander Lynera Mahariel of Fereldan="You were meant to" Ouch my heart. Lynera lost Tamlen and never quite recovered. She was forced into a Warden and then into leading the party as the Hero of Fereldan and then into the role of Warden-Commander/Arlessa of Amaranthine and she did it. She took all the pain and hurt and losses over the years, the Taint and its horrors and its strength sapping, the politics and hard decisions; she took it all and she did it. She did what was needed, became what a Grey Warden Commander and hero was meant to be. She can't even say she regrets becoming a Warden anymore as its become so central to her identity now, only mourns the things and people she's lost to get there. I think Sten-excuse me-the Arishok understands this. Perhaps that is why they both hope to never meet on a battlefield unless they are on the same side again.

Warden Isemaya Tabris="You swallow pain and fold around it" Okay that's like SUPER interesting. See, Isemaya learned about the injustices elves face early in life. It cost her her mother's life and very nearly her twin brother's as well, after all. She became a warrior to protect them (her family, her community, her home) and she was good at it. But then she saw a glimpse of a different life with Nelaros, one where she might be happy simply letting someone else deal with all the fighting and clawing and exhaustion. She wanted it, she realized, she wanted it very much. But then she lost him and Shianni was hurt and she was hurt and Vaughn was dead and the humans were so angry. She geared up to protect her people again, to be the brave warrior like her mother before her. And then....Duncan Conscripted her. She was forced from her home, alive and angry and proud, and so she expanded her family to her companions. Then Zevran tried to kill them and they let him live and she watched him like a hawk and saw the same longing for a life, for more in the absence of loss, in him. She helped him heal and learn to live again and he helped her set down her weapons and her anger for a time and then the times became more frequent and they grew closer. She told him she loved him in the brisk Haven air and he gave her a golden earring to match the old and blood-stained wedding band she still wore, and she had found peace. She continued with the Wardens, with helping him take down the Crows, with searching for a cure so they could have more time. She took her pain but instead of weaponizing it like Lynera and others did, she learned to let it go and continue on. She learned to live in spite of, not because of, her pain.

Arcane Advisor Catriona Surana of Fereldan= "Because you have made mistakes you cannot swalllow" Oof. This is definitely Catriona during Origins. Her decisions to betray Jowan, to use blood magic at Ostagar and then to continue to practice and study it despite the stigma it holds, the merging with Compassion to save Cale, to give up her dreams of marriage and freedom and let Alistair marry Anora for the good of Fereldan and again when Leliana went on to become the Left Hand of the Divine and then again as the Divine Victoria...she makes a lot of mistakes and the consequences haunt her for a very long time. While she does manage to find some good in them, or at least simply makes peace with them, they still color how she becomes in 2 and Inquisition and beyond.

Warden Cale Amell=

Teryn Fion Cousland of Gwaren=

Paragon Prince Barran Aeducan=

Warden Paragon Tatha Brosca=

(Origins)

First/Keeper Vireth Mahariel=

"Dark Wolf" Elthorn Tabris=

"Stormcaller" Alaros Surana=

Lord Azul Amell=

Lady "Nightshade" Raven Amell=

Lord Carmine Amell=

Lord Reed Amell=

Lady Marigold Amell=

Captain "Highever Spitfire" Aelynne Cousland=

Princess and Orzammar Commander Valda Aeducan=

(Canon Solo Shepard)

Commander and Spectre Annette Shepard=

(The Sibling Shepards Canon)

Spectre Riley Shepard=

Spectre/XO Roscoe "Ros" Shepard=

Spectre/Commander Joanna "Jo" Shepard=

(Shepard Cousins)

Angelus "Angel" Shepard=

Elliot "El" Shepard=

Jaden "Jay" Shepard=

Alexandra "Alex" Shepard=

Kristopher "Kris" Shepard=

Clover "Clove" Shepard=

(Starship Ryders Canon)

Pathfinder Lucas "Luke" Ryder=

Pathfinder Rebecca "Becca" Ryder=

Pathfinder Shiloh "Shy" Ryder=

Pathfinder Evander "Evan" Ryder=

Pathfinder Asher "Ash" Ryder=

(Baldur's Gate)

Cei Gloomdraft=

Faenerys Elendir=

"Sable Shades" Risaeder Rosandoral=

Saga "Muse" Musehart=

Lyr(e/a/an) Lovemoor=

Rune Mistsea=

Lucine Mistsea=

Roan Roarke=

#my ocs stuff #my baldur's gate 3 ocs #my Shepards #Sibling Shepards #My Dragon Age OCs #My Wardens #My Origins #My Hawkes #My Marquises #My Inquisitiors #My Inner Circles #My Team Tadpole

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yentotajaan · 4 years

Text

Repercussions IV: A Friendly Chat

An envelope is placed on Faye Covington’s desk, signed by Yen’to and containing a document within. There are various words and phrases crossed out and re-written.

Lady Faye Covington,

I am writing this report of recent events since it seems no one else bothers with such things around here will. Strega, Alyona, Lalatua, Kouronne, and an unfamiliar miqo’te named Naoko were all idling in the lobby when Sergeant Baxter arrived and let himself in. He announced that one of the Garleans from our previous encounters was being held prisoner and was being kept in a secret location ready for interrogation. Somewhat regrettably, Sergeant Baxter made it clear that the Alliance would still need the prisoner alive after we are finished with him. But not unharmed. We were then escorted most of the way by airship to an island off Costa Del Sol, then trekked the remaining distance by foot through jungle.

The building was guarded by a small squad who would remain outside to keep watch. We made our way inside into a dimly lit room, likely so to keep the prisoner from being too aware of comings and goings. A sort of mirror allowed us to view the prisoner in his cell without him being able to see us back. Sergeant Baxter then provided linkpearls so we could communicate regardless of who was in the cell with the prisoner. We discussed amongst ourselves for a brief time until deciding to use the figurative kraken root rather than the stick, at least to start with. At the suggestion of Strega we sent her in to begin discussions interrogation. We thought it safe enough that she would not need a guard, and we did not want to spook the prisoner by throwing so many unknowns at him.

The first attempt went about as well as one would expect from a Garlean. He was maniacal, so assured of his superiority that there was nothing a savage could offer him that could compare to Garlemald’s riches and might. We did at least discover his name was Marcu, likely a nickname of Marcus. That is, unfortunately, all we really managed to learn before Strega attempted speaking in his own language and raised his ire warranted suspicion.

It was at this point that ideas were thrown around with about as much care as rocks in a quarry. Insults started being hurled some tempers were starting to get frayed by this point, and Lalatua’s patience was becoming rather short wearing thin. She left soon after we settled on a plan. A shame, since she had some of the best thoughts on the matter. At any rate, one of the more promising ideas was to forge a document stating that Marcu’s masters had left him to rot and abandoned him. Lalatua’s plan was to try to get his ego stroked so he would be more likely to talk at length. We opted for the forgery as a plan B, and sent Strega back in to proceed with Lalatua’s idea. In the meantime, Alyona and Kouronne worked on the forged document, but I use the term work loosely.

