What's a cutie like you doing in a graveyard like this? You looking for a good time? I'm sure I can find something you'll like.😉
About Me:
My name is Zombie (she/they) and I run this little section of Tumblr. You won't know if I'm following you or not because this is a side-blog. And all asks from are on Anon, but I will sign my name to them.
I do some writing, here and there. Currently the majority of my writing is for CEvans and SStan characters, though Cavill and Hiddleston are quickly climbing the ranks. I've also got a smattering of other characters that I'd love to write more for if I get the time/interest.
You can find my masterlist here.
Warnings:
This is an 18+, NSFW, Minors DNI blog.
I am relatively human and, therefore, prone to mistakes.
If you send an ask, I'm unlikely to answer it right away, especially if it's a request for a story.
I reserve the right to not answer every ask sent my way.
I do not interact with blogs that do not have some indication of age. I am not willing to risk interacting with a minor.
Rules:
Don't be an asshole. Kindness is incredibly important.
Don't have a blank blog. I will likely block you.
Don't spam my ask box. As stated above, it can take a while to answer these things. Please be patient with me.
No celebrity gossip or the like, please. I'm just interested in characters, not actors.
Other than that, welcome to my little graveyard. Hope you have a fun time, cutie.
A/N: Written for the June Jukebox Scribbles. Prompt: “Only those in love could know”
A/N2: Reader is female. No other physical descriptors used.
Summary: You rule out another suspect in your investigation into Priscilla's death.
Main Story
"Papa! Papa! Do you see what I did?" little Grace calls to Jefferson, holding up a weed Hal had asked her dig up for him.
Though Jefferson smiles proudly at his daughter, you can see the sadness never leaves his eyes.
"Wonderful work, Grace," he praises. "You'll be as good a gardener as your Uncle Hal in no time!"
Grace giggles before turning back to Hal for more instructions.
"She reminds me a lot of her mother," you muse.
"She does," Jefferson nods, his smile dropping.
"You still miss her?"
"I'll always miss her," Jefferson snaps quietly. "The marriage was political, yes, but we knew each other. Talked, traded knowledge of secret passageways in our various castles and more. When it came time for an alliance renewal, I jumped at the chance to marry her."
"I remember the wedding being the happiest I'd ever been to," you smile softly. "They'd all been so formal, until yours."
Jefferson smiles softly, eyes never leaving Grace.
"Have you thought about another marriage?" you offer. "Another alliance or to help with Grace?"
Jefferson closes his eyes, looking like he's trying to keep his temper in check.
"No. And I'd appreciate it not being brought up again."
"I'm sorry for my crassness, I just don't understand. It's all politics."
"I won't go into another marriage unless absolutely necessary," he states flatly. "I'm carrying the kind of pain only those in love could know and I've been doing my damnedest to not let it spread to Grace."
"I still don't fully understand, but I will respect your wishes," you nod.
Jefferson may not have had a hand in Priscilla's death, but that does not absolve his brothers. More information is needed. At the very least, you're grateful that your cousin knew real love in her lifetime.
A/N: Written for the June Jukebox Scribbles. Prompt: “Only those in love could know”
A/N2: Reader is female. No other physical descriptors used.
Summary: You rule out another suspect in your investigation into Priscilla's death.
Main Story
"Papa! Papa! Do you see what I did?" little Grace calls to Jefferson, holding up a weed Hal had asked her dig up for him.
Though Jefferson smiles proudly at his daughter, you can see the sadness never leaves his eyes.
"Wonderful work, Grace," he praises. "You'll be as good a gardener as your Uncle Hal in no time!"
Grace giggles before turning back to Hal for more instructions.
"She reminds me a lot of her mother," you muse.
"She does," Jefferson nods, his smile dropping.
"You still miss her?"
"I'll always miss her," Jefferson snaps quietly. "The marriage was political, yes, but we knew each other. Talked, traded knowledge of secret passageways in our various castles and more. When it came time for an alliance renewal, I jumped at the chance to marry her."
"I remember the wedding being the happiest I'd ever been to," you smile softly. "They'd all been so formal, until yours."
Jefferson smiles softly, eyes never leaving Grace.
"Have you thought about another marriage?" you offer. "Another alliance or to help with Grace?"
Jefferson closes his eyes, looking like he's trying to keep his temper in check.
"No. And I'd appreciate it not being brought up again."
"I'm sorry for my crassness, I just don't understand. It's all politics."
"I won't go into another marriage unless absolutely necessary," he states flatly. "I'm carrying the kind of pain only those in love could know and I've been doing my damnedest to not let it spread to Grace."
"I still don't fully understand, but I will respect your wishes," you nod.
Jefferson may not have had a hand in Priscilla's death, but that does not absolve his brothers. More information is needed. At the very least, you're grateful that your cousin knew real love in her lifetime.
A/N: Written for the June Jukebox Scribbles. Prompt: Tainted Love - Soft Cell / “I cannot stand the way you tease”
Word Count: 252
You and Steve are both working from home today. It's a rare occasion that you can spend the day together and you're taking advantage of it. You end up spending more time eye fucking him than actually working.
Annoying as that is, what's more annoying is that Steve doesn't seem to notice. He's able to lock in to the point he doesn't realize how his hands are moving so smoothly, keeping your attention.
Sitting on the couch you can't help the pouty huff you let out. You try to keep it quiet but of course Steve heard it.
"What's wrong?" he asks, confusion and worry written all over his face. "And please don't say 'nothing'."
"Nothing's wrong, I'm just frustrated," you answer, crossing your arms.
"That sounds like something's wrong."
"Fine but it's definitely not something that can be fixed."
"Can you at least tell me what it is?"
"I cannot stand the way you tease," you grumble.
"I'm teasing?" Steve's eyes widen in surprise.
"Yes! And it's worse because you don't realize you're doing it! You're just so naturally attractive and sexy and you don't even know it! How am I supposed to get any work done like this?"
"Well, despite your claims it's pretty clear something is wrong and there is something I can do to fix it," he smirks, cheeks turning pink.
"But we have to work," you pout.
"I think it's time for a lunch break," he declares before picking you up and carrying you to the bedroom.
Read once in a dark romance regarding arranged forced marriage of enemies to lovers, how the woman was huffing she has to get the morning after pill because of course he fucked her brains out bareback (multiple fillings 🤭). She wasn't against pregnancy itself, but she was still hating him (and hating how good it all felt).
He didn't fight her on that, BUT the same morning, during an all family breakfast, he started cooing all over her and mentioning she can eat whatever she wants and he'll make sure any craving she has will be met - after all, she's pregnant 😆 And the family is of course congratulating, awwing, the whole annoying supporting stance; as well nods of approval for fulfilling the role and solidifying the alliance.
