#reluctant if not for the sword. it fucks with your head and it enjoys it.

[fairysluna]

the summer islands.

In a failed attempt of escaping, Aegon accidentally arrives in an unknown island where a lovely and lonely girl lives.

MASTERLIST

PAIRING – Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader.

TAGS/TW – fluff, mentions of parental neglect, nudity (not in a sexual way), cursing, golden retriever and black cat dynamic.

AUTHOR'S NOTE – First repost of my old blog, I was just getting started in writing in English so pls don't be so harsh with me lmao. This was a request (my first request ever, actually), and it turned out to be my favourite fic written by me. so yeah, enjoy!!🤍 (pd, i used to write in 3rd person, so...)

WORD COUNT – 8.0k

FEEDBACK, SHARES AND COMMENTS ARE ALWAYS WELCOME!!

"No, no, no!" Aegon yelled at his dragon. "Not here, Sunfyre! sōvēs, sōvēs!"

No matter how loud he would scream at his loyal dragon, no matter how strong he would pull the ropes; the beast was reluctant in following his orders.

Sunfyre landed on top of a hill, sighing tiredly while he laid down on the greenest grass Aegon has ever seen. He tried to make him stand up again; pulling the ropes, yelling a thousand commands on High Valyrian, but the golden dragon was not interested in following his words.

“Fuck!” He yelled while reluctantly getting down from his dragon’s back.

He was whispering inappropriate words, and after taking one bad step, he fell onto his back; that did nothing but make him more angry —and ashamed. He cursed the Seven Gods, blaming them for his terrible luck during that day.

Aegon looked around while he was standing on his feet once again, he was trying to see if someone had seen his shameful fall. Luckily for him, no one seemed to be near him, the only thing he could perceive was a bunch of trees and lots of green hills that were covering all the surface of the land.

He walked in front of a sleepy Sunfyre, and he only grew desperate when he saw him closing his eyes. “No, no, no!” He screamed. “Don’t sleep- Fuck!” He looked around, now in despair, “They’re going to find me! Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

The dragon moved his head, hiding it from the stressed man. Aegon brushed his face anxiously, sighing and about to cry for desperation. He kept trying to wake his dragon, but Sunfyre was already snoring softly. He looked like a maniac, feeling that his brother would appear behind his back with his large dragon at any moment now.

“I can’t fucking believe it.” He muttered. "You traitor! How can you do this to me? I thought we were brothers! Now, get up! We have to go-”

"Are you hurt?"

A voice behind his back made him jump out of fear. He quickly grabbed the hilt of his sword, taking it out of his scabbard and turned around, facing the strange girl that came out of nowhere. He pointed at her with the tip of his sword, but she did not even flinch. He was entirely confused about where she came from, just a few minutes ago he turned around to see his surroundings and he never saw her coming. She just appeared by his side.

"Who the fuck are you?" He asked harshly and unkindly, not trusting her.

"You seem lost." She deducted, a small smile formed on her face. "I can help you." She said, but Aegon did not let his guard down. "Is your dragon hurt?"

"No," He quickly answered, as if he was trying to prove his dragon was healthy and ready to fight against any threat, "He is completely healthy, he just decided to be lazy!"

"It's a gorgeous dragon." She said walking towards him. "Can I touch him?"

"I don't think that's a good idea, he can be-"

He stopped himself once he realized she did not listen to his words, instead, she just put one of her hands on the golden scales. Aegon was waiting for a reaction from him, something that might scare her away, but Sunfyre only curled under her touch, as if he was a huge cat instead of a giant and dangerous beast. "What the-"

"It's such a beauty." She commented, completely enchanted by the creature. "I never thought I would live to see one... What's its name?"

"Sunfyre." He answered, feeling odd. "He's a male."

"Oh, so he is a boy!" She said, laughing joyfully. "Look at you, pretty, pretty boy." She whispered to the dragon. "What a sight you are!”

"He's- he's not a boy." Aegon muttered, "He's a dragon male, a big, fearful, scary dragon male."

“He seemed harmless.” She thought.

“He’s not.” He rushed to say. “And I think it is better if you leave him alone. He is not very fond of strangers.”

Aegon walked towards her in order to pull her away from Sunfyre, but the tail of the dragon got in his way without him seeing it. As a result, he ended up tripping and falling on top of the girl, who just gasped out of surprise and then laughed cheerfully while Aegon groaned on top of her.

He frowned, and took his time to see her face carefully for the first time. She was not ugly, she was actually quite far from being ugly; her smile was charming and the way the corner of her eyes wrinkled when she was laughing was just bewitching. Aegon found himself staring at her longer than he should, but the girl under him did not seem to mind. Instead, she looked back at him and saw some scratches on his face, she immediately got worried and with a breathless voice she asked him once again,

“Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

Aegon did not know how, but he ended up in the house of the girl, eating an incredibly delicious soup and with his face completely washed. He had got rid of the dry blood on his face and cleaned his scratches, which he did not even remember how he got.

The house was not big at all, it was more like a cottage not larger than his own room. It was made of wood, the kitchen was in one corner and the bed on the other, the table only had two chairs and it was in the middle of the house. There were lots of plants of every kind and a strong scent of cinnamon and vanilla. Aegon thought it was comfortable and warm, it felt like a home; which was better than living in a huge castle made of stone.

He would rather live there, away from everything.

The door was open harshly and the girl walked in with a bag filled with vegetables and fruits. She was agitated, as if she was running from something, however Aegon did not seem worried about it because she was smiling; she was always smiling.

“I stole a sheep for Sunfyre.” She said, excitedly.

Aegon widened his eyes and choked with the soup. He started coughing while the girl left the bag on the floor. “You did what?” He asked incredulously.

“My neighbor has plenty of them, you don’t have to worry, he won’t even notice!” She explained, moving her hands and trying to play down the situation.

“And why the fuck would you do that?”

“He seemed hungry.” She shrugged.

“Your neighbor?”

“No, your dragon!” She laughed. “I had to run before he would catch me, he’s a fast runner and running up a hill with a sheep on your shoulders is quite hard.”

“You’re fucking mental.” He whispered under his breath, without her hearing him.

He looked at her strangely, following her with his eyes while she was pouring some soup in a small bowl. Then, she sat in front of him and started drinking it. Aegon was still staring at her slightly frowning, he thought she was quite peculiar.

“While you were yelling at your dragon, I heard that you were going somewhere.” She said, “Where were you going? It seemed urgent.”

“You heard that?” He asked, a bit scared. He remembers looking around the place and not seeing anyone.

“I did.” She nodded, “I saw you falling from your dragon too. That was a bit funny.” She chuckled.

“How- Oh, fuck me.” He sighed.

“So, where were you going?”

“I’m not comfortable with sharing that kind of information to someone I just met.” Aegon said, now he was being careful with his words, because he was starting to get a bit scared of her. “I don’t even know your name.”

“I’m y/n!” She replied cheerfully. “What’s your name?”

“Uhm… Aegon.”

“Aegon?” She repeated, her voice tone was more serious now.

Aegon shrink on his seat, and he looked at her expectantly. He thought she would be able to recognize his name, or his not-so-discreet hair. He thought that, once she realizes who he was, she might sell him away in exchange for a couple coins of gold. Instead, she just laughed again.

“It sounds like ‘egg’!” She finally said, Aegon let out a breath of relief.

“No, it doesn’t.” He replied, offended.

“It’s a nice name, though.” She praised, “It’s original, I like it. Aegon, Aegon, Aegon.” She repeated, “Sounds good. Aegon, Aegon-”

“Please, stop.” He said annoyed.

The smile on her face trembled a little. She just cleared his throat and looked down at her soup in order to take her eyes away from him. Aegon felt a bit bad for it, seeing how her smile almost disappeared because of him, however, he did not say anything else. He did not know why he felt bad for her in the first place.

“Well, now that you know my name and I know yours, and we are less strangers for each other,” She took a sip from her soup, “Will you tell me where you were going?”

“Why do you want to know?”

She shrugged, “Just curious.”

Aegon sighed and rolled his eyes. Something inside of him told him that it was a bad idea and he should leave immediately, but the other part of him told him to stay, to be nice to the kind girl that gave him food and shelter, and even stole a sheep for his dragon.

“I was going to Pentos.” He replied.

“Why?”

“You are curious, aren’t you?”

“Just a bit.” She put her index finger against her thumb making a gesture that was cute enough to hinder him.

“I was escaping.” He confessed.

“From whom?”

“My family.” He replied, “My mother, more specifically.”

“Why would you escape from your family, Aegon?” She asked again, and Aegon forced himself to not roll his eyes again.

“They- uhm, they are forcing me to do something I don’t want to do.”

“What thing?”

“Okay, that’s enough.” He raised his voice a little, starting to lose his patience. The girl leaned back, and a small ‘sorry’ escaped from her lips.

Aegon once again felt guilty as the room stayed in silence, and again he did not know why, which was a bit frustrating for him. She started to eat her soup quietly while he just looked at her, trying to read through her. That girl was a whole mystery, Aegon has never met someone so peculiar as her.

“How does it feel?” Her voice sounded softer and slower than the times before. Aegon frowned, confused.

“What thing?”

“To have a family.” She said, “I never had one.” She revealed, she tried to smile but Aegon saw the quivering on the corners of her mouth. “I mean- I had my mother, but- uhm, one day she left and I haven’t seen her since then.”

“Well, I can’t tell you nice things about my family. They’re all a piece of shit.”

“At least you have one.”

“I would rather not have one.” He confessed, “You’re all alone and you seem to do pretty well.”

When her smile completely disappeared, he knew he had fucked up once again. A small curse left his lips before starting to apologize, which was something quite odd coming from him.

“I mean- I’m sorry.” He was surprised by how fast he had said those words. He was not used to using them. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s okay.” She spoke softly, nodding. “I don’t mind.”

She stood up from the table and took the two small bowls with her. Aegon almost complained since he still had some soup left, but he thought he had already said enough. It seemed as if every time he would open his mouth he would hurt her feelings, so he decided to be quiet while he followed her with his purple tired eyes.

He soon stood up too, starting to gather his belongings –which was only his scabbard and a bag with some of his clothes– and getting ready for departure. He took a deep breath, feeling his stomach full and then he said,

“Well, I must thank you for your kindness.” He spoke while she was starting to clean the dishes, “But I must go now.”

She turned quickly, dropping the crockery on the table and wiping her hands with a small cloth. Her eyes seemed to be confused.

“What? You’re leaving so soon?”

“If I leave now I will arrive in Pentos in no time.”

“But- but it’s dark, and Sunfyre is sleeping, I-” She sighed, “I thought you were staying for the night. You should stay.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” He said, “I’ll find some lodging over there, don’t worry.”

“But they’ll make you pay.”

“Well, I’ll have to pay either way if I want to live there.” He deducted with an obvious tone.

“Please, stay the night.” She asked him, “I can make you some good food in the morning so you will have energy to travel… I can steal another sheep for Sunfyre too!”

“But where would I sleep?”

“In the bed!” She pointed at the small bed in the corner of the house. “It’s not so big but it is quite comfortable.”

“Did you steal your neighbor’s sheep to make the cushions?” He joked, and she smiled.

“How did you know?” She asked, genuinely surprised.

“I- I didn’t-” Aegon was taken aback by her answer, and he shook his head. “There’s only one bed.”

“I can sleep on the floor.”

“But you would be uncomfortable.” He surprised himself by his genuine concern.

“But you wouldn’t.” She insisted. “You can leave with Sunfyre on the morrow. He is sleeping now, look at him!”

She pointed through the window and Aegon saw outside, moving the curtain to have a better view. His dragon was sleeping soundly and he sighed, knowing that he would not wake up even if he screamed in his ear. Sunfyre has the same sleep as his owner, which was quite prejudicial in this kind of situation.

He had no other choice but to stay.

The bed was so comfortable that it made him feel as if he was laying on clouds, the mattress would shape his body perfectly and the pillows were so soft and it smelled good. It was way better than his own bed on the Red Keep, and he knew as soon as he put his body on top of the mattress that it would be the best sleep he would ever have.

The next morning Aegon woke up and felt better than ever. That was probably the best sleep he had ever had in his twenty years of life. He looked around the house now in the daylight, and everything seemed even more cozy than before. He rubbed his eyes and looked at the girl beside the bed still sleeping soundly; he could see a small trace of drool coming from the corner of her mouth.

He stood up and started pacing around the tiny house. He grabbed a carrot from the bag of vegetables and fruits she had brought the prior night and looked through the window to check on Sunfyre. That's when his problems started again.

"No, no, no, no!" He muttered while opening the door in quick and nervous moves. "Fuck! Fuck!"

He got out of the house and started to look around, his dragon was nowhere to be found.

"YOU FUCKING TRAITOR!" He yelled at the skies, throwing the carrot in his hand away and moving desperate around the green fields. "Fuck!"

"Aegon?"

The sleepy girl stood on the door frame, looking at him worryingly. Her eyes were narrowed due to the light of the day, her hair was messy and she walked outside the house barefooted.

"What happened?"

"He fucking left me!" He snapped. "How could he?"

"Who?"

"Sunfyre!" He spoke with an obvious tone, "Don't you see how a large dragon is not in your front yard anymore?"

"I can see that, yes." She nodded calmly, "But perhaps he will come back later, perhaps he got hungry again and went to find something to eat."

"Perhaps that traitor left me!" He said in despair, "How am I supposed to fly to Pentos now? My family will find me here!" He walked closer to her, "I don't even know where I am!"

"You are in the Summer Islands." She replied, "In the south of Dorne."

"South of Dorne?" He asked scandalized, "What the fuck am I doing in the South of Dorne?!"

"I don't think I could answer that."

"I was supposed to be flying to the east! Why am I here?"

"Do you want some tea?" She kindly offered.

Aegon looked at her as if she was insane, has she not heard what he just said?

“I don’t want tea.” He scoffed, “I want my fucking dragon back!”

“You yell too much.” She pointed out, “Perhaps that’s why your dragon left you.” Aegon frowned, offended. “I’ll be inside making food in case you need anything.”

Aegon covered his face with both of his hands and screamed out of rage. He pulled the grass under his feet and started throwing rocks with his hands. He looked like a small child throwing a tantrum. He was too stressed, even a couple of desperate tears came out of his eyes. He was lost in a place he did not even know, without his dragon and with the company of a girl who is partially scary. He started to regret every life decision that had brought him to that place.

Minutes after, when all of his rage started to dissolve from his body, he got into the house again. The girl has already made some food and she had put it on the table for him to eat, Aegon felt the delicious smell reaching his nose and he almost drool for it. It smelled better than anything he had ever smelled before. Then, he thought that, perhaps, staying there until Sunfyre gets back would not be a bad idea at all.

“I’m mad at you.” She said as soon as Aegon crossed the door. He tensed immediately, thinking she would kick him out.

“Why?”

“You ripped my grass.” She sat on the chair and started to eat. “Do you know how long it took me to make it grow?”

For the first time he saw her frowning, and it was not as if he had known her for her entire life, but seeing her making any other expression besides smiling felt wrong. Almost unnatural, actually.

“I’m sorry…” He muttered shyly, sitting in the chair in front of her. “I was a bit mad.”

“A bit?” She asked teasingly. “You yelled at a bird.”

“Why do you always catch me doing foolish things?”

“Why are you always doing foolish things?” She asked back.

“Apparently because I’m a fool.” He started to eat and he immediately hummed pleasantly with the taste. He almost rolled his eyes back. “Look, I’m going to help you fix your grass.”

“How?”

“Well, I can’t go anywhere without my dragon so I guess I will not have any other choice than to stay here until he decides it’s time to come back.” He shrugged, “If you allow me to, of course.”

Aegon saw how she tried so hard to suppress her smile until she finally let it take over her face. She nodded excitedly; she would finally have some company. She would finally not be alone.

“Of course I allow you!” She said with a giant smile, “Besides, I feel this is partly my fault.”

“How so?”

“Well, if I hadn’t insisted on you staying for the night, you would’ve been in Pentos by now.”

“What is done, is done.” He said, “At least I’m eating delicious food.”

She blushed a little and Aegon smiled; that is how it all started.

The first days were not much fun. Aegon had a hard time trying to entertain himself as the girl did not have any type of liquor; the closest thing to that was vinegar, and he could not stand the smell of it. There were not any other women around either, not other animals or anything besides her, her small cottage and the big woods that were behind her home.

So, as a result, he was forced to have conversations with her. At first, he was trying so hard not to get annoyed by her multiple questions, but then he got used to them and instead of being bothered by them, he started to get really comfortable answering them. He would like the fact that she was always genuinely interested in whatever he had to say, and he would also like the fact that he could speak with her for hours without feeling as if he was a nuisance.

Four days were spent like that, until she asked him for some help with her tasks. One morning they woke up and the sky was gray, covered in raging clouds that were warning about a big storm coming.

“Oh, no.” She had said to him, looking at the clouds with worry in her eyes. Aegon turned to her, looking at her frown. “There’s a hole on the ceiling, and I couldn’t fix it the last time it rained. It was a disaster!”

“I can help you with that.” Aegon offered.

“Can you?” She excitedly said.

Aegon nodded with a slight smile, while on the inside, he was dying from the nerves since he had absolutely no idea on how to fix a hole in the ceiling, he just offered himself out of courtesy and because he wanted to be a good guess for her.

He was completely oblivious with everything, he did not know how to use the tools, and he was too embarrassed to ask so he just improvised everything trying to make it work. But it did not.

When the storm came, the girl had to put vases around the house to prevent the floor from getting wet thanks to the leaks. Even the bed got wet, so that night Aegon had to sleep on the floor, on the other side of the bed. She did not get mad at him for not fixing the problem, instead, she just laughed it off and told him it was alright, that they could fix it in another time.

Aegon felt some inner joy when she said that, for he knew she was thinking of him staying longer; he did not dislike the idea.

A week and a half has passed already. Sunfyre was nowhere to be seen, but Aegon did not mind about it anymore, he felt too comfortable already with her company. Besides, they had just started his cooking lessons.

The girl has offered it to him as a joke, and when Aegon accepted she was as surprised as him. It was not common that a man would want to learn those kinds of things. In return, he would teach her about dragons, and she was so fascinated with the idea that as soon as they sealed the deal, she grabbed her vegetables and started to teach him.

Aegon’s fingers soon were full of tiny cuts, cuts that she would clean and bind up. Chopping vegetables with a knife seemed like a more dangerous activity than using a sword.

When he finally made supper all by himself, he felt so proud that he could not stop smiling. He had prepared the meal while the girl was out searching for fresh vegetables and fruit. It was a surprise; he wanted to make something nice for her. So when she arrived at the house, she saw two small bowls filled with soup.

“Aegon, did you cook all this by yourself?” She had asked him, surprised but also impressed.

“I did.” He answered proudly, while she was sitting on the chair. “I hope it tastes good, I didn’t try it before pouring it in the bowls.”

She smiled softly, a smile that quickly trembled thanks to the flavor of the soup. It was not bad, it just had a strong taste that she could not recognize. She tried so hard to keep a smile on her face because she would rather rip her heart from her chest than to make him feel bad about something, especially when he really strove to make it. She just nodded and hummed, while she kept drinking the soup.

But soon Aegon tried it too, and she spit the soup back on the bowl as soon as it touched his tongue. His disgusted face was too cute for her to ignore, she found herself staring at him more than she should while he was overreacting by drinking large sips of water in order to forget the taste.

“Oh Gods, this is so fucking disgusting.” He muttered, “Stop drinking that.” He had said to her, trying to grab her bowl to toss it, but she took it away from him first. “Don’t drink that, it's disgusting.”

“What are you saying? This is delicious!” She tried to cheer him up. She took a big sip of the soup afterwards, trying so hard not to show a bad face.

“Don’t lie, y/n.” He told her, embarrassed. “Stop drinking it!”

But she drank it all. Aegon was surprised to see the empty bowl, and it was impossible for him not to smile softly at her. She had drunk his disgusting soup only to avoid making him feel bad. That’s when the tickles started.

Another week passed, and Aegon found himself running with a sheep on his shoulders and y/n laughing hysterically by his side, while an old man was following them with a flail. He did not know how he put himself in that situation, but he was enjoying it. Hearing her laughter was enough to make him feel some joy he had never experienced before, it made him feel whole.

When they entered the tiny house, the grumpy neighbor was long forgotten. Aegon dropped the sheep on the floor and sat, trying to catch his breath while the girl was offering him a glass of cold water, which he gladly accepted.

“How do you do that?” He asked breathlessly. She only shrugged and chuckled.

“I guess I’m used to it.” She sat in front of him, “Aegon, the Sheepstealer. It sounds good, does it not?”

Aegon smiled, “It does.”

He killed the sheep, and made a much better meal with it. The practice has made him good, great even. Now he knew he did not need to put too much nutmeg on the food, a pinch was enough.

“I’ve never eaten sheep before.” The girl confessed after finishing her plate. “It’s quite delicious.”

“Why?”

“It’s just that I don’t have the heart to kill them.” She replied, “They look at me with those tiny little eyes, and it is impossible for me to do something to them.”

“What do you do with the sheep you stole?” He asked confused.

“I return them.” She explained, “I cut the wool with my scissors and then I took them back to my neighbor’s herd.” She looked at the plate with a sad haze, “Although this one won’t be coming back any time soon.”

“Wait, you have scissors?” He asked, and she nodded.

Soon, Aegon was sitting on the same chair as before but this time he saw how his platinum hair strands were falling onto his lap. He had asked her to cut his hair after thinking it was getting too long. Her hands brushing his head was a kind of pleasure that he never thought he would experience, it felt so good that he would start humming without even realizing.

His eyes would close and his whole body would relax under her touch. It felt too good that Aegon even thought he was dreaming.

Of course the haircut was a mess, she had never done anything like that before; at least not with humans. But when Aegon saw his hair reflected on a small mirror that was hanging from the wall, he just praised her for her good job, although they both knew it was hideous. He just did not have the heart to tell her that.

The day passed after that and with each day they would get closer and closer. Until one night, when Aegon would not find peace to sleep, for he was starting to feel guilty. Lately at night, he had found himself staring at the girl while she slept on the floor next to the bed, all curled up and hugging the blanket that would cover her from the coldness of the evening. Aegon felt something inside of him that was screaming he was in the wrong for letting her sleep in such a way for too long.

Even though she was peacefully sleeping already, he knew she deserved to be as comfortable as him. After everything she had done for him, he felt the need to give her something back. So he started to wake her up.

“Hey, y/n. Wake up!” He started to shake her body a bit too harshly. “Y/n, wake up!”

The poor girl jumped and woke up scared, looking around, confused and overwhelmed. “What happened?” She said. Her raspy voice made him feel some kind of tinkle in his gut. “My neighbor is here?”

“Hey, y/n.” He whispered, “It’s okay, he’s- he’s not here.”

“What is it then?” She rubbed her eyes and yawned. “Do you need more cushions?”

“No, I’m okay it’s just… uh, I was thinking if you would like to sleep here in the bed.” He offered, surprisingly shy. “I think it could be more comfortable for you.”

“And where would you sleep?”

“We can sleep together if that’s not a problem for you.”

She smiled, pleased. “Look at us.” She said chuckling, “A few weeks ago you wouldn’t tell me about where you were going because I was a stranger and now you are offering me to sleep with you!” She spoke excitedly, “On the morrow we will wake up as best friends!”

Aegon only nodded softly, still wondering about what made her so unique. So special.

She stood up and quickly got under the soft blankets, cuddling with a pillow. Aegon was staring at the ceiling, moving his fingers nervously after feeling her body so close to him. He regretted having his shirt removed as he was scared that his body would react on its own, he was scared of what she might think if he got aroused by her. He did not even know why he was so concerned about it, perhaps it was the very first time that he actually cared of what others would think of him. Of what she might think of him.

To avoid the shame of it, he turned around giving her his back. He then sighed and closed his eyes, preparing himself to sleep now out of guilt, but her voice sounded once again.

“Aegon?” She whispered. Her breath hit his back, causing him a shiver that was quite worrying.

“Yes?” His voice sounded more raspy than usual.

“I know this is ‘best friend’ level, and we aren’t there yet,” Aegon frowned and looked at her over his shoulder. “But I was wondering if I could hug you.”

He was taken aback by her sudden request. He was so shocked that he felt as if she was playing a joke on him. No one has ever asked him to hug him before, less when in bed.

“You want- You want to hug me?”

“Yes…” She nodded, a small smile crossed her lips. “Like this.”

She moved a bit behind him and then he felt her arm going under his and surrounding his naked torso. Aegon felt oddly calm once he sensed her warmth around him. She laid her head on top of the crook of his neck and sighed.

A now-familiar sensation took over his body, making his face feel hotter and his heart beat faster. He did not know why his body started to react in such a way all of the sudden, but it did not feel bad.

“How does it feel?” She asked. “I can move if you are not comfortable-”

“No!” He quickly said, a bit louder than he expected. “It feels nice.”

She smiled, relieved.

“Good night then, Aegon.” She said softly.

“Good night, y/n.”

Aegon fell asleep with a smile on his face for the first time in his life.

The next day, everything went as usual, although he could not take his eyes out of her. With every touch, every word, and every smile he would feel something jumping inside his chest, and he would get clumsy all of the sudden. Even a little shy, when he had no record of being shy before meeting her.

And then, she had the marvelous idea of having lunch outside. Aegon was not a big fan, but he accepted because she wanted to do it; he could not bring himself to say no to her.

He followed her through the woods until they reached a beautiful lagoon in the middle of the trees, the water was turquoise, and you could see the bottom of it because it was so clear. It was a gorgeous place, probably one of the most beautiful places he had ever been.

The meal was cooked by Aegon, who had been constantly improving on his culinary skills. They sat on a cozy blanket —made by her with the wool of his neighbor’s sheep, of course— and they put all the biscuits, pastries, and bread on top of it. She had made orange juice too, which Aegon loved.

“Where do you think Sunfyre is right now?” She asked after a moment of silence.

Aegon shrugged, “I don’t care about that traitor anymore.” He spoke with his mouth full after eating a small lemon cake in just one bite.

“Will you leave after he comes back?” Her voice sounded quite unsure, perhaps because she did not want to hear an answer.

Aegon was taken aback with the question, not sure of what to answer. He has not even thought about his departure yet, seeing it so far and unlikely; he did not wish to leave this place, nor her.

“I don’t know.” He said softly, “I feel rather comfortable in your bed.” He joked, and she chuckled. “You’re an amazing hugger. If I leave now, I’m going to miss you at night.”

He said those words as if he was joking, but he knew deep inside of him that he was only speaking the truth.

“Hugger?” She asked confused.

“Your hugs,” He explained, “They’re incredible.”

“Well, thank you very much.” She blushed, and she tried to hide his face from him. Aegon looked at her mesmerized.

Once he woke up from his trance, he realized he had been staring at her for too long, and even when she did not seem to mind, he felt some embarrassment in his action. So he tried to take her attention to something else. Something that was not him and his rosy cheeks.

“Is the water good for a swim?” He asked, the girl nodded excitedly, “Shall we swim?”

The girl stood up immediately, and soon she started to get rid of her dress. Aegon’s eyes widened with panic as he had not considered that important detail; she would wet her dress to swim, so she was getting naked.