Lalatua’s idea appeared to be working, and we managed to get much more information on the second attempt. The soldiers under tribunus Lucian are running an experiment and were none too pleased that we had set it back by destroying the main testing ground, along with a castrum. The Garleans are confounded by the ability of Eorzea to put forth warriors of extraordinary strength, who manage to consistently beat back their magitek enhanced legions. They wanted to discover the source of this strength, to understand it and either harness it or nullify its advantage.

While Strega was questioning the prisoner, an uninvited guest managed to sneak past the guards - a female with hyur features. It was my fault for not being more attentive. I should have had Naoko watch the door. The stranger expressed familiarity with us, and extended an offer of assistance. There was something familiar about her, but I could not quite place it. We were wary of this surprise offer, and were still trying to figure how much trust we could extend when she slipped into the prisoner’s cell while Strega was exiting. She immediately began speaking in Marcu’s native tongue, much to my regret since I have no understanding of it. Strega could understand it, at least, but gave a not-so-reassuring statement that she could not determine if this stranger was a spy or actually being helpful.

It was at this time that some of us heard voices from outside, apparently the soldiers talking amongst themselves about investigating a nearby disturbance. I paid it little mind, but Alyona left to go check it out with them. Meanwhile, Strega was making notes on the conversation overheard on the linkpearl between the prisoner and the strange woman. It seems that the prisoner is a medicus, not a scientist. Also, tribunus Lucian moves from castrum to castrum, staying in one place just long enough to continue his experiments and satisfy his urges to hunt. Based on past experiences, that could only mean adventurers or any hapless villagers unfortunate enough to be within range.

It was at this point, that everything went to shite wrong. The strange woman had just begun revealing who she was when we heard shouting and gunfire from outside, and hustled to see what was the matter. Sergeant Baxter and a few other soldiers were fleeing from the jungle, yelling about a strange monster that was stalking them. Behind them, I could make out some hyur-like figure that was wearing a Hrothgar mask. Yet it was not a mask at all, but an actual Hrothgar head, removed from the body it was once attached to. The thing creature monster moved with unnatural speed and ferocity, cutting down some of the soldiers before they could react.

We set up a defensive position just outside the building’s entrance. I confirmed with Strega over the linkpearl that we still needed the prisoner alive, and she set to work in freeing his restraints to bring with us. I am not sure on the exact details, but Marcu was somehow being tracked. Between the blubbering and screaming, I can only guess that it was some sort of device that Strega had to cut out. He also seemed to know what the monsters were and grew ever more frantic, his pathetic cries coming in clearly over the linkpearl. Sergeant Baxter reassured us that he had called for reinforcements, but our enemy also had more reinforcements arriving by every moment we delayed. Each had some sort of ghastly head from bestial races such as lupin and vath set upon their shoulders.

Just when I thought we would soon be overwhelmed, Strega ran out with the prisoner and we made haste to the nearby bridge upon Sergeant Baxter’s urging. A hail of arrows from the hunters threatened to cut us down as we ran for cover. Most of us were unscathed, but Naoko took a hit to the leg. We turned to make a stand, and managed to fight off the first wave of monsters, but more injuries were incurred. I foolishly assumed we had gained the upper hand but was proven wrong when some giant lizard with one of those monsters as its rider came barreling towards our group from the tree line.

Most of the others were knocked off the bridge into the shallow river below. Strega was caught in its jaws. The strange woman and I managed to hold our own long enough against the beast and its rider for the others to make their way back to us. Combining our might we managed to fell both beast and rider, and the other monsters fled back into the jungle upon its defeat and timely arrival of Maelstrom reinforcements.

The victory was not without cost. Strega, Naoko, and the strange woman were seriously injured; Alyona and Kouronne to a lesser extent. The Maelstrom chiurgeons tended to them, so they will be fine, but will take some time to be back up to fighting strength.

The prisoner will be remaining with the Maelstrom but can be accessed at our discretion if need be. However, I seriously doubt we will glean any more useful information out of him and that he has truly given up as much as he knows. I suspect he only has knowledge of the big picture, since at no time did he mention the dossiers we discovered at the Garlean safehouse or any specific plans for the Shroudrose. I am more than willing to attempt to beat it out of him question him further if need be.

The last thing I want to inform you of is the nature of the strange woman. I knew she sounded familiar, and her knowledge of us seemed to prove my suspicions. I thought I had observed her coming and going from the Shroudrose back rooms. That annoying miqo’te brat Luka is actually a annoying hyur brat, and had been using some sort of disguise. Luka is not even her real name, although she provided nothing else to call her.

For what reason she did this I do not know, since she was too injured for me to fully question. I am inclined to believe her loyalty lies with you, but her knowledge of Garlemald and her deception makes it difficult to fully trust her. However, she did risk her life to fight with us, nearly getting killed in the process. She was also instrumental in getting Marcu to fully open up about the Garleans’ plans. My suggestion is to keep the little fool her close as a potential asset.

Sincerely,

Yen’to Tajaan

https://yentotajaan.tumblr.com/post/636984776629387264/repercussions-iii-the-talk

@tough-bit-of-fluff

@fair-fae

#ffxiv #rp #balmung #storyline #Khaaaaaan

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sarcastically-defensive17 · 4 years

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Can you write a Max Evans one shot where the reader is hopelessly in love with Max but he's still pinning over Liz even though she hasn't came back in ten years and they get into an arguement over it and she accidently tells him shes been in love with him for the past ten years?

Ten years...

Hello lovie! So sorry this took so long! My hiatus is over! I love Max, and writing this was fun (and painful) but I hope you enjoy!

Original story by sarcastically-defensive17

Max Evans. Strapping, young, brave, handsome. He and Y/N had known each other for many years. They attended the same middle school, the same high school, the same college, the same police academy.

Assigned as partners as they traversed the ranks of the department. They were inseparable. Best of friends, connected at the hip. They shared secrets, interests, inside jokes, binging sessions. Y/N knew everything about Max. Well, everything except his super secret species revelation.

Anybody on the outside could clearly see that Y/N near worshipped the grass as it folded beneath his feet. When she looked at him, it was as if he were a being far superior for their little town in New Mexico. Michael, who was Y/N’s self declared ‘other best-friend’ often joked that Y/N treated Max like a god, and herself as his lowly disciple.

Her crush in middle school had developed into infatuation in high school, to which she realized at the school Prom that what she felt was far too deep. She only knew because she couldn’t stand to see him so hung up on another, and experienced an epiphany as she hid in her parked car to cry after seeing Max with his high school crush: Liz Ortecho.

Liz was an amazing person. Kind, intelligent, beautiful. She lit up a room when she walked inside, yet she had always overshadowed Y/N in the eyes of Max. To say the woman was bitter would be an understatement, but Y/N was far too strong willed to let her jealousy rule her.

She no longer shed tears in jealousy, even when she had stumbled upon Max and Liz dancing and kissing as Y/N traversed the desert with her camera in hand. She didn’t even feel relieved when Liz took off one day, following the death of her sister. Instead, she comforted the girl at the funeral, and helped her family out at the diner they owned: The Crashdown.