And the bastard grins, puts a hand on her belly, and whispers in her ear: "Better make sure you're really knocked up now that everyone's expecting it."
Makes you feel so good you hate it then essentially tricks you into not taking your birth control?
I'm honestly kinda torn between Johnny and Steve. Johnny would especially love making you feel oh so good when he knows you don't like him. And Steve is all about making sure it takes.
And both of them can be downright tricky bastards when they wanna be!
"So," Jen started as she sat down across from all three of you, "how'd you guys meet, then?"
Curtis, your strong, stoic one, surprises you by being the first to answer. "We all met at a mutual friend's birthday party. Just got into a conversation between the three of us and," he shrugs, "clicked. It seemed pretty simple, to be honest."
You grinned. "Yeah, felt like the three of us just all slotted into place. All at once."
"Well," Ari jumped in on your other side, his arm stretched across the top of the couch so that he touched you both, "technically I saw her first."
Your mouth dropped open in shock as you turned from one of your boyfriends to the other to find the biggest, most shit-eating grin on Ari's face.
Curtis leaned in over you, and even though you couldn't see his eye roll, you could feel it. "Fuck off," he muttered, with equal parts affection and exasperation.
Ari shrugged, his expression not changing. "I'm just saying. If we're talking about who was into who first, it was me. I saw her first."
"God, Ari," you laughed, just as Curtis reached across you to pull Ari toward him with his hand on the back of Ari's neck.
"Yeah? Well, maybe I saw you first, huh?" And then he pulled Ari into one of the filthiest kisses you'd ever witnessed between them. But never one to leave anyone out, his other hand slipped between your thighs. Not indecent, not exactly. But if this continued any further, the three of you would need to get home. Now.
You heard Jen awkwardly clear her throat on the other couch as Curtis thumb on your leg started to brush back and forth. Yeah, it was definitely time to go.
Entry for June Jukebox Scribbles hosted by @societynsoelsscribbles
prompt: Tainted Love - Soft Cell / “I cannot stand the way you tease”
warnings: lee bodecker (he's a warning in himself), allusions to smut, dishes left to sit in the sink
w.c.: 293
masterlist | event masterlist
You stood at the sink, washing the plates that had been used for dinner, humming quietly to yourself. A new song from the radio was stuck in your head and the beat was irresistible, making you sway your hips gently to the beat in your head.
While you were stuck in your own head, you were oblivious to the man standing in the doorway of the kitchen, watching you with a look that did little to mask the hunger in his gaze. After an extra moment of appreciating your swaying form, he walked forward and as soon as your body was in his reach, he pulled you back into his chest and soft tummy.
You squealed and dropped the soapy sponge on the kitchen tiles. “Lee! You scared me half to death!”
He hummed in that deep timbre of his and pulled you even tighter to his body. “Well, you can’t blame a man for wanting to feel his girl sway her hips on his body,” he mumbled, dragging his lips down the column of your throat and holding your body weight as your knees became weak from his affection.
“It’s just a bit of dancing,” you said.
“Mm, I cannot stand the way you tease,” he responded as he kissed down the slope of your shoulder.
“Honey, I have to finish the dishes before the food crusts to the plates,” you weakly protested, knowing that he wouldn’t let you go now that he had you in his arms.
“I don’t give a damn about dishes, darling,” he growled. “Now, I want you naked, on my bed, by the time I count to ten.”
You swore you had never disrobed so fast in your life as you eagerly ran to Lee’s awaiting bed.
Noooo! He just dropped of bottles of extra water, he's great! ☺️ He was just joking because my family was making fun of him preparing in case of an energy before.
Rating: Explicit, 18+ only. Minors, ageless, blank, & non-updated blogs will be blocked immediately.
Word count: 5,275 words
Plot: Loki visits a strange new realm and meets an intriguing stranger.
Warnings: 18+ only. This fic features explicit sex including- sex outdoors, oral sex, face fucking, deep throating, humiliation, D/s dynamics, making out, semi-drunk sex, dirty talk, brief sexual talk of violence, dry humping, dacryphilia, brief mention of past and continuing trauma and abuse.
Notes: This is both fairly canon compliant and non-canon compliant. Events take place before Baldur’s Gate 3 and Thor 1.
Beta’d by the wonderful @cocoamoonmalfoy!
A cool breeze lifted Loki’s hair as he stood between two large buildings, watching the sea. Even the air felt different here, with the realm’s magic tingling strangely on his skin. A small frown appeared on his face.
“Brother, come! I did not bring you to the fair realm of Faerûn to gaze at its rivers!” Thor’s voice boomed behind him, jovial as always. Loki turned, seeing the impatience of the Warriors Three.
“No, brother. You brought me here to sample its whores.” Loki squinted in the sunlight, his voice droll.
“And it’s food and culture,” Volstagg added.
Loki chuckled. “Of course.”
Thor looked pained. “Must you be so crass, Loki? We are simply stopping at this fine establishment to enjoy a bit of ale and company before we travel to Baldur’s Gate.”
Loki snorted inelegantly in reply.
“I believe there’s a magical shop in the city that you may enjoy,” Fandral added, a mischievous smile on his face. He knew how to best persuade the prince.
Loki sighed. “Fine. Lead and I shall follow. Though, by agreeing to this excursion I expect a full afternoon in the magical shop without complaint. If it meets my standards,” he sniffed.
Hogun grunted in assent, his face remaining serious. Loki wondered if the taciturn Vanir ever smiled.
Thor brought Loki close, a hearty slap on the back making him stumble forward. “Come, let us show this realm the glory of Asgard!”
“Is that what you call it, now?” Loki asked with an arched brow.
Thor’s face reddened as his friends laughed uproariously. The group walked into the lively brothel and made a beeline straight to the bar.
Countless tankards of ale, dances, and songs later, Loki was left alone at a small table on the balcony. The garish reds of the brothel’s interiors were beginning to make him feel closed in. He waved off a nymph and made his way onto the terrace outside. The sun was still radiant as it set, bathing everything in a soft light.
He tested his magic, feeling relieved as his seidr flowed over him, as refreshing as a cool stream. Universes away and he was still himself.
Loki walked around the terrace, back down towards the main road. He was unsure of where to go. Market vendors were still hawking their wares and the streets were filled with chatter as the smell of food, alcohol and animals grew stronger. This Baldur’s Gate was certainly popular, though it couldn’t hope to reach the beauty of Asgard.
He realised with a start that he had no idea where they were staying, with Thor only telling him that they were going to a legendary tavern near the city gates. He’d already given Loki a key, but a key hardly helped. Though, knowing them, they wouldn’t travel into the city proper until morning.
