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#i think he deserves to not be completely alone in his palace
theroyalyandere · 10 months
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Hi, can i ask for yandere prince with a childhood friend maid
yandere!prince x childhood friend!maid!reader (smut 18+)
cw: dark content, murder, unhealthy relationships, violence, stalking, non-con (non-consensual) content, virginity loss, blood, kidnapping
you and the prince were exactly at the same age that makes the both of you inseparable despite the queen's concern with her son being too close to a peasant luckily the king did not mind especially when he saw how cheerful his son is whenever you're around
you both did different kinds of mischief together causing headache to everyone in the palace
it's always been you and him together sneaking through secret passageways to escape his lessons and you escaping from your worried mother
years passed by his affections slowly became an obsession
there is not a moment that you are away from him, he constantly needs you by his side
as he grows up to be a fine prince and you a young woman, everyone decided that you two should no longer be allowed alone by yourselves especially how you two are unmarried
it would be a tarnish to the royal family's reputation if you were always seen by the young prince's side
despite the order coming from his mother the prince did not listen and it did affect the two of you but he didn't care
everyone majorly criticized you saying how you don't deserve him and how you are aiming for the crown and it hurts
so you distance yourself from your dear friend
bad idea because as soon as you avoided him
he caused chaos and panic when he suddenly became irritable and snappy
he even punished a bunch of servants because they displeased him
you think it will pass but it got even worse to the point he got into a fight with a viscount to defend you
he beat the man into black and blue then fell unconscious and the guards had to restrain him from the feral look at his face
his erratic breathing as he feels adrenaline rushing through him
his eyes lands on yours and you felt a shiver as he flashes you a grin
the man was later declared dead from the bruises that he received from the prince
no one could ever change their opinion on their prince
his reputation was tarnished, the royal family had to take measures to ease the public
he was berated by his mother who's words he only shrugged off
his world stopped when the word 'betrothal' left the queen's lips
he began to protest saying he wouldn't dare marry another woman if it wasn't you
the queen and the prince argument rang through the room allowing any passerby to hear the rumours
the word then began to spread that he is to be wed and his obsession about you
you slowly felt unsafe with the stares and whispers but you had to endure it for the sake of your livelihood
you continued to ignore him but the prince manages to follow you around, watching you do chores and interactions
what you don't know is that he often sneaks into the maid's quarters to stare at your slumbering figure
he would caress your skin and hair then kiss you
he had to restrain himself from his thoughts to completely devour you
his stalking continues until he saw another man showing interest towards you with no regards to the circulating rumours about his obsession over you
he watched with rage filling him as he saw how you return the man's affections
he clenches his fist as he kept repeating in his head that you're all his
the prince meets his fiancee, the poor girl couldn't even capture his attention
his nonchalance brought tears to her eyes as she watches him look over you, a maid who's being courted by a knight
sometime later, your engagement to the knight was announced
people are congratulating you with the prince's intentions darkening every second
if he can't make you look at him again, he will have to resort to more... forceful measures
so he found you alone one night, cornering you
you struggle within his grasp as he looks at you crazily
burying his face into your hair, inhaling your scent
"mmmm.. I fucking missed you so much. don't you miss me my girl?"
you whine and plead for him to let him go but it only spurs him on as he tightens his grip around you
"you're only mine, you hear me? Mine."
you shiver as his voice drips with danger
he tells you how's he's gonna change for you if you take him back
but you try to reason with him saying you two are already betrothed
he doesn't give a fuck and forcibly kisses you
his kisses were so rough you tried to bite him which made his lips bleed red
he chuckles and grows even more determined
"oh how wrong of you to do that foolish girl, I want to be gentle with you but I guess you want it rough."
your eyes widen and shake your head no as he carries you to a nearby room
you cry as he strips you naked, exposing your body to the cold air
he licks his lips as he unbuckles his pants
he grabs his hard cock dripping with pre
the prince pulls you towards him but you scramble away in a futile attempt
he's much stronger so he looks at you manically while you cry with fear from what he is about to do
he smiles down as he spreads your cunny open cooing how he's going to take your virginity
you keep screaming "no!" and beat his chest which angers him
he aligns his tip with your entrance then plunges without warning
you wail with pain as he does not allow you a second to accomodate to his size
he continues to take you as you cry from the pain and the situation
he only leans down to silence your crying
the prince looks down to see blood and slick coating his cock
he coos at how well you're taking him while you lay there crying and thrashing around as he fucks you against your will
he later makes you cum which renders you motionless and he soon follows after
you keep crying and pass out with exhaustion taking over you
he only grins as he kisses you softly before carrying you away to a secret place
he lays your body down into a soft bed and cleans you
he chains your wrists and legs into the bed so you won't be able to escape him
he kisses you one last time before tucking you in
the prince looks back lovingly before leaving the room
the room is hidden away inside the castle and no one has any access to it except him
the moment you wake up, you thought that what happened to you was only a nightmare until you see the chains around you and an unfamiliar room
the prince enters holding a tray of food and only smiles as he approaches you
you try to get away but he only pulls you towards him kissing you like a lover would
"now no once can take you away from me, ever."
a/n: I made it even darker, I hope you don't mind!
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Fangs and Fractured Hearts
Chapter 12: Catharsis
Summary: You helped Astarion complete the Rite of Profane Ascension and become the Vampire Ascendent. You agreed to become his spawn soon after. Once the Netherbrain was defeated, Astarion claimed the Szarr Palace, renaming it the Crimson Palace, for himself and set about his plans of domination.
Word Count: 6.3k
Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn
Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]
Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events.
If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know
Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience}
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"Then say it, Astarion,” she urges him. Her lower lip trembles. She unconsciously bites it to quell the movement. A single fang peeks out and glints in the sunlight, white as the purest snow. “Open the bond and say it.”
“I…I-” he trails off with a rasp and cracking voice. The words are lodged in his esophagus and anchored on the tip of his tongue. That presence in his mind tugs at his psyche, grappling for control. It speaks its ethereal omens. “ She will be your end. She spins her web of destruction even now. When she snares you, she will crush you in her grasp, and when you finally break, I will be there to claim you once again." He grimaces at the ill-portent and cedes, “Perhaps you are right. This is a conversation better had at home.”
She nods, crestfallen and stares at the lake with a longing look that he does not like to see upon her face. It’s the look of defeat. All hope is lost and withered away. She yearns for stillness and obscurity to quiet her mind. Yes, he knows the expression inlaid on her features well.
Is he putting her in further danger if he says it? Could the voice in his head be speaking truths?
He’s said it before. What stops him?
Is it a lie? He is no liar.
He said it before….
He said it…. 
Gods. It’s hard to think clearly with this tittering in his head, defiling his thoughts with its blighted ballad. The presence screams that she is a threat. She has cast some sort of spell on him. “A trick!” It chimes, “A clever, beautiful trick by a clever, beautiful sorceress. She means to unravel you! She means to break you apart, crumble you into pieces and dance on your ashes!”
She would not do such a thing. Would she? Could she? He has used his beauty to mislead many in the past centuries. Is it possible she is doing the same? She cannot scourge him physically, but mentally… well, that is a fate far worse than even death.
She would not trick him. She need not trick him. He already lov-
Hells below, he cannot even think it, let alone say it aloud.
He can force her. He can make her his with naught but a thought. She already belongs to him. He can pull her strings and make her dance, a puppet upon his world stage because he is the Vampire Ascendant, and he can take anything he pleases.
No. He grimaces at the sadistic notion and how good and powerful it makes him feel. His thoughts become contorted and serpentine too easily these days, a pit of snakes twisting themselves into tangled knots.
She wants something real. She deserves something real, but what in the Hells does real look like? Is it supposed to be like in the silly stories he’s read? Surely not. Those are just a conglomerate of lovely words, trussed into pretty lies that the eyes can view.
He hears them before he sees them. They stand idle in the shadows, trying to hide their heartbeats behind the thundering hoofs of the horses and the wind whipping through the trees. They do not smell like powdered iron-vine.
They are learning.
They should not know he is here, but he does not have time to ruminate on it. His heart detonates in his chest, leaping around like a frightened bird in a cage. The presence in his head serenades him, pulling at its chains, pleading to be unleashed. He needs to get her away from here, from them and himself, before he sinks.
“Run!” He commands.
She hesitates, her pouty lips set into a hard line while she scowls at him and protests his commands. She draws the Weave. It shimmers around her like a vapour in the air. She is beautiful.
She challenges him at every damn turn. He loves it. He loves her for it.
He loves her…
She will not leave of her own accord. Even if he begs, an army cannot make her leave his side, and he knows it. He knows what he must do, but he does not wish to do it. Taking her control from her, forcing her into servitude, the idea used to thrill him. When did that stop?
Yet, he will always do what he must, even if it pains him as he has always done.
He confiscates her control, “Run to the manor as fast as you can and stay there until I return. You will stop for no one and nothing.”
She’s going to berate him later for this, but at least she will be alive to admonish him.
She sprints, and he summons every werewolf, every bat, and every ghoul he can, “Follow her!” He sends several away as the hunters rush him. He parries and dodges, sinking his blades into ribs, necks, and chests. “Protect her at all costs. Signal me when she is out of the forest and return here.”
Gods, his head hurts as he’s torn, the rattling of chains in his head splitting his concentration, but he must make sure she makes it out before he can give in and be overtaken. What will he lose this time? Whenever he drowns, something is stolen from him - a memory becomes snapped and riven like looking into a broken mirror, another part of the real him lost.
Once he hears the baying signal, he lets go and allows himself to be consumed, and all is black, black, black.
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Shadowheart tugs on your limbs and clothes, wrapping her arms around your waist and heaving with all her strength. Her voice resounds, but it sounds like a faint, distant whisper, like the sigh of a weary breeze over barren plains. You feel like you’re staring at yourself from a distance. Fatigued, faded and lusterless, you’re a relic of what was and what could have been, just another corpse littering the earth. The skyline is the indigo and blue hues of impending dawn, and the stars no longer stare down on this tragedy as they wink out like eyes shutting against an unexpected bright light. When the sun rises, you will float away and be forgotten in the sands of time.
You were so close. Gods, so fucking close. In the end, Astarion had been right. Love hailed itself a saviour and became your destroyer.
“The sun is rising,” Shadowheart pants, panicked as she tries to pry your fingers from their clutch on Astarion, but they might as well be fused to him. “We don’t have a second longer to lose.”
Each time you blink, a new memory appears and plays in your mind’s eye. Some good. Some bad. Some terrible. Is this what they mean when people say your life flashes before your eyes at death? The reliquary opens, and your hopes, dreams and broken pieces are laid before you to gaze upon.
“Astarion would not want this!” Shadowheart raves, agitation and dread, making her voice tremble. She shakes your shoulders and hauls on them. “He would not want you to die!”
I am already dead.
The first thin golden strings of the newborn sun weave their way through the trees, a grand lace of radiant light that falls upon your pearlescent, colourless skin. Shadowheart screams, her heartbeat pounds in your ears, her blood a tidal wave through her veins as she tries to cocoon you with her body and limbs so the light cannot consume you.
“I’ve got her, Shadowheart,” Astarion’s faint voice charges the air. “I’ve always got her.”
You barely catch it, another whispering flutter in the air, but his chest shudders underneath you, and you’re plunged into your body. Your eyes snap to his, which are open in a hairline split. Crismon barely peeks through behind thick lashes, but somehow, you know he’s looking straight at you.
You grab his hands, interlocking your fingers with his, “Astarion?”
He does not answer, but his fingers twitch, and his grip tightens, if only by a barely perceivable fragment.
Shadowheart clambers, her hands glowing the baby blue hue of her magic so brightly that she could rival the sun as she focuses every morsel of power she has left. She slams her splayed hands onto Astarion’s chest with a thump that makes him wheeze and cough, and he’s bathed in vivid blue.
“You’re not burning.” Shadowheart’s chest swells and recedes like waves over a storm-tossed ocean with exertion, “Is he?”
Astarion stills again, eyes closed. Yet, you do not burn as the rays of light prance over your skin. Your ears perk and quiver as they catch the faint, feeble beating in his chest.
You smile at Shadowheart and throw your arms around her, “His heart beats. He lives. Thank you, Shadowheart. Good Gods, thank you.”
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You sit cross-legged on the bed beside Astarion and fixate on him. Shadowheart helped you get him home and into bed, but he’s still not stirred more than some muttering and twitching in his sleep in three days. You’ve not left his side to sleep or eat, and you’re getting hungry. Very hungry. Shadowheart refuses to leave despite your insistence that she is not safe with you. With each passing second, it gets harder and harder to ignore her presence. Astarion’s heartbeat is of no concern to you, but hers… good Gods. Hers sounds like a culinary delight being offered to a starving ogre. You forgot how hard it was to be around the living with their delicious-smelling blood and beating hearts, begging to be tasted.
I’m a monster.
Shadowheart knocks and lets herself into Astarion’s bedroom. She yawns and stretches. You can hear her bones cracking and grimacing at the sound assaulting your ears, “Still nothing?”
“No,” you mumble, clutching fistfuls of bedsheets to stop yourself from scratching your skin in front of her. “His heart sounds stronger and beats more rhythmically, but he hasn’t woken.”
Shadowheart nods toward him, “May I?”
She’s been continuing to heal him every day as much as she can until she needs to sleep and recuperate. You’re surprised she’s putting so much effort into helping him. You thought she hated him, but there is worry etched into the lines of her expression and sadness you did not think you would see, at least when it came to him. You push yourself against a wall, splaying your hands against the wood. You cannot let her get too close to you. You are dangerous. Being a vampire spawn has not been as easy as Astarion made it look. Although, it is substantially less difficult when you’re well-fed.
“Go ahead,” you nod at Shadowheart with a small smile, “but always be wary of me. I cannot be trusted.”
She scoffs, laying a hand on Astarion and reciting incantations in a repeating melody, “You lived with me for a year, and you only tried to kill me once. I trust you. You have better control than you believe, but I will be on guard.”
You wince at the memory. It had been only a few weeks into living with Gale and Shadowheart after they found you in the sewers, starving, writhing and feral with hunger. Astarion had made being a spawn look easy. He could be around blood and gore, and it barely seemed to affect him, but you learned quickly that it was not as simplistic as that.  Shadowheart and Gale could not understand why you would not leave your room or why you barricaded yourself in there with every spare piece of furniture you could. One night, you had ventured down, and Shadowheart had been cooking after having had quite enough of Gale’s dry and tasteless food. She nicked herself with a knife chopping vegetables. A small wound, but the blood in the air sent you into a feeding frenzy, blacking out everything but that delicious sanguine tang and you had lunged at her. Gale cast sleep on you before you could bite. Shadowheart laughed it off, but it was a wake-up call to you.
You are dangerous. You cannot be trusted, and you cannot trust yourself. Bloodlust overrides everything else far too easily.
Shadowheart’s magic washes over him again but with little noticeable effect, and she frowns at her palms as if somehow it’s her fault.
“He’s improving,” you assure her, disheartened by her sullen look. “Every time, he improves. His heart beats stronger.”
She clenches her fist with a nod and a grin, walking over to the chair at the other end of the room. She gives you once over and states, “You’re hungry.”
You swallow hard, crawl onto the bed and place your hand on his chest. You can feel his heartbeat in your palm, and it comforts you, “Yes. I’m very hungry,” you don’t bother trying to conceal it. “You should leave Shadowheart. I know you mean well, and I am grateful for all your help, but I am not Astarion. I do not have the control he does.”