She even still volunteers her time to help the patriarch Ortecho when she has time off of work.

Nearly 10 years on, and she was sure that the feelings she had for Max were far deeper than they were in their youth. She loved the man, and had told him so many times; yet it was understood in a platonic way, much to Y/N’s dismay.

“All I’m saying is, Prom was a mediocre attempt at parading the popular kids around in front of the entire student body and making the rest of us feel bad about ourselves.”

“How would you even know, Guerin? You were off with Alex!” Y/N made a kissy face across the room at her friend. They weren’t sure how they got stuck on the topic of Prom, but Y/N and Michael had been locked in a debate about the purpose of the event for over an hour. All while Y/N sat on the floor in front of Max, the mans fingers weaving through her hair to tie the strands into various braids.

“I know enough, Deputy,” the brunet winked, rubbing his hands along his jean clad thighs. “You just liked it because you were a cheerleader, okay? The student body either wanted to be you or be with you.”

“Oh yee of little faith,” Y/N made a tutting sound. “I hated the prom. Everybody knows that.”

“Yeah because of your unspoken vendetta against Liz Ortecho,” Guerin grumbled, paling at the sight of Y/N’s panicked face. And the confused look plastered on Max’s face. “I mean-“

“What do you mean? Y/N and Liz were great friends!” Max chuckled, brows furrowed. Y/N could feel the tension of the impending conversation. It was almost a crime to speak ill of Liz Ortecho, or to even mention her name since she left Roswell.

Michael was many things, but stupid was not one of them. He knew when he had misspoken. And when he needed to get the he’ll out of dodge before Deputy Y/N threw her shoe at him. Y/N didn’t hate liz. She didn’t even dislike her. But she did want what Liz had, but Y/N also could have spoken up many times. She just didn’t.

“I-Uh, I’m gonna go. Need to meet Alex,” Guerin cleared his throat. Y/N was glaring at him, her eyes boring into his brown ones and he knew that the conversation between the two after his departure would be full of tension. Yet - being the kind person he is - he still took his leave, exiting the house with his large palm rubbing along the back of his neck and no further words.

The door closed and it was silent, Max’s hands still in her hair and the air thick with tension.

It was a few beats before Max spoke up. “You... didn’t like Liz?”

Her hand rubbed along her bare knees, a nervous scoff leaving Y/N’s lips. “What? No, Liz is great! Her and I were great friends.”

“You know I can tell when you’re lying, right Y/L/N?”

“No you can’t, Evans.”

“Yes I can.” He huffed, she could practically see the small smile on his face as his fingers still worked on her hair. He had learned to braid from Isabelle, and Y/N was glad because she was a novice at the task. “I don’t know why your keep something like this a secret from me, Y/N. I don’t mind. You have your own feelings for people-“

Y/N scoffed, mind going back to every argument Max and his sister had over Isabelle’s disliking of the Ortecho girl.

If Max couldn’t accept his own sisters feelings about the woman he loved, then Y/N was a long shot. Her presence was little compared to Isabelle, and Isabelle’s was little compared to Liz. That much was obvious and it caused a pang in her heart to think of it.

“Scoffing? Really?” He asked, and Y/N could see his patience slowly wearing thin. A common theme when anybody spoke ill of Liz in the past, and something he had not grown out of in the decade.

Y/N sighed, pulling her hair from his fingers and letting the braided hair fall into a tangled mess. “Look, Max, I didn’t hate Liz. Her and I were somewhat of friends. We weren’t close but we weren’t strangers either, just, I don’t know,” she shrugged, standing up and facing him. She was mentally preparing herself for the truth that would eventually come out. Michael had set it in motion, and she would burn his cowboy hat for it. “Why is it such a big deal?”

“It’s not a big deal, I just don’t see why you would keep this from me. I can see on your face how much you hate her. You get a crinkle between your eyebrows whenever I mention her name,” he huffed. He was still seated, but body full of tension. “You don’t need to keep things from me.”

“Well I couldn’t tell you that I didn’t like her, Max-“

“Yes you could have!” His voice raised slightly. They were both defensive. “I’m your best friend, you can tell me anything. I just don’t see how you could hate somebody like Liz.”

Y/N had enough. She was getting angrier by the second. Max wasn’t listening to her. He could have dropped it and left the conversation at a misunderstanding. He could have backed down.

“You were at Rosa’s funeral, you worked at the diner, you and her worked on so many projects together. I just don’t understand it. Liz is-“

“Liz is practically perfect, Max!” Y/N clasped her hands over her eyes. She was fed up. “Liz Ortecho will always be perfect to you. I spent all of high school competing with her to get even a speck of your attention and I’m still competing with her after 10 years!”

The words flew from her mouth in a fit of rage, her temper barely calming to realise the meaning but Max furrowed his brow, squinting his nicely tinted eyes he with confusion.

“How... how are you competing with her? You’ve been my best friend for years, Y/N. How I feel - how I felt for Liz is nothing like how I feel for you,” Max couldn’t find a connection between his speech at the hurt expression taking over his best friends face. She hadn’t said another word, instead darting over to the door and snatching her keys from hook she had put in his house. A symbol of her to be with him, she had said.

He followed her. He walked behind her in the thick Mexico air. She was panting. Her shoulders were heaving with a mix of anger and exertion from the ferocity of her stomps.

“Y/N!” He called. She did not answer. He had practically told her that he hasn’t ever seen her in the way she has seen him. Her mind was revolving around one thing: even after a decade of her absence, Liz was incomparable. Y/N could never be that to Max. “Y/N, please stop! Talk to me!” He caught up with her, wrapping his large hand around her wrist. His touch near burned.

“I don’t want to talk to you, Max!” He could see the tears stinging in her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about Liz. I don’t want to talk about how you feel about her, and I definitely don’t want to talk about how I can never compare to her. You will never see me how you see her, and I am wasting my time chasing after you! I have been for the past damn decade!”

She didn’t realise she was screaming. She didn’t realise the sobs that started wracking her chest when she stopped. She also didn’t pay any mind to the pain in Max’s eyes with the way she unloaded on him.

It took her a minute to calm herself, wrapping her arm from Max’s grip and aggressively pushing her palms into her eyes as if to force the tears back. She was a mess and she knew it. The situation escalated much faster than she ever intended for it to, but the truth will always come out. She had always been able to go from 0-100 very fast, never usually with Max, but she had grown far too tired of hearing the name ‘Liz’ echo through her life reminding her of her insignificance.

Max stood with his mouth gaping like a fish, furthering Y/N’s frustration. She didn’t expect him to say anything, and if she did, she knew it would be negative.

“Y/N,” he trailed off, attempting to understand. “What do you mean? You’ve been chasing after me for what?” He was never the best at understanding obvious queues and she knew it. She had only one thing left to do.

Their friendship would be over the minute the words came.

Her shoulders squared, chin set. The tears kept flowing but her voice was strong. She was an officer. She was a woman. She would no longer be affected by this. Max would never feel the same way, and it was time she accepted it.