He looked around, feeling buoyed by alcohol and curiosity. He felt like getting into trouble. That was the best way to learn about a new place, after all. He noticed a grubby little tavern across the street and made his way there. He looked up at the sign, which was faded and battered.
“Faygo’s Flophouse? How charming,” he muttered. But needs must. One could discover the most interesting information in a hovel. Or at least a worthwhile distraction.
Loki’s nose wrinkled when he walked in, the sour smell of sweat and spilled drinks greeting him with an unfortunate intensity. Why did these places always smell the same?
He ordered more ale and a hearty stew, sitting in a quiet corner that allowed him to eavesdrop and watch for thieves. He knew that even in his plain, dark travelling clothes he did not blend in. The leather of his boots was too luxurious, the embroidery on his green cape too intricate.
His mind cleared after he filled his stomach. It was a surprisingly tasty meal, perhaps a family recipe. Unlike Thor and his friends, he wouldn’t feel the ill effects of overindulgence in the morning. His long fingers twitched beneath the table, ready to claim his dagger at a moment’s notice.
Loki downed his ale as a man walked in. He was different from the rest of the rabble. Too regal. He was shorter than Loki and slender, his thin face and pointed ears marking him as an elf. Dark red eyes scanned the room before settling on him.
The pale elf stared at him, surprised. He turned away, running his fingers through silver hair as he approached the bar. Loki continued to watch him, admiring his graceful movements and strong profile as he spoke to the bartender.
The elf ordered a bottle of wine, looking disdainfully at the dirty glasses that accompanied it. He strolled over to Loki’s table, his smile wicked and his eyes resolute. He looked down at Loki, his gaze almost- Loki’s heart skipped a beat as he realised. Hungry. Loki back smiled at him.
“You don’t mind if I sit here with you, darling? You seem a better standard of company than the rest of these rogues.”
The elf’s voice was pure sin, full-bodied and warm. He spoke with an amused intimacy, as though he was letting Loki in on a grand secret.
Loki couldn’t help but be charmed. He leaned forward, his voice conspiratorial. He made a show of looking around before speaking with a sly grin. “And what if I told you that I was the worst rogue in this establishment?”
The elf laughed as he poured them both wine. Loki’s eyes fell to his lips, the sounds of the tavern falling away.
“Well, that would be quite the surprise. I’m an excellent judge of character and you don’t strike me as the sort to slit throats for a few gold or join a mercenary’s guild.”
The elf delicately held up a wine glass for Loki to take, appraising him. “No, you’re like me, darling. Of noble blood. Perhaps a patriar’s son.” He frowned, cocking his head. “Though not from this end of the Sword Coast. Your fashion is like nothing I’ve seen before. Do you hail from Waterdeep?”
Loki leaned back, looking at the elf thoughtfully. He really shouldn’t tell this attractive stranger anything. You never knew who was listening. And who was to say that he wasn’t there to draw him into the dark and slit his throat? He should be cautious.
He never was very good at following his own advice.
“You are certainly observant.” Loki sipped his wine, allowing anticipation to build. “I am of noble birth, and I do not hail from these lands.”
The elf leaned forward, frowning when Loki fell silent. He scoffed and threw up his hands when Loki continued to enjoy his wine. “Is that all? Come darling, you mustn’t be a tease. Only I’m allowed to do that!”
Loki rested his chin in his hand. “Fine, if you insist.”
“I do.”
“I am a prince from a realm very far from here.” He sat up straight, his chin lifting slightly. “I come from Asgard, the Realm Eternal, home of the gods.”
The elf looked at Loki disbelievingly. “A prince I might believe, though what you’re doing in this hells-pit I can’t fathom. But a god? There are countless gods in Faerûn, but they’re usually not so- young. Or approachable. Do you seriously expect me to believe that you’re from another world?”
Loki laughed softly. “I am the youngest in my family, but I am hardly young.”
The elf drank his wine, grimacing at the taste. “I’m over 200 years old, and you appear to be much younger than I am.”
“I am 750 years old. Young for an Asgardian. My older brother, the heir, is 800 years old. My father is several thousand years old. He has seen civilisations crumble to dust and realms collapse. I can show you my world, if you would like further proof.”
The elf nodded, his haughty face untrusting.
Loki raised his hands. With a small flourish he conjured an image of his home. The golden spires of Asgard reflected in his eyes. The elf was astounded. It was like nothing he’d ever seen before.
“It is beautiful, isn’t it?” Loki said wistfully. He pointed to a tower. “That is where I spend much of my time, in the library and garden. Though I have been known to sneak away to less refined environs.”
The elf’s expression softened. Anguish flitted across his face for only a moment. Home. He had a home once. A garden where he once read. The memories of his past had been starved, beaten, and burned out of him decades ago, leaving only vague, painful shards of who he used to be.
“So, I sit beside a god, and I have yet to offer proper introductions. Where are my manners? Tell me, my darling stranger, what’s your name?”
“Loki. Loki Odinson,” he said with a grin, pleased with the flirtation.
“And what are you the god of, hmm?” The elf gazed at him, tapping his cheek. “The god of youthful beauty, perhaps? Or the god of pleasant conversation?”
Loki leaned back, his eyes clouding. His laugh was brittle. “I have been deemed the God of Mischief and Lies. It wasn’t through my choosing. But that is a story for another day, one with much more alcohol.”
“Hmm. I rather like that. I’ve been known to indulge in mischief now and then. Perhaps we could indulge together.” Again, that playful warmth that affected Loki more than wine ever could.
He looked at Loki with a coy half-smile. “My name is Astarion. Unfortunately, I cannot claim godhood, I am but a humble magistrate from the Upper City. A pleasure to meet you.”
Loki sounded out the name on his tongue, enjoying the weight of it. He looked at the elf with interest, his kohl-rimmed eyes shining. “In Asgard, when strangers meet, friendships are forged through drink, blood, and story. I will provide the drink if you provide the tales, the more scandalous the better.”
“And the blood?” Astarion asked sweetly.
Loki looked at him, raising a brow. “Oh, I can think of much better things to share this night.”
Astarion laughed at the nakedness of Loki’s lust, his red gaze hungry. If this prince truly was a god, then this night might end with the most unlikely of events, praise.
He took Loki’s hand, stroking his palm softly. He smiled as Loki’s heartbeat quickened. Astarion wondered idly if he was already hard. They were always so easy, almost disappointingly so. “Well, Loki, I’m always happy to have a new friend.”
The pair stumbled out of the inn, Loki’s steps slightly less assured than Astarion’s. Loki didn’t notice the cold determination in his eyes. He sang an Asgardian drinking song, his low voice pleasant.
Loki stopped mid-verse, looking out at the dark river. He pulled Astarion toward an alley that led to the water below. “What is the name of that river? It’s beautiful.”
