#I’m fairly confident about this one but there’s always that thought in the back of my mind

[gh0st-of-summer]

Interview tomorrow lads!! Here’s hoping 🤞🏻

[snowballseal]

How they react to you feeling insecure (LaDS)

Summary: How the Love and Deepspace boys react to you feeling insecure about various things. Includes Rafayel, Sylus, Zayne, and Xavier. Lots of fluff.

Word Count: they're all around 1000 roughly

Note: Warnings of different kinds of insecurity, ranging from physical to mental. I'm not sure of how well the Xavier one turned out, he's harder for me to write, but I couldn't leave him out!!! Anyways, hope yall enjoy!

Rafayel

His ended up being a lot longer, so it's posted separately.

here

--

Sylus

Being partners with Sylus is a…daunting position to be in.

You always considered yourself a fairly average person, more focused on who you are than what you look like. It’s not that you don’t like the way you look - you do - and you don’t like comparing yourself to anyone, but you don’t plan on being a model anytime soon. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

Then you met Sylus, a man who looks like he was carved from the marble of ancient architecture. He could stand in a room of masterpieces and people would still look at him instead of the art. And since you’re by his side now, that means they’re also looking at you.

Being stared down by wanderers in one thing. Being stared down by the most powerful and prevalent members of the N109 Zone? You hate to admit that it gets to you. In fact, it gets so under your skin, that even when you’re dressed in the most extravagant dresses and decadent jewelry, you can’t help but feel…insecure.

Twisting in front of the mirror, you eye every detail of the dress Sylus bought you. It’s perfect, of course. The man has an annoying knack for getting you the most beautiful things and knowing exactly what fits you. The color compliments your hair and it’s comfortable to boot.

Still. You can’t help but feel like a kid trying to fit in at the adults table, wearing your mother’s heels even though they don’t fit. A bit ridiculous.

“Do you not like it?” Sylus appears behind you, dressed in a matching, lavish suit. 

You jump a little, eyes flicking up to meet his in the mirror. His eyes burn into you, reading the hesitation on your face as you curl your arms around your stomach. There’s no fiery retort or witty comment like usual. You just look back at your dress, the tips of your ears tinging pink.

A frown pulls at Sylus’ lips, his voice softening, “What’s wrong?”

“...Do you really think people believe us? That we’re together?” You ask quietly, shuffling your weight back and forth. “That I’m a good match for you?”

You’re keenly aware that you’ve never had a conversation like this with Sylus. For the most part your relationship has been filled with teasing and playful bickering. It’s always light. Or about work. This is new, and while you trust him more than anything, you hate not knowing how he will react.

Sylus hums, low and thoughtful, as he curls his arms around you, “Does it matter to you what others think?”

You let out a sigh, leaning back into his touch thankfully. You want to say no. You want to keep up the air of confidence, but that quiet voice of doubt keeps worming its way through your thoughts.

“I just…I feel like I’m not what people expect. And…” you try to explain, hesitating. Sylus presses a kiss to your shoulder, offering a hum of encouragement. Taking a deep breath, you add, “It bothers me. It feels like I’m being forced into the spotlight but I’m not meant to be there. Like I don’t fit.”

“Hmm, so you feel like an odd duckling.” You give him a small jab, and Sylus chuckles. “My apologies. I think you misunderstand the attention though.” He pulls you closer. You shiver as his lips trace along the crook of your shoulder, pressing delicate kisses up the side of your neck, until he can murmur lowly into your ear, “You’re too humble, kitten. When you walk into a room, all eyes turn to you, not out of judgment, but out of jealousy. Afterall, you’ve tamed the leader of Onychinus. Even if you walked in with your uniform, they’d look at you the same. And I get the pleasure of walking around with the most powerful-” He presses his lips to your jaw. “-beautiful-” His lips trace against your cheek. “-woman of Linkon City. Don’t let the attention of those lesser than you make you doubt, otherwise I might have to find another way to show them just how well we fit together.”

Sylus’ eyes catch yours in the mirror again. They’re dark, like coals surrounded by flickering cinders. So intense you can almost feel the flames licking along your skin. There’s not a doubt in your mind that he’s being genuine. And that sets your heart racing. Along with the way he holds you so close, equal parts possessive and reverent. Like worship.

“Your devotion might scare some people, Sylus,” you whisper, glancing sideways at him.

He flashes a dangerous smile, “Does it scare you?”

You cast one final glance at your reflections before turning around in his hold and curling your arms around his neck. Sylus raises a challenging brow.

“I’m not. I like how you stand up for me, even when it’s against my own insecurities.” You draw him down, pressing a kiss to that carnal smile. Sylus softens immediately, cupping your jaw to draw you into a deeper kiss. The warmth that simmers in each and every touch leaves you a little breathless when you pull away. Pressing against his chest before he can drag you in again, you make sure to say one last thing, “Thank you, Sylus. I’ll make sure to remember all of that…especially the part about you being wrapped around my finger.”

“Hmm, such a cruel mistress, indeed.”

“And you love me.”

A chuckle rumbles through his chest, “Yes, I do. So, will you accompany me to this auction now?”

---

Zayne

“Are you sure it’s okay that I’m going?” You ask, voice wavering with nerves as you straighten Zayne’s tie for him.

“Isn’t it natural to bring one’s partner to these kinds of events?” He tilts his head, brow perked ever so slightly.

You nod, but can’t seem to erase the frown on your lips.

A week ago, Zayne had asked if you would accompany him to his medical school’s class reunion banquet. He had been asked to give a special word, given the reputation he had developed in his time at Akso Hospital, not to mention winning the Starcatcher Award for his work.

At first, you were ecstatic to have an opportunity to learn more about his old life. He has such a thing about living in the present, you hardly get to hear any stories about his time in med school, or when he was doing rotations at the hospital. You were eager to meet the people who he used to spend time with and hopefully catch a few stories you could tease him with later.

But as the night drew closer, you started actually thinking about all the people you would be around, all of whom graduated from the same medical program Zayne did. You can only imagine how smart they all are. And how you’ll get lost the moment any medical jargon comes up. 

The more you think about it, the more nerves you feel buzzing under your skin. You know you’re not the smartest, not compared to Zayne at least. He’s a genius, after all, and could probably outsmart most anyone. You’ve always been better at the physical stuff. That’s what makes you such a good pair. 

It’s not like you can impress everyone by whipping your gun out and fighting, though. All you’ll have are your words, and you’re not particularly good with those…

You blink when a large hand suddenly circles your wrist. Glancing up, you find Zayne looking down at you, brows furrowed ever so slightly.

“While I appreciate your attention to detail, I believe you’ve been straightening my tie for five minutes now.” Heat creeps up your neck. You hadn’t even realized you had been lost in thought. Zayne’s eyes narrow inquisitively.  “What are you thinking about that has your mind so preoccupied?” 

His thumb brushes casually along the inside of your wrist, not so subtly checking your pulse. A strangely endearing habit of his when he’s worried about you. You let out a long sigh and hide your face against his chest, feeling the heat bleed across your cheeks.

How are you supposed to tell him that you’re insecure about how smart all his friends must be?

Zayne doesn’t push right away. He knows you’ll explain when you want to, and if you don’t, then he knows you’re not ready to. It was an unspoken rule between you, something you started with him because you noticed he likes to think his words out. It felt natural to offer you the same when you struggle to express yourself. Like now.

Ultimately, you figure it’s better to just be straightforward. That’s how he would do it, and it’s better than dancing around the subject.

“I guess I’m nervous because I feel like I’m going to be the dumbest person in the room tonight,” you mutter against his coat. Your fingers tap out an anxious beat against his abdomen. “It’s silly and I know it shouldn’t matter, but I just don’t want to make you look bad.”

Zayne remains quiet for a long minute. Your fingers move a little quicker, matching the stuttering rhythm of your heart. His hand slides up, gently trapping them against his body.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“Physical tics are a common result of anxiety,” he hums dismissively, thumb smoothing over your knuckles. “As is your rapid heart rate. This truly bothers you.”

“Of course it does,” you sigh, a bit exasperated, ”You’ve worked hard to get where you are, Zayne. I love you so much, and I respect your work more than anything. I don’t, I don’t want to say something stupid and have it reflect on you badly.”

The doctor clicks his tongue, “First, I would prefer if you stop using that language to describe yourself.”

Your heart falters when his cool fingers touch your cheek, drawing your face up to his. He looks upset, but not exactly at you, the sharp line of his jaw contrasting with the softness of his eyes. Like it pains him that you think this way. Which it does.

“Those words don’t suit you. I wouldn’t allow another to call you them, so why would I allow you to?” He asserts, the corner of his lips twitching with distaste. “I don’t want to hear them again, do you understand?”

“Okay.” A thread of warmth curls around your heart when Zayne nods approvingly. His protectiveness really knows no bounds.

“Second, I do not agree with your diagnosis.” 

Your brow furrows a little. What? What does he mean, he disagrees? He’s literally surrounded by geniuses, you can’t match up to any of them if they’re anything like him. 

Seeing you start to overthink, Zayne shakes his head and gently pinches your cheek. You jolt back a little. The corners of his eyes crinkle, making you pout.

“Meanie,” you grumble, “Fine, explain your reasoning, Doctor Zayne.”

“It’s simple. Intelligence is made up of more than just academic knowledge, which, I assume, is what you are thinking of when you make such comments.” You nod. He’s not wrong about that, you guess. “Intelligence also includes the knowledge of how to use one’s strengths to achieve the best outcome. It is true that for some, this means using academic reasoning. However, it also includes those who develop the skills and discipline to maintain their bodies and fight for those who can’t, like…”

He pauses and gives you an expectant look.

“...me,” you finish slowly.

“Yes,” he hums, stroking the redness of your cheek, “I believe, under these standards, you are far more intelligent than most of the people you will meet tonight, darling. Though there is no comparison in the first place.”

His words sink in slowly but surely, filling in the cracks of your doubt. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he probably has some kind of healing magic, because you can already feel the burden of your insecurities melting away.

Leave it to Zayne to know exactly what to say, but in the most complex sounding way.

“You always know how to make me feel better, huh?” You ask, finally cracking that smile he loves.

“I am simply telling you the truth.” Zayne leans down, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “There is not a lifetime in which my reputation will be more important than you. I would gladly throw it all away if it meant reminding you of that.”

You snort, “Don’t do that, please. I can only imagine the fit Doctor Greyson would throw. He’d be so mad at me.”

“I can handle Doctor Greyson, in the same way I can handle everyone tonight.” He slips his fingers between yours, bringing your hand up to kiss your knuckles. You wiggle your fingers  happily and Zayne can’t help but grin to himself. “If at any point you find yourself uncomfortable, just stay by my side and I will act as your distraction. Though, I’m sure they will all love you, just as I do.”

“...Thank you, Zayne.”

“Of course, my jasmine.”

---

Xavier

Working with Xavier is a blessing, as much as it is a curse. You couldn’t ask for a better partner. Someone who you know will always have your back, who can handle himself completely, who is probably the most talented hunter you’ve ever met in your entire life. He’s undeniably amazing.

On the flip side of that, though, you often fall into the trap of thinking about how he deserves better. Wondering if, maybe, the only reason he chose to stay with you was because of the aether core in your heart. If that’s also the reason you’re in a relationship now…

And some days, these thoughts win out over the rest. Like today.

“What’s wrong?”

You blink, eyes flickering up from the bowl of ramen in front of you. Early on, you had started a tradition of eating a meal together after a successful mission, to just enjoy the peace of your home and each other. But today, you weren’t feeling that hungry, just…tired.

Xavier tilts his head, concern furrowing his brow - he noticed your mood start to shift days before, but didn’t want to push since you didn’t seem to notice it yourself. Now, though, it’s too obvious for him to ignore.

“I’m fine,” you sigh, flicking your chopsticks back and forth to watch the noodles swirl around in the broth, a small frown capturing your lips. It’s a horribly obvious lie.

“Is it something I did?” His voice isn’t accusatory or upset. It’s just a rational question to help him figure out what’s wrong. Still, you feel guilt tug at your chest, and you set the chopsticks down with another sigh.

You don’t want him to think that. You’d never blame Xavier for something like this. That would be like asking him to be a worse person, which is stupid. It’s just you. Your problem. Dragging him into it will only make you feel worse.

“No, Xavier, you didn’t do anything, promise. I’m not upset…with you.” 

“But you are upset.”

Chancing a glance up at him proves a bad idea, making it all that more difficult to keep your thoughts quiet. Behind his normal sleepy expression, worry gleams in the deep blue of his eyes, unyielding and undeniably calm, like waves lapping gently at the beach. 

The sight makes your heart ache and the words are tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop them, “Do you think I’m actually a suitable partner for you?”

Surprise flickers across the hunter’s face. Of all the things he was expecting you to say, that wasn’t even on the list. He doesn’t laugh though, or take your question lightly.

“Do you mean, as a hunting partner? Or as a romantic partner?”

You shift uncomfortably, eyes falling back to your ramen, “I don’t know. Both, I guess?”

He hums softly. You try to ignore the nerves fluttering in your chest as Xavier gets up, watching him out of the corner of your eye as he circles the table to stand next to you. The hunter drips his head, catching your gaze.

“May I see your hand?”

A small frown pulls at your lips, not exactly sure where he’s going with this, but you offer him your hand anyways. Xavier takes your wrist, touch featherlight, and moves it so your hand is held up flat, facing him. Your brow furrows.

“Xav-”

“Look.” 

Pursing your lips, you let out a little huff. He really hates giving direct answers, doesn’t he? Still, you’re in no place to really judge him, or expect anything for that matter. He’s always been a bit of a mystery to you.

You watch as Xavier places his hand against yours. His palm is warm and you can feel the calluses from who knows how many years of hunting. Your hand looks tiny in comparison, his pale, delicate fingers long enough to curl over your own a little. The sight makes your heart squeeze, fondness competing with the feeling of being so…small.

“They’re pretty different,” Xavier hums, voice still calm, his own eyes fixed on your hands. “Your fingers are always cold, and your hands are small. You have a scar here.” His free hand grazes the side of your palm, along your pinky. “And here” He traces another along your knuckle. Your breath falters at the tenderness behind his touch, like you’re delicate porcelain. “Mine are in different places. Yours are skilled at weaving silk balls and mine can…open jars.”

You snort. Xavier’s eyes dart up to yours, sparkling with humor, a brow raised. You try to smother your laughter, rather ineffectively, and motion for him to continue.