She did it without any shame of her body, and he knew it was because she did not find anything sinful in nudity, but Aegon did, and he got scared; mostly because he was scared of his own body, on how it would react by having her so close to him with nothing on. But when she finally got rid of her clothing, and his eyes found her, he felt his heart stop for a second.

He was waiting for his body to react differently, to have some reaction towards her naked body as he usually did; he expected to feel some tickle on his gut as a sign of lust, but it was nothing like it. Aegon saw her as if she had put a spell on him, his eyes could not stop staring at her curves, her bare skin, her hair being blown with the air. It was a bewitching scene that made Aegon’s whole body go numb. He even felt his eyes getting a bit watery, for they were glistening for the sight. And when she turned to face him and smiled so softly at him, he knew. He felt it.

Oh, no, Aegon thought, I’m falling in love.

Of course she invited him to join in, and he did. The butterflies on his stomach were getting more notorious with every step he took. Soon, he found himself playing with her, throwing water and laughing as a little child. It did not matter anymore that they were naked, he did not feel the need to make it into something lustful. He just enjoyed the moment with her, for he has never felt this way before; so filled with joy and genuinely happy.

He even wished for Sunfyre to never come back so he would never have an excuse to leave. But he had never been the possessor of such good luck.

The next morning a roar woke them up, they were sleeping cuddling each other and they both sat on the bed exalted for the sudden noise. Aegon was the first one standing up, grabbing his sword and coming out of the house. Soon, y/n followed him, positioning herself behind him. The girl stopped in awe, looking at the giant dragon in front of her with wonder.

“Fuck.” Aegon mumbled, loud enough to wake the girl out of her trance and looking at the man walking towards them.

“Who’s that?” She asked curiously.

Aegon sighed,

“My brother.” He replied reluctantly.

“He is handsome.” She said.

Aegon frowned, looking at her with a disgusted look on his face. “No, he’s not.”

As the man was getting closer, Aegon positioned himself in front of the girl, as if he was trying to protect her from him. Aemond stood in front of both of them, he looked serious and intimidating. The girl had to look up to him because he was at least one head taller than her.

“So this is where you were hiding.” He said when he was close enough for them to hear him. “It’s nice.”

“Thank you!” The girl rushed to respond.

“Who is this beautiful lady?” Aemond asked, the girl blushed with the compliment.

Aegon’s jaw clenched. “It is not of your interest.”

“I’m y/n.” She cheerfully said.

“Such a pleasure to meet you, Lady y/n.” He grabbed her hand and left a soft kiss in it. The girl giggled, a bit embarrassed.

“Oh, I'm no Lady.” She shyly smiled, “You have a beautiful dragon.”

“Thank you, love.” He smirked slightly.

“How did you find me?” Aegon asked, clearly annoyed.

“Sunfyre was seen flying around Dorne a few days ago,” He explained, “I found him and he guided me here.”

Aegon looked beside Vhagar and his dragon was laying there, chewing what seemed to be a calcined animal. Once again, he cursed the Gods by how inconvenient his arrival was.

“And what do you want?”

“Father is dead.” He said suddenly.

“What?” He muttered incredulously.

“Mother sent me to look for you.” Aemond explained.

“But- I don’t want to leave.”

“You must.” The younger one spoke firmly, “You will be crowned as King on the morrow.”

“King?” The soft voice of the girl was heard.

Aemond saw her with a lifted eyebrow, a bit surprised about her reaction until he finally put the strings together.

“She doesn't know, does she?”

“Know what, Aegon?” She asked him.

Aegon went silent, and he begged his brother with his eyes to not say anything, to keep it as a secret. But Aemond did not granted him with that, instead he looked at the girl with curious eyes and explained,

“Aegon is Prince of the Seven Kingdoms.” His voice sounded softly, as he was not trying to hurt her. “He is the heir of the Throne in Westeros.”

The girl frowned, and Aegon looked down at the green grass being unable to see her face after the truth was out. She took a step forward and touched his shoulder with care, only then Aegon was strong enough to look at her eyes; she was not mad or hurt, she just seemed confused.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I never saw the right time, I- I’m sorry, y/n.”

She excused herself and got into her home. Aegon covered his face with his hands, frustrated and mad at his brother, furious actually. He wanted to punch him in the face, but he knew that if he did it he would get into a fight that he would not win.

“You have been living in her home for a month and you never tell her about who you are?”

“It didn’t seem relevant!” He yelled, stressed, “Fuck!”

“Aegon, I must take you to mother and-”

“Shut up.” He interrupted him before starting to walk inside the house.

The girl was standing in the kitchen, cutting some oranges in half to then squeeze them and make orange juice. Aegon cleared his throat to make himself seen, and she turned to look at him. Her eyes were a bit teary and Aegon’s heart nearly broke.

“Can we talk?”

“You are a Prince.” She affirmed, and he nodded. “Is that why you were escaping from your family? Because you don’t want to be king?”

“I’ve never wanted it.” He confessed, “I’m not made to rule. I couldn’t even command my dragon when he brought me here.” He joked, and that made her smile. “I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you.”

“I understand why you did it.” A couple unexpected tears fell down her cheeks and she quickly brushed them off to laugh afterwards, “I don’t even know why I am crying-”

“It’s okay,” He said softly, and he cupped her face with his hands. A delicate touch that made her legs shiver. “I’m going to tell him to leave.” She frowned, “I’m going to stay here with you. And we can- we can be happy together, right?”

Her haze softened, Aegon looked at her lips and the sudden urge to kiss her invaded his whole body. Soon his thoughts were interrupted by her sweet voice,

“But you have to leave.” She whispered, “You have a family, you belong with them.”

“You are my family now, y/n. I belong here, with you!” He sighed.

“You need to leave…” She repeated, “Your brother, he is quite intimidating, I can’t fight with him over you.”

Aegon giggled.

“He would win without a doubt.” He added.

“I know. I would just embarrass myself.”

They both laughed lightly, with tears in their eyes. Trying so hard to ignore the pain on their chest.

“Listen-”

“No, you listen.” She interrupted him, “I think- I think it is better that you go with your brother- what’s his name?”

“Aemond.” She chuckled, “What?”

“Sounds like ‘almond’.”

Aegon smiled, “Yes, it does.”

She cleared her throat and wiped one rebel tear that left her eyes, she put her hands on top of his and sighed.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Aegon.” He frowned, “I don’t think I’ll ever forget you.”

“I don’t want to leave you alone.” He confessed.

“I won’t be alone… I can try and be friends with my neighbor.”

“Come with me.” He begged.

“Aegon, I can’t. I don’t belong there… but you do.”

“I’ll miss you terribly.” His voice sounded weak.

“You can come and visit whenever you want.” She tried to cheer him up.

“It won’t be enough.”

“We’ll make it enough.”

He hugged her tightly, burying his head on the crook of her neck trying to carve her scent in his memories, trying to force his body to remember her warmth around him for eternity. Her hands reached his hair and stroked it softly before leaning back.

“Oh! Before you go.” She quickly went to her bed and picked up one of her cushions, she then lent it to Aegon who received it with a smile. “So you can remember me.”

“Bold of you to assume I would ever forget you.”

The presence of Aemond interrupted their moment and the older brother rolled his eyes.

“We must leave now, brother.” Aemond said.

“You must leave now, brother.” She said in a whisper, imitating Aemond’s serious voice and making Aegon laugh loudly.

“Don’t let him hear you.” He warned her, “He would hate you if you mock him, he’s quite serious.”

She only nodded, trying to repress a smile while Aegon’s eyes scanned all of her face, trying to memorize every single part of it. He did not know when he would see you again.

“Y/n…” He called her.

“Yes?”

He took a deep breath, “I- I love-” He stopped himself before he could finish, and then he suddenly changed his words. “I really loved your house.”

Her smile trembled, a bit disappointed. “You can come back whenever you want. My door will alway be open for you.”

“Aegon!” Aemond insisted.

“Go now.” She said, “We’ll meet again, I promise.”

Aeon nodded, and after looking at her a little longer, he left a quick kiss on her forehead. Then, he left the house.

She saw from her door frame how Aegon started yelling at his dragon; she could only smile with tenderness after seeing him being mad at him again. She saw him riding his dragon and flying away.

The girl closed her door and layed in bed putting his nose against the pillows. They still smelled like him.

Two days later, she was in the kitchen preparing something for supper. It was late at night, she could hear the sound of the crickets outside, everything was so quiet and peaceful. Until a growl was heard in her front yard.

She left the knife and the celery aside in order to open her door and look outside; a huge smile on her face and butterflies in her stomach appeared when she saw the golden dragon outside her house. It was Aegon.

He got out of his saddle and quickly reached the grass. He walked fast towards the girl who was just too excited to see him.

“Aegon, you’re back so soon?”

He did not answer her, instead, he pressed his lips against hers. She gladly followed the kiss, bringing her hands to his soft hair. Aegon held her close by grabbing her waist and pulling her onto his body. The kiss was soft, slow, filled with tenderness and love; Aegon sighed in between, feeling in heaven with just the touch of her lips.

When he leaned back, his eyes were glistening, his breathing was fastened, and his heart was jumping inside his chest out of excitement. The girl in front of him laughed, and Aegon closed his eyes; two days were enough for him to crave for that sweet laughter.

“I love you, y/n.” He confessed, making her melt. “I left everything behind, so you better get used to my presence because I’m not leaving you any time soon.”

“What about the throne?” She asked, a bit overwhelmed with all the situation.

“I made a convenient deal with Aemond.” He explained. “He only accepted it because he liked you.”

She smiled, “I love you too, Aegon.”

He kissed her again, this time it was more passionately, but still had those sweet touches of tenderness that he loved so dearly. Her lips were soft, so perfect and made for him. Being there with her, kissing her and touching her body felt just right. As if it has always meant to be.

The girl leaned back and looked at him with a subtle smile, “We’ll need to steal a sheep.”

Aegon chuckled, “What for?”

“We will need a bigger bed.”

#repost #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen imagine #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon targaryen #aegon the elder #aegon x y/n #aegon ii targaryen x female reader #aegon ii targaryen x you #aegon ii targaryen x y/n #fluff #hotd au #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #house of the dragon

[quietpagan]

Trollhunters: What Falls and What Grows, ch. 21.

Also on AO3

“When life is not coming up roses Look to the weeds and find the beauty hidden within them.” ― L.F.Young

 Draal entered the library after a very itchy but otherwise relaxing morning of avoiding absolutely everybody who might be inclined to bully him into the Healing Dwell, only to find the Trollhunter, Blinky, and AAARRRGGHH sitting around in various states of disarray and looking rather put-out.

The market had been a bit more tumultuous than usual on this trip from his rooms to the library, and he was about to ask what was going on before the Trollhunter opened her mouth.

“Have you eaten anything from Baak the Burger Guy’s stand recently?” Draal had literally just entered the door, he was not expecting an interrogation – but at least it wasn’t about him avoiding Pottlebot and her damn stinky healing unguents. He reached a hand up to scratch the back of his neck, where a spot of peeling skin was bothering him. “Erm, no?” he replied. Alexandra visibly relaxed, settling down on a stool as her claws restlessly tapped her thighs.

“Baak’s been selling food made from human meat.”

Draal’s hand dropped, disturbing a pile of books from a table. They slid onto the floor as he stared at Alexandra.

“…Ah.”

Alexandra rounded on him in a flurry.

“Yes, ah. ‘Ah’ as in – as in – oh God oh fuck – “ Alexandra spun on her heel and ducked around him, just barely exiting the library before emptying her stomach on the stone outside. Draal turned around and grabbed a fistful of her hair out of her face. There was another heaving noise.

“I will guess that you ate one of Baak’s burgers?”

She spat angrily.

“Yes I ate one of Baak’s fucking burgers.” “Disgusting.” “It was good,” she whispered, in a voice that was almost shaking. She spat again and leaned against the wall, gesturing tiredly as trolls passed by.

“Do you…erm…” Alexandra wiped her mouth against her shoulder.

“No, I don’t want to talk about it,” she croaked. “I want you to get to the goddamn healer. I’ve got ten separate issues warring for attention right now and I am going to make your disregard for your own health Issue Number One to distract me from the fact that I enjoyed a fucking human-burger, and Blinky’s asking me questions. Start walking.”

Draal took the moment to lean away from the sour scent of vomit – away from the direction of the Healing Dwell.

“I require nothing.” “Your skin is flaking off every time you move and it’s disgusting.”

“Discussing? What are we discussing? Because I have a few topics I would like to bring up,” shouted Blinky from inside the library.

Alexandra straightened up with a groan and shoved Draal further into the hallway.

“Quick, quick, get a move on.”

Draal allowed himself to be pushed for a total of ten feet, whereupon he twisted away from the Trollhunter, using his superior strength to get out of her grip – only to stop when she actually summoned the armor and yanked his arm behind his head, forcing him to walk at an awkward cant, the tip of her sword hovering just behind his back. A few alarmed murmurs echoed from the crowd.

“Nothing to be concerned about,” said Alexandra, pushing again until Draal started forward. “Just reluctant to see the healer.”

There were some aborted chuckles and Draal felt himself flush. Alexandra’s hand on his wrist tightened, another digging into his side where she’d grabbed the edge of his kilt.

“Are you really going to make me drag you at sword-point to the healers, like a child?” she hissed.

Draal was finding it remarkably difficult to speak, actually, with the uncomfortable position.

“You would escort a child to the healers at sword-point?” he managed.

“A child could be reasoned with before it ever got to that point. You, on the other hand, require handling, apparently.”

The healers were highly amused at Draal’s undignified predicament and quickly cleaned and dressed the wendigo cuts on his front and scrubbed away the remaining evidence of his tussle with the anstramonstrum with a pumice stone, which truly did feel quite good, loathe as he was to admit it. Pottlebot, the demon, slathered him from head to toe with the most disgusting unguents she could make up, and by the time the Trollhunter allowed him to escape the Healing Dwell Draal was nearly dripping in foul, bitter ointments.

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself, Hunter,” he growled, dancing away when she tried to hip-check him as he led the way to the Hero’s Forge. Alexandra did not heed him, and continued to look as smug as possible.

Hands sticky and slippery, he could not hold a weapon, but still he directed her as best as possible in her physical training. Blinkous was proven knowledgeable in many arts, true, but his expertise lay primarily in book-teaching, not in practical demonstration. Alexandra had advanced steadily to the point where Draal could admit that she was a worthy opponent, but her skill could only be improved by practice and experience through sparring, which Draal excelled at.

And so he spent a highly enjoyable afternoon grappling with the Trollhunter, aiming to teach her further in throwing off a stronger opponent, though he was careful not to strain either his cuts or her still-healing shoulder.

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” she echoed, after almost two hours of him tackling her and rubbing as much pungent ointment across her face and armor as he could.

“I do not know what you mean,” Draal replied. “This is training. How can you defeat me if you cannot keep hold of me?”

The Daylight armor had many benefits, but being slip-proof was not one of them, and with his skin covered in oily salves Alexandra could only grab him if she dug her claws in, and he knew that she actively was trying not to hurt him further. Her four arms aided her slightly, but between the two of them Draal had the greater reach and weight and size, and even though grappling pulled on his healing wounds he brightened with the exercise and the chance to teach her how better to survive her acclaimed and horrifically dangerous profession.

“I think this is the part where I can shoot Bular in the other eye,” Alexandra groaned, her face smooshed into Draal’s elbow as he wrenched her leg in the air, holding her away from him before she could kick or elbow him in the gronk-nuks. She slid out of his grasp and then bit him on the way down; he dropped her with a yelp but pinned her by sitting on her legs.

“You cannot totally rely on your weapons - human, troll, or otherwise,” Draal said, trying to grab one of her horns but failing with his slippery fingers; he settled for pulling his elbow under her chin, where the curve of her horns worked to keep his arm in place. Trapped on her stomach, with a greater weight on her lower half and her upper half curved up, she was immobilized, reaching behind her but only able to scrape against him with the tips of her fingers.

“So now what, Trollhunter?” Alexandra growled, wriggling ineffectively.

“You’re the bloody trainer, jackass, you tell me,” she said, scraping again at his knee and the back of his kilt. There was a brief flare of warmth but he knew she wouldn’t use her sun-fire hands, not on him during a brief spar.

She panted for a few moments, trembling in the uncomfortable position. Draal tightened his grip.

“Well, Trollhunter? Bular would have killed you by now.” “Is there anybody around?” Draal looked up, peering carefully into the galleries surrounding the Forge.

“Not that I can see. But if you were to shift, my weight would break your le – “

Draal wasn’t exactly sure how it happened, but in the next instant his arm around her throat lost its hold and he flew backward, the shift in weight enough for her to turn her torso and pull her legs away from him; the world spun briefly but he rolled to his feet, just in time to get kicked in the face. He stumbled back a step and rubbed his jaw with a grin.

“Shifting only your head and chest; a very good trick!” Two hands twirling her sword, the Hunter smiled. She pulled a cloth from her pocket and wiped her hands with it, tossing it to him so that he could do the same.

“Comes in handy sometimes, I’ll admit.” Draal took a staff from the weapons rack and began a set of formal poses, once again gentle enough to take caution of their injuries. He had no desire to have to visit Pottlebot the Pitiless any time in the future. Alexandra mirrored his movements, sword switching between her lower hands. They practiced in a companiable silence, which he had grown to appreciate with her.

For as much as he’d resented her initial appointment to the honored position of Trollhunter, under much duress Draal could admit that he was glad to be Alexandra’s trainer. It took a certain amount of pressure off of him; he no longer lived under the expectation of assuming the mantle of Trollhunter after the fall of his father, and instead he noticed that he was now looked upon and called upon by others for himself – known by his own merit and wanted for his own talents and skills.

The friends he had made in his young adulthood had abandoned him as soon as he had lost the fight with Alexandra, calling for his death in battle as the rest of Trollmarket had. His entire life up until that point had been dedicated to training and making names for himself in order to be worthy of the title of Trollhunter or Trollhunter’s son, and within an instant, it was gone.

But he had not released himself from his banishment by his connection to the Trollhunter, either past or current. His new moniker of ‘Draal the Dedicated’ had been earned, not by his famous connections, but through his own steadfastness and loyalty. He earned his name and he honed his skills now for himself, and for the honor and safety of the people of Trollmarket.

Releasing himself from the weight of his father’s mantle was painful, but it was the pain of new skills learnt and of wounds healing, and though the lack of it felt empty in some ways it was remarkably freeing. He found himself untethered from a lifetime of expectation.

(It hurt in a different way, how this new Trollhunter interacted with him. He knew that she cared for him, that she worried for his safety and cared about his happiness and security – yet she did not distance herself for his sake, as his father had. She watched his back and trusted him to watch hers, and having that trust from someone who had been a relative stranger when Kanjigar himself had pushed Draal away burned like a slow, steady coal in his chest.)

Draal ducked a swipe to his face and countered by aiming at the Trollhunter’s legs. She jumped as best she could and grabbed at him, using one of his horns to swing herself around his back and kick him in the knee. He fell willingly and ducked into a roll; Alexandra did not let go quickly enough to avoid being pulled after him and was dragged along the side, laughing and cursing in the same instant. Draal whacked her with his staff and she head-butt him, probably ignorant (though it was difficult to tell, with her) that such a move was considered a flirt outside of battle.

(Kanjigar didn’t want Alexandra to get close to his son. Too bad, Draal supposed – his father couldn’t have everything he wanted.)

  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------

 After their spar, Draal was dragged by the Trollhunter into a successful campaign of avoiding Blinkous for nearly a day and a half, which was more fun than Draal had anticipated, given the older troll’s inconvenient skill in showing up in unexpected places. Blinky was one of the few who ventured Upstairs simply for his own amusement and curiosity, and over the centuries he had become extremely adept at both getting into areas he shouldn’t be in and not getting caught in areas he shouldn’t be in.

Alexandra could not avoid her Trollhunting duties, however, and she and occasionally Draal himself were called to settle several minor disputes and inconveniences. Draal was quite happy to be wanted by his people, and the Trollhunter shined within the minutiae of the occupation, welcoming every instance where she was needed even as they kept on the lookout for Blinky or AAARRRGGHH.

Draal was absolutely unused to sneaking around, so Alexandra framed the game as training, should they ever need to do reconnaissance without being found out. Draal was not made for being unobtrusive, but he was good at moving quietly, so between sparring sessions, various Trollhunting calls, and being forced again to see the healer, he and Alexandra managed to avoid her other trainers with only a few difficulties.

It was kind of funny though, when a good portion of ‘sneaking’ included simply hiding in their rooms and pretending not to be at home. They reasoned that healing was just as important as stealth training, and so spent many hours peacefully unconscious. Often Alexandra read as Draal slept; after their many battles, even a troll as hearty as he needed proper rest. The lack of true activity would have rankled, if the naps weren’t so nice.

On the second morning of their game, Draal lay curled against the wall of his room, the Hunter a heavy warmth in the crux of his knees as she pawed through the books strewn upon the bed.

“At some point you are going to have to talk to Blinkous,” Draal murmured, not even opening his eyes, one arm thrown across his face to block the light coming from the crystal lanterns.

Alexandra huffed, shuffling a scroll some amount of force.

“You are a grown adult.” “Quiet from the peanut gallery,” his friend snapped. “Blinky isn’t threatening you with revealing your most dangerous secret to the leader of Trollmarket, who conveniently has the power to both banish me AND summon a tribunal on my ass. I’ve got enough to deal with without adding the complication of Vendel hating my guts and possibly exposing me to the entirety of Trollmarket, who would also hate my guts, while I’m trying to broker a deal with other Changelings and stop the stupid Bridge from being built for unleashing a cannibalistic Dark Lord.” It was possibly the most words Draal had heard from her in one go, and more open than he was expecting. He realized with a pang that Alexandra was honestly, genuinely frightened. She had found friends, and acceptance, and purpose, and the possibility of it all being taken away scared her.

But Alexandra as he knew her faced fear by cursing in its face, stabbing it as hard as she could, and then setting it on fire for good measure, so what was the difference here? Before he could ask, Alexandra shifted; he looked up to see her rise to a crouch, digging into a pocket of her shorts.

“Shit, that reminds me…” She took from her pocket one of the humans’ cellular devices, a semi-popular snack in Trollmarket. Draal himself liked the ones with the big glass fronts. She tapped it for a moment, and then it lit up, startling Draal with the bright glare.

“AAARRRGGHH was right that we need to get a move on,” she muttered, poking at it and making it flash. Draal had never been one for human technologies; too loud and too small.

Alexandra sat up and, to Draal’s astonishment, began talking to the air.

“Hey! Hey. Hello, I’m, um, what fucking name should I use…” “What in Kanjigar’s name are you doing, Trollhunter?” Draal asked, watching her as she murmured to herself.

“I can’t believe you actually invoke oaths using your father’s name. I’m making up a false identity to contact the Changeling’s leader with. Something-last-name-Hunter. T. Hunter? Miss Hunter? Trudy. Hello, my name’s Trudy Hunter. You know, I think my voice is too…”

The light from the cellphone faded, leaving them once more in the dim crystal-light. Draal watched Alexandra stare at her hands, idly tapping the darkened phone.

“Are you…alright – “ “I need to Change. My voice is rougher like this,” she said, very quietly.

Ah.

“I, erm. Should I…leave?”

She shook her head. Draal lay back, staring at the ceiling but unable to close his eyes completely. After a few tense moments there was another flare of light, and the weight against the back of his legs lessened considerably. The phone brightened again; Draal carefully looked over his chest, seeing only a vague human profile, outlined in light. She raised the cellphone to her face and said, in a bright but somewhat hesitant voice:

“Hello, um, my name’s Trudy Hunter, I’m calling for my uncle Walt? Yes. Yes, Walter Strickler, I’m his niece. No it’s okay, can you just give him my number? I lost my old phone and just wanted to give him my new number, would you mind? Thanks, I really appreciate it. Yeah. Oh, Trudy Hunter. Okay thank you, bye-bye.”

The phone’s light shut off as she deposited it back into her pocket, but she didn’t Change again.

Overcome with curiosity, Draal slowly sat up, shifting his legs until he was seated at her side.

He hadn’t really seen much during their fight with the wendigo, when she’d Changed to lure it into the box. The lighting wasn’t much better here, but he could still see more than before. When he’d moved to face her, she had closed her eyes.

She was forcing herself to stay still, he could tell. Her shoulders and neck were tight, her hands clenched around each other. This was the Alexandra he was growing accustomed to; allowing the fear to reach out to her, and not flinching at its face.

Brown eyes flared open when the back of his knuckles touched her temple, glaring at him even as her hands trembled minutely. A pulse of blue shone from her pocket; the amulet, reacting to her stress. The air in the room felt still and heavy, and the flesh of her cheek felt warm and soft.

Draal drew back momentarily before running a finger over the shortened hairs on her brow, careful not to poke her in the eye, glancing at her ears. They were just a bit pointed, one of the several more trollish characteristics he could notice, if he squinted.

The scar took center-stage, running across her human face as it did her trollish one, cutting over her left eye and leaving a white streak through the cornea, the pupil stained a milky grey. It was such a distinctive feature but still, he would have recognized her without it.

The tip of his finger made its way down to her jaw, almost of its own accord. Here the bone felt thicker; if she opened her mouth, would her teeth be larger, sharper? Her nose was off-center, the bridge crooked. Nomura’s face had been almost pristine; smooth and polished, not a hair out of place. Alexandra looked almost trollish while human, for reasons he could not fathom and was not going to ask.

The tiny hint of a pulse fluttered, quick and hard, through his fingertip as it hovered on the edge of her throat.

There was an impulse, brief but hot, to let his hand run down farther, to examine the differences between Nomura’s delicate, angular figure and Alexandra’s broad, hard frame. He caught himself; he was unsure, truly uncertain, whether he would prefer Alexandra to stop his hand or let him wander. The palm of his hand ached slightly, fingers wanting to uncurl and feel how much softer her hair was like this.

The pounding of fists upon the door startled both of them badly; Draal’s legs jerked and Alexandra flew to her feet, amulet in hand, before either of them realized what the noise was. Most unfortunately, their actions upset the pile of books on the bed, which fell to the floor loudly enough to alert their visitor.

“I know you are in there, you blasted woman, open this door! This is ridiculous!” Alexandra pounced on Draal the moment he made to reply, throwing her hands across his mouth as she knelt on his chest.

Honestly, the game was beginning to get a little silly, but there was remarkably little that Draal felt he could do suddenly; still human-shaped, Alexandra had pushed him backward with her knees on either side of his chest, having to lay most of her torso across his neck and chin to cover his mouth. Her bandaged hands felt impossibly tiny on his face, and this close he could feel her breathing.

It was absurd; they’d certainly grappled before, and in tighter and more compromising positions than this – but it had been a very long time since he’d felt the warmth of a human body against his, and he was somewhat transfixed on the tickle of hair against his cheek and the quiver of muscle as she pressed down.

Blinky pounded the door again with all four fists, shouting more and more obscure curses to the heavy wood. Alexandra began to giggle into her fist.

Blinky continued in this vein for a solid five minutes, cursing the Hunter’s parentage, hygiene, and moral fiber. On impulse Draal slid a hand over Alexandra’s shortened torso and flipped over, as if to hide the Trollhunter beneath him. The weight only caused her to giggle harder, tears forming at the corners of her eyes in the struggle not to make noise.