Astarion was surprised at the clarity of his voice. That much alcohol should have felled a man twice his size. Yet Loki barely seemed tipsy. He allowed himself to be dragged into the dark. It was ideal for his purposes.
The pair made their way onto the bright sand. Though the Guild was usually active at night, they wouldn’t bother making the journey into Rivington by beach. There were much easier, and hidden, routes through the caves. They were alone.
The river lapped softly at the shore. A few lonely birds called out, interrupting the quiet. The sand crunched beneath their feet as they walked aimlessly.
Astarion looked out at the ships in the distance, ghostly black shadows in the night. “This is the Chionthar, the largest river on the Sword Coast. The sunsets here are beautiful.”
He supposed that was correct. Did he ever watch the sun move across the city? Could he picture how the light dappled across the water? Astarion frowned. No, of course not.
Loki interrupted his thoughts. He spoke, not looking at him.
“My home is surrounded by a great sea, the rather prosaically named Sea of Space. It flows downward, creating waterfalls that descend into the depths of the cosmos. At night it shines with the reflection of the palace and the stars above. As a child I used to -”
He shook his head, laughing self-consciously. “Norns. Apologies. There is something about you that makes me want to bare my soul. It’s mortifying.”
Astarion looked askance at him, moving closer. “For tonight, we’re bosom companions. I’ve told you about my life. Don’t be shy, darling.”
Loki shook his head, sighing. Well, this is a disaster.
“Friendship has always eluded me. My brother Thor- well, my brother will be king. He is everything I am not, masculine, classically handsome, dim-witted, affable. I will be the heir to nothing, and I was shunned as the trickster, the Liesmith. The dark shadow to Thor, the golden god of storms.”
Astarion tilted his head. “Hmm. By elven standards, you are very handsome. Though perhaps too tall.”
Loki’s surprised laugh filled the night air. “Well, perhaps I should travel to this realm more often! I love my brother dearly. But it is difficult to be hated while he is so loved. As a child I saw the reflection on our sea, and I would dream that another Asgard lay beneath, one where kindness might finally make itself known.”
He shivered. “However, such yearnings withered long ago. The cosmos is an unforgiving place, and I have learned that the embrace of chaos can be most thrilling.”
Astarion stared at him as they walked, his expression unreadable. He stopped and grabbed Loki’s tunic, his eyes intense. In a moment Loki was pushed against the craggy cliff face, holding Astarion in a tight embrace. The elf melted in the heat of his touch, pulling Loki’s hair to bring his lips closer.
The anticipation of the evening led to a fierce, desperate kiss between the pair. Loki grunted as Astarion’s fingers wound through his hair, keeping him just as Astarion wanted him. The elf pulled harder, enjoying the low, melodious moan that poured from Loki’s soft lips as he was forced into submission.
Astarion knew he shouldn’t be enjoying this so much. The seduction was complete, he should have led this godling straight to the palace, to him. But Loki was more interesting than the others. A thought rose unbidden in Astarion’s mind. You’re wonderful.
Loki spun Astarion around, pushing him against cool rock. He rested his palm above Astarion’s head, caging him in.
“Ah, that’s better,” Loki said with a cocky grin. “You would look so lovely beneath me, little elf.”
Astarion’s retort was already on his lips, but he swallowed it down. Instead, he released a breathy sigh as Loki kissed and licked the tip of his ear. Loki’s leather-clad thigh pressed between his legs. Astarion was forced to widen his stance, almost riding the god’s muscular leg.
Loki’s smirking face revealed that he was enjoying the feel of Astarion’s hardening dick pressed against him.
His tender exploration became rougher. With eyes twinkling with mirth, he bit Astarion’s ear, just hard enough to pull out a humiliating moan.
Loki huffed out a gentle laugh in Astarion’s ear, gently pushing back his silver hair. His mocking voice was thick with pleasure. “Such wonderful sounds. Can you produce more?”
“You overestimate yourself, prince,” Astarion spat out, glaring at him.
“And yet, you called me handsome and kissed me. Shall I open your trousers and let your cock reveal your true feelings?” Loki didn’t bother waiting for a response. He bit Astarion’s ear again, laving reddened skin with his tongue.
Astarion reached out to smack him, but instead gathered Loki’s tunic in his fingers. He shut his eyes and bit his lip as Loki’s kisses moved downward. This wasn’t how this evening was supposed to go. He was meant to be in control.
Loki opened Astarion’s shirt, pulling it down his shoulder so that he could continue his path of kisses and playful nips.
The elf was strangely pale, almost luminescent in the moonlight. He lifted up the shirt and kissed the flat planes of Astarion’s stomach. He noted how sinewy the elf was. He’d grown up alongside light elves, and even by elven standards Astarion was thin.
He pushed his thoughts aside, this was a fuck and nothing more. Though he kept being drawn back to the softness of Astarion’s lips, the dominance of his tongue, as though the elf wanted to consume him. He knew that those filthy kisses alone would fuel his fantasies for years to come.
Loki dropped to his knees. He looked up at Astarion as he slowly pulled down the elf’s trousers. He smiled at the small damp patch on Astarion’s underwear, earning him an embarrassed scoff.
“You’re just another pretty boy, darling. And alcohol always enhances my arousal.” It has nothing to do with you. You’re just another conquest, another body for slaughter.
Loki tilted his head. “Come now, Astarion. You cannot deceive the God of Lies. Though if you need me to work harder for your pleasure, I will gladly play the whore. There is a reason I have earned the title ‘silvertongue’.”
“Aren’t you afraid that you might be seen?” Astarion asked, curious.
He couldn’t quite get a sense of Loki, something that had never happened in his thousands of conquests. The god was both earnest and cynical, sweet and debauched. Who had ever heard of a prince willing to whore himself out for a stranger? It was preposterous! It disturbed him.
It aroused him.
Loki’s smile was haughty as he tossed his hair back. “Let them bear witness. They would be blessed to see such a divine act of pleasure.”
Astarion’s fingers brushed against Loki’s cheek. “I do believe that only I can make that judgement.”
Loki moved into his touch, looking up at him once more. His boyish face was eager. “Let me please you.”
Despite himself, Astarion smiled. Its genuineness was brief but dazzling. He placed a finger under Loki’s chin. “Then be a good boy and please me, darling.”
Loki nuzzled Astarion’s erection through his underwear, kissing it tenderly. Astarion gasped sharply as Loki ran his tongue over silken fabric, playfully stroking his sensitive dick. He slowly pulled down the briefs, staring hungrily at Astarion’s bobbing cock.
