Bash finds out his wife whose Mary twin sister is secretly a Scotland and French assassin sworn to protect the Scottish throne and French throne by marriage- @tallrock35
Author note - I am sorry that this took me a while to write. Truthfully I haven’t written for Bash or Reign in quite some time. So I hope that you enjoy this story
I didn’t choose this lifestyle - though I’m quite sure most people never choose to lie to the person they love either. But this profession is all I’ve ever known.
Peaking my head around the corner of the stone wall I scanned for my next target that I had been ordered to take out by King Henry and my father the King of Scotland as well. You see I’m not simply the twin sister of Mary, I’m the family assassin if you will.
Quickly moving footsteps could be heard getting closer to me where I reached down, securing my lucky dagger I always kept hidden inside my boots. With my black cloak hood pulled up over my face I stepped out grasping the stranger by the back of their cloak. Yanking the figure back I pressed the blade to their neck, baring my teeth seeing a crumbled up scroll of paper in their hands. “I suggest you hand over that letter before I do something that costs you your life.”
I shoved him to the ground and spun toward the corridor. Footsteps thundered closer - too many, too fast. I slipped into the shadows, my cloak swallowing me whole as two guards rushed past. But one set of footsteps slowed then stopped and my heart skipped a beat.
I knew that stride. I knew that presence. I knew that voice before he even spoke.
“Why are you here?”
Bash.
I stayed hidden for half a breath, praying he would turn away. But he stepped into the moonlight, and I knew hiding was pointless. I stepped out from behind the pillar, hood still up, dagger still in hand.
He stared at me, at the cloak, the blade, the tension in my stance and confusion twisted into suspicion.
“Take off the hood.”
My fingers trembled as I lowered it. The cold windy air hitting the back of my neck as my fingers released their grip on the hood's fabric. My hair fell forward with me avoiding his gaze until the very end where I saw his eyes widen.
“God,” he whispered. “It’s you.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My throat felt tight, my pulse too loud when he looked down at the dagger in my hand again. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you’re not-”
“I can’t”
His breath left him in a sharp exhale. “So it’s true. All the nights you disappeared. The bruises. The secrets. You’ve been lying to me since the day we met.”
I stepped toward him, but he backed away. The movement cut deeper than any blade. “Bash, please-” I certainly didn’t want to lie to him but it wasn’t like I had much choice in the matter. My sister was raised to become Queen and I was raised to be a Royal assassin from the age ten.
“Who are you?” he demanded, stomping up to me causing me to stumble backwards until my back was pressed up against the brick wall behind me. “Because the woman I married doesn’t drag men into dark corridors with a dagger to their throat.”
“I’m the same woman,” I said, voice shaking. “I just… have a life you were never meant to see.”
“Why?” His voice cracked when the words left his lips. “Why hide this from me?”
“Because knowing puts you in danger,” I whispered with my grip faltering on the dagger. “Because if anyone found out what I am… what I’ve done….they would use you to get to me.”
He stared at me, chest rising too fast for my comfort. “What are you?”
“I am sworn to Scotland. And by marriage, to France. I protect both thrones. I always have. When someone goes against either throne, sends secret messages that could overthrow one or tries to kill a member of either royal family I’m the one who gets called. I’m an -”
He closed his eyes for a moment, as if steadying himself. “An assassin.”
“Yes.”
He turned away, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know whether to be furious or terrified.”
“I never wanted this life. But it’s the only one I’ve ever known. And I didn’t tell you because I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.”
Bash didn’t show his facial expressions too much. He usually only showed when he was happy or scared around the family members he trusted, which really only used to be his brother Francis until he met me. Now though when he turned back around to me all I saw across his face was pure hurt. “You think this makes me love you less?”
“You… still love me?” My mouth parted slightly, unsure if I heard him correctly or not.
“Of course I do,” He reached out, cupping my face gently. His thumb brushed my cheek, grounding me in a way nothing else ever had. “You think a hidden dagger and a few secrets could change that? I married you because I saw your strength, your fire, your loyalty. I just didn’t know how deep it ran.”
“I’m dangerous, Bash.” Tears slipped down my cheeks when his fingers touched my face. I drew back slightly afraid of him touching me now. We had never really shown physical touch to each other because I acted like I was so nervous about sleeping with him even though he’s my husband. Except now he knew what I was truly afraid of him discovering.
“So am I,” he murmured.
I let out a shaky laugh, wiping my face with the back of my hand. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Maybe not,” he said with a faint smile, “but you have me anyway….You should have trusted me.”
“I was afraid.”
“I know.” He leaned his forehead against mine. “But listen to me - no matter what you’ve done, no matter what you’re sworn to… I still love you. That doesn’t change.”
“I love you too, Sebastian.” Without thinking I launched myself forward, flinging my arms around his neck and crashing my lips up onto his. Bash took a step back taken by surprise, wrapping his muscular arms around my waist. He pressed our bodies together letting the feeling of the kiss doing all the talking for us.
My breath trembled as I closed my eyes. For the first time in years, I let someone hold the weight I’d carried alone.
Hiii I really appreciate ur writing and I would like to make a request for a reader and bash from reign smut where u use the quote “ are u a virgin? But how?” And “ are u scared?”
Little Bird
Bash De Poitiers X F!Reader
Warning: SMUT, language, mentions of arranged marriages
History is not written by the forgotten because history is only written by the heroes, the survivors, the victors. In a world full of royals, kings and queens and countries-- only the strongest will be remembered. All others will fall.
You are far from the young girl who visited the French Court those years ago; now, you are a queen and while country thrives under your rule, you are known as ruthless. You move with purpose, your own guards not far behind you as you walk towards the throne room-- ignoring the whispers of the familiar walls. The memories that cling to every crevice of this palace. When you left, you left suddenly in the night, having received a letter from your mother-- dead. Your father was dead and so was your brother, and you were now queen and immediately required back in Genovia.
You slip between the halls, your hand tugging Bash along with you, as you look back and smile. Perhaps too much of your time centers around your time with the bastard son of King Henry, but something about him is too interesting to ignore. While Mary Queen of Scots is constantly surrounded by her ladies, the princess of Genovia is often feels ignored by her French allies. Not even first in line to your throne, it seems as though King Henry views you as dead weight, but not Bash.
With him at your side, you felt as though you had a friend in this court of lies and deception, and villains. "Sebastian-- c'mon." You whisper shout, urging him to move faster and keep up with you as you slip into one of the secret passages. Once the door slips closed behind you, Bash holds your hand a little tighter as if to keep you from slipping away into the dark tunnels. Outside of Nostradamus, you are most familiar with the French palaces secret tunnels and Bash knew if you disappeared, you'd get away from him. But the his slight pull was a shock, one you were unprepared for and moved backwards into him.
You try not to show the fear that bubbles inside of your chest, being back here seems to bring back every thought. Every struggle. The pain and the happiness, and it makes it difficult to concentrate on the task at hand. However, when the throne room doors open and you see him immediately. No amount of preempted focus could have brought you back because he is exactly how you remember. Only now, he is married and you are queen, which change everything, but looking at him... You feel as though nothing has changed, not him, not you, and not your feelings for him.
There is a shocking hmph as you bump into his chest, but you do not move and neither does he; instead, you feel his hand slip down to rest on your waist while the other rests on your neck. Through the darkness you see his eyes shut, the warmth of his hands and then there is his lips. Soft and sweet, and just as warm as you had imagined; although you know this is far from okay, so what? It feels right enough.
However, you bring yourself back to reality as quickly as you can manage and smile at the newly crowned King Francis. "Sorry I couldn't make it to the coronation-- long may you reign." He nods and gives a little smile, coming down from the throne and you see your guards tense up at the sudden movement. "Oh please, I don't think he wants one of his first acts as King to be starting a war." Neither of them relax despite your whisper to them, but you accept the embrace of Francis and pull away smiling.
"Well you made it now." You nod, giving a little shrug.
"I felt as though us both being relatively new to our thrones, we should talk about continuing the French and Genovian alliance." Scanning your eyes across the throne room, you see Mary—you see Catherine and others you recognize, but it's all a cover so you have an excuse to look at him again. He stands at the right hand side of the King's throne, the King's deputy, which makes sense. You make a note of the woman to his right though. Pretty little thing.
Where you were, Bash always seemed to find his way to your side—whether riding, walking through the grounds, or dancing as you are now. Being a princess means suitors, which pleases your mother, but displeases you: "So Princess, what do you think about French weather being from such a cold land?" You raise an eyebrow as he spins you, and with as much grace as you can muster, you come back to him and give a rather forced smile.
Perhaps petty, you begin to lead, which gives him a little shock-- his footing begins to slip up and he stumbles to keep up with you: "Well, for your information, Genovia is south of France, so I'd say your weather is quite cold, you..." Maybe for the best, Bash is tapping on the counts shoulder and he happily hands you off to Bash. You puff out a breath, irritation still bubbling in your stomach and begging to be released.
"Ignore them..." You bite the inside of your cheek as Bash twirls you around the floor, completely at ease and you follow his steps effortlessly. Familiar with how he moves, how he dances; you'd say you were pretty familiar with everything about him.
"How do they expect to court me, if they don't even know where my country is? Honestly, it's just disgraceful." He gives a little laugh, twirling you quickly before bringing you back in, but this time much closer.
"Well the longer I have you here, the better." His comment, rather than comfort, strikes a little nerve.
"You know, I've had a thought. Why don't you marry me?" You two haven't really spoken about the idea, having mutually decided it just would not work out, but now... now you think otherwise.