Her posture changed so dramatically from a minute before as she regained herself and looked Max straight in the eyes. Now or never, the truth always comes out. “I never wanted to be your best friend, Max.” Pain washed over his face but she pushed down the guilt. “I have been in love with you since middle school. At the prom, I couldn’t handle seeing Liz with you. I saw you two together in the desert and it broke my heart. I kept out of the way for so long because you were happy chasing her, and then she left. She left and I stayed. I stayed with you and kept loving you.” A sigh pushed through her lungs, deflating her chest and pushing her anger out with it. “I thought after 10 years you would maybe be over her, but you aren’t. I have lived for too long wanting you but never being able to step out from under the shadow of Liz Ortecho. She doesn’t deserve my hate, and neither do you, but I can’t stay here and deal with the pain.”

“But- but you never said anything. You don’t need to leave because of this.” He tried to grab for her again as she turned to face her car. “Y/N please, don’t let this ruin us.” His voice was sad as she paused with her hand on the handle for her car door. “You’re my partner. I need you.”

She wanted to nod and hug him, pull him into her arms and apologize but she couldn’t. She couldn’t continue living a lie and living in constant competition. She needed to accept that she could never have him. He would always belong to liz.

She closed her eyes, letting s few more tears fall, thankful for he facing away from him but she knew he could see the reflection in her car window. “You don’t need me, Max. You want me to stay to pretend like nothing happened but I am done pretending. I’ve been pretending for so long that you’re all I know.” A sad smile was on her face. His eyes were full to the brim with tears in the reflection. “You won’t love me the way I love you. You never will.”

“Y/N, wait-“

She pulled the door open, sliding in and securing it closed behind her.

The last he saw of her was the sight of her truck pulling away from his house. But the next day, a ghost in the form of Liz Ortecho stepped back into Roswell.

Tag list: @starshonerose @another-lonely-heart @mantlereid @theanswertoeverythingisl0v3

If you would like to be added to the tag list, send me a message!

#max evans #max evans x reader #max evans is hung up and clueless #roswell: new mexico #michael guerin #michael is my baby #liz ortecho #roswell is a mood

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shinidamachu · 4 years

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Hi, here is a song for you: youtube --> /watch?v=TgvOrd7U3Oc I'm really curious what could it be with Inu/Kag ^^

“Kagome, I’m sorry about what happened. I wasn’t with you and...”

Even now, when everything had settled, she couldn’t bring herself to face him. Not yet. He was using his best regretful voice, that usually came along with his regretful puppy eyes. She was familiar with the deal, had seen it too many times before. And if she allowed herself to look, she’d falter. So the girl kept her gaze straight ahead, watching the grass without really seeing.

It was funny, the way a broken heart could change one’s vision of the world. The day was extraordinarily beautiful and in any other occasion Kagome would be more than happy to enjoy it, but right then everything seemed dull: the birds singing proudly at distance, the warmth of the sun, the jade tone of green of the forest… And that’s what she had, wasn't it? A broken heart. She had it for a while now and wondered if that was the reason it hurt less this time. Because it was just another crack in an already shattered surface.

“It’s alright.” She told him, even though it wasn’t. The sentence as automatic as his excuses.

“It’s not alright!” He protested. “I let you fall into harm’s way.”

Definitely not what she needed to hear.

Kagome remained static, legs folded in front of her, arms involving them. She had slept for hours on end after everything happened and still, she was tired. An absurd level of exhaustion that was both physical and psychological. Yet, the priestess gathered whatever strength she could find to look at him with a weak smile on her lips and sweetness in her timbre.

“But if you hear news of Kikyo’s whereabouts, you’ll go off to look for her again, won’t you?”

“No, I won’t!” InuYasha yelled, apparently offended by her assumption. In the heat of the moment, his angry face got inches closer to hers, which stayed unfazed. “I won’t ever leave you again.”

There it was. That was the right thing to say. Not that she had been cultivating any bad feelings towards Kikyo — beyond her own insecurities, of course. All she wanted was InuYasha to put her first, for a change. To make her his top priority the same way he was hers, no matter how selfish that sounded. And for once, he was telling her exactly that.

It was a shame she couldn’t believe anything that left his mouth.

“Liar.” She fired, plain and simple.

His eyes went wide, a refined explosion of golden as he stuttered his answer.

“Am not!”

He was. And the worst kind, at that: the liar that believes his own lie. Kagome had no doubt InuYasha meant every word. He always pronounced them with the brutal honest of someone who is true to his vows, but Kagome wasn’t the only one he had made promises to, and when push comes to shove, he somehow picks Kikyo. Over and over. That’s why their situation was impossibly frustrating. InuYasha couldn’t see the discrepancy between his talk and his actions, and so, how could she ever get permanently furious at him for lying through his teeth when he is sure he isn’t?

Unfortunately for the half demon, Kagome knew him by heart.

“It’s just like you to go!” She pointed out, their roles reversing so that she was the one screaming. "How long do you think I’ve known you now? You would go! No doubt about it!” The distance that separated them shrunk phrase by phrase until her ferocity finally got him to back down and Kagome retreat as well. Then, in a sudden flash of composure, added as softly as she managed: “And when you do go, I’ll be upset. But that’s to be expected, right?”

“Kagome…”

It was good he never finish the thought. Kagome couldn’t bear to listen the next lie. And ow pathetic was she for wanting to believe him? Wholeheartedly. The way she used to. Maybe tomorrow would be the day he’d prove her wrong. Maybe tomorrow would be the day he’d stay. Maybe tomorrow her faith in him would be restored. Maybe tomorrow everything would be different and they’d finally get the happiness they deserved.

Today? Today she trusted him with her soul, but she couldn’t trust him with her heart.

Sighing, Kagome resignedly nestled herself further against him, her eyes instantly closing due to the intimacy of that act.

“Hey… You’re mad, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am, but…”

Her sigh was deeper than before. It carried the weight of a thousand unresolved fights and a wicked, adamant certain.

InuYasha will never forget Kikyo. But I still love him, so there’s nothing I can do.

A/N: hey, anon! Thank you for your (magnificent) patience. This is probably not what you were looking for, but the first time I heard the song you sent (Tomorrow by Avril Lavigne), this canon scene (episode 126, I guess) came to mind instantly and demanded me to write it.

Thank you so much for sending this. I really loved your suggestion.

#Inukag #Tomorrow #My writing #InuYasha #Kagome Higurashi

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galleywinter · 4 years

Text

A Prayer You Can Borrow

It's been a year since my last update, and all I can do is apologize and offer some attempt at an explanation: last year, both of my children were in middle school for the first time, and that presented a host of issues my husband and I hadn't been prepared for. It took the school year, but we were finally getting those issues under control, and then COVID happened.

The good news, though, is that we're all healthy and well, the kids are doing better, and we've reached a sort of tenuous new normal within quarantine existence (my youngest and I are high risk).

I did promise this story would never be abandoned, and I meant it. I just had to set it aside while other, more important things cropped up. But now that those are handled, now that we've got some measure of equilibrium - as odd a one as it might be - I have the emotional space to pick the story back up where I left it.