Astarion’s eyes rolled upward as Loki’s lips pressed around his tip, enjoying the taste of him on his tongue. Loki slowly took his shaft down his throat, watching with interest as the elf shut his eyes in bliss. His moan was muffled as he deep throated Astarion, his nimble fingers playing with his balls.
Astarion hissed in pleasure, the sharpness of his fangs more apparent. But Loki was too occupied to notice. He stroked Loki’s curls in a way that was almost gentle. “That’s it, such a good boy, aren’t you?”
Loki looked up at him, his eyes wide. Astarion tsked, his grip becoming harsh. “Come, my whore, did I say that you should stop?”
Those words had been spoken so many times to him. They felt like ash on his tongue.
Loki bobbed on his length, moaning at Astarion’s freely given praise and derision. But soon he pulled back, his breathing heavy. He looked up at Astarion coquettishly, his black hair falling in his face.
“Such a lovely prince. You’re so much prettier on your knees.”
Loki pursed his swollen lips. “How amusing, I was just thinking that you would make a gorgeous throne.”
He saw it, then. The pain in Astarion’s eyes that he couldn’t quite disguise. Loki stood in a fluid motion, covering the elf as he held him.
“Are you alright? Would you like to stop? My apologies if I said something too untoward. We could return to the inn and resume our conversation.”
Astarion’s laugh was an incredulous bark. He exhaled, looking into Loki’s concerned eyes. He means it, Astarion realised. He would stop for my benefit. What a beautiful fool.
Loki could see his mirthless smile, the hardness of his ruby eyes. He appeared suddenly like a statue, perfectly carved and untouchable.
Astarion’s voice was quiet, his sadness a whisper between his words. “My, aren’t you sweet. I could just eat you up.”
He recovered quickly, clearing his throat. He pointed down, his expression haughty. “On your knees, darling.”
Loki obeyed, his eyes never leaving Astarion. He tilted his head and spoke simply, his tone beseeching. “Use me. For tonight, I am yours to do with as you wish.”
Astarion knew then that they were the same. Fellow dark travellers adrift in the night, longing to dash themselves on the rocks.
He pressed his fingers against Loki’s lips, forcing his mouth open. Loki allowed the elf to place his fingers on his tongue, closing his eyes in happiness. Such sweet degeneracy. He sucked Astarion’s fingers with gusto, lewdly moaning as his tongue slid between his fingers.
Astarion watched him, his breaths growing heavy as his dick throbbed and twitched. Is this how it looked to truly take pleasure in the act? To lose yourself? He wanted to break this man, to cover him in blood and bruises and come, to leave him someplace public, to humiliate this god that had everything he lacked. The thought aroused him.
He voiced it in part to Loki as he removed his hand, attempting to disrupt that smooth veneer, to disgust him. But the prince simply smiled, his eyes filled with lust. “Please.”
Astarion shook his head, unable to stop giggling. This was pure madness, a fever dream. “You really are the perfect whore. My sweet boy.”
Astarion held his dick, pressing it against Loki’s sharp cheek. He slapped his shaft against Loki’s face, his other hand wrapping around his throat.
“I will not be kind to you. I am going to fuck your throat until those gorgeous eyes water. I’m not going to touch you, so rut in the air like a beast if you must. I will not stop until you swallow every drop of my come. If you attempt to touch yourself, you will be punished. Am I understood?”
Loki nodded. Astarion slapped his cheek lightly. He could see the god’s considerable length straining to be unleashed. Loki’s flushed face was not from Astarion’s touch. So curious.
“Use your words, darling.”
“Yes, saer.”
Astarion felt a rush of pleasure at the title. Yes, this was correct. He deserved this. “Such a good boy! Now, put that sweet mouth to good use.”
Loki pressed kisses against Astarion’s balls, taking them into his mouth. Astarion’s shuddered gasps made Loki want to give him the world.
It felt wonderful to let himself go. He wondered if this was truly who he was, the witch-son turned perverse slattern, happy to be fucked by pretty, cruel strangers. At least in these moments, he knew his role. He knew what to do, and knew that the praise he received was well-earned. In these moments a connection was forged, an exquisite intimacy that had no use of love.
Loki licked a path up the underside of Astarion’s shaft, a groan spilling from him as he inhaled Astarion’s musk. The elf’s cock was veiny and well-formed, resting perfectly against his tongue. As though this night was meant to happen.
He slid his tongue over the elf’s leaking tip, enjoying the taste of Astarion’s desire. He teased the elf until he received another slap, harder than the last. Loki’s breathy moan tugged at some hidden depth in Astarion, something kept buried.
Astarion’s hand returned to Loki’s hair, playing with his loose curls. His hand stilled when he realised what he was doing, and he dragged the prince forward. He thrusted into Loki’s mouth, delighting in his helpless, needy expression.
“Gods, what a perfect mouth! Show me how well a god can be fucked!” Astarion moaned as Loki took him even further, allowing himself to be roughly handled.
Hot desire coursed through Loki, making him sensitive. The feel of soft leather against his shaft became a pleasurable agony. His eyes flickered up to Astarion. With slow deliberation, he undid his trousers, wrapping his hand around his dick. He stroked himself as Astarion used him.
In a moment, Astarion’s hand was around his throat, his face contorted into a fearsome snarl. “Clearly, being pampered has dulled your senses. Or are you so desperate to be punished?”
Loki felt lightheaded, his mouth still full as Astarion’s grip tightened. His dick throbbed painfully. He looked up at Astarion and nodded, his eyes glistening.
Astarion loosened his grip. “Pathetic. Fine, if you are so desperate to humiliate yourself, perhaps I’ll allow you to rut on my boot once I’m done. Now, by the gods, put yourself away.”
Loki hurriedly tried to do up his trousers again, his cheeks burning. He enjoyed being submissive just as much as he loved bending people to his will, but this was different. More dangerous. More intoxicating.
Loki tried his best to breathe as Astarion fucked him, the elf slapping his cheek occasionally as a warning. The elf only allowed him small moments of reprieve, mocking him as drool dripped from his lips.
“Such a pathetic prince! Is this all that you’re good for? You are better suited for a brothel than a palace,” Astarion sneered, his face hot.
Loki tried to blink his tears away, his throat burning. Astarion wanted to lick them off his face. He was so close, and he hadn’t lied, he wasn’t kind.
“Gods, yes, take me deep!” Astarion’s voice was a rich, velvet purr. Loki knew that he truly was pathetic, because needed to hear his praise again.
Again Astarion gently choked Loki, grunting as the prince tried to swallow. His throat tightened so deliciously around his cock. “That’s it, darling, yes!”
His movements became more jerky as his pleasure grew. Only one feeling remained, one of total hunger. He wondered how godblood tasted. He held Loki’s head still as he came in hot, thick spurts. Loki let it pour down his throat. Astarion pulled out just enough to decorate Loki’s lips with his seed.