“He keeps you well fed,” she points at Astarion. It’s not a question, and you cock your head at her, “You were skin and bones when you left, but you’re looking healthy again. You’re looking like yourself. I imagine you’ve not gotten much better at hunting, so he must do it for you.”
Your fingers curl into him, “He’s trying to teach me,” you laugh lowly for the first time in days. “He says I’m atrocious. I believe he called it an affront to the gods themselves,” you try to mimic his voice while rolling your eyes. “He takes me out every night, usually.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Shadowheart’s brows pinch. “You said you didn’t have time to explain it, but we have nothing but time while we wait on him. Gods. Is he always this lazy?”
She’s trying to cheer you up, and you giggle at her. You’ve missed her. Shadowheart was not overly pleased when you showed up as a spawn, but she accepted it when you told her it was what you wanted. Shadowheart has been the only one, other than Astarion, who you can be brutally honest with regarding your morbid urges.
“He always did enjoy his beauty sleep,” you shrug with a giggle, and she grins. “The Rite had more consequences than we assumed,” you sigh, “Not entirely surprising. As for what exactly, I cannot be sure yet, but I think it would be best if he tells you himself - if he wants to.”
“I understand. If he allows it, I will help any way I can,” she nods. She will not pry because she would want the same choice if it were her, and you would never give away her secrets, just as you refuse to give away his, “You need not be alone in this.”
Hells below. Shadowheart never fails you.
“I could hug you right now, Shadowheart.” You smile, fangs bared, because you do not need to hide from her, “But can we perhaps wait until I’ve eaten and you’re not looking so godsdamn delicious?”
“I’ll have you know that I am as delicious as you are pale. I will have to tell Astarion to get you out into the sun more often,” she giggles as you groan. You’ve had enough sun for a while after your last dalliance with it, “I will take the hug when you’re feeling less peckish. I like my blood in my veins.”
Peckish is an understatement. You could eat a bear, or two, or three, or perhaps an army of them right now. Those hunger cramps and spasms in your muscles are starting to make themselves known and hard to control. Your mouth is a salivating spring, and you have to swallow excessively lest you drool. If Astarion does not wake soon, you will have to push Shadowheart out with physical force if she does not heed your warnings.
“You really should think about going home, Shadowheart,” you urge with a plea that wobbles your intonation. Your hand hovers over bandaged wounds. The superficial ones healed long ago, but these. Gods. Any of these would have killed a mortal man instantly, and he has several, “Astarion just needs time to heal, I think.”
Shadowheart’s eyes flash with that pig-headed defiance you’ve come to know, and she sniffs, “I’m not leaving until he wakes,” she smirks as you grumble under your breath at her, “Is there anything you can tell me about what is going on with him?”
“I know this will be a challenge for you,” you smirk at her with a knowing glower, “But when he wakes, try not to make him angry. You two have always been like cats and dogs, but try not to push him too far. When he gets angry…. Well, let’s say he is not himself.”
“Don’t make him angry?” Shadowheart scoffs, crossing her arms and turning her nose up with a brashly twisted mouth, “Gods. That will be quite the task. He can be exceptionally insufferable.”
“I heard that.” Astarion grumbles, clicking his tongue while opening his eyes sluggishly, “I am a positively magnificent bastard, aren’t I?”
“Astarion!” You nosedive into him, wrapping your arms around him and basking in the warmth of his skin.
“Well, hello, little love,” he purrs comfortingly. His arm wraps around you and compresses you against his chest with his nose in your hair. He thrusts you back with one arm and scans you, “You are alright?”
“Me!?” You fight the overwhelming desire to shake him. He’s just woken up, and he’s asking about you? “You stupid, foolish idiot! When you are on your feet, you and I need to talk.”
He chuckles, running his fingers through your hair, “I expected as much.”
Shadowheart stands, “I hate to break this up, but may I?”
She gestures to Astarion, and you nod, pulling out of Astarion’s grip with a reluctance that makes your skin crawl. Astarion arches a brow at your retreat. Shadowheart’s magic infuses his skin, healing him slightly further, and he looks at her confused.
“Thank you for taking care of her, Astarion,” Shadowheart emphasizes with a genuine smile. “She’s looking well. I owe you gratitude for that. She would not tell me what’s happened to you, but I would like to help if I can - if you will accept it. I don’t need your answer now, but think about it.”
“Uh,” Astarion is taken aback by Shadowheart’s authentic appreciation, but he recovers his detached mask quickly. “You’re welcome,” he says cooly, “I will think on your request. Please tell me this does not make us,” he cringes, “friends.”
Shadowheart scoffs, “Gods, no!”
“Good,” Astarion giggles. “I do positively enjoy our squabbling, after all.”
Astarion’s eyes swing to you, pressed against the wall as if you’re trying to melt into it. Your jaw is clenched hard, teeth rasping. Try as you might, you cannot hide the discomfort you’re feeling, and you look away from him, uncomfortable under his penetrating gaze. He will recognize bloodlust.
Astarion pushes himself upright, “How long have I been out? Please tell me she’s at least tried to eat.”
Shadowheart answers before you do, “Three days and no. She has not left your side,” she points at you with a scowl, “Despite my insistence that she do so. You know how stubborn she can be.”
“Hells below.” Astarion is out of bed before you or Shadowheart can comprehend what’s happened, and he pulls you close to him with a tight grip on your waist, “I thank you for your assistance, Shadowheart, truly, but you should leave. It’s not safe for you to be around her. I will think about your offer and walk you out.”
Shadowheart puts her hand up with a shake of her head, “That is unnecessary. I can show myself out. Take care of her, Astarion. Do not make me regret saving your hide.”
Astarion chuckles, “I can only promise I will take care of her. You have my word."
Shadowheart smiles at you, “I will be expecting that hug once you’re feeling better.”
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The shattered glass crunches under your feet as you walk through the shambles of what remains of the mirrors, vases and paintings you ravaged. Little pieces of mirror reflect the candlelight, spraying it in a flickering array across the walls and ceiling like a conglomerate of stars. Your fingers tremble over the curtains, but the anguish is fresh in your mind, and you can’t get yourself to open them. It feels grave to be away from Astarion, even though he’s upstairs, and you keep your hearing trained on his heartbeat, afraid that if you don’t, it might arrest.
With a sigh, you bend down and start to collect the broken fragments of the mirror that spurns your existence and remains empty despite your fingers gripping the surface. You breathe on the glassy surface. You know nothing will happen, but for a reason unknown to you, the refusal to acknowledge you sways you in a sudden grip on anger. You squeeze it, and the sharp edges slice into your fingers. Blood wells up, gliding and smearing on the surface, and you grin as if you’ve forced the damn thing to accept you are real.
“Decided to do a little redecorating, I see,” Astarion chuckles, arching a brow at the mess.
You whirl, compressing the pieces of mirror in your hand so hard they start to buckle and splinter further. You want to berate him for sending you away, screaming at him for compelling you and scolding him for dying and almost leaving you alone for eternity, but once your eyes meet his, the anger is washed away by relief. He’s alive, and for now, that’s all that matters.
I have an eternity to chastise him for being an idiot.
“Sorry.” It’s the best you can do.
Astarion walks toward you, and even though the floor is littered with rubble, his footsteps still make no sound. His fingers slip down your arm to the hand that’s clutching those broken pieces, blood still rolling down the surface.
“It’s okay, little love.” He coos, taking the fragments from you and letting them fall back to the floor. He kisses your blood-smeared fingers, “It was all horrific. Wasn’t it? We can redecorate.”
We?
Gods. He talks as if nothing has happened, and it vexes you, but you slip your arms around him, push your ear to his chest, and enjoy that steady and strong beat almost stolen from you.
Astarion kisses your temple, then forehead and then tilts your head up and moulds his lips to yours in a lingering kiss before pulling back and scowling at you. His voice is coarse and booming, “What you did in the forest was bloody stupid! What in the Hells were you thinking? You would have burned to death had Shadowheart’s damn wailing not roused me.”
“You don’t get to lecture me on stupidity.” You push him away and meet his ire with your own. “You should not have sent me away! I could have helped.”
“It’s not your problem,” he shakes his head.
“Oh, Gods,” you scoff at him, fingers curling into fists at your side, “Not this bullshit again! Your problems are my problems. When will you learn that?”
“No.” He hisses, “I failed you once, and the Gur nearly killed you. I will not fail you again.”
“You imbecile!” You scream, starting to weep, and you put your hand on a wall to keep yourself steady as the leaden weight of everything that’s happened descends, “You died! You were dead! You… you almost left me here all alone.”
The blaze of anger in his eyes winks out, sterilized by grief. Astarion’s brows rise, and the corners of his mouth turn down, “Oh, love, no.”
Astarion’s arms fold around you as your knees give out, and he braces you against him with a hand at the back of your head. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles with his lips against your forehead.
You almost want to push him away, to give yourself some distance, because you are falling too hard, too fast, but he guides your head up, and warm ruby eyes unite with yours. The connection with him croons the invitation to open, and you don’t hesitate to answer. Everything floods in a downpour. All your nerves, synapses, and neurons buzz with the efflux of information. You squeeze your eyes shut as your body attempts to orient itself. You inhale several shaky breaths as his heart beats inside your chest. It’s uncomfortable, but Hells, you will gladly take that pain.
The flood eases and becomes pleasant, languid streams that cross softly, slowly, and you are one. You are whole. You are complete.
Before you can open your eyes again, you feel Astarion’s lips ghost over yours, and you part them for him in a gasp as you feel his desire ignite. A raw, almost feral passion, unbridled and uninhibited. It’s so potent it’s intoxicating, and your yearning bursts and throbs between your thighs. Astarion kisses you with ferocity, and his tongue darts into your mouth. His taste is rich, deep and dark, and you moan as you drink him in. His fingers slip into your hair at the back of your neck, holding you firmly while he pushes your back against the wall. He grinds his hips into you with a resonating growl as he pins you.
Good Gods. With the connection to him open, you feel everything. His pleasure. Your pleasure. All brimming and teeming as one ocean of bliss you’re going to drown in. Without his smooth skin against yours, you feel painfully bare, and you rip open his shirt, flinging buttons askew. Astarion slips your dress from your shoulders with a smug smirk and lustfully hooded eyes, and it pools at your feet as Astarion lets his shirt fall.
Pushing yourself against him, you sigh with a pining whimper. He feels pure and warm as sunshine, and he is the light that parts the gloom of sorrow that has clutched your heart for the past few days.
Astarion parts your folds, spreading them and stroking the slickness. He is not slow this time. He is not teasing. He is feverish in his need for you. The pads of his fingers find your aching center, swollen with want, and quickly settle into a rhythm that makes your body twitch and spasm with white-hot pleasure, making you arch off the wall. You moan loud and animalistic, whimpering his name like a verse that’s stuck in your head, and his throat steals your moans with his lips on yours as if he can taste the euphoria in your cries.
Tension coils in your belly, and Astarion moans deep and velvety smooth as you crest and dissolve for him. He doesn’t waste a moment. You can feel his urgency from the connection, and it makes you just as rabid. You need to feel him stretching you, massaging your walls, making you his.
With a quick snap of his wrist, his trousers are below his hips. His cock is hard and yearning, twitching in the candlelight. Astarion grips your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist, and he buries himself into you with one quick thrust.
The pleasure is so intense, either his or yours or maybe it’s both combined, you do not know, but you clench around him so hard he hisses when he inhales and groans, bracing himself with his forearm on the wall as if he might fall over.
“F-fuck,” he pants. He pulls out slowly and slams back into you with a snap of his hips. “Tell me you love me,” he commands with another pump, plunging himself deeper.
Your ears barely perceive the words he’s saying while you sink into your mind-numbing ecstasy, but you know what he wants intuitively, “I love you,” you whimper, lacing your fingers into his soft curls.
Astarion’s pace increases, uncontrolled and more frantic, as he rears his hips back and drives into you. He pushes himself as close as he can possibly get while he pumps his into you.
“Again,” he instructs huskily as he finds a pace that snares all your senses. “Say it again.”
“I love you,” you breathe, panting, bucking your hips to push against his thrusts, rolling them in the way you know drives him crazy. “I love you. I love you. I love you,” you repeat a whispering hymn.
Every nerve quivers in bliss, and your eyes roll back. You clench, gripping his cock tighter and tighter with every thrust.
“Come,” he growls the command darkly.
Your lips crash into his as you comply, your body submitting to his influence. It feels like a dream to obey, and you crash into your orgasm like a wave crashing upon a rocky shore. You cry out, fingers raking his skin, thighs squeezing him as you’re cast upon that shore time and time again.
“Good girl,” he purrs. His hips stutter as the tremors massage his girth. “Again,” he barks with a groan, his breath hitching as he plunges into you erratic and needy.
Every pump of his hips is an ode to possession. Every twitch of his cock is a chorus of control. Every time he drives you to your peak is a sonnet to claim.
He owns you. You belong to him. You are his.
Yes, take me and make me yours.
You don’t know if they are your thoughts or his, but you hear his answer in your mind as it drifts on the slipstream of your bond.
“I will.”
Good Gods. Astarion means to make you shatter around him over and over until your body cannot possibly splinter any further. He means to take, take and take until you have nothing left to give, and even then, he means to take more.
And he does.
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The smell of Honeysuckle, Vanilla and brandy is heavy and prevalent, arousing you gently back to your senses. Your eyes remain closed with lingering fatigue. The muscles in your body ache with an obnoxiously constant pang, and you groan and grumble under your breath at the sensation. There’s a serene tranquillity rife that you cannot quite explain, like a peaceful and undisturbed pond. You’re warm as if swaddled in a blanket made of sunlight.
Sunlight. Sun…
No. You should not be in the sun!
Your eyes snap open, and you flounder, graceless and clumsy. Steam rises all around you, and water swooshes and splashes over the sides of a ceramic-tiled tub, splashing against the floor.
“Easy, love,” Astarion chuckles, pulling you against his chest to stop your inelegant lumbering. “You’re alright.”
Your head quirks up, and your eyes meet his gaze. Candlelight treads and sways in the sanguine sea, and kindness coruscates, making them radiate softly.
You blink, and your hand slices through the water, “What in the Hells?”
“A bath,” he grins handsomely, sweeping wet strands of hair from your cheek and behind your ear tenderly. His fingers trace your jaw, “Apologies. I may have gotten a little… carried away.”
Carried away is one word for it, I suppose.
“Oh,” he giggles, beautiful and lighthearted, as careless as a child at play. It makes you smile. You came so close to never hearing that sound again. “And what’s the other word for it?”
Shit. He’s still in my head.
“Yes,” he kisses your temple, hugging you tighter. His fingers skim across your skin comfortingly, “I am still in your head as you are in mine.”
“You put me in a bath?” You arch your brow at him.
“It was necessary,” he smirks arrogantly. “I made quite a mess of you.”
Astarion reaches down, his fingers parting your folds, and you jump, confused at what exactly his goal is. “Relax,” he purrs. “This is not about sex.” His fingers rub over you gently, washing you and easing that soreness his enthusiasm caused. His feelings of affection and genuine, thoughtful compassion roll through the connection. “Unless you wish to go for round four? Or was it five? Or six? I could be persuaded.”
You groan and slump down further into the bath. Despite your exhaustion, your body responds to his touch as it always does, fire igniting within your stomach and desire making your skin prickle.
“Good Gods, Astarion,” you mumble with a sigh. “No more.”
“I thought not.” Astarion lathers his hands with soap and starts washing your arms, chest and back. He massages your stiff muscles with perfect pressure.