Thank you to Eleneri, for her tireless edits and encouragement, to my husband, for being my partner through all of the mess that the last year has been and for being the guy who reads the stuff to make sure it's still a good read, and thank you to you: if you're someone who's been sticking around patiently and waiting, I thank you (and you make me want to cry); if you're new, buckle up and I hope you enjoy the ride, and thanks for making it this far!

Either way, I do hope you feel this chapter is worth the wait it's been to get here.(Also, a couple of brief story notes are at the end.)

As with the last few chapters, I won’t be providing links to previous chapters or to my AO3 or FFN as I don’t want tumblr to eat it, but it’s all there and findable if you’d rather read it there than here. ____

Chapter 14 It's been over forty-eight hours since Camdyn last slept, more than fifteen hours since she'd eaten. She knows the grace of the Light is the only reason she can even still find her feet. But find them she has, because she still has a duty to perform.

Has it really only been a handful of hours since her world turned upside down?

A heavy, messy knot of emotion sits like a lead weight in Camdyn's gut as she steps through the portal and into the Petitioner's Chamber. The droning buzz of carried conversation that washes over her is both a blessing and a curse, a white noise to dampen the specters of guilt and grief echoing hollowly through her thoughts while slamming into her overwhelmed psyche with all the force of hitting a physical wall.

It doesn't help that everything hurts.

Pain blooms through her legs as she exchanges the give of the soft soil of Valgarde's training yard for the unforgiving stone floor of the Keep. Her hips and thighs ache from too many hours in the saddle. More worrying is the realization that the skin around her right arm is still tingling and burning. Iomhar's healing had been only a patch job, something meant to keep her functional, and the limits of his magic have long been exceeded. The prospect of fel poisoning is starting to feel like a very real concern.

And her feet are throbbing in her boots.

The sharp aches that come from simply standing there make Camdyn whisper a prayer of thanks for the mage at Valgarde who'd been willing to create a portal for her rather than forcing her to switch out her exhausted gryphon for a fresh one and endure the day's ride to Stormwind.

To have been allowed to return to Light's Hope with her brothers and sisters, to have been given even the small reprieve of company to distract her from the torment ripping its way through her soul, would have been a blessing. But that path had not been hers to take.

The thought of being surrounded by people who understood her grief, people who had seen the same horrors - people who had no use or need for her diplomacy - swells her throat shut with a sudden ferocity of need.

She shoves it back just as fiercely, swallowing against it until her next breath comes easier than the one before.

She needs to keep breathing. If she can breathe, she can move. Camdyn takes a moment to fill her lungs with the comforting familiarity of incense and wood smoke, letting it scrub clean the sense memory of charred flesh and brimstone. A snort of derision dies in her throat at the sudden realization that she's likely giving off her own particular reek. She's come straight from a half day's ride, after all. Straight from the battlefield of the Broken Shore, from finding Tirion, from standing knee-deep in demon guts and the viscera of good friends.

She shoves the thought down as quickly as it had arisen, determination flaring hot and bright in her chest. Ashbringer is as heavy and firm a weight on her hip as grief is a lodestone around her neck, but she still has not the time to spare to give into it. She's the Highlord of the Silver Hand now. And she still has a duty to her king to perform.

Without conscious thought, Camdyn finds her right hand reaching to lay carefully over her belt pouch, her fingers curving delicately around the latch and worrying at it in a familiar, mindless gesture as tension bleeds from her spine in marginal degrees.

With a final lungful of cleanly smoky air, Camdyn pushes forward. Her boots ring against the tile as she strides for the door, searching for anyone who can direct her to the king.

The hour is relatively early, but the Chamber is already full of nobles in fine robes more than the kind of people she needs. It takes her a moment or two to spot someone in Stormwind's distinctive blue and gold livery against the riot of colors, but eventually, she spots a splash of bright blue against the white marble wall.

Despite the fact that he can't be any older than twenty, the boy stands a full head taller than she. Reflected magelight gleams and bounces off of his coppery red hair as he swings his head to and fro, his eyes wide as he surveys the chaos of the Petitioner's Chamber, looking almost as confused as Camdyn feels

A much older man stands next to him, his gnarled, knotted fingers curving gently over the boy's shoulder. The old man's stoop straightens somewhat as she nears, and Camdyn is almost sure his fingers squeeze gently around his charge's shoulder before falling away to press smartly against his own stomach in approximation of a salute.

"Highlord," the old man murmurs with as much of a bow as the hunch of his back will allow him. "How may we serve?"

The air locks in Camdyn's lungs for half a heartbeat. It's silly that such a simple salutation could feel so embarrassing. "How did you-"

Before Camdyn can even finish asking the question, the elderly man levels a careful gaze at Ashbringer. "I've never seen aught but the Highlord wield that blade, Your Grace."

A gently chagrined "Oh," is all she manages before the boy's brow knits in apparent confusion and his gaze shoots from the old man to her. His eyes widen almost comically as he registers the sword on her belt before he, too, stammers out a greeting and bows.

Embarrassment, because they're bowing, because she had almost forgotten what wearing Ashbringer would mean in a place like Stormwind Keep, makes heat lick like wildfire up Camdyn's neck. By the time they straighten from their reverence, her cheeks are painfully hot.

Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, Camdyn is aware that the volume of conversation swirling around her is markedly softer than it had been even moments before. Her fingers tighten over the latch on her belt pouch. She still has a job to do.

"I need an audience with the king. He's expecting me." The words are thick in her throat, foreign and strange on her tongue. Immediately, the hair on the back of her neck prickles with awareness. The din of conversation has almost wholly stopped, and Camdyn has to fight the urge to shift in her boots as what feels like the weight of every gaze bores into the back of her head.

The old man, however, seems unfazed, only bowing a second time before extending a hand in the direction of the door.

"The king did leave instructions that he was expecting an urgent report from a paladin, but we were not expecting the honor of having the Highlord of the Silver Hand deliver it." His voice is firm and warm despite the slight wobble of age in his words. "Let me apologize for failing to attend you properly, your Grace." He pats his young charge on the shoulder. "Young Winoc will show you to His Majesty immediately."

The redhead sketches a quick bow himself. "Highlord." He waits, bent at the waist, his eyes expectantly glued to her face. It's a jarring moment before it clicks into place: he's waiting for her to acknowledge him.

Camdyn's stomach flutters with nerves as she offers a quick prayer for patience - and etiquette - and offers him the only response she can think of apart from a salute. She nods. The dip of her chin is awkward and a bit stiff, and she only barely stops herself from adding a reflexive curtsy, but it all seems to be enough. Looking relieved, Winoc straightens. "Please follow me, Your Grace."

Camdyn doesn't hear the echoes of conversation resume flowing from the Petitioner's Chamber until she and Winoc are halfway up the massive hall. A shuddering breath rolls from her before she can tamp it down, the bleedoff of accumulated adrenaline and pain and hurt and embarrassment expressing themselves in a single breath, and Winoc's step falters briefly at the sound of it before recovering as if it hadn't happened.