Blinky finally gave up with a yell and stomped off, and Draal let Alexandra escape from underneath him and Change back to her trollish body with only a small pang of regret.

They spent the rest of the day in his rooms, studying and napping alternately, quietly discussing small bits of trollish history or culture that Alexandra hadn’t learned yet and comparing them to things the Hunter had experienced in her centuries Upstairs. Neither of them seemed to want to leave the room.

It was as if the Change from that morning had flipped a switch. Alexandra had revealed herself fully, finally, and when nothing bad had happened to her something gave, a previously unseen tension fading from every cell in her body.

The Changeling leader, Strickler, answered her summons later in the evening with a ‘text message’, asking for assurances and promises. Alexandra sent him a photograph and a pointed message, arranging to meet with him in three days’ passing.

Business settled and trainers successfully avoided for a second day, they both settled down for another well-deserved nap. Draal decided not to examine the warmth that curled in his chest when the Trollhunter nested down beside him, and determinately dropped off to sleep.

  -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Their game ended on morning of the third day, when Alexandra finally bucked up and allowed Draal to drag her to the Forge again, the lack of true activity finally wearing on him. Beginning with a spar, Draal relished in the stretch and burn under his skin, throwing himself into the lesson with great enthusiasm.

After their spar he began to demonstrate defense against different types of weapons, having himself an absolutely ­wonderful time hitting the Trollhunter with every spear, mace, and pole-axe that he could get his hand on. It was even more fun when the Trollhunter managed to disarm him and hit him with it back.

After three days of not doing much physical training Draal had Alexandra run the most difficult drills he could think of, and watched with great pleasure as she sped through all of them, stumbling only minimally when forced to use her lower two arms. She was becoming quite a match for him in battle, and her fighting style was ­dirty as gnome-shit, enough so that he was learning a trick or two himself.

Their rest period had also allowed their injuries to heal nearly to completion, with the only exception being Alexandra’s palms, which still cracked and seemed somewhat painful. The long, fresh scars that raked across Draal’s chest ached as he stretched and lunged but it was a good pain, of new flesh knitting together and becoming whole, soon to become just another stitch in the tapestry of his life.

They gained watchers in the mid-morning, a few trolls who settled into the balconies for entertainment. Someone had evidently informed Blinky and AAARRRGGHH of their reappearance because both trolls peeked in through one of the side entrances after a while, the shorter of the two throwing up his arms when Alexandra pretended to have no idea what ‘puerile game of avoidance’ Blinky was yelling at her about. In respect to their audience he lowered his voice as they stepped into the arena.

“Am I to take it, then, that you are finally ready to continue our discussion?”

Alexandra spun away from Draal when he aimed a spear-head at her torso, countering it with a smack from her own blade.

“I’ve already contacted Stricklander. We’re meeting this weekend.” “I was under the impression that you were not ready to meet with him unless you had something ‘concrete’ to offer. Has your position changed, then, about – “ “No.”

Draal stepped back when she swiped at him, ducking into a backward roll to avoid losing balance when Alex continued to advance.

“I’m not going to offer anything, I’m going to ask him what he wants. What he expects and what he demands will be the basis of our offers; we may believe that he’ll be swayed by amnesty but Strickler always has contingency plans. He may actually need something entirely different. I won’t play our hand without seeing his first.”

Blinkous actually seemed somewhat mollified by that suggestion. AAARRRGGHH nodded in agreement, and after exchanging a glance Blinky crossed his arms and stepped back.

“A worthwhile plan, Master Alexandra,” he said. “And…the other issue?”

Alexandra slowed, clenching her fist against her thigh. Draal pretended to examine the point of his spear as she deliberated.

“…I know we don’t have time, but just…hold off,” she said, quietly. “I know something has to be done. Just give me time.”

Blinky didn’t have anything to say after that. He and AAARRRGGHH settled themselves on the side of the arena, quietly talking as Draal and Alexandra continued their training.

After a while, the watchers began making themselves useful by shouting moves and defense sets for Drall and Alexandra to practice. Bringing staff and sword together, Draal started to demonstrate a complex movement that would relieve an opponent of their weapon, only to be interrupted by a call much more jarring than the rest.

“Trollhunter!”

Everything paused – Alexandra actually froze in place – when Vendel slowly stomped into the Forge, a tiny whelp clinging to one shoulder.

Draal lowered his spear and Alexandra mirrored him, both watching silently until Vendel crossed the floor.

“You are needed, Trollhunter,” he said softly. The bright orange whelp on his shoulder looked out with one eye. Draal vaguely recognized it, but wasn’t familiar with the child.

Vendel stopped, grabbed the whelp by its flame-colored scruff, and dangled it out to Alexandra until she banished her armor and took it. “Um.”

“Jaela has passed,” Vendel rumbled. “Sellah’s current guardians are not willing to take on a whelp full-time. Her father’s father lives in the Chimeria Heartstone. Get to it.”

Draal watched as Alexandra, who had more or less ignored everything Vendel said the minute the child was plopped in her hands, began to panic.

“Wait. Wait, Vendel, what? Her guardians can’t just – “ “They are temporary, Trollhunter,” Vendel said, pausing only briefly as he walked away. “They were friends of her parents, but are not under obligation to keep the child if they do not so wish. I have contacted her grandfather and he and his clan are willing to have her. What would you like me to do, send her on the gyre by herself?” The Trollhunter shuffled the tiny whelp a bit, letting her climb her face until the silent child was settled between her left horn and her cheek, a thin, snake-like tail curling around the horn.

“And you can’t take her yourself?”

Vendel harrumphed and said no more. They watched his retreating back until he was gone.

The whelp, apparently familiar with Alexandra, looked around with dazed curiosity. Alexandra seemed to be debating with herself, her lower jaw twitching in a tic that she had not expressed in months.

Across the Forge, AAARRRGGHH gently nudged his friend; Blinky looked up at him in confusion until AAARRRGGHH nodded at the Trollhunter, arching a brow. Blinky’s eyes widened and he stepped forward with a cough.

“Er, Master Alexandra, if you would prefer, AAARRRGGHH and I would certainly be more than willing to – “ “No,” Alexandra said, taking a step back. A hand automatically went up to balance the whelp before she fell from the sudden movement. She shifted and began to rock slowly, gently petting the whelp’s head as it buried into her shoulder. Draal watched in open amazement; he had never seen the Trollhunter look so unguarded, her movements instinctual and uncalculated. It was a different gentleness than how she was with her cats, or with himself, when it was late and quiet.

“Sellah can stay with me until tomorrow, my hands should be completely fine with one last session. Then we’ll take the gyre to Lake Havasu in the morning. The Chimeria Heartstone is in Turkey, if I remember right?”

“It is, Master Alexandra. If you would prefer to take the whelp yourself then I see no issue, but I would ask that AAARRRGGHH and myself still accompany you.” “Hate gyre,” murmured AAARRRGGHH under his breath.

“I will remain to look after Trollmarket,” said Draal hastily, glad to be the one left behind. He didn’t have anything against whelps, specifically – he just wasn’t particularly familiar with them. The first and last Trollhunting adventure he’d been on had seen him nearly cleaved in two by a wendigo; staying at home would guarantee an avoidance of undead demons and babies alike. Probably.

Alexandra seemed content enough with that, promptly leaving all of them behind as she gently carried the whelp away. Draal could hear her murmuring assurances as she cross the bridge toward Trollmarket.

Blinky came up beside him as he began replacing the weapons they had sparred with.

“She contacted the Changeling leader? Truly?”

Draal nodded assent, rolling his shoulders as the three of them began to leave together.

“Yes, with a ‘text message’. She also sent him a photograph of a rude hand gesture.” “...She gets cellular service down here? No, nevermind,” Blinky said when Draal looked confused. “It’s enough that contact has been made and the ball rolling, as the saying goes. We will deal with this once our current mission is complete. Draal, if you’ll excuse us…” With a friendly wave from AAARRRGGHH the pair departed, leaving Draal in the middle of Trollmarket, hungry from his exertions and desperately hoping that Alexandra was taking the whelp back to her own rooms. Not needed for anything and left to his own devices, he quickly scurried up some lunch and began making his rounds among his people, until had someone had need for Draal the Dedicated.

   ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  A/N: Look, I don’t know where the Alex-and-Draal scene came from, it just spouted forth with no previous thought and my hands were compelled to type it. Under no circumstances am I ever going to write a sex scene in this fic, simply because I don’t want to give that much thought into troll anatomy, so don’t hold out for more than the La Croix of lemon-flavored content.

This chapter and the next were originally stacked into one big mega-chapter but the events and perspectives were beginning to get a bit wobbly so I split them up. I’ve never written in Draal’s voice before so I hope it was okay. It ended kind of quickly but honestly I just needed to stop staring at the damn thing so HERE. Next chapter is ¾ written already and should be posted soon enough, with any luck.

Anyway, finally my girl loosens up a bit! Only took her the length of a small novel, but she’s going to get there! And I get to mess with Strickler a bit, we’ll see the results of that next chapter.

I got through these chapters by using the trick of changing the font to Comic Sans, which works very well as a writing motivator, if only so that I can hurry up and get rid of this terrible, horrible font. I used to be neutral about Comic Sans but after staring at fifteen-hundred words of it, it’s every bit as awful as the memes describe.

#trollhunters #fanfic #what falls and what grows #draal

[toomuchdickfort]

OKAY my phones plugged in so I can keep talking

#pb enjoyed watching Larry fall. it pushed him farther and farther. Geryon willingly fell into an dark person but Larry would have been #reluctant if not for the sword. it fucks with your head and it enjoys it. #in the Ah where Larry and G have their roles reversed Larry is a fairly passive Noren. he’s in the background and poisons people whereas g #stabs them and sets them on fire. Larry’s body count as Noren is a fraction of Geryon’s in the title. and in turn Geryon and PB are violent. #g insists on retaining control of himself like Larry does but he relishes in the violence just as much as it. #also in that au g dyes his hair to get a salt and pepper look Bc he can’t stand how he looks with white hair. and the sword bleaches your #hair. so g is going through so much hair dye all the time #but anyways. points at how both Larry and Derrek were such violent rude people while they were wielders of the sword #like don’t get me wrong Derrek was also an ass for a while after but still #kind of brings to mind what Unona did in her partnership with PB #don't mind me #character rambles #elysur #Peraq Benval’n #lawrence nighy #Geryon Amnes #derrek velhues #Unona coul-vriggs

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Knight in Shining Red Armor | Dante + Child!Reader (DMC 4)

A/N: Hey so this is a rewrite of one of my first (and only) DMC fic from like...2016. This takes place post-DMC 4

You can read the og one on my DeviantArt! But if you're here for the new one then I hope ya'll enjoy!

Summary: Child!Reader was taken under Dante's wing after being saved from a demon invasion, but even years later he hesitates to tell them what he truly is, fearing they'll resent him for his demonic heritage.

............

"Hey, um..Dante?"

"What's up, kiddo?" The red-clad devil hunter asked, though he wasn't completely paying attention to you. Rather he was sitting at his desk, feet kicked up as he was flipping through a magazine.

Meanwhile you were roaming around the shop, stopping only to gaze at the massive curved sword with glowing gems hanging on the wall behind him. He mentioned claiming many weapons--"Devil Arms" as they were called--from defeated demons, but you were curious about their names.

"Just wondering..what's that sword behind you called?"

"The Sparda. It sealed the barrier between the Underworld and human world. Nero went through hell and back, quite literally, to return it to me, so don't even think about touching......it?"

Dante put the magazine down as he turned to see you holding the Sparda in your small hands. You smiled triumphantly, but stumbled a bit before the blade accidentally slammed into the wooden floor, making you wince.

"Oops."

Yet your little act amused him, as he chuckled and shook his head. "You're a little too young to go devil-hunting, I'm afraid. But maybe one day you will."

"And maybe you can help pay off Dante's debt, too." Trish lightly joked as she entered the room, taking the giant sword from you and putting it back on the wall.

Her words were responded by a groan from the male, who went back to reading.

"Whatcha reading?"

Dante slowly lowered the magazine to see you sitting on his desk, but he just snapped it shut and tossed it into the trash, out of your line of sight. "Nothing that eyes like yours gotta see."

"Okay....ooooooh, what's this briefcase?" Hopping off the desk, you ran over to Pandora and crouched down to poke the skull emblem.

"Pandora. That baby can turn into six hundred and sixty six different weapons, but...right now we only have access to seven." Now he was feeling like an exhausted teacher on a museum trip, trying to explain each exhibit to his hyper first graders--the exhibits being his Devil Arms.

Yet as you ran around asking him about more of them, he couldn't help but see his childhood-self reflected in you. Just full of energy and never-ending curiosity and optimism.

Yeah..he definitely saw the resemblance.

Eventually you decided to leave him be and dash off to your room.

And only then did Dante drop his smile, sighing as he put both feet back on the ground. He ran a hand through his hair before dragging it down the side of his face tiredly.

"You know..you'll have to tell them eventually." Trish reminded.

"How, though? That kid's afraid of all demons..hybrids or not. I'm pretty sure saying "oh by the way the guy who rescued you is actually half-demon" is gonna send 'em running, and...I can't risk that." He shook his head, gazing at the jukebox in the corner.

"But I think [y/n]'s old enough to comprehend the concept of not all demons being evil," Lady chimed in after overhearing the conversation. "Just give it to them straight and I'm sure they'll understand."

As much as Dante wanted to argue, he saw that she had a valid point. But he still worried...

How would you react?

It's been a few years since he saved you from a Mega Scarecrow, though it turned out that more demons invaded your neighborhood, slaughtering everyone you knew and loved. And as he took you back to the shop to patch you up, he could see the terror in your eyes, any traces of innocence long gone.

No child should have gone through such a tragedy.

A tragedy that he was all-too familiar with.

After the defeat of the Savior, things have been looking up. You've regained your happiness as you lived in Devil May Cry and learned of Dante's tales of devil hunting, though the memories of that horrible night never truly left you alone.

Along with that, just seeing a demon is enough to make you run and hide, and you were terrified when you first met Nero and saw his demonic arm.

From that incident alone, Dante became extremely reluctant to tell you of his own demonic heritage.

He just didn't know if he's only hurting you more by keeping it hidden..

...............

Later that night, you were plagued by yet another nightmare. Different demons, same neighborhood...same deaths of your loved ones.

But in this one Dante got hurt, too. And you tried so hard to be brave for him, even shouting in the demon's face...but in the end you failed as it snatched you away, dragging you into the darkness of the Underworld before he could reach you.

Although you calmed down since awakening, you wanted to be sure he was alright.

So with what little moonlight shone in the shop's darkness, you located the worn sofa where Dante laid. He was engrossed in some TV program, though after sensing your presence his eyes flickered to you.

No words had to be exchanged in order for him to see what was wrong, as he sat up and patted the spot beside him. You smiled in relief and climbed onto the sofa, snuggling into his side as he wrapped an arm around you. "Th-Thanks, Dante."

"No prob. So uh..another nightmare, I guess?"

"Yeah, but..they hurt you, too and...I-I tried staying brave. I shouted at them to leave you alone and..they didn't listen. But...I think one of them looked scared of me."

"Wow." He raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Gotta say I'm impressed."

"Really?"

"Absolutely. Y'know demons are used to seeing kids scream and cry, not take a stand against them. Plus that's pretty epic of you to defend me, so thanks." With a smile, he ruffled your hair.

"You're welcome," you giggled a bit. "But..I really just wanna be as brave as you. I mean...Nero says you laugh at giant demons and tease them all the time. How do you do that without being scared?"

"Well..it comes with the business. Getting them riled up just makes the fight more fun. At least for me. You might think I'm crazy but if ya decide to hunt demons one day...you'll see what I mean."

"But until then, could I watch you fight one? Like a big bad one?"

"......."

"Dante?"

"..kid, there's a reason I never took you on any missions." Dante sighed, swallowing back the growing lump in his throat as he carefully planned his next words. "And how I always...bounce back from getting smacked by a demon tail. No human would be able to withstand that without some broken bones."

"Oh?" You tilted your head. "Then..how can you if you're human?"

"....because I'm not fully human."

As much as he wanted to shut up, he decided to tell you the truth once and for all, not sugarcoating anything:

He explained how his parents were a demon and human--a forbidden romance which resulted in himself and Virgil being born. His bloodline allowed them to blend in with humans, exercise their demonic abilities in battle, and even tap into their true demon forms.

All the while you listened silently, with not much emotion on your face. So it was hard for him to tell what you were probably thinking in this moment.

It scared him.

"...and that's it." He sighed, closing his eyes and looking away from you. "So go ahead and hate me if you want. I won't blame you for-"

"Can you show me?"

Dante blinked stupidly as he swung his head back towards you, wondering if he heard you right.

"I...wish you told me before, but I don't wanna be scared of demons anymore." You smiled a tiny bit as you elaborated. "Especially not one who helped me. So...can I see your other form?"

"...a-alright. Just...if you get scared I can turn back instantly, so don't freak."

"I won't."

He had doubts you'll keep your word, but he got up and activated his Devil Trigger form. As he opened his eyes, you gasped upon seeing how much they were glowing--being orange rather than blue. Red electric sparks danced around his metallic body as he observed you close, anticipating your reaction. He expected you to scream or cry.

Yet..there was only curiosity and wonder in your eyes.

"Scared yet?" He asked in his distorted voice, crouching down in front of you.

Not even the way he spoke startled you, as you just shook your head. "I was wrong all along..not all demons are bad."

"Not even this one?"

"Nope. You look awesome..like a knight in shiny red armor."

"...wow..I um...." For once, the talkative devil hunter was at loss for words. But when you learned forward to hug him around the neck, he was completely shocked.

Earlier in the day he thought of countless worse-case scenarios, and yet...the best-case was happening right now.

You were accepting him, hugging him even.

He couldn't believe it.

Dante smiled as he wrapped his arms around you, making sure his armor spikes didn't hurt you. "Thanks, kid. It really means a lot that you're not terrified anymore........[y/n]?" He was concerned about your lack of response, before realizing you were dozing off.

'Damn..I might make a pretty good dad, after all..' He mused, standing up and making the trek back to your bedroom. Then he set you down and tucked you in, relief and warmth in his heart.

He had a feeling that your nightmares won't be so bad anymore. Now he felt like he could truly protect you.

Why?

Because he was gonna be your knight in shining red armor.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

"Jeez, man. Quit clanking around shit and---AH!!! WHAT THE FUCK?!!"

"Shhhh! Chill out, Nero. You'll wake 'em." Dante was quick to shift back to his human form once he was outside your room, glaring at his nephew. "Why are you so freaked out? This ain't the first time you've seen my devil form."

"But still..why in the middle of the night?! Thought we had company."

"...just go back to bed, kid."

"Don't call me kid!"

#devil may cry x reader #dmc x reader #dmc 4 x reader #child reader #dante x reader #dmc dante x reader

[kassandras-one-braincell]

Soma x Fem!Reader - Carnality

Summary: Because watching your jarlskona sunder a bandit’s head from his body is incredibly attractive. [explicit]

AO3 link is here. Minors DNI.

Contains: graphic violence, rough outdoor sex, non-traditional exhibitionism

Word count: 1973

A sudden spell of warm weather presented the perfect opportunity for a hunt. The forest was tranquil, its floor coated with golden and amber leaves of all shapes, the mellow afternoon sun peeking through the shedding treetops. Hoping to pry Soma from her throne and papers, you asked her to accompany you, ecstatic when she agreed without any reluctance to part from her work. Very little hunting had taken place, the two of you opting to stroll through the woodland hand-in-hand, picking berries and enjoying each other’s company.

The pleasantness ended when a large group of thieves, thugs and alike circled you and your lover, the extent of their armoury putting your collective two axes, your bow and her dagger to shame. Soma was quick to position herself between you and the majority of the men, fortunately aligning you with the weediest of the brigand. Regardless, he had managed to rid you of your bow and quiver before you could land a hit on him.

By the time you finished hacking at the bandit on your case, Soma had slain half a dozen, with the remaining three men staring in terror at the carnage, clearly regretting their decision to initiate an attack. And now they tremble, hearts frozen with fear, as she dislodges her axe from a corpse’s neck.

One of them adjusts his grip on his sword and screams – wails – a pathetic war cry, taking off towards her in a sprint. Cracking her neck, Soma spins the axe in her hand and lobs it in a clean arc. The weapon whistles through the air before embedding itself in the ambusher’s skull, a river of red spilling down his face as he crumples to the forest floor. With her hands now empty, the other men are deluded into believing they hold an advantage, closing in on your jarlskona. The shorter bandit takes a messy swing at her, but she’s agile, ducking as momentum knocks him off-balance. She withdraws her dagger from her boot, slashing first at his Achilles’ heel and then at his throat as he falls. You yelp as the final ambusher sweeps his sword while she staggers upright with a fallen man’s shield in hand, relieved when she blocks the blow. Soma delivers a powerful kick to his kneecap, forcing the joint in on itself and rendering him on his back. Grunting, she slams the shield’s rim down onto his neck with enough velocity to cleave his head from his body.

Panting, she tosses the shield to the ground, straightening her spine.

“Are you hurt, my love?” Her tone is laced with concern, despite having torn their brigand asunder almost single-handedly.

The few splatters of blood on your tunic are child’s play compared to the crimson seeping through hers, splashed across her scarred cheek, her arms, the scarlet trickling down her hands meddling with the black ink adorning them. Surrounded by the fruits of her decimation, she looks positively savage.

You have never yearned for her quite so intensely as you do now.

Dazed, heart hammering from the aftermath of adrenaline, you look your lover dead in her stormy eyes, two words flying off your tongue without hesitation.

“Fuck me.”

Brushing the stray hairs that had fallen from her loosening bun back off her forehead, she blinks, unconvinced she had heard you correctly. But your pupils are blown out, your lips are parted with heavy breaths falling from them, and suddenly she’s pushing you roughly against the nearest tree, bloody hands smearing crimson over your formerly clean tunic.

Gasping, you pull her in by the neck for a desirous kiss. She meets you halfway, sighing into your mouth, ardently returning the caresses of your lips. You eagerly wrap your arms around her, gliding your tongue against her bottom lip, delighting in the subtle flavour of the berries you had picked earlier this afternoon, muddied with the metallic tinge tainting her mouth. It’s addictive, and you want more, need more, silently begging her to part her lips and indulge you.

Slotting her thigh between your legs, Soma pulls back from your bruising lips, a hair-thin string of saliva salaciously keeping you connected. Ravenously, she smirks, “Something’s possessed you, darling.”

“Possessed me? You just beheaded a man with his comrade’s shield.” Smiling breathlessly, you trail your eyes over the spray of blood on her neck from such a violent deed, stomach fluttering. “I’ve never seen something so barbaric.”

“A barbarian, am I?” She rakes her blunt nails from your hips to your ribs, dragging the hem of your tunic with her, before hooking her fingers through the V-shaped neckline and ripping the reddening wool until your breasts are exposed to the afternoon air. The growl she relinquishes at the sight of your indecency throbs through your core.

“Gods, I need you inside me,” you whisper, whimpering when her lips latch onto your neck with fervour, sucking rapaciously on the salt-licked flesh.

Soma fiercely unbuckles your utility belt, rocking her thigh upwards into you as the leather falls to the ground. Rarely presented with such delectable roughness, you can’t help but moan. She grins, “Right here, hmm? In front of those poor bastards and the Valkyrie?” Her hands are gripping your hips, grinding her thigh against you slow and deep. “I never took you for the depraved sort.” Bloodlust now fully blossomed into a lust for you alone.

You scramble to rid her of her tunic, relieved when she pulls it off her shoulders; thankfully, the warmth meant she left Grantebridge with no additional layers. The fabric was so thoroughly saturated with blood that scarlet stained her warm, firm abdomen. Within seconds, her bare, tattooed chest is flush against you, nipples pebbled as yours with arousal. Oh, she’s loving this.

Aching for her, your fingers fly to the drawstring of your trousers, fumbling with the bow. Kissing your clavicle, wet and open-mouthed, Soma comes to your aid and yanks the fabric down over the curve of your hips, letting the garment pool around your ankles.

“Maybe a couple of them are still breathing. Wouldn’t that be a sight, their killer knuckle deep in your perfect cunt,” she muses.

Impatiently, you lock one leg around her waist, threading a hand into her bun and tugging, hard. “Then hurry before they bleed out,” you whine.

She braces herself on the tree with one arm and wipes her free hand on your leg before bringing it to her mouth, spitting on her fingers. Your head is light with anticipation as she snakes it between your thighs, running her fingertips along your folds.

Soma laughs into your neck, repeating the motion, smearing your dew along her long, spit-covered fingers. “You’re really getting off on this, aye?” Gods, is her voice maddeningly husky. “Fucking dripping,” she mutters, nipping at your flesh, pushing into you and filling you to the hilt, driving her hips forward in time with her hand. Your mind is blank, thoughtless as she ruts into you, rhythm devoid of softness and borderline primal. Each thrust hits impossibly deep, her marred palm rocking against your clit. You’re both sticky with blood and sweat, and it feels right, like every battle should end with your lover plowing you on the field like a spoil of war.

She slams into you in a torturous fashion, one you’re well acquainted with: swift enough to take the edge off your desire, but just slow enough to leave you yearning for more, harder, deeper. And she’s avoiding crooking her fingers, hoping to savour the sight of her sweet lady desperately humping her hand in the forest. “Please,” you whimper, clawing at her back, overwhelmed with the need to peak.

Faintly, to your side, a groan sounds from one of the crumpled bandits. Your typically caring, doting jarlskona chuckles sadistically into your neck. The arm braced against the tree falls to your waist, giving the dying ambusher an unobstructed view of your face, swollen lips and hazy eyes and all.

With a gentle kiss, Soma curls her fingers and pummels into you ruthlessly, ripping a ragged mewl from your parted mouth. Your eyes roll back, unfocused, as she hammers your sweet spot with a newfound vigour.

“Gorgeous, isn’t she?” she pants, head turned towards the bleeding, fear-ridden man. A strangled sound of pain escapes him. You’re too blissed out to laugh at his pathetic response.

Soma tuts at him, snarling, “Don’t you dare fucking die before she comes.”

It doesn’t take long before you’re wildly moaning into the forest air, the onslaught of her fingers against your sensitive walls forcing the tension coiling inside you to snap, belly quivering and legs liquifying, slipping from your woman’s waist. She’s merciless, sinking to her knees while you tremble through your high, pinning your hips to the tree behind you and cruelly sucking on your pulsing clit, moaning at your taste and the subsequent cries you elicit. You scramble for a hold on the tree while you clutch her head, overwhelmed but keeping her mouth latched onto your quim. Without a moment to breathe, pleasured tears prick at your cloudy eyes.

You almost – almost – beg for her to stop, to relent for a moment, when you catch a foggy glimpse of the dying man. He can’t take his eyes off you, his agony tempered by arousal as he feasts his eyes on your raw state.

Maybe you’ll give him one more pretty sight before the light fades from his eyes.

Such a peak is cresting, with Soma’s hot mouth rendering your vision white. Your spend is dripping onto the leaves below, running shamelessly down her chin, and you’re convinced she wishes to drown in it. Wailing, you spiral into a second orgasm, hips gyrating helplessly against her lips with lightning coursing through your veins.