“They’re different, but-” His fingers spread apart, and you mimic him instinctually, only for his fingers to slot between yours in one fluid motion. You inhale softly, laughter dying in your throat. It’s like two puzzle pieces fitting together, a perfect embrace that washes over you with a comforting warmth.

Xavier watches you, keenly aware of the way you squeeze his hand tightly, desperately, like you’re worried it might disappear. He gives yours a tender squeeze in return, thumb brushing over your knuckle.

“I think they’re a suitable match. Don’t you?”

God, how could you go without this man? The worries that have been pricking at the back of your mind all week seem to melt away. It leaves you with that warmth, the kind that only comes from Xavier, that he offers you over and over again.

You give his hand another squeeze, finally smiling, “Yah. I do…Thanks, Xavier.”

The hunter leans down, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. You can feel his lips brush against your skin as he murmurs, “Let me know if you ever feel this way again, angel. I’ll be more than glad to remind you.”

“I will.”

---

This was really fun to write!!! I really hope you guys like it! There are so many freaking tags on this puppy.

[spider-stark]

PRECIPICE

Aegon II Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Summary - Forced to attend a stuffy ball, you find yourself hiding beneath a table with Aegon.

Warnings - implied targcest as always

Word Count - 4.5k

// masterlist // send me your thoughts //

The delicious aroma of roast mutton is wafting over you as you pass one of the many long serving tables lining the walls of the ballroom. Your gaze drags along the vast spread that has been prepared for tonight; a variety of artisan breads, cooked meats, and candied desserts are laid out upon silver serving dishes. 

As you reach the end of the first table, a pile of lemon cakes snag your attention. Neatly stacked atop an ornate porcelain platter, the cakes are coated in a thin glaze that shimmers in the light. Your mouth instantly begins watering at the sight, your stomach growling in a way that would be deemed improper for a Lady. 

Beside you, holding a plate that has been loaded with mashed potatoes and honeyed chicken, Jace turns his head to cock a brow at you.

“Hungry?” He asks, chuckling softly. 

You suck in a deep breath before forcefully tearing your gaze from the cakes. “Extremely.” 

It takes an enormous amount of will power to turn away from the serving table while still empty-handed, but you somehow manage to do just that. Having hardly even walked a few steps, though, Jace is abandoning his plate to rush after you, softly seizing your wrist to keep you from moving any further. 

“If you’re hungry, then you should eat.” 

His concern is obvious, not only through his tone, but his expression as well. With his furrowed brow and tight-mouthed frown, you’re fairly certain that he’s already considering the consequences of dragging you back to the table and feeding you himself if need be. 

Jace had always been that way—not only with you, but with everyone. He was kind hearted and considerate to fault. 

“I would,” you smile, shaking your head slightly to dismiss his concern, “but I’m afraid that if I do, I might very well pop right on out of this ridiculously tight corset.” 

You wave an idle hand down to your waist, unnaturally cinched by the intricate lacing and boning of the garment beneath your evergreen gown. His eyes follow the motion, tracing along the intense curve, lingering for a moment too long. 

The explanation seems to wash away much of his concern, relieved to know that discomfort was the only reason you had chosen to abstain from the treats being served. Even so, a touch of empathy remains, accompanied by the faintest hint of desire gleaming in his amber gaze. 

Amber—an unusual color for a boy of Velaryon blood. His eyes were one of the many reasons that your mother, the Queen Alicent, felt so confident in labeling Princess Rhaenyra’s boys as bastards behind closed doors. And, if you were being honest with yourself, you knew that there was likely truth to her claims. Your nephews probably were bastards—but you didn’t particularly care. 

Jace was nice to you, and that was all that had ever mattered to you. 

He clears his throat, realizing that he had been gawking at your body for far longer than he should. “It looks uncomfortable,” the words spill out without permission, and you nearly laugh when his eyes go wide. “That didn’t come out right, nothing about it actually looks uncomfortable—it looks stunning! I mean, you look stunning! It’s just that, I don’t know, I imagine that having something squeeze you so tightly might be-” 

“Jace, it’s okay! Truly,” you interrupt his rambling with a soft giggle. “You should know that I’m not so easily offended,” you playfully chide. “Besides, you’re right. It is quite uncomfortable!” 

Actually, quite felt like an enormous understatement. But you didn’t figure that Jace was particularly interested in hearing about how your breasts were aching from being roughly shoved up by the tight garment. 

Jace looses a breath, his shoulders sagging in relief. “Then why bother wearing them? Many noble-women go without corsets. Even my mother hardly ever wears one—she believes they’re vile things that only aid in the objectification of ladies.” 

Your brows rise, agreeing with the claims of your half-sister. But then you let your attention shift to the dais, meeting the rough stare of the reason why you had been forced into the tortuous garb—your mother. 

She’s already watching you when you meet her eye, her lip curled as she sends you a pointed look, silently urging you away from your nephew. It takes a great deal of effort not to shrink beneath the weight of her attention, and you’re beyond grateful for the group of women who shuffle past you towards the dance floor, giving you an excuse to break the hold she has on you. 

“I wear it because my mother wishes for all of her children to look their best,” you answer, shifting your focus back onto Jace. “And who am I to disappoint the Queen?” 

He notes the sudden callousness of your tone, as well as the way you clasp your hands together at your waist, fidgeting with the golden ring on your index finger. He doesn’t bother asking if you’re okay, however, knowing well enough that you were not—and already knowing why, as well. 

You imagine that Jace doesn’t much like your mother; both for her part in the rumors spread about him and his brothers and for the way she has treated his mother. 

It makes you upset in a strange way, a part of you always wishing to defend the Queen, no matter how abhorrent her actions. After all, she was your mother—whether you like it or not—and you knew very well that if someone were to try to hurt you or your siblings, then she would gladly lay her life on the line for you. 

You were thankful for her; even if her protection hurt, even if her maternal love only exists when your life is at stake.  

“Speaking of your siblings,” Jace suddenly notes, veering slightly off-subject as his own stare drifts towards the dais, “how did Aegon manage to weasel his way out of attending tonight?” 

Your brows snap together before letting your head snap back towards the dais, managing to avoid your mother’s nasty stare this time by looking to her right, taking note of each of your siblings. 

Aemond is sat directly by her side, his posture rigid as his eye scans across the room, alert and on-guard as usual. Next to him is Helaena, leisurely picking at her plate of food and mindlessly bobbing her head along to the symphony being played for court musicians. Daeron, who your mother insisted fly Tessarion here from Oldtown so that he might be present for tonight, is sat next to your empty chair, making idle chatter with those around him. 

But Aegon’s chair, sat between yours and Helaena’s, is vacant. 

A knot forms in your stomach when you look back at Aemond, his piercing violet eye catching yours, gleaming with a silent order—find our imbecile brother before he makes a fool of us all. 

You give him a curt nod before looking away, head whirling as you begin searching the crowd around you for any sign of your eldest brother. 

“Simple,” you huff, “he didn’t.” 

Jace hums his understanding as you politely excuse yourself, turning away from him to begin shoving through the throng of people filling the room. 

You decline invitations to dance and spout excuses as to why you can’t stop to chat as you push past noblemen-and-women from various Houses, trying to maintain the pleasant persona your mother favored while still moving fast enough that you might find Aegon before he finds any new ways to publicly bring shame upon the Targaryen name.  

It’s exhausting work—and by the time you have shoved yourself to the other end of the room without finding him, you nearly consider giving up. Your chest hurts and your scalp is itching from being poked and prodded by a dozen or so pins, all of which had been meticulously placed by servants to arrange plaits into a fanciful half-updo. 

In many ways, you look like your mother; with your elaborate hairstyle and green dress, the look is tied together by a pendant of the Seven-Pointed Star dangling from your neck. 

And, in many ways, you hate it. 

Much to the Queen’s dismay, you’ve never much liked the elegant styles preferred by many women at court. No, instead you spent much of your time donning mail with your hair lazily pulled back, joining Aemond for practice in the training yard. 

She hated how unrefined you were, how indelicate you were; fearful for how others at court might view you for it, for how much attention you might draw to yourself. 

You blow out a sigh, resisting the urge to pull all of the pins from your hair as you will yourself to keep walking, to keep looking for Aegon. A table overflowing with carafes of arbor wine and flagons of ale catches your attention, setting off alarm bells in your mind. 

If Aegon were going to choose anywhere to hide at this godsforsaken ball, then it would certainly be in close proximity to the alcohol. 

A cacophony of laughter and clinking goblets surrounds you as you approach, scanning over rows of bottles and skimming the faces of those nearby. Spinning your ring on your finger, you walk along the entire length of the long serving table, disappointed when you reach the end of it and find that your brother is still nowhere in sight. 

Chewing on your cheek, you fight the urge to pour yourself a drink when you notice a carafe of blackberry wine. The plum colored liquid seems to call your name, singing promises of sweet oblivion, an escape from the restless feeling clawing at your chest. 

You’re out of place here in court, and you always have been—you know that, and you worry that everyone around you knows, too. 

Sensical enough to recognize that alcohol would likely just exacerbate your current ill-feelings, you shun the carafe and turn towards the grand entrance. Lifting your chin and squaring your shoulders, you try to appear more composed than you feel as you saunter towards the large wooden doors. 

If Aegon had snuck off with one of the serving girls, then there was a good chance that he was still somewhere in the hall, either flirting or feeling up their skirts. And, if you were wrong, then at least he had provided you with an excuse to slip away from this mess of a ball. 

As you pass by the last serving table, the platters and dishes atop it already thoroughly picked over, you feel someone tug at your dress. You whirl around, a fiery retort already falling off your tongue, fully intending to rip into whoever had found the audacity to touch you without permission—only to find yourself insulting the air. 

There was no one there, at least not close enough to have touched you. 

For a heartbeat you begin to reel, wondering if you’ve started to lose your mind before feeling the sensation again. A sharp tug at the fabric, just by your knee. Your head snaps down towards your dress, covering your mouth before a gasp can slip your lips. 

An arm is peeking out from beneath one of the finely embellished tablecloths, and a well-groomed hand is clutching your skirts. You instantly recognize the hand as Aegon’s, having become intimately familiar with your brother’s touch throughout your life. 

Taking a step closer to the covered table, you try to look natural as you hunch over it slightly to get closer to his level, feigning an interest in a half-eaten roast duck. 

“What in the Seven Hells are you doing, Aegon?!” Your voice is hushed, not quite a whisper, but low enough so that no one other than him might hear. 

Releasing his hold on your skirts, Aegon lifts the tablecloth a little higher, revealing his face. “Get under here,” he tilts his head, motioning for you to join him beneath the table. 

“No!” 

He swiftly presses a finger to his lips in response to your incredulous shout, shushing you. You stiffen, nervously flicking your eyes to each side, checking to ensure that no one had heard you. Fortunately, the courtiers around you appear far too invested in their conversations and drinks to notice how you appear to have shouted at a roast duck. 

Aegon’s lilac eyes are wide, pleading as he shoves the tablecloth up higher, giving you more room to slip beneath it. “Would you just shut up and come?” 

It’s the sheer urgency of his tone that piques your interest, although you wish that it hadn’t. You huff out an annoyed sigh, taking another look around the room before gathering up your skirts and sinking to your knees, crawling underneath the table. 

Once you’ve successfully sat down beside him on the stone floor, he drops the cloth, shielding the two of you from any prying eyes. The material is thin enough that it allows some light to pass through it, very dimly illuminated Aegon’s grinning face, all urgency having suddenly vanished. 

“Welcome,” he almost sounds breathless, the word airy—and utterly unnecessary. 

You can faintly see the rosy coloring of his cheeks, a few messy silver waves tumbling across his face, and you’re immediately willing to bet that he’s extremely buzzed. “What are you doing, Aeg?” 

Your tone is firm, but there’s a certain gentleness to it that was specially reserved for your eldest brother. While you maintain that you love all three of them equally, it’s undeniable that your relationship with Aegon has always been… different. 

He reaches to his side, lifting a carafe from the ground beside him. “Having a party,” he says, raising it towards your face and playfully swirling the garnet colored liquid. 

“I’m unsure if you’re aware,” you motion towards the cloth shrouding you from the bustling ballroom, “but our mother has already planned quite the celebration for tonight—and she likely does not wish for it to be ruined by her drunkard son ducking beneath tables like an imbecile!” 

Aegon pokes his bottom lip out into a pout. “Why must you assume that I am drunk?” 

“Because you’re you,” you drone, cocking your head at him, “and you are always drunk.” 

Rolling his eyes, he sits the carafe down on the ground between you. There are only mere inches separating the two of you, both of you squeezing your limbs close to your body to avoid having a foot peek out from beneath the table. Sitting this close to him, you can smell the sweetness of the arbor red of his breath—as well as the faintest hint of sulfur, a sign that he had clearly gone riding on Sunfyre earlier and had failed at washing off the dragon’s strong scent. 

You take another breath, inhaling the smell of him into your lungs. It was familiar—comfortable, urging your taut muscles to slacken in his presence. 

“And what if I told you that I am sober right now?” 

A snort escapes you, sparing him an incredulous look. “Then I would call you a liar,” you tell him, tapping a finger against the rim of the half-empty carafe. 

His stare drops down towards it, watching as the liquid ripples when you pull your hand back. When he looks back up, he’s wearing a crooked smile that makes your heart flutter. “Mostly sober, then.” 

It’s nearly impossible to stifle your laugh, clamping a hand over your mouth so that you might muffle the sound and prevent passersby from becoming suspicious. The sound only makes his smile grow wider and more genuine, an expression that he graced very few people with. 

“I’ll ask again,” you say, speaking only when you're confident that no more laughter will tumble out. “Why are you down here? If mother finds out then she will be furious and-” 

Aegon tosses his head back, cutting you off with a groan. “Mother will be furious no matter what,” 

Disdain drips from each syllable, thickening the air around you. He didn’t like talking about her much, and you couldn’t blame him for it. Of all your siblings, Aegon had been dealt the worst hand, simply by being born first. He got the brunt of your mothers vile behavior; and you hated that, too. 

“Because,” lazily rolling his neck so that he can look at you again, he answers, “I’d rather spend my night under here,” he flicks a hand up, lazily gesturing around himself, “than be forced to sit through even one more tedious speech from some ancient Lord of gods-know-where!” 

You bite your tongue, holding back another laugh. 

“And,” he continues, nodding in your direction, “I am now saving you from the same mundane fate. You’re welcome.” 