As they step into the throne room, a line of a dozen men and women in sumptuously rich, well-tailored clothes file from a room to Camdyn's right, the last of them closing a massive oaken door behind himself. A handful of them gather in a small knot several paces from the door. They manage to keep their voices low, but Camdyn can tell from the sets of their shoulders and the thin lines of their mouths that they're displeased with something.

Despite the fact that these well-dressed nobles pass by without so much as a spared glance in her or Winoc's direction, he bows for each of them.

As her initial confusion gives way to the realization that these men and women could only be the House of Nobles, Camdyn's mouth goes suddenly dry. Fear pits her stomach as the memory of the last time the House had been so displeased flashes before her: the Defias and the conflicts with them had been borne of that upset. With Azeroth facing a war for its very existence, she prays with every ounce of faith within her that the House of Nobles wouldn't repeat the same foolishness now.

When Winoc straightens from his final bow, Camdyn reaches out for him before he can move away, the fingers of her gauntleted hand clasping around the small billow of sleeve at his elbow, catching against the fine fabric of his shirt.

At least his eyes aren't wide as he turns to her, though his mouth is slightly parted in surprise and his eyebrows are nearly lost in his hair. "Highlord?"

"What's going on?" she whispers, clamping down tight on the anxiety spiking through her.

"I'm afraid I don't know, Highlord," he murmurs in response. "All I know is that King Varian summoned the House of Nobles for a meeting this morning." Her fingers fall away from Winoc's arm, and he moves toward the massive oaken door the House of Nobles had exited from.

He raises his fist to knock but then pauses, turning to her. "Might I inquire how you would prefer to be announced, Highlord?"

She can only blink at him, completely unprepared for such a question. It's also not a question she cares to deal with in this moment, so she settles for what she knows. "My name is Camdyn Morris."

With another dip of his chin that nearly turns into another bow, Winoc raises his hand and knocks. The sound echoes through the throne room, and Camdyn sees one of the nobles still in a tight throng near the Lion's Seat - a gentleman in a dark green doublet with shrewd brown eyes - cast a curious glance in the direction of the door, of her, before frowning and turning back to the conversation.

Varian's voice is more an impression of sound through the heavy door, his deep baritone rumbling sharply through her belly. As Winoc disappears into the room, the nobleman lifts his chin in her direction and two more pairs of eyes bore into her from across the room. A gentleman in a burnished gold doublet shifts on his feet, the muscles of his calves bunching under his hose as the shift of his weight gives away his intentions of movement, and she knows they're meaning to corner her.

Camdyn forces a swallow and braces herself for questions that she won't be able to answer, that she can't answer, when Winoc is suddenly, blessedly, back by her side.

"King Varian and Prince Anduin will see you, Highlord."

The breath of relief she releases is so sudden and sharp it almost makes her dizzy. "Thank you," she whispers, more than sure her gratitude for his rescue is writ plain on her face.

His answering smile is a oddly askew, but he only bows and leads her into the room.

If Camdyn had spent any time imagining what the chamber where the king met with the House of Nobles looked like, she likely would have pictured a richly appointed room with silk banners bearing the arms of each house who held a seat hanging from the walls, a long ebony-wood table polished until it looked like molten chocolate with a miniature throne at the head, and an oversized marble fireplace big enough to roast a shardhorn in Stormwind's bitter winters.

What she finds, however, is so much simpler. So much more welcoming.

There is a long table, but it's warm walnut rather than intimidating ebony. Papers sit stacked neatly on one end. The walls are gorgeous Stormwind marble, unadorned save for the blue barding draped artfully along the borders of the ceiling. There is no fireplace, but there is a solid wall of floor to ceiling windows that allows sunlight to spill freely into the room.

Then she sees the king, and Camdyn almost swallows her tongue.

Varian Wrynn is halfway through rising from a chair that's only slightly reminiscent of the Lion's Seat. His powerful figure is backlit by the sunlight streaming in through the massive leaded windows, shafts of light gleaming around him and gilding the queue of his long, dark hair. His dark blue brocade tunic hugs his broad shoulders, tightening around his biceps as he pushes his chair back. He's clean-shaven, the stubborn line of his jaw free of the dark beard she'd last seen him with.

He's lost a little of the hollow, ferocious look he'd had on the Broken Shore and through everything that had happened after Dalaran, but as his blazingly blue eyes lock on her, she realizes that he still looks like he's prepared to charge into battle at a moment's notice.

Camdyn is aware they aren't alone in the room. Prince Anduin is seated at his father's left, apparently deep into his own stack of official-looking papers, but she really can't spare a thought for him. Her whirling brain is focusing on only one thing: the memory of the sensation of Varian's beard under her lips.

The knowledge that she kissed him.

As her eyes adjust to the flood of light, Camdyn realizes that Varian is looking her over very thoroughly. Her mouth goes dry, and her knees weaken in a way that they never do when she's facing down demons ten times her size.

She can taste the salt on her tongue, smell the musk of his sweat, and her head swims as she wonders how she ever dared to kiss this man.

The king's mouth twists into a harsh frown as he lifts a hand to dismiss Winoc, his hard blue eyes never leaving her.

Self-consciousness wells in Camdyn's chest. She's a mess, and she knows it. Her right arm is bare, her armor missing from rerebrace to gauntlet, and the strip of skin around her bicep is angry and red, threatening to blister in a distinct chain pattern; despite the fact that she'd taken a moment to splash her face clean, her hair is both windblown from hours on gryphonback and splattered with dried ichor and gore; the sheath that holds her boot knife is conspicuously empty, and most tellingly, her hammer is missing.

And even should he have missed a single detail of that, neither he nor the prince can possibly miss Ashbringer glowing like a beacon on her hip.

The silence stretches, growing almost uncomfortably heavy. She opens her mouth to speak, but she can't. The words refuse to come. So much has happened in the handful of hours since she had last stood in Varian's presence, so many ways that her life has been completely upended. So many people lost.

Her left hand drifts unconsciously to her hip, her palm curving around Asbringer's pommel. A flicker of warmth, of conviction, blooms deep in her gut. The Light does not abandon its champions, even when the path they walk seems endlessly dark. The last handful of hours have probably been the darkest of her life, but she still stands. And Varian needs her information if Azeroth is to stand, too.

She takes a deep, bracing breath and tries again.

"Your Majesty." Her voice is splintered and cracked, and the swallow she forces to clear it feels sticky and dry. "Your Highness." She takes a knee, hiding a grimace as the movement makes fresh pain shoot through her legs. "It is with a heavy heart that I come to confirm that Highlord Tirion Fordring is dead."

"What?" Anduin leans heavily on the table. A stone-faced Varian puts a supportive hand on his shoulder, but the prince shrugs it off as he pushes his seat back. "Never mind. Tell me later." He strides the length of the table to her, the soles of his boots making almost noiseless against the marble floor even as he walks with the same determination Camdyn has seen in Varian.