It’s a beautiful agony when her fingers sink back into your cunt, pounding at your fluttering walls while her tongue sweeps over your clit faster than light itself. Sobbing, ecstatic tears flowing freely down your cheeks, you keen forward and plead, “Soma, I can’t, I can’t,” cut off by a third, earth-shattering climax. Shaking and jittering, your legs collapse. Soma quickly catches you, finally ceasing her assault on your core, holding you close as she pants alongside you, stroking your hair.

“Easy, darling, easy,” she murmurs, pressing gentle kisses to your shoulder to calm you down. “Shit, I should have been gentler, I’m sorry—”

Hiccupping, you shake your head, gradually relaxing into her arms, allowing your nerves to ease their thrumming. “That was incredible,” you breathe out, laughing through your tears.

Relieved, Soma meets your gaze with tenderness in her grey eyes, a soft smile washing over her features. You lean forward and ensnare her lips in a sweet kiss, tasting yourself on her tongue, revelling in the intimacy of the afterglow. She’s yielding when the occasional ragged breath escapes you, careful to avoid the clacking of your teeth, rubbing warm circles into your back underneath your torn tunic.

“Marry me,” she whispers against your lips.

For the faintest of moments, your heart stops.

“You are my heart, love. I…cannot imagine loving anybody else so intensely.” She clutches your hand and runs her thumb across the back of it; a habit of hers to lessen her nerves. “I’ve…never agreed with the idea of Valhalla, that there’s one fate all drengir should strive for, else we be scorned for eternity. But you, you are my fate.” Soma ghosts her touch over your fourth finger, imagining a wedding band circling the digit. “I would endure Helheim and more if it meant that I’m yours.”

Tears fall from your lashes for the second time today.

“I would be honoured, my love,” you murmur, squeezing her hand, beaming. A sob wracks through you as her eyes glisten with emotion… Adoration, relief, excitement…

Love.

#see i added some fluff as a treat #tw: blood #tw: gore #soma jarlskona #soma x reader #ac soma #nsfwt

[btssavedmylifeblr]

Gwanghae Flow (M)

Genre: Historical porn with plot

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader 

Summary: The queen receives a forbidden visitor in the middle of the night.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: explicit sexual activity, somewhat dubious consent, unhealthy relationship dynamics, slut shaming, adultery, impreg kink, knife/sword play, historical inaccuracy and excessive use of kdrama tropes

A/N: Here’s my small contribution to our collective thirst for the king Agust D. 

______

The whole palace is asleep, except you. Your eyes stare upward into the darkness, but there’s no light to make anything out. You would light a candle, except that would alert your guard to the fact you were still awake. And he never left until he was sure you were asleep.

A floorboard creaks and you sit bolt upright. You clutch the bedcovers to you as you wait for the door to open. Has he finally come?

But the door remains closed. Is he not coming? It had taken a month just to find the chance to speak to him alone, to whisper to him the time that your guard retired for the evening, to urge him to come to you, for him to nod and lick his lips. “Yes, my queen.”

Another soft creak of wood makes you startle, but still he doesn’t appear. You sigh in frustration, giving up and closing your eyes. You’ll need a new plan in the morning.

It’s still dark when you wake, lulled from sleep by a soft caress. A finger traces its way down your jawline. A thumb glides across your lips. But as your eyes open, the touches stop. A hand clamps down across your mouth, sealing off your ability to scream.

A single candle illuminates your room and the man who holds you down. He’s still dressed in his court clothing, all black except for the gold ornaments that gleam in his long blonde hair, dangle from his ears, and sparkle on his hands.  His fingers taste like rice wine against your lips.

“Is this a trap, my queen?” He sits on the blankets next to you, holding you down at the waist in addition to the hand covering your mouth. “You won’t scream if I let you go?”

You shake your head as best you can with the tight grip he has on you. You asked him here for a purpose.

He withdraws his hand from your mouth slowly, but leaves the hand on your waist. The candle only lights half his face. In the soft glow, he still looks very much like the boy you knew years ago. The boy who held your hand by the river and asked you for one soft kiss under the cherry blossoms before he left for war.

“Hello, my queen,” he says, fingers slowly tracing the ribbons around your waist that seal off your nightclothes.

“Hello, Yoongi.” You had hoped to call him your king, all those years ago on the riverbank, promising to wait for him until he returned to you. But the years have been unkind to you both. “I was expecting you earlier.”

“Your guard was particularly reluctant to leave your door tonight.” His eyes rake down your body, lingering on your bare leg that has wiggled its way out from under your skirt. “Perhaps your husband gave him specific instructions to not leave you alone?” His tongue plays teasingly at the inside of his cheek as he continues to stare down at you; his hand is warm where it sits on your waist.

“My husband”- you twist your body toward him so that the hem on your skirt rides up a little higher -”does not care how I spend my evenings.”

His eyes linger on the newly exposed skin. “I think he would care about you inviting strange men into your bedchamber.”

“You are not a stranger.” You interlace your fingers over his at your waist.

He leans backwards, sharp eyes examining you, and the whole of his face is revealed. The wound that marred your future together shines red on the other side of his face, an angry gash from above his brow to beneath his eye. “I am not the man you knew.”

“No...” You slide his hand up your side to tease at the strings that hold close your blouse. “The boy I knew would never sneak into the bed of a married woman.” Your transparent white undergarments reveal the curves of your body even though you are still covered. You had chosen the thinnest ones you owned. “I am hoping you have become a bolder man since then.”

“Bolder, yes, and more reckless.” His fingers wrap into the ribbons, undoing the closure of your blouse, but not yet opening it.

You shrug the top from your shoulders to bare your naked chest before him. Your bare breasts and flimsy silks are a stark contrast to his full royal dress. He still has his sword tied to his waist. “Reckless indeed, to bring your weapon this deep into the palace.”

“They would kill me if they found me here.” He smirks as he says it, as if he’d like to see them try. “Seemed wise to take precautions.” His hand twitches at his side as he stares at your exposed chest.

“I’d like to dispense with precaution.” You bring his hand up to your breast. His calloused fingers slide tentatively across your smooth skin.

“It would seem,” he says, his touches growing firmer as you lean into them, “that you are not the girl I knew either. When did the woman I loved become such a desperate slut?”

It punches the air from your lungs and you are deeply ashamed. You pull away from him, squirming and trying to tug your shirt back on. “I’m not…” He doesn’t understand. “I’ve never…”

His hands block you from covering yourself, fingers tugging at your nipples, which harden even as your shame grows. “Now, now, my queen, it’s too late for that. You asked me here for a reason. You disrobed in front of me for a reason.” He pinches your nipple between his fingers, causing sparks of heat to travel up your neck and down your groin. “Tell me, my queen, what can I do for you that his majesty, my brother, cannot?”

He brings his face closer to you and you can smell the wine on his breath.You clamp your hands over his in a futile attempt to stop his teasing of your breasts. “Are you drunk?” 

He chuckles low and wryly. “Drunk enough to sneak into the king’s wife’s bedroom in the middle of the night? Yes.” He lets go of you, leaning back and licking his lips. “But not too drunk to be of service.” He palms the crotch of his pants and you can see the bulge that has arisen there.

You sit up and re-cover yourself, suddenly afraid you don’t have the guts to see your plan through to the end. This is not the boy you thought you could control. “Perhaps I have no need for your services. Perhaps I just wanted to see you.”

“You could see me in the daytime, your majesty.” He slips his hand under the hem of your skirt to run slow circles around your ankle bone. Heat snakes up your leg, straight to your core, and you fall backward onto the bed once more. He smirks as his hand begins moving higher up your leg, twirling figure eight patterns up your calf. “We both know that is not why you asked me to sneak past your guards in the middle of the night.”

“It’s been years.” You try to tug your leg away from him, but he grips your thigh and holds you in place. “Perhaps I wanted to see how you were.”

“It has indeed been years.” Your arousal continues to build as he invades higher and higher. “So perhaps I have waited long enough to take what was rightfully mine.”

The muscles in your groin clench as he reaches the inside of your thigh, just above the knee, blocked from further travel by the short pants you wore under your skirt.

“Unless, of course...” He traces slow circles at the junction of your knee. “You want me to leave.”

You’ve never been this wet in the company of a man before. Your husband has certainly never made you feel this way. His hand continues to slide up your leg, searching for the ribbons that will unlock the most intimate part of you. You had planned to seduce the prince tonight, but you had not expected to enjoy it this much. “No, I don’t want you to leave.”

He grins. “I didn’t think so.” His fine fingers find the drawstrings to your pants and pull the knots apart with ease. He slides your undergarments down your legs, leaving you naked beneath your skirt, then pushes your skirt up to your waist so you lie bare before him. 

Your desire for him leaks from you and he can see it, glistening in the candlelight. 

“This”- he cups your sex in his large hand -“this should have been mine.”

You groan as his thumb finds the sensitive nub at the apex of your entrance. He rubs slow circles into you as you rock against his hand, more slick spilling from you as the heat in your groin grows. “I wanted to be yours,” you whisper.

He frowns, brows knitting together, throwing the scar into sharp relief on his face. “Don’t tell me things you think I want to hear.” He stops the circles against you, cupping you instead. “My wounds hadn’t even healed before you wedded my brother.”

“I had no choice in the matter.” You rock against him in frustration, chasing your arousal. Your family had raised you to marry the king, and Yoongi could no longer be king. Kings can’t have scars.

“You could have refused.” He resumes the rubbing of your clitoris with an even faster pace. “You could have run away. I would have found you.”

This time you pause him, stopping his hand with yours and looking him in the eye. “You could have refused to go.”

His eyes unfocus for a moment, staring into the darkness behind you. You imagine that he is feeling all the regrets of those years, the same as you.

The scar that mars his features gleams in the candlelight. The reason the crown prince was replaced. The reason he was not yours every night. You reach out to touch it but he stops you with a hand to your wrist before you reach his cheek.

“Don’t touch it.” He yanks you up off the floor by your wrist and flips you over onto your hands and knees, naked except for the skirt tied around your waist. He doesn’t bother untying it, just flips it up to expose your cunt again.

You groan when his fingers return to your core.

“Is this an unusual position for you, my queen?” You can hear the smirk in his voice even without seeing his face. “Tell me, what position does my brother usually fuck you in?”

He pairs his degradation with a renewed effort to coax your arousal from you. His hands grip your cheeks and spread them, putting you on display even further as he massages the fatty tissue.

“Does he treat you like a queen? Does he take his time to worship you properly?” He brings his mouth to you, tongue diving inside you as his thumb resumes its work on your clit. Your fingers curl into the bed sheets beneath you as you fight to stay upright.

He pulls away as you rock back against him. “Or does he fuck you like the whore he paid for?” He spanks you harshly right on your sex. You have to bite your lip to keep from calling out. The gold rings on his fingers sting, but it doesn’t stop more fluids from leaking from you.

In truth, your husband did neither. The king would visit you when he was drunk, fumble his way through your clothes to access what he wanted, thrust into you enough to achieve his own ends, and then leave. Sometimes he would thank you. Sometimes he wouldn’t bother speaking to you. Mercifully, these visits have become less and less frequent over the years.

“He does touch you, doesn’t he?” Two of Yoongi’s long fingers slide inside you easily, slick with your juices. “Clearly, your virtue is long gone. No virgin would open up so easily for me, would rock back onto my fingers so greedily.”

“He has touched me.” You gasp when Yoongi curls his fingers, pressing along your walls in a way your husband never has. “But not like this.”

“So tell me, my queen...” He pairs the press of his fingers inside you with the resumed pattern on your clit and your legs begin to shake. “Why, in these many long years, has my brother not put a child in you?”

“He can’t,” you gasp, finally spilling the reason you asked the prince here tonight.

“The king can’t have children?” He pauses his movements, but only for a moment, until you wiggle in your desperation for him to continue.

You groan as he curls his fingers again, but manage to nod. “They blame me for it.” The court, your family, your mother-in-law, even your husband himself told you it was your fault. The tide of politics was rapidly turning against you.

“Of course, they do. The body of the king can only be perfect. But you are replaceable.” He smacks your ass in emphasis for this last sentiment. “Surely he has fucked other women in the last five years.”

“He has.”

“But no little bastards run around these halls.”

“No, they do not.”

He pulls his fingers from you and holds them up your face. “Are you fertile today, my queen?”  Your slick strings between his fingers. “Is that why you asked me here tonight?”

“Yes…” Your empty cunt aches for him. “Yes, please, Yoongi…”

His fingers turn your chin to face him as he leans over you. “Then there is indeed something I can give you that my brother cannot.”

And then he kisses you. Soft and firm, hands gripping your neck to hold you against his mouth. It makes you breathless in a whole new way. You are fighting to hold yourself upright by the time he pulls away.

He moves behind you, not bothering to disrobe, but merely pulling his pants down far enough to release his erection. He grips your hips tightly as he  slides inside you.

“God…” he groans, hips stuttering as he seats himself in you. “This… this should be mine. You should have been mine.”

“I am yours, Yoongi, please.” You rock back against, delighting in the fullness of him finally being where you want him.

“Not as you should be.” His long hair tickles your back as he bends over you. “I stayed unmarried for you.” He punctuates each sentence with a thrust into you that grows stronger each time. “I waited for you. I let younger men talk down to me, worn my hair long, all for you. All in the vain hope that I might be yours when I returned. But you couldn’t wait for me.”

The sound of steel on steel echoes through your bedchamber and you startle. Have you been discovered? You try to look around, but Yoongi’s hand grabs your neck to hold you in place. Then you feel the cold bite of metal against the front of your thighs.

“I could mark you too,” he whispers, pressing the flat of the blade against your bare skin. “I could leave you scarred and unworthy like me.” His cock kicks inside you and you groan, trying to hold still despite the overwhelming desire for him coursing through you.

“What would my brother do then?” he muses. “Would he cast you out? Would he admit to the world that I claimed what was his just as he claimed what was mine? Or would he continue to fuck you, every time having to cross the mark I made on you.”

“Do it,” you urge, pressing back against him. “Mark me. Claim me as yours.” You want it. You want to be his and his alone.

There is a long pause. Then the blade is gone as the sword clatters to the floor beside you.

“I don’t need to mark you.” He resumes his thrusts, pace increasing as his grip on your hips tightens. “You’re going to grow round with my child and everyone will see it. They’ll all know and not be able to do anything about it. My son will sit on the throne someday. I’ll come back and fuck you every night until you birth my heir.”

He buries himself deep inside you as he finishes, warm seed pumping into you.

His fingers return to your clitoris, rubbing in firm circles as the last few aftershocks run through him. “Come, my queen, draw my child up inside you.”

You obey, pelvic muscles clenching rhythmically, squeezing hard around his softening cock and milking out the last of his release.

You sigh in relief as you collapse down onto the bed. You curl up on your side, drawing your knees to your chest.

He tuts as some of the white fluid begins leaking from you, running a finger across your sex one last time to gather it up and stuff it back inside you. Your cunt gives one last contented pulse of lingering arousal.

He pulls your skirt back down to cover you, patting your ass as he does so. He draws the bed sheets over you and kisses you one last time on the cheek. “Make sure my brother fucks you in the next few days,” he whispers. He blows out the candle, and then he’s gone.

_______

A/N: Hope you enjoyed that! I know there’s not any actual evidence for the “kings can’t have scars” thing in the historical record. But I needed it for the Angst™! I blame Moon Lovers: Scarlet Heart Ryeo. Thank you for reading! 

#yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #agust d smut #daechwita inspired #btssavedmylifeblr #gwanghae flow

[nikethestatue]

Depth of Your Eyes

Extreme Fluff.

Domestic fluff. Babies!

Elriel Month - Day 24

“Why do you hate me?” lamented the feared and exalted Shadowsinger of the Night Court.

Feared and admired, worshipped for his immense Illyrian power, for his stealth and strength, he, the great and mysterious spy master, the male who made enemies tremble and flee, and females swoon, failed utterly and completely at this one task—having his chunky newborn son open his eyes for him.

When his son was born, the first thing that shocked everyone—parents and healer and midwife—was his very impressive size. How the delicate, slender, elegant Elain even managed to bear him—without much difficulty too—was a mystery.

But the Cauldron loved Elain and strove to make Elain happy. It gave Elain an almost painless labour, though it was lengthy and uncomfortable nevertheless, and while Azriel was out of his mind with worry and trepidation, not knowing whether the baby’s wings would cause damage or even more serious issues, Elain was serene and happy.

The nightmare that was Nyx’s birth was still fresh in Aziel’s mind—the blood, the gore, Nyx’s tiny lifeless body in Mor’s arms, and Feyre, with a horrific gaping slash across her abdomen, bleeding out, Death hovering just above her. Therefore, Azriel dreaded Elain’s labour. For ten months he was a wreck. He was too happy, too elated, too content, too joyful in his life, and there bound to be repercussions for all that bliss.

The baby was conceived momentarily. “Let’s make a baby,” Azriel proposed a little drunkenly to the giggling and smiling Elain. They were enjoying a glorious sunset on the sea, in a tiny town with whitewashed buildings and blue roofs, in the Summer Court. It was far from Adriata, far from visitors and everyone else and they indulged in endless white sand beaches, fresh seafood and lots of local wine, swimming in the azure waters of the sea and enough lovemaking to leave them both sore and hoarse. “Now?” Elain kissed him. He shrugged, “why not now?”

And it happened—‘now’. When they returned from their holiday, she found out that she was expecting their baby.

Azriel couldn’t lie, but he was feeling rather smug.

“What the fuck kind of seed you got, brother?” muttered Cassian. “You just knocked her up in a day?”

Azriel only shrugged innocently.

As if this was to be expected. Of course he’d impregnate her in a day! But it wasn’t at all what he thought would happen—he thought that as with all Fae, this would be a lengthy process full of false starts, crushed hopes and nerves. But the Cauldron loved Elain and wanted to make her happy.

Now, he was holding his chunky son in his arms. Calm and peaceful, the baby took after his parents in temperament. He was mellow and not fussy, docile and good-natured. His appetite was monstrous though. He ate and ate and ate. At his already great size, Azriel muttered ‘you are going to be Cassian’s size by the time you are three’. And because he ate so much, he was rather plump, to put it kindly, which meant that his hamster-like cheeks obscured his eyes. At three weeks, their baby mostly slept and ate, so periods of play and interaction were minimal—hence, Azriel’s failure to actually see the colour of his son’s eyes.

Elain claimed that the eyes were hazel. Nesta insisted that they were ‘Archeron’ eyes. Cassian’s assessment was ‘I think brown. Like dirt’. Amren went with ‘I don’t know, I didn’t look closely’. Yet they all claimed that they’d seen his eyes.

Azriel was seated on top of the covers in their bed, propped against the cushioned headboard. His wing curled around Elain, who was sleeping next to him, pressed to his side, her arm thrown over his stomach. Their son, sturdy and large, almost the size of Azriel’s forearm now, was sucking noisily, eating like he hasn’t been fed in a week. He was fed less than three hours ago.

The bottle—a new invention from Dawn—wasn’t widely used just yet, but Azriel loved it. At first, Elain was reluctant to utilize it, preferring to breastfeed at all times, but then…well, then she came to accept how convenient this bottle invention was. Especially because Azriel was a nocturnal creature and had no issues with staying up or waking in the middle of the night. And with their gluttonous son demanding food all the time, she was still able to function and rest and sleep, since he didn’t really care which way he was getting his food, as long as he was getting it.

Azriel was looking down at the delicious bundle in his arms, and thought that his baby would end up looking very much like him, if he wasn’t so chubby. Right now, he was all round and soft and filled with folds that others wanted to bite and pinch.

Cassian, in fact, did bite his nephew’s little fat wrist, and Elain caught them, warning that Cassian wouldn’t be allowed to feed him if it happened again. “but it didn’t even hurt!” he defended himself feebly. “Just a little nibble…He is such a fatty!”

“No. Biting.” ordered Elain. “Or you’ll be off bottle duty!”

That was a serious threat that Cassian took to heart, because he absolutely adored feeding the baby with the bottle. He and Nesta were enthralled with him, quietly arguing and fighting about whose turn it was to feed him next. Elain and Azriel frequently overheard ‘you did it last time!” “no, but he likes me more…” “gods above, he does not like you more! He clearly prefers me!” “he was crying with you!” “yes, that’s because you made him cry!”

“We only have two choices,” said Azriel with a sigh, watching Cassian coo and babble to the baby one day, rocking him and singing him all kinds of bawdy Illyrian songs. “We either forbid them entry into the house,” at that, Elain frowned. “Or, we just let them be and simply assume that our son’s first word will be ‘fuck’.”

Adhering to the Illyrian tradition of not naming a child until he was one month old, the baby remained nameless. Well, Elain and Azriel knew what he would be called, but speculation ran rampant.

Elain had officially asked Cassian and Nesta to be the baby’s Guardians, a very important and respected position in the Illyrian society. It would fall on Cassian to start teaching his nephew how to fly—and when Elain formally requested for him to become the Guardian, Cassian shyly teared up.

“Yes, Petal, of course,” he nodded nervously, with aching sincerity, “it would be an honour. Are you sure?” Cassian still worried, “are you sure you don’t want to ask Rhys?”

Elain embraced the General gently and lovingly, and whispered, “I’ve never been more sure of anything, Cass. Only you. I’d only trust him with you and Nesta.”

It was Elain’s right as the mother to select the Guardians for her child, so while Azriel suspected who her choice would be, he waited for the official announcement along with everyone else. Eventually, the Guardian would present their son with his first sword, and begin teaching him to fight.

“Well, I want my baby to have the best,” said Elain, kissing Nesta’s flushed cheek. “Who is better than the Commander General of the Night Court armies and the Valkyrie herself? Will you two do us the honour of accepting him into your Guardianship?”

“Yes!” both of them almost yelled their acceptance.

Now, Nesta and Cassian was preparing something grandiose for the Naming Ceremony.

But first things first.

“Hey lovie, why don’t you look at me?” murmured Azriel, rocking his son gently against his chest. At first, the baby leapt towards his nipple, received nothing from it and gave an angry squeak of disappointment.

“Sorry, my friend, at this point, I think you should already know where the good stuff comes from,” said Azriel, as he offered the bottle. “I know, I know, not the same, but close enough. Believe me, I tried it straight from the delicious source and I agree, it is much better,”

“Stop being gross,” moaned Elain, and slapped his stomach.

He laughed.

“I am not being gross. Just honest. If I can suck on your titties,”

“Oh, gods, yes, I know. You’d rather suck on my titties than a bottle. I’ve heard this before,”

“And I stand by my opinion. So does my son. He has good taste. Now, go back to sleep.”

Elain ran a sleepy hand over the edge of his wing and turned around, pressing her lush ass into his thigh.

He drew his knuckles over her cheek and she reached for his fingers with her lips, kissing them, before tumbling back into her slumber.

Gods, he loved her.

The baby didn’t like all this jostling around him, and grabbed Azriel’s hand with his stubby fat fingers, steadying him and the bottle.

“Sorry,” Azriel murmured and looked down, stroking his baby’s soft brown curl that jutted out proudly on top of his head. “Mama is such a beauty…we can’t forget her either, even with you. I love you both very much.”

The baby nodded sagely, as if agreeing with his father. Yes, indeed, his mother was gorgeous and beautiful and very nice, and required his father’s attention. It was very understandable.

But this male, this father of his—he liked him very much as well. He was very kind and he fed him and changed him, and sang songs with him, and played with him, and…well, he loved him.

Azriel was smiling softly to himself, watching the baby, and then, suddenly, his son opened his eyes and grinned at him. Grinned a huge toothless smile—his very first one. He never smiled for anyone before, but this was it.

This was for his father.

This male, who’s waited for him for a long, long time, hoping against hope that one night, he’d have him in his arms and receive this huge, satisfied smile, which was meant only for him. An undeniable, glorious reward for centuries of suffering and sadness. He grabbed his father’s scarred finger in his fist and blinked at him with the depth of his Archeron eyes.

#azriel #azriel and elain #elriel #elain #elain archeron #elrielmonth21 #elrielmonth #my writing #elriel fanfic #cassian

[asweetprologue]

me lámh le do lámh - Part III

First | Previous | Next | Masterpost 

The journey to Oxenfurt flew past even as it crawled. The closer he got to his destination, the more he found he was able to shrug off his worries and focus on his reunion with Jaskier. He hadn’t seen the bard in months, and he found his heart quickening in his chest as he finally crested the final hill and looked down upon the city of Oxenfurt.

He’d arrived in the small hours of the morning, just as the sun was starting to peak over the horizon. The water beneath Western Bridge was white gold in the dawn light, small fishing boats making their way down the channel and back to the harbor, ready to sell the first catch of the day. The red shingles of the cramped houses stood out sharply against the grey-green backdrop of the surrounding countryside, layered like some wild confection. To the south, the university sprawled on its own island, its tall towers piercing the early morning mist. Geralt had to push his way through the western gate, fighting for space amongst merchants and traders making their way to the markets that would be opening up in the main square. After so long on the road the smells and sounds of the city bombarded him, but Oxenfurt was nearly as familiar to him now as Kaer Morhen, and he let it all wash over him as he made his way towards one of the cheaper inns.

His intention had been to make his way directly across the southern bridge and into the academy grounds, but he’d arrived earlier than expected and Jaskier tended to be a bit of a late riser when he could be. So instead he got a room and set Roach up in the stables, giving her a good brush down, and packed away his gear. The rest of the morning, he spent restocking his supplies in the market, picking up the herbs he couldn’t easily find on his own and trading some of the goods he’d brought from the north for things he would need over the summer; a new linen shirt, salt for preserving meat, vodka.

Finished with his shopping, he set his mind to breakfast. There was a woman with a stall off of the main market selling baked goods, and Geralt remembered her from when he’d last been to Oxenfurt. He picked up a roll stuffed with warm cabbage and beef, and then doubled back a minute later to buy another, this time swirled through with cinnamon and coated in a sweet honey glaze.

Finally judging the sun high enough in the sky, he headed for the nearest fountain to refill his waterskin, only to be greeted by a familiar voice ringing out through the open courtyard.

Oxenfurt prided itself on its beauty, its history and monuments. The city was a tapestry of rich timber and clean brickwork, of statuary large and small which lined the streets and stately buildings with stunning relief work. The fountains were no exceptions; this one was set against the north side of the square, its semicircular base filling with water from half a dozen spouts set into the mouths of bronze fish. Geralt had no doubt that the entire effect—the square, the fountain, the white stone of the surrounding buildings—was stunning. But his eyes were drawn inexorably towards the sound of lute strings, and the beauty of the masterwork around him couldn’t help but pale in comparison to the man sitting on the raised lip of the fountain.

Jaskier’s hair was shorter than he’d last seen it, not windswept and overlong from months on the Path, and his clothes were cleaner and more lavish than he typically dressed on the road. Though his doublet was scandalously open to his midriff, Geralt had no doubt that it was of the latest fashion. As he approached, he saw Jaskier’s slim fingers fly deftly over the frets of his lute, his voice raised to overlay a bright melody over the simple notes. There was no hat or blanket laid out to catch coins; Jaskier was playing only for himself, it seemed.