Astarion ruffled his hair, his voice almost fond. “There, you look perfect. Now, be a good boy and clean it off.”
Loki licked his lips, his breathing shallow. Astarion pushed him onto the ground and stood above him as he fixed his outfit, pleased. He’d conquered a god, spilled his come into a divine mouth. Not even Cazador could claim that.
“Oh, darling, do you need release?” Astarion laughed as he lightly stepped on Loki bulge. The prince whimpered, murmuring please, please, please. It was a gorgeous sound to Astarion’s ears, sweeter than birdcall.
“Beg me for the favour.”
“Please, Astarion! Please, saer! Must I crawl to please you?”
Again that dark, mocking laughter that threatened to make Loki come. Astarion moved away, beckoning him to follow. Loki shakily stood and stumbled forward as though in a trance.
Astarion moved back down the path, leading him up the hill towards Rivington. Loki wondered if if he did truly intend to fuck him in public. The thought wasn’t unappealing. Astarion moved off the path, sitting on a bench. The Chionthar continued to flow, ever beautiful.
“Now, my darling boy, you can rut to your heart’s content. Debase yourself however you must.” He sat back, his eyes shadowed.
Loki let his embarrassment fuel him. He once again fell to his knees, the grass soft beneath him. He crawled towards Astarion. The elf looked at him in wonder. Loki knelt at his feet, placing Astarion’s leg between strong thighs.
He began to rut against Astarion’s leg, letting out every sinful cry and moan as he sought relief. He held Astarion’s gaze as he got off, each loud whimper a proclamation. He wasn’t ashamed. He’d gotten what he wanted.
Astarion couldn’t help but admire his audacity. So he told him the truth. “You are so beautiful. I want you to come for me, little prince. You sound so lovely. That’s it, darling. Such a lovely boy.”
It didn’t take long after that. Loki clutched Astarion’s shirt as came in shuddering moans, still fully clothed. One last humiliation for the night. But this at least could be fixed by magic. He cleaned himself up before sitting next to Astarion.
They kissed, and it was altogether sweeter than before. The bond was forged. Loki laughed gaily.
“My jaw aches and my throat rasps. A lovely trophy for tonight. So, what is your judgement?” Loki’s teasing voice was rough.
Astarion rested against him. “Truly divine, darling. I will remember this night.”
Loki smiled happily. “As will I.”
Astarion glanced at him. Now came the true purpose of tonight. “Shall I lead you back to the city?”
“Oh, yes. I am supposed to stay at an inn called the Elfsong Tavern. Do you know it?”
“Of course, every Baldurian knows of it. Follow me.”
Astarion led him back towards their meeting place. He would give the godprince to Cazador and it could earn him a bed to sleep in. He took Loki past the bridge, into the city. They walked past the barracks, Astarion making sure not to look at the city watch.
When they reached the Elfsong, Astarion slowed despite his better judgement. He should go to Cazador now. He’d been out too long. He needed to bring him someone, and yet. He couldn’t bring himself to do it.
Despite himself, he liked Loki’s attention. He seemed to actually care. He’d barely thought about himself, only wanting Astarion to be happy. No one had cared about him in centuries. He wanted more time. Perhaps a few more days. Then he would give him up.
“Here you are,” Astarion said stiffly.
The inn was still crowded. Music wafted from another room. Loki’s stomach grumbled, he was hungry again.
“Could I interest you in a late dinner? That is, if you could bear more of my company,” Loki added, flustered.
Astarion’s smile was gentle. “I must leave, I’m afraid. But, perhaps I could show you the city tomorrow evening?”
Loki looked delighted. “Yes, that would be wonderful, Astarion. I will await your return. Well, erm, good night for now.” He gave Astarion a chaste kiss on the cheek before sauntering off to the bar. Thor had already taken their things to their rooms earlier that day.
Astarion placed his hands to his cheek as he watched Loki speak to the barman. He waited as Loki climbed the staircase, disappearing upstairs. He turned around, examining the patrons. He spotted the perfect replacement. Drunk enough to not ask questions, alone, and down on his luck. No one worth missing.
He bought two tankards of ale and sat down. The man looked at him with interest. Astarion smiled seductively at him. “Hello darling, aren’t you handsome?”
It didn’t take much after that. Astarion led the stranger out into the dark, his head filled with pretty promises. Alcohol and passionate kisses had dulled his doubts. He felt like a king, but it was Astarion’s role to make him feel like a god.
“I never do this, but why don’t we find someplace quiet? I want to make you feel good, darling.”
The stranger nodded. Astarion led him away, his face cold. Cazador would accept it, but it would be another night of half-starved rats in the kennel. He was starving and exhausted.
The only thing that kept Astarion warm that night were thoughts of Loki. His pretty, lightly freckled face and knowing eyes. His sinful mouth. Tonight, I am yours to do with as you wish. I am yours.
Summary: Though you have been inflicted by a curse, you make the best life for yourself that you can. Until the new moon brings an unexpected encounter.
A/N: Reader is female and has environmentally/magically induced vitiligo. No other physical descriptors used.
Warnings: Forced marriage, Vitiligo seen as a curse. Please let me know if I missed any!
Word Count: ~3.3k
Part of the Blue Roses AU.
The sun was falling and you were itching to go outside. Ever since your curse, going outside in the sunlight has been more and more dangerous, especially from the townspeople.
But at night, they were all in bed and the sun couldn't hurt the more sensitive parts of your skin. You could roam freely and even collect ingredients for Mother's shop that could only be found at night. Tonight was especially important because the new moon meant the lunar lilies would be at their brightest, making their dried petals more potent for medicines. The townspeople might treat you poorly because of your cursed nature, but Mother, Father and your siblings have ever loved you so you try to do your part for the family
"Have you applied your balms?" Mother asks as she sees you getting ready.
"Yes, Mother," you promise. The balms are supposed to help with the curse. Mother regularly tries different ingredients and ratios but nothing's been able to turn your skin back to normal.
"And don't forget you lunch," Father adds. Because Mother makes the medicines and runs the shop, Father is the one who generally makes the meals for the family. Sure it's also his gardening that supplies the majority of Mother's ingredients, but he's got a lot less time sensitive work to do.
"Thank you, Father," you call to him, gesturing your younger siblings closer.
Father always packs an extra treat or two in your pail. You always sneak at least some to Libby and Jimmy. Partially it's love for your siblings, partially it's knowing your gifts are from Father's guilt. If he'd been able to grow the rare ingredient Mother required, you might not have been cursed.