Francis nods approvingly, "I think that is a fitting thought." He holds out his arm to you, "Shall we?" You finally find clarity in the fact that Bash is now married and nod, taking Francis's arm. As he guides, you pass by Bash and you pause slightly, biting your lip before smiling at him.
"Congratulations on your marriage, Sebastian." Unlike everyone else, you called him by his name to irritate him and at some point, he began to find it endearing. You see the familiarity in those eyes, but it is only a second as he gives a tight smile and Francis continues to lead you towards one of the studies. You always thought that when you returned, he'd still be there waiting and maybe, just maybe—you could finally have that wedding.
Some part of you is angry at yourself for saying anything at all, and Francis must have noticed because he speaks up. "Don't be too hard on him, or yourself, I'll explain in more detail later, but he didn't have a choice in marrying Kenna." So that's her name, Kenna... That's one of Queen Mary's ladies, although she has grown quite a bit. So have you...
"Well when is a marriage ever a choice in French court." You try to make light of it, your own suffering, joking although there is a bitter truth to the comment. When you get inside of the small room, Francis and you spend quite a while discussing the politics of trade and possibility, but then conversation shifts to your marriage.
"A little bird told me you have a marriage alliance of your own blooming, with my distant Italian relatives.” Your smile tightens and Francis’ brow furrows, your reaction seeming to confuse the new King. “Not a marriage I assume.”
“A necessary one.” You pinch the top of the figures that represent a horse, and glance down at the map. Before placing the horse just east of Genovia, on the Italian border. “There’s an Italian stronghold near this border, there’s been attacks on farms from Italian peasants. If I marry an Italian, specifically a member of this family—then I stand a chance at protecting them.” You swallow, “Just another reason to bolster a French alliance, you’ll learn quickly that only displays of power can protect your country.”
Francis nods, smiling sadly at his old friend—someone he cared for deeply all those years ago. “Well, do not worry—France is not an enemy of Genovia, and under my rule, you have no need to question our honesty.” Gratefulness fills the pit of your stomach, the one that had only seemed to grow as you stayed in French Court. Every hour chipped away at your inner self.
Negotiations with Francis went quick, the grimey politics melted away as you simply spoke with your friend. It made it better, and much simpler meeting than these tended to be amongst royal agreements. He asked for very few things, but mainly that despite you being a protestant nation—you remain loyal to France and Scotland, rather than England.
It was easy to agree to such a simple request.
However, the walk to your rooms is not as long as it once was—Kings and Queens are housed exuberantly, but you used to live so far from it all. You miss those days sometimes. These walls hold so many stories. You were almost unaware of the steps following you, or how his hand felt on your waist as it pulled you in. Or how familiar his sterling eyes were as you looked up at him. While you think of pulling away completely, you are not able to bring yourself to do so.
"You are more beautiful than I remember." Only the walls do not speak, and neither do you. Not even as he runs his hand along your cheek. You are frozen, recalling every memory and knowing that the familiarity is built into his touch. "I did not believe God chose Kings and Queens until I saw you in the throne room." Even standing next to his wife, his next words are bittersweet. "Y/N, you are an angel amongst mortals." Something snaps back into place as you push him away, shaking your head.
"No. Absolutely not. Sebastian, you are married and I do not have time for petty affairs." You reconcile your dignity and stiffen your lip, you are Queen. By your own birthright, and loss.
"Admit it, you feel it too." He steps towards you, and you go back, never breaking eye contact. Knowing that the way he seemed to flinch, your movement to get away hurt him. It hurt you too. "You're more than a petty affair to me, Y/N. You've never been anything less."
You fold your arms over themselves, shaking your head. "I am a reigning Queen... Chosen by God, and revered by my people. You said so yourself." The last bit is more pointed. "I am not an affair, or a passing moment." You pause. "Not even for you."
With that, you leave him alone in the hall and retreat to your room. To wonder what would have been, what could still be, and how it's a terrible idea to linger on the past.
The next days are long, you can hardly wait to go home. You missed the grandeur of French Court a long time ago, but now it does not feel like home. It is too much.
You bid farewell to Francis and Mary, "I believe next year, we'll be travelling to see you." You smile, knowing all eyes are on the future. A wedding.
"Perhaps sooner." Just as you step into the carriage, you glance up at the balcony to see Sebastian. To see him watching you. Your soft smile sends his heart into a flurry of confusion and certainty. Even when the carriage leaves his view, he knows one thing: he would do anything to be your husband.
A warm summer breeze touches your cheeks, it dusts your nose and your smile grows. To be married, it seems so much more distant than it should. You should be giddy, but your future King Consort is nowhere near the one you imagine.
"One more night..." You wonder if you could run now, turn your back on the wedding and just leave. Find another way to protect your country against all odds.
You breathe out deeply, grasp the handles of the balcony doors and shut them tight. Ignoring the arrival of the French convoy, knowing that it would not just be the King and Queen of France in attendance.
Francis had tried to convince Bash to not come, to not torture himself further with the image of you marrying another. To not let him torture you. But the bastard was insistent, so much so that Francis knew it was going to come to something.
"I object..." He murmurs under his breath, it seemed to repeat over—"Wait!" He hardly remembers shouting, just that he did and all eyes turned to him. Yours wide as he moves closer.
"Y/N..." He swallows. "You can't marry him." What was supposed to be your husband curses, eyes narrow and harsh. Only they do not scare Sebastian in the slightest. "You know as well as I do. We were as good as promised to each other before your brother died." There is much truth in those words, your parents had come around to the idea and so had your brother. It seemed simple, a way to keep France close and to give you this last thing.
"Silence!" The Italian is seething, chest rounding and cheeks turned a flustered and bright red.
You turn your eyes to him, "Do not command him, as that is as certain as commanding me. I am neither soldier, nor Italian. And neither is he." You pause. "This is my palace." You look at Bash, exhaling and he continues.
"I had not told you, but our fathers had contracts prepared and signed... Two kings... It took a while, but I found the original." His eyes turn to the Italian. Your eyes wide, as you hold out your hand for the parchment. "If this document is verified, then it means you can't marry him. Because you have to marry me."
.
.
.
It was enough to stop the ceremony, no one could condone a marriage without verifying if the will of two kings would be defied. Even dead kings have power.
You pace the hall outside of Sebastian’s chambers, every step echoes, but you do not care. An inner turmoil having found itself rooted in the pit of your stomach, to love Sebastian had been as easy as breathing. You knew him as well as you knew yourself.
“Y/N?” You jump, grasping your shaking palms together as you tuck them behind your back. Trying to seem unassuming, as if you hadn’t been at his door for some time. Only as he takes in your nerves, the way your eyes flit about—Sebastian is very aware, and smirks. The kind of smirk that used to tell you that he knew. “I was just about to go find you.”
Honestly, you believe that to be true, he seemed determined when he opened his chambers door. The way he closed the distance in two long strides, his arm snaked around your waist and pressing himself as close as possible.
So close you forgot how to breathe, wondering if you needed breath at all. Without air, your words were strained—the warmth of his hand trailing up your arm was distracting. “You could have warned me.”
“I planned to, only you never gave me a chance.” You recall sending your younger sister greeting the French carriage, shutting your door tight to keep all temptation locked away.
“I guess—” The words trail off your tongue as he begins pulling you into his chambers, and this time you do not resist. Temptation or not, Sebastian has always been just out of reach. Suddenly, he’s as close skin to skin can allow.
Breathless, you kiss him—not soft or tenderly, but desperate to know what it’s like to taste him again. To feel his lips on yours. Sharing kisses used to be frequent, but it had been so long and you had wondered if they’d taste the same.
They did. His lips were as familiar as his touch. The caress of his fingers against your body had all, but left you breathless—there was no space for air between you, nothing more than clothes.
Even those were falling away, you don’t remember his shirt disappearing or when your robe hit the floor. You don’t recall anything other than his lips, his determination to kiss every bit of skin that became visible.
“Perfection…” He hums the word as he braces you on the bed, admiring you—your bare chest and soft eyes, the way your gaze seemed to draw him in. “Absolute…” Sebastian comes closer, leaning over you, warmth surrounding. His face framed by the fire’s light. “Perfection.”
As his hands begin to run along your waist, your back arches and he lingers there—holding you close, his head bent over as he begins to kiss your neck. Letting his lips travel down as you bend into his grip, a soft moan escapes your lips.
“Don’t—” You pant, a shiver going down your body as he kisses the spot above your breast. “Don’t stop.” If your eyes were not shut, head tilted back, you wonder if you could see the ghost of his smile just as well as you feel it against you.
Sebastian pauses, “Are you—”, his lips seeming to stop as he spoke. “Are you still a virgin?” You sit up, his question taking you aback; however, comfortable you are with him. You didn’t expect him to ask so boldly.
You want this, you know that for certain—you’ve wanted him ever since you were young. Those eyes haunted your dreams, knew your own just as well as the sky knows the stars.
“Would you stop if I said yes?”
“Only if you asked… But how?” You bring yourself close, leaning forward to wrap your arms around his neck. Lips hovering above his own.
“Then it doesn’t matter if I am. Just don’t stop.” That was enough for Bash as he regained his vigor, kissing your earnestly and desperately.
You could hardly imagine anything more perfect than the way he held you. The way he embraced you. The way, you moan his name—leaning back as he lowers you onto him.
His movements slow, careful and steady, most of your weight being held in his arms as he begins to move.
“Just don’t stop.” You whisper, leaning against his body—your lips resting beside his ear, you felt his grasp tighten as he began to move more rhythmically.
AN: I definitely don’t do smut typically, don’t get me wrong. I do read it, but I am not skilled at writing it. So it’s more sensual than sexual, maybe I’ll get better in the future. But I hope you like this.