Geralt didn’t want to interrupt, but in the end he didn’t have to. Jaskier looked up when he was still halfway across the courtyard, as if he could sense Geralt’s presence. Their eyes met, and Geralt felt relief swim through him as he realized that the bard seemed unchanged from the last time he’d seen him. Jaskier’s face lit up as his shocked expression turned into a grin, and Geralt could see the now ever present crow’s feet deepen around his eyes.

“Geralt!” Jaskier called, not bothering to stand. Geralt made his way through the rest of the square, the bundle of rolls held close to his chest as he pushed through the river of people. He stopped when he was no more than a foot away, finding himself smiling down at the bard. “Fancy meeting you here,” Jaskier said with a wink, brilliant in the morning sun. Fuck, but Geralt had missed him.

“Was gonna look for you at the university. Glad I found you here,” he said by way of greeting. “So short on coin you’re back to busking?”

Jaskier waved a hand, dismissing Geralt’s teasing. “I just wanted some sun, now that winter has finally deigned to withdraw her icy grasp. I was thinking of perhaps going to find something to eat at the market—”

Geralt held out the sweet roll. Jaskier raised his eyebrows, surprised and clearly pleased. Geralt felt warmth spread through his chest at the look. “Figured I’d find you only just out of bed,” he explained, offering Jaskier a thin smile. “You do need your beauty sleep.”

Jaskier gasped in faux injury even as he accepted the roll from Geralt’s hands, still wrapped in wax paper. Geralt sat down beside him, letting his pack fall to the ground as he unwrapped his own roll. It was still warm, soft from the juices of the meat inside. “As if I have ever been anything less than absolutely resplendent,” Jaskier said through a mouthful of roll. Geralt privately had to agree. Out loud he only hummed, noncommittal.

They spent the morning in unhurried company, Geralt giving Jaskier news of their friends still in the north—“Ciri missed you,” he said, and didn’t say I missed you, too—and Jaskier recounting his winter adventures. Apparently he had been privately tutoring a young lady in a court a few days south of Oxenfurt, the child of an old friend. Geralt bit his cheek to avoid asking if it was just a friend, or if Jaskier had spent the winter in the bed of an old flame. It wasn’t his place to ask those sorts of things.

They didn’t head towards the university immediately—Geralt had already stowed his things at the inn, which Jaskier admonished him for. “You could have stayed with me of course,” he said with a roll of his eyes, and Geralt was breathless with it. Even after all this time, he could never truly wrap his mind around the fact that Jaskier wanted him around, would willingingly open his home to Geralt whenever he settled in one place. But the inn was already paid for and Geralt’s things packed away, so they were neither burdened by supplies as they wandered around the city. Geralt carried Jaskier’s lute on his shoulder, the weight of it settling almost as comfortably familiar as his swords.

He’d been to Oxenfurt dozens of times, but he always enjoyed seeing it through Jaskier’s eyes. The bard noticed things, like the new tailor on the corner of the main square, or that someone new had taken over an old market stall, or the new flowers sitting on someone’s stoop. All things that Geralt would have let wash past him. Everything felt new when Jaskier was with him, more vibrant when painted in his words.

Eventually Jaskier suggested that they head back, so that he could get appropriately dressed for the afternoon. He had planned, apparently, to play at a tavern close to the inn Geralt was staying in, though Geralt suspected that he’d had no such arrangements. It wouldn’t matter; Jaskier was popular enough that all he had to do was show up somewhere and people were begging him to play. Assuming he hadn’t slighted the owners of the establishment somehow. It was only early afternoon, but Jaskier gave him a sheepish grin when Geralt asked about the early retreat.

“I’m not quite packed,” he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t think you’d be back on the Path until at least three weeks from now. You always seem so reluctant to leave Ciri.”

Geralt could feel his face tingling with the ghost of a blush, and he scrambled for some kind of explanation that wouldn’t feel incriminating. “I, uh. I’m looking into something. Needed to see Triss.”

Jaskier’s eyebrows rose with interest as he pushed open a side gate in the Oxenfurt walls, leading them onto the campus. Geralt liked it here; it always smelled of rich plant life because of the well kept gardens, and the population was regulated enough that it was generally quieter than the rest of Oxenfurt. All the people smelled of ink and vellum and soft scented oils, and it never failed to remind him of Jaskier. “Is it about Ciri?” Jaskier asked.

“Hmm,” Geralt allowed, thoughts racing. “In… a way.”

Jaskier stopped short, trapping Geralt behind him in the narrow alley they found themselves in. His face was a mask of concern. “Is she alright?” he asked, brow furrowed.

Geralt nodded, waving a hand as if to wipe Jaskier’s worries from the air. “She’s fine, it’s not like that.”

Jaskier huffed out a breath and gave him a stern look before turning to continue down the cobbled path, leading them into the main courtyard of the university. “Don’t do that to me, witcher,” he admonished. “I have a delicate constitution, I can’t handle a scare like I used to.”

“Ah,” Geralt said, pleased with the easy segue. “That’s… sort of the problem.”

Jaskier stopped again, halfway through the doorway that led to the apartments reserved for professors. He blinked at Geralt, once, and said, “Well what in the devil is that supposed to mean?”

Geralt sighed, pushing Jaskier the rest of the way into the building. It was old, as with all of Oxenfurt, wood musty with age and heavy with the scent of the polish that they used on the brass fixtures. The interior was dark and musty, but Geralt’s eyes easily adjusted to the gloom. He forced himself not to chuckle at the way Jaskier’s eyes immediately squinted at him, slower to adapt to the shade after being out in the daylight. “Ciri is… She missed you. She’s—we’re all worried about, well, your.” He stopped, trying to find a word that wouldn’t come off as immediately insulting. “Mortality.”

“Geralt of Rivia,” Jaskier said, in a tone that suggested Geralt had missed the mark, “are you suggesting that I am old?”

Geralt winced. “Uh. Maybe we should talk about this upstairs.”

“Oh no, I think we should talk about it right here,” Jaskier said, crossing his arms over his chest and sticking out his chin. The posture was so familiar it made Geralt’s chest ache even as he knew he was about to get taken to task. “Has Yennefer been on about my crow’s feet again? She’s delusional. My skin is flawless.”

It wasn’t, though. Geralt could see the fine lines spreading from around his eyes and mouth even in the dark, the way his hair was less lustrous than it used to be, thinning at the temples. How slowly he moved, how loudly his knees popped when he stood up after sitting for too long. “You look fine,” was all he said out loud. “But Ciri’s lost enough people already. I’m worried about what it would do to her, to lose someone else.”

Jaskier visibly deflated, sticking his lower lip out to blow his fringe out of the way. After a moment, he said, “I’m not planning on dying anytime soon, Geralt.”

And he knew that, he did, Jaskier probably had decades left to live, but— “She’s probably going to live as long as any witcher. I don’t want her to be alone.” As he said it, Geralt realized the truth of the statement. His desire to slow Jaskier’s aging process was a selfish one, but he wasn’t lying about Ciri. Losing Jaskier would be an intense blow to the girl, after already losing one family. She had so few people left in the world who truly cared for her.

Jaskier smoothed a hand down over his face, shifting so that he was leaning one arm against the railing of the staircase. “She has you, and Yennefer, and all of your brothers,” Jaskier said. His lips were pressed tightly together, and even though his eyes had eased from their squint as they adjusted to the dim light, he was looking away from Geralt. “I imagine I’ll fade away easily enough, after a few years.” He said it softly, almost to himself, and Geralt felt all the breath leave him at once at the statement.

“No,” he said, too quickly, one hand coming up automatically to grip Jaskier’s shoulder. Blue eyes turned back on him, wide with surprise. “You won’t.” He didn’t know what else to say, how to make Jaskier understand his own magnitude in their lives—Ciri’s life—his life, without giving away too much. Words were woefully insignificant.

Jaskier brought one hand up to rest over Geralt’s, his lips relaxing into a smile. “Flattering,” he said, lightly teasing. “But anyways, you know Ciri will always have you and Yen.”

“We lead dangerous lives,” Geralt argued, his hand prickling under Jaskier’s palm. “I can’t stop walking the Path, and neither can my brothers. Any year we might not come back. And Yennefer is… she’s made a lot of enemies over the years. Nothing is set in stone.”

“I know you’re worried about this,” Jaskier said slowly, “but there’s nothing to be done about it. Any of you could die at any time, sure, but that’s life.”

“I need to know you’ll be around,” Geralt insisted. “I need to know that you won’t just… die on us.”

Jaskier huffed, removing his hand from Geralt’s and placing it on his hip. “Well, I don’t know what to say. It’s a reality we’ll all simply have to adjust to, unless you’ve suddenly found the secret to immortality.”

Geralt shifted awkwardly in place. Jaskier stared.

“You are not serious—” Jaskier started as Geralt said, “Listen, just hear me out.” Jaskier continued to talk over him, and Geralt sighed up at the ceiling as the tirade began.

“Hear you out?” Jaskier spluttered, incredulous. “Oh, I’m listening, Geralt, because this had better be a damn good one. You can’t show up after being away all winter and call me old and then tell me you want to make me immortal! I will not be subjected to witcher poisons or mages’ spells just because you’ve suddenly had a realization about the inherent dangers of your occupation.”

“It’s not—I’m not going to poison you, Jaskier,” Geralt said, aghast.

If anything that made Jaskier look even more suspicious. “If this is some curse Yennefer wants to put on me I will not allow it. I have heard plenty of horror stories about the transformation process for mages, and I will not be risking the loss of my critical bits.”

“It’s a ritual—”

“That’s worse!” Jaskier exclaimed. “Geralt, we’ve worked half a dozen different contracts that were botched immortality rituals. It went badly, so very, very badly, every time, and now you want to try it because you’re worried about my wrinkles? I’m not even fifty!” He flung his arms out to the side and dropped them sharply, breathing a little heavily.

“You said you don’t have any wrinkles.”

Jaskier glared at him. Geralt sighed.

“It’s not like that,” he explained, sliding his hand down to take Jaskier’s elbow so he could lead them up the stairs. This conversation would be so much easier over a glass of wine. Or better yet, a few shots of vodka. “It should be safe. The elves used to use it all the time to prolong the lifespans of humans.”

Jaskier allowed himself to be moved, shuffling in an awkward half walk up the stairs as he tried to continue the conversation. Geralt let his hand fall away, and his palm was warm where they’d touched. “If it’s so safe and easy, why doesn’t everyone do it?” Jaskier asked.

“It’s… not common knowledge,” Geralt hedged. “And you have to have someone with a long lifespan willing to take part in the ritual.”

“So how did you find out about it?” Jaskier said, tone accusative. “What’s the ritual, exactly?”

“I went to Triss. It’s—” He stopped, casting about for the right words. How to explain, without giving away too much? “It’s an elven ritual, used to… prolong human life spans. It involves tethering the human to an elf, originally. And then the… connection extends the human’s life to closer to that of an elf.” He opened his mouth again, hesitating on the edge of telling Jaskier exactly what the elves used the ritual for. And then he thought about how Jaskier would smile as he dismissed the issue, unconcerned, and Geralt bit back the words. His stomach rolled at the omission, but he couldn’t work up the courage to place this tender thing in Jaskier’s hands only to be crushed.

They reached the top of the stairs, and Jaskier pushed quickly ahead, towards his own rooms. The hall was dimly lit, the occasional window offering slivers of muddled daylight into the passage. Geralt followed after, his footsteps echoing against the stone.

Jaskier pulled a heavy bronze key out of his pocket, frowning as he fit it into the lock. “I don’t know, Geralt. I’m not saying your heart isn’t in the right place,” he said, not looking up. “I’m honestly flattered you would want me around enough to go through all this trouble. But we both know I’m not worth the risk, and this kind of spell, you know they can be—”

Geralt reached out as Jaskier went to push the door open, catching his wrist. The bones there were so delicate, fragile enough that Geralt knew he could snap them without a thought. His hold was as gentle as he could make it. “Jaskier,” he said softly, imploring.

Finally Jaskier looked at him, lips drawn tight. “I don’t want you to regret something like this,” Jaskier said tightly.

“I wouldn’t,” Geralt said, still holding Jaskier’s wrist like a bird in his hand. “I won’t. Can you just… trust me on this?

Jaskier stopped, giving him an unreadable look for a long moment. Finally he sighed. “If you’re sure,” he said, searching Geralt’s face for something. Geralt couldn’t have said what. His fingers burned. Eventually Jaskier must have found what he was looking for, because he suddenly smiled. “I suppose it would be remiss of me to turn down the opportunity for semi-immortality, as you say it. Imagine the heights of artistic mastery I could reach with another fifty years under my belt!”

Geralt rolled his eyes even as relief swept through him. “Of course you would think of that,” he grumbled.

He released Jaskier’s hand, and the bard pushed open the door to his suite. It looked much the same as Geralt remembered it from previous visits. Two rooms, the door to the bedroom ajar just enough to see the end of the bedpost, which had a doublet hanging from it. The main room functioned as a study and parlor, with a low couch and a desk off to one side. Jaskier tended to be fastidious on the road, both with his things and his own personal hygiene, but when he returned to roost at Oxenfurt Geralt found that he let his tidy habits slip. Books and scrolls covered the desk, the couch, and several low shelves, as well as a few spots on the central rug. A few of them were dangerously close to the fireplace. Empty and half full cups of tea and glasses of wine were scattered about. When Jaskier fell into research or writing he didn’t tend to remember basic things like cleaning or fire hazards.

“Sorry for the mess,” Jaskier said breezily, with the assuredness of someone who knew their companion had seen worse. And it was true; this wasn’t even half as bad as Geralt had found it at times, pushing his way into the suite to retrieve Jaskier from a month-long academic fixation.

Jaskier walked over to a waist high cabinet against the western wall of the room and opened it to reveal a honeycomb structure threaded with wine bottles. He produced what looked to be a bottle of Est Est and turned to Geralt, pulling the cork out with his teeth. As the witcher watched, he poured a sizable amount into a mostly clean glass and threw himself down on an unoccupied space on the couch. “Alright,” he said, after swallowing a mouthful of the wine. “Tell me how this is going to work.”

~

The wonderful painting above is by @silvertonguelover​! Such an amazing piece that really conveys the feeling I wanted for this chapter. Find the post of the work here!

#geraskier #geraltxjaskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher #witcher #fic #fanfic #writing #my work #geraskierbigbang #big bang #me lamh #multichapter

[ficforce]

Making Friends

Benimaru x Pregnant Reader SFW

“Oi!” Benimaru shoved the papers he had been holding onto one of the builder’s he was speaking with and rushed to Y/N’s side, “What have told you about carrying stuff…” He took the box from her, further annoyed that it weighed more than a feather, and took it to the corner with everything else. The boxes were care packages for people who had just been made temporarily homeless, they could come an collect them but Y/N was just trying to help out as much as she could – she was going mad just sitting around waiting. Arthur and Hinawa walked into the Guardhouse and the blonde pointed at Y/N whilst turning his head to his Lieutenant, “He’s not got bad aim, he’s just protecting his Queen.” The young man was oblivious to the glare he received from Hinawa even as he pushed Arthur’s pointing finger down. It was obvious to Arthur, even in his skewered perception of reality, that Captain Shinmon, standing so close to the woman and with his hand laid protectively over her large stomach, was so mean because he was protecting his family. They had broken into his castle just before an Infernal appeared and he was aggressive because of his Queen’s condition. Y/N looked at Arthur with a tilt of her head and placed her hand on the middle of Benimaru’s back as she felt his body temperature rise, “He really does have bad aim.” “Y/N!”

“He called me a Queen, Beni, I can’t get mad at that.” Although it was an odd thing to say and Arthur seemed to exude stupidity, Y/N couldn’t help but be flattered. He could have called her a scullery maid or a witch if he’d wanted to. “You should be resting,” he murmured to her and gently nudged her back toward their room, Benimaru paused and turned sharply on his heel, his red eyes lit as he saw Arthur with his plasma sword out, the blue flame making the air crackle around it. The Captain shielded Y/N behind him, “The hell…!” Hinawa let out a sigh and walked out of the Guardhouse, he wasn’t staying for this, he could only take so much before the urge to shoot someone was too strong. He wasn’t there as Arthur got down on one knee and pledged to protect the ‘Fair Queen and the Heir to the Castle’, he also wasn’t there to see Benimaru be lead away like a confused, aggressive pup. He didn’t know whether to be pleased or worried about the pledge. Once they reached their room Y/N was giggling into his shoulder, he really didn’t know how to react to Arthur and he supposed as long as he kept the oddball away from her then all would be fine. “Did you see the guy with glasses? He looked like he was gonna murder the poor kid!” Benimaru ruffled his hair and let out a frustrated click of his tongue, “Beni, lighten up a little – they seem nice.” The last few months he had been more protective than usual, she figured he was anxious for the birth of their child and felt helpless that he couldn’t do more. He wouldn’t let her lift or carry, he didn’t like her going far from home and never alone, every ache she had he would worry over and there were times he downright wouldn’t let anyone within arm’s reach. The twins were careful around her, they were boisterous but they knew she was due any day now. Konro was taking her out of the house to give her a little space as he was the only person Benimaru seemed to trust entirely with her. It would have been sweet if she wasn’t anxious too… “Beni,” Y/N took his hands and place them palm down on her belly, it was almost an instantaneous reaction of their baby to press a foot against the light pressure of his hands, they had a theory that they were reacting to the Captain’s unique heat signature, “Baby is fine. I’m fine.” Her hands cupped his face whilst he remained distracted by the bump, “I’m really nervous too and I need distractions or else I’m going to go mad – Now, calm down and help out with the building works whilst I help Konro out.” “I’ll do it,” Benimaru mumbled and a second later he looked up at her annoyed expression, “Not because I don’t want you to but I need to talk to him.” His thumbs stroked over her and he smiled when he felt movement under his hands, “Why don’t you help out with ordering materials? You’re good at admin and we’ll need to order more stuff after today.” Pressing a kiss on her forehead they both headed out. — - “When are you due?” Maki asked excitedly as she approached the little table and chair set up for Y/N to work at, Tamaki peeked from around the older woman and looked just as excited by the prospect of babies. Y/N smiled at them both and placed her pen down, “Any day now.” “Really?!” Tamaki covered her mouth and spoke a little quieter this time around, “Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl yet?” “No idea. Benimaru is hoping for a girl and I kinda want a boy – as long as they’re healthy, right?” Maki nodded, “Are you excited?” She nodded her head as she unconsciously stroked her stomach, “I’m kinda scared too.” The women from the 8th were nice and Y/N fell into conversation with them easily, Maki got all gooey over her story about finding out she was pregnant and Tamaki had that fascination in her eyes that young girls had when love and babies came up. After half an hour Konro and Benimaru came back from checking out the damage from Block three, Benimaru’s direction began to alter toward the three women but he was cut up by Hinata and Hikage rushing past him to grab onto both his and Konro’s pants to drag them toward a different problem in Town.

Y/N hid her smile and silently thanked the twins for saving her from interruption. Benimaru sighed loudly, he could see that Y/N was enjoying the attention and he didn’t sense any malice from Maki or Tamaki, he supposed he could let them be for now.  — - Y/N let out a terrified cry as she saw the scaffolding fail and begin to buckle and collapse, the heavy bamboo rods hurtled down toward her and she couldn’t move fast enough to avoid them, instead she crouched low and wrapped her arms around herself – her only concern was to protect her unborn child. There was a loud crash all around her and dust was kicked up from the street, after a moment of feeling nothing Y/N took a deep breath and raised her head. “You okay?” Obi’s arms shook a little as he gathered the strength to throw the scaffolding he had caught to the side, builders came rushing over to help clear the debris and two of them helped Y/N to her feet, “Get her home, I’ll help out here.” “Y/N!” “Y/N!!” The twins ran toward the woman and Hinata began crying as she hung off of Y/N, they had witnessed the accident and had been scared for her, “Is the baby okay?! Y/N, are you hurt?!” Big, watery, amber eyes looked up at her but Y/N was still too shocked to reply. Shinra seemed to come out of nowhere and coax the girls away from her, promising to give them candy and play. He seemed to be good with children and was able to tell them that it was important that Y/N get checked over - they were reluctant but let her go. When she got inside, Benimaru was halfway out the door after hearing what had happened and as soon as he saw her he wrapped his arms around her tightly, “Y/N…” He could feel her shaking in his hold so he put his arm around her waist and held her hand in his free hand, “Konro, call the doctor.” “No,” Y/N murmured and reached out to catch the Lieutenant’s arm, “I’m fine, really. I was just… it surprised me. I… I was… 8th Captain was there so -I…” Her voice became weaker and weaker before cracking, Y/N’s throat seemed to close up and tears began to slip down her cheeks. Benimaru took her to their room and helped her down onto the futon, pulling her close he began to run his fingers soothingly over her scalp to calm her. She wasn’t usually one to cry easily but the hormones during her pregnancy had her emotional over every little thing. Konro came in with a glass of water and handed it to her, he wiped her tears away and gave Benimaru a look to say he’d deal with the trouble outside. His eyes closed and he let out a deep breath, he was full of tension and just as shaken to hear what had happened, he shouldn’t have left her out there alone, Benimaru knew that agonising over it wouldn’t help her calm down and continued trying to force himself to relax - she had always been good at picking up his moods and his fear would only feed hers. “Nearly fucking died when I heard…” “Don’t s-swear in front of the baby!” Her voice was still small but he felt her pinch his arm when she warned him about his language. Benimaru stayed with her for a long while until she fell asleep, it had been a shock to her system and he knew she was tired already so Benimaru made sure she was well and truly out before moving to the next room to help Konro with his treatment. He had been about to start before he got the news about the accident… he hated to admit it but he was thankful Company 8 had come.  — - It was pretty impressive how Benimaru was able to stand after taking out a demon only a few hours before. “Going back to Company 8? Thanks for all your help.” Obi and his team turned to face the other, they had been going to leave quietly to let everyone get on with repairs and healing, “That’s all right… It’s possible we started all this by coming here.” “Maybe so, but we still had the Evangelist’s cronies lurking in our streets. It could be they’re the ones who were causing all the ‘spontaneous’ human combustion we’ve been dealing with,” Benimaru seemed calm on the outside but there was a sort of excitement buzzing around him that was putting Company 8 at unease, “And

now we’ve managed to stop it. Konro, bring it here.” Konro nodded and left his side quickly. The Captain of the 8th shifted onto his other foot, worried he was about to end up in another fight with the other - He still hurt from the night before. “Bring what?” “I don’t like the Empire’s Fire Force toadies but I like Company 8.” Konro returned with the bottle of Sake and the Captains exchanged sake cups to mark their new friendship, a few seconds later Benimaru’s face lit up in a smile and his Lieutenant explained the situation with Benimaru’s smile and sake. There was a commotion at the Guardhouse door as the Townspeople began to gather, they had come because they had heard the news and all of a sudden Arthur pulled out his plasma sword. Anyone near him jerked back but the blonde didn’t care as he swore his allegiance to Asakusa’s Queen and the new heir. At first, the rest of his Company were confused and Shinra moved to hit him in the head for scaring everyone but then he realised that Y/N had come in whilst they had been talking - a tiny baby bundled in her arms. “It’s good to know a Knight is looking out for her,” an excited squeal escaped Maki and she began to bounce excitedly with Tamaki. Y/N grinned at them proudly and let Benimaru take his daughter, the baby fit him perfectly, cradled in his arm like she belonged there and Y/N saw his smile become gentler and more genuine. During the night she had gone into labour, it had been frightening to not have her family there but the midwife had looked after her, there had been several Hikeshi who stood outside the room to ensure she was safe from the fighting and confusion. Benimaru had made it for the last ten minutes of delivery and blamed his tears on being overheated rather than admit he was overwhelmed with happiness when he held his newborn daughter. “Heroes are better than Knights!” She smiled as Arthur and Shinra began to argue over who would be the better protector, out of the corner of her eye Y/N saw the tremble in her lover’s body as their little girl reached out to grab his fingers and she just knew that no one would protect their family better than Benimaru.

#shinmon Benimaru #reader #enen no shouboutai #fire force #enn enn no shouboutai #garth ennis

[jaskierrrrrr]

Have I not written anything in basically a year because of my crippling fear of failure? Yes.

Did I also write this the night before my final exam and upload it at 11.30pm? Also yes!

Bad decisions aside, I really hope you enjoy this!

***

(2.5k, canon typical violence, bodyswapping and SFW shenanigans)

***

The mid morning sunlight finally roused Geralt from his sleep, which was the first sign that something was very, very wrong. Normally he started awake, just before dawn and had plenty of time to pack up the camp before Jaskier even considered opening his eyes.

The second sign was his own body lying motionless next to him.

It took Geralt several seconds longer than he’d ever admit to to accept that he wasn’t some spirit looking down at himself from beyond the grave. For starters, he could see his chest rising and falling. He also felt starving, which didn’t seem like something you’d have to deal with after dying.

Still processing his initial shock, he was just debating whether to wake himself up or not when his hair fell into his eyes. He brushed it away impatiently and then started, looking down at his hands. Where had expected to see grimy, scarred fingers, he instead saw soft skin, calloused fingernails and ostentatious rings, which could only mean-

He fell backwards, reaching behind him to grab his sword, before realising it was on the other side of his motionless body. Still in denial, he stumbled towards himself and picked up his sword. It felt unnaturally heavy, and looking at the reflection in the blade confirmed his worst fears.

He was Jaskier. Or rather, in Jaskier’s body. Which suggested that Jaskier was in his.

Turning round just in time to see his own body- Jaskier- finally stirring, he braced himself for what would most likely be an incredibly dramatic reaction. For once, he would class it as appropriate- Melitele knows he’s screaming internally. It’s bad enough not being in your own body without also having swapped with the person you care about the most, who has no idea. There’s a great sense of vulnerability and a deep-set fear that somehow this will lead to Jaskier realising how he feels, but he tries to push it away and focus on the problem at hand.

His own eyes blinked sleepily up at him, before widening in surprise.

Oh what the fuck,’ Jaskier exclaimed, hauling himself off his bedroll and circling Geralt, tripping over his feet in the process. ‘Why didn’t you tell me my doublet didn’t match my shirt?’

‘You- what? That’s the first thing you say?’ Geralt asked, Jaskier’s nonplussed attitude momentarily distracting him from the current clusterfuck of a situation.

‘Well yeah,’ Jaskier huffed, placing his hands on his hips in a manner that looked so bizarre under his armour that Geralt felt the uncontrollable urge to laugh. ‘I have a reputation to uphold.’

‘It doesn’t matter anyway,’ Geralt muttered, turning away from Jaskier. His brain was starting to hurt. ‘You look fine.’

Jaskier cleared his throat. When Geralt turned back, his face was stretched into a grin.

‘Don’t you mean- you look fine? After all, you’re wearing it.’

Jaskier had a point. Not that Geralt would ever admit it.

‘Whatever, Jaskier. Let’s just find someone who can fix this.’ He reached for his sword, before remembering he no longer had it, and wouldn’t be able to carry it if he did.

Jaskier clapped his hands together. ‘Gods, this is going to be fun.’

***

“Okay, I’ll be the first to admit that this is decidedly not fun,” Jaskier muttered, the medallion around his neck bouncing as they made their way up a steep hill. The sun was now low in the sky and once again Geralt found himself irritated at the amount of fabric he was currently baking under. Why did all of Jaskier’s clothes have to have so many frills?