Should I be angry with him? 
“Oh, don’t be sour,” he tsks, clicking his tongue and nuzzling your cheek. “You enjoyed yourself. I felt it. I felt it every godsdamn time. I almost couldn’t contain myself. You’re lucky I have such excellent control. That would undo a lesser man immediately.”
“You are full of yourself, aren’t you?” You laugh. Astarion’s cheerful mood is infectious, and you can’t help but feel a little bubbly with happiness yourself.
He shrugs, “Can you truly blame me? I am rather impressive.”
“I think it’s me that’s impressive,” you smirk with a wolfish grin, “If the exultant Vampire Ascendant could barely contain himself.”
“Sassy girl,” he tuts with a chuckle. “You are inconceivably enchanting. Even with an eternity, I could never get enough of all this.” He gestures over your body with seductive eyes but becomes more serious, “And whatever this is, between us, I could never tire of it, my love.”
My love… 
The words descend in your mind, slow and tortuous like a feather falling from a great height. He does not love you. He said as much himself, and his silence and reluctance when you pressed him only cemented that. Yet, his actions speak different words, and his thoughts and feelings that you can feel utter different syllables. You don’t know which language to believe.
“I do,” his answer floats in your head, not out of his mouth.
You push away from him, whirling around in the enormous tub, splashing additional water over the edges. You need to see him, be able to watch and look in his eyes. His brows furrow in confusion, and he looks at the swaying water, “At least, I think I do.”
“What happened downstairs was not love. You want to possess me, control me and claim me. You want me to belong to you. I felt it,” you frown. It’s all so godsdamned confusing. “You craved ownership, not a partner. Is that love to you?”
Astarion’s eyes widen, and his hand reaches for you, but you bat it away, and he stops his advance. You need distance if you have any hope of keeping your wits about you.
“You want to be taken and claimed. You want to be mine,” he snarls, but there’s a sorrow weaved in between that choler. “I felt it. I heard it. I do not understand why you deny yourself these truths. Why do you continue to fight me?”
He’s clever, always able to take your questions, skirt them artfully and turn them around on you, but you know his tricks. He’s partly correct. You do want to be his, to belong, but you do not want to be owned and controlled.
“You didn’t answer the question, Astarion.” You retort bluntly, narrowing your eyes at him.
You have to tread carefully over these hot coals. If you challenge him too much, you’re likely to be reacquainted with his anger made flesh.
Astarion takes a deep breath, calming himself and smoothing his severe expression, “I already admitted I got carried away and caught up in the intensity of the moment. Sometimes, my thoughts become twisted. What more do you want me to say?”
You can accept that sometimes his thoughts are out of his control. You’ve heard the chittering yourself, and it’s like a flesh-eating infection that grazes upon contemplations. If you want him to continue being open, you must be able to withstand his darkness.
You can and you will because you must.
Always the lovesick hero.
“You know what I want you to say,” you whisper with a tear glistening in the corner of your eye. You know he won’t say it. You can feel his aversion as if it were your own.
“I can’t,” Astarion says flatly. He does not offer a reason. His fingers comb through his hair, and he shudders as if ice was suddenly thrust upon his warm skin. “You want something real? I’m not entirely sure what real looks like, but I will try. For you, I will try. But I cannot say what you’re asking right now.”
“Then I think this conversation is over,” you growl bitterly while climbing out of the bath.
Water drips down your body as you wrap yourself in one of the plush towels. You can feel his pain through the bond, and it’s tearing you apart on the inside, but you cannot fathom being his pet. You are not an object to be owned and flaunted, and no matter how badly you want him, you cannot allow him to treat you as such.
He does not speak as you walk away, your feet leaving wet marks across the floor. You don’t turn when you speak. You cannot see the sorrow reflected in his eyes, “And Astarion, if you ever compel me like that again, I will walk out and never return.”
His answer is calculated and numb, “I will do what is necessary to protect you.”
“Then you better be ready to lose me,” you snarl. “I am not an object you can wield when it suits your needs and put away when you’ve finished with me.”
“So be it,” he concludes quickly.
This time, you close the door in your head, although you’re reluctant to do so as you tread the hall back to your room. You are hollow once again, but you fill the void with hatred. You will find out how the Gur knew of your whereabouts and descend on the wings of death.
You know exactly where to start.
Elowyn.
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Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things. As always, I hope you enjoy this, darlings!
AO3 [Crossposted]
Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts
If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past
Small Notes:
I felt terrible for the cliffhanger, so I spent much of my free time writing this week so I could keep mostly on schedule :)
93 notes · View notes
lonelysatellites · 1 year
Text
Punk!Steve X Reader
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Punk!Steve x Y/N fem reader - 5.3k
Basically just some angsty hate fucking ❤️‍🔥
Smut! (Minors DNI I will kick u) unprotected p in v, fingering, praise kink, daddy kink, creampie, drug use, Steve has a pierced dick (ur welcome)
Dividers by @firefly-graphics Punk Steve edit originally by @multiwongi I think!
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Steve Harrington had always annoyed the shit out of you. The way he’d strut around the school, flicking those stupid chestnut locks and flirting with almost every girl that was unfortunate enough to stray into his path. He’d end up fucking most of them too. You’d see him on a Monday morning before class, smug smirk plastered on his face while he bragged about his weekend antics with Brenda or Sadie or Hannah. Steve Harrington completely believed his own hype. He leant into that King Steve bullshit, lived for it, you could see it in the way he’d look down his nose at all the little people around him. He’d laugh cruelly with Carol and Tommy at those born less fortunate - less money, unattractive, no athletic prowess. You really fucking hated him.
When you spotted Nancy Wheeler hanging on Steve’s muscular arm you’d been disappointed in her, expecting better from one of the smartest girls in the school. She’d always struck you as independent, a little fierce, just all around better than the girls Steve usually went for. Yet here she was, giggling at his dumb jokes and twirling her curly locks around her finger, desperately batting her lashes.
When she broke Steve’s heart you couldn’t help but feel a cruel satisfaction. Watching the King mope around, nursing his wounds (both emotional and physical, you wanted to buy a beer for whoever gave him that black eye) made you grin to yourself. He deserved to feel like shit for a while considering how him and his friends had treated others for so long.
It seemed Nancy made a fairly big impression on Steve. Over the next couple of years you saw more changes in him, things that confused you to no end. He was suddenly hanging out with middle schoolers. You’d see his purple BMW pull up outside Palace Arcade, a group of kids piling out and running inside, ignoring his calls to be “out here in one hour or I’ll leave without you!”.
Next came Robin, one of the last people you’d have ever expected to be friends with Steve. You knew they’d worked together at Scoops before the mall fire, but now they were inseparable. It seemed strictly platonic, you never saw Steve make his usual cheesy moves on Robin, it just seemed like he genuinely enjoyed her company, and for some reason she enjoyed his.
But if there was one person who you’d have expected to befriend Steve less than Robin, it was Eddie. You’d always assumed Eddie had shared your dislike of Steve. He hated the popular crowd at school, he’d been the victim of their merciless bullying for years. You’d sit in the cafeteria, grinning wildly when he’d jump up from the seat beside you, stomping up and down the table as he yelled about conformity and popularity and the usual high school bullshit.
And now here he was, hanging around with Harrington. After all the mess of last spring break, somehow in the time he was missing, hiding from the police who wanted him for murders he didn’t commit, Eddie ended up befriending Steve. Ed had never really gone into detail about what happened in that week he was missing, you knew he’d tell you when he was ready so you hadn’t pushed it. But you couldn’t for the life of you work out how Steve factored in.
Regardless, he was now an annoyingly permanent fixture in your life. He was everywhere you went, always hanging around Eddie and the kids. You felt like you were suffocating, barely getting any time with your best friend alone now.
Even stranger than Eddie’s fondness for Steve was the way that his influence seemed to be rubbing off on the former king of Hawkins High.
It started gradually - black jeans instead of blue, pastel sweaters and polos swapped out for ripped T-shirts and a leather jacket. The next time you saw him the jacket was adorned with studs and patches and pins, and a silver stud sparkled in his ear lobe. Then it was the haircut, sides and back of his head shaved close, leaving length just on the top that continued to fall forwards into his face. After that he really kicked things up a gear. Every time you saw him there was a new tattoo, barbed wire around his muscular bicep, a spiders web stretched across the side of his neck, a skull on his hip (your eyes had snapped up the the ceiling tiles in Family Video when he lifted his shirt to show you and Eddie, trying to hide the blush that spread across your cheeks from seeing his toned stomach and the dark hairs that disappeared into his waistband).
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All day you’d been looking forward to a Steve free evening, Eddie had sworn it would be just the two of you. He’d driven you back to his trailer after school, the only plan to smoke a lot of weed and listen to a lot of music. You settled down against Eddie’s headboard, about to light the joint that hung between your lips when you hear a knock at the door. Eddie pushes up from the end of the bed, turning the music down slightly, assuming it was one of his neighbours coming over to complain about the volume.
“Don’t start without me.”
The paper hisses and crackles as you draw back a deep breathe. You exhale steadily, blowing the cloud in Eddie’s direction.
“Too late. Sorry.” You grin.
He rolls his eyes at you, hurrying out to get rid of whoever was at the door before you could smoke too much of the joint.
You laid back, stretching out your legs and relaxing into the warmth of Eddie’s comforter as you blow out another thick stream of smoke.
“Uhh Princess? Better slow down on that, we’ve got someone else to share with.”
You shift up, propping yourself up on your elbows, cigarette still bitten between your teeth. Eddie looks sheepish stood in the door way to his room. When your eyes flick behind him you see Steve, sporting a new piercing. A thin black metal ring loops over his plump bottom lip, and he catches it between his teeth before releasing it with a small pop.
Your eyes narrow. “Harrington.” You mutter.
“Hey Y/N! How’re you doing?” he beams, flopping down on the bed next to you. You pull your legs up quickly, trying to create some distance between you both.
“I was doing fine.”
If Steve catches the venom in your tone he doesn’t acknowledge it, just gives you that crooked grin and reaches across to you, plucking the joint from your lips and quickly putting it between his own. You scowl, mouth opening to protest but Eddie shoots you a look, his eyes pleading with you to play nice. You snap your jaw shut, wriggling up the bed making room for Eddie between you and Steve, you need a barrier.
The rest of the evening passes uneventfully. The three of you smoke a little more, listen to a couple of new albums that Eddie’s picked up. Conversation doesn’t exactly flow, Eddie talks to Steve, and Eddie talks to you. But every time Steve tries to ask you a direct question, or muscle his way into your conversation with Eddie you make it painfully clear that you have no interest in talking to him.
Soon enough it’s dark outside, and you glance across at Eddie’s alarm clock, the glowing red numbers alerting you that you’ll need to leave soon if you’re going to make your curfew.
“Ed, we’ll have to go in a minute.”
“Sure thing Princess, I’ll go get my keys.” He stands up, turning to look at Steve.
“I need to take Y/N home man. Do you wanna hang out here til I get back, or are you gonna head off?”
“Nah I’ll go, I should be getting home. But why are you driving Y/N? I could take her.”
Eddie’s eyes widen, flitting across to you and then back to Steve. “I don’t know if-“
“Look, it seems ridiculous that you need to drive her across town and then come back, when I’m going that way anyway, she can just get a lift with me.”
Eddie turns to you, struggling to meet the icy glare you’re sending his way.
“It does make sense Princess. You okay with Stevie taking you home?”
You’re furious, the last thing you want is to spend anymore time with Steve, especially alone. But logically it does make sense, and now you feel like you’d be the bad guy for insisting Eddie needs to spend forty minutes driving you around.
You shrug your shoulders. “Whatever, it’s fine.”
“You’re very welcome.” Steve teases, standing and offering you a large hand to pull you up. You ignore his offer of help, standing up on your own and walking out to the living room.
Steve and Eddie share a quick hug.
“Thanks again for taking her home man.”
“No worries.” Steve heads out with a small wave, taking the steps down from the trailer two at a time then getting into his car.
Eddie’s arms wind around your waist, pulling you in for a tight hug.
“Be nice Princess.” He whispers in your ear.
“When have you ever known me to be nice Munson?” He grins at you, watching you follow down the steps and waiting until you’re in Steve’s car before he closes the door.
You click your seat belt into place as Steve starts the ignition, engine rumbling to life with a sound far smoother than the loud rattle you’re used to in Eddie’s van. He fiddles with the stereo, long fingers twirling dials until Black Flag blares through the speakers. He winces, turning the sound down until Henry Rollins’ raspy shouts are just audible above the sound of the engine and the crunching of the gravel beneath the tires.
You’d hoped you’d be able to make it home in almost silence, but Steve seems determined to force some conversation out of you.
“You have fun tonight?”
You shrug your shoulders. “It was okay.” you mutter, not turning from the window, watching the dark trees lining the road shoot past the car.
“Until I turned up, right?”
You look at him then, finding that stupid grin on his face.
“Yeah, pretty much.”
He nods, letting out a barking laugh at your honesty.
“You really don’t like me huh?”
“Wow you’re smarter than you look Harrington.”
His large hazel eyes narrow as he studies your face.
“What did I do? To make you dislike me so much?” There’s no anger or sadness in his tone, just curiosity.
“Are you really surprised that someone like me has an issue with King Steve?” He flinches at the old nickname, a nerve you’ve clearly touched.
“I’m not that person anymore.” he says quietly, staring straight ahead.
“Nooooo. Now you’re whatever the hell this is.” You drawl, gesturing to his outfit and piercings. “I have to say it’s a surprising choice. The heartthrob of Hawkins high, perfect boy next door gives it all up to play pretend as a punk.”
“You think I’m just playing?”
“I know you are. I’m not too sure who you’re trying to impress though? Maybe Eddie? Although for some reason I can’t figure out he liked you the way you were before too.”
Steve chuckles then. “Yeah he did. I never thought you’d be the harder one to impress.”
You scoff. “Eddie might act tough but he’s just like a puppy, he’ll roll over for anyone.”
“And you? What do I need to do to get you to roll over for me?” Steve teases. Your face flushes at his words, a mixture of fury and arousal heating your skin.
“Not gonna happen Harrington. I see right through you and your little cry for attention.”
“So you think all this is for attention?” He says, repeating your gesture from earlier, waving a large hand from his head down to his feet.
“Absolutely. I admire the dedication though. The lip ring looks pretty convincing, I almost believed it was real.”
“It is.” he gives it a spin with his tongue to prove his point, and you try to ignore the way your thighs clench together at his pink tongue hooking under the metal loop.
“And the tattoos?”
“Those too. And the piercing you can’t see.”
Brows furrowed in confusion you tilt your head as you look at him. He grins devilishly, his eyes leaving yours and flicking down to his denim covered crotch.
A gasp escapes your lips before you can stop it and he laughs cruelly at how flustered you look.
You shake your head, trying desperately to get the image of Steve Harringtons dick, pierced dick, out of your mind.
“I-I don’t believe you.” You stammer when you finally regain the ability to speak.
Steve’s eyes don’t leave the road, he just indicates, turning onto an isolated dirt track. He drives far enough that his car would be hidden from the main road, nothing but towering trees either side of his vehicle, pitch black filling the spaces between.
He kills the engine, and in the resulting quiet you can hear your own heart beating, silently praying that he can’t hear it too.
Steve adjusts himself in his seat, turning so his body is facing yours.
“You don’t believe me?”
You shake your head, not daring to meet his gaze.
“You want me to prove it?”