“What makes you think that I needed your saving?” You ask, brows rising. 

Aegon purses his lips, placing a finger against his chin as he feigns contemplation, studying the intricate styling of your hair, the modest long-sleeved gown, and the Star resting against your covered breasts. “Perhaps it was that our mother has you dressed up as though you’re an aspiring Septa.” 

Thinking of the plain women, with their simple gowns and traditional head coverings, you nearly laugh again as you ask, “How many Septa’s do you know that wear corsets and jewelry, brother?” 

“None,” he admits, shoulders lifting into an indolent shrug. “Though, if they looked more like you, then I might finally have a reason to attend prayer. Beautiful women would be more than enough to turn me into a pious man.” 

A warmth creeps up your neck as blood rushes to your cheeks, unsure if his statement was meant as a compliment—was he saying that he found you beautiful? If so, it shouldn’t have been a particularly shocking revelation. After all, Aegon had complimented you before, many times. 

In all fairness, however, most of those times had been when he was thoroughly besotted. He had a habit of sneaking into your rooms and practically draping himself off of you, muttering drunken nonsense about how breathtaking you were. You had never placed much truth in the statements though, assuming that Aegon likely didn’t even recognize who he was speaking to, much less whose bed he had crawled into. 

But even if this was a genuine and mostly sober attempt at complimenting you, the flattery of it doesn’t last nearly long enough. Your own insecurity washes back over you far quicker than you like, reminding you of just how unlike yourself you currently feel. 

“I do not believe that anything would be capable of turning you into a pious man,” you joke, trying and failing to cover up the melancholy that has settled into your bones. “Not even beautiful women.” 

“You could.” 

The answer comes far too quick, spilling from his tongue with an eagerness that even seems to catch him by surprise. 

“Though, I must say, for as exquisite as this dress makes you look,” his hand reaches across the short expanse dividing you, mindlessly running his fingers along the fabric covering your shoulder, “I much prefer the way look in armor—sweaty skin, messy hair, sword in-hand—all of it.” 

Your breath catches in your throat as his touch drifts towards the center of your chest, fingers dragging along the thin chain leading to your pendant, lifting the Star into his palm. He stares at it for a moment before yanking it roughly from your neck, grinning when you yelp. “But this,” he lifts the Seven-Pointed Star slightly, “I absolutely hate.” 

With that, he tosses it from underneath the table, sending it skittering across the floor beyond the tablecloth. 

Your jaw drops open, a hand pressed against the now-sore spot along the back of your neck. Despite yourself, your lips start to curve into a playful smile. You try fighting against it, try pressing them into a firm line, but fail. “Mother will not be happy about that-” 

“She’s never happy,” Aegon interjects. His own expression shifts, the line on his forehead deepening as he says, “Do not let yourself bear her misery. Life is too short—and you deserve more than that.” 

A palpable silence is thickening the air, and your breathing seems to synchronize as you simply stare at one another. 

Slowly, nervously, you say, “I’m not sure what it is that I deserve,” 

“You deserve,” he pauses, lips still parted despite the absence of speech. Then, swallowing back the words that had been building in his throat, he says, “you deserve whatever it is that you want, sister.” 

Your hand falls from your neck into your lap, and you avert your gaze, watching your fingers as they fidget with your ring. “And what if I do not know what I want?” 

Once, you had thought that you wanted a life like Jaces. A happy life, with a mother that knew how to love you and siblings that hadn’t been raised in fear of their half-sister ascending the throne, taught that their very existence was a threat to her power. But, suddenly, you felt as though you were no longer sure. 

Aegon hesitates, watching you carefully. His lilac eyes appear as though they’re searching for something within your own—a hint of recognition, or reciprocation. If he found what he was looking for, then you were unaware. “Then you’ll figure it out,” he sighs, his smile not reaching his eyes. “You have all the time in the world to decide.” 

There is something reassuring about his statement, making it resonate with you in a way that you hadn’t expected. You look up, holding his gaze for a heartbeat, then two, and you almost swear that you can see it—the silent invitation, the plea to delve deeper into his words, to decipher exactly what it was that he was promising you. 

You have all the time in the world—all the time in the world to decide if he might ever be something you want. 

Suddenly you find yourself dancing on the edge of a precipice, chest tightening as you grapple with the idea that, maybe, something more might exist between you and Aegon. 

That, maybe, he had always known who he was complimenting and what bed he was slipping into. 

That, for him, it had always been you. 

“Aegon, I-” 

He shakes his head, cutting you off before you have a chance to say something that he fears you may regret. Then, sliding the carafe between you to the side, he scoots closer. “If you plan on staying under my table,” he teases, clearing his throat, “then we need to do something about your hair.” 

“I thought you said I looked exquisite?” You stay still as he starts toying with the strands, trying to swallow the tumult of your own emotions. 

Aegon’s plucking various pins from your hair, tossing them to the ground. “Yes, but I also said that I prefer your hair when it’s messy. It’s more…” he sucks in a breath, unable to hide the admiration swelling in his chest when he finally exhales, “you.” 

Your cheeks are burning hot, and you’re suddenly very thankful for the lack of light around you. On instinct, you almost tell him how your mother wouldn’t agree—but then you think better of it. 

“You’re… generous.” 

Something about your voice sounds foreign in your ears. You sound nervous—and you’re not used to feeling nervous around Aegon. 

His fingers are combing through the plaits forming your updo, his brow drawn taut, framing his lilac eyes, shining bright with concentration. “Generous,” he snorts softly, nails raking lightly against your scalp as he shakes the strands loose, “I don’t hear that one often.” 

“Well perhaps you’d hear it more if you weren’t such an ass,” you shoot back, slowly trying to slip back into your usual self. 

“Me? An ass?” He’s untangled the final braid, scooting away from you slightly now as he presses a hand to his chest, feigning innocence. “Never.” 

Now falling in loose waves, free of those incessant pins, you brush your hair over your shoulder. “Just earlier I heard you telling Lord Grover that if wisdom were measured in wrinkles that he would be named Grand Maester.” You point out, unable to mask your amusement while recalling the old man’s shocked expression. 

“Is it not true?” Aegon smirks. “The man is nearly seventy, and his age certainly shows.” 

“Lord Grover is only two-and-fifty, brother.” 

His brows shoot up, gaping at you. “Tell me that you’re not serious!” When you nod, confirming that you are, he sucks his teeth. “Wow—how unfortunate. He looks positively dreadful for his age, then. I thought that he surely had one foot in the grave by now.” 

“Aegon!” You rebuke through your own sputtered laughter, shaking your head at his insolence. “See? This is what I was talking about! If you weren’t so crude then you might get more compliments.” 

Swinging his arm back to grab for the carafe, Aegon’s nose scrunches slightly. “Why bother?” He implores, a hint of mischief in his tone. “My crudeness is what you like most about me, is it not? Without it, dear sister, your life would be quite boring.” 

Just before he brings the carafe to his lips, he inclines his head towards the tablecloth, emphasizing his words. A reminder—that, without him, you would still be out there, sitting miserably amongst your siblings and being forced to dance with Lord’s twice your age. 

There was something more beneath the veil of humor and arrogance, however. A craving that had him tipping the carafe back, hoping that the stinging of the alcohol might numb his gnawing desire for validation—to hear you say that you yes, my life would be boring without you. 

“I suppose you’re right,” the admission has him pausing, the carafe lingering against his bottom lip. “Truth be told, I had never put much thought into it before, but you do have a way of keeping life interesting, Aeg. So, I must agree that, without you, my life would be positively dreadful.” Staring at the ground in-between you, you smile before adding, “After all, who else would be able to convince me to risk our mother’s scorn and crawl beneath a table to drink wine and fix my hair?” 

There’s a slight tremor in his voice when he speaks, trying to mask the warmth swelling in his chest, “You have yet to drink a single drop.” 

“Then I suppose that is the next thing you’ll have to fix,” you say, sticking your hand out towards him, urging him to pass you the carafe. He hands it to you while biting back a grin. 

“Careful,” he warns, “drink too much and you may end up like your drunkard brother.” 

“I don't mind,” You mirror his expression, your own lips curving as you raise the glass upwards, the strong scent of the arbor red stinging your nostrils. “I quite like my drunkard brother.” 

His gaze burns against your flesh as you tilt your head back, allowing the alcohol to slip over your tongue, and you suddenly realize that you are no longer standing on the edge of that precipice. 

You’re falling.

a/n - i was honestly just thinking about jude and cardan hiding under a table in the cruel prince and ended up with this? so yeah, definitely inspired by jurdan content (but y'know... no coup d'etat lmao).

[lovinglokilaufeyson]

In Vino Veritas (In Wine, There is Truth) - A.A.

Pairings: Astarion x Fem!Reader/Tav (Sorceress/Magic User)

Warnings: FLUFF (the sickeningly sweet kind). Angst. Insecure/Jealous!Astarion. Drunk!Astarion. Soft/Clingy!Astarion. Astarion is in his feelings. Love Confessions. BG3 Spoilers (Early Act I). Mutual Pining. Oblivious!Tav. Honestly kind of Sub!Astarion vibes. Not Proofread!

Wordcount: 2,589

Summary: After seeing you bonding with the other companions, Astarion is in deep with his emotions. This leads to him staggering off to a bar in a nearby town, and you go looking for him as you are worried about him. Once you find him, a confession of love spills from his lips unprompted.

A/N: Can vampires even get drunk? I’m not entirely sure, but that’s what this is about. This wasn’t a request, just something I was interested in writing. I haven’t written Astarion in this way before, but I think I like how it turned out. Thank you guys for all the love on my Astarion fics! I appreciate it immensely. Also, two posts in one day is kind of insane for me. Enjoy!

You weren’t always confident in yourself or your abilities. However, your recent adventures with Lae’zel, Astarion, and Gale have boosted your self-esteem. Gale had even approached you one night rambling about the “weave” and how he wanted you to experience it. You were able to conjure it with favorable ease, however you backed away once he had come onto you. Astarion stood in disgust as he watched the scene unravel. Gale was clearly attracted to you, and clearly wanted in your pants at one point or another. Astarion wouldn’t mind being in your pants either, at one point or another.

Secretly, Astarion envied your naivety, your ability to be fairly oblivious to many people’s advances. Heck, you didn’t even notice Gale’s constant passing glances until he was quite literally leaning in to kiss you, impressed by your ability to conjure the weave with little effort. You turned away nearly instantly, at least once you realized.

You were fairly friendly, which led a lot of suitors to believe that you were interested in them. Gale was no different. The wizard felt that you showed great potential, and he was impressed by your magical abilities. Initially, you believed this to be friendly behavior from Gale, but alas, he felt more for you than that. You had a difficult time turning him down, as you did with most. Gale wasn’t a bad guy, he just – wasn’t for you. Astarion had to spend some time alone after watching you and Gale bond. He felt a pain in his chest while watching the scene.

He was glad to find out that you had rejected Gale, which Gale had let him know (unprompted, of course) one night while out by the fire. Gale was working on his magic, Astarion was reading, and you were sleeping dreadfully well after the long day.

Soon after, you, Lae’zel, Astarion and Gale met Wyll on the way to the grove. You had a battle with the goblins and gained a new ally in Wyll. Unfortunately, Astarion had placed himself right in the midst of the conflict, leading him to take quite the beating. So, when Wyll offered to join the party, you felt it was obvious to have Wyll take his place. Lae’zel and Gale were in moderately good shape afterwards. “Fine,” Astarion spoke merely one word, then turned around in a dejected manner, slumping his way away from the group. When he glanced back, he saw Wyll laughing at something you had said, which caused the pain in his chest to worsen.

Astarion had to walk through a nearby town in order to get back to camp, which is where the mistakes began. He spotted a tavern, which looked acceptable – albeit rundown in comparison to the ones he frequented in Baldur’s Gate. The thought of alcohol to tame his present emotions didn’t seem so terrible. I mean, was he really that replaceable to you? If you were honest, the only reason you sent him away was because of how damaged he looked after battle. Part of you wanted to go with him, or at least offer, but he had walked away too quickly for you to even respond. You probably should have gone after him, instead you turned to your new companion in order to get acquainted.

Your mistake was recognized after you got back to camp last night – because where the hell was Astarion? All of his belongings were still around, but he was nowhere to be found. He wasn’t bathing, but perhaps he could be hunting? It seemed fairly abnormal for him to just wander off. It was getting fairly late and Astarion still hadn’t arrived back at camp. You were getting worried.

“Has anyone seen Astarion?” You asked everyone who was still awake. The group shook their heads. You kept telling yourself that he probably just was out hunting. Yet something didn’t feel right.

“I’m worried about him, guys. I sent him back to camp and he’s nowhere to be found.” You commented, with Shadowheart being the first to respond. “It’s Astarion, Tav. It’s not like he’s known to be the most reliable, even in the few days we’ve known him.” Her fondness for you was shining through, and her almost envious tone showed her distain for your anxious thoughts about the pale elf companion.

You decided to backtrack on the path away from camp, the one that Astarion would have taken back, trying to retrace his steps. You hoped that he hadn’t collapsed somewhere, that was absolutely your worst fear. You couldn’t help but worry at the thought of losing Astarion. He had already been through so much - that you were incredibly aware of.

You wandered the dim, moonlit trail, hoping that you would find a sign of him anywhere. You peered through the forest trees, but with little avail. You thought about shouting out to him but thought better of it. You could attract someone – or something, rather, that you’d prefer not to. You decided to keep as quiet as you could.

You crept towards the nearby town. Given that the afternoon had far past, the only open facility was the tavern. It was old, but well-kept given its state. The building itself was made from stone, with a large oak wooden door at its front. It vibrated with livelihood from the activities of indoors. This tavern was likely the sole place in town where folks could go to have a decent time. Through the windows, you spotted various ages and races of people, all joined together in dancing, drinking, chatting, and even singing. You didn’t see Astarion, but you figured that asking surely wouldn’t hurt. Maybe they knew of his whereabouts.

The door creaked open as you entered, revealing the brightly candlelit interior of the tavern. The wood floors were certainly run down, likely from years of wear and tear and dancing upon them. Many eyes fell upon you when you entered. Your footsteps were light, but your presence was different for the townsfolk. You were new. Astarion had felt similarly when he moved into space, but they had become used to his presence by now. Not only that, but he had spent copious amounts of gold on drinks, which was certainly appreciated. You didn’t know that though, not yet.