I have been brainstorming domestic moments that might have occurred in like the time between Orion and Tilaarin and when this struck me I was just like :O
This is each member separately, but I do think a big crew breakfast would be a fun thing to write as well
I am fs planning to finish this with Ryona, Aya, and Vexx!! I just wanted to get something out since I’ve been working on this for like 3 days lol
TW: food mention
JUNE
We know that this man canonically barely sleeps but we don’t really know his eating habits? So for the sake of this he gets hungry just as often as anyone else lol.
You don’t actually set out with the intention of making breakfast for him. It’s actually sweeter than that: you simply integrated him into your morning routine. When making yourself breakfast (and this is a morning where you have time for more than just some water and granola, you like actually cook), you find yourself already considering June’s needs. You hadn’t seen him in the hallway, and you’d gotten up fairly early, so you assumed he was still in his room. Whether he was actually asleep or not, who knows.
You debated whether to eat yours first and just wait for him to come into the kitchen eventually or take it to him, and decide on the latter since you were also hoping for a private moment with him away from the mayhem of being full time mercenaries.
Transferring the food you’d cooked into some more portable dishes, you exit the kitchen and make your way to June’s door. With your hands full, you knock on the door with your elbow, and while awkward it gets the job done. You can hear some shuffling behind the door and then June answers in some comfortable pants and a shirt you can tell he hadn’t been wearing prior to five seconds ago.
He answers on high alert but then his eyes soften when he sees you.
“(YN), good morning, um, to what do I owe this surprise?” He asks, smiling softly yet still quirking his eyebrow.
You smile and hold up the food you’d made, steam still wafting slightly from the top of the bowls. “I made breakfast and hoped to have a quiet morning in with you!”
“You made me breakfast?” He asks, as if that isn’t obvious from the two portions you’re holding and the invitation to eat some with you.
“Oh, well I guess I did,” You respond, “I wasn’t really thinking about doing anything special, I was just already thinking about you and made you some without thinking.”
He looks surprised for a moment before smiling deeply, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. “Come inside, I was thinking about you too.”
While it’s a bit cramped trying to both eat off from his desk, and he only has one chair that he all but forced you to sit in, insisting that standing was no problem, you both find yourself occupied with thoughts only about how happy this companionship makes you.
During his light rant on the proper storage of Lizzie’s food and how Damon keeps taking it out of the fridge even though he knows that it needs to stay cold, you take his hand and run your finger along a fresh, but albeit, small cut. You’d reached out without really thinking about it, and June cuts off his sentence preemtively.
“Are you not using the cream that Ryona gave you for these cuts? It doesn’t seem like this has healed much since yesterday. You know you should be doing that,” you scold, despite there being no anger behind your voice.
He blushes just slightly, barely visible with his tanned skin and the greenish tint to his blood. He averts his gaze but you know he’s guilty.
“It’s not that big of a deal and my hands are already so scarred anyways, I don’t see how they could look any worse,” he deflects, and from the look of sadness that passes over your face he knows he’s said something wrong. He just wanted to keep you from worrying about him.
“June,” you start earnestly, “you do realize that I love you, wholeheartedly and completely, and that includes all your scars, external and internal? I will always accept you just as you are, and care for you even for the most trivial things. I know that it must still be hard adjusting to this level of attention, but I will always remind you that I care about every small part of you.”
There’s a silence that follows that statement, as you see tears welling in his eyes. His brows furrow as he tries to process every word of your statement. Twice already today you’d cared about him as if it was second nature and now you’ve told him that he has your unconditional care and support. While he’d found trust and friendship with the crew of the A6, nobody had cared for him in this way, without judgement and as if it was like breathing. The feeling of it crumbled him, and he took you into his arms, cupping the back of your head with his hand as he buried his face into your shoulder.
And you hug him back just as tight, as with your arms you could squeeze the doubt and pain right out of him. While you hadn’t considered how much your small actions would mean to him, you wanted to convey how big your emotions were too. When June pulls himself back together again and pulls away from the hug, you smile and wipe his cheeks dry with your hand.
“How about we go to the kitchen for seconds?”
CALDERON
With preparations for Tilaarin and the diplomatic nightmare of dealing with Alisa and Oppo simultaneously, you hadn't seen Calderon in a couple days, besides in passing where he gave you a soft look but kept walking.
While your time with Cal had been short, you knew this man as a workaholic with no sense of self care, and got it in your head to make sure he was taking care of himself, since he couldn't seem to do it himself. Before you went to bed you'd stopped by the bridge to make sure he wasn't still there and luckily only found Aya confirming the path to Tilaarin and making minor adjustments in the autopilot. Satisfied that Cal was most likely at least in his room, you went to bed yourself.
The next morning while making yourself something to eat you noticed a distinct lack of dirty dishes from Calderon. (At this point, you'd eaten with the crew enough to know who used what and Cal was extra particular with his items.) Sighing, you started up the stove to make sure that he ate something more than a handful of nuts or some plain bread.
Once you'd finished and plated both of your meals you realized you had no idea where he was. Most likely he was already awake doing god knows what, and you didn't have the energy to hunt him down. So, you picked up your com, took a deep breath, and called the shipwide line:
"Paging Captain Calderon Lynch, from Prince(ess) (YN) Peg'asi," you laugh inwardly at the formality that certainly wasn't necessary but conveyed urgency, "I need you to report to the kitchen."
You can hear Bash laughing from the hallway, and through your mild embarrassment hold out hope that Cal is even more embarrassed and that he'll arrive at least to chew you out.
You sit at the table, waiting in silence for a minute, when you hear the automatic door slide open and a peeved but blushing Calderon step in.
"To what do I owe this, pleasure," Cal begins, "your majesty." You know that if it has been anyone but you, he would already be yelling, or even more likely wouldn't have entertained the request at all.
"No need to have a stick in your ass so early, Captain," you tease back, "and I'll have you know that your continued well-being is of utmost importance so I believe my call portrayed the exact right amount of urgency."
"And what is your concern with my well-being?" He asks, leaning against the counter with the air of someone with undeserved confidence.
"Well, and I don't know for sure as a [Tilaari/Kitalphan/fellow human], but I believe people need to eat to live and if you don't do that for long enough it's not good for you."
You gesture towards where the breakfast is already beginning to cool and raise your eyebrows suggestively.
"Do you think you need to take care of me?" Calderon sighs, though there's no defensiveness in his voice and he takes a seat.
Taking the seat next to him, you take his hand in yours and near force him to look you in the eyes. "It's not about thinking I need to, it's that I want to. You're someone important to me, and the rest of the crew, and you can't be the one sacrificing himself for others. We're in this together, ok?"
Calderon swallows the lump in his throat and nods, determined not to cry at such a small gesture. But in the back of his mind he thinks, when was the last time someone's done even something this small for him? Squeezing your hand, he releases it to grab the fork and take a bite, smiling at your anticipatory face for his reaction to the food.
"It's wonderful, (YN)."
DAMON
I imagine with Damon is less of you making him breakfast and rather making it together. We already know he can cook and bake pretty well, so I'd like to think he makes himself nice meals as a way to have something he can control. So when one morning you're both entering the kitchen at the same time, he quirks you a smile and asks, "You come here often?"
"Not as often as I probably should," You respond, reaching around him to open the fridge. When he sees you pouring yourself just a bowl of cereal he furrows his brows a bit and then sighs.
"Is that all you're having?"
"Um. Yeah? What, is there something else I should be eating?"
Damon pauses, an inscrutable look on his face, then sighs resignedly.
"You ever cook in that palace or did you have a personal chef to do it all the time?" He teases, but steps aside from the stove so you can see what he's doing.
"Uh....I never really made anything, but sometimes I'd sneak into the kitchens to get a midnight snack or extra food. I don't think that counts though."
Damon let's a breath out of his nose in laughter and says, "No, I wouldn't count that as cooking. But I know a thing or two about stealing food, too."
You swat his arm but feel a pit in your stomach. Was it pity, sympathy, or simply sadness that he had to experience such desolation? You shake the thoughts off and lean closer to him, either to see better or to simply get closer. The reason doesn't matter.
"So what are you making?" You look at a greased frying pan and a mixing bowl filled with what you think is a mixture of eggs, milk, and cinnamon.
"Well I was going to just make myself a plate of eggs and call it a day but I figured if I'm teaching you then I might as well make something nice. You ever have French toast?" He takes a...whisk? You weren't sure, like you'd said, you didn't have much experience with cooking. He hands the whisk to you and says, "Here. Mix until it's all one consistency. I'll let you know when you've gotten there."
You hold the side of the bowl and begin mixing like your life depends on it. Maybe it was your pride making up for the fact that you felt so inexperienced compared the rest of the crew. What you didn't know was that that would cause the mix to start spraying everywhere.
“Hey! ‘The hell you do that for?” Damon shouts in surprise as he gets egg and milk in his hair.
“I! Um! I thought you had to mix it really hard?” You say guiltily, setting the whisk down as gently as possible.
“What? No, these ingredients are mostly liquid! They’re just to soak the bread in!” He says, swiping his hands through his hair. When he sees your dejected look, he purses his lips and puts the whisk back in your hand.
“Here,” he puts his hand over yours, “We’ll mix together. See, nice and gentle, just with enough force to break the egg yolks.” You can feel the callouses on Damon’s hands as he holds one of yours stirring the whisk and the other is over your hand holding the bowl.
“Ok,” you say quietly, since his chest is pressed against your back, “and what next?”
“Well, we let the bread soak while we make some [coffee/tea/drink of choice].”