“W-what?!” you shriek incredulously, your voice ringing too loud in the silence of the car.
Steve’s calm demeanour never wavers.
“Do you want me to prove it? How dedicated I am?”
The cockiness in his voice makes your blood run hot. He’s talking to you like you’re one of those dumb girls from school, like he’s expecting you to giggle and squirm and blush. It infuriates you. His smug smirk spreads wider across his face with every second that passes without an answer from you. He think he’s got you right where he wants you, and you want nothing more than to wipe that smile off his lips.
You’re not sure what comes over you, your body reacting before your brain can kick in, all you know is you’re grabbing a fistful of Steve’s ripped shirt, yanking him across the centre console and crashing your mouth against his.
You press your lips firmly against Steve’s which part with a sigh, and you take the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Your tongue traces along his bottom lip, before licking into his mouth. Steve moans, a deep noise that vibrates from his throat, but he seems surprised by his own sounds, eyes widening as he realises you’ve got the upper hand. You gasp when a large hand grips the back of your head, fingers knotting in your hair and pulling hard enough to deliver a delicious sting in your scalp. His tongue meets yours, battling for dominance, and you yield momentarily, eyelids fluttering shut as you get lost in Steve’s kiss.
He breaks away from you, releasing his hold on your hair and you bite down on your lip to prevent the whimper of disappointment escaping you.
“Get in the back.” Steve growls, his eyes dark with lust.
He scrambles to get out of the car, and you hurry out of the passenger side, yanking open the back door and throwing yourself down into the seat before you can overthink what’s happening here. Steve’s large body crowds you, pushing you back against the door, your head thumping on the window. He grabs your face in a firm grip, kissing you fiercely again. His lips move down to your jaw, his hand dropping to splay across your throat so he can turn your head, giving him access to suck the sweet spot below your ear that has your cunt clenching on nothing.
Your fingers find the bottom of his shirt and you tug it up hard, pushing him away just enough to yank it over his head.
“Someone’s eager.”
“Shut the fuck up Harrington.”
As much as you don’t want to, you can’t help but admire the sight before you. Broad strong shoulders, smooth tan skin decorated in freckles, toned stomach with just a hint of squish resting above his belt. His chest is covered in thick dark hair, a pointed V moving down to his stomach. The hairs below his belly button lead a trail down down down, disappearing into his jeans.
There’s no time to admire him more, as he tugs your own shirt up over your head, throwing it into the front seat. You bra follows quickly behind, his skilled hand snapping the hooks behind your back in one swift movement, a testament to how many times he’s done this before.
Steve’s hazel eye fall to your bare chest, brows rising and disappearing under his chestnut locks. His movements pause, hands hovering awkwardly in front of him.
“What’s the matter Stevie?” you tease. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen nipple piercings before?”
“Course I have.” he snaps. He frowns at you, a tentative hand reaching out and stroking lightly down the valley of your breasts.
“For fucks sake Steve are you just going to stare at them or are you going to actua- fuck!”
Your complaining is cut short by Steve grabbing your breast in a harsh grip, squeezing your flesh as his head ducks down. He captures your nipple in his mouth, laving slow strokes of his tongue across the hardened nub. Instinctively your hands find their way to his head, holding him as he makes his way across your chest. He sucks deep purple bruises into your flesh, before reaching your neglected nipple, tugging on it lightly with his teeth. A whine tears from your throat, your back arching away from the door, pushing you chest against his face more.
He grins, voice muffled by your flesh in his mouth.
“That feel good baby?”
You roll your eyes at the pet name, trying to pretend it didn’t just send another wave of arousal through you.
“S’okay, I suppose.” you reply as casually as you can.
Steve chuckles, releasing your nipple with a loud pop before kissing your lips again. His hand drops lower, flipping up your skirt and sliding your panties to one side. You shudder as cool air hits your dripping sex, and Steve slides a calloused finger between your folds, collecting your slick.
“Think it feels more than okay baby.”
“M’not your baby Harrington.” you spit. Before you can say anything else Steve sinks his finger into your heat, causing your eyes to roll back. Your head drops against the cool window of the car, now fogged up from your shared breaths in the small space. Steve looks up at you, watching in awe as soft pants fall from your parted lips, eyes closed and brows pinched as you try not to show just how good he’s making you feel. A second digit joins the first, curling perfectly to press against the spongy spot inside you that’s always just out of reach of your own fingers.
“You’re so wet for me. Fuck. And so tight, your pussy’s just sucking me in.”
You whine, eyes opening so you can watch the way his fingers disappear into you. The lewd squelch of your wetness makes your face blush deeply, but it seems that Steve doesn’t mind, given the way he’s rutting against the back seat, desperately seeking friction against the growing tent in his jeans. Your hips begin to match the movements of his own, you’re grinding down into his hand, chasing your own high.
“You close?” Steve murmurs.
You can’t speak, just nod your head with your bottom lip clamped between your teeth.
“Come on baby, give it to me.”
You open your mouth to tell him again not to call you baby, but the words die on your tongue when his thumb presses against your neglected clit. It’s the final touch you need, your thighs clenching as your visions goes white. You let out a loud moan, your whole body vibrating with the waves of pleasure that wash over you. Steve continues to fuck his fingers into you until you’re grabbing his wrist, twisting your hips away from him when the overstimulation becomes too much. He sits up grinning, looking down at your fucked out figure as you swallow deep breathes, trying to regain your composure. He raises his hand, admiring the glistening slick coating his fingers in the dim light of the car. Those same fingers slip into his mouth and he hums as his eyes flutter closed, his mouth cleaning up every drop of your arousal.
“Knew you’d taste sweeter than honey.”
“You been thinking about how my pussy tastes Harrington?” you sneer, breathing finally returning to a normal pace.
“Absolutely.”
You’re confused by the admission. It’s not that you thought Steve hated you in the way you did him, but you certainly never thought he was into you. Then again, whenever he was around you did your best to pretend he didn’t exist, so maybe you'd missed the signs.
You don’t dwell on it any longer as Steve starts to unbuckle his belt.
“I’d love nothing more than to taste you properly, but we’ll have to save that for next time.”
“There’s not going to be a next time Steve.”
“Hmmm. We’ll see.”
He’s acting up again, back in that King Steve persona. Who does he think he is, assuming that you’ll want to do this, with him, again? You scowl up at him as he removes his belt, hurriedly popping the button on his jeans and sliding down the zipper that strains over the bulge in his pants. He shoves his jeans and his boxers down in one swift motion, and his cock springs free, slapping against his lower stomach.
You’d heard all the rumours. Steve didn’t just get his moniker of King because of his keg stand abilities. But the rumours didn’t do him justice, your jaw hanging open at the sight of his huge cock. He was long, but thick too, girthier than any of the guys you’d been with before. A thick vein protruded from the velvety skin on the underside of his length, leading up to the mushroom head, flushed red and leaking a pearl of precum. What surprised you most was the shining silver ball nestled at the bottom of the leaking slit, attached to a barbell and another ball just below the base of the head.
“Told you I was dedicated. Still think I’m doing this just for attention?”
You tear your eyes away from his cock to look up at his face. His smile is bordering on a snarl, and you fucking hate it. He thinks he’s got your exactly where he wants you, on your back in his car with your legs spread. You wonder how many other girls he’s had here, in this exact position. Steve pumps his impressive length in his fist, before leaning over you and guiding himself to your entrance. He swipes the tip through your folds, the cold steel ball catching on your clit and making you whine.
He laughs, a sharp cruel sound that makes your blood boil. He presses himself lightly against your hole, not enough to breach.
“Do you want it Y/N?” he says, eyes flitting up to meet your glowering gaze.
He leans his face close to yours, his lips brushing over your own and his breath fanning across your face.
“You’ll have to beg if you want it baby.”
A rage overtakes you, much like the first kiss earlier your body moves before your brain can catch up. With both hands on Steve’s chest you shove hard, and while he’s bigger and stronger than you he clearly wasn’t expecting the force. He falls back easily and you sit up, your hands gripping his shoulders to pull yourself onto his lap.
“W-what are you doing?” he whispers, eyes widening.
You grab his cheeks, squeezing hard until his lips smush together in a lopsided pout.
“Shut up.” You hiss through gritted teeth.
Sharp nails dig into Steve’s shoulders, raking down his chest hard enough to leave raised red welts, speckles of blood blooming where you break the skin. He hisses and whimpers, looking down at your hands as they continue their assault. When you reach his nipples you pinch them hard between your finger tips, twisting and pulling, smirking at the increase in the volume of his whines. You scratch down his stomach, your hands finally reaching his crotch. You take his thick length lightly in one hand, feeling the weight of it and the smoothness of his skin. His hips buck up, attempting to fuck into your loose fist. You sink the nails of your free hand into his thick thigh in retaliation.
“Sit still Harrington, or I won’t touch you at all.”
“You wouldn’t.” he mutters. But he shrinks away from your harsh glare when you look him in the eyes. He realises you mean every word, you’ll leave him here blue balled and unsatisfied if he can’t behave.
You drop your head, letting a line of saliva drip from your lips, falling onto the head of his cock. You swipe your thumb across the slit, mixing his precum with you spit, using it as lube to pump his length while Steve tries his best to sit still. Your fingertips dance over the piercing, and Steve lets out a delicious moan, his head falling back so you can see the veins thumping in his neck. When he’s suitably soaked you rise up onto your knees, angling his tip to catch against your entrance. You’re about to sink down when Steve’s hands grab you waist.
“Wait, wait.”
“What’s wrong?” you frown.
“N-nothing. Just, go slow, okay?”
You throw your head back, laughing meanly.
“What’s the matter Harrington? You worried you’ll blow your load straight away?”
“No.” he spits. “Just don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
“Oooh how sweet. You think you’re so big I can’t take it?” you reply, voice dripping with sarcasm.
“From how tight you were with just my fingers I know you can’t.”
You’ve had enough of his mouth, you need to shut him up now. Exhaling a deep breath you slam yourself down into him, bottoming out straight away, the backs of your thighs flush with the tops of his.
You’re not sure which sound is louder, your pained wail or Steve’s gasping moan. You’ve underestimated his size, feeling like you’re being split open as your walls stretch, desperately trying to adjust to him inside you. Tears pool on your lash line, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.
“Fuck, fuck.” Steve whimpers, head falling back against the seats.
When he opens his eyes and sees your pained expression, breath hitching as you try to relax, his face softens. Large hands cradle your face, thumbs swiping away the tears that threaten to spill.
“Hey, it’s okay. Do you want to stop?” he asks softly. It’s the most tender you’ve been with each other, a little vulnerability breaking through the game you’ve been playing all night.
You shake your head. “No, just need a minute.”
He nods, pulling you in for a sweet kiss. An ache forms in your chest at the way he holds you, the feeling of his smooth lips on yours, the taste of his tongue. You shouldn’t be doing this, fucking Steve was one thing, but kissing him like this? It was dangerous.
You wiggle your hips slightly, the sting beginning to subside enough that pleasure takes over. You’ve never felt so full, when you glance down you can see a slight bulge in your stomach.
Steve sees it too, pressing his palm against your lower belly.
“Fuck, can you feel that? I’m in your guts.”
You whine, nodding your head. You grind down into him, earning a moan from Steve and a cry from yourself as his head catches against your sweet spot. With shaking thighs you lift up before sinking back down, starting a slow and steady rhythm. Steve holds your waist loosely, letting you move at your own pace. He looks up at you, mouth slack and eyes hooded as he watches you chase your own pleasure, taking what you need from him.
“Fuck, Steve. So good.” you whine.
“Yeah?” You feel good baby?”
“Yeah.” You’re too lost in pleasure to admonish him for the pet name, the coil in your belly tightening with every nudge of his head against your g spot.
Your speed increases, a string of curses and praises tumbling from Steve’s lips.
“Fuck, you feel amazing.”
“Taking me so good, so deep baby.”
“That’s my good girl, keep doing that.”
Steve snickers at the way your pussy clenches around him when he calls you his good girl.
“Oh, you liked that didn’t you?” He teases.
“Harrington, shut the fuck up.” you reply breathlessly, your movements becoming sloppy as your thighs tremble violently. You’re exhausted, your muscles screaming for you to stop, but you can’t, not when you’re so close.
“Come on honey, that’s no way for a good girl to talk.” he sweeps your hair away from your neck, sucking a bruise into the exposed skin.
“Don’t you want to be a good girl for Daddy?”
A loud moan echos in the humid air of the car. You curse yourself for reacting like that, but he’d caught you off guard.
“Fuck yeah. You do don’t you, you want to be good for your Daddy?” Steve’s blunt fingernails dig into your hips, holding you in place as he pistons into you from below. You sigh, relieved for the break, and for the way his harsh thrusts have you stumbling closer and closer to the edge.
“Tell me baby, who makes you feel like this? Who makes you feel this good?”
You bite down on your lip, shaking your head. He slows his movements to a stop, laughing as you cry out in frustration.
“Need to hear you say it baby.”
The desperation to cum shreds the last of your resolve. You’re tired, not just from your earlier movements, but tired of this back and forth between the two of you. You're willing to give up the fight for control if it gets you where you need to be.
“You Daddy.” You mumble, your face buried in his sweaty neck.
“Hmm? Can’t hear you honey?” he says with another quick snap of his hips.
“Shit. You Daddy! You make me feel this good. No one else Daddy, only you!” you cry.
He smirks, rutting up into you in a furious pace.
“That’s right baby. Just me, just your - fuck! Just your Daddy.”
Your brain has switched off, a hazy cloud descending over you. All you can think about is Steve, each thrust of his hips punching a soft “uh, uh” from you.
Your orgasm is within reach, your walls clenching around Steve’s thick cock.
“Daddy, please. M’close.”
“Yeah? You wanna cum?”
“Please.”
“Do it baby. Cum on Daddy’s cock.”
Stars explode behind you closed lids, your cunt fluttering and pulsing as you ride out your high. Steve follows a moment later, cumming with a low groan, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he grinds you down into his lap. He paints your insides white, the warmth pooling so deep it’s like it’s in your belly.
You stay on his lap, foreheads pressed together, his cock softening inside you. When you can finally feel your legs again you slide off his lap, his cock slipping out from you and you both whimper at the loss. Steve pulls his boxers and jeans back up, tossing you your underwear with a grin. You slip the lace back on before Steve’s cum can seep out of you, smiling to yourself at the thought of it spilling out later when you’re alone in bed.
“So.” Steve says, sweeping his hair out of his face. “You going to stop pretending to hate me now?”
You shrug. “Maybe I still hate you.”
“Oh come on. That’s no way to talk to your Daddy is it?”
You cringe, shuddering when you remember how your voice had sounded, a pathetic breathy whine when you called him that.
“You talk too much Harrington.”
Steve’s gaze drops to your kiss bitten lips.
“Come here and shut me up then.”
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dearmantis · 1 year
Text
First Snow
Pairing: Aleksander Morozova /The Darkling x Tidemaker!Reader
Summary: Snow finally falls and you want to enjoy the freezing temperatures at night in peace.
Warnings: None
Word Count: 1.3k
Authors' Note: Yes, I wrote this because it finally snowed where I live and I really missed it. This is completely plotless and pointless, I won't lie. This is also not edited and English isn't my native language.
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You've lost the feeling in your nose, ears, hands and feet twenty minutes ago, but you can't bring yourself to go back inside as you stare up into the sky, snow landing on your face and settling on top of your lashes.
The wish to lay down in the thick, undisturbed layer of snow in front of you is strong but you still remember the last time Aleksander found you buried under a few centimetres of snow, his face red from anger and the freezing temperatures.