The townsfolk had accepted your presence within a few moments of entering, with one muttering to another “she’s a pretty one, isn’t she?” before gulping down more beer, then standing up to make a move on you. You were quite oblivious to this situation, moving steadily towards the barkeep, hoping she might be able to tell you of Astarion’s whereabouts, as you moved through the bar and still didn’t take notice of the elf.

“Eh, darlin!” You heard a man grunt at you, but you didn’t want to acknowledge him. The words almost hit your ears in just the right way, the eerie similarity to Astarion’s word choice was uncanny.

As you approached the bar, the barmaid approached you sweetly. She was an older lady with deep raven hair, likely had worked there for a substantial portion of time, perhaps even being the owner of the place. “Hi, dear. What can I get goin’ for you?” She inquired with a courteous smile. “Nothing quite yet for me. I’m looking for my friend, he’s an elf with white hair, he probably would have passed by here several hours ago.”

“Aw! You must be Tav! He wouldn’t stop rambling about you while he was here. I think he slumped over to the bathroom, we tried to sober him up, but he was lookin’ pretty sick.” The barkeep gestured to the doors in the corner, and you nodded. “Thank you. I’ll be back.”

You pushed your way through the patrons in order to place several knocks on the only closed door. “Astarion?” You raised your voice to ensure that he heard you over the music that boasted in the background. You leaned your head against the door, hoping to hear a response from him. You nearly fell as suddenly the door was replaced with air, and a stumbling Astarion approached you. “Darling!” He exclaimed. This new, puppy-like energy contrasted with his always stoic exterior. You went to scold him, about to go off about his selfishness in abandoning camp like that, but before you could, his rambling continued.

“Goodness, you look phenomenal. I can hardly take it.” You looked at him, creases forming on your face as your mind became more puzzled. Astarion was typically a flirty person, but this was different. For some reason, it seemed – sincere?

“Astarion, what are you doing here?”

“Well I got sad, so I decided to have a few – um – drinks.” His words slurred as they exited his lips, which did not promote truth in his sentence. “A few?” He nodded eagerly in response, and you grabbed at the fabric near his shoulder in order to tug him over to the bar. “Do you know how many drinks he’s had?” You asked the barmaid, hoping she could provide some insight. “In the double digits, certainly. Spent most of his time downing drinks and talking about your ‘delectability.’”

She responded as you took a deep breath. Astarion, who was lent up against your shoulder now, and could hardly maintain composure, brought an index finger to usher the woman quiet, pressing it against her lips. “SHHHH.” He spoke loudly, before she removed his finger in a swift motion. Astarion leant towards your ear, whispering “she’s just talking about how it’s more noticeable that I’m in love with you when I’m tipsy.” Your eyes shot open for the first time in hours. You had maintained heavy lids since post battle; however you hadn’t heard anything this shocking in weeks. You couldn’t help the way that your cheeks now sprouted a flushed, pink hue.

“You somehow get even cuter when you blush.” Astarion spoke, and you placed your head in your hands, which Astarion immediately tried to pull away “don’t, please, you’re so pretty.” You almost rolled your eyes, what if this was all some strange dream? Don’t get you wrong, there were many nights that you dreamt of the day that Astarion would approach you in this way, you just – didn’t think it would happen. You finally released your face from your hands and looked at the barmaid. “We’ll be leaving now, thank you.” You grabbed on to Astarion once more, tugging him towards the large oak door at the entrance.

“Someone’s in trouble!” One of the men shouted from across the bar at the scene. “I hope so!” Astarion shouted back, and you tugged him harder.

As the overwhelm was diluted by the calm of the outdoors, and your faces were hit by the cool air, you turned to face him.

“Astarion, what the hells is going on?” Your question was slightly louder than intended, especially since you had to raise your voice to be heard inside of the bar.

Immediately, you were faced with a pout on Astarion’s lips and dilated pupils as he gazed at you. “Please don’t be mad, darling.”

“I just want to know if you’re okay.” You responded, your features softening, which comforted him.

“I just-“ he stammered, having a difficult time finding the words. He looked back to you, seeing how patient you were, and he relaxed, with help from the alcohol that still coursed steadily through him. “you’re perfect.” For the second time tonight, your eyes widened like craters. You were nearly at a loss for words, but as you went to speak, Astarion interrupted you.

“Gods, Tav! Gale is entranced by you, Shadowheart has definitely caught feelings, Lae’zel wants you to give her bruises, and did you see the way that Wyll looked at you today?” He inquired, and you meagerly shook your head. “Not to mention I’m fucking in love with you! And I can’t even show it! I haven’t felt this way, like, ever, with anyone! And I’m fucking terrified, Tav!”

He gesticulated harshly as he spoke, his pent-up energy finally releasing. You moved towards him, holding your arms out, almost as an offering to him. He looked at you with soft eyes, then headed towards you himself, wrapping his arms around your waist, as yours fell across his shoulders. He relaxed into your touch, leaning his face to nuzzle in your neck. “Please don’t let me go.” Astarion pleaded.

“I won’t, Star.” You whispered into his ear, and you could feel him sigh in relief.

“I’m sorry I was jealous and upset.”

“Don’t be sorry for feeling the way you do, Astarion.” These words nearly brought a drunken Astarion to tears, but he was able to focus on the way you felt in his arms instead. You were able to convince him to cease the hug in order to walk back to camp, but he insisted that he needed to have a hand on you at all times to be assured that “you wouldn’t let him go.” So, it ended up with his hand intertwined with yours for the duration of the short journey back, along with him leaning on you to keep steady.

The rest of the companions were awaiting your return to camp and sighed in relief when you arrived. They were slightly surprised to see Astarion lent up against you, with your frame keeping him upright. Shadowheart seemed to roll her eyes in annoyance at the pale elf’s return, but was thankful you were alright, nonetheless. They stayed quiet, as it seemed more like an “ask questions later” type of circumstance. Since they now knew you were safe, they deemed it acceptable to retreat to their own tents for the night.

You teetered Astarion over to his own tent, facing him as he stared at you with puppy dog eyes. “You’ll stay?” He asked, and you looked at him with similar eyes. “Please?” He followed up, and you nodded. “Let’s go to my tent, though. Is that alright?”

“As long as I’m with you.”

You lead Astarion to your – somewhat more put together tent, with a larger bedroll that could fit the both of you situated on the floor. He stared in awe as he admired the colors within, it was actually quite cozy.

You put yourself in bed as normal, while Astarion seemed to stand with a blank look on his face, his eyes traveling from your eyes to the tent, as if this was new to him. “You okay, Astarion?” You asked, and he nodded. “More than okay, actually.” He responded, and you smiled. You reached your arms out, beckoning him towards you “come here, then, sweet boy.” He grinned giddily, nearly diving into your arms.

-

Astarion woke up in the somewhat unfamiliar environment of your tent, with a throbbing headache. However, he realized that he was sprawled across your lap, and decided to be content in the fact that even though he didn’t remember a single thing about last night, he knew that he had wound up in the right place, in the right person’s arms.

You noticed he had woken from the fluttering of his eyelashes on your skin, and you brought your hand to his hair in order to play with it ever so slightly. “Good morning, handsome” you spoke.

“Good morning, darling. What in the hells happened last night?” He responded, turning towards you with a smirk on his face. “Did I get as lucky as I hope I did?” Sober Astarion was back, that was for certain.

[nastyc2nt]

Hanta sero being the biggest fuck boy around, and izuku being sensitive and inexperienced leads to many things

Like izuku begging sero to teach him to fuck you. And trust me he’s writhing. Red faced, maybe teary. He’s so embarrassed. And sero just drinks it up. “Yeah? You want me to teach you to fuck your girl?” Or something slightly condescending.

Of course hanta agrees cause you’re hot. So he’s sitting behind you, against the headboard. While he shows izuku how to make you cum in every way.

First lesson was fingers, second was tongue, third was his dick. And after was toys he lended you both. Fingers started out tricky, but sero was fairly hands on, resulting in four fingers in you rather than two. Izukus personal favourite was the vibrators. Something about being as desperate and pathetic as him, turned him on.

Something about the condescending attitude plus the whiny pathetic behaviour goes crazy. (Side note. If you want it to be even more freaky. Make izuku the fuckboy and bakugo the pathetic one. “I guess you’ll always be second place to me kacchan.’ Or something even more diva-ish.)

🫀

I’m literally going crazy, i wouldn’t have thought of this on my own and i’m so grateful you brought this to my attention—

Sero is a very good choice because he’s so experienced!! Poor Izuku wouldn’t know what to do, he’s never had a girlfriend before!!

She/Her and Born at birth anatomy.

{idk where katsuki came in from, but I literally breath for cocky izuku. Will make a small dabble if you send in something about cocky izuku and katsuki}

{Also saw chubby reader for some reason- BUT EVERYTHINH WORKS}

✦ ──────── ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ──────── ✦

“Don’t just whine,” sero sternly shouted at the green haired man that was too lost in your pussy to think of anything else. Izuku has been trying so hard to learn everything, and has been getting so turned on with how pathetic you looked when you’ve been overstimulated.

“M’sorry,” he opened his eyes and focused on fucking you just right instead of his own needs, he tries to reach deep and use his cock with the tips sero gave him! And he listened to how you like it as well.

Sero rolls his eyes and grabs izukus hand from behind you, his other hand still grabbing your waist and you lean back onto his chest. “Play with her clit like a man! I thought the number one hero could please his girlfriend,” he looks down at you, your eyes half open as you look at your boyfriend. He recalled your defenses against izuku being a bad lover throughout the evening but never once said no, or that what sero did wasn’t right.

You moan and whimper when izuku started to play with your overused clit and started to squirm underneath both their holds, but sero made sure to keep you still. “See? Ain’t that a precious sight,” he hated to admit, if you were to find yourself single — he’d fuck you so good. But he has more respect for izuku then to pull you away from him.

Izuku had enough of the hunger in Seros eyes, he knew it was strange to get jealous when he literally asked for this.

You yelped when izuku pressed your leg up higher and inched his body closer, his legs almost crushing you, “Gonna cum?” Izuku egged on. sero watches him start to pump your guts, and the sound from your lips and pussy is so good it makes him hard. Izuku was rough now to, his hand making a imprint on your leg that he held closer to your head, and his hand still playing with your clit.

Sero smirks, proud of Izuku gaining confidence and fucking like a man. “Damn, fuckin’ her rough? I knew you were like a rabbit.”

¡!Don’t repost my posts on other websites, don’t translate them, theses are for me to publish on my own!!

Taglist: @sparklylanddetective @fvitos

[blueskrugs]

'tis the damn season | Matthew Tkachuk

today's the unofficial official start to summer, so here's a 4th of July Matty fic I couldn't bear to hold on to for another month. once upon a time, kim @troubatrain wrote another matthew fic by the same title, but i'm fairly confident this is entirely different. as usual, @wyattjohnston was my enabler in writing this.

length: 3.0k words

It’s late when you finally peel yourself off the Adirondack chair you claimed hours ago next to the bonfire, empty seltzer can dangling from your fingertips. The bonfire has died off, barely more than some embers and the occasional spark. Even the fireworks that have been echoing around the lake for days have petered out. It’s just you, Matthew and Taryn left outside, all your other friends having wandered off to find somewhere to sleep—except you think Taryn might have also fallen asleep, wrapped up in one of Matthew’s old Calgary sweatshirts and a beach towel. 

Matthew watches you with heavy eyes, watches as you stretch sleepily and the big T-shirt you’d thrown on over your swimsuit rides up over your hips. 

“Don’t drive home,” Matthew says, so low you barely hear him. 

“What?” you ask. You’re not heading back to the city until after the long weekend is over, and your parents’ lake house is just a couple of miles away. 

“Don’t leave, there’s a lot of drunk idiots out still,” he says again, standing too. You and your friends were some of those drunk idiots earlier in the day, but you don’t point that out. 

“Dude, I’m fine,” you tell Matthew. You turn to look for your flip-flops. “It’s not far, and I stopped drinking a while ago.”

Matthew grabs you by the hip. The night has cooled off, but Matthew’s hand feels hot on your skin. “I’m not worried about you being stupid, I’m worried about something happening to you,” Matthew says. “Don’t go.”

You didn’t pack enough clothes to spend the night—you’d always been planning on heading back to your parents’ at the end of the night. The house was crowded with friends of Matthew and Taryn. 

“There’s nowhere left for me to sleep,” is what you end up saying.

Matthew tightens his grip. You step closer. “Sleep in my bed.”

You’d done it before, but not since before Matthew had moved to Michigan to play for the USNTDP. Not since before your crush on Matthew had shifted from something childish to something more like pining. You stare up at him, his blue eyes serious, clear even in the moonlight. 

One of the logs on the dying bonfire pops and shifts, sending out a spray of sparks. You both startle, moment broken. Matthew takes a half-step back from you. You hadn’t realized how far you’d both leaned in. Taryn stirs somewhere behind you.

“Fine,” you say quietly. “I’ll stay.” 

Matthew grins at you. You shake your head at him as you finally turn to walk inside.

You think you hear Taryn murmur, “Get a room,” as you pass her. 

The lake house is a mess. You survey it with dismay for a moment: there’s people passed out on several different couches, empty cans and bottles scattered across most surfaces, and remnants of dinner still sitting out in the kitchen. You drop your own empty can into the recycling near the door and wander quietly through the first floor, picking up what you can. You haven’t been at it very long when Matthew steps inside as well, gently shutting the door behind him. He clicks his tongue at you when he spots you in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher.

“I thought you were going to bed,” he whispers.

“I got distracted,” you whisper back. 

Matthew trails his fingertips across your side as he steps past you to open the fridge. You shiver, and not because the AC is turned down low. Matthew pulls two bottles of Gatorade out, offers one to you. 

You take it, suddenly surprised at how thirsty you are. 

Matthew watches in amusement for a moment as you chug a third of the bottle, before he says, “C’mon, it’s past your bedtime.”

“It’s not that late—” you try to protest, before you catch a glimpse of the time on the microwave clock. Almost 2 AM. “Oops,” you say instead. 

Matthew flicks off the kitchen light and heads upstairs.

You make a pit stop in Taryn’s room on your way down the hall to Matthew’s room. The door creaks as you open it, and you wince, squinting at the bed, where three of Taryn’s field hockey teammates are sleeping. No one moves. You steal a pair of shorts to sleep in and sneak back out. 

Matthew is waiting for you, again, perched on the edge of his bed. The shower in his ensuite is running, steam filtering through the ajar door. “Shower’s ready for you, if you want,” he says.