You don't blame Father or Mother for what happened. Not everything can be grown at will and some medicines need those items that aren't readily available. Really if you'd been more careful you might not have fallen into the swamp and covered with the muck and gunk. If anything you're still alive because Father pulled you out and Mother's skills kept your resulting fever under control.
It certainly wasn't their fault your skin started changing color, lightening in splotches all over your body. And they're not responsible for the scared looks and mean words you received from the townsfolk when they saw your face. And there's only so much a human can do against the sun that burned your splotchy skin with great ease.
No. You know your family loves you and would do anything within their power to free you from whatever curse this is you've brought upon yourself. You've thought about making the trek to the palace to see if Mage Beck's famous healing magic could help you. But the trip is dangerous, especially for someone so obviously cursed, and you have no guarantees he'd hear your case.
Best to be grateful for what you've got and do your part for your loving family.
"You've got your gloves? Your cloak? Your dagger? Everything you'll need?" Father interrupts your thoughts as your siblings quickly hide the shared treats.
"Yes, Father. I'll be back by the time you wake up, just as always."
"I'll hold you to that," he intones, eyes soft with worry.
Hugging him and Mother you repeat the same promises as every night.
Standing in a clearing, you spend more time looking at the stars than you probably should. Without the moon to outshine them, they're able to sparkle at their brightest. And given how many people are asleep right now, you let yourself feel a little smug at knowing you're the only one who knows the stars true beauty.
Just like the lunar lilies at your feet. How many other people will ever be able to say they've seen them in full bloom?
Taking a quick glance down, you notice they're just about ready for harvest when you feel a sudden gust of wind that almost knocks you on your feet.
The wind is warmer than it should be for this time of year and your eyes start scanning the skies, thinking of Mother's bestiary. A sudden gust of warm wind could mean a dragon!
Keeping your eyes on the sky you circle several times looking, listening for any other signs. Surely if a dragon was flying, even on a moonless night, they could be seen blocking out some of the stars. Right?
When your nerves have calmed you look back at your feet and are startled to see the lilies already starting to fade! Time was running out so, pushing your fears aside, you set to work harvesting the beautiful flowers.
You remember Father's words and make sure to leave plenty behind to ensure more would grow and not taking too much from the forest creatures that ate them. Honestly you'd rather not think about a world where moths and butterflies didn't glow because they were denied their lunar lily pollen.
When you think you've gathered enough, you carefully wrap them and place them in your bag with the other little treasures you've found tonight.
But when you stand up, you find yourself looking into a pair of glowing eyes! All caution goes to the wind as you grab your bag and run. Everything you've learned about nocturnal creatures confirms that glowing eyes mean danger and your best bet is to run fast.
Too afraid to look back you focus on avoiding trees and random roots, determined to not fall. You think you feel another gust of warm wind but it could just be your fear getting the better of you. You can't hear anything other than the pounding of your heart and your own ragged breathing.
The cabin is in sight! Mother and Father always leave out a lantern for you to aid your journeys home.
The second you enter the house, you slam the door shut behind you, uncaring if you wake someone up. Quickly locking it, you expect to hear snarls, scratches, banging, anything to indicate the beast you know you saw.
But nothing happens.
Father calls your name, getting your attention but you can only look back and forth between him and the door.
"You're home," he comforts, grabbing you into a hug. "You're home and you're safe."
It's a few days before you feel comfortable leaving the house again. The entire time you helped Father prepare meals and Mother prepare medicine, you kept mentally chiding yourself.
Just like when you were first cursed, your overconfidence and distractability nearly got you killed. If you'd been more alert to your surroundings, less prideful about the stars, you wouldn't have been caught off guard like that.
Of course you only tell Mother and Father that you saw a creature and blame the new moon for not being able to give more details. If you told them about the glowing eyes they might ban you from the forest for your safety. And you can't handle that thought. You're stuck inside all day, unable to interact with people without them giving you unfavorable looks or whispering about you. The forest is the only freedom you really have.
So you keep yourself quiet and focus on helping your family, preparing yourself to face the night again.
You slowly wake up to the sensation that something is wrong. Your room is normally cool because of the curtains keeping the sun and its heat at bay. But it's warm. So warm, in fact, you sleepily toss your blankets aside.
The blankets hit the floor and you think you must still be dreaming because you swear you smell flowers. And not the kind father grows. Not the kind that grow in the woods. You're not sure you've ever smelled flowers so sweet. You have to be dreaming, right? Or has the curse started messing with your senses?
Moving to sit up, you're stopped short by the bouquet of blue roses tied to your headboard.
Mother closes her shop early, telling everyone she's got some time sensitive medicines to work on. Father rushes to provide you a "proper wedding feast" as he puts it. Libby and Jimmy are confused about the whole thing and are alternating crying and coming up with ways to keep you from having to leave.
You and Mother try to tell them it is the duty of King Wilson's people to answer the call. Whether it was the call to arms in times of war, the call to ration in times of famine, or the call to marry when the creatures of His Majesty's Secret Service were in need. If the line of kings hadn't been good for their people, of course your call would be refused. But because the Kings Wilson have bettered the lives of their people, it was an honor to serve the King.
Perhaps when they're out of their teenage years, like you, they'll understand.
Father's promise of a feast was met. Almost all of your favorite foods and none of your least favorite were made up. You weren't sure the family would be able to eat it all. Father normally didn't cook so much. You noticed whenever he looked at you, he would blink back tears and throw himself into preparing more food.
Meanwhile Mother was helping you prepare your things. Only a single chest was needed for your essentials but mother insisted on giving you more. Precious empty journals for you to write in as well as your very own quill and ink. Several balms that, though they didn't rid your curse, helped keep the sun from being too painful. A small kit for you to make your own tonics. Herbs that were supposed to help a bride recover from her wedding night.
Lastly, Mother gave the wedding dress that had been passed down from elder daughter to eldest daughter for several generations.
"You should save that for Libby," you shake your head. "She's the one who's going to have more daughters."
"Please," Mother's voice cracks. "I don't know what it is you're going into. But wearing this when you do so will be a comfort because you'll be going with the love and support of all the matriarchs in our lineage."
The show of emotion catches you off guard. Mother's shown concern before, of course, but you don't think you've ever seen her close to tears.
"Thank you, Mother," you sniffle. "I'll wear it with pride."
Dinner is spent sharing happy memories. You will never get to see each other again and you want to make sure your last memories with them are filled with smiles.
So it was everyone lost track of time and you were startled when the world froze around you.
A purple hole opened near where your family was sitting and out came a man with messy brown hair and startlingly blue eyes.
"Are you---"
He holds up a finger to interrupt your question before pushing his head through the purple light and, seemingly, gesturing for someone to follow through.