“The novelty’s worn off then?” Geralt added dryly. They’d been walking for about two hours before they’d come across the first town- there was no mage, but fortunately they found a place for Roach at a local stables. She’d found the entire body swapping incident incredibly disconcerting (she wasn’t the only one), and had refused to let either of them ride her, even when enticed with apples.

At first, Jaskier had kept up a steady stream of his usual chatter, albeit in a much gruffer tone than usual, but he had fallen silent as it got later in the day.

‘I just don’t understand why it’s so loud? I feel like I’m back at Oxenfurt, there’s just so much noise.”

“It’s from the Trials, remember? Enhanced hearing has saved my life- and yours- countless times,” Geralt replies, not without a twinge of sympathy. He remembers how chaotic and confusing it had first felt as a child.

Jaskier grimaced. ‘Right, right,’ he mumbled, before jerking his head back towards Geralt with a look of horror on his face. ‘Is this what I sound like to you? Gods, I had no idea- my prattling is bad enough without advanced hearing-”

“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupted, “your voice doesn’t grate- it’s fine.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe it did at first, but I’ve gotten used to it.”

“So what I’m hearing…” Jaskier said slowly, “is that you like my voice?”

Geralt scoffed. “Don’t push your luck,” he muttered, although he couldn’t quite hide his smile.

“I knew it!” Jaskier crowed triumphantly. “So much for fillingless pie.”

“I said talking was fine- I didn’t say anything about your singing.”

Jaskier’s mouth fell open in outrage. “You- you absolute brute, Geralt of Rivia! Mark my words, one of these days I’ll, I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Geralt asked teasingly, looking away to hide his laugh. “Splutter at me?”

Jaskier didn’t reply. He’d come to a complete halt and was staring at the trees, a frown on his face. Without warning, he drew his sword. Geralt had just enough time to wonder if joking about Jaskier’s singing was going to be the thing that killed him, when something huge burst out of the foliage. He whipped his head, following the flash of silver as his sword flew elegantly and almost lazily in an arc from Jaskier’s hand and buried itself in the side of the creature, which collapsed in the dust.

Geralt turned to stare at Jaskier in amazement. “How the hell did you do that?”

“I don't know,” Jaskier muttered, eyes still fixed on the creature. “I guess I’ve got your fighting skills too.”

As he bent to withdraw the sword from the creature’s side, Geralt noticed Jaskier’s hands were shaking.

Geralt knew how he was feeling. He’d felt sick to his stomach the first time he’d killed something. He hesitantly reached out a hand and placed it on Jaskier’s armour. He could feel him trembling.

“You did the right thing,” Geralt said gently. “It’s not easy, but you did it.”

Jaskier’s eyes finally moved from the corpse, and he gave Geralt a brief smile.

“You think so?”

“I do.”

***

They walked in companionable silence after that, occasionally bashing into each other when Jaskier forgot how wide his shoulders were. They reached the next town at dusk. After a few brief enquiries, it was apparent that there was no mage.

“I guess we’ll have to accept defeat for the night,” Jaskier sighed. “Even I’m feeling tired, so you must feel exhausted. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

He was right on both counts. Geralt’s feet have ached since midday, and he’d even tripped a couple of times. Maybe Jaskier constantly falling over was more due to tiredness rather than not paying attention.

“We can find a place to camp for the night in those woods over there,” he suggests. “Figure out where we’ll head next in the morning.”

“Why don’t we just ask for a room at that tavern over there? I could do with a hot meal.”

Geralt hesitated. After the day they’d had, he could definitely use a drink, but they’d been lucky to travel so far without drawing too much attention to themselves.

Jaskier must have noticed his reluctance.

“It’ll be fine,” he said as he rolled his eyes. “Besides,” he added, swinging open the door, “we’re in the middle of nowhere, there’s no way anyone will recognise us.”

As he opened the door with a flourish, the entire tavern fell silent, their eyes fixed on the two newcomers standing frozen in the doorway.

“What were you saying?” Geralt hissed out of the corner of his mouth.

Jaskier was saved from answering by the innkeeper bustling over to them with a wide smile on his face.

“Geralt of Rivia and the bard Jaskier! It is an honour to welcome you here. Will you be in need of a place to stay tonight?"

They both nodded.

The innkeeper clapped his hands. “Excellent! We’ll have a room ready momentarily. Sir Witcher, we have a table free over there- and will you be performing tonight, noble bard?”

“Well, I-” Jaskier began, before noticing the confused look on the innkeeper’s face. “Oh, well… I’m sure my companion would be delighted!”

Geralt barely managed to restrain the torrent of curses on his lips before nodding tightly. He was going to kill Jaskier.

“Wonderful,” beamed the innkeeper. “The stage is over there whenever you’re ready,” he added, before returning to the counter. Geralt slowly turned to look at Jaskier.

“What? Oh, don’t look at me like that, what was I meant to say?”

“You were meant,” Geralt growled lowly, “to say no. I thought that was fairly obvious.”

“Look, it’s too late to back out now. You’ll be fine! If I got witchery skills, you must have bardic skills, it’s only fair.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt groaned in despair, “how many curses have you known to be fair?”

Jaskier started to laugh. Geralt turned away.

“Oh yes, laugh all you want. It’s my reputation at stake.” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier looked at him with an odd expression on his face. “Geralt, it’s my reputation, remember?” He takes Geralt’s hand and squeezes. “I promise it’ll be okay,” he said softly. “And if it isn’t, I’ll start a distraction. I’m great at that.”

Geralt snorted in acknowledgement. He pulled the lute off his back, and let adrenalin carry him over to the stage. As he settled in the chair, the patrons fell quiet once again. He catches sight of Jaskier, who’s drinking a tankard of what looks like Cintran ale. Lucky bastard. He caught Geralt’s eye and raised his tankard in a silent salute. Geralt inhaled deeply, praying to Melitele not to fuck up. Closing his eyes, he began to play.

Somehow, thank the Gods, Jaskier was right. His fingers are flew over the fretboard to the familiar tune of Toss a Coin. He doesn’t understand, but he isn’t going to question it. He’ll play a few songs to keep the audience happy, and then make his excuses.

He’s about four songs in when he finally gets the courage to open his eyes. Everyone seems to be enjoying the performance, but there’s only one opinion he really wants. Jaskier is leaning forward in his chair, his ale forgotten as he listens to the music, swaying gently in time. He has a soft smile on his face, but there’s something odd about his features. Geralt’s seen his own reflection far less than he’s seen Jaskier’s face, but he knows something’s different.

He’s lamenting his poor eyesight and squinting from the stage to try and see more clearly when the truth hits him.

It’s his eyes. Even in the well-lit tavern, his pupils are blown wide so his irises are barely visible. Which normally only happens in the dark, or-

His fingers briefly slipped on the strings. He blinks to recover, his mind reeling. The only other time his eyes are that wide are when he’s looking at Jaskier. But, if Jaskier’s looking at him, then that means-

There’s a sudden, unpleasant tug in his navel. His stomach flips, but before he has time to cry out, the sensation has gone. Realising his arms are empty, he opens his eyes.

He’s across the room, looking at Jaskier on stage. Relief floods through him. He’s back in his own body, and more importantly, he never has to sing again.

Jaskier catches his eye and waggles his eyebrows. “Told you it would be fine,” he mouths over his strumming.

Jaskier finishes with a flourish after another two songs. To Geralt’s annoyance, he gives in to demands for an encore. Geralt taps his foot impatiently. He’s desperate to be alone, to get the chance to talk to Jaskier. Finally, finally, Jaskier strums his final note and bows deeply, before jumping off the stage and sauntering towards Geralt, who meets him halfway.

Jaskier grins at him, face flushed. “Guess we don’t need a mage! Strange, I wonder what made us switch back.”

“Hmm,” Geralt replies, as they make their way up the stairs.

“Oh, well someone’s definitely back to normal!” Jaskier laughs. “Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy yourself up there by the way, I could tell.”

They find their room at the end of the corridor. It’s a simple room, but there’s a fire in the grate that gives it a homely feel. Geralt finally finds the courage to talk when he’s interrupted again.

“You gave a fine performance, you know,” Jaskier said brightly as he set his lute on the table by the door. “I mean, starting with my best song was an interesting choice- I usually save it for the end, but you pulled it off. Could work on your stage presence a bit too, but I suppose that was to be expected, given the circumstances.”

He paused for breath, grinning at Geralt. Realizing this was his only chance, Geralt didn't pause to think, just crossed the room in two strides before pushing Jaskier up against the door and kissing him.

Jaskier let out a startled breath before responding in kind, gripping Geralt’s waist and pulling him in close.

When they broke apart, Jaskier smiled widely. “What brought this on?” he asks, before frowning suddenly. “Wait, if I had ale in your body, does that mean you’re drunk? Is that why-”

“I’m not drunk,” Geralt reassured him. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time, I just… didn’t know if you felt the same until I saw how wide your- my- pupils were during the performance.

Jaskier scowled. “That’s not fair,” he mumbled into Geralt’s shirt. “I had all your witchery senses and I still couldn’t tell how you felt.”

“I just hide it better than you.”

“Now that I won’t argue with. Your face is like a block of granite, it’s impossible to tell what you’re thinking.”

“Know what I’m thinking now?” Geralt said in a low voice, leaning towards Jaskier, who blushed a deep shade of red.

“I have an idea,” he mumbled.

“I’m thinking,” Geralt continued, leaning in even closer before grabbing a pillow and thwacking Jaskier over the head with it.

“I’m thinking,” he laughed over Jaskier’s splutters, “that you can sleep on the floor tonight for that!”

Ignoring Jaskier’s halfhearted protests, he pulled him towards the bed, where they collapsed in a heap.

“I’ll get you back for that,” Jaskier muttered from where he was sprawled against Geralt’s chest.

“Oh?” Geralt laughed. “And when should I expect my comeuppance?”

“Not now,” Jaskier replied. “After all, we have all the time in the world.”

Geralt grinned, before pulling him into a soft kiss. “That we do,” he replies. “That we do.”

#this was going so well at the start #and i just reread it and I HATE IT #oh well #enjoy anyway!!! #past tense can F off #geraskier #fic #writing #my writing #the witcher #jaskier #geralt #in the scene where everyone turns to looks at them I picture their faces in that scene where jaskier just got djinned and they see the #naked mayor #their expressions are just so funny

[grelleswife]

DomiJeanne!!! (for the Domesticity Meme)

1. Who cooks normally?

According to this extra Mochizuki drew, neither Domi nor Jeanne is a particularly amazing cook. 😂 Although I can’t read Japanese, I think I remember one translation (it might have been on @popopretty ‘s blog?) saying that Domi considers cooking a job for the servants, while Jeanne is mainly a foodie rather than a preparer of said food (though she does know survival cooking). So Domi probably just hires the finest chefs de Sade money can provide to make all her girl’s favorite dishes!

2. How often do they fight?

Not very often! They have a natural rapport, with each bringing out the other’s gentler side. I have a feeling most of their fights would either be related to Vanitas (Domi’s antipathy towards him is stronger than ever, even after Jeanne broke up with the human) or stem from Domi’s lingering insecurities (for example, she notices someone flirting with Jeanne and gets jealous). But with time, they’re able to work through these issues.

3. What do they do when they’re away from each other?

Since Jeanne still serves as Luca’s chevalier, most of her time is spent accompanying him during his daily routine or when he’s out on official business. In those leisurely moments when she isn’t able to see Dominique, Jeanne might read a novel, go strolling in a nearby park, or stop by one of her local cafes or restaurants for a quick bite to eat!

Domi remains part of the royal guard, and regularly practices with her sword (in addition to competing in the occasional fencing match). I don’t remember if this is canon, but I could also see her enjoying horseback riding. If she can’t spend time with Jeanne, she’ll seek out the company of her other favorite person, Noé, or write him a letter if he and Vanitas are off chasing curse bearers. She also likes to go shopping to add to her extensive wardrobe, and typically gets a new outfit, box of chocolates, etc. for Jeanne while she’s at it. Domi’s girlfriend never strays far from her mind. ☺️

4. Nicknames for each other?

Domi calls Jeanne “ma belle,” “ma chérie,” “mon amour,” “mon trésor,” “mon ange,” “ma colombe”...you get the picture! For some reason, I have a hard time imagining Jeanne using pet names, but the moment when she finally felt comfortable enough to call her lover Domi instead of Lady Dominique made our favorite de Sade blush like a schoolgirl.

5. Who is more likely to pay for dinner?

Dominique, since she’s the aristocrat.

6. Who steals the covers at night?

Hmm...maybe Jeanne? She always apologizes profusely after she wakes up and becomes aware of her blanket crimes. Domi just winks and says Jeanne can make it up to her by warming her back up with cuddles, which Jeanne is happy to do. 💕

7. What would they get each other for gifts?

Since Jeanne hasn’t had many people in her life who bothered to make her feel special, Domi goes all-out with lavish presents—sweets from the most acclaimed confectionery in France, or a season’s worth of dresses, or a pretty pony. Jeanne’s gifts are equally heartfelt, even if they aren’t as extravagant. She might try to make something for Domi by hand, like a scarf and mittens, or write her a love poem (which of course Domi would treasure 🥰🥰🥰)

8. Who remembers things?

Maybe Domi? Jeanne might be more forgetful and prone to distraction.

9. Who cusses more?

Though neither is prone to swearing in public, Domi uses more profanity when they’re talking in private. Jeanne might be a cinnamon roll, but she can and will say fuck if sufficiently enraged. 🔥 Dominique thinks her girlfriend is even hotter when she curses. 😏

10. What would they do if the other one was hurt?

In both cases, their first priority would be patching up the other’s wounds, making sure they were okay, and fretting over them. Step two would involve slicing whoever was responsible for those injuries to ribbons. 🔥 Jeanne is a little better at keeping a cool head under pressure in these situations because she has more experience on the battlefield. Because both ladies have lost loved ones in horrifically violent ways, they’d be extra protective in the wake of the injury and reluctant to leave the other’s side.

11. Who kissed who first?

Domi kissed Jeanne first. They were taking a walk together through Paris and happened to be in a quiet, out-of-the-way area...so Domi used Jeanne’s parasol to shield them from any prying eyes, and gave her a smooch! 😘

12. Who made the first move?

Maybe Jeanne? After Domi’s curse was lifted and Jeanne dumped Vanitas (I leave the details to your imagination 😉) the chevalier reached out to her friend out of worry and a desire to reconnect. The letters they exchanged over the next few weeks helped repair their bond and paved the way for subsequent dates.

13. Who started the relationship?

Jeanne. As they grew closer, Domi realized that she’d fallen for the other vampire but was afraid to push her luck for fear of rejection (she stills struggles with self-esteem issues and remorse over fighting Jeanne under Misha’s influence, even though that obviously wasn’t her fault 😭). But one day while they were having tea, Jeanne worked up the courage to tell Domi point-blank that she wanted to be more than just friends, and that she understood if Domi didn’t reciprocate...but she couldn’t keep these feelings to herself any longer!!! Dominique promptly burst into tears (which left poor Jeanne more than a little confused), but then rushed over to hug the chevalier and sob out that she’d be honored to court her. 🥰

#domijeanne #dominique de sade #jeanne the hellfire witch #vnc #vanitas no carte #vnc asks #domestic headcanons #thanks for the ask!

[guardianofrivendell]

LOTR/Hobbit Characters and Your First Kiss

A/N: This was a preference series I honestly expected someone to request by now, and it sat in my drafts for a long time. I finally had inspiration to write it so here you go. I’ve done some kisses in previous preferences, but nothing beats the very first kiss. Enjoy!

A/N 2: I know that these preferences aren’t really short enough to be called preferences, both Legolas and Kili are 700+ words...  🙈 Next time I’ll just write “And then you kissed.”

Warnings: kisses (duh!), some a little steamier than the other (couldn’t help myself sorry not sorry) and an f-bomb with Kili (which I know is out of character but work with me here)

LEGOLAS  

Longing glances, accidental hand brushing, pining after someone who was seemingly out of reach... It wasn’t unknown to you, unfortunately. You and Legolas had been dancing around each other for what seemed like centuries. Which was impossible since you were human, but it certainly felt that long to you. Feelings were involved from the very first moment you laid eyes on him, and you tried to make it known in a subtle, and later in a not so subtle way. But Legolas was oblivious or just plain stupid - you hadn’t decided yet - and you stayed in the friendzone.  Some moments you were sure he returned your feelings, and then something happened (or didn’t happen) that made you not so sure anymore. Like the lack of kisses to name one.

You were not familiar with the Elvish way of courting. The only person you could ask was Legolas and yeah... that wasn’t going to happen. So you didn’t want to take any initiative, afraid you would cross a line you didn’t know existed.

And then the whole quest to destroy the one ring happened. You had joined for the adventure and to see more of Middle Earth, and yes, also because Legolas was coming too. No one could blame you for trying to spend more time with your crush... Who knows, maybe he had to save you and realizes he almost lost you, confessing his feelings because of it. Failsafe plan right? Yeah well... that didn’t happen. You were in constant danger, that went like expected, but it seemed like you didn’t need saving since you were a seasoned warrior. And to put yourself in mortal peril on purpose, that just wasn’t like you. Sure, Legolas held your hand while climbing rocks, or let you rest your head on his shoulder when you were tired. But that’s what every member of the fellowship would do. They didn’t, but they would if you’d ask.

So when you, Aragorn, Gimli and Master Friendzone finally reached Edoras, you had given up all hope.  Which is why Éomer caught your eye. You had met him before when you were looking for Merry and Pippin and you couldn’t help but find the handsome, bulky man on a horse attractive. He was the exact opposite of everything Legolas was. Just what you needed. At the victory celebration of the battle of Helm’s Deep, Éomer had approached you. You were all dressed up - thank Éowyn for that - and he complimented your appearance, asking for a dance.  While you danced, you failed to notice Legolas was keeping an eye on you from across the room. He watched how you twirled around, pure joy written all over your face, and he couldn’t help but smile. He thought you looked absolutely stunning in a dress. He still wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about you, but the feeling in his stomach didn’t lie. His smile dropped immediately when he saw how low Éomer’s hand was on your back. He felt a jolt of pain in his hand, and when he looked at it, he noticed he had crushed the empty metal cup he had been holding.

You felt Éomer’s hand on your lower back but you didn’t say anything. It was probably just the ale in his system. As soon as he would do anything inappropriate, you would end the dance but for now you were going to enjoy the attention.  When he twirled you again, you bumped into Legolas.  “A word, please?” he said through gritted teeth. He didn’t wait for your answer, dragging you off the dancefloor with more force than you ever expected him to use on you. He didn’t stop until you reached a deserted hallway, you could barely hear the music anymore.  “Legolas, what is going on with- mppfh!” You were silenced when he crashed his lips on yours, pushing you against the wall. It didn’t take long before you kissed him back. It was a rough kiss, all teeth and tongue and you hadn’t expect this from him at all. This wasn’t the sweet and gentle Legolas you knew. But hey, you weren’t complaining!  When he finally broke the kiss, you were both panting.  “What just happened?” you asked. You knew what happened of course, and you still couldn’t believe it, but you wanted to know what drove him to do this. “My eyes finally opened,” he spoke, licking his lips. “I am sorry it took me so long.” So it was jealousy that had finally done the trick.  “Well, I could think of a way or two to make it up to me...” you smirked, pulling him further down the hallway...

KILI

You worked at the pub Fili and Kili frequently visited. It was one of the few places they could leave all their royal duties (including the title) behind them and just be themselves. Sometimes they brought some of the other Dwarves of the company, but usually it was just the two of them.

Not that it made it easier for you when they were alone. Fili was the older brother and more mature one, but when he had his share of ale, all inhibitions went out the door. The same went for Kili, although he didn’t need ten mugs of ale to loosen up. He was very flirtatious by nature.  So when you heard him ask you for a kiss when you brought them their next round, you didn’t even look up. He always did this, and you always ignored it.

You didn’t know why he asked you for a kiss every single time. The first time he asked, he was so drunk you thought you misheard him. He pouted at your rejection and you promised him he would get one if he was sober. You knew he wouldn’t remember the next day. One week later, the brothers returned and Kili repeated his question when you served them their drinks. Since he was sober that time, you just laughed and shook your head. After that, it kind of became a habit. He would ask for a kiss, and you would reject him every single time.

“This calls for a kiss, don’t you think?” “I think I need you to pay for these drinks.” “Let me pay you with a kiss this time.” “Kisses don’t buy me food.” “Don’t I deserve at least one kiss?” “I’ll let you know as soon as you deserve one.”

He never gave up, and you never gave in. You hated to admit it, but it became harder and harder for you to reject Kili. Not that you were running out of comebacks, they came naturally to you. But you noticed him staring at you when he thought you weren’t looking and you started to question if this really was all just a joke to him, or if this was his really weird - but effective - way of flirting. Only one way to find out, right?

The next time they entered the pub, you were one big ball of nerves. You poured two mugs of ale and brought it to their table. Kili’s face lit up when he saw you and it almost made you throw your plan out of the window. You placed the mugs in front of them, and waited for Kili to ask for his kiss. He didn’t disappoint. “So remind me again, was it one kiss per mug or one kiss per order?” “One kiss will do,” you said. 

Before your answer really got through to him, you grabbed his collar and planted your lips on his for a short, but firm kiss. You let go of him and quickly turned around to go back to the bar so you could go hide in the back room for the rest of your shift. What were you even thinking? Kili had other plans though. 

When he finally recovered, he jumped up and grabbed your wrist, spinning you around so you bumped into his chest. “Fucking finally,” he growled, and kissed you a second time. This kiss was anything but short. Kili took his time to explore and who were you to deny him? He brushed your cheek with the back of his hand, and weaved his fingers in your hair. You had to stand on your toes because he was a lot taller than you, keeping your hands on his chest for support.

A cough from Fili made you break the kiss. “Mahal,” Kili whispered, eyes wide when he pulled back. “So does this mean you accept kisses as a means of payment now?” Fili asked, getting to his feet and pouting his lips to give you a kiss. Kili pushed him back in his seat, wrapping his arm around your waist. “Don’t even think about it!”

ÉOWYN

You watched Éowyn train with her sword. She was a skilled sword-fighter, but since she was the shield maiden, they wouldn’t allow her to fight alongside men in battle. That didn’t stop her from training and improving her skills, on the contrary... It only made her train harder.

You were absolutely mesmerized by her. Her lean, but toned figure, how she handled the sword with such grace and ferocity at the same time... You were completely lost. But there was no way she would be interested in someone like you, a mere servant. And then there was also that tiny little thing about her being your best friend...

Éowyn was fierce, and often went in discussion with anyone who dared to doubt her. But when she was around you, she was soft and bubbly. You were one of the only people who had the privilege to see her smile.

One day she asked you to help with her training. You weren’t as skilled as her, so you were a bit reluctant at first. But who were you to turn down a chance to be this close to her? You noticed she was nervous. Éowyn was never nervous. Ever. What was going on in her head? The training started and you tried to make it enough of a challenge for her. Surprisingly enough you were winning, and with a last swing of your sword, you knocked her sword out of her hands. She cheered. “That calls for a victory kiss!” Wait... what?

She crossed the distance between you and silently asked for your permission. When you nodded and tried to ignore your loud heartbeat, she placed a soft kiss on your lips. “I’ve waited so long for you to do this,” you whispered. “All you had to do was ask,” she winked.

A/N: Don’t forget to reblog and comment or comment in your tags, I do read them!

#lotr #lord of the rings #lotr preference #lord of the rings preference #legolas #legolas x reader #legolas greenleaf #kili #kili x reader #the hobbit #the hobbit preference #eowyn #eowyn x reader #lotr fanfiction #lotr imagine #guardianofrivendell #lord of the rings imagine

[jaskiersvalley]

I don't know where the Vesemir/Guxart ship came from, is it even a ship? But I'd love to see some content if it's up your alley. I just imagine a keep full of young witchers being a lot for Vesemir and I think he deserves someone to lean on like the others lean on each other.

It took me a little while to get to this and I apologise. But I now bring you some supportive wolf pups and kitten, giving Vesemir and Guxart the happily ever after they deserve. Also, Vesemir/Guxart - Vexart or Guxmir for a ship name? 

The suspicions started out quite early for Lambert. He’d known Aiden for a little while, they fucked before they even knew each other’s names. The acrobatic sex had settled down into something that was more than just burning off energy with someone who didn’t reek of disdain. Loathe the admit it, Lambert would almost call it domestic, as if that term could ever be applied to Witchers. It was small things first like when he got back from a dip in the river and Aiden fixed him with a stern look.

“Did you wash behind the ears?”

“Of course!” It was a lie but Lambert wasn’t going to admit it. “Why do you care? You’re not my mother.”

“Wolves never wash behind their ears,” Aiden replied. “Everyone knows that.”

Which was not quite true because when Lambert asked Coen that winter, he was told that nobody cared about the poor hygiene habits of Witchers as a whole, let alone be worried about different schools’ habits.

When Lambert met up with Aiden again, he told him exactly how full of shit he thought Aiden was. He didn’t expect to be met with an unimpressed stare and a list.

“Wolves don’t like spicy foods, Wolves need cuddles even if they pretend they don’t like them, Wolves are loyal to a fault.”

Sulking, Lambert crossed his arms over his chest and didn’t argue. He did however invited Aiden to Kaer Morhen for the winter. Purely so the others could marvel at the idiocy the Cat spouted. It didn’t quite work out that way. The old keep was already more full of life than it had been for decades. As well as the usual four Wolves there was now a Griffin, a bard, a child surprise, a sorceress and a Nilfgaardian insistent he wasn’t actually Nilfgaardian. Adding a Cat to the mix wasn’t even a blip in the norm. At least, not obviously, not until Lambert started paying attention. It was small things to start with.

“Aiden, I’ve set aside that bowl for you,” Vesemir had nodded at a full bowl as everyone got together for dinner.

Suspicious at first, Aiden sniffed the bowl then his eyes went wide. He didn’t say anything but devoured the food in record time and, when he thought no one was looking, even licked it clean. Half an hour later Lambert was whining up a storm and drinking copious amounts of water, cursing about burning lips. It seemed Vesemir had made an extra spicy bowl of stew just for Aiden.

It didn’t stop there. The hearth in the tallest tower was lit and kept warm. Not that anyone realised to start with but, when Lambert couldn’t find Aiden anywhere for an afternoon nap, it was Vesemir who pointed him in the tower’s direction. Sure enough, Aiden was lounging on the wide windowsill, looking rather pleased at being able to enjoy the afternoon’s sunshine up high.

Then Ciri’s training began to include playing around in the rafters. None of the Wolves were keen on the game but Aiden bundled in without hesitation. It was difficult to tell who was having more fun - him or Ciri. When Lambert asked Vesemir about it, he got a shrug, “I knew a Cat once.”

The mystery thickened and Lambert and Aiden spent hours up, discussing how Vesemir could know so much about Cats. And how Aiden knew so much about Wolves. Not even Letho seemed to know so much despite having travelled with Gaetan a fair amount. At least, he denied knowing such things when confronted in the summer. It had Aiden frowning in contemplation.

“I have an idea. Trust me?”