There’s a bottle of your face wash and a toothbrush with your initials Sharpied onto the handle underneath his sink, the same way they have been since you were 14. You take a fast shower and try not to think too much about it. 

You run into Matthew when you walk out of the bathroom. Literally. You're bumped backwards, into the doorjamb. Matthew doesn’t step away. You’re still wearing one of his T-shirts. 

“I was just—I need—” Matthew stutters. 

“Matty—” you breathe, before Matthew’s lips crash into yours. He tastes like beer and sunscreen, and you wrap your hands around the back of his neck so you can pull him closer. 

Matthew breaks the kiss first, but he doesn’t go far, pressing his forehead to yours. It could have been seconds, or it could have been hours. 

“I was just going to brush my teeth,” Matthew whispers. 

You make a face instead of kissing Matthew again. His face is still so close to yours. 

“Good, you need it,” you whisper back. Matthew rolls his eyes at you, presses a kiss to your forehead before ducking into the bathroom. 

You’re sprawled out in the center of Matthew’s bed when he re-emerges, watching the ceiling fan turn lazily above you. You feel drunk, like the room’s spinning, too, but you think that might just be proximity to Matthew. You should have just found a couch or a corner of floor to sleep on. 

“No way,” Matthew says, standing at the foot of the bed. “Scoot over.” 

You think about pushing it, just to see if Matthew would push back, but you scoot over. Matthew flops onto the bed next to you in the space you just left, then rolls on top of you, anyway, braced with his hands next to your head. 

You take a second to just look at him. You’ve been sneaking glances all day, over the rim of a seltzer can, from underneath your sunglasses, across the boat. It had felt illicit then, but now Matthew is right in front of you, blue eyes meeting yours. His curls are getting long, messy from being in and out of the lake water all day. He’s always tan now—living in Florida all winter does that—but he’s sunburned across his nose and across the tops of shoulders. You lift one hand and skim a finger down his nose, across his jaw.

“I miss you,” you blurt. It’s not what you had meant to say, but now that you’ve said it, you’re not sure what else there is to say.

Matthew laughs softly. “I’m right here, babe,” he says.

He’s here now, but it won’t be long until summer’s over, and he’ll be gone again. Back to the real world. You don’t know the last time you and Matthew were able to spend time together like this, don’t know if you’ll ever get this time again. It’s always been one thing after another—injuries, or vacations, or work. You don't talk the way you used to, either. Matthew's schedule clashes with yours so often that neither of you have time for hours-long phone calls anymore.

Matthew drops to an elbow and brushes your hair out of your face. You try not to sigh. His hand is on your knee next, by his ribs with your feet flat on the bed. You don’t stop him as his hand starts to slide up your thigh, closer to the hem of his T-shirt, riding up your hips again. 

Matthew drags a line of kisses down your neck. You can’t stop your sigh this time. Matthew comes up for air, tucks another strand of hair behind your ear. It’s humid outside and in Matthew’s bed; you can’t breathe, gasp for air. His hand is back on your hip, burning hot on your skin. 

He asks, “Yeah?” 

You can feel his breath on your cheek. He’s panting, too, and it’s nice to know that he’s as wrapped up in this as you are, at least for this moment. That he might want you almost as bad as you want him. That he’s wanted you as long as you’ve wanted him.  

You don’t trust yourself to get any words out, just nod. 

“Think you can stay quiet?” Matthew says, before sealing his lips on yours again. 

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You wake up late the next morning, the ghost of Matthew’s fingers still on your skin. He’s in bed, too, tangled in the sheets, head turned away from you. Distantly, you hear the sounds of the rest of the house stirring, your friends laughing, coffee brewing. You don’t make any move to get up.

You’re still laying there later—15 minutes, 30 minutes, you’re not sure—when Matthew starts to stir. He rolls over quickly, almost panicked, but he relaxes and smiles when he sees you still lying next to him. 

“Hi,” he says dumbly. He fumbles for his phone, but it’s not beside him. “What time is it?” His words and eyes are still heavy with sleep.

You don't know either; you must have left your phone downstairs last night;. You shrug and stretch. Matthew watches you closely, the way your body moves beneath the sheets. You feel your cheeks flush. 

“Dunno,” you say. Closer to noon than early morning, if you had to guess by the way the light is slanting through the partially closed blinds. “Late,” you add. 

Matthew grins at you and props himself up on one elbow. You have to resist the urge to reach up and tug on his curls, even messier now from your hands and sleep. 

“Then I don’t think anyone will miss us if we stay in bed a little longer,” he says, leaning over to kiss you.

You indulge him and his morning breath for a few moments. Wrapped up in your own little bubble, twisted together in Matthew’s sheets, you can pretend just a little longer—that this is real, that it won’t disappear the second you step through that doorway and back into a world where other people and other obligations exist. But then your stomach rumbles and shatters your illusion.

You push Matthew away by the shoulders—gently, though part of you wants to be harsh with him, hurt him the way you know he’s going to break your heart. Matthew goes easily, but you see the flash of furrowed brow before he smooths his expression back into something easygoing. 

“Not that I’m not enjoying this,” you say, “but I need something to eat.” 

Matthew raises his eyebrows at you. “I’ve got an idea of what I want to eat,” he leers. 

You knee him in the chest in retaliation.

“Oof,” Matthew complains, but he’s laughing. 

He rolls off of you, rubbing his chest and pouting at you. You just roll your eyes and slide out of bed. You hunt the floor for the shorts you’d been wearing when you went to bed, trying to ignore the way you can feel Matthew staring at your ass. Your shorts ended up across the room, by the bathroom door. When you turn around again, Matthew is pulling on a shirt. There’s a hickey on his collarbone that you hazily remember leaving there. He sees you looking as his bare skin disappears and smirks at you before throwing another clean shirt of his at your face. 

You grab the hem of the shirt you’re wearing, but say, “Turn around.”

Matthew gapes at you. “It’s nothing I didn’t see last night,” he tells you. 

It feels different in the daylight, though. You stare Matthew down until he heaves a sigh and turns his back. 

You poke Matthew in the ribs when you’ve finished changing. It didn’t go unnoticed by you that Matthew gave you a shirt with his number stamped on the left shoulder to wear. Matthew reaches to take your hand as you start down the stairs, but you pull away and run ahead of him.

This isn’t like that. 

“Oh, you’re both alive,” Taryn calls when she sees you. “We were thinking about sending someone up to check on you.” 

You and Matthew exchange a look. You don’t miss Taryn smirking from her spot on the couch. 

“Where is everybody?” Matthew says, instead of saying anything to give Taryn any more ammunition. The house has quieted down. There’s still a few of Taryn’s teammates lounging around, but it looks like more of Matthew’s friends have cleared out.

“Weather’s shitty, people started leaving after breakfast,” she says. 

Outside the windows that overlook the lake, there’s fog clinging to the water. It looks chilly out, and you shiver. You tell yourself it’s because of the cold, and not because Matthew is standing so close to you that you can feel his body heat. He nudges your elbow, and he’s holding a cup of coffee out to you, already the perfect color for you to drink it. You shoot him a grateful smile as you take it; your fingers brush, and you try not to jerk your hand away. 

“Nobody even said good-bye,” Matthew gripes.

You laugh, but it’s Taryn who says: “Maybe because you’re a shit host.”

Matthew gasps in outrage and throws a discarded can koozie at her. It falls weakly to the floor halfway to the couch, and all of you burst out laughing. You and Matthew move easily around each other in the kitchen, piecing together leftovers and assembling your breakfasts. It sends a pang through your chest, the familiarity of it, even as the years and distance build a canyon between your relationship. You don’t know when Matthew went from being your best friend, to the boy you dreamed of marrying one day, to the guy you knew so well yet barely knew at all. 

You feel like you can’t breathe.

“That’s disgusting,” you say, watching Matthew take a bite out of a cold bratwurst straight from the fridge.

Matthew shrugs. “What?” he says with his mouth full. “It’s a sausage, people eat sausage for breakfast all the time!” 

“But not—oh, fuck you, never mind,” you say. 

You escape the kitchen, slipping through the back door to the porch. The bonfire from last night has long since burned out entirely, but you drop into one of the chairs beside it anyway, where you eat your breakfast undisturbed. When your plate is cleared, you wander down to the dock.

The late morning sun has finally started to burn away the fog, but the air is still cool. You sit down on the edge of the dock and let your feet dangle in the water. It’s quiet, especially for the day after the holiday; the weather has scared people indoors. You shiver again. You only have a few minutes of peace before you hear footsteps behind you. You don’t have to turn around to know that they belong to Matthew.

He drops down onto the dock behind you, drapes his legs off the edge on either side of yours. He wraps his arms around your shoulders, and you let yourself lean back into his chest. Neither of you speak.

You’d been here once before, sitting on this dock with Matthew. You were younger then. Matthew had just been drafted, and you were heading off to college. You’d both been on the verge of something big, and you thought maybe it had been your chance to do big things, together. You wonder if Matthew is thinking of that night, too, of the silence in the darkness of midnight, when you’d both slipped away.

Matthew presses his lips to your shoulder, where the collar of your shirt—his shirt—has slid down and exposes your bare skin. 

“Would you wait for me?” you asked, 18 years old and so, so scared of losing everything you had ever known. Desperately trying to hold onto Matthew.

“Would you?” he asked back. “Would you still be ready for me in another few years?” You both knew you couldn’t even imagine following Matthew to Calgary until you had graduated, unwilling to sacrifice your own future for a possible one with Matthew.

You had waited. You had been waiting for Matthew for even longer than you were willing to admit. Even when you were in other relationships, you felt like you were just waiting for something else. For someone else. You wondered now what your life would look like if you had said yes to Matthew on the dark dock all those summers ago, if you’d waited for each other. You couldn’t wait any longer. 

“You could stay for a few more days,” Matthew says. 

“You know I can’t,” you say. You reach back so you can run your hand through his hair. One last time. “Think we could do this again sometime?” Matthew asks. “You know we can’t,” you say. Matthew sighs. You can feel the tension in his body. He’s ready for a fight, but you don’t know if you have the energy for it. You lean more of your weight against him, and he holds you up, strong and steady.

Matthew takes a moment before he responds. “We could,” he argues. “We could do this forever.” Your heart hurts. You know he doesn't mean it.

“Matthew,” you say, quietly. “Matthew, please.” “Why not?” he asks. “We’re good together, aren’t we?”

You are, and you wish you didn’t know just how good it could be between you. In your head, you see all the things you could have, all the things you should have done. It’s so, so tempting. 

“I think we both know why we didn’t try ‘us’ when we were 18, Matty,” you tell him. The petty arguments, the way you were both so stubborn that hanging out ended in slamming doors just as often as it didn't. You always came back, but you don't know if you can do it much longer.

You move to leave, and Matthew slides back to allow it. You let him offer you a hand as you stand up. Matthew squeezes your hand once, quickly, just before you let go. You leave him sitting on the dock. You don’t look back as you make your way back up to the house. 

Some things are best left in the past.

[novy2sirius]

african astrology signs

disclaimer - i’m not african or extremely informed about african astrology. i am new to it, but i like posting about all the different types of astrology on my account. all the information i’m using is from the articles below ♡

these signs and traits are based on the african astrology passed down from the greeks. there are multiple types of african astrology such as egyptian, but this is one of the oldest ones ♡

these are only some of the main characteristics, but if i do more research in the future i may make more in depth posts about each signs traits ♡

sources i used - one // two // three // four // five ♡

more types of astrology ♡

father (the baobab tree):

➛ january 4th to february 3rd

traits - honest, thoughtful, loves their freedom, realistic, good business skills, often successful, struggles with anxiety a lot

mother (the wealth of amber and silver):

➛ february 4th to march 5th

traits - strong self discipline, quick intellect, known as the sign of wealth, mood can change fairly quick, bad temper

family:

➛ march 6th to april 4th

traits - affectionate, sociable, emotionally reserved, gives good advice, fits in well, struggles with letting people take advantage of them

son (small services to the neighborhood):

➛ april 5th to may 4th

traits - good at making friends, has the ability to bounce back quickly and go from a really bad point to a really good one, indecisive, stubborn at times

daughter (the market):

➛ may 5th to june 4th

traits - likes peace and harmony, doesn’t enjoy arguments, feminine, always wasting their time and effort on relationships that won’t last, can act dramatic at times

uncle (the ancestor):

➛ june 5th to july 4th

traits - leader, always rules groups, good sense of humor, self absorbed

witch (the judge):

➛ july 5th to august 4th

traits - quick thinker when not under stress, can analyze situations well, helps others, good at roasting people, overly judgmental

lion (the kola nut):

➛ august 5th to september 3rd

traits - high energy, wise, clairvoyant, confident, sassy, unstable emotions, annoying at times

antelope (the traveler):

➛ september 4th to october 3rd

traits - empathetic, loves to travel, complex personality, misunderstood a lot, overly sensitive

the sage (the distance):

➛ october 4th to november 3rd

traits - creative, strong character, romantic, enthusiastic, many poets have this sign, can become successful if they stop living in fear

aunt (the child of the world):

➛ november 4th to december 3rd

traits - gentle, powerful, generous, kind, devoted, may struggle to come outside of comfort zone

wealth (the harvest and the granary):

➛ december 4th to january 3rd

traits - positive, doesn’t fall in love quick, prefers to spend time alone and would benefit from spending most of their time alone, often wealthy, can struggle to trust intuition

[zu8her]

✧･ﾟ 𝕾𝖙𝖚𝖉𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝕻𝖗𝖔𝖋𝖎𝖑𝖊 | 𝕷𝖆𝖜

✧･ﾟ𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖘 — med-student!law ⋆ drugdealer!law ⋆ campusreporter!reader ⋆ accidental drug ingestion ⋆ aphrodisiac drug ⋆ student profile ⋆ sex under the influence of aphrodisiac ⋆ fucking ⋆ they be fuckin' ⋆ implied black reader ⋆ stretch marks mentioned ⋆ backshots ⋆ semi-public(??) ⋆ bj ⋆ slow sex

✧･ﾟ𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊𝖘 — it's been a fuckin' while. sorry i've not been confident in my abilities as a writer so i put it off for awhile. like i was legit insecure and thought about deleting my acc lol. but decided not to. hope you enjoy this

✧･ﾟ𝖂𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝕮𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 — 1K (𝖘𝖍𝖔𝖗𝖙𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝖋𝖎𝖈 𝕴'𝖛𝖊 𝖜𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖓 𝖘𝖔 𝖋𝖆𝖗)

You lightly knocked on his door patiently staring at the room number. Your heart pounding, this may be dangerous. He may be dangerous, yet here you are.