The man who came next was tall and muscular, wearing no shirt. His skin looked almost shiny in the lamplight. And what initially looked like blonde brown hair turned out to be, on closer inspection, more akin to a frilled crest like you've seen on some reptiles.
And when you locked eyes, your jaw dropped in recognition.
"It was you! You're...you're a dragon!"
The man smirks, "it was and I am! I'm Johnny. I have to say it was a lot of fun to fly behind you as you kept turning to look for me. Not many would think to keep their eyes out for something blocking the stars."
"Yes, yes, you like to play," the other man complains. "I do hope you have your things ready?"
You gesture to the chest and bags you and Mother had packed.
"I've got those," your...husband cockily promises. Part of you watches him gather everything in the hopes that he drops something. But he clearly knows his strength as he gathers everything up.
Meanwhile the other man sets a decent sized chest on the chair you'd been sitting in. He tries to do so gently but you still hear the telltale clink of coins.
"And I'm sure your Mother had some fun with the roses," he chuckles.
"She is an apothecary, sir. She had to at least try," you retort. Unfortunately all of Mother's attempts to experiment with the flowers had, quite literally, turned to dust.
"I commend her interest and abilities to get as far as she did," he says with a small bow.
"Thank you."
"Now let's get you to your new home "
You follow Johnny through the purple...doorway and step into a patch of snow.
Only the mountains would still have so much snow, you think.
It's easy enough to follow Johnny's tracks as the snow seems to have melted around each footstep. Despite the number of small houses surrounding a small lake, Johnny leads you to a cave.
A few steps into the cave and you can really feel the heat. Johnny's shirtless state makes a bit more sense now. If this cave is always this temperature, wearing clothing would be stifling. You're especially feeling that in the heavy wedding dress. But it's also your only armor. What if he sees your full body and decides he's made a mistake? Sure, he didn't react to seeing the curse marks on your face and hands, but maybe he thinks that's all there is. He hasn't seen your full body yet. And, as your husband, he will be seeing it.
Johnny sets your things down and turns back to face you, his smile still holding.
"Let me get some more light so you can better see your new home, Treasure," he winks. "Stay right where you are."
When he's further back into the cave, you see a swirl of red, yellow, orange sparkles surround him. Within moments the man has turned into a massive red dragon! His scales shimmer in what little light there already is. They make you think back to Mother's book of theories about dragons. You can confirm that the scales do look impenetrable. They make a scratchy noise when they move against the ground, indicating their strength. His "hair" has converted from fills to a horned crest.
He is truly terrifying, and magnificent, to behold.
The dragon gives you a wink and aims his head up. Letting out a few small puffs of fire, he lights the chandeliers you hadn't been able to see.
With more of the cave properly illuminated, you're able to see piles of treasure, stacks of books, couches covered in pillows and, at the center of it all, a rather large bed.
There's another swirl of sparkles and the dragon is replaced by his more human form. Without any clothes.
You look away, suddenly shy. It's not like you haven't read enough of Mother's books to understand at least the basics of anatomy but seeing it in person feels very different. Especially given the expectations of a wedding night.
"No need to be shy," Johnny reassures as he moves close to you. "I know I look good and have no problems with being adored." When you're unable to face him he adds, "I won't force you to look at me, but I'm also not going to wear anything in my own home. Given how you're sweating, you're likely going to want to do the same."
His casualness has you burning with fear, embarrassment and more than a little anger.
"Talk to me, Treasure," he coos. "I'm a centuries old dragon. There's likely nothing you can say that I haven't heard before."
"You know I'm cursed," you spit out, glaring at him. "Even if you couldn't see much of me that night, I know you've seen the markings on my face and my hands by now. But you don't know how cursed I am. How blighted I am. And...and I'm scared of what you'll do to me when you realize and regret your decision to give me the roses."
Johnny crosses his arms, "you're not cursed. I've seen cursed. The mages would never let me choose a cursed bride." You blink, unable to form words. "My scales are not uniform in color. They have streaks of gold and bronze. Does that make me cursed? No, it makes me look even more impressive." Pointing to your hands he affirms, "this is not a curse. Though I suppose I can see why a human might think so."
He holds out his hand and you give him yours. Gently he touches your skin, his eyes glowing a little brighter as he studies it.
"You are not cursed, no. You are art."
"Art?"
Johnny looks up from your hand. "Yes, art. That's the most human way I can describe something that I could stare at for hours on end. There are signs this was brought on by magic that I'm guessing you can't detect. It adds to your looks. It makes you entirely unique. You are fascinatingly beautiful."
"I...I'm cursed..." you doubt. "That's...I couldn't go out in the daylight. People...people treated me like I was dangerous to them. I...it's a curse, not beauty!"
"That's because humans tend to be small minded," Johnny asserts. "You don't have nearly the same sensitivity to sight, sound, touch, everything that I do. What, to me, is the most beautiful flower in all the meadows would be, to a human, just another odd assortment of shapes and colors with negative associations."
"I'm...I'll need some time..."
Johnny smiles again, "of course! Just as I will not make you look at me, I will not force you into bed until you're ready. And, just as I have no problems with being looked at, I also have no problems with being touched. You have a natural curiosity that I'm happy that to satisfy in many ways."
Giggling shyly, you feel yourself starting to hope, even as your face warms from embarrassment.
"What...what are my...wifely duties? Is it just mutual admiration?"
"I certainly wouldn't object," Johnny purrs. "But there's a reason I only choose the most beautiful of women to be my bride. I am ordered by the mages to mostly remain hidden. New moons are the only times I can fly freely, so I spend significant amounts of time in my cave. It gets boring, as I'm sure you can guess. So I surround myself with pretty things, shiny things, and, in the case of my bride, playful and intelligent things."
"Would you let me continue to study?"
"I'd be happy to encourage!" he beams. "So long as I get to watch you, listen to you, talk with you."
"That's...honestly this is all so much more than I was expecting," you admit, hope shining through.
"And I haven't even given you your gift yet," he smirks.
"My gift?"
"Each of us creatures is able to give a kind of magical protection to our bride," he explains. "The demon protects his bride from nightmares. The wraith's bride will never be cold. The bride of the shapeshifter can see through lies. And the celestial's bride will never fall ill."
"And...for me?"
Johnny takes your hands in his, maintaining eye contact. "My gift to you is protection from most physical harm. My scales protect me from just about everything and you will receive a version of that. A kind of armor that will protect you from cuts, bruises and even burns from the sun."
"Oh, Johnny," you gasp, tears of happiness falling.
"I take it you like," he gently teases as he wipes the tears from your cheeks.
Nodding you clean your face with the sleeve of your dress. Looking at the cloth you make decision.
"I think...I think I'm ready to...to...at the very least, remove my dress."
"And I'm definitely ready to see more of you, my Treasure."