That winter Lambert brought yet another guest. Another Cat. Guxart seemed reluctant to join them but Aiden wheedled and pestered, eventually winning some complicated sword dancing game which secured his wishes and Guxart travelled to Kaer Morhen with them.

“I don’t know why you’d want me in the Wolves’ stronghold,” he grumbled. “Their pack is very tightknit. They won’t take kindly to an old Cat like me.”

How Guxart knew the Wolves had a tightknit pack was a mystery. Except it really wasn’t. Aiden knew Guxart was the one he learned all he could about Wolves and Vesemir knew a lot about Cats. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out. They walked into Kaer Morhen, heads held high.

“New guest, everyone, this is Guxart,” Lambert announced. “Guxart, this is everyone, Mostly.”

A couple of people were missing but most nodded and waved at the newest wintering buddy. The general hubbub died down when there was a gasp from the doorway.

“Gux?” Vesemir’s eyes were wide wide.

Turning slowly, Guxart looked just as hopeful. “Miri?”

Off to the side, Eskel mouthed ‘Miri?’ at Lambert who shrugged. It was all redundant though when, in a blur, Guxart and Vesemir rushed to embrace each other. Vesemir lifted Guxart off the floor in a spin, a disbelieving laugh in his throat that sounded a little wet with tears.

“Please excuse us,” Vesemir said to the room at large, even if his eyes never strayed from Guxart. “We have a lot to catch up on.” Hands linked, he led Guxart out of the room, the Cat all too happy to follow, smiling all the way.

#lambert/aiden #vesemir/guxart #lambert #aiden #vesemir #guxart #i cen't get 'miri' as a pet name for Vesemir out of my head #tldr: cats and wolves know a lot about each other

[alyss-spazz-penedo]

So this is not actually the next part of the unedited v!Wind fic but I got the sweetest anon ask in my inbox and like, suddenly *m o t i v a t i o n,* y’know?

So have this sort-of one-shot, set in some nebulous hypothetical future of that fic. Idr if I’d brought up the possibility of Phantom traveling with the boys before (I really need to find time to reread what I’ve written), but this would be set after they'd been past that point for a while.

Nonny, I hope you enjoy <3 This one’s for you! (And the amazing @w1lmutt, of course.)

TW: cursing, bleeding and self-inflicted harm. Nothing graphic, I promise. (Also, the hero boys being stupid martyrs, but that’s practically par for the course.)

They manage to make it to camp before Phantom explodes.

"What the fuck, old man!" the boy snarls. He grabs Time by the collar and drags the taller man down to his level. Time lets him, which only serves to incite the boy further. "What the hell do you think I am? Some kind of charity case?" He spits.

Time says nothing. He doesn’t even have the decency to wince when Phantom jostles his broken arm.

"Look. At. Me!" the boy demands, punctuating each word with a small, ineffectual shake. "I am more than just another one of your failures! I make my own damn choices! I can deal with their consequences! You are not responsible for me, who the fuck do you think you are?"

Time shakes his head, still too calm to be doing their youngest’s temper any favors. He doesn’t look at Phantom like the boy’s a perfectly capable hero in his own right, and Phantom cannot stand that. "I understand that you-" the man begins.

Phantom decks him.

"That’s enough!" The others step in then, pulling them away from each other. Time, however, won’t stop looking at him like that.

Phantom rips himself away, snarling. He needs to get out of here.

He stalks off before he can do something really rash, like go for his sword.

~o0o~

"You here to lecture me?"

Phantom kicks his feet in the air from the branch he’s perched on, eerily reminiscent of the first time the heroes had met him. His eyes are dark.

"Not gonna lie, I was expecting the captain or the puppy," the boy drawls.

Four sighs. With a quick burst from his Roc’s cape, he climbs his way up to a branch nearby, settling so they’re vaguely facing each other. "You did go too far."

"Fuck off," Phantom growls, jabbing his blade at Four threateningly. “He was asking for it.”

Four eyes the blade, then its wielder. "You shouldn’t point that at someone you don’t intend to use it on. It’s a weapon, not a toy."

"If you think I’m merely playing around, then man have I got unpleasant news for you."

Four sighs. "I know being babied sucks, but watch what lines you cross," he tells the younger boy bluntly.

"Oh, shut up. What would you know?"

"Who do you think got the brunt of the group’s mother-cucco tendencies before you came along?" Four points out, dry. In the ensuing silence, he ticks off, "I'm the shortest of the lot, and sometimes that means they like to pretend I’m not mature enough to handle ‘adult things’," he makes air quotes with his fingers. "Meanwhile Hyrule regularly overextends himself, but he’s got one of the best senses of when to cut and run, so he’s better about tolerating the fretting and gets hurt less frequently than, say, the Champion. And Legend gets out of most of it by being an asshole." A pause. "Though even he has the good manners to thank someone who saved him, however roundabout the Vet might be about it."

The boy looks nearly contemplative, under the stubborn mulishness. Four lets the silence sit for a minute. Then, lightly, he tacks on, “Though if you’re trying to pull a Legend to get out of being fussed over, I should warn you: that ship has long sailed for you.”

Phantom stares at him with that fantastic pissy face he makes sometimes. “Was that a boat joke,” he deadpans. Four grins at him, quick and impish, and the boy rewards him with a groan. "The sailor puns are getting really old."

"You're not the one who gets to decide that," Four giggles. Then, "Feeling better? Ready to face the music?"

"Absolutely not." But the kid climbs out of the tree anyway, no threats or violence necessary. Four will count it as a win.

~o0o~

Back at camp, Phantom marches up to Time. With everyone else not-so-discretely looking on, he makes a show of leaving his sword out of easy reach and points at the ground.

“Sit,” he orders, as though the armored hero were a very large dog.

Time stares down at him. “If you mean to hit me again, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline,” he says wryly. Phantom scowls.

“Sit, you big lug. I know a spell for that arm of yours, and I’m not doing it with you standing over me. You’re too tall.”

Time lowers himself to the ground obligingly, even as he prods, “A spell, hmm? What exactly does it do?”

Phantom, somewhat alarmingly, snaps his fangs over his fingertips hard enough to draw blood. “It’s not quite a healing spell, but it’ll get rid of that shiner I gave you, and probably patch up your arm too. Gonna use your magic to do it, though.” He lifts bloody fingers to his own face, dabbing marks on his skin with a hesitance that speaks of relying on borrowed memories, before pausing. “Close your eyes, old man. I’m not teaching you this spell, you’re an idiot who’ll misuse it.”

“So pushy today.” Time closes his one eye, reluctant but confident that the others will stop the boy from attacking him if it comes down to it. “I don’t see what the problem is. It sounds useful; it’d be good to take some of the burden of healing off Hyrule.”

“You would think that,” the boy huffs, right before wet fingers brush at his cheek. Time twitches away with a faint grimace.

“Are you bleeding on me now,” he asks, plaintive. Phantom huffs.

“Don’t be a baby; it’ll flake right off. Quit moving.”

The man exhales slowly, obviously uncomfortable. But despite his suspicions and reservations, Time doesn’t move and he doesn’t ask. He merely lets the boy do as likes, lets him keep his secrets. This, Phantom knows, is Time’s own kind of apology.

He’s not above taking advantage of that.

The former villain dots a final smear under the hero’s eye, then immediately presses his wide sleeve over his work, obscuring the design from the curious eyes of their audience.

“I’m starting it now,” he warns.

Time feels a tug on his magic—much smaller than he was expecting. A song on his Ocarina might cost him the same amount. The pain in his eye and then his arm ebbs away, pulled somewhere by the spell, and the dampness on his face ashes off right off, as promised. Time raises a hand to scratch at the lingering itch even as he opens his eyes.

“I still don’t see why-” he begins. Stops.

Phantom turns away swiftly, but the boy is standing too close to hope to hide the bruising on his face. Bruising he did not have before.

Time seizes the boy by the arm before he can flee. He drops that arm just as quickly when Phantom yelps in pain, registering too late that it’s the same arm Time himself had just had broken—had just had healed.

“What have you done,” he hears himself ask, even though he already knows.

Phantom rocks back on his heels, trying for nonchalance and failing badly at it. “This isn’t something I plan to do often,” he huffs, refusing to look Time—or anyone—in the eye. Time clenches his jaw hard enough for his teeth to creak. “You can suffer from your own mistakes. But if you’re gonna take a blow meant for me, again-”

“This isn’t happening again,” Time cuts in, cold down to his bones. He needs to nip this in the bud, right now, or it'll only get worse as their battles grow harsher. “I forbid it.”

Phantom gets a mulish look on his face. Time feels his horror mount as the younger hero growls, “Just try and stop me.”

Time grabs the kid by the shoulder—the uninjured one this time. What does he need to do to make the boy see sense? “Do not use that spell again, Phantom.”

“Let go of me,” Phantom snarls, futilely trying to claw his way out of the older man’s grip. Unfortunately, Time doesn’t think he could make his own fingers loosen if he tried. “You’re such a fucking hypocrite. Don't pretend you wouldn't do the exact same thing if literally anyone got so much as a scratch on them."

"That's-" different, he almost says, but he recognizes that it would be exactly the wrong thing to say right now. He deflates ever so slightly, just enough for Phantom to rip himself free and start rubbing at his arm, shaking faintly. A distant part of himself remembers the boy's issues with touch guiltily. "What made you think that was remotely acceptable? Why do you even know a spell like that?" He demands, side-stepping the accusation with what little grace he can scrounge up in his rattled state.

In his own display of blatantly dodging around a topic, Phantom looks away and snaps, "Gee, I wonder why Ganondorf would possibly know a spell that let him pass off wounds to hapless victims. Such a mystery for the ages."

The silence is deafening. Too late, Phantom snaps his mouth shut, realizing he's said too much.

"Are you saying you used a fucking torture spell on yourself-" someone begins.

"Why in the world would you even-?"

"Are you actually out of your mind-!?"

"When I said 'thank him' this is not what I meant-!"

"We're not all this bad, are we? It's just the two of them?" Warriors groans loudly, looking pained. At his words, Twilight whips around just in time to catch sight of the terrifyingly thoughtful look on Wild's face.

"Cub, don't you even think about it-!"

"ENOUGH!"

The bellow comes from, surprisingly, Hyrule. The boy scowls at them all disapprovingly.

"Wild, dinner's burning," he starts, very evenly. The aforementioned hero takes the chance to duck his mentor's fretful clutches, scampering over to the fire.

"Phantom, congratulations, your arm's broken," the wandering hero continues, voice more than dry enough to make up for his homeland's lack of a Gerudo desert. "That means I'll be working on you instead of our leader. Do not-" he interrupts preemptively, jabbing a finger forward and speaking over the boy's attempts to protest. "Just. Don't. We're out of potions, and that means I look over everyone that gets hurt. I'd be looking at that arm if you'd gotten your injury naturally. I'd be looking over Time right now if you'd been a bit less hasty with your ritual. And I think we'd all prefer it if you didn't use that spell again, or teach anyone how to do it."

A glance around the clearing reveals a show of nods, no one disputing Hyrule's words.

Phantom tries to cross his arms before dropping them with a wince. "You can't actually stop me," he sulks at them all. The pout really brings out the bruising on his face.

"It would be hard to, yeah," Sky agrees, soothing. "But it should be fine if there's no need for you to use it, right? Because Time," he shoots a Look at their stoic leader, "isn't going to do something reckless like throw himself in front of a monster with no shield again, right?"

Time grimaces faintly. "I'll try," he promises, which—from the looks on his companions' faces—isn't nearly good enough. But they all recognize that it's entirely honest, and the best they're going to get out of him tonight.

So ends the incident; they let the matter lie there, awkward and ignorable, and move onward with their evening.

OMAKE:

Phantom corners Twilight during his watch shift.

"Tell me you have blackmail on that idiot," he hisses. His request comes out like an order.

There's no need for their youngest to clarify who he means. The rancher pats the kid on the head, just once, like he thinks Phantom's cute but also knows he bites. "I'm not giving you blackmail on Time," he replies cheerfully. The younger hero has far too much influence on the man already. "You'll use it for evil, which I'm afraid goes against my personal code of honor. So sorry."

Phantom narrows his eyes, letting the needling slide entirely. "So you do have dirt on him," he divines.

Twilight rolls his eyes. "Leave him alone, brat. Do we need to have this talk again? Quit tormenting him."

"I'm not. Blackmailing him into self-care will only be good for him, promise."

"You can't honestly think that'll work." A pause. "Or that we haven't tried it already. It doesn't work."

"Bet you I could do it." Phantom's eyes have that disturbingly obsessive gleam in them again. "Bet you I've thought of something you haven't."

"Uh huh. And what would that be."

"All have to do is threaten to snitch on him." The boy's grin widens mischievously. "To you."

"..."

"Come on, think of it," the sailor wheedles. "He hates you fusing over him. It's why you never give me those don't-touch-my-almost-dad talks while he's still in earshot, yeah?"

Twilight's face does a funny little twitch.

"I know it, you know it, and I'd bet good money the others know it too," Phantom presses on. "How much more self-preservation do you think we could squeeze out of him if we pretend that the alternative is me giving you more reasons to shoot him worried looks all day and do that hovering thing you like to do?"

The older hero appears to consider this seriously for a long, long moment. Phantom leans in, eyes wide and imploring.

"...Nope. Still not telling you anything." Twilight tries to keep his face stern, even as a traitorous twitch pulls at the corner of his mouth. "You're not going to trick free blackmail out of me that easily."

The boy deflates. "Screw you," he grumbles. "It would've worked. I know it would've worked."

Twilight ruffles the grumpy kid's hair. "It was a nice try," he offers, and accepts the kick to the knee he gets in return as his due.

(In his bedroll across the clearing, pretending to be asleep, Time feels something tight and anxious in his chest finally begin to relax. He's nearly giddy with the sheer relief of his epiphany.

That's how he'll keep Phantom from pulling stunts this stupid again. Tell Tetra.)

#Vinked Universe #my writing #linked universe #fanfic #Phantom: 'your opinion means nothing to me' #Phantom internally: shit he saw me fumble mid-battle what if he thinks I'm incompetent? damn it Link get it together #the unedited v!wind fic #anon

[lesetoilesfous]

i feel like "anger born of worry" is CLASSIC fenders, but i'm also 👀 at "impaled palm"

Ok, I tried my hand at doing both (haha) and I really hope you like it! If this wasn't what you were imagining, let me know and I'll try again!!

@badthingshappenbingo

Fandom: Dragon Age 2

Prompt: Impaled Palm, Anger Born of Worry

Pairing: Fenders

Characters: Fenris, Anders, evil/red Garrett Hawke, Isabela

Warnings: Sexual Assault, Attempted Rape, Torture, Mutilation, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Implied Domestic Abuse, Implied Sexual Abuse

Additional Tags: Red Hawke and Anders have been in a 'relationship' for a while, Fenris finds out exactly how fucked up it is, please mind the tags, hurt/comfort, angst with a bittersweet ending

Fenris hadn’t actually wanted to go back. Hawke had told them all to leave that morning, making no effort to hide the hungry way he was staring at his apostate lover. Fenris had been glad of the excuse, and he and Isabela had enjoyed a companionable few hours trekking back up the Wounded Coast, discussing her various adventures. They were in sight of the high bright walls of Kirkwall when Fenris realised he didn’t have A Slave's Life. He and Isabela had taken a moment before the always-exhausting climb back up the steps into the city proper, and Fenris had wanted to take the opportunity to do a little reading. But the book wasn’t there. With an anxious lurch of his stomach, he’d realised he must have left it back at camp - where Hawke and Anders were...exploring each other. Grimacing, Fenris had told Isabela he’d needed to go back. She’d offered to accompany him, but Fenris had assured her that if he could make it across southern Thedas on his escape from Tevinter half-starved and unable to speak the language, he could handle a few raiders on the Wounded Coast. Besides, he knew how desperately she was longing to see her own mage again, and as much as her intimacy with a blood mage discomfited him, he also found that he was reluctant to separate them.

By the time Fenris got back to their camp, the sun was high in the sky and the sea was crashing in white peaked waves against the shore with a light breeze. He’d found his book in short order, buried beneath a pile of rust red blankets by one of the tents. The leather cover was soft and warm beneath his fingers, and the weight of it released the stress that had been building in his chest ever since he thought he’d lost it. Fenris had been planning to simply turn back to Kirkwall, not interested in announcing his presence to the happy couple, mouth already unpleasantly thick with the smell of sex.

But then Anders had screamed.

The sound was short, strangled and bitten off abruptly. Fenris thinks he might not even have heard it, if the wind had been passing in a different direction, or the waves had been a little louder. But he did. And Fenris had spent seven years protecting this man’s life, and having his own protected in turn. So he dropped into a crouch and crept towards the sound.

*

Fenris’ first thought is that it’s raiders - that feels like the most obvious explanation. It’s difficult to walk quietly on the sand dunes, but Fenris had had no shortage of practice silencing his steps in Tevinter, and now his toes sink soundlessly into the hot sand. When he lifts his head over the dune, long reeds scratching at his skin, sword propped lightly against the sand, it takes Fenris several moments to decipher the image in front of him.

Anders is half-dressed. This much, Fenris had expected. His pants are a twisted mess of fabric around his calves, and his shirt is unlaced and loose, riding up his belly - which for all Hawke’s insistent feeding is still terribly thin. His hair is a mess in the sand, tangled and crusted with muck.

But there are no raiders.

What Fenris hadn’t expected was Hawke, fully clothed, face dark with a hunger Fenris had only ever seen on the battlefield. As Fenris watches, blood roaring in his ears, Hawke leans down and bites Anders’ neck. Anders keens, writhing weakly beneath the shorter, stronger man - much more weakly than Fenris expects. He wants to believe that this is playfighting, some kind of roleplay, the likes of which Isabela extolls in her frequent trips to The Blooming Rose.

But this flickering candle of hope is doused, abruptly, when Fenris tears his eyes away from where Hawke is mauling Anders’ neck and sees Anders’ hand, skewered with one of Hawke’s knives. The dagger has been driven straight through his palm into the sand, and his greying skin is covered in black drying blood, as if it’s been there a long time. Occasionally, as Hawke moves over him, tugging at his clothes, his fingers twitch convulsively.

At one point, Hawke’s hand moves beneath Anders’ waistband, and Anders’ struggling increases, suddenly, and Hawke reaches over and grabs the hilt of the dagger in Anders’ palm and twists it. Anders’ screams, again, and again the sound is cut off as Hawke leans down to kiss him, groping him with one hand whilst he tortures him with the other.

Then Fenris is running over the top of the sand dune, sword held high.

Afterwards, Fenris isn’t sure whether he should have killed Hawke. In the moment, it doesn’t feel like he has any choice. He kicks Hawke away from Anders’ bruised, bleeding body, and swings his sword like a batter hitting a ball. Hawke’s head detaches from his shoulders and bounces, briefly, on the sand as his body topples into the wet stand. Fenris stands there, staring at the man who had been his friend and ally for seven years. His arms hold the sword suspended in the air at the end of the movement, as if he had been merely following the familiar steps of a routine. But the blade drips blood onto the sand, and eventually the heat and the wind bring Fenris back into himself.

He hears Anders, choking on sobs behind him, and he drops his blade - not thinking about the coming tide. Anders is sitting, having tried to gather up his ruined pants around his waist. He’s trying to pull the blade out of his palm. Fenris stares at him - tries not to see the stains on his clothes, the bruises on his neck and collarbone and chest, tries not to notice the ways in which he’s exposed. “Use your magic.”

Anders laughs, and it breaks into a sob on the way out of his mouth. “No shit, Fenris. I can’t.” He sobs again, and pulls the dagger out of his hand with a shout, collapsing back into the sand, where he lies on his back, dropping the knife into the dirt like its venomous. For a long moment, he lies on his back, staring up at the sky, hand limp and greying, blood running down the beach toward the sea and staining the sand red. “Magebane. He poisons - poisoned my food.”

Fenris stares, feeling the anger and grief and horror that had somehow, miraculously, failed to hit until now becoming a hurricane in his head. “How long.” Anders says nothing, and Fenris walks closer. “How long has he been doing this to you?”

Anders laughs again. His lips are swollen red and bruising, stained with the dark cherry stains of dried blood in places. His eyes are red rimmed and puffy, and there are long red marks fading up into bruises around his neck. “I don’t know. Since the beginning.”

Fenris thinks he isn’t angry at Anders. He thinks, probably, that he’s angry at himself. But he can’t seem to redirect the flood now it’s started, like a river that’s already falling through a broken dam. “And your demon?”

Anders’ brown eyes slide to look up at him, “Magebane cuts off my connection to him. Makes him...quiet, and weak. He figured that out early, too.”

Fenris grits his teeth, sweating fingers curling and uncurling in his gauntlets. The sea beats ceaselessly against the shore. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Anders squints at him. Fenris thinks he should be doing something: cleaning the cuts, or bandaging them, or doing something for the hand. But he’s caught like a fly in tree sap, unable to move whilst his mind tries to process the enormity of how the last few minutes recontextualise his life. “We’re not exactly friends, Fenris.”

“I would not have left you to this.” Fenris says the words with more heat than he means to, and Anders stares at him for a long, long moment, for once saying nothing.

Eventually, he swallows. “Well then.” Anders’ voice is weaker than usual when he speaks, and tremulous. He coughs, and starts again. “Ready for your first lesson in healing for normies?”

“Normies.” Fenris repeats, utterly wrongfooted by the sheer inanity of the man on his back in front of him.

Anders gives him a thin smile. “People without magic.” Fenris scowls, and Anders’ tight-lipped smile grows into a full-blown, crooked grin. “Lesson number one. If we don’t act soon I’m going to lose this hand. Might have lost it already. But we’ll burn that bridge when we come to it.”

#bad things happen bingo #dragon age 2 #fenders #my fic #anders da2 #fenris #potatowitch

[acahope311]

I Promise

A/N: Amari, Queen of Erebor and wife of Thorin Oakenshield, spends a day exploring the secret tunnels with their son, Arnel. But when a friendly and peaceful mother-son outing turns deadly in a heartbeat, can she keep her family and home safe? This is my first ever fic, so I hope you like enjoy it :) Also the lullabye I reference is “Hushabye Mountain” from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang

Warnings: blood, angst, tears

Words: 6547 (it’s a doozy)

I wanted to say thank you so much to everyone for taking the time to look at the story and reassuring, supporting, and hyping me up through the whole process! ^-^ 

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Deep in the heart of the Lonely Mountain, in the walls of a secret tunnel, the quiet calm was broken by childish giggles and squeaks. Amari, Queen of Erebor, and her son, Arnel, explored secret tunnels that snaked in and out of Erebor with excitement. Initially, Amari was reluctant to venture into such a dangerous expedition with her son, but even she could not stand against a cherub face framed with a hint of dark peach fuzz. Preparing for this outing, she decided to move her queenly duties aside and trade her gown for a borrowed tunic and trousers from her husband's wardrobe, her bladed tonfas sheathed in her hip holsters. Although still in their home, it was best to always be prepared when entering unknown areas of the mountain. 

"Amad, hurry!" the squeal of a child reverberated down the abandoned walls of an ancient tunnel that wound around the base of the Lonely Mountain. Amari smiled fondly at her son as he pulled at her hand, urging her to quicken her pace.

"Calm down, ibinê. We have all day, sweetheart. If you keep pulling, you'll run out of energy, then we'd need to return." The queen warned as she gently pulled the young prince into her arms. Whining, he tried to pull away from her grasp. 

"Maaaa, I'm not a baby, I'm almost seven! I'm a warrior!" Arnel scowled as he fended off his mother's affection, but failing as he too started to giggle at her kisses. 

"Of course, my warrior prince. Now let's just walk a bit further, then go and save your father from those boring councilmen, hm? I’m sure your sister is there too." She gently placed him down and ruffled his hair affectionately.

The dwarf prince was about to object, when suddenly a low growl came from his stomach. Embarrassed, Arnel looked down. "That wasn't me…"

Amari laughed heartily at his expense, further annoying the child prince. 

"S’ not funny!" He whined, stomping his tiny foot. Looking up indignantly at his mother, his ocean blue eyes flashed a storm. Although a Durin worthy scowl took place on his face, little tears formed in his eyes, threatening to fall from embarrassment. Amari held her laugh in as she picked up her son again and wiped them from his face.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. Of course it didn't come from you. Now, why don't we head back? I am getting a bit hungry…" Arnel took this opportunity to divert the blame to someone else; he stroked his non-existing beard mischievously and looked away for a moment.

So much like his father. She thought as she studied his face.

"Well if you are tired, it is only right for a warrior to keep the Queen safe and well fed. Right, Mama?" He asked, unsure but firm in his thinking. Amari nodded and put him down.

"Right you are! Spoken like a true prince. Now, let's head straight to the kitchen and make some pizza, then I'll tell you a story from my world while we cook. I think we will need to make a BIIIIG pizza for your father and sister. What do you say, kiddo?" Arnel perked up at that; he always loved hearing tales of your life before coming to Middle Earth. 

"Yes please! Can you tell me the story of your amad and namad? I like hearing that story." Reaching up to her, she picked him up and cradled him to her hip. 

"Of course, my-" 

Suddenly a rock tumbled across the flat ground towards them, as if kicked by an unseen being. Its sound echoing through the darkness making the hairs on Amari’s neck stand on end. Instinctively she hugged her son tighter to her chest. A menacing laugh surrounded them, thickening the air with fear and anxiety. 

"I'd like to hear that story too. Can I join you?" A deep, rasping voice came from the end of the tunnel, shattering the safe haven of mother and son. Amari turned protectively to the source. Stepping out of the shadows, a group of orcs emerged. 

Orcs?!?! Here in Erebor?! Adrenaline started to course through the woman's body. Looking more closely at the creatures, she realized these were not orcs. Uruk Hai. Amari's face paled at the realization. It was no wonder, though, she thought them to be orcs at first sight. However these creatures were taller, more muscular, and oozed evil- so much so that even the eternal torches that lined the tunnel cowered before them. She hadn't even realized that she started to back away until they moved forward menacingly. Stained with blood and hair, they gripped a black sword in one hand, and in the other… 

Oh no…

A large body was being dragged, no bigger than a dwarf. 

Frode… 

The young guard’s uniform was torn and tattered, soiled with dirt and blood. Amari had wondered where her assigned guard was that morning, but never in her life would she have anticipated this. Her flight or fight reaction kicked into fight mode, but in her arms, she could feel Arnel's shaking body, eyes brimming with fear and tears. Gently, but quickly, she brought her hand to shield his view of the carnage and threat looming over them.

"How did you get into our home? Get out!" She yelled with such fierceness that it startled both herself and Arnel. The leader chuckled maliciously before dropping the body with a sickening thud. 

"I don't think so. We like it here, you see. But even more so! Boys look, this isn't any human. The queen under the mountain has graced us with her presence." He sneered, his companions growling like a pride of lions, eyeing their prey. "And look… she brought a snack. How thoughtful your majesty." Amari tightened her hold on Arnel. Not breaking eye contact from the advancing Uruk hai, she spoke to her son softly and calmly in their secret language.

"Sweetheart. I need you to be brave. Can you do that for me?" Arnel looked at his mother, her brown eyes looking away from his, but he could see her panic. He had never seen his father, nor his mother afraid, but witnessing her fear, he let out a small whimper, but he knew that he had to be strong. Gulping audibly, he nodded. "Yes, mama." He whispered as bravely as he could.