You recently discovered a student on campus has been selling experimental drugs, fairly mild but drugs nonetheless. It had been another taxing day for you. Running around, chasing after a cold case. From dead-end to dead-end. Finally, you got a tip. A med-student was responsible, Trafalgar D. Law.

When you so much as voiced that you had a story you wanted to run, the editor shut you down. “No, you don’t. I tell you what to write,” he spat shoving your camera into your stomach. He then assigned you do a basic student profile. Guess on who? So, you're taking this chance to actually do your job and snoop.

Opening the door, he recognised you immediately. Braids in a neat ponytail, white button up and a preppy lilac skirt. The cute girl always taking pictures for the campus newspaper. “The Editor sent me. He said you owed him a favour.” Sighing, he moves aside to let you in before shutting the door.

While you scan his room, he manoeuvres past you. On a cabinet to your left a small bag of gummy bears catches your eye. With his back turned you swipe one out of the bag, reflexively eating it when he rotated his chair to face you.

“You want to interview me, right?”

“Yes, I’m doing a student profile.”

He shrugged gesturing to the chair in front of him. Taking a seat, you introduce yourself before asking permission to record the interview, placing your phone on his desk and starting.

You’ve gone through half of the questions on your clipboard, when it started to get hot. Heavy breathes, followed. Your chest was tingling. You kept slightly rocking back and forth, subconsciously, squeezing your thighs together. Your nipples started to perk through the shirt.

You couldn’t focus. Your eyes instead settling to dart across his body. From the tattoos on his chest and hands to his well defined forearms. “Excuse me, I just feel a bit hot,” you awkwardly smile unbuttoning your shirt. To get more comfortable on his chair, he laid back spreading his legs. Instinctively, your eyes landed on his crotch. He smiled deviously. “Did you take on of the gummy bears?”

“I took just one. What is it?”

“That batch are aphrodisiacs.”

You watch, dazed as he stands before you, leaning down to cup your chin and twist your face for observation. “Heightened arousal.” You stare down at his crotch before meeting his gaze, salivating. Gently he lets go, staring down at the drugs for a moment before scoffing and popping one in his mouth. "I needed to test these anyway."

Cosily laid on Law’s bed, you whine as he thrusts into you. Hearing him whimper as he looks down at your fucked-out smile and watches your tits bounce along with his thrusts. One of your legs propped over his shoulder as he rams his fat cock into your sensitive pussy. He smirks down at you as you squirm feeling another orgasm tear through you.  He leaned in, his head on your shoulder as he delivered deep strokes to drag out your orgasm. “Fuck,” he whimpered against your ear before he came. You twitch as he slowly humps his cum deeper.

Your face, stuffed against the bed cushions, ass up as he fucks you from behind. Alternating between backshots to sitting on your ass and plunging his overstimulated cock into your creamy hole. His favourite is your muffled moans, the way your eyes roll back with his deep thrusts. Enjoying the way your arse jiggle against him, his hand firmly on your waist his thumb softly caressing darkened stretch marks. Watching your pussy convulse with his cum dripping out, drove him to near insanity. He had to, just had to fuck more of his cum into you. You looked so good like this.

He rolled you over. With your leg trapped under him he wrapped his right arm around your waist and his left to grip your arse holding you steady as he rolled his cock into your dripping cunt. All you could do is grip his hair while he stared you down with faint smirk and blush decorating his cheeks.

You were now propped up over his desk, his cock fucking into you as he buried his head in your neck. Watching through the small opening of the curtains as the rest of Uni goes about their day while your getting ruthlessly fucked. Feeling him grope your tits and whimper as he fucks up into you. “You feel so good, fuck-”

Licking his and your cum off his cock as you humped his pillow. Deep-throating. Taking all of his cock in your mouth, feeling his hairs lightly graze your cheek and his tip at the back of throat, before releasing his cock with deep breathes following, earning a whimper-like groan from him as he sat back on his chair. Hooded, fucked out eyes looking down at you, yearning, aching for more. His whimpers becoming more erratic prompting him to pull out and spurt his cum on your tits and mouth before gently cupping your face and pushing his cock down your throat once more. “Just a little bit more, okay baby? That’s it.” He coos with a hoarse voice.

You’d both grown tired at this point. The only driving force, seemingly being the stimulant. The high was dying down. He laid you comfortably between his sheets on you stomach. With the duvet lazily hanging off his shoulders, he slid his cock back in. “Just relax, okay?” He slow fucked into mouthing curses with his head hung low. When he felt you clench around him, he buried his cock deep as you came around his cock. Pulling out he would deliver his last moan as he rubbed his sensitive cock, spurts of his cum coating your arse and back.

Silently, you sit at your desk listening to the recording. At the 42 minute mark, listening to him drop to his knees then at your moans as he slid down your panties and ate you out. The recording is about 5 hours long. Barely an hour of which is the actual interview and the last few minutes Law moaning as he came.

“Did you interview him?” You look up at the student editor. “Uhh, yes! I did. I’ll send-”

“I want it by Monday.”

“Will do!” On his way out, he stopped by the door, his hand gripping the frame. He tilts his head slightly.

“About your story-”

“Dead end.” You lie and watch as he nods and leave. Looks like Law’s the editors supplier.

[fordpinesthemanyouare]

Ford x Fem!Reader

Math Assistant Pt. 2

Summary: Ford needs a math assistant and you just so happen to have a phd in applied mathematics, you are meeting Ford for an interview.

Warnings: Age gap?

A/N: Im nervy to post this one, but here it is. Dont hate the player…

<3: @potato-painter

—————

Y/n pulled up to the old diner in her beater car, the car that pulled them through a plethora of different colleges. Sitting in the driver seat, approximately 15 minutes earlier than the agreed time, she took in the scenery around her. The enormous red wood trees growing like a wall all around her in every direction, the Oregon wood’s would always be a special place in her journey, especially now that they have led her here. This small town known as Gravity Falls, in search of some type of summer work while not in school. Her car is packed with a few boxes in the back seat, keeping her belongings light as she travels from place to place. She pulled down the visor in the car and flips open the mirror, double checking her makeup isn't out of place for the interview. She genuinely had no idea what to expect, since, well the job listing was seriously vague. The free housing included in the deal certainly pulled her towards the listing, even if it only provided some other small details including large letters stating “All other questions will be answered at interview!”. She needed to have an applied mathematics degree, well, it was an easy enough feat for herself considering the Ph.D under her belt. She felt fairly confident in herself at the very least, she thought. Even if she wasn’t confident about anything else she knew she had her experience to go forth with, and hey telling people you have a Phd in anything usually impresses them.

She waited impatiently in the car until there were only five minutes left, in which she grabbed her purse and jacket and got out of the car. The Oregon sun warmed her skin in the early days of May. “Before the last spring showers” she mumbled to herself lightly as she walked up to the diner, familiar with Oregon’s tendency to tease summer every other day in May. She pushed open the door and cast her gaze across the diner, not that she knew who or what to expect. As the waitress calls out a hello, her gaze met with someone else’s who was also looking towards the entrance. The back lighting of the lazy May sun came shining through the windows, absolutely highlighting his strong features. His silvery hair and glasses met your gaze and she smiled at the handsome man. Older maybe, but still incredibly handsome with a strong jawline and nose. She walked a step towards him, since he was the only person in the room who seemingly was looking for someone, and he hadn't taken his gaze off hers yet.

As she stepped further into the dining area she turned to the waitress, breaking her gaze with the handsome stranger, who was standing behind the counter, “Excuse me, but did you happen to know if there was someone holding an interview here? I might be a few minutes early…” She quickly looked down to the Casio watch on her wrist checking that she was indeed four minutes early.

The stranger from before stood up, he walked over to her after overhearing her question to the waitress. He practically towered over her when he stood before her; she didn’t realize how tall he was sitting down. Extending his hand he said, “Hello, I’m Stanford Pines. I am the one you were to meet for the interview”. She took his hand without a second thought, and introduced herself to him. Her mind quickly noted his grasp on her hand was… different, but quickly moved on from the thought. She gave the waitress a nod before Stanford walked back towards the booth he had previously been sitting at. She took her seat, not without of course awkwardly scoot-jumping into the old booths. Once settled, she was a little surprised at how high the seats were for an older diner, he sat in the seat with ease as if he had been here a lot.

“It's nice to meet you Stanford, I was wondering who I would possibly be meeting. Your listing was incredibly vague.” She said with a light smile. He gave a tight smile in response before starting, “Well, I kept it intentionally vague due to the confidential nature of the work, I’ve recently discovered something that might take some time before I can start openly speaking about it.” As he finished, the same waitress came up to take both orders. She now noticed that one of her eyes was shut closed, but paid no mind to the matter. She ordered a coffee just how she likes it and Ford ordered black coffee. She quickly left and returned with two cups and her pot, filling both cups with the coffee and gesturing to the packs of creamer and sugar on the table. Ford and Y/n thanked her, before she headed back behind the counter.

“I see, that makes sense and I had figured as much”, she agreed, nodding. “I have worked on some case sensitive projects before but nothing to this measure. I was brought in for some consulting on a government funding issue but this seems a lot more interesting than accounting errors.” She grabbed a few packets, and mixed them together in her cup before quickly taking a sip. She really had started to notice just how handsome her interviewer was, she felt the need to find something to do with her hands.

Ford listened to her words, making strong eye contact with her and he had to admit, Stan was right, she really was a “looker”. The moment she had walked in through the doors he had silently hoped she was his interview for the day. However, you were in fact his potential candidate for the position by your asking of Lazy Susan. He snapped back into his mind, needing to maintain professionalism, despite in the corners of his mind Stanley’s words kept fluttering around. He was looking at her as she spoke, his mind began to take in even more features he failed to notice as she walked in through the door. His mind betraying his virtue for professionality as he took in her voice, it sounded tenfold clearer in person rather than their short conversation on the phone.

She had bright beautiful eyes that were deep and alluring, it felt like she had grabbed him and forced him to look deep in her eyes. Along with that, her hair framed her face in just the right angles, showing off her lips and cheekbones perfectly. She had some light freckles on her face and he noticed each one as she continued to speak about some funding errors. He caught himself staring, silently cursing Stanley for putting the thought into his mind, just as she was finishing her words. “So what are some things I can expect from this position?” She decided to ask at the beat of silence after she spoke.

Ford looked down at his coffee cup and grabbed the handle and took a sip before beginning, “I am looking for someone who can work on a plethora of different kinds of equations for the next few months. I expect I would only need assistance over the summer while my family comes to visit. I am trying to balance work and spending time with them this summer. Which is where someone like you would come in, and help keep up with the mounting pile of work while I can move forward with my discoveries and being with my family.” He finished off looking down again at his coffee cup, desperately feeling like he needed the quick pick up. He had been working through the night until he looked at the clock and realized the interview was only an hour away and decided to head there early.

After taking his sip he moved some of the pages of equations he had been working on before she walked in to be in front of her while saying, “Most of these are complex linear equations, along with different types of ruled equations being applied to this side of the page.” Pointing gently to the left side of the page. She reviewed the paper, picking it up and looking over the work he had begun on the page. A moment of silence fell on the table as Ford allowed Y/n to look over the work, not without looking at her some more. Her features pulled him to look as she stared down at the sheet in concentration, her brow slightly furrowed as her eyes raced from left to right. She set the page in front of herself on the table, before reaching into her purse and pulled out a small zipper pencil case. She unzipped it on the table, pulling out a red pen before circling a few things under the printed equation, flipping it towards him. She pointed with the pen several small circles along his own penciled work as she spoke, “Although you were close you made some simple mistakes… I take it you're tired?” As she said it, she looked him in the eyes now much closer than before and had noticed his heavy eyebags. She certainly could tell Stanford knew how to do the equations from his work, however the said work was sloppy, unorganized, and some of it was just the wrong numbers written. Although he looked utterly exhausted, the five o’clock shadow he was sporting that ran down his neck slightly accentuating his Adam's apple and jaw, made him look all the more ruggedly handsome. His strewn hair from running his hands through it so much, definitely didn't help either. She pushed the thoughts away, as he took the sheet from her to raise his eyebrows at some of the markings she made on the sheet.

“I didn’t realize I had so many mistakes…” he drifted off in almost shock, his eyes widening at his simple rudimentary mistakes, but he realized how tired he must have looked if his assistant was already noticing. “Assistant?” He thought to himself, still eyeing the paper, he was already calling her his assistant even though they had barely gotten through the interview.

She chuckled softly a look of understanding in her eyes as they met once again, she started “When I was getting my Ph.D, I did the same thing: stay up all day and all night to work on my research, but I take it your not necessarily getting your Phd are you?”

He smiled softly at that, the memories of his tireless and seemingly endless Phd nights researching and studying popping into his mind, it was not too far off from his current state. Ford set the paper with his work and now her corrections in the middle of the table, he met her gaze, “Ah, not this time around, the project you'd be assisting me with is something that has yet to be discovered. I'm hoping to perfect it and fully come to an understanding of it, however I don't feel entirely comfortable telling you exactly what it is until you've begun your work for me. However, I have several folders ready for you to look through when the time comes to start. That way you'll be caught up to speed when you begin.” She nodded again, understanding, “I get it, sometimes you need to make sure everything's right before shouting to the whole world that you've discovered something. Whatever it is, if this is what the general workload would look like I'd be able to do this with my eyes closed.” She gave him a confident smile, hoping that this really was it, her eyes going over the page in the middle of the table once again to make sure she understood. She had spent years doing these equations for practice, before finally becoming able to pick her choice of final research for her doctorate program.

As she was looking at the equations, they both reached for their respective mugs synchronously. The movement pulled her eyes from the page in the middle and to his large hand grabbing the handle, when she noticed that his hand was not only just large, but had an extra finger as well. Her gaze involuntarily locked onto his hand before she could think of how rude it was to stare, he noticed her noticing. His skin grew a little hot under the gaze on his hands, he could never expect what someone was going to say about the extra fingers, so before she could make a comment about it, he decided to move forward,

“This is what the majority of the work will look like, it will be a lot of recording the answers as well, but I’m sure you're comfortable with that as well given your resume.” Y/n pulled her gaze back up to his eyes and gave him a small apologetic smile as he turned to pick up a different sheet from under his few journals and folders stuffed with papers, her resume. “I was surprised to see that you had graduated only a month ago, with a masters in statistics as well. What brought you to the University of Oregon?” Ford was attempting to keep the interview questions off of his hands, and he did want to know more about her, only because they were to be working together of course.