"Do you want to freeze to death?" he had asked, voice sharp as a knife as he grabbed you by the collar, quickly pulling you up to your feet before removing the snowflakes sticking to your cloak, scarf and fur hat with quick, light slaps against the fabric and fur.
He has never been able to understand your love for freezing temperatures, for ice and snow, thick cloaks and hot teas, so you decide every year to sneak out during the coldest winter nights, leaving him, comfortable in his ignorance, alone as he works the night away.
You usually make it back inside before he notices your absence, the exceptions being few and far in between, so you don't think he knows just how often you leave him during the night to enjoy the winter in peace.
Of course you wish you could spend the nights with him, surrounded by shadows and frost, but he has simply never been the type to truly get it.
In all honesty, you don't fully get it either. Why snow and ice are what has you in such a trance while almost every other Tidemaker you know feels the happiest around lakes, rivers or the ocean. Closeness to the element you control brings ease to Etheralki, at least most of the time. It's like having a weapon close by that you'd be able to wield blindly if required. Why your favourite weapon is tied to a season is a mystery, however.
Humming quietly you rub your gloved hands together before lifting them up to your lips and blowing hot hair into them, trying to get some feeling back. The metal bench you're sitting on is still ice cold and refuses to truly warm up, instead sucking the heat out of your thighs, but it's also the only place where you can sit, and it's still too early to go back inside. The first heavy snowfall of the season deserves to be appreciated.
Thick clouds are sitting in the sky, covering the stars and blocking the light of the moon, drowning the surroundings of the Little Palace in darkness, the only light source being the small lantern you carried outside with you, housing a big, white candle, proudly burning with all it's might inside of the protective metal and glass box.
It's peaceful, so peaceful in fact that you don't even notice it when somebody approaches, stuck too deep in your own thoughts to realise what's going on until the person sits down next to you and holds a steaming cup under your face. Your head whips to the side, hands moving together in case you have to defend yourself, when you finally recognize the huge black fur coat next to you.
"Sasha" you huff, fingers wrapping around the hot cup, the warmth stinging as feeling returns slowly to your hands.
"I woke up because I got cold" he confesses, a small, bashful smile visible on his lips. "And you weren't next to me, so I looked out the window to see if I could find you out here."
You're sitting on the bench closest to your shared quarters, directly visible from the windows. As cheesy and stupid as it might sound, the closeness to Aleksander brings you a similar feeling of safety and peace as the snow. Staying too far away from him, especially when you're both vulnerable, easy targets – him being asleep and you being stuck daydreaming – is almost uncomfortable.
Taking a small sip from the tea he has brought you sigh softly, leaning your head against his shoulder. The dark fur of his coat tickles a bit against your skin as you respond.
"I'm sorry, Sasha. I just wanted to get outside and enjoy the fresh snow. I completely forgot that you could wake up."
Aleksanders sleep has always been notoriously light, waking up at the slightest of sounds, change of lighting or shift in temperature. All things considered it is quite a miracle that you got to spend those previous thirty minutes undisturbed. Usually you choose to sneak out while he isn't in the palace or while he's working the night away in the war room, but tonight you simply couldn't help yourself.
He shakes his head, lifting his own cup to his lips to drink a few sips before he speaks. "Don't worry about it, milaya. I should've expected this. You've spent the whole day staring at the falling snow outside. I just assumed you wouldn't dare to leave while I slept next to you. You usually only disappear when I work."
There's a thick layer of amusement audible in his voice and it warms your heart better than any cloak or fur ever could.
"So you knew?" you ask surprised, lifting your head from his shoulder to look at him. "But you always get so mad when you catch me. I don't understand-"
"Let an old man have his fun, milaya." Aleksander cuts you off, hand moving to your shoulder to press you back against him. "Of course I notice it when you sneak out. And I come and get you when you stay out for too long. It's cute that you thought I wouldn't notice it, though. Especially considering that I always have a Heartrender around to stand guard."
You groan loudly, taking another long sip of the tea before burying your face in the Darklings thick fur coat again. It smells nice, like rosemary and burning wood, with an underlying note of something sweet. Aleksanders own smell that you've never been able to fully identify.
"So Maksim betrayed me." you murmur into the coat, taking another deep breath to take in more of the smell. Sweet berry jam, maybe?
He laughs loudly, his body shaking with the sound as he leans his head against yours. "Betrayed? He is doing his job, don't be too hard on him."
His hand rubs your back carefully and you can hear him taking a big sip from his own tea.
You sit like this for a few minutes, occasionally taking a sip from your teas, enjoying the darkness and snow. When your cup is empty you place it on the ground in front of you before you stand up to quickly sit down on his lap, hands moving inside his coat to lay flat against his back, soaking in the warmth his body gives off.
Pressing yourself tightly against him he moves to rest his chin on your head as a laugh rumbles through his body. "Are you getting cold, milaya?" he purrs, placing his own cup next to you on the bench to free his hands and hug you freely.
"I just want to be closer to you for a bit." you answer softly. His thighs are so much warmer than the cold bench, his whole body radiating heat like a fire.
"You could be even closer to me if we went back inside." Aleksander whispers back.
"I don't want to go back inside yet. The Squallers are gonna remove the snow in the morning. I want to enjoy this as long as I can."
"Maybe, but we will freeze to death together."
"We will freeze to death by then."
You giggle quietly.
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houseofbrat · 6 days
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Still so William let his cancer stricken wife being trolled online for the mother day pictures as well have her carry bags during at the farmers market. William sigh
That's the worst part. She had cancer all along and William was like "all right under the bus you go Cathy!"
Meanwhile the stans are calling him a hot zaddy and lusting after him.
Granted we are on Reddit so I guess the bare minimum is expected for men.
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They have an entire press office and people that they pay to be their mouthpiece to the public.  Why the hell didn’t they just hand all of this off to them to have a plan to roll out to the public?  How did this go so badly?
Honestly, I'd love to know the whole story. Just to be clear, I mean the whole story of the PR fiasco, not Kate's specific medical problems.
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This might be an incredibly unpopular opinion, not sure, but I really disagree with everyone saying oh she shouldn't have had to tell us about her cancer, she should have full privacy, etc. I agree with those thoughts for celebrities and influencers, but for people supposed to lead a country and whose lives are being fully funded by taxpayers, I do think they owe a duty of transparency around their health. I'm in the U.S. and we've all seen outrage because Biden's defense secretary kept cancer a secret for like a day, because Trump refused to release his physical results, I could go on.
I think it’s a really hard judgement to make because royalty is such a unique role, and there really isn’t much to compare it to.  Not to mention that there are 2 separate questions: what was she obligated to announce and what should they have expected as far as levels of curiosity about a high profile public figure.  I do think that there would have been strategies that they could have used to better preserve privacy in the face of public curiosity.
I agree. I tend to think royalty doesn't get to be totally private about major life events but that doesn't mean they don't deserve ANY privacy. I just feel like the outraged comments about how sad it is she was forced to tell people because of their evil speculating ways are going too far in the other direction.
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I don't think she necessarily has to share a diagnosis, but expecting that she could disappear entirely from public view and no-one would ask any questions is ridiculous. They had at least two months to come up with any plan besides complete silence.
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I never wanted them to discuss her medical issues but transparency would have helped. Don't treat people like idiots. They mishandled this, and there were a million ways to keep things private but not have things turn into a cluster. Prayers for Catherine.
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in terms of prognosis...
"preventive" chemotherapy is a positive sign here
the fact that the surgeon did not recognize he was looking at a cancer tumor in the OR is a positive sign here
the fact that it required a complex biopsy (it took 5 weeks) for the pathology to find the cancer is a positive sign.
Having been through this recently with a spouse, what you’re saying sounds correct to me too.  She would have had the best of diagnostic tools, so that would have ruled out large masses.  The language also indicates that what they found was small.
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whoever ran the PR definitely did it poorly. Part of the reason the mother's day photo blew into a bigger news event was all the major news agencies put out a kill notice on it. and they only did that because Kensington palace declined to share the unedited one when asked.
Chetwynd said news agencies asked Kensington Palace to provide the original photo, but they did not receive a reply. That’s when they decided to issue “kill notices,” something that is very rarely done.
but they didn’t stick to the timeline.. they decided to reveal a doctored image and then make Kate take the fall for it. even if she did edit the picture on her own just for fun, they didn’t have to put it on her alone? the whole thing was so odd.
They could have skipped the fake photo release. They could have reacted to the swell of interest by putting out a statement that there have been developments and they will communicate when they are ready. To pretend nothing happened since the Jan announcement is disingenuous and PR is about real time handling
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rainyfey · 1 year
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“Change of Heart” - a sketch I like but will never finish.
I’ve mentioned in the past that I thought it was a little silly that the ghostly Count Lucio never planned to betray the Apprentice. That moment in The Star’s Labyrinth would have been the perfect time for Lucio to change his mind, in my opinion.
Here he is, alone with his thoughts again after three years of solitude as a ghost, and Lucio feels it more keenly now than he ever did before thanks to the fingers laced between the claws of his gauntlet. Somehow, Velle is maintaining the magical shield against the cold even in their sleep.
“I’ll keep watch,” he had offered, though he regrets it almost immediately. Velle falls asleep within moments, the exhaustion of the past day—has it really only been a day?—painted clearly in the lines on their face. He’s left alone amidst the high stone walls of this dreadful labyrinth.
There’s nothing to distract him now.
They saved him. First from his confinement to that dusty old wing of the palace, and now from the Devil himself. And the insult of it all is their complete lack of ulterior motives. He’s not sure if Velle is aware of just how much they shared with him when they offered their blood for the spell to return his human form. But he’s aware. Painfully, constantly aware. The bright flash of genuine concern he felt from Velle as the two of them knelt in chains at the Devil’s feet had caught him entirely off guard. Concern, not for themself, but for him. No one worried for him—about him, maybe. About what he could do to them or for them.
After feeling that, he’s at a loss. He wants to live! He deserves to live. But does the cost really have to be Velle’s life?
And it’s jarring to think, that had the Devil been just slightly more agreeable, had he not gone on the offensive right away, Lucio would have tried to bargain Velle’s life away. Without remorse or hesitation. What would he have felt from them, then? Disgust? Anger? Would they have turned their bright, beautiful magic on Lucio instead?
Even worse is the realization of his victory. His plan was a success: the apprentice is utterly charmed by him, just as he intended. He’s won, he’s tricked them, and the victory tastes foul.
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animeomegas · 1 year
Note
AHH CONGRATULATIONS ON 4K YOU DESERVE EVERYTHING AND EVEN MOREE, IN SO EXITED RN🥳🎉🌟❤️Okay, now with the request (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠): Itachi and Alpha when they're secret lovers but not really, they're not lovers but they shared a kiss once and neither of them can get it out of their head, they're not lovers but they can't help but caress each other when they find themselves alone, they're not lovers but they stare at each other when they're in the same room. (1)🌒
They didn't say anything, they knew even sharing a kiss was "wrong" for people like them, it was completely their parents idea, and when they got the news that should've broken them, they can't help but feel happy about it. Now their parents think that it is time for a soon to be wed couple to spend a little time alone, no.4- walk in the gardens.-🌒(2)
Thank you so much!!!!! I'd be honoured to fill your request, moon anon <33 I hoe you enjoy!
...
ITACHI + CRUSHES + A WALK IN THE GARDENS
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"I-"
"I-"
Both of you started and stopped talking at the same time.
"Sorry, go ahead."
"No, please, you first."
"No, I insist."
Both of you remained silent for a moment, the bird song becoming louder in the gap. The garden was in full bloom and the weather was fair, and you were excited to show it to your new fiancé.
"Itachi," you said, deciding to just go ahead and say what you were going to say. "I'm... very glad that you are the one with me."
Itachi's breath caught ever so slightly and stumbled in his step. You also stopped walking in order to support him. Now you were stationary, you couldn't help but cup his face gently. You'd found yourself in this position more times than you can count, but you had only kissed twice, and never taken it further than that.
"I feel the same way," Itachi said softly, his eyes flickering down to your lips. "I have never dared to hope to be married to someone like you."
"But you have dreamt of it?"
"Yes," he breathed like he was sharing a secret. "I have dreamt of it. Of you."
Oh, the things he was doing to you. He was your weakness and your strength, and by the end of the week, you would be bound to him forever. Nothing excited you more.
"I want to kiss you," Itachi admitted.
You wanted to kiss him, too. But the gardens were public, this part of them especially open.
"Let me show you the alcove behind the long gallery," you said, pulling away. Itachi looked disappointed. "I think you will find it... exhilarating."
His disappointment melted into understanding and beautiful shade of red coloured his ears.
You and Itachi made small talk as you walked. Itachi had never seen most of the gardens, his visits to the palace being mostly confined to parties inside.
You learnt that he liked dahlias, and also managed to coax out his opinion that roses were overrated. You committed both of the facts into your memory.
"Here," you said, furtively looking around for any nosy onlookers. You were alone. "This is one of my favourite places in the gardens."
Tall trees surrounded the area and the path was small and easily missed. The the middle of the small clearly, a covered veranda sat, with only a bench and side table inside.
"It's quiet," Itachi said, looking around.
"It is," you agreed. "Which makes it the perfect place to do things that you'd rather other people not see."
Itachi turned to you, his hair blowing lightly in the breeze. He was so stunning.
You cupped his face once more, and he nuzzled his face into your hands.
"May I kiss you?" you asked quietly, not wanting to ruin the moment.
"Yes, please," Itachi breathed back, closing his eyes. His lips were quivering in anticipation and you were sure yours were in the same state.
"To forever," you whispered before you finally pressed your lips against his.
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mylordshesacactus · 1 year
Text
Last week’s session left off on what was one of my favorite DM moments of the campaign.
Our bard, Max, managed to leverage his family of middle-class merchants to hook the party up with horses. Despite being essentially The Bennets But Worse, several members of his family were starting to put together that he was on the run from the law--though thankfully, only one of them appeared to be slowly linking the party to the de facto monarch of the country suddenly and inexplicably appearing to be on his deathbed.
In other words: It’s time to leave.
Max bribes, dismisses, and otherwise shoos off various cousins--and when he turns back around, they’re not alone.
His old friend Ihava, a punk-rock tabaxi bard-rogue whose weapons of choice are a guitar, brass knuckles, and a bottomless well of trans puns, has been helping them stay one step ahead of the law for days now...and, most recently, helped them infiltrate a charity gala at the royal palace.
Less than 24 hours before the Bastion of Life suddenly seemed to be dying.
Ihava is an anti-establishment activist...but the man, while not perfect, is a war hero. He did a lot of good. He established imperfect but well-meant assistance programs to help the poorest members of society gain access to healing at temples. He started a flawed but revolutionary public schooling system. He passed sweeping, earthshaking anti-discrimination laws, then legislated himself out of formal authority.
She doesn’t like the Bastion of Life, she will and has happily picketed his house, but she draws the line at being complicit in his fucking assassination.
She’s got hold of two of their horses and is fully and completely prepared to knock them out herself or die trying. She can’t, and won’t, take them at their word--because she knows Max, and Max is the best liar she’s ever met, and she’s paranoid and terrified that she didn’t treat that with the gravity it deserves before now.
Thankfully, she also has Zone of Truth--which the party manage to talk her down enough to convince her to try. Since they genuinely didn’t kill the guy, none of them (except Audie, who fails anyway) try to resist.