Anduin's face twists as he draws near, his brow pinching and his breath catching in his throat. "How are you still moving? I can feel the fel. It's...I can...Ugh." He swallows and reaches a hand toward her arm. "Just let me...I can heal you."

"Your Highness," Camdyn drags herself to her feet as panic surges in her gut at the prospect of her prince being her medic, "it's fine. I'm fine."

His eyes are flint. "I've heard that too many times."

Before she can protest again, Anduin's gentle fingers wrap around her bicep, pulling it from her side and delicately turning it for examination. His hand is warm, his fingers soft against her skin, and Camdyn can't help but be grateful for the grounding sensation of physical touch. Her head is starting to swim in earnest, and she's feeling increasingly disoriented. Whether she's losing her battle against shock and grief, or if her body is finally telling her that she's past her limit with the Light no longer sustaining her as her duty is complete, she isn't sure.

"Your Highness, I can't let you-"

"We fought our way past Sha corruption in Pandaria. You told me we could be friends then." He huffs out a breath. "Camdyn. Let me be your friend now. Let me heal you before that fel digs deeper roots."

Something in his tone rocks Camdyn to her core. Any objection she could have made dies in her throat as she really looks at him for the first time since entering the room. That he hurts from the loss of an idol is obvious, but a determination burns in him she hadn't noticed before. The boy who stands before her isn't the fabled golden Prince or the lost boy she'd helped drag from the jungles of Pandaria.

He arguably isn't even much of a boy anymore - the shadow of the man he was always meant to be drapes over him like a mantle. Hazily, she wonders when he had finally decided to don it. When he had grown up. A small smile she doesn't try to fight edges at her mouth.

"Then, thank you, Your Highness."

"Anduin," he says firmly. He shoots a look over his shoulder at his silent father and whispers the beginnings of a benediction. When he lifts his hands, they glow with Light.

"I'm sorry," Anduin whispers as he passes a glowing hand over the fel burn on her arm. Skin knits together slowly as she watches, blisters fading as the pink rawness of new skin rises beneath them. "I know it hurts." He resumes his prayer as he turns his attention back to her her injury and smudges the pad of his thumb just below the blistering brand the fel chain had left. Her skin pulls against the burn, drawing a small grunt of pain from her.

"It was worse." Somehow, she manages a smile. "Trust me - it was worse."

Fractures of Light dance and flicker through Anduin's irises as he frowns down at her arm, blue shot through with glimpses of gold. "Not this. This is bad, but I think I can pull the fel taint out. I meant-" his voice cuts off abruptly, and his extraordinary eyes are glassy with tears that threaten to spill, "- I meant about Tirion. I know how much he meant to you. I'm sorry."

"He meant a lot to you, too, Your Highness." Camdyn refuses to acknowledge the huskiness of her own voice, the tightness in her throat. There will be time for it - for all of it - later.

She doesn't know when it happened, but at some point Varian had made his way to the near end of the conference table. He leans against it, arms folded across his broad chest as he watches his son's prayerful invocations of healing. The weight of his attention makes Camdyn's gut twist itself into knots.

She tries to shove back the heat rising in her cheeks, tries to logic that Varian watching her healing is no different from Tyrosus watching her be healed, especially when waiting for a report from her.

The fact that she can still remember the smell of Varian's sweat puts lie to the thought before it's even fully formed.

"Camdyn."

Varian's deep voice pulls at her attention. She straightens immediately, her stomach flipping with the fear that he had somehow followed the line of her thoughts. "Yes, Sire?"

The king straightens from his lean against the table. "I'm sorry."

Camdyn feels her mouth drop open and snaps it shut so quickly and firmly her teeth clack. "I beg your pardon?"

"I'm sorry for what you went through to find Tirion." Varian's voice is low and quiet, and while his words are sympathetic, his eyes are that of a warrior who has lost too many friends to not know the real question to ask. "Did you avenge him?"

Her left hand drifts to her hip before she thinks better of it, her palm curving around Ashbringer's pommel.

She meets Varian's eyes without flinching. "Yes, Your Majesty. I did."

"Good. That's good." His smile is as sharp as any blade. "Has the Order decided who will lead the Silver Hand?"

"Highlord Tirion's final act - " The words are rough, and she has to pause to clear her throat. If she says it, it's real. It's real, and there is no turning back. Warmth flickers under her palm where it still curves around Ashbringer's pommel, and she wonders if there ever was any turning back to begin with.

"I lead them." She breathes out, slowly, and meets Varian's gaze dead on. "I am now Highlord of the Silver Hand."

Camdyn's head spins. It's the first time she's claimed the title as her own, and it makes her stomach churn.

She swallows back the bile, refusing to give it purchase. Wanted or not, she is the Highlord of the Silver Hand, and she will die before she disgraces the Order or the man who trusted her to take up his mantle.

Varian says nothing at first, no doubt watching the emotions chasing across her expression. Eventually the taut crease between his eyebrows softens. "I see. Tirion chose well." The line of his mouth relaxes. It's not quite a smile, but neither is it a concerned frown. "Your report, Highlord?"

This much, at least, is familiar. "I don't know yet the extent of our casualties or where the strength of our forces stand. The battle was. . . catastrophic." The voice speaking the words is her own; she can hear it, can feel her mouth moving and the vibration of her voice in her throat, but it all feels oddly, inexplicably distant. "Lord Tyrosus should be back at Light's Hope shortly and is preparing the information for me. As soon as I know, I swear that you will, as well." Camdyn sets her shoulders back in as close an approximation of standing to attention as she can manage with the prince still working on her wound. "Regardless of whether one of the Silver Hand survived, or a thousand, we stand ready to defend Azeroth, Your Majesty."

Varian's eyes are sharp and probing as they sweep across her face. He's silent for a long moment, then lays a careful hand on her shoulder. "How long has it been since you slept?"

Camdyn blinks as she tries to process the question. Given how he's already once shared a meal with her, she's not sure that she's surprised he would ask. Varian Wrynn is a king of the people, and he cares for his soldiers. But she doesn't see how the exhaustion of a single paladin really makes a difference. She's just told him that one of the great lights of Azeroth has gone out and left her in charge of a shattered order, and he wants to know if she's slept?

But she still has to answer because the king is still waiting.

"Before Dalaran, sire."

A frown flashes across Varian's face, an emotion Camdyn can't place flickering behind his eyes. "When does the Silver Hand expect your return?"

"As soon as possible, Your Majesty." She's less aware of Anduin's fingers brushing over the burn on her arm in concentric passes than she is of the relentless intensity of Varian Wrynn's gaze on her. "Though, if I'm honest, I'll admit that no one predicted that I would have reached here before this time tomorrow."

Varian takes a deep breath, something that sounds final and decisive, and then nods sharply. "Excellent. Then you shall stay here to rest. Tomorrow, I'll have Farron make you a portal to Light's Hope. If you go after mid-day, you won't miss more than breakfast."

Camdyn can only blink at him, at them both, as the prayer Anduin had been incanting finally ends. Words of benediction as familiar to Camdyn as her own name close the recitation, but she can hardly process them. The warmth of the Light still flows through her from head to toe, and it feels for all the world like being submerged in a warm bath, yet all she can feel is the cold prickle of nerves under her skin and the anxious knotting of her stomach.