She smiled at her accomplishment feeling good at the subtle praise and grateful she didn't have to apologize for clearly ogling his hands, “I have been traveling with my education since high school, applying to more colleges as I continue to move around. I usually move to wherever I can get the highest paid scholarship, and this year it happened to be Oregon. Last year I finished my last bachelors in Colorado.”

He nodded in understanding, he was impressed that Stanley was able to find someone with this much education history online. He figured him and not many other people in the world were interested in pursuing education as much as he was. He figured that perhaps this was not the time to bring up the fact he had 12 PhDs, “Well congratulations on your graduation, are you planning to return to school for the fall?”

Y/n smiled and sipped some more coffee, not long after setting the cup down on the table, Lazy Susan was back quickly refilling both of their cups, turning away again to tend to the other patrons.

“Thanks I appreciate it, I haven’t decided yet. I've sent my applications already, back in January to return to continue my masters for another PhD. I cast out a wide net of places to study at, but whoever will accept me is up for chance.” She looked out the window, eyeing ‘ol’ reliable’ in the parking lot. “I usually don’t plan very concretely…” She looked back at Stanford and smiled, “That's how I ended up here from your listing, another thing that drew me to it happened to be the free housing included with the deal. What does this arrangement look like?” She was reaching for more creamer to pour into her second cup of coffee as she spoke.

“We have a small storage closet that we've turned into a small bedroom, you're welcome to stay there during the work period. I also mentioned my family coming to visit, my teenage great niece and nephew. They will mostly bother me, so you might see them in the work area or around the house a lot. My twin brother lives in the household as well, and he’ll be taking care of them primarily. The living arrangement is optional and wouldn't be docked from the pay.” He cringed a little internally at the last statement, he knew that the pay wasn’t… great. He made sure that Stanley included how much it would be in the listing, so he wouldn't have to mention the low wages in person. Hopefully the complimentary housing would be able to make up for the low wages he thought warily.

Y/n sipped her coffee away, draining the second cup dangerously low again she set the cup down and nodded. She thought for a moment looking into her coffee cup, thinking about the options she had infront of her. She could take this opportunity, enjoy the nature of this small town for the summer and get out of the classroom, or she could drive her car to a new destination and see what awaits there. Y/n looked back up at Stanford and nodded again with a smile, “That seems that that would work just fine, did you happen to have space to park a car there for a while too?” She’d grown accustomed to having to search for parking, but if she was going to stay long term, she'd like to know the peace of not having to worry about broken windows in the morning. Ford nodded and said they had a parking lot, which was strange to her. A parking lot in front of a house seemed odd, but she brushed off the thought figuring she would see it eventually.

The two finished several more cups of coffee over discussing more insights of the job and her education, Lazy Susan having to brew more coffee than she had anticipated. Ford had asked when she had finished cup number four, feeling full of caffeine, “When would you be available to start?”.

Her gaze flicked out the window once again at her car full of her belongings, she had planned to either camp in the woods for the night or find a motel in town. She didn’t know anything about starting dates before she had arrived, so prepared to start very soon after. She turned her attention back to the handsome man in front of her, it suddenly dawning in the back of her mind that she would now be living with the man seated across from her.

“I could start today actually.”

————

[skbeaumont]

Texas Heat | Joel x Reader Series

Chapter 5 – Intensity

Series masterlist

Chapter Summary: Tuesday comes round, and it's all you can do to hold on tight and ride it out. Rating: Explicit Tags/warnings: flirting, sexual tension, smut, age difference (reader is 25, Joel is 37), AU!No outbreak, oral (m & f receiving), PIV. Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: I am so sorry this chapter has been such a long time coming. Hopefully all the smut will make up for it?? Because this is literally 3.5k of pure filth.

“I think the problem is,” Gina tells you early Monday morning as she wipes down the counters, “I’ve just lost all my confidence since the divorce.” “Right,” You reply absently, catching Diana’s eye and smiling.

It’s just gone ten and the café is fairly quiet, a few customers sat in contented silence at spaced out tables. Gina’s been regaling you and Diana with tales of her love life, which as far as you can gather seems to mainly centre around lusting after the men who frequent the café, Joel included.

“Take that construction worker,” Gina continues, “you know, the one you live next to,” she adds to you, “dark hair, broad, real handsome.”

“Oh we know him.” Diana replies, raising a single eyebrow at you as you feel yourself flush.

You’ve already told her about Saturday night, about the way Joel kissed you against the wall of the Cuthbert’s house, his warm hands moulded to your curves like he never wanted to let you go.

“Well, I’ll bet if I just had the confidence to ask him, he’d love to take me to dinner. And I’ll bet we’d have a real nice time.” She offers a cringeworthy wink at you both, and it’s all you can do not to burst into laughter.

“Oh, I’m sure.” Diana replies, and you roll your eyes at her as she smirks back.

Gina continues in this vein for some time, her voice washing over you as you help Diana refill the coffee beans and clean up the machines. She stops talking abruptly, voice suddenly shifting into that familiar sickly-sweet lilt that has you spinning on your heel to see who’s just come in.

Joel’s wearing his toolbelt. There’s sawdust covering his black tee, biceps bulging at the sleeves, his dark jeans slung low around his hips. His hair is pushed back off his face, sawdust speckled in the dark curls there too, and he’s got a pair of safety goggles perched up on his forehead. Only he could make the whole ensemble look good, but it works so well that the sight of him makes your heart skip a beat, heat broiling up in your gut. Gina’s all smiles and simpering niceties, but Joel’s staring straight past her, his eyes locked on yours as he orders his coffee (Americano, no cream).

Gina hands you the receipt and tries to keep Joel engaged in conversation, but his attention is all on you, even as you turn to the machine to make the coffee.

“Hi, darlin’” He says, and the easy way one side of his mouth turns up into a lopsided grin makes your stomach flip.

“Hi,” you reply, hand pausing on the coffee grinder as you let yourself take in his mussed up hair and dishevelled attire. “Working hard?”

“Always am,” He says, resting a hip against the counter to lean closer to you.

Even with several feet between you you can smell the wood-chip scent of him; you don’t think anything’s ever smelt as good. He raises a hand, runs it through his hair to rake beading sweat off his forehead. You wonder absently what it would be like to press your tongue to the underside of his jaw, to lick the moisture from his skin there.

“How’s your day?” His voice breaks you out of your thoughts and you pull your eyes away from his jaw.

“Picked up in the last few minutes.” You say, and he lets out a huff of a laugh, drags his gaze over your face, his eyes dark despite the bright sunlight streaming in through the café’s windows.

“We still on for tomorrow?” He asks.

“Definitely. I hope Sarah’s looking forward to it.”

“Oh, she is. She can’t wait, in fact.”

This time it’s you who laughs, air rushing out of your chest in a higher-pitched giggle than you intended. You finish making Joel’s coffee, push it across the counter to him, leaving your hand around the cup so that his fingers brush yours as he reaches to take it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, darlin’” He says, raising the cup to you in a goodbye salute and turning to leave.

When you turn back to your co-workers, they’re both staring at you. Gina’s mouth is slightly open, her brow furrowed, while Diana’s beaming, her eyes full of mischief. You shrug at them and start making the next coffee.

*****

Maths with Sarah on Tuesday turns into a movie on the sofa after dinner, bowls of popcorn on each of your laps, the low evening sun streaming into the lounge. Joel comes back halfway through, clattering into the kitchen and calling out his arrival.

“You two look like you’ve both been working hard,” he says, coming into the lounge, a grin playing on his face.

You can see from here that his grey t-shirt is damp with sweat, dark under the arms and along his sternum. Something flutters in your chest and you squeeze your thighs together, drag your eyes along his broad shoulders and down to the narrow cinch of his waist.

“Well, we did some equations,” Sarah tells him, pausing the film so that the picture flickers and jumps about on the screen, “but it was too hot to think very much.”

“You should try bein’ out in the sun layin’ concrete all day.” He replies, flopping down onto the sofa between you and Sarah, kicking his legs out to prop his boots up on the coffee table.

He smells like dust and sweat and something you’re starting to recognise as distinctly Joel, a warm, masculine scent that ignites a fire in your belly. Sarah unpauses the film, leans back in her seat to rest her head against the worn leather.

“Hi,” Joel says quietly under the sound of the movie, turning his head so that his face is a few centimetres from yours.

“Hi,” You reply.

His eyes are sparkling, brown almost swallowed up by the black of his pupils.

“Good day?” You ask.

“It’s picked up in the last few minutes,” He replies, and you grin at him, let your eyes trace the solid planes of his face, the gentle creases that line his eyes.

The film plays on. Joel’s denim-covered thigh is pressed against yours, the heat of his skin burning into your bare leg despite his jeans. Sarah’s engrossed in the action playing out on the television, but you and Joel are distracted, sneaking glances at each other like teenagers. His arm is a solid weight against your shoulder, the thick heft of his bicep impossibly firm and warm.  When the climax of the film happens you and Sarah both jump, each automatically shifting to crowd in against Joel. Your hand ends up pressed to his stomach, just below his bellybutton. He looks at you and you move your hand away quickly, all too aware of Sarah on the other side of him, giggling now that the tension has broken in the film.

When the credits roll Sarah yawns widely, stretching in her seat.

“Bedtime, baby girl,” Joel tells her, pushing her up off of the sofa and getting to his feet himself, “c’mon,” he says, “I’ll tuck you in.”

“Night,” Sarah says to you, yawning again and heading up the stairs.

“I’ll be down in a minute,” Joel tells you and you watch as he and Sarah disappear upstairs, their chatter fading as they go.

Alone in the lounge again, you look around and observe the domesticity of the house. Your trainers are by the back door next to Sarah’s battered Nikes, Joel’s work boots dwarfing both pairs on the mat. There’s a stack of magazines on the coffee table, Sarah’s old favourites and two new additions – a copy of Mathematics Today and Scientific America. You smile at the familiar covers, remembering how excited Sarah was to show you them a few hours ago, telling you that Joel helped her pick them out in the shop.

You look out over the drive to where Joel’s truck is parked. It’s only been a few short weeks since he picked you up at the airport, a stranger to you then but now someone whose very presence fills your chest with a kind of low, humming joy.

Joel’s hardly back down the stairs before his hands are on you, pulling you to him in the dim light of the lounge. He presses his lips to yours, sighs into your mouth like he’s a man drowning and you’re an oasis. You slide your tongue against his bottom lip and he opens up to you, lets you into the hot slick of his mouth, a groan swallowed in his throat as you thread your fingers into his hair, pushing your hips against his so that his belt digs into your stomach.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinkin’ about that kiss, darlin’,” He says as you pull at his t-shirt, fingers grasping the solid expanse of his chest. “the things I wanted to do to you, want to do to you.”

“Show me,” You say into his mouth, slotting your lips back together.

He walks you to the sofa, slumps down into it and pulls you into his lap so that you’re straddling his thighs. He looks so good like this, his face cast in the gentle glow of the table lamps, eyes dark and studying you intensely. You tug his shirt up, press your hands beneath it to the warm flesh of his stomach. He’s all muscle and hot skin, abdomen flexing as you graze your fingernails over his bellybutton as he takes your face in his hands, draws your lips back to his and kisses you soundly. His tongue slides against yours. Fire builds in your belly, hot and insistent.

Large hands running down over your shoulders and sides, Joel pulls you to him so that you shift in his lap, grinding down. The movement brings your inner thigh into contact with the hammer that’s hooked onto his toolbelt and you yelp, both laughing as he unclips the belt and pulls it off.

“I wanted you to keep that on,” You tease, grinning at him as you tuck a stray curl of his hair behind his ear.

He chuckles, the sound reverberating in his chest, deep and delicious. The next kiss is more insistent, his teeth pulling at your bottom lip, sharpness grazing soft skin. You shift in his lap again, press yourself closer to him, whimper at the friction that pulls at the apex of your thighs. He pulls back, runs the tips of his fingers under the hem of your t-shirt.

“Can I take this off?” He asks, and the earnestness of it, the desire that’s so clear in his eyes makes your stomach flip.

You nod, pulling the shirt up and over your head, letting it fall to the floor behind you. Joel’s eyes rake over your chest, his steady gaze tracing the curves of your breasts and hips. You should feel self-conscious, but his expression is rapture, his dark eyes wide and reverent.

“You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, darlin’” he says, grazing the backs of his fingers along your collarbone, down the centre of your breasts and over the band of your bra. You reach behind you to unclasp it, let it fall into your lap, breasts spilling out into Joel’s palms. He groans in the back of his throat, large hands kneading the soft flesh of you, searching out the bud of your nipples, pinching them between finger and thumb. Electricity shoots through you, white-hot pleasure that has slick pooling between your thighs. You cant your hips forward again, feel the hard line of his cock in his jeans, grin as Joel reacts by hissing through his teeth.

When he slides one hand over the crest of your ass and pulls you to him, hard, you both moan at the friction, hands suddenly scrabbling to remove more layers of clothing.

You stand to push your jeans down your legs, kicking them off as Joel unbuttons his flies. Instead of climbing back into his lap, you drop to your knees in front of him, run your hands up the thick trunks of his thighs and replace his shaking fingers with your own, dragging his jeans down until they pool at his ankles.

Clad only in a pair of tight-fitting boxers, Joel is a sight to behold. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, breath coming in short pants as you trace your fingertips up his thighs, watching the muscles in his shoulders and arms tense with each move you make. His cock twitches when you lick a deliberate stripe up the inside of his thigh, and he curses, face flushed.

“Christ, darlin’, you’re gonna kill me.” He breaths, and you grin up at him, slide your fingers into the waistband of his boxers before pulling them down.

His cock slaps up onto the tight muscles of his stomach, long and thick, head already beading precum. You waste no time wrapping a hand around the thick heft of him, placing a gentle kiss on the tip. When you let your tongue dart out to taste him Joel curses again, “shit,” – the worda desperate prayer, distorted by the desire in his voice. Then you take him into your mouth, jaw aching with the size of him, working your hand around the part that won’t fit, and Joel sags against the couch, head rolling back with pleasure. It sends fire rushing through you to watch the effect you have on him. He lifts his head, meets your eyes with his own and you use your tongue to trace the delicate place just behind the head of his cock, moving back just slightly when this causes his hips to twitch involuntarily.