She only has three questions:
“Did you try to kill him?” “No.” “Do you know what did?” “No.” “What you’re doing- is it worth it?” “Yeah.” “People are going to get hurt?” “Well, yeah.” “Okay. Good.”
This seems like a very odd sentiment to have about the end of the world--but at a gesture, Ihava’s....uh, girl gang, basically...melt out of shadows and swing down from trees, a few vault the garden wall, etc. One of them hands over a nondescript instrument case, which she hands up to Max before stepping back and opening the nearby gate.
Her parting words are:
“I figured, if you were involved, either there was a good reason or I never knew you at all. I brought this--just in case you were the man I think you are.”
Max bursts into tears before he sees the masterwork enchanted violin she’s gifted him.
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ladyfluff · 8 months
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Hi!! I always love Drabble Day!
Do you think you could write one where Loki has been searching for the reader (his wife) for one reason or another only to find out she’s dead?
Angst!
thor 1 AU
WARNING: Blood Mentions, Death.
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This hadn't been the plan, they were meant to go after the old man and they did, there was no fault there. Loki frantically searched every single room, she had run off at the sight of the giants storming the palace and for good reason but he had instructed her to hide. He told her to hide someplace safe, somewhere he would find her. He couldn't sense her presence anywhere, Loki ran through the gilded halls, shouting her name in hopes that she'll answer. That she'll appear and throw herself at him, Loki had Gungnir in his hand. Finally in power, this is what he wanted, this is what he deserved and she would be so proud of him for achieving it. She had been nothing but supportive, withdrawn but loving. Loki couldn't tell her what he had done, she couldn't be involved, he didn't want her or their son involved. Narfi had been with Frigga, safe and occupied. He saw a number of guards gathered by the library doors, standing watch and arguing with one another in hushed tones. He stormed over only to find them all panicking at the sight of him, wild and wide eyed.
''My king-''
She was in there, she had to be. Why else were they here.
''Step aside!''
The guards began blocking the door, shaking their heads. What good were they if they didn't know how to take direct orders from their own king? Loki ought to exile them all, replace them all, they're dispensable. Temporary and as of right now completely useless.
''King Loki, you don't want-''
Loki pointed the spear at the redheaded guard in question who dared speak back, disobey and you'll find yourself at the wrong end. Was she injured? Scared out of her mind, trapped in the library? The tip of Gungnir pressed into the guard's chest, Loki had no patience left.
''Step. Aside. Now.''
The guards all looked at one another, silently communicating with one another. Loki wished they would stop doing that, there would be no secrets in this place, not while he was king. Loki's chest heaved as they stepped aside and pushed the doors open to reveal four guards standing inside, weapons at the ready, shaking in their boots. He hurries inside, nostrils flaring as he got closer to them. Loki froze at the sight of someone laying on the floor behind the guards, blood smeared across the fine marble floor. Her dress now stained and ruined, the one he had tailored for her four years ago.
''Y/N?''
The guards stepped closer together as he tried to approach the bleeding figure behind them, blocking his way. Loki's jaw tightened.
''Get out!''
Without hesitation the guards with heads hung in shame marched out of the library, leaving the cold king alone with her. Of course it was her, Loki knelt down beside her and moved her. His wife's lifeless expression greeted him as her head lolled to the side, her soul had left, her chest littered with stab wounds, her hands and arms all cut up. Loki remained silent, gathering her into his arms, the blood seeping into his clothes as he embraced her tightly. The ultimate price for a chair made of gold, Loki wailed loudly. Anguished screams echoed throughout the city of Asgard, the night sky turned red.
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nonuggetshere · 2 months
Note
*zooms into your inbox*
How does PK find Sting and Spectre in the AU where they end up orphaned? What are all their reactions to each other? Tell me, please, I would love to hear more!
So current idea is that he was already preparing to bounce with his palace and pretty much on his way there after WL and Hornet refuses to join him when he stumbled onto the two scavenging in the city of tears
It's. Not a good meeting and the three pretty much immediately part ways as the kids book it in the other direction. They know he's their grandpa and why they had noncontact with him. Meanwhile PK is having a crisis, they're so clearly his child's, and if the infection returning wasn't proof enough now he knows for sure they were alive. For a while he considers still going through with his plan, but the two looked so thin and hungry and he wonders if there's anybody even taking care of the two. So he tracks down where they're staying and brings them a few tiktiks he hunted for them. He asks them if they have anybody looking after them, but the way they hungrily devoured the food he brought them pretty much already gave him an answer.
He was torn about leaving now but realises these kids have noone. They're barely old enough to survive on their own, they shouldn't even have to go through all of that, what would happen to them if he leaves?
And like I mentioned, I think Sting and Spectre would know he's their grandpa
Their aunt Hornet was in their life for a good while (she doesn't know the infection took their family otherwise she would have taken the kids in with her), she and their parents told them about their other parent
And she partly told them about their grandparents
She tried to keep her resentment to herself since they were so young, but they could feel it. They know that in some way he's responsible for what happened to their family and they don't like him
But do they have much choice? He keeps showing up and giving them food, water and other supplies. For the first time since they lost their family they're cared for, have clean clothes and a warm bedding to sleep on and don't go hungry nor thisty anymore, they no longer have to eat scraps that taste disgusting and drink dirty water in the city
So eventually they agree to live with him full time and he finds them a safe and warm place to stay at, away from the infected
He brings them lots of soft bedding and starts scavenging for toys and books, even makes his own from what he can find, so they're not bored and can keep learning
He teaches them, not only to survive but what they'd normally learn in school - at least, he tries
It'd take a long ass time for these kids to call him grandfather though
The kids are a mess, on one hand they want a family, they want to feel safe around him, want him to be their family because who else do they have left?
But they can't help but feel some sort of resentment. If not for him, the infection wouldn't happen. If not for him, their mama would be here, their parents and grandparents, great grandma and aunts and uncles would be here. None of this would have happened.
And he understands if they hate him, he hates himself too, but he'll still take care of them. He wants them to be alright. He owes this much to his child.
He does eventually grow on them, slowly. They're young, barely preteen, and completely alone. They desperately want that family connection, and he takes care of them for a good few years so they grow to love him. And he also has to grow to accept that love, which he doesn't think he deserves, not after taking their parent away from them and being inderectly responsible for them getting orphaned.
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fancifulflora · 6 months
Note
(SFW) Azad deserves a break and happiness so can I request a drabble where Azad's been having a hard day and gets a lot kisses as he cuddles with the Crown?
Terribly sorry that this took forever and a half- I literally spent a good few days trying to come up with ideas for this prompt that didn't feel too close to other things I've written. It may be a tad short since I'm still very much out of practice and am currently busy sacrificing my life to Baldur's Gate 3 lol
One would think that a childhood spent around the upper echelon of Arsurian nobility and the best tutors Arsur had to offer would have made dealing with the pests buzzing around the Crown easier for Azad.
The only thing it did manage, it seemed, was make the tired Captain all the more aware of the little plots and schemes being seeded around him. Not that he'd do much about it mind you, those matters were probably best left to the General or Sorcerer.
Still, it wouldn't hurt for some of these nobles to at least try a little harder. Even a child would be able to see through their thinly veiled promises and idle threats.
The sounds of nervous shuffling brought his attention back to one of the more persistent officials. Some lackey that was sent here to pressure the Crown no doubt. A gangly, unfortunate-looking one at that. Why were they still here?
"Were my words not clear enough?" Azad tilted his head a little as he studied the shorter figure before him, his glare making the poor official shrink back as if the look alone had struck them. "The Crown is currently preoccupied with important matters."
A complete and utter lie, but a believable one.
"Well, yes, I-I understand," The official stammered, fiddling with their hands as they frantically jerked their head left and right, searching along the empty corridors of the palace. Unfortunately for them, there'd be no one else to lend them aid at this time of night. "It's simply that the Mîrs were very insistent that-"
"They can and will wait till morning. Unless the situation is dire, I suggest you heed my previous warnings." Azad corrected his head, glowering down at the official who was quickly developing an interest in his khopesh, the metal shining under torchlight. "I will not repeat myself again, nor will I allow you to disturb the Crown's peace. Now go."
Though there was really no need to, Azad made the subtle movement of resting his palm against the hilt of his blade, finding a great deal of amusement as the official swallowed.
Without a moment of hesitation and with a flurry of apologies and deep bows, the poor sod dismissed themself. And once more, the hall was refilled with a blissful, beautiful silence. "... Are they gone?" A muffled voice called from behind him after a few minutes had passed. His Crown's voice.
"For now, yes," He nodded at an invisible guardsman, moving to enter the room just as said guard smoothly took his place outside the Crown's chambers.
"Thank goodness," The weary voice of the Crown breathed, paired with equally weary golden eyes. Azad couldn't exactly blame them either, anyone in their position would have been worn down by back-to-back meetings and a lengthy court session that, truth be told, went absolutely nowhere. Still, they managed a smile upon his entry. "I knew I could count on you to save the day."
"As much as I appreciate your thanks, it may be a little premature," Azad grinned, his posture relaxing now that he was off duty or as off duty as a Royal Protector could be at this time in the evening. "I've only postponed the inevitable. You'll have to deal with that mess in the morning."
A long groan came from his Crown, the ruler of Arsur springing up from their desk... only to wander a few steps and fall rather unceremoniously on their bed. "I need no reminders, thank you very much."
Azad stretched a little, feeling the slight pop of his joints that accompanied the familiar ache in his body from being so active for the past few days. The poor protector was so busy in fact, that the last time he could even remember being able to wind down like this with his Crown was...was...
Damn, that long, huh? He couldn't recall the last time they were together like this- being able to have each other all to themselves. The two still regularly trained together, but this was a different matter entirely.
"Have you eaten anything yet?" He then asked, clearing his mind and taking a seat beside his Crown who was now laid out on their side, facing him with a small frown on their face.
"I think I should be the one asking you that Azad," Their eyes studied him, the Royal Protector raising a small eyebrow under their scrutiny though he kept any retorts to himself. "You look... awful."
Surely he didn't look that bad, did he?
With a small laugh, he leaned against the back of the chair, glaring a little at his lover though his hazel eyes lacked any real fire. "You've got little room to speak yourself."
The Crown gave a small mock gasp, their body seeming to reenergize from the banter alone. "Excuse you, I thought I looked rather nice today!"
"Three meetings ago perhaps."
"Hmm... You didn't deny that I look nice though," With little effort, the Crown rolled on their stomach, elbows propping their body up while their chin nestled itself in the cradle of their hands.
Azad rolled his eyes at that one, the faintest warmth beginning to wash over his cheeks. "You're even worse than the Pale Sword somehow. Congratulations, it's no easy feat." Moving to stand and eager to change subjects, he gave his Crown a rather pointed look indicating that he was quite aware of their attempt to dodge his initial question. "Wait here, I'll go-"
"Oh no," Though still remaining playful, there was an intensity behind the Crown's words that did manage to make him pause for a moment, the ruler moving to get off their bed to push Azad back down into his seat with a gentle hand. "Stay right there. Get yourself comfortable while I go find someone to make a run to the kitchens."
The Crown didn't even wait for his answer, giving him the briefest of kisses before hurrying to the door to catch the attention of some passing servant.
Azad, knowing when to pick his battles and still worn from days of work, simply relented and carefully undid the fastenings on his weapons; getting up to leave them on the bedside table.
There were words traded between his Crown and a servant, the Captain pushing what he could hear to the back of his mind as he undid the clasps on his silver armor with practiced ease.
By the time the door shut once more, he had finished placing the last of his gear by the bed, Azad glancing over his shoulder at the Crown.
"It might take a while but I did request a small cup of mint tea for you."
"With honey?"
"Naturally," There with a hint of smugness to the words, the Crown getting comfortable once more with their back pressed against the plush pillows of their bed, only this time, beckoning Azad to join them.
The ruler of Arsur tried and failed to hide their smile when seeing their Royal Protector getting on the bed and settling by their side, his head pressed to their chest, drinking in the steady beat of his beloved's heart.
"That was easier than expected. Do you plan on saving the protests for later?"
Now it was Azad's turn to groan a little, closing his eyes to give them some much-needed rest. "Only because I'm far too worn out to argue against your wishes."
"You poor thing." The sarcasm was dripping as he felt light kisses press themselves against his cheeks and the corner of his lips. "Perhaps you want to trade with me? I could send you to tomorrow's court session in my stead, surely."
The mere thought alone could give him a headache, the Captain shaking his head. With his eyes still shut, he returned the kiss in kind. "Enticing as that idea sounds, I think the Mîrs are best left to you."
"Ughh."
"I'll be just beyond the doors if that is any consolation."
That got a laugh out of his Crown, Azad's smile pressing up against where he'd approximated the Crown's forehead would be. Another kiss traded between the two.
"Any chance I could convince you to stand guard, by my side, this time?"
Another kiss, this time from his partner, soft lips heating the edge of his jaw.
Ah.
The Captain opened his eyes with a slow blink and studied the grin plastered across his star's expression.
So that was how they were going to play it, bribery.
"Perhaps." Azad kept his voice light, resisting the urge to smile as another kiss was planted on him, this time on his brow.
"And now?"
"Still unconvinced." His voice was a soft velvet now, an observant gaze picking up the slightest shiver running down his Crown's spine.
Cute.
Another kiss was gifted to him, this time directly on his lips. His arms made their move, wrapping around the Crown. With the softest noise escaping his lover's lips, he pulled them into an embrace. The two practically melted together, a kiss the Crown had most certainly meant to be chaste and quick now slowing as the two got lost within one another.
Spirits, he truly did miss this, didn't he?
Somewhere along the sixteenth or so kiss was when Azad finally lost count, or rather, when he simply stopped bothering altogether. Time itself seemed beyond his comprehension as the Captain thoroughly savored each little reaction he could get out of his Crown. Not that he minded, of course, Azad being the type to take his time with his love.
He eventually pulled away for air, forehead pressed against his Crown's as the two recovered from their entanglement.
"Well? Have I successfully persuaded you?" The Crown's voice was lighter now, breathless, and a touch sultry, the glimmer of gold in their eyes swallowed by the darkness of their pupils.
Azad paused a moment to consider the question, weighing the bliss given to him by his love's presence with the hours of senseless prattling he'd have to endure.
"Perhaps. Though I might be able to give you a solid answer... after we eat."
The look of confusion on the Crown's face was priceless, the tender moment between them was cut off by a knock at the door. Azad seized the chance to get off the Crown and straighten himself out, though he did clock the look shot at him by his charge.
With a small turn away from his Crown who was undoubtedly disappointed by the interruption, Azad turned to answer the door feeling lighter than ever.
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alessiathepirate · 9 months
Text
The Dark Pictures Anthology: House of Ashes
RING: Eric King x fem!reader
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Summary: The Colonel isn't wearing his ring anymore - she wants to know why.
Notes: English isn't my first language. I apologize for any mistake I made while I wrote this short story.
This story has been in my drafts since December, because for some reason I couldn't find the motivation to finish it. Now it's finally done, and it's my gift to all the people out there who still think about Eric King and House of Ashes - like I do.
Warnings: nothing, just pure fluff
•••
She didn't know when the sudden change happened - not for sure. The only thing she noticed was that last week Eric King was still wearing his wedding ring on a necklace around his neck, but this week it wasn't there. It was missing. No necklace, no ring.
If she wanted to be honest curiousity was slowly eating her away, but she didn't dare to ask the reason for this change. She wanted to and she knew she could calmly ask, because Eric wasn't a man driven by anger. It was just the timing... There wasn't a single moment this week when she could make some small talk with the man and then ask the reason for the missing jewellery.