The rest of breakfast is made without any more spills, mostly you observing Damon but he does let you flip the toast in the skillet, laughing lightly at your surprise when the uncooked side begins to sizzle. When you’re finished and both sitting down to eat, you smile widely at him. You’re extremely grateful for his patience with you, and not just today. Adjusting to life as a not-so-ordinary person has certainly not been easy, but after his apology he’d been nothing but gentle, though he’d never admit it.
“Thank you for teaching me this, Damon. I hope you’ll let me learn more from you.”
“I, uh, it’s really no problem,” he says, pointedly looking at his plate as he picks at his food, “It’s nice to have someone to do this with anyways.”
BASH
Bash is another member of the crew known for his baking prowess, so I think he’d make something really nice once a week that he can eat off from for the rest. Like meal planning but for like an oatmeal bake lol.
He keeps his portions labeled neatly (well, not all that neatly but you can certainly tell they’re his from the doodles that accompany his name) in the fridge, and he has lots of fun mugs to drink from, one matching your own “I <3 Cursa” mug. This particular morning you can see steaming tea coming from a mug that has clip-art of tools on it and says, “Kiss The Mechanic” in bright pink lettering, and you know it has to be his, though you have no idea where he would have gotten it. There were a few very specific gift shops on Chrono, however, that seemed like they had something for everyone. You had to stop him from buying you a T-shirt covered in words that started out reading, “I have a kick-ass biomechanical boyfriend, and yes, he bought me this shirt.”
Since the tea in the mug was still hot, you knew that Bash had to be around somewhere, though he wasn’t currently in the kitchen. Knowing at that point his habits for breakfast, you took out one of his portions from the fridge and set it on the plate to microwave (? I have no clue what cooking would look like in the future).
While waiting for that to finish, you rummaged around in the fridge for something for yourself, finding some fresh fruit that Ryona had picked up on Chrono, with a note that said “for sharing but do not eat it all!!” and laughed. You knew for sure that even if she hadn’t labeled it, she would have made an exception for Bash. Taking the carton of fruit out of the fridge you, spoon some onto Bash’s oatmeal to give it some more flavor and set it on the table before making a bowl of fruit for yourself. You hear the doors swish open as Bash walks in, yawning. It takes him a moment to process that his food was already warm and waiting for him on the counter.
He looks at you and then back at his food. “Did you do this?” He asks, before picking it up to smell it.
“Um, yes? Don’t worry, I didn’t poison it.”
“Oh,” he starts, “Well, uh, thank you. How did you know that was what I wanted?”
“Bash, you eat the same thing every morning and the containers are covered in your name. Plus, while I may be sheltered, I know how to operate a microwave.”
He picks up his bowl and mug and takes a seat next to you. He then eyes the fruit in his bowl and the fruit in his. “Is this Ryona’s?”
“Yes, but she said she’d share. Do you not like it? I’m sorry I put some in without asking, I thought you’d like the extra flavor.”
“Oh! No no, I love it, I just, I don’t know. I’m not used to people caring for me. Sure, the crew cares about me but, I never had someone taking care of me growing up, and when I was under the care of the Archangels it was because I couldn’t take care of myself. It felt more like a debt I’ve yet to pay back. So I guess when it’s something small and out of the goodness of someone’s heart I just don’t really believe it. Not that I don’t believe you and your feelings! But, my brain doesn’t want to, you know?”
You smile at his ramblings, he always manages to make you smile.
“Sebastian,” you say with a fake stern voice, causing his eyes to widen, “I don’t just do this out of the goodness of my heart but the love in my heart. I pay attention to you and your habits and want to take care of you because I love you. It’s that simple, and I’ll keep doing it until you and your silly brain of yours believes it.”
He takes your hand and raises it to press a kiss to your palm.
“I love you too, (YN). I hope you’ll let me take care of you too.”
The following weeks were a series of courting events between the archduke and you. Mixed with Bash avoiding you to the best of his ability. Considering you were all over the place with Francis advising him on his problems with Mary there were stolen glances between the two of you a lot. Maximillian wasn’t the worst of the worst. He clearly was an entitled man that thought the world revolved around him. A letter had arrived from your father, and your brother sent a messenger with the word of Spain. He always kept you up to date on current events of Spain. Him and your father would never agree on anything that was the risk your mother took when she left Spain when Phillips' father died. His dozens of requests to let you grow up in Spain instead of France were denied several times by your father. Though a marriage arranged by the king of Spain would’ve been more fruitful, your father just cared that his treasury wasn’t filled by Phillip’s help.
“The view here is perfect, don’t you think?” You heard a voice say. You look back at him when you realize you had been staring out the window for what felt like a second must have been way longer. He nods as if to answer his own question. He takes a sip of his fourth glass of wine of the evening. “I am rather beginning to think you’d be a good wife.” he said, you just stare at him, not saying anything because what would you say to such a man who is only out for the title you are carrying. “Don’t you think?” he asks. You just cast him a smile. “Maybe we should question ourselves if we are a good person before we give ourselves any other title.” You answer, taking a bite of the meal. He didn’t seem happy with that answer. “You shouldn’t worry about that. Women shouldn’t get any ideas. Their mind just doesn’t work like that.” he said, your blood was boiling, the overwhelming feeling to speak your mind crept up on you eventhough you had been keeping to yourself so carefully these past few weeks. You restrain yourself from snapping at him. “Is that so?” you ask, you start to toy around with the peas on your plate to avoid your inner anger. “Yes, all a woman needs to worry about is to make her man happy, and provide him with children.” he said, This is something that has been told to you for years. A woman’s task is to provide him with children, sons, and are used as pawns in their political games. You get up from your seat to say something, to contradict him but it wouldn’t be of any use. “I’m feeling unwell, my lord. I should call it an early night.” You say instead. You walk towards the door which was behind Maximillian. He stood up and grabbed your wrist, and tightened his grip. “Not yet.” He said, he had a sly smile on his face. You tried to rip your hand from him but it was too tight. “I’ve been patient for weeks now.” He said, pushing you backwards against the wall. You gasp out of pain of your back hitting something of metal on the wall. With all his weight he kept you pinned against the wall. “Let me go!” you hissed at him. “Go ahead, scream. Nobody wants a touched princess.” He hissed back. He pressed his lips against yours forcefully entering his tongue into your mouth. You did the only thing you could imagine in panic, biting his tongue hard. He let out a loud groan, yanking his mouth away from you letting your hand go to touch his lips. Giving you the chance to push him off you, and run towards the door. “You’ll be mine soon enough.” You heard him yell after you.
In your panicked state you ran past a hook in the wall ripping part of your dress but in the dark you didn’t want to stray far from the walls. It was so quiet, and now you wonder how long you had actually been inside with Maximillian. The two of you had been dining late today because you were out in the garden with your ladies, at least that is what you told him. You had been with Francis on the archers practice field. But, you couldn’t imagine it being so late that the servants had dampened the lights. You finally reach Francis’s room, you carefully knock on his door, when he doesn't answer your knock you assume he must not have returned yet or has already gone to sleep. You walk to the back of the castle to where Bash’s room is. You’ve never even been inside his room. Unlike with Francis’s you didn’t knock. You carefully stepped inside, of course this was at the risk of seeing him in some unholy position with a girl to forget about you. But, the risk of someone seeing you waiting outside his door for him was scarier and riskier. Bash was under the covers already asleep. You stepped closer to his bed. You carefully touch his bare shoulder. His reflexes took the knife he had on the side of his mattress and held it to your neck. “It’s just me.” you whisper. He let go of the knife, and rubbed his hand over his face. “What is it?” He asked kindly. You burst into tears, Bash sat up. He looked at you. “What happened?” he asked worriedly. He quickly stood up, and put on a shirt to cover his bare chest. “He was so forceful, a-and he wanted more.” You tell him. You had to be careful with your words, telling him was at risk of him looking at you like broken goods, used goods. This was Bash, and you needed to trust yourself that he wouldn’t. “I’m scared, Bash.” you cried. You couldn’t even look Bash in the eyes anymore instead you stare at the ground. Within seconds you felt his arms around your shoulders grabbing you tightly. “I won’t let him hurt you.” he said, but you knew that was a lie. You were Maximillian’s in a couple of weeks. You push Bash away, some part of you was still upset with him. “You can sleep here tonight.” He said, you nod. “Thank you.” you said. After you sat down on the bed leaving the two of you in silence. “Can you help with my corset?” you ask. You held your breath as he untied it, you were scared his touch would set something off in you. The feeling of panic didn’t let you go. When you were covered under the sheets in your undergown. Bash sat down on the chair that was near his bed.“You are just going to sit there all night?” you ask shakily. He didn’t have a pity look in his eyes, instead there was something comforting. “I am going to sit here as long as it takes.” He said, you frown at him. “For what?” you ask. “for you to feel safe.” He said, normally you’d laugh and say he was being an idiot. But, not tonight.