"I appreciate the offer, Sire-"

A not unkind shake of Varian's head makes the objection die in her throat. "It isn't an offer, Camdyn. A room shall be made ready for you for the night, and you will return to Light's Hope tomorrow after mid-day."

"Just tell him yes," Anduin mock-whispers, leaning in. "It's much easier than trying to argue when he gets like this."

Varian makes an amused noise that's somewhere between a snort and a grumble, and his hard eyes finally soften from blue flint to something warmer. It's oddly endearing.

Camdyn's tongue feels leaden in her mouth. "Of course, Sire."

The corner of Varian's lips quirks up at that, just slightly, and her heart clenches in her chest.

"See? That wasn't so bad," Anduin says as he claps her genially on the shoulder. She rocks with it, the movement making her belt pouch thump heavily against her thigh. Her heart stutters in an odd echo of it as adrenaline spikes through her.

She can't believe she'd almost forgotten.

"Your Majesty," she says, grateful that her voice finally feels something like her own again, "I apologize for the oversight, but I have a second purpose in coming here. It's," she licks her lips, searching for the appropriate words. "Personal," she finishes lamely.

All traces of warmth instantly fade from Varian's face, his eyes immediately sharp and quizzical.

"Personal?"

There's a pause, and Anduin looks at her, then his father. His eyes narrow before he schools his expression to neutrality. "Father? I believe I should write to Velen and ask if he knows any techniques for fel-healing. I'm not sure I got everything from the Highlord's wound. It is a matter of utmost urgency. May I take my leave?"

Varian nods. "Go with my blessing, son."

"Father. Highlord." The prince bows to his father, then to her. Camdyn has to bite back the urge to curtsy. Bow. Something. She's not used to this. She doesn't think she ever will be.

The massive door shuts surprisingly quietly behind him. Camdyn watches it close for a few seconds before realizing she's run out of excuses not to look at the king.

She's alone with Varian Wrynn. Again. Something else she doesn't think she'll ever get used to.

Camdyn swallows hard and looks at him.

Varian stands in front of her, his stance wide, heavy muscle bunching across the breadth of his shoulders as he folds his arms casually across his chest. "All right. You have my ear."

The words are simple, professional. Words he's said to her more times than she cares to count in the years since she came to his attention. But he's never said them to her while they're the only two people in the room.

Her breath shakes but her fingers miraculously don't as she raises them to the latch on her belt pouch. "Ashbringer wasn't all we found on the Shore," she says as she flips the top of her pouch open and carefully extracts the little package that's felt so weighty since she reclaimed it, still carefully wrapped in her handkerchief.

His frown deepens, but he reaches for the wrapped item as she holds it out to him on her palm.

She nearly gasps as his fingertips brush against the outside of her hand, his calluses catching slightly on her skin and the warmth of his hand hotter and brighter than even the Light still swirling through her from healing, before dragging against her palm as he gathers the package into his hand.

Her heart is suddenly thundering in her ears, and her throat feels far too tight. She tries not to flex her fingers, to curl them into his palm and savor the fleeting contact of his touch.

She offers a quick word of thanks to the Light that Varian seems not to notice, all of his attention on the item in his hand as he lifts a corner of the handkerchief. The white cloth falls away, revealing the gilded edge of the compass, and she watches as Varian's mouth nearly goes slack in surprise. He blinks down at his hand as sunlight gleaming off of the battered lid. His eyes snap back to her face, skating over her features before he finally meets her gaze and lets out a slow breath.

"You-" He cuts short whatever he'd intended to say, then licks his lips and tries again. "This is my father's compass."

Varian hums a small noise in his throat as he carefully unwraps the compass from her handkerchief. When it finally sits golden and gleaming in his palm, he rubs his thumb gently across the back in what seems a familiar motion. A deft press of his thumb has it popping open, despite the fact that it's battered and a little salt crusted, and Varian's expression warms when he sees the intact portrait inside. He runs a fingertip over the miniature for a long moment, then carefully closes the compass with a gentle click.

"I thought I'd lost this forever. Where did you find it?"

"On the Shore." Camdyn has to set her stance fighting wide to counter her suddenly shaky knees. "After we recovered Highlord Tirion."

"I sent you into hell and you not only came back...you brought this back to me." After a long moment, Varian stops looking at the little miracle in his hand and raises his eyes to her. He's looking at her as if the fact she found the compass isn't the miracle...she is.

Five thumping heartbeats later, he finally looks away. "I-" He stops himself, shakes his head slowly, then the corner of his mouth curves upward and a slow breath leaves him. "I had truly thought I wouldn't see it again." His deep voice is softer than she's ever heard it. "Thank you, Camdyn."

Camdyn could swear to the Light that her blush is so intense it melts her bones.

"I'm glad to serve, Your Majesty."

"Varian." The correction isn't sharp, but it pulls her up short all the same. Her stomach flips at the warmth in his voice.

"V-Varian," she repeats with a small smile, swallowing back a giddy, choked noise as his name crosses her lips. It's the first time she's called him by his given name when they aren't in the heat of battle, and she's sure her cheeks could be used to ignite a fire. She only hopes he'll chalk the flush up to windburn or side effects of fel magic. "The Light led me to it; I just followed."

Varian smiles at her, his eyes warm. "I owe you a large debt for this, Camdyn."

"Sire, I-"

He shakes his head, the long, rough silk tail of his hair grazing his shoulders. "Varian."

She's definitely immolating. Felguards and pitlords have nothing on Varian Wrynn.

"Varian," Camdyn manages.

"Good," he murmurs as rewraps the compass in her handkerchief and tucks the little package into his belt pouch. "As I said, I owe you. The House of Wrynn always pats its debts. Allow me to lead the Light's champion to her quarters." He strides to the door and gestures for her to follow. "You've done much for too many in the past few days. You need rest. Azeroth can ill afford to lose you."

Camdyn's hand is still tingling with the memory of his touch as he ushers her through the door. ____ This is a story I've been working on since Legion launched. Some things we learned in the lead-up, the writers changed. Generally, I liked what we learned first better. So the compass belonged first to Llane and was passed to Varian (which I alluded to in earlier chapters as well). In the grand scheme, though, I know that's a small change. The largest change is how I've handled Anduin.

Initially, after Pandaria, it was disclosed - or perhaps hinted at, I honestly don't recall - that the immense healing he had received had left him with chronic pain and the implication that he was sort of infused with the Light because so much had been poured into him. Before the Storm turned that experience into Anduin essentially becoming a (questionably faulty) walking lie-detector test. As with the compass, I preferred the initial idea better and have chosen to run with that instead of what they gave us in canon.

#Varian Wrynn #Anduin Wrynn #Camdyn Morris #WoW #Warcraft fanfic #World of Warcraft fanfic #A Prayer You Can Borrow #OTP: A World With No More Night #Universe: The Winds of Change #Galley writes stuff

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