After Caelus' success came the fuss around the briefing what was about to take place in Camp Slayer a former palace in Iraq. And of course the success made the man happier than ever - and he deserved to be happy, because he was working on the software for years. Therefore it really wasn't the right moment to go and snoop around. The briefing on the other hand made him nervous, but after he made sure she'll be the one to accompany him to Iraq, he seemed to calm down a bit.
Her relationship with the Colonel was not the kind others would expect from the two of them. Their friendship was too close and unprofessional from time to time to be fully accepted - and the military men and women seemed to think she was just trying to climb up higher through the Colonel. So because of that they were professional whenever others were around, but when they were able to get a few minutes for themselves they were happy to call the other by their first name and talk about whatever they wanted to.
When the day to go to Camp Slayer came, they were alone in Eric's office to get everything they'll need. There was still half an hour left until departure so they were looking around the room calmly, not wanting to leave anything important behind.
Now that she was alone with the man she couldn't keep her curiousity to herself. Her palm was itching to know the truth and her throat felt dry as she kept herself back from talking.
"You don't wear your ring anymore." the sentence came out of her mouth before she could stop herself.
"I'm sorry?" Eric asked as he turned around to look at her.
"I'm sorry if it's too personal, but- I noticed that you don't wear the necklace with the- you know, ring on it." she tried to avoid his gaze, but he made sure she looked at him as he walked towards her.
"Yes, I thought it was time to get rid of it."
She looked him in the eye with confusion on her face. "But why?"
"You know about my relationship with Rachel. You know how it is and how rocky it has become." he explained. "I thought it was about time to really put an end to it."
She looked up at him to examine his features, but the attempt was unsuccessful. She completely froze and her mind was trying to answer the question why - why now? -, so she was unable to process what she was seeing.
Did they talk about it? Did he find someone else?
Her heart slightly ached at the thought. He didn't say anything about meeting someone or getting close to someone. They were friends, weren't they? He would have told her, right?
"I see." she said after a while not daring to ask around more, afraid that she'll get an answer what will hurt her deeply.
"I didn't think you'd notice."
"Why wouldn't I?" she asked with a confused expression. "I know you well."
"Yeah, you do."
The silence sat in again and she put a few important documents in Eric's briefcase. As she rearranged the remaining papers on his desk, she noticed that he didn't get back to work.
"Are we ready to go?" she asked and looked up at him again.
"I think we'll get a divorce. Rachel and I." he started, finding his strength to get everything he wanted to say off of his chest.
"Right, that explains the ring I guess."
"Not exactly. I think I found someone who helped me get through Rachel and the accident and-"
"Oh." she looked away from him, doing her best to process what he was saying.
He found someone else. Someone he didn't tell her about. Someone she didn't know. For a moment she had to think about what hurt more: that he found a love interest or that he didn't tell her about it?
Eric has always been her anchor and she was sure he felt the same about her. Even when things got hard to get through, they still had the other to lighten the mood or to say something funny (or in his case - nerdy) what made the sadness in the air disappear. They were great together - great friends, great soldiers... So why can't he be honest with her?
"Well, I'm happy you found someone Colonel."
"- and I was wondering if you'd like to go on a date with me after we come back from the briefing and after we solve everything with Rachel."
Now that was something new and unexpected.
She blinked a few times, trying to process what he just said. Dating? They'll go on a date? They think about the other as something more?
She thought about all the times they spent together, about all the times her friends teased her about the Colonel - maybe they do have something more than pure friendship.
"A date?" she asked and a smiled formed on her face.
She was about to continue, but there was a knock on the door.
"Colonel? Are you ready to go? The chopper is here."
"I'll be out in a moment. Thank you."
Getting back to reality was harsh. She didn't want to go, she wanted to continue this conversation, she wanted to quickly finish the briefing so they can finally go out on that date.
"We should go." Eric said, his voice full of disappointment.
She didn't like how he sounded. She didn't like how his smile disappeared and how his shoulders seemed tense.
"I'd love to." she said quickly. "I'd love to go out on that date- if it's okay..."
"After the briefing?" he asked, not letting her finish what her inner insecurities wanted her to say.
"Sure, after the briefing. And after you and Rachel sorted things out."
Before leaving the room, Eric gently put his hands on her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her forehead. It was careful and unsure, but it was a great promise.
A promise she hoped he won't break.
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bloodlust-1 · 2 months
Text
꒦꒷ Blood Bond ꒷꒦
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Bound by blood, associated by marriage.
Gortash x fem Tav durge Explicit 18+
Chapter: 7
Part 1 ->here<-
No warnings. You know what you came here for.
As Tav laid, it was like she could feel someone’s hand on her shoulders, tightening a grip. But there was no one in her room, she was all alone.
And the dream that night would ingrained in Tav’s head.
A knife in her hands, and the thirst for blood. But not just anyone, the mistress she saw with Gortash in particular. It was like Bhaal's influence had seeped into her veins and possessed her into a heinous killer.
Stabbings over and over covered Tav in the warm slick of this woman's blood. truthfully, Tav was okay with this gruesome scene, even if it wasn't 100% by her own influence. In Tav’s twisted mind, she deserved it. Bhaal was forcing Tav's body into the crime.
The adrenaline raced through Tav's heart in her dream, and it was like her bed turned into a hot barrel of coal, coating her skin. Tav loudly screamed in this trapped dream.
Her father's wrath.
Tav gasped.
She opened her eyes and saw a cleric healer and Gortash standing over her bed. She frowned and eyed the both of them, her heart pounding. Gortash yelled at the healer, "You did something wrong. She's acting delirious again."
Tav rubbed her sore head from last night. The memory she saw of her and Gortash resurfaced again and Tav frowned to herself. Gross.
The healer's voice quivered, "I-I did everything I could, my lord. She seems perfectly fine now."
Tav glared at Gortash. "There's nothing wrong with me, fool," she snapped.
"You nearly fainted last night, I will not be questioned of my better judgment. Especially from you." Gortash eyes averted from Tav and coldly turned to the healer and waved his hand away as a 'fuck off.'
As the healer quickly bowed and left the room, his tired eyes fell back at Tav, "And you - Stay in place. I will not argue this."
Tav scuffed, "That's real rich, that you think you dictate where I go." She rolled her eyes, "Besides, I didn't faint. I just felt a little dizzy."
Gortash shook his head as his thumb fell onto his temples. Gods. Tav was so stupid. He rubbed his head for a moment of annoyance, "That's what fainting is."
"I'm not incapable all of a sudden." Tav's eyebrow curved up. She wasn't sure why he was hounding her so much about last night. It's not like they were close. "I can take care of myself."
"Clearly you did not last night," Gortash nonchalantly crossed his arms, unamused.
Tav rolled her eyes and turned away, completely pulling the blanket over her head. Gortash watched her for a moment, "I'm going to be busy today running blueprints. Don't be bothering me with any more of your nonsense."
In a mocking tone, Tav spoke muffled into the blankets, "Good bye, Gortash."
Gortash sighed annoyed and left the room. Slightly slamming the door as he was leaving. Tav finally peeled away the blankets, sitting up with a groan. Why did he have to be so contradicting? Whatever mind games he wanted to play, Tav wasn't interested.
“Blueprints he says?” Tav whispered under her breath.
Yes, that’s right, she remembered the bird-like machine drawn in his notes the day he caught Tav in his office. But that was months ago...and Tav wondered how everything had been going now. She remembered the striking resemblance of an eagle of some sort but in machine form. It was intriguing.
What is he up to?
Tav kicked the blankets off of her, hoping out of bed with one thought in mind: I’m going down to the foundry myself.
Tav put on a black dress with frilled sleeves. She knew that Gortash would be angry if he found out she was sneaking out of the palace, but she didn't care. She needed to know what he was up to.
She snuck out of her bedroom and down the hallway, careful not to make a sound. She paused at the door to Gortash's room and listened. It was silent. He had already left the palace it seemed.
She snuck out of the palace past the steel watches, hiding behind the walls and pillars before leaving out the doors. She scuffed in annoyance that Gortash would even try to keep her away from their estate business.
The crowd on the streets of Baldur's Gate was thick, and Tav was careful to keep her head down as she made her way through it. She didn't want to be recognized, not yet.
A little Tiefling child tugged at his mother's shirt as they saw Tav, and the child's eyes widened in recognition. "Mommy, it's the queen!" he said.
The mother looked up and saw Tav, and her face paled. She quickly pulled her son away and hurried off, muttering something about needing to get home.
"But wait!" The child tried to tug away from his mother's grip.
Tav smiled wryly. It seemed that her reputation as a fearsome warrior was well-known. She put her finger against her lips and shushed the child with a wink. Then she turned and disappeared into the crowd like nothing had happened.
A few moments later, Tav arrived at the foundry. She walked up to the door and crossed her arms. She knew the Steel Watchers would rat her out that she was here - uninvited. All well. He wasn't going to do shit.
"I know you can hear me, and if you don't let me in I will blow this entire building up with you in it." Tav tapped her foot waiting for the Steel Watchers to move aside from the doors.
And that they did.
Tch. Tav chuckled amusingly. Well...that worked.
Tav strode into the Foundry, her boots echoing off the walls. The Gondian workers stared at her with scared looks, but Tav only stared at their metal collars.
She hated the way they looked and it seemed so restricting. How could anyone work like that? And Gortash expected them to work their best chained like a dog? Impossible.
"Oh!...M-my, uhm, Miss Tav! I mean - Queen." A worker, seemingly in charge of the Gondians came stammering over to Tav. The man was visibly nervous, stumbling even over his own feet.
Seriously? Tav scanned the man from head to toe, unimpressed, "Collect yourself before speaking to me."
"Yes! I am the captain in charge of watching over the Gondians." Before he could utter a word more, Tav cut his whole spiel off.
"What is it they are building?" Again, her eyes fell on the group of engineers. Perished and famine they looked.
"We're making good progress," The captain said. "We just received blueprints from Lord Gortash just this morning.."
"Good," Tav said. "I want to see them, now."
She turned and walked away, heading over to a nearby Gondian worker. Tav peered over their shoulders as they twisted screws into the iron pieces between their fingers.
"Here you are," The man handed the blueprints to Tav with a slight bow.
Tav looked up and glanced at the blueprints. She chuckled. "The Iron Wings?" she said. "That's a stupid name."
"It's Gortash's idea," the shift leader said. Their eyes trailed from Tav's lips to her eyes. Her features were delicate and soft, unlike her personality.
"Well, he's got a stupid name too," Tav said. "Tell him I said so."
Tav's eyes detailed every piece of mechanic she could on these papers. And something caught her attention...She shook her head in disapproval. "The wing span is too small," she said. "It won't be able to fly properly."
The wing span was small compared to the body. Tav wasn't surprised that Gortash wasn't good at bird anatomy. "Stretch the wing span at least by 6 more inches."
The worker was unsure to listen to Tav, "My lady, Gortash has finalized these I can't change them without his approval. He will have my head."
She glared at the cowering man in front of her. "I said do it," She snapped, her voice low and menacing. "Or I'll have your head."
The worker nodded and began to sketch over the wings on the blueprints.
But to no avail, Across the room, Tav caught a glimpse of Gortash. his scowl deepening when he saw her standing in the middle of the room. He didn't need to say a word; his expression was enough to tell her that she was not welcome.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded.
"Hi to you too, Lord Gortash" she teased his name, unfearful of his threats, unlike the captain who was cowering just the sight of Enver's angry expression.
Enver didn't have time for sarcasm. Just from the sheer deadpan of his face Tav rolled her eyes at his seriousness.
He should learn to have some fun, especially after Tav somewhat was trying to forgive him in her head. Or maybe just toyed with the idea of forgiveness.
"By the way, I fixed your machine." Tav hummed and tilted her head, a contradicting smile on her face. "Call it an improvement."
There was no way Tav actually thought she was smarter than Gortash. Especially not at his invention. Gortash laughed. "You? Improve my design? You're a joke."
Gortash stepped close enough to throw Tav off guard, but she stood her ground. Arm in arm, Tav looked up to meet his challenging gaze as his lips opened, "What do you know about building a machine?"
His tease snaked into the air and tried to choke Tav of her better judgment. Tav challenged Gortash's dark eyes, "I know enough to know that a bird needs a wide wingspan to fly," Tav said. "If you don't increase the wingspan, this machine will never get off the ground."
Gortash snatched the blueprints from the captain's hands and began to look them over. As Enver read, his expression changed from anger to disbelief to annoyance. When he was finished, he handed the paper back to the man's hand.
Fuck, she was right. Tav couldn't be doing this to him: making him look stupid compared to her. So he decided to play it off.
Gortash grabbed Tav by the waist and pulled her to his side. He leaned his head over and whispered in her ear, "That’s the sexiest thing you've said in months."
Tav felt her cheeks flush as Gortash’s hand lingered on her waist a moment too long.
The warmth of his breath tickled Tav's skin and she quickly pulled away from him, "I better get going now." Her heart raced in that brief moment. It was like her body enjoyed his knowing touch, but her mind said: Absolutely Not.
Tav took a few steps back, her gaze shifting to the captain, whose mouth softly dropped opened from Gortash flirting so openly with Tav.
Shit, this is awkward.
Tav was both flustered by Gortash’s attention and frustrated with herself for allowing it to affect her so deeply.
With a firm sigh, Tav nodded her head at Gortash, quickly turning a heel to leave the foundry.
Yeah, nope. Not happening. Tav shook her head as her inner thoughts tore her piece by piece. There's no reason for Tav's heart to race under his touch. She didn't even really like him much.
Or maybe she just didn't like that he was with another woman.
Tav bit down on her inner cheek. It's not like she liked it when Gortash touched her waist. She instantly knew she didn't want to be so close to him, but at the same time, her body betrayed her. How annoying.
She blankly walked past the docks and stared out into the ocean. It must have something to do with their past relationship, that she feels so connected to him. Tav groaned in annoyance, running her hands down her face, and dragging her skin down. She hated feelings and what they did to her mind. She just wanted to be angry at him and keep it that way.
To Be Continued ~
Any Thoughts? Comment 👇🏼 I love to engage!
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I thought it was funny
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petri808 · 6 months
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Day 12 @flufftober “fire & ice” Tianshan royalty AU. It’s rushed I know I’m sorry 😢 I’m trying to catch up on stories.
Being pushed away, makes the heart want. Call it curiosity or intrigue. Maybe it’s because Mo Guan Shan has what he lacks, but whatever the reason, He Tian is a moth drawn to the sullen red-headed flame.
And speaking of Mo Guan Shan, it’s once again the time of year for him to travel from his home in Akaitora Kingdom to their ally and neighboring Kuroiryuu Kingdom. It’s his duty to discuss the quarter-annual harvest prices for trade and dread certainly looms, like a dense fog rolling over the mountain passes. It literally sends shivers down his spine to think about their second prince He Tian and how much he deplores dealing with the man’s flashy and extravagant personality. How is he supposed to deal with someone who’s diametric to him in personality, appearance, and capabilities, let alone comes from a class above. It doesn’t matter how he truly feels… He’s just a royal servant and He Tian is a highly coveted prince. Everyone knows and has seen them bickering over the years, especially now as adults, but the palace servants chalk it up to being like siblings in rivalry.