The following nights Bash crept into your room through the old servant corridors to sit with you, and talk with you. He kept his promise that he’d keep Maximillian away. The day after he tried to hurt you he knocked on your door. He didn’t apologize for his actions but requested you’d come and eat breakfast with him. He didn’t ask and the two of you knew he could make you do just about anything because one letter to your father and you're dead. Bash luckily didn’t avoid you in the court anymore he kept his professional shield up though. That day you stepped into court, where Mary was basically begging Henry to send troops to Scotland to fight the English, she must have had word from her mother that things were not going well in her home country… Stubborn people. Your eyes search through the people like they do every time you step into court looking for Bash. He wasn’t there so you figured he must’ve gone hunting. Every girl at court seems to want to catch Tomas’s attention except for you. Which made you the perfect girl for Tomas, a challenge. He kept flirting with you, and between his flirting and having to spend time with Maximillian there was not much of a choice. You would bear the flirting of Tomas, way over Maximillian’s perverseness. After not seeing or having any word from Bash the entire day. Towards the end of the day Francis came to seek your advice about the struggle he was feeling within about sending the troops towards Scotland. “What are you thinking?” he asks after he finished explaining the pro’s and con’s. You would hardly know. Because as opposed as you are to the English and Scottish battle for Queen and country. You were also opposed to Scottish blood being spilled by the English. You understood that Mary needed to protect her people. So did Mary Tudor. “I think you should listen to your heart, Francis. ”You said,you knew that was barely going to solve anything. “You too should listen to your heart.” He responded. You had confided in Francis about what happened with Maximillian. He is your best friend; he was about to tear Maximillian into pieces. If Bash hadn’t already, and yet neither of them could. Because, Maximillian is powerful in every Catholic land. He had been trying to squirm his way into a royal family for years, and yet only married noble women for their money. Now he had acquired a fortune, your family had agreed to let him marry a daughter of his choosing in exchange for money.
Oh my gosh guys I just hit 160 followers! I honestly didn’t think I would have nearly this many when I made this blog, and I’m so thankful for all those who read and like my stories! Here’s another one featuring a gifted woman and her orc babe. If you like my work, please consider donating to my kofi, it helps me out a lot <3 Also, sorry if you’re seeing this twice, I had to fix the ‘keep reading’ thing so it wouldn’t be so long. NSFW
I was a little girl when I heard the siren’s call. My parents were busy doing anything but watching me, and slipping away was never hard. I followed the voice through the forest near my home, the song notes pulling at me like strings tied around my bones. I saw a woman laid out near a creek, sick and dying. She was singing a mourning song for herself, so I sat with her and tried to offer her any comfort I could. She was scared of dying alone; that much I could tell from her pained wails. So I sat there and held her hand for as long as it took, and she thanked me with a gift. I felt the power come over me, blue lights whirled up my arm and through my body from where my hand was grasping hers. I didn't understand what had happened for a while, but it became impossible to ignore. I would whistle a tune and birds would start to follow me, or I would sing and my parents would suddenly want to spend time with me. I didn’t understand the strength of the power until I started school, though. A boy tried to grab at me and lift up my skirt, and the shrill sound that left me was anything but human. He was on the ground with blood pooling in his ears by the time my mouth sprung shut.
I was more careful after that. Being different in my town is often a death sentence, so I learned to control it and keep this power to myself. I always figured my parents had a hunch, but as they didn’t spend time with me much I was unsure. That was until my parents sold me off, though. Then it was confirmed.
The men came in the middle of the night. They were dirty and unkempt but dressed in good, although mismatched, armor. They probably had a single set of teeth between them all. I heard the commotion and came downstairs.
“Ah good, she’s awake. Go ahead and take her, I have no need for her here.” I heard my father say, his nose upturned and his awful fake accent exaggerated.
I watched my father be paid by them while my mother stood to the side. Her lips were pinched tight but she did not speak up in my defense. I looked back and forth in confusion, still half asleep and not understanding what was happening to me. They stood there by the large french doors, draped in their finery while I was sold like a broodmare.
“She is a monster,” I heard my mother say, “do not be afraid to treat her like one.”
The men went to grab me, but I tried to fight. I squirmed and clawed, and they led me away as I struggled in their grasp. I opened my mouth to scream but I was hit over the back of the head before I could get a sound out.
When I woke up, all I could feel was pain blossoming at the base of my skull. As I got used to the pain, I felt a tender hand brushing the sweat soaked hair off of my forehead. I peeled my eyes open, and as they went into focus I found I was inside of a wooden box, the only sunlight coming in from little gaps between panels. We must have been moving, as I was only slightly aware of the jostling of my head when we hit bumps. The hand was attached to a small orcish girl, still a child. She couldn’t be very old, her tusks were still just nubs peeking out of her lips. It was then I saw her lips moving, the actual words taking longer to get to me.
“Shh are you alright lady? It’s gonna be okay, my papa and uncle are gonna come, I promise. I’m Sheely, and -” her words faded slowly, and I felt myself go unconscious again, her voice luling me out again.
The next time I wake up is to the screams of the girl being held prisoner with me. I awake abruptly, and while I’m still in pain I move quickly. I see a man is trying to drag her out of the box we are in. She is clawing and fighting him with tears rushing down her face. I do not hesitate, and when I hear men comment about ‘breaking her in’ I let out a cry that has them all on their knees. Blood is running out of all the orifices in their head, like tears coming from their eyes, and a few of them have collapsed. Sheely is unharmed by me and my power does not touch her, which I am thankful for. I grab her and start to run. Everything is blurry for me but I know this is my chance to get us out of this. I don’t want to dwell on the intentions of those men, but I know enough to know we would be better off lost in the wilderness.
The orc - Sheely is just a child, though, no matter that orcish children are almost as large as a human teenager. She is panicked from the men trying to hurt her, sobs still leaving her despite the running and she catches her ankle on a root. She falls to the ground, but I waste no time in trying to pick her up. I have not known hard labor in my life and orcish children are not easy to carry, though. I feel the panic rising in my chest, and I hold her to me tightly.
I hear them, then. Some of the men have come after us, and I try to find somewhere to hide the girl. My feet scrape the ground as I try to haul her behind a fallen tree. It is no use, and soon the largest of the men is appearing in front of us. Before I can blink a long whip is wrapped around my arm, bringing us both to the ground. I sing and wail once again but while I can tell he is in pain, it does not stop him. I curse myself now, for ignoring the power I have. If only I had honed it, or practiced more, we could be okay. He backhands me, and I hear a crack.
The pain doesn't knock me out this time, although I wish it had. I am grabbed by the jaw, and I forget all about the pain in my head. Noise leaves me but not enough. and my voice is rendered useless. He glares at me with dark eyes, and all I see is hate in them.
“Are you going to try that again or should I crush your vocal cords too, siren bitch?” Spit flies in my face and I shake my head no to the best of my abilities. He increases his grip on my jaw harder, and if it wasn’t broken before I’m sure it is now. My vision swims with darkness, but I hold on. I won’t leave her alone with them. He lets go and pushes my face away and into the ground.
“Get the fuck up then,” he tells me, and I obey.
We are dragged back to their camp, and I hold onto Sheely. I see several of the men still on the ground before we are thrown back into the wagon. My head hits the wall and I feel the wood splinter into my skin. I manage to position Sheely behind me. I am hopeful that the men are in enough pain to be deterred from their plans with her, but I don’t want to risk not being able to help her if they come back.
I don’t know how long it has been but I have not had food nor water since I was captured. I had never known this kind of pain, this uncomfortable existence, but I refused to let myself succumb to sleep. Instead I spend my time trying to listen to the men and make sure no one was coming to get us
The words I hear from the men outside all melt together and paint an eerie picture of the life waiting for me. I feel as if I am living in a nightmare and just couldn’t make my screams heard or run fast enough to escape. Scenes play out before my eyes of the ways evil people mean to torture me and throw me away once I am used up. I hear screams and anguished cries, but it all fades into the horror playing behind my eyelids. The screaming dies down into a dark silence, and I can hear Sheely yelling from behind me, apparently awake.
The last of my strength I spend covering her body with mine, pushing her further into the corner of our dank wooden prison. The door is ripped apart, and the sun has risen. The light blinds me for a moment, but then a large figure blocks it out. I turn my back to the figure and pull Sheely further underneath me. I don’t feel as though I am long for this world in my current condition, and she is so young. I want to give her a chance.
“Uncle!” I hear Sheely yell this in the back of my mind, and the man yells out for Sheely too. I let go, then. I let go of her, and my will to stay conscious as well. I feel her relief and happy noises all around. I try to soak in her joy as I let go.
I know enough to know I am not dead. I drift in and out, feeling bumps in the roads and rumbling voices around me. Everything hurts enough that I wish I was dead, though. A wish that refuses to come true, as I am suspended in pain for what feels like an eternity.
The fog eventually clears and the heavy scent of medicinal steam hangs in the air. The smell is of a healers den, and if I am right then I am relieved. My vision is blurry but I see a shape run into the den, and Sheely’s voice. It’s the sweet voice of a happy and safe child, and I think I manage a smile. I see another shape duck into the tent behind her, as well as a deep voice coming from beside me. A gnarled and old hand comes into vision as well, holding a cloth to my face. The throbbing of my jaw and head is not gone, but muted. I feel bandages wrapped around my arm and feet as well. A small hand takes hold of mine, and when I fall asleep again I feel calm for the first time in days.
The medicine is strong and leaves me in a daze for a long while, but as I heal they give me less and less, until I am able to understand and remember when people are speaking to me. Ungral, the healer, is a constant companion to me. He explains that Sheely is the much loved daughter of their chief, and I am being honored among the clan.
“Sheely has painted quite the picture of you to us all, calls you a ‘screeching warrior’” Ungral informs me, his lips upturned in amusement.
“Oh goodness, everyone will be so disappointed when they actually see me. I am no warrior, although I did screech quite a bit.” I jest with him.
“Hush child, no one will be disappointed to see the women who took care of our Sheely,” He sets out food in front of me. It is a thick and meaty stew, and I am in heaven from the smell alone.
Sheely visits me everyday before her schooling and often before her bedtime, bringing me snacks and things to do. Her mother and father visited me early in my recovery, but I don’t remember very much. Sheely tells me they are planning a celebration for her return, and that they are waiting until I am recovered since I am an ‘honored guest’. I am grateful for their hospitality, but I feel I have not earned it. All I did was cower with Sheely in a corner while her family saved us both, but I would hate to insult them this way.