“You feel so good,” he says, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear, “your mouth feels like heaven, baby.”

You hum around him, use your free hand to gently trace circles into the tight skin of his stomach, grazing your nails up and over his chest. When you take him deep into your throat, swallowing around him he bucks into your mouth and pulls back.

“Not gonna last like this,” he warns, moving back, away, “fuck, darlin’, I want to make you feel good, c’mon.”

He pulls you up and off his cock, lays you back against the worn couch, settles himself between your open thighs and drags your legs up so that they’re resting on his shoulders. You’re sure your underwear is soaked through, and Joel confirms it when he drags a knuckle against your core, tells you how wet you are, whispers it into your thigh like a prayer.

“Gonna let me make you feel good, darlin’?” He asks, slipping the crotch of your panties to the side so that he can run two thick fingers through your folds.

“Please, Joel,” Is all you can reply, words dying on your lips when he leans forward and buries his face in your cunt.

He eats you out like he’s a man dying of thirst and you’re an oasis. Runs his tongue against your clit in a way that has your legs shaking in seconds, then pulls back, presses his aquiline nose into the centre of you, uses his tongue to lick a broad stripe over you. He sucks your clit into his mouth, grins against you as you tell him “yes, there, right there,” and keeps up a steady pace that has you canting your hips against him. When he presses a thick finger into your cunt and curls it just so you feel yourself coming suddenly, the coiling tension snapping and fire burning through you right to your fingertips.

“You look so good when you come,” he tells you as you come down from your high, pressing kisses into the trembling flesh of your thighs.

He pulls you up from the sofa, holds you to him.

“Upstairs?” You say into the side of his throat, gasping when he bends suddenly to pick you up, cradling you to his chest like you weigh nothing.

He takes the stairs two at a time, opens the door to his bedroom with a flick of his wrist and lays you on the unmade bed. The first thing you notice is that sheets smell like him – like wood shavings and mint shower gel and that characteristic Joel smell that you’ve come to love so much. Then he’s laying himself over you, pressing your bodies together so that you’re a tangle of limbs, mouths seeking each other out. The kiss is somehow gentle and desperate at once, his teeth grazing your lip before his tongue soothes you.

“Joel, please,” you say, hands tracing the broad span of his shoulders, nails digging in when he hitches his hips, drags the hot line of his cock against your hip, drags his thigh up so that it pulls against the seam of your cunt.

“What do you want, darlin’?” He asks against the side of your neck.

“You,” You tell him, and he laughs, voice husky with pleasure.

“You want my cock?” He says, dragging his teeth over the juncture of your shoulder.

“Yes, god, yes, please.”

“Alright, baby, alright.”

He pushes himself up onto his knees, leans across to pull a condom out of the bedside table. He opens it with his teeth, eyes fixed on your body spread out against the dark duvet and rolls it on. Then he’s lining himself up, leaning back over you to whisper soothing nothings into your ear as he shifts his hips forward just slightly. The head of him catches against your cunt, dips inside so that both of you gasp. He’s big – bigger than you’re used to – and the stretch is intense as he cants his hips forward into yours. You whimper into the side of his throat, clench your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.

“You okay?” He asks as he stills, bottoming out and pushing himself up onto his elbows to look at you.

“Yeah,” You say, pulling him back to you so that you can kiss him, pulling back to add, “move, please.”

“Just give me a second,” He says, letting his head drop to your shoulder and you giggle despite yourself, press your lips to the shell of his ear. “You’re – fuck – you feel really good.”

It shouldn’t be so hot, the way that you can reduce him to such a babbling mess just with the slightest clench of you cunt around him but it is, it makes something hot and insistent bubble up in your belly. Joel drags his nose against the column of your throat, bites into the flesh there and then finally – finally – pulls his hips back and presses back inside.

The friction is delicious. He settles into a steady rhythm, every thrust of his hips dragging the head of his cock against that spongy spot inside of you that has you seeing stars. His moans against your neck are delicious, peppered with phrases of praise that make you clench around him: “fuck, good girl, so fucking tight, I could stay in this pussy forever, baby.”

He slows again, pushes himself up onto his knees, keeping his cock in you. His eyes are fixed on the place where you meet, where the wet, tight heat of you pulls him in. He flicks his dark gaze up to your face, expression dazed and pussy-drunk. He leans down to slide his tongue against yours briefly, then sits back up and continues to fuck you, slowly, placing a large hand on your stomach and expertly circling your clit with his thumb. The pleasure is unbelievably intense, the drag of his cock inside you combined with the white hot pressure of his thumb, and in seconds you’re convulsing under him.

“You gonna come on my cock, darlin’?” He asks, voice breaking on the last word, and it’s enough to push you over the edge again, vision whiting out as pleasure overwhelms you.

You feel yourself clenching around Joel’s cock and with a few more sloppy thrusts he’s there too, callused fingertips digging into your hips as he comes inside you, cock twitching, breath hitching in his throat. He collapses onto you, presses open-mouthed kisses against your flushed cheeks.

You lie still for a few more moments, each catching your breath. When he rolls off you he drags you with him, keeps you cradled to his chest as he pulls out. It’s hot in the bedroom but you don’t care, draping yourself over Joel’s chest, pressing yourself as close to him as you can.

Outside, the sky has turned dark. Joel traces circles into the skin of your shoulders, down your arms, presses kisses to the side of your head. The bed is a tangle of limbs and hot, damp flesh.

Yes, you think, the Texas heat is sure is intense.

Taglist: @mysterialee@amyispxnk @ghostofzion-blog @regalwhovianbrowncoat774 @sarahhxx03 @brittmb115 @merz-8 @marianastudiesart @moel-jiller @lizzie-cakes @kyloispunk @isalovesharryyy

[bicheetopuff]

Grill I have a sudden thought. Epiphany if you will.. Call it curiosity even!

Kirishima is kind of a parallel torwards Izuku in some way when being friends with Kats (just more, confident and less bullying and Kiri being a rock)

But what about Iida?

like, For some reason- Iida does seen Izuku as a rival and kind of want to prove himself that he can be more with or without izu-

I am- I'm not sure how to word this. I am not good with words, but I think what I want to say that Izu and Kats kind of have a type when befriending others

Iida & Katsuki (Similarity)

Loud

Studios

Prideful

Not chill

Goal minded (I'm stupid maybe)

Rule binding (Kats is just very chaotic in responding to rules)

Both probably sleeps at 8 PM

I'm not sure anymore I think you can list it better than I do-

Help this is not even remotely a coherent thought, so please just ignore it if it doesn't make sense

Have Izu for your troubles!💞

bkdk is the only ship I ship, just- thoughts

Don’t worry, bkdk is constantly on my mind too, I get it.

I actually really love the way Izuku and Iida’s relationship parallels Katsuki and Kirishima’s and it makes me kinda sad that people stopped talking about them.

I wouldn’t say that they parallel in dynamic very much, but they parallel in a sense that Katsuki and Izuku are so obviously jealous of each others friends. Well… not jealous, but there’s definitely a feeling of, “I’m glad he found a friend who treats him the way he deserves to be treated, because I am in no place to be the one to give him that no matter how much I want to,” kind of mutual insecurity. And it’s made so blatantly obvious (even being confirmed in an interview) that I genuinely wonder what Horikoshi was thinking when he decided to do it. Like, what were his intentions with that? Outside of obvious yearning?

Like, I feel like Iida and Kirishima is who bkdk wishes the other could see them as. Kirishima has that same overly positive spirit and self sacrificial heroic attitude that Izuku has that Katsuki hates so much. The difference is, Izuku’s self sacrificial attitude isn’t healthy while Kirishima’s is, because Kirishima’s quirk is literally a shield which makes it nearly impossible for him to inflict injuries onto himself deliberately like Izuku does. Kirishima is Izuku without the fatal flaws that worries Katsuki so much. Now with Iida, he’s an organized goody two shoes with a tendency to let his emotions spill over in a scary/somewhat violent way, just like Katsuki. However, Iida is also missing Katsuki’s fatal flaws. Iida is stubborn but he’s able to let people into his life and he doesn’t have an explosive temper, nor does he have an extremely inflated ego. He has a similar social pressure that Katsuki had growing up with his family and other adults in his life pre-projecting him to be a great hero and having him set a standard for himself that he isn’t able to reach until realizes his weaknesses, which he’s able to do a lot faster than Katsuki was able to.

They don’t just parallel in their relationships, but they parallel narratively too fairly often. I touched on it a bit in this post [x], but I’ll explain it a little more since I find it fascinating.

Since Izuku views Kirishima as Katsuki’s ideal friend, and Katsuki views Iida as Deku’s ideal friend, they kind of act on it in a way that ended up setting up the whole narrative about hand holding in the story.

With this,

Being a clear call back to this:

(I also wanna point out that the memory of Ochako saying that “he’ll think it’s disgraceful to get rescued” being recalled in both of those chapters)

I feel like both “You’ve always managed to outpace me!!” and “I probably shouldn’t be the one…” are proof of that insecurity I mentioned earlier. They truly don’t believe that they’re the most important people to each other, and their mutual belief in that just kind of proves them wrong ironically. These two scenes is them indirectly extending their hand through someone else, because they think that someone else would do it better.

There’s way too much emphasis on them being scared to hold hands for it to be considered platonic, IM SORRY BUT IM NOT BUYING IT

I’m sorry if this wasn’t coherent, it’s literally 2am where I am…

[mypimpademia]

— You Like My Voice?

Bakugo x black!reader, Todoroki x black!reader

TW: Swearing

Note: this idea came from that sexyy red audio that’s trending on TikTok ngl !

— BAKUGO.

⇶ The thing about Katsuki is that he pays a lot of attention to you

⇶ Like a lot.

⇶ He knows what you like and what you don’t, and takes mental note of it

⇶ Hell, he could confidently say he knows almost everything about you

⇶ So it’s guaranteed that he knows you like his voice

⇶ Unless you’re play arguing, Katsuki pipes down around you, so you hear his normal speaking voice more than anything

⇶ His speaking voice is actually fairly quiet, especially when he’s with you

⇶ His tone is much softer, and he tends to grunt and grumble a lot if he’s preoccupied or trying to multitask talking to you and doing something else. And his natural voice is actually a bit raspy, and probably a little more than it should be from his constant yelling

⇶ It fits him perfectly, and you feel a bit bad when you don’t fully take in what he’s saying to you because you’re too busy staring at his pretty face and listening to his voice without actually listening to him

⇶ When he notices you not paying attention, he always sucks his teeth and asks if you’re listening

‘He’s so pretty… I’m so happy he’s my man.’ You thought to yourself.

Your eyes searched around his face, taking in all his features.

His well groomed brows, carnelian eyes with long lashes, perfectly shaped nose, soft lips that were slightly pink from his cherry chapstick, and a jawline that could cut steel.

And god, his voice was music to your ears.

Truthfully, you had no clue what he was saying. But you could make out his voice through your haze of admiration, and it sounded like heaven .

You were so far gone that you didn’t even realize that you were smiling at him like a dope, and literally kicking your feet as you spun back and forth in your chair.

“‘N’ then I had to go talk to Aizawa about it ‘cause…” Katsuki trailed off as he met your eyes, and then he kissed his teeth.

“Hey, are you even listening to me?” He grunted, leaning towards you to search your eyes for some sign that you were paying attention.

“I’m listenin’ baby, just keep talkin’,” You feigned.

“Oh really, then what was I saying?” He questioned you, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Erm… I know you said something about Aizawa!”

Katsuki ran his tongue over his teeth, pushing his lips out as he stared at you with a deadpan expression.

You guilt-fully looked to the side with a downward smile, knowing you’d been caught.

“I should kick your ass,” He chuckled as he threw his head back and crossed his arms.

“Bruhh! Just keep talking I’ll listen this time! For real, for real!”

⇶ Katsuki knows you’re far gone when you keep using that ‘just keep talking’

⇶ Sometimes, he’ll do it entertain you, and so he can see that lost look in your eyes

⇶ Other times, he’ll feed into it just because he knows how much you like it

Katsuki leaned in close to your face, so close that you could smell the mint on his breath and feel it fan against you.

Your eyes widen at the suddenness of his close proximity, and he pressed his large, calloused, hand against your cheek.

“Everythin’ okay, doll?” He asked you, thumb rubbing back and forth on your face.

You nodded, too hypnotized by him to speak.

“Y’sure? You look lost,” Katsuki persisted, feeling your face heat up against his palm.

“M’fine. Just looking at you baby, you’re so pretty, and I could listen to you all day,” you told him, before leaning in for a kiss.

“Oh baby, I think you’re the pretty one.”

⇶ Always pulls away during make out sessions just to whisper in your ear about how good you look and how much he loves you and everything about you

⇶ Comes up behind you a lot just to get in your ear too, and sometimes it’s not even about anything in particular. He just asks what you’re doing but he knows it makes you crazy regardless of what he says

⇶ The most amazing sleepy voice award needs to go to him because he just sounds so good when he’s tired

⇶ Not much of a talker in the mornings, so he gives you a lot of grunts and short noises rather than speaking, but once he’s woken up a bit more you always stay in bed together talking about nothing

⇶ The sound of his voice makes you wanna sleep again because it sounds so heavenly, you feel like you’re sinking into the mattress

⇶ Let’s you lay on his chest while you talk about the dreams you had and he messes with your bonnet

⇶ Sends so many voice messages when he’s not with you, it’s ridiculous actually

⇶ Tells you random details about his day as they happen. Something cool he saw, something that pissed him off, something that he did, and so on

⇶ Its like your personal 24/7 podcast

⇶ Always FaceTimes you instead of texting too

⇶ You’ll sit on the phone for hoursss together and sometimes you won’t even talk to each other for half the time

⇶ But he’s usually playing a game w the bakusquad so you always get to hear his voice, even if he’s just yelling

⇶ Really though, the moral is that he just goes the extra mile if he knows you like something

— TODOROKI.

⇶ This poor clueless thing has no idea what he’s doing to you

⇶ Doesn’t talk too much when he’s in class or in pubs in general, but he gets a bit more chatty when you two are along because he’s comfortable with you

⇶ But even then, Shoto is still fairly quiet volume wise, and his normal talking voice is nearly a whisper

⇶ Because of this, you often find yourselves leaned in close to each other just to hold a conversation

⇶ Not that you mind being close to your boyfriend, but his two toned eyes piercing through you do make you a little nervous