So far, so good, Mo Guan Shan remarks internally as he’s completing his meeting with Emperor He Cheng. There’s been no sign of He Tian, never popped into the meeting like he normally would or made his presence known. Both kingdoms harvests are going well due a perfect amount of rain and lack of severe storms which set the trade prices at a reasonable rate for the citizenry. It’s time to head back home to report on their trade deal. But as Mo Guan Shan rounds the last corner before stepping out onto the palaces promenade that leads to the front gates, low and behold, he’s stopped cold at hearing his name from a voice he instantly recognizes.
“No, no, no,” Mo Guan Shan waves his hand without looking back at the source, “I’m leaving already, my meeting is complete.”
“Awww, Mo Mo,” He Tian whines and grabs Mo Guan Shan by the shoulder to keep him from leaving. “You don’t have to leave so soon.”
Mo Guan Shan instantly whips around, whacking He Tian’s hand from his shoulder. “Back off! I don’t have time to play like you do!”
“Oww!” He Tian nurses his hand and wrist. “Dick! That hurt!”
“That’s the point,” Mo Guan Shan spits back as he starts walking away again to avoid further trouble. “Take the hint.”
“Ugh! Why are you such a cold prick! What are you afraid of?!” He Tian screams at the retreating man’s back. “This is why you’re still a virgin!You’re gonna die a lonely old man at this rate never having fucked or been fucked!” He lets out a sarcastic laugh, “maybe that’s what you need! Mo Mo, should I drag you to a prostitute so you wont be a virgin anymore? Maybe you won’t be so crotchety if yo—”
Before He Tian can finish the sentence a solid fist lands squarely on his left jaw, sending him flying backwards to the ground. There’s no time to spare as Mo Guan Shan drops and straddles the man and starts landing more blows. One after the other as the shocked He Tian can only raise his arms and defend against further damage. He’s screaming at the man to stop with apologies intermingled with curses.
“You fucking slut!” Mo Guan Shan roars in his defense. “You’re the one who’s gonna die alone cause you treat everyone like a fucking toy for your pleasure!”
The span of time may have seemed like forever to the two combatants, but in reality is is maybe 45 seconds to a minute before the palace guards are on scene and pulling the men apart. Even they are surprised at this sudden burst of anger from Mo Guan Shan or the level of taunts He Tian has leveled too. The guards hold the men apart from each other until the emperor He Cheng arrives.
“What in the bloody hell is going on with you two?!” He Cheng snaps at the men. “Since when did things get so bad?!”
“He’s the one who hit me first!” He Tian screams.
“Fucker you deserve it for the things you called me!” Mo Guan Shan retorts.
“Enough!” He Cheng roars. “Both of you are behaving like children! It’s time to grow up! You’re not kids anymore!” He points at the guards. “Lock them up in He Tian’s suites! Make sure guards are posted, they are not allowed to leave,” he then turns to glare at the two men, “until you’ve squashed this feud!”
“What!!” The word is echoed from He Tian and Mo Guan Shan simultaneously. “You can’t—”
“I can’t what?” He Cheng glares back, effectively shutting them up. “I’m certain emperor Jian Yi would agree with me. You boys should be childhood friends not enemies! So until you sort out your grievances, you’ll be confined here! That’s an order!”
The second the door slams behind them, Mo Guan Shan and He Tian instantly face off for round two.
“This is your fault!” Mo Guan Shan snaps. “If you just left me the fuck alone we wouldn’t be in this situation!”
“Me?! You’re the one who got all bent out of shape over a damn joke!” He Tian throws back. “If you know I’m teasing you could’ve just kept on walking away!”
Mo Guan Shan takes a step forward. “Beat a dog enough you’re gonna get bit!”
To retort, He Tian takes a step forward too until they’re a foot away from each other. “How is teasing the same as me beating you??!! That’s a ridiculous analogy!”
Mo Guan Shan shoves He Tian away. “Just leave me alone!” He snaps again and walks away to the balcony.
“Oi! Don’t you walk away from me!” He Tian screams but doesn’t follow just yet. “Why do you hate me so damn much?!” He Tian is the second prince. His much older brother He Cheng is the Emperor, risen to the throne once their father passed away. As the second prince, He Tian has no real duties required of him beyond the occasional diplomacy and spends much of his days being a charming, social butterfly and self-proclaimed brat of the palace. He’s received the finest schooling, but it’s hard to imagine otherwise when he acts like such an idiot.
Without turning around, Mo Guan Shan simply stares out at the landscape beyond the room, answering in a frustrated sigh. “I don’t hate you. Tian.” He rests his arms on the balcony railing, exhausted from the psychological strain. “I just get tired of you teasing me every time you see me.”
“I’m not trying to make you mad…”
“Then why keep doing it when it obviously pisses me off?!”
What do you do when your crush won’t give you the time of day? You love them. You hate them. You hate that you love them, and for as long as you can remember in your 22 years in this life, you are the fire to their icy personality. “Well…” He Tian mumbles. “I have my reasons…”
That gets Mo Guan Shan’s attention. He turns to face the prince, crossing his arms and leveling a look of exasperation. “Explain. Right. Now.”
Growing up, there was rarely anyone around for He Tian to play with. So, perhaps it is loneliness that has causes him to act this way, constantly seeking attention, good or bad. At least, this is one theory someone has come up with. The one person his age and only person still in his life since childhood— Mo Guan Shan, the first cousin of the current emperor Jian Yi. While they grew up, there were times when visiting each other’s kingdoms they’d be made to play with each other, but Mo Guan Shan is cold, shy, yet thoughtful, and loyal to his cousin. Now as an adult, the man is a diplomat for his cousin, sent to his and other kingdoms for trade negotiations or other official duties. He Tian always tries to engage with Guan Shan when he’s around, but is usually rebuffed because ‘duty calls.’ He Tian turns away to hide the brewing embarrassment and reddish hue building on his face. “I can’t and risk making you even more angry.”
“I doubt you could make me anymore angry…”
After a lifetime staring at each other to see who will back off first, “Fine then!” He Tian throws his hands up in defeat. “It’s dumb, yeah, I know, but I do it to get your attention!” His arms flail in emphasis. “I’ll do anything because I miss you!— because ever since we were kids I’ve been in fucking love with you, and it’s the only way you’ll talk to me!” He Tian turns his back to Mo Guan Shan, holding his arms crossed tightly against his chest, and looking away, closing his eyes to hide the tears trickling down his cheeks. It takes a concerted effort to hide the cracking pain in his voice. “Well, secrets out so, I’ll leave you alone from now on since that’s what you want.”
“Dumbass.” He Tian feels a pressure against his back and arms encircling him from behind. “I just don’t understand you sometimes,” words whispered close to his ear. “Because it’s my secret too.” He Tian sucks in a breath at those words. Did he just hear Mo Guan Shan correctly?
“That makes us both dumbasses,” He Tian retorts through a choking sniffle when the air he holds in releases. “You didn’t need to be such a dick to me all these years.” He feels free now that they’ve aired their true feelings and ready to resume his normal behaviors.
“And you didn’t need to tease me so much,” Mo Guan Shan jests back, “flaunting relationships and acting all high and mighty.”
He Tian peels Mo Guan Shan’s arms off him and turns around to face the man. “For the record, I never slept with anyone ‘cause I want you to be my first.” He grabs the man’s cheeks, pulls in, and steals a sudden kiss, purring, “Whad’ya say Mo Mo?”
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findafight · 11 months
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On your post about Zuko and Steve. It is also interesting how a lot of people say X deserved redemption and 1. Redemption isn't deserved, it's earned. It's about realising you were wrong and making up for it. 2. When they write it so many of them write healing arcs not redemption arcs. Not them making it up to all the people they hurt but more acknowledgement of their own pain. That isn't redemption.
I think so many people get those two things confused. Yes, Azula deserves to heal. For a redemption arc she has to acknowledge she wronged people as opposed to villainising other characters.
Yes! Exactly!!! I read your first point and was gonna say "yeah redemption arc's are earned but healing arcs are deserved" so we are in agreement. I didn't put catra on the post because from what I understand her arc in the show was not redemption but healing. She acknowledges her abuse and works to free herself from it, but does not, within the show, get a chance to actively participate in fixing the things she hurt or ruined. The implication at the end (from my understanding as I haven't actually seen it) is that she would continue on the path to redemption and try to make things right.
Redemption and forgiveness come after healing for many of these kinds of things, or is part of the healing journey already started.
It's soo frustrating because Azula and Zuko's relationship is so messed up, and Azula is a 14/15 year old abused child who deserves to heal from the abuse Ozai subjected her to. But to say she deserves redemption only based on the core atla series... No? Zuko had to heal partially from what his farther did and from the indoctrination of his homeland before he was even ready to face his dad let alone help the Gaang. He then apologized and continues to heal! He had to go see the sun warriors to get his bending back because he had changed so much.
Azula doesn't apologize or attempt to make things right. She is fighting until the bitter end! She doesn't want redemption or healing at that point! A character, to have a successful redemption arc, must want it. That's the whole point! Azula has a mental breakdown at the end of the series and needs to recover from long-term abuse in order to figure out if she wants to redeem herself in the eyes of the world. (Which I don't think she does. I think Azula would be content to just stay in the palace and not think particularly hard about how she was going to enable a genocide. Perhaps some charity initiatives close to home, but never the wide scale acknowledgement like Zuko has done.)
Now. Okay I know I am mean to Billy (because it's so interesting how messed up he is while refusing to understand he is so messed up. Get help Billy) But he also deserves healing. I think it should be done far fucking away from Max and her friends, but he does deserve it, because literally everyone deserves to heal from their trauma or abuse. Billy is interesting because he is so fucked up, and there seems to be layers to that. His relationship with older women??? What the fuck? His resentment of Max? His weird obsession with Steve? Fascinating shit. But we don't get a chance to explore those or what they really mean. I don't really care that we don't tbh because I'd rather more screentime for the party/scoops troop than Billy. He's also just a racist asshole that has all the means to not be one and doesn't use them or ever feel bad about it.
Using his dead(?) Mom as sympathy points before he does literally the only decent thing he can and use his body to protect El and max is not redemption. It's a sacrifice. Like at the end of the last Skywalker? Kylo Ren doesn't redeem himself! He sacrifices himself! That is completely different. One good action to save someone does not make up for all the wrongs committed. Billy sacrificing himself when he knows he's already dead to give two kids more time is not Billy making changes to how he acts and apologizing for hurting people (specifically Max, Lucas, and Steve).
Also! These are two relationships with (step)siblings and I loooove sibling dynamics and complicated relationships but I think the ways in which their sibs would/could/should be involved in their healing is completely different.
Billy is Max's older brother who is shown to resent and abuse her. Max should not be near Billy. She should not be a component of his healing because it would be actively detrimental to her. He should get out of Hawkins and work on himself and then maybe years later call Max up and apologize so much for what he did. She is not responsible for his healing or forgiveness.
But I think Zuko would take an active part in Azula's healing process. For one, he is her big brother. He clearly wants to have a relationship with her, he craves those familial connections! I think he'd want to help her get better, and to see that he is not doing anything to spite her, but to help their nation and herself heal from Ozai's reign. Zuko wants to help her, and while he may sometimes separate himself from her for his own sake, I think he would want to take a more active role in assisting Azula and that would help him feel like he didn't just tear his family apart. He may not know exactly what Ozai did to her, but he knows it was bad and more focused after he was banished, so he would want to be there for his little sister. (People villainizing Zuko to make Azula look good don't make any sense ever tbh)
and listen. I have an angst au floating around my brain where most everything is the same except Azula and Zuko wrote to each other during him banishment and therefore had a strong sibling relationship, thereby making it even more horrible when they fight each other because they legitimately love and care for each other and want to be with their sibling. They simply do not understand why the other is against them because they know!! They love each other!! So why won't Zuko come home or why won't Azula listen when he tells her their father is wrong! Like full on sobbing why are you doing this! You're my brother!! I love you!! Type thing. It's very dramatic and very sad.
But anyways yeah I agree, anon, people get healing and redemption narratives mixed up and it's frustrating. No one deserves redemption but everyone deserves healing. Whether or not they redeem themselves is up to them. It is not up to other characters for that redemption.
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sokkastyles · 10 months
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Just saw this take which was like "People will excuse Zuko for making Azula face Ozai, her abuser, but will then blame Azula for taking Zuko back to the Fire Nation and his abuser. If you want to say that Zuko was not abusing Azula and was being nice to her by doing that, you have to say the same for Azula, since she did what she did for Zuko because she cared for him." This is paraphrased, but it's the jist of it. What do you think?
And since we're on the subject, do you think Azula taking Zuko back was in any way because she cared for him? You probably have addressed this before, but I'd love to get your thoughts on the topic.
I'm assuming by "making Azula face Ozai" they are talking about in the Search? Like I said on that ask about it, Zuko didn't make her, she agreed to it and lied to Zuko about her motivation for doing so.
There's also an entire world of difference between those two things and the difference is power. When Zuko goes back to the Fire Nation, he is at Ozai's mercy. Plus the fact that everyone around him, and chiefly Azula, is telling him that this is fine, that he has no reason to be afraid of his father and that if he was hurt before, it was because he deserved it.
When Zuko takes Azula to talk to Ozai, it's through prison bars. Azula doesn't realize the truth about her father but Zuko does, and there are also guards around that are closely watching both of them. This is completely different from Azula taking Zuko back to the palace where Ozai has free access to him and then telling him that this is normal and that he has nothing to worry about, and if he is worried it's his own fault. It's Azula who gets Zuko to let her be alone with their father, which Zuko was reluctant to do.
I have addressed this before and I really don't see any evidence that she took him back out of caring, when there are plenty of other reasons the show gives us that we can point to, but I've also said that even if she thought she was being caring, she still isn't. She doesn't care that Zuko is scared that he won't be forgiven by Ozai. She doesn't care that she's separating him from an adult who does care for him. In fact, that's something she specifically aimed to do was separate him from Iroh, because she knew from before that Iroh would foil any attempts she made to manipulate Zuko. She doesn't care that regardless of whether Ozai restores Zuko's honor or not, she is putting him in very real danger, and she doesn't care that she's also further putting him in danger by lying to Ozai about what happened in Ba Sing Se and not letting Zuko find out from Ozai that she lied. Not only does she not care, she knows exactly what she is doing, because the lie to Ozai was a strategic move made so that she can make sure she has leverage over Zuko just in case.
Azula NEEDS Zuko to be in that position where he is Ozai's scapegoat in order to maintain her own position as the golden child, so of course she's aware that she's hurting Zuko by doing these things. That's what she wants. I think she believes that she doesn't need to care about Zuko because that's how she was raised, but that's quite common in cases of abuse, especially in cases where an abusive parent ropes other children in the household into participating into the scapegoat's abuse.
When Zuko takes Azula to see Ozai, that dynamic is completely absent. Zuko doesn't want to control Azula, he wants to get information about his mother. He also clearly cares about her because he says several times that he wants her to be comfortable and to have dignity, he listens to her when she asks for things from him (even when he shouldn't), and he protests when Ty Lee chi blocks her (even though she was protecting him).
What Azula does for Zuko, in comparison, is insult him and threaten him, all while telling him that she knows what's good for him.
The difference between Zuko's caring and Azula's "caring" is that Zuko constantly feels guilty for Azula's discomfort and gives in when she manipulates him into giving her more freedom, and gets hurt in the process. When Azula "cares" for Zuko, he's still the one who ends up getting hurt and the one feeling guilty. That's one of the biggest signs that it's abuse, and that Azula is the abuser. That Zuko is always the one being hurt, the one who feels guilty, while Azula is the one telling her brother that she knows best.
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