The first day Ungral has me leave the tent to walk is more eventful than I like. The moment I leave the hut, orcs are thanking me and introducing themselves left and right. I am friendly and speak to everyone, but it quickly becomes too much for me. Right before I am going to tell Ungral I need a break, Sheely comes running up to me followed by three other orcs. One of which was a woman, in decorative armor and beads woven into her hair. She grabs my hand with tear filled eyes as Sheely hugs my legs.
“Thank you for keeping my daughter safe when I couldn’t,” she tells me. My eyes start to fill as well, just looking at her.
“Of course,” I nod to her, my hands grasping hers back. I am starting to feel dizzy but I dare not disrespect her. One of the orcs with her, the smaller of the two men, comes up to me as well. This is without a doubt the chief. I know little of orcs and their customs, but the beads and armor he wears, as well as the tattoos covering him, seems to indicate this.
“I am Sheelga’s father, and Chief of this clan,” He tells me, his voice loud and clear. “We are all so thankful for you and that you were able to protect her. You will want for nothing here, nor ever again. Be assured that the men who took you are no longer in this world and as soon as you are fully healed, I will have my best warriors escort you home to your family. If there is anything you need, please, just let us know.” He tells me this, and I am reminded that my family is the one who did this to me. I stutter out a thank you and feel my legs shake. Ungral is by my side quickly, the old man more nimble than I assumed.
“Leave the girl alone, just because she is stretching her legs doesn’t mean you can all bombard her,” he waves off the chief and his wife, who just chuckle at him.
“Yes, we will leave you be then. Please, rest and know that you are safe here,” The chief and his wife say goodbye and turn to leave, but Sheely runs into the healing den. Ungral and I follow after her, partially to see what is wrong and partially because my stamina is running too low to do much else. Her parents and the other large orc come into the hut too, and I see Sheely in her usual spot next to the bed with tears running down her cheeks.
Everyone goes over her and when I settle on the bed she hurriedly plasters herself against me. I hold and shush her, and I can make out some words between her broken sobs.
“I don’t want you to leave,” she bawls out, and I immediately start to hold her tighter.
Her father has crouched next to her, and his large hand is splayed on her back. “She has a family too, my heart, and we cannot keep her from them,” he tells her, but I speak up.
“I don’t actually. Well, I suppose I do but they’re the ones who sold me to those men,” my voice wavers as all the eyes turn to me, mixed looks of anger and pity look back at me.
“Then you have to stay here,” Sheely says, her voice firm. I smile at her, but I do not wish to impose on these kind people.
“Now little one, I don’t want to overstay my welcome.” I try to sound cheery, but it really just comes out sad.
“I think I speak for everyone here when I say you should stay,” the other orc speaks up, and I no longer argue. He is the largest being I have ever seen, with dark green skin and long black hair in a single shining braid down his back. He has black swirling tattoos covering a great deal of his arms, and his deep brown eyes lock onto mine. His beauty stops the words from leaving my mouth.
“Yes, brother,” the chief nods at him and turns to me. “You will stay then, it is settled.”
His wife comes to sit by me and I open my mouth but no sounds come out, I just nod and squeeze her hand.
Not soon after this I start to heal more quickly. I am sure this has something to do with the lack of stress I currently have. I am surrounded by kind people who want to help me, and I get to stay. A large feast is held to not only celebrate that Sheely is back, but also to welcome me to the clan. It is loud and boisterous, and copious amounts of ale are consumed. Balo, the Chief, drinks so much in celebration that his wife Lorka is rolling her eyes at him. He is telling old war stories and spinning his daughter around, taking intermediate breaks to remind Lorka how in love with her he is. When he hears me laugh, though, he sends a large grin my way and starts a toast for me. I am embarrassed, but flattered as they raise their glasses to me. I drink some too, but Ungral warns me not to do much since it could interfere with some of the medicine he has given me.
Sure enough, I feel the effects of the alcohol much more strongly than I would have thought, so I go outside to get some space from the crowd. I find a pretty tree nearby and stumble my way over to it. I see Sheely’s uncle leave the great feast hall not long after I do. He looks around until he finds me, then struts toward me.
“Oh, hi! I’m sorry but I don’t think I ever got your name,” I squeak out the words as best I can, hoping I’m not sounding over eager or over drunk. He is large and powerful, and I cannot look away. He makes me feel so small, and it excites something deep within me. My head spins, and I am unsure if it is due to his presence or simply the mead.
“My given name is Rhugro’bash, but Bash is just fine little songbird,” he nods at me and settles onto a stump next to me. He offers me a smile and hands me a plate stacked high with food. “I saw you leave and wanted to make sure you would still eat.”
“Thank you, everyone is so friendly but I’m just not used to such big crowds,” I take the food eagerly, moaning at the flavors. I feel spoiled here, with a beautiful orcish man bringing me delicious food. I open my eyes to see Bash staring at me as I eat, and I almost choke at the look on his face. “Sorry, it’s just so good.”
He throws his head back and lets out a guwaffing laugh. “Well then I am happy to have pleased one as lovely as you.”
He reaches over and pushes a strand of hair behind my ear, and I’m sure he can feel the heat coming off of my face. He stands and leaves quickly after, wishing me a goodnight in his deep rumbling voice. Oh gods, I think to myself, I am going to get myself in trouble with him.
The next morning I wake up to a large breakfast and a flower set out for me. I ask Ungral about it and he laughs, shaking his head at me.
“It seems you’ve caught a certain someone’s attention,” the old man gives me a wry smile, apparently amused by my confusion. He sits across from me with his herbal tea, and passes me a note. It says nothing on it but ‘From Bash’, so it does little to clear things up.
“But...why?”
“The man wants to cook for you,” he shrugs, “wants to see to it you’re fed, and brings a flower? I think you can figure it out,” he chuckles at me then, and leaves me with a meal that was composed of more food than I would be able to eat in days.
Bash comes to visit with Sheely later in the day, who hugs me then promptly goes to hang out with Ungral instead. I thank Bash for breakfast and he goes from a warrior to a puppy in an instant. He lights up and breaks out in a breathtaking smile, the gold bands on his tusks shining brightly. The two of us sit down, and he sees the flower sitting next to my bed. I clear my throat, feeling much more nervous in his presence than the night before when I was emboldened by alcohol.
“I hope it wasn’t too forward of me, songbird. I wasn’t sure how things like this are done where you are from.” He speaks so casually and directly, I am not used to that.
“What kind of things do you mean?”
He reaches over and folds my hand in his, his calloused palms brushing against my skin in the sweetest way. “Romantic type things. I want to court you.”
“Can I ask why?”
He laughs a bit and schooches his chair closer to me, a playful look on his face. He leans closer to me as he speaks, and his proximity makes my head spin. “You are strong, and brave. I like the way you look when I bring you food, and how beautiful you are. You love Sheely, and were ready to lay down your life for her. I cannot think of better traits for a mate.”
My mouth is in an “o” shape, and he leans back with a satisfied look on his face. Sheely comes barreling back in and I am grateful for the distraction.
Bash continues to send food to me, along with little gifts or trinkets. He gives me clothing too, as well as a homemade chest to put everything in. I appreciate it and everything he does makes me feel so special, but I hardly feel as if I deserve it.
One day he comes to take me for a walk, and I voice this to him.
“I really do enjoy everything you do for me, I just feel like I am undeserving of all of it. You spoil me.” He finds a log to sit on, and pulls me to sit on one of his thighs. My arms wind themselves around his neck with his behind my back. The closeness is so effortless for him, it seems, while I feel my heart is going to pump out of my chest.
“Now don’t go feeling guilty, pretty bird. I like doing things for you.” He frowns at me, and makes everything sound so simple.
“I just feel bad I can’t give you anything in return.”
“You give me plenty,” he scoffs, “you gift me your time.”
You huff and adjust yourself on his knee, turning to face him more.
“You give me that too though. I want to give you something and yet all I have are things you have gifted me.” I frown at this realization. They have welcomed me in but I’ve really just free-loaded.
Bash taps a finger to my forehead, startling me out of my thoughts. “I don’t know what’s going on in here, but cut it out. You wanna give me something?” I nod, of course I do. He smiles, almost wicked. “Sing to me, bird. I want to hear it.”
My eyes grow big. Of all things, I was not expecting this.
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he says, playing with my hair with an exaggerated pout on his lips.
“I’ll do it for you, I’m just not used to singing nice things. It’s always been a bit of a defense mechanism.” I try to think back to when I was young and would sing to the birds and the flowers. I think about the feelings I have for Bash, the look in his eye when he sees me and the happiness he brings me. I concentrate and let my abilities take over. It’s natural for me, like taking a breath of fresh air after being underwater too long.
My voice sings of a new life, of a gallant rescue. I sing of new feelings and new family, how much more beautiful life is for me now. I sing of new beginnings, of spring. I let my emotions well up then pour out, and I am unsure how long I sing but when I stop he has tears in his eyes.
I reach up to wipe them away, noticing how out of it he looks. He has pulled me much closer to him while I was singing and I am thoroughly pressed against him.
He whispers “thank you.” Bash presses his lips to my brow and we stay like this for quite some time. Once we hear crickets chirping he takes me back to Ungral’s.
The courting gifts start to increase and get larger after this encounter. He insists on cooking almost every meal for me, and I try to squash my feelings of being unworthy. I sing to him occasionally too, since he says it’s one of his favorite things. We often have the healers den to ourselves, since Ungral lives in a separate building behind it. I haven’t been to his house yet, as he said he is in the middle of building onto it.