"Thank you, my brave, brave warrior. Now, I need you to hold on tight, and hide your face to my neck. Don't look up, no matter what ok? It'll be like when we play peek-a-boo with adad. Remember? It'll be just like a game!" Amari says the last part as lightheartedly as she could, but a quiver in her voice betrayed her. She was terrified; under normal circumstances, the Queen would never back down from a fight, but with such precious cargo in her arms, she did the next best thing. She ran.

----------------------

How did they get in?! How the fuck did this happen?! 

Deep in the heart of the Lonely Mountain, the quiet calm was broken by the sounds of quick and light footsteps, rapidly outrunning the thundering and heavy footfalls of evil. 

Amari ran as fast as she could down the tunnel, retracing her steps to break out of this hellish nightmare turned reality and back into the safety of the open halls of Erebor. 

A little more! Mahal please! The queen begged the gods for the chance to escape. She could feel her son's quivering and whimpers, her shirt already wet from his silent sobs as he kept his head tucked into her neck. 

"Amad I'm scared! I want adad!" He whispered fiercely. Her heart breaks with every word. "I know ibinê. I'll get us back safely, I promise. But please, don't look up, keep your eyes down!" she begged between each hard breath she took, her lungs burning from running for what seemed to be an eternity. However she saw the familiar light of the main hall, where they entered. Yes! 

"Oh no you don't! It’s rude to abandon your guest, your majesty" the cruel voice raked down her back, but she didn't care. She just needed to get Arnel out. At whatever cost.

"MAMA LOOK OUT!" Arnel's shriek broke her concentration as she felt a sharp pain in the back of her thigh. Suddenly the ground came up to her face, instinctively she shielded Arnel with her body as they tumbled forward. Her arms held him close, however her body tumbled further and jostled on the floor, losing her grip on him, he rolled out of her arms and into the hall. Luckily, her training kicked in and she steadied herself and corrected her stance, pulling out her tonfas. Battle ready to defend her son and herself. The advancing Uruk hai halted in their tracks and grinned cruelly. 

"Tired your majesty?" They taunted, eliciting a menacing growl from her.

"On the contrary, scum, I have never felt more invigorated." She retorted. Her mind is running a million miles a second. She knew if she left with Arnel, the Uruk hai would follow them into the mountain, truly threatening the lives of innocents. However if she stayed, she and Arnel would never make it…

No… not Arnel. Not him. 

Calling to him, she yelled in their secret language.

"Sweetheart, are you ok?" Silence. "Arnel!" She barked. More silence, just as she was about to risk a glance, she heard his little sobs.

"I want adad… Amad I'm scared…" His quiet cries were starting to grow louder as he saw his mother’s leg pierced with a silver dagger, blood dripping and pooling at her heel. Amari took a deep breath to steady her nerves. It wouldn't do anyone any good if they were in hysterics. Without looking at him, she continued talking.

"Arnel, everything will be alright!! I promise, sweetheart...I need you to do something for me. I know you are tired and scared, my love, but I need you to run as fast as you can and get  adad-" 

"Mama-"

-He is in the room where he meets with the important people. Do you remember where, sweetheart?"

"Mama I don't wanna leave you! I'm scared- "

"I know." By now, Amari's tears fell freely down her face, but she made sure her fear and sadness would not reach her words. 

She could see them inching forward, growling and grinning at the prospect of hurting the Queen herself.

"I know you are afraid, ghivashel. I am too my love… but you need to be brave and bring adad here. And then everything will be alright. Can you do that, my brave warrior? C-can you do that for mama?" Arnel sat for a second, processing what she was asking him. She was asking him to leave her… and get help. The prince stood as tall as he could but he kept his eyes on his mother’s back; he could see her shoulders shake- he hesitated. And that was all that the enemy needed. 

In that second, a dagger flew to the face prince of Erebor.

------------------------------

"Adad! Look! Troll!" Darna squeaked as she held up the King's notes to his face, obscuring his line of sight to his councilmen. She could feel his chuckle rumbling through his chest as he took the piece from her small chubby hands. 

"Hmmm, who is this supposed to be ghivashel?" He inquired, tilting his head to the side as he studied it with such scrutiny, you'd think he was looking to buy it with a whole bag of gold. Darna mirrored her father's expression and stroked her non existent beard. 

"Its Unca Dain!" She proclaimed. The King's booming laugh echoed through the room, pausing the meeting and aggravating the council. The dwarf in question strode into the room and stood next to them, looking at the picture, then nodded.

"Not bad lass, I guess you take after yer amad." Placing two glass chalices on the table that glittered and cast beautiful shapes light that captivated the princess. Thorin took them and gave Darna hers before turning his attention back to the meeting, drinking his ale. Darna, looking up in awe at her father as he chugged the liquid down in one go, tried to mimic him and did the same with her milk, only to start coughing. Her coughing fit halted the meeting once again and Thorin gently patted her back.

“It went up my nose adad…” She whined, pushing her glass away. Thorin wiped her tears and milk on his sleeve, staining his royal robes. 

“That’s why we do not rush when drinking, men uzbadnâtha.” Taking a handkerchief from his pocket- a parting gift from Bilbo- to clean up her mess. Fili smiled at the sight, never would he have thought that his uncle, Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, would be a doting father- wrapped around a little girl’s finger like a ring- then again even he could not be spared from the princess’ charms, nor her brother’s. Kili frowned, as he noted the queen’s empty seat thirty minutes into the meeting. 

“Uncle, where is auntie?” He inquired. 

“Your auntie took a break to spend time with Arnel, something about exploring.” Thorin, without breaking from his fatherly task, answered. Worried glances were thrown across the table, the silence made him look up. “What?”

Balin cleared his throat and looked nervously at him. “Laddie, there have been some reports of our people going missing in the mountain. I thought you told her?” 

“I did, and I assigned Frode to be her guard.” Thorin replied. Dwalin- who had not been paying attention to the meeting- suddenly sat up. “Thorin, Frode has been missing since last night.” 

A chill ran down his back as his mind ran a mile a minute thinking of the worst scenarios that could happen to them. Fili and Kili stood, knowing how their uncle’s mind worked, and headed to the door.

“Do not worry uncle. We will look for them and make sure they are safe” Fili reassured.

“Not that she’ll need it- You know how auntie is with her tonfas. Mahal help the assailant! Remember when the assassin at their wedding tried to- ” the dark haired prince’s conversation was cut short by the heavy door being thrown open, banging against the stone walls. The sound startled everyone in the room- Darna nearly fell off her father’s lap. In turn, the King stood- holding his daughter protectively against his chest- and angrily turned to the door.

“What in Durin’s name-” He stopped, staring in horror as the image of his six year old son, blood dripping down his face from a cut, breathlessly gripped the door. 

"ADAD! ADAD HELP!" His shrieks echoed in the room as he tried to rush further into the room to the safety of his father, but fell onto the floor, breathless. Fili bent down to catch him as the little prince’s legs gave way. Blood stained the golden dwarf’s hands as he tried to look for other injuries. Gently putting Darna down, Thorin rushed to his son. 

“Inùdoy! What happened?! Who did this!” He howled, causing Darna to whimper. 

“Adad…” The little girl walked slowly to her brother and father, fearful of her brother’s situation. 

“Do not move! Stay there... sweetheart!” He yelled, making her sob softly. Kili saw her distress and went to comfort her. “Uncle please…” But it fell on deaf ears as Thorin tended to Arnel.

The young prince gasped for air as he tried to stand again. Everyone stared in horror at the child prince- disheveled, bleeding. 

"AMAD! FIGHTING MONSTERS IN THE GWEAT HALL! ADAD PLEASE SAVE MAMA! MONSTERS COMING!" Arnel gasped as he stood up, only to collapse in on himself. He hated how he looked right now, he needed to be brave. He promised amad. Looking, pleading with his father. Without thinking Thorin ran out the room, flanked by his nephews. The company who attended the meeting raced after him. Except for one; Bofur stopped mid stride, grabbed the prince and placed him in the arms of Balin. 

"Keep the lad company, we'll be back.” Bofur ordered before swiveling on his heel and running out the room. The walls rumbled from the heavy footsteps of a Company of dwarves running down the hall. The dwarves’ protective instinct drove them to run to the Queen’s side but Thorin’s mind set on one task: Save his One.

Unbeknownst to him, two pairs of little feet followed the men, just as determined to save their mother, the Queen.

---------------------------

"Hurry up Arny!" Darna squeaked as she tried to keep a safe distance from the group of dwarrows running to their mother's aid. Her brother wheezed as he tried to keep up.

"Darny, I cant… my legs hurt so much! My chest is hurting!" The young prince whined, slowing to a halt and falling on his hands and knees. Darna stopped and worriedly toddled back to her twin. As she got closer, she was finally able to get a good look at him; his hair was sticking up in different directions and his braids, always so neat and in place, were falling out of its plait. What really scared her, however, was his cut; even though she knew it was shallow, the gash would scar and leave him and his family a lasting memory of today. The weight of the danger weighed heavily on the young princess, the reality that she could have lost her beloved brother shook her to her core. Darna kneeled next to him and gently placed her hand on his sweat soaked shoulder. 

"Nadad… are you ok?" 

Arnel looked at his sister's face but quickly turned away in shame; although young, they were told often that they were the spitting image of their parents- and it wasn't until he looked at his sister's face did he believe them- for he saw their mother's scared face in hers. Arnel looked down in shame.

"Namad… I'm so sorry." He whispered, watching as his tears fell onto the stone floor. Each drop seemed to weigh a ton and echo through the hall. Arnel hated feeling like this; he felt weak. He couldn't protect his mother, he can barely keep up with his sister. "I couldn't help amad." He hiccups as his crying increases. Darna hugged her brother tightly, her own tears cascading down her chubby cheeks. "And she could be dead. Mama… mama she told me to run and get help. I couldn't do anything else." Darna rubbed his back, starting to hiccup herself. "I'm weak, Darny…" 

"Nadad, you're not! You're able to get adad! You're hurt, but you still did it! You're so b-brave, brother. I bet even braver unca Dwalin.” Darna pulled back and watched his hunched figure shaking. 

“ Were they orcs? Were they like how adad said they were in the stories?” Darna couldn’t help but ask- little did she know the loaded question she’d just asked. A heavy silence descended on the children as memories of the recent events flashed through Arnel’s mind- huge creatures with eyes as dark as night, hands and skin stained red, gnashing mouths with sharpened teeth… their strong and lithe mother taking on the menacing evil with shaking shoulders that he knew she tried to control for his sake. A sudden wave of bravery and adrenaline washed over the young prince. Standing up, he stumbled a bit before Darna could steady him. Looking at his face, she notices the shift in his resolve- looking more like their father during his meetings on topics of war. 

“We need to go help mama, Darny.”

“But you’re hurt! We need to go back, I’m sorry I made us leave but-”

“No, you don’t understand namad. Mama is very hurt and we have to help her and adad!” His blue eyes flashing like an ocean storm. 

“Will you follow me, sister?” Darna couldn’t help but be moved by his determination. Returning his intense gaze, she nodded.

“Anywhere you go, I’ll follow, brother.” Hand in hand, they ran down the hall to their parents.

---------------------------

The mountain thundered as news of the danger spread like wildfire. Every available dwarrow dropped their task and took arms to defend their home and beloved queen- for although she was no dwarf, let alone from Middle Earth, she had been blessed by their Maker to bring hope and happiness to her people. She cared for them as though they were her kin. Amari could feel a shift in the air, as though someone opened a window to let fresh air into a stuffy room, but she could not be distracted- not when she was fighting for her life. 

Left. Right. Parry. Dodge. Repeat. 

Is Arnel alright… 

Please hurry Thorin! Fucking King under the mountain my ass! I always have to clean up the mess here! 

Amari’s mind jumped from indignation, anger, annoyance, worry, then ran her mind back to her training as she took on a mini legion of Uruk hai. Her tonfas cutting a path slowly but surely through her enemy. Her mind set on making sure none would make it through the threshold of her home- she is Queen under the Mountain, born in a modern world, a mother to two blessings of Mahal, wife of Thorin Oakenshield- if she could not defend her home and family, then the burden would fall on others and she would have failed. So lost in thought, she failed to register a pair of assailants and landed deep wounds on her back, raking down from shoulder to hips. Her pained scream echoed through the hall, suddenly she felt cold air hit her bare back as the uneasy feeling of warm scarlet liquid trickled down. Nonetheless, she persisted. Pushing back even harder, one by one they fell to her attacks until there were only two. 

“Tired your majesty? You seem to have left quite a mess in your wake.” One of the beasts taunted. Her enemy cracked his whip dangerously close to her. Dodging it, she failed to realize the feint and dove straight into the path of his waiting ally. Amari stared in horror at her mistake and did her best to regain her footing to dodge once again, but was ultimately unsuccessful. The uruk hai brought down his blade across her torso, slicing her chest open. At first, Amari thought it was the end, but upon second thought she realized her three doublet undergarments saved her life. 

Thank freaking Mahal! I knew it was a good idea to wear these!

Taking advantage of her enemy’s false victory, she took her tonfas and cut his head off, watching as it rolled to the side. Breathless, she turned to the last one standing- his face bared the anger and hatred that was unleashed upon her new world.

“Tired already?” She taunted, throwing his words back at him. The queen slowly slunk into a dangerous prowel. She exuded grace and ferocity, elegance and power. No longer was she prey, she was the predator. This was her territory and he was her victim. Quick as lightning, Amari lunged. Her eyes set for her target, no hesitation. One slice was all it took for her to incapacitate the beast. The uruk hai was wailing in pain on the ground helpless, however she did not kill him- one thing Dwalin taught her was to always keep one alive for questioning. As the monster lay on the ground bleeding, his wails subsided to malicious cackling. Amari’s fury flared again.

“What’s so funny? Does death seem like a joke to you?” She grit through clenched teeth as she painfully approached the helpless form- every step like a burning wave through her body. Her injuries finally catching up with her as the adrenaline subsided. She knew she had a little over an hour to get help before it would be fatal. The uruk hai seemed to know this too, noting her pale face and scarlet pool gathering at her feet.

“You don’t look too well, your majesty” he taunted, another cackle followed by a coughing fit echoed through the hall. “I suppose there is some prize to this whole ordeal. If I am going down, I made sure you are coming down with me, foreign queen.” With every word spoken from the vile creature’s mouth, Amari’s blood boiled another degree. “It’s just a shame we couldn’t take the half-breed down. But we will. And your husband will be none the wiser.” 

“Wanna bet.” a booming baritone voice echoed down the hall as the dwarf King descended on the evil creature- maiming him with his bare hands. After a moment, a group of dwarves pulled the king back.

“Let me go! That scum deserves to die!” Thorin roared as he fought off his kin. Dwalin pulled him back, fury raging in his eyes.

“Thorin, I know. But we need to interrogate him for information. You know this.” Dwalin growled so low, it surprised even himself. Shoving off the hands pulling him back, Thorin had no choice but to agree. Nodding, he turned to his friend. “Make sure he suffers.” 

A thud to his right brought his attention to Amari, laying on her side, facing them. Thorin’s blood ran cold as he swiftly gathered his beloved carefully into his arms. He noticed the gash on her torso but felt the wounds on her back to know that those were the worst.

“Amralime, I am here. You’ll be alright.” He softly reassured his queen. Amari’s eyes started to close, worrying the King. “SOMEBODY BRING A HEALER HERE NOW!” Thorin ordered. “Look at me, Amari. Keep those eyes open…” He begged. “You cannot leave us, my love… you cannot leave ME.” He shook her gently, making sure that she stayed awake. Amari fought with every ounce of strength she had to keep her eyes open, not because she knew she was going to be alright. But to make sure to burn into her memory the face of her most beloved. If this was to be last view, she was glad it was her husband. The thought calmed her enough to smile. Reaching up, she pushed his hair behind his ear, before caressing his cheek.

“If you keep frowning, you’ll get wrinkles, your majesty,” she teased. Even in her weakest moments, she lived to see her loved ones smile. Managing to pull a brief and soft chuckle from the distraught king.

“Thorin, Frode… he’s dead. He- in the tunnel. The Uruk hai-”

“Shhhhh. Ghivashel, please. We can look into this later but right now, we need to get you to Oin.” Thorin began to pull her up, only to stumble when she yelped in pain. His knees buckled at her pained voice

"It hurts so much, love" Amari whispered. Every word is a knife to her husband's heart. 

"I know, my love I know." Thorin kissed her forehead and brought her closer, ignoring the warm wetness staining his sleeve. "But Oin will be here, and you'll be fine. Everything will be fine, ghivashel so please…" the king's voice broke. Trying to keep face, he took a deep, shaky breath. Amari could see his resolve break. She'd only ever seen her King let his walls down in their chambers. Her heart broke at the first tear that fell from his ocean blue eyes. Amari wiped it away, smiling. 

"Don't cry, my love." Thorin leaned into her touch, "Oh Amari..." Another tear. "Please, just a little while longer, ibinê. Talk to me, my love… Don't leave me." Thorin begged, and he didn't care. He didn't care that his royal garment was being stained red. He didn't care that his eyes watered his lover's face with tears. He didn't give a damn when his body shook with grief and he whispered soft prayers to his Maker to save his One. 

"My love, our people are here… you need to be strong.” She whispered, gently stroking his bearded cheek. Thorin in turn leaned into her touch. “If not for me, kurduwe, then stay strong for Darna and Arnel.” The names of their children brought a minute wave of strength.

“Arnel…” Amari gripped his coat tightly. “Did he-” 

“Mama?” two tiny soft voices rang through the halls, like bells in a steeple. 

----------------------

It was my fault.

Arnel looked at the small figure in their father’s arms. Frozen in place, as Darna sprinted to them. 

“MAMA! MAMA! DON’T GO! DON’T LEAVE ME PLEASE!” Falling on her knees and vigorously shaking her mother’s arm. Amari turned her head and moved her hand to caress her daughter’s face. 

“Darling, I didn’t pick your clothes today but you look so pretty.” Amari noted, smiling warmly. She was determined to make sure that she showed no pain or sadness to her cherished treasures. 

Darna looked down, a tiny flicker of pride flashed within. She always worked hard to get praises from her parents, even for the smallest task like closing the door to keep the draft out. She smiled and tugged on her garments. 

“I… I picked it myself, amad...But I don’t- I don’t wanna pick my clothes anymore, so- so you have to pick them for me forever, amad. And you promised we would go out again next time, and you said princess and queens don’t break promises.” The princess of Erebor weeps as she wraps her little pinky finger around her mother’s pinky, her fragile voice breaking every heart in the hall. “Mama you promised- you pinky swore.” She whispers, giving up and curling into her side. The whole time, Thorin tries to keep his tears at bay, keeping a mask of hopefulness and stoicness but failing as each tear drop trails down his aged face, the facade is breaking. Amari chuckles

“I did, didn’t I…” Frowning, she moves her head slightly- hissing. 

“Amari.”

“Mama no…”

“Where’s your brother?” Arnel, still as a statue, flinches. Thorin’s blue gaze reaches his own. Arnel has never seen his father so broken- he always saw him like the statues of his forefathers: grand, big, immovable, majestic. But here… Arnel saw a scared and heart broken dwarf. 

“Come, inùdoy.” To the ears of those around, it sounded just like any command the dwarven king would give. To the ears of his closest friends and family… it was the plea of a broken husband. Slowly, the young prince walked to his family. The hall was silent except for the sound of his little shuffling feet and the quiet whimpers of their kin. When Arnel reaches his mother’s side, he breaks. Falling to his knees, he places his head tucked in his arms on her belly, weeps heavy tears and wails. The cry shakes the halls that even the mountain itself seems to weep with the prince, not soon after the wails of his sister follows, amplifying the pain of the inevitable possibility that the Lonely Mountain could lose a queen, that a husband could lose his wife, that two little children could lose their mother.

“I’m sorry… amad, I'm so sorry…” a hiccup. “I should’ve been stronger. I should’ve fought with you. I should’ve protected you.” Arnel grips his mother’s clothing. “I promise I’ll get stronger but- but you have to help me, amad...I don’t wanna be weak anymore. So promise you will help me mama… A queen keeps her promises- so you have to mama!” The prince raises his little finger and wraps it around his mother’s finger. Amari is quiet. She knows what they’re doing, trying to buy time for her. As much as they can. 

Little rascals. She smiles.

“Mama…” Darna pulls her attention back to them. A soft chuckle escapes her. Thorin can see she's trying- holding on as long as she can. But even she has limits, just as he does, and right now his heart is pushing past its own to make sure to be strong for their children.

“I promise sweetheart. When I’m… better, we can train together. After, your sister and I go to Dale. Do we have a deal, my lovelies?” She shifts so that now she is leaning on her husband's strong arms- trembling arms. Not from tiredness of holding the weight of his family- Mahal knows he will hold that weight forever in his arms if could. No, they trembled from sadness and fear. Amari gathers her son and daughter in her arms, inwardly wincing at the pain, but Thorin feels her flinch.

“Kurduwe, don’t overexert yourself.” He warns, readjusting his hold. Amari ignores his warning and starts to sway a little.

“My loves, I will be fine… I did say I will be with you, no?” She asks playfully, the two whimpers and grip their mother’s clothing, placing their head onto her torso- ignoring the moist feeling on their cheeks that they know aren't their tears. Thorin embraces his queen tightly and sways along with her, he turns his head and pushes his nose into her hair- inhaling her scent. Turning to the group, he sees the Company in tears, all their heads slightly bowed, giving the family the privacy they need. Only Balin is holding his head high- taking in the sight of the Queen Under the Mountain caring for her husband and children, and sending fervent silent prayers to Mahal, to Manwe, to any of the Valar to hear the plea of an old dwarf to save this woman beloved by dwarf, man, and elf.

Amari hums a quiet lullaby that calms the room, Arnel and Darna’s cries have quieted and only the uneven breathing of sorrowed children escapes their mouths. Minutes go by and they yawn. 

“Sleep my darlings.” Amari whispers, her voice weak and light. The twins shake their heads, they do not want to lose a second without their mother.

“M’not sleepy.”

“Me too.”

Another yawn spills from them. Darna’s eyelids begin to droop as her mother strokes her hair

“How about a lullaby then?” Amari moves so both children are safe within her and their father’s arms.

“Don’t wanna sleep… Don’t wanna lose you mama.” Arnel whimpers, another bout of crying threatening to envelop him. At that comment, Darna’s little chubby hands grip Amari's clothing.

“You won’t lose me, sweetheart. I’ll be here, I promise.” Thorin exhales sharply, his heart breaks at her promise; he knows that even though she is answering their son, she is also reassuring him. 

“Promise, you’ll be here when we wake up…?” Darna asks, her eyes closed and Arnel close to follow. 

Silence.

“I promise, I will be with you when you wake…” Thorin grips his wife tighter- the implication heavy on his heart.

“Adad you too? You’ll be here too?” Arnel asks sleepily. Thorin nods.

“Yes, ibine, I will always be here with you.” A promise verbally etches into the walls of his mountain. I will always be with you. I promise. Amari sniffles, moving so her hand is cradling Arnel, and the other arm moves and caresses the back of Thorin’s neck to bring his forehead to her’s.

“I promise, I will be here when you wake.” She promises again to her king. Closing their eyes, Amari sings.

“A gentle breeze from Hushabye Mountain

Softly blows over Lullaby Bay,

It fills the sails of boats that are waiting,

Waiting to sail your worries away.

It isn't far to Hushabye Mountain,

And your boat waits down by the quay.

The winds of night sdo softly are sighing,

Soon they will fly your troubles to sea.

So close your eyes on Hushabye Mountain,

Wave goodbye to cares of the day,

And watch your boat from Hushabye Mountain

Sail far away from Lullaby Bay.”

A heavy silence falls. Thorin opens his eyes and sees his children softly snoring, looking up he looks at his queen.

“Amari..” he shakes her gently. “Amari!” His voice makes Darna shift. 

“Mama…” she whispers in her sleep. Arnel is gripping his mother’s ripped tunic tightly in one hand, while his other is to his face as he is sucking his thumb in comfort. Amari doesn’t move, nor does she open her eyes, her breathing is shallow and weak, her face pale, but her grasp on their children does not falter or weaken. 

“Mahal please…” Thorin begs. “Anything, please… just save her.” The king quietly sobs into his lover’s hair. He opens his deep blue eyes and pleads to the surrounding dwarrows. In the distance, he sees two tall men walking toward the group quickly. The crowd parts and rushing to their side, Gandalf the Grey and Thranduil, king of Mirkwood, urgently looks at the queen. 

“Thranduil, take the twins. I need to look at Amari.” Gandalf orders, immediately, the elven king reaches out to the children. Thorin growls and pulls his family closer to his chest, his eyes glaring at the elf. The wizard heaved an exasperated sigh at the gesture.

“Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves! Thorin if you do not give them to Thranduil, I cannot see Amari, and she will die.” Begrudgingly, he loosens his grip and Thranduil carefully cradles the small bundles in his arms- a peaceful tenderness befalls the face of the elven king, reminiscent of when his own son was at this tender age. 

Gandalf’s hand hovers over the small frame of the queen, when he comes back to her face, he whisper’s a spell. Thorin watches the mage with bated breath, praying that he can save his beloved. After the incantation, Amari gasps a heavy breath, but her eyes stay close. Thorin had witnessed his life saving magic, he himself experienced it during the quest for his home, but never had he seen the victim not open their eyes. He started to panic again.

“Gandalf-” 

“She needs urgent help. Thranduil-” 

“Say no more, Mithrandir.” The elvish king gently deposits the twins into the gray wizard’s arms. Then tenderly, he lifts the wounded queen into his arms and without another word, turns on his heel and strides to the healer’s wing. Thorin is just about to protest when Gandalf gently places Arnel and Darna’s sleeping forms into his arms- he notes the huge change of weight in his grasps and begins to show distress. 

“Thranduil is gifted with healing- you know this. If anyone can save your queen, it will be the King of Mirkwood.”

“But-”

“Stay with your children, Thorin. They need you more than ever now.” The wizard’s eyes fall on the sleeping pair and he gently touches their head, whispering another spell. Thorin looks at him questioningly.

“To sleep soundly and peacefully, for they deserve happy dreams away from this living nightmare.” With that, Gandalf hastens out the hall, towards the halls of healing, joining Thranduil. 

Deep in the heart of the Lonely Mountain, the quiet calm was thick with the smell of blood, and sorrow as the King Under the Mountain, held his slumbering precious treasures, staring helplessly at the direction that his beloved was taken, tears endlessly streaming down into his beard as his closest friends and family reassure him of her safety, but even they are unsure. Thorin exhales a breath he did not realize he was holding and sends another endless plea to the gods.

Mahal please… Keep my One safe.... Amari, come back to me, to us...I promise I will wait for you.

To be continued?

Taglist: @cassiabaggins @guardianofrivendell  @elles-writing @lathalea (thank you so so much for reading and double checking me :)  )

Thank you for hyping me up! :D @luna-xial @fizzyxcustard   @tschrist1

#thorin x oc #thorin oakenshield #angst #uruk hai #the hobbit #tolkien #im sorry #first fic #thorin x reader #thorin's company