The first time he kisses me, it is while he is cooking for me. I move to the kitchen to peek at what he is making, and he just leans down and pecks me on the lips. He pulls back and looks shocked at his own actions, and I get to see my great warrior flustered. I give him no chance to apologize. I lift up onto my tippy toes and pull him down, slanting my mouth over his. He holds his arms out awkwardly to the side at first, but soon drops the wooden spoon and kisses me back.
He’s vocal and does not bother to hold in his groans. I pull at him until we are on the cot together, kissing and petting at one another. He moves to my neck, placing wet open mouthed kisses under my ear. The feeling of his tusks brushing against my neck sends chills up my spine. All too suddenly he rips himself off of me, running to the kitchen. The sound of soup boiling over registers and I hop up to help clean up the mess. Bash’s cursing turns into laughter when we look at one another, and I peck his lips again but the heated moment has passed.
I am adamant about giving Bash an actual tangible courting gift, and I ask Ungral about it.
“It’s not frowned upon, if that’s what you mean,” he tells me, showing me how to blend certain medicines. “Not required either, but after one courts you a while giving a gift back is a way to accept the courting or encourage them that you want it to advance.”
Winter is around the corner and Bash told me he has a lot to prepare for with his home, so I try to think of something good to get for him today. I talk to Ungral about this too, but it feels odd talking to him about my romantic life. He is more of a father than mine ever was, and I sense it’s a bit awkward for him as well.
“Take this,” Ungral says, trying to shove a bag of coin in my hand. I push it back at him.
“What, no! What for?” I ask him, “I already live here for free!”
He gives me a flat look in return “You help me with my work and Bash feeds the both of us with his excessive courting meals. I should still pay you for all the work you help me with. Go buy a courting gift and stop fawning, girl.” He turns around and leaves no room for me to argue.
I do want to give something nice to Bash so I take it, but I vow to help Ungral even more to feel as though I earned it. I walk along the shops in the center of the village, and one tent catches my eye. Inside are glittering beads, hair ties, and bottles of oils and soaps resting on shelves. Bash’s hair is beautiful, and he knows it, so this would be perfect. I look along the beads and one instantly catches my eye. It’s a pretty blue bead and dangling on it is a bird. It’s absolutely perfect. I go to pay for the bead and the shop owner wraps it up in a nice box for me. I can’t wait to give it to him, and I hate that I have to wait.
The hours could not go by any slower, but eventually Bash comes by to tell me goodnight. He walks in and kisses me, but I can tell he is tired.
“How was your day songbird?”
I cannot help to smile in excitement, I probably look crazy to him.
“It was good,” I tell him, “I have a surprise for you.”
“Oh really? And what may that be?”
“Sit here and close your eyes! I’ll be right back.” I sit him on the bed and get a sleepy smile in return. I go to get the bead and a snack for him as well. I’m only gone a moment, but when I return he is snoring. My disappointment is fleeting, he looks so sweet like this. I set the box on the table and get to work. I gently peel his shoes off and his more uncomfortable looking clothing as well before tucking him in. The bed is small so I decide to snuggle in, hoping he doesn’t mind the liberty taken.
Bash is warm, and I find it was one of the best night's sleep I’ve had in awhile. We are tangled together in the morning and he is awake before me. A hand is petting my hair, and I just sigh and shove my face more into his chest.
“Sorry I fell asleep,” he whispers to me, and I have never thought him more attractive than now, with his groggy voice in my ear.
“Shh, m’still sleepin,” I mumble into his chest, and get a laugh in return. We bask in the moment before I remember how excited I am, so I just roll over and hand him the box, jolting up to give it to him.
“Open it,” I encourage, and he purposefully goes slowly.
When he sees it he gasps, and I feel like I’ve done well. I realize why he enjoys doing things for me so much now. His excitement and happiness when he holds it up is my new favorite look for him. He has me braid the bead into his hair, and the blue is a stark contrast to his dark hair.
“I have something for you as well, my songbird,” Bash gestures to his satchel, and I hand it to him. He digs around, and then presses a key into my hand. It takes a moment for my brain to catch up. I look at the key then back at Bash for a minute before it sinks in.
“You want me to...live with you?”
“Yes, I can’t think of anything I would want more,” he admits to me.
“I don’t need an answer right away,” he continues, one of his large hands caressing the side of my face. “Just...come by tonight if you decide to, otherwise I will see you in the morning and we can take things as slowly as you wish.” He kisses my stunned face and goes to walk away, apparently nervous for your reaction.
I grab him before he makes his way out.
“Bash!” I stop him, and pull him down near me. “I’ll see you tonight,” I whisper in his ear, planting a kiss underneath. I can practically feel the chill that runs through him, but I usher him out anyway. I’ve never been to his house before, and wasn’t even sure where to go. I talk to Ungral a bit before I pack up my things. I leave most everything there for now, as my chest and other things are too heavy for me alone. I then go to visit his sister-in-law’s house for a bit of help.
Later that night I walk up the cobble pathway in nothing but the silk nightdress Lorka has given me. My hair is down, and I feel every bit the siren I have been accused of being. The home is beautiful under the moonlight and the colors seem vibrant bathed in the blue of the night. Fireflies dance over the pond and the stone house is reflected in its depths. I open the heavy door and all the breath leaves my body.
Bash is waiting for me in the home he has built for us in nothing but his loincloth. He stands proud and tall in front of me. Deep rumbles of desire come from his chest and mix with the sounds of the crackling fire; it is the most beautiful melody I have ever been lucky enough to hear. The fire gives his skin an otherworldly gleam and he looks every part the formidable warrior he is known to be. My formidable warrior, now. I walk toward him as if I am a newborn deer and I fear he can hear my knees knocking together, but one of his hands reaches out to steady me.
His hand moves up my arm while his other goes around my waist, pulling me against him. His warm skin quells a shaking chill I didn’t know I had, and I let myself melt into him. He has barely touched me and I feel as though I’ve run miles.
“Let me take you to our bed, my songbird,” he says, and I nod my head. My eyes are wide gazing up at him and Bash smiles down at me. He bends down and lifts me up a bit to close the gap to place a soft kiss on my lips. His tusks brush against my cheeks and I gasp. He suddenly places his hands on my bottom and pulls me up with my legs around him. I squeal out a laugh and the nervousness is broken.
He gives kisses and raspberries all over my neck and chest as he walks me to the bedroom. I squirm and laugh, and my hand ends up in Bash’s hair. I give it a tug and am rewarded with a playful growl as he tosses me onto the bed. The bed he has crafted is beautiful, and I am once again lost in his duality. He is a powerful warrior who can wield his warhammer like no other, and yet he created and carved the delicate wooden features adorning our headboard. He seems hard on the outside, so intimidating and yet he kisses me so softly.
He climbs up with me and pulls my legs on either side of his hips, perched up on his knees. My hand splays across his stomach and I feel the muscle there, covered in a layer of softness that makes me find him all the more appealing. I gawk at him, tracing the tattoos and scared planes of his body.
“See something you like?” His large hands run over my thighs, the fingertips dipping under my nightdress on each pass.
“I see a lot I like,” I quietly admit, finally lifting my gaze to meet his. A pleased sound leaves him. He kisses me and pulls me even closer, so much so that the heat between my thighs settles on his manhood. I can’t help but grind myself into him.
“I want to make you sing for me,” He tells me, and he slinks down the bed. I push myself up onto my elbows and watch his broad shoulders push apart my thighs. I can feel a deep throbbing in my core, and I gasp when his fingers trace the lines of my underclothes. His other hand moves upward and settles on my stomach before he pulls my underwear aside.
His warm breath washes over me, and he places the gentlest of kisses around the apex of my thighs before licking a broad stripe along my folds. I fall back onto the bed writhing , my hands digging into the sheets. He starts to lick and kiss at my clit, and a strong finger finds its way to my entrance. My back arches and a moan leaves me at the pleasure he is giving. His other hand wanders up the bed to meet one of mine, untangling my fingers that were clutching the sheets. As his finger pumps into me in time with his mouth moving on my clit I cannot hold in my noises.
“Bash, please,” I moan out to him, unsure what I am asking him for. His answering rumble vibrates through me and his tusks start to dig into my soft flesh. He adds another finger and I feel myself quickly tighten around them. The crooking of his fingers and the pressure on my clit increases and a knot builds in my stomach. The noises leaving me increase as well, but everything quiets the moment that I find my release. Fireworks go off behind my eyes, my legs tighten around his head and my hips jerk. He sounds like a man feasting, grunts and groans leaving his mouth. He does not relent until I am jerking away from the stimulation with a whimper, the ecstasy too much.
“Bash, c’mere,” I pull at his shoulders, my request coming out a breathless whine. When he looks up at me he is debauched. His eyes are full of desire and my wetness covers his mouth and chin. As he moves up my body, he pulls my underclothes off of me as well.
“Did you enjoy me, my songbird?” He inquires, laying kisses up my arm as sparks continue to dance on my skin. I give a breathy yes in response to him. I reach my hands out to pull him down over me, and his arousal is evident as it presses into my stomach. I arch into it and my desire is reborn. I reach down and run my fingers along his shaft over the loincloth still covering him. I pull at the edges of the cloth and it falls down, releasing his heavy cock.
I feel my mouth water at the sight of it. It hangs beneath its own weight, and I bring my hand up to hold it. The hot flesh pulses in my hand, and I feel my entrance pulse in answer. It’s an even darker green than the rest of him, and more tattoos swirl near the base of it. Fluid leaks out of the tip, and I run my fingers over it, coating the head. When I look back at Bash’s face, I am not disappointed. His eyebrows are knitted together and his eyes are dark with want. I hold his gaze and give a tentative stroke, letting his hips jerk into my hand. My other hand comes up to caress his heavy sack, gently massaging him in time with the strokes.
“Fuck, I’m going to come from your hands alone if you don’t stop that, woman,” he snarls out, but I only slow down my efforts.
“Don’t you want to?” I ask him sweetly, leaning up to kiss his neck.
“Minx,” he scolds me in good nature, then leans down to snarl darkly in my ear. “I want to feel you come around my cock when I release. I want to fill you up so much you leak my seed for days, and any Orc who comes near you will smell my claim on you.”
His words alone cause a whimper to leave my mouth. “Please,” I breath out, wanting nothing more than for that to come true. He strips me of my nightdress, and I take his hands in mine and pull him back with me on the bed, curling one of my legs over his hip. His cock runs through my folds, my wetness coating him, before he notches the head at my entrance. He sucks and licks at my tits before smoothly thrusting into me, my nails coming up to dig into his back. My cunt is tightly wrapped around him, every vein of his cock pulsing inside me. He is so much bigger than me in every way, and I’m surprised he fits inside of me without pain. The stretch is uncomfortable at first, but soon fades as my pleasure crests.
“Look how well you take me, songbird. Will you sing to me again?” He punctuates this with a hard thrust, and I let out a long moan. I feel my power imbed itself into my voice, but I cannot help it. Tendrils of my magic reach out and touch him, caressing his skin and coaxing out more desire with my noises. His movements speed up, and I hear grunts leave him. Bash brings his face to my chest, growling into it. Pleasure builds in me again, and as I wail out my climax Bash follows me. He buries himself deep within me and pumps me full of his seed as he promised, his hands holding tight to my sides.
Fucked out mewls escape my lips and Bash coos down at me, praises passing through his lips. He gently rolls off of me and lays beside me.
“You’ve conquered me, my songbird. I don’t think I can feel my legs,” he teases, petting me sweetly as I come down from my high. He manages to clean us up before he throws blankets over us both. As I’m drifting off, I feel a kiss to my forehead and Bash mumbles to me.
“I can’t wait to cook for you in the morning, my love.”
Traveler: “Not to sound gay but I’d definitely smooch you.”
June
- Poor boy is so confused, there are two questions colliding in his mind.
- First, you actually want to kiss him?? Second, how would that not count as gay?? Unless you’re saying you wanna kiss him in a friend way?
- He is mainly confused, but won’t speak his mind besides asking you to clarify what you meant.
- Please explain it to him, he’ll probably overthink it if you don’t and honestly, no one wants that. Having a sad June is something no one wants and Ryona will hound you for it.
- If you explain it to him well enough, he will be very pleased and might even flush a bit
- “I’d like to kiss you too.”
Damon
- It takes him a second to process what you just said, but when he does he hits you back with a,
- “Nah, I’d only kiss you if it’s in a gay way.”
- When asked why not, he purses his eyebrows at you.
- “There’s no point to do it if it’s not.”
- You’re only options are to stand your ground (which won’t work and will enviably bring you to the second option) and agree to say what if you wanted to kiss him in a gay way.
- At that point, he lets out a huge smirk and responds with cornering you into a wall
- “Well, in that case, go for it.”
Calderon
- “What?”
- Confused at what the hell you just tried to tell him, when he finally processes and understands he honestly just gives you a look of disapproval.
- “I don’t kiss people who I consider to be platonic.”
- Very straight-forward, won’t take a little gay kiss it’s either fully romantic or non at all, this man does not keep his heart on his sleeve.
- If you ask for a kiss in a gay way DING DING MY FRIEND, you’ve won a special prize ~
- You feel him tower over you, even if you yourself are taller than him, he gives a dominant vibe as if he’s the one in control of the situation as he usually is.
- “I wouldn’t mind you going for it right here, in that case, stowaway.”
Bash
- He immediately understands what you mean and grabs your hand, gently squeezing it in a comforting manner. His response immediately after is,
- “What if I wanna kiss you in a gay way though?”
- You know in your mind that it’s not a question and if anything it’s a statement, with the affectionate smile on his face you can see his confidence in his answer.
- He’s correct in his confidence seeing as the only option you have left is to agree that you’d be okay with kissing in a gay way. (besides you don’t wanna break his heart now would you?)
- “I sure hope so! It would real weird to kiss you all over in a friend way.”
(FYI I really need requests to continue doing Andromeda stuff cause I don’t really have many ideas!!!)
hello! can I make a prompt request for bash (reign) x femme self insert? #10 “I’m too drunk to have this conversation right now.” 💕
Characters: Female reader x Sebastian de Poitiers
Fandom: Reign
Warnings: alcohol consumption
Word Count: 1072
A/N: Here you go, anon, thank you for requesting! Hope you like it 💖
Originally posted by allthefandom-imagines-blog
French Court had never been as alive as that night, with echoes of vibrant laughter and riveting music reverberating in the walls of the golden ballroom. Nobles from all France had come to the celebration and the royal family had made sure everything was as perfect and as magnificent as it could be, and indeed the noblemen seemed rather impressed, if not by the food and decoration, certainly by the rich wine and the graceful women flaunting their dresses and dancing happily in the center of the room.
The atmosphere was one of beauty and splendor, to the point where you were starting to think that even the stars in the sky outside would want to come inside to join the celebration. Or perhaps that was just the wine talking, you thought as you grabbed your sixth or seventh glass from a silver tray nearby.
“(Y/N)!” Lady Lola exclaimed as she watched you taking a long sip of the drink. The excitement of that night had replaced the blood in your veins with the sweetness of the wine, a much needed experience as you had lost count to how many noblemen you had talked to and rejected that evening. The only one you were interested in wasn’t there, off to fulfill some duty as King's Deputy as always. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough to drink for the night?”
“No, that lord over there has been trying to court me all night and he’s coming this way right now so…” you trailed off, bringing the glass to your lips again. But before the man could approach you and you could find another excuse to avoid him, you felt a shadow being casted over you and saw your friends Lola, Kenna and Greer exchanging rapid, meaningful glances.
“What?” You asked them, but instead of their answer a soft voice fell upon your neck, your spine protesting in gentle shivers when his breath fanned your ear.
“(Y/N), may I speak with you for a moment?” You turned around abruptly at the sound of that voice, almost bumping into Sebastian as he had leaned into you to talk over the loud music. You tripped over your own feet and felt the walls and the floor dangerously quavering as your head spun. Almost instantly Bash’s careful hands grabbed you, keeping you in your place as his green eyes bored into yours. They looked like those multicolored marbles kids played with in the gardens. “Are you alright?”
“Y-yes,” you stuttered, unsure if you were more stunned by the alcohol in your system or his sudden presence in front of you. “What do you wish to speak to me about?”
“Come,” he asked, tangling his arm in yours to drag you away from the confusion. You found a calmer spot by the entrance of the room and rested your back against the cold wall while trying to decipher what other treasures were hidden behind the emeralds in his eyes. There wasn’t a single part of you that didn’t love him, and yet you had no idea if there was even one of him that loved you back. “It’s about last night. I saw you leaving Francis’ chambers, and I’d like to know why.”
You rolled your eyes at him and scoffed. “Oh God, I’m too drunk to have this conversation right now. Can it not wait until like… never?”
“(Y/N)”, he called, and even if his stare was urgent there was a softness in his tone he rarely ever used with anyone but you. “Are you two together?”
“What?” You snorted, still feeling the taste of the wine in your tongue as blurry dots started to invade your vision. “You know Francis loves Mary.”
“What about you?” He asked, and his voice was now lower, almost insecure. “Do you love him?”
You brought a hand to your temple and massaged it, trying to ease the dizziness you were feeling. Alcohol could be intoxicating, but nothing compared to Bash.
“As a friend? Yes. Nothing more. Why do you care if I was leaving his chambers?”
“For nothing,” he answered, tone contained and veiled. There was a sudden urge in you to touch his lips with yours to see if you could make the veil fall. You knew he wasn’t telling you the whole truth. “I just care about you, that’s all.”
“As sweet as that is, I think you’re jealous.”
“I’m not jealous,” he countered. “I just need to know if there’s something going on between you and Francis because if there is I’ll need to… protect you. A King’s mistress is always—”
“I’m not his mistress!” You exclaimed, raising your voice. “I told you, there’s nothing going on between him and me.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you,” Bash said sincerely. “I just can’t think of any other reason as to why you’d be in his chambers.”
“You can’t?” You raised an eyebrow, suddenly tired of hiding it, of carrying all those feelings inside you and not letting them out. “Well, I can. It was supposed to be a surprise, but since you’re so curious and stubborn, I’ll tell you. I’ve been meaning to plan a boat trip for you, and Francis’ been helping me with it.”
“A boat trip? For me? Why?”
“Because I like you!” You blurted out, not even feeling flustered for finally admitting it. “And I wanted to do something special for you. To thank you for always being there for me. There, now you know.”
“I…” Bash brought his thumb to your face, caressing your cheek in the most delicate of ways. “I like you too, (Y/N). Very much.”
“You do?”
“Yes, how could I not?” He smiled. “But I’m not sure I deserve all that effort.”
“Of course you do!” You rolled your eyes at him. “Even if you ruined the surprise.”
“I’m sorry,” he chuckled, “I promise next time I’ll trust you.”
“Good,” you said, and then a playful smile bloomed from your lips as your hands grabbed his. “But if you were so jealous about me leaving Francis' chambers... how about I pass by yours tonight?”
Bash stared at you, red painting over his cheeks before he relaxed and gave you a dazzling smile.
“I’d love that,” he declared, then offering you a small smirk and leaning towards you to whisper in your ear. “But I don't think you'll want to leave my chambers anytime soon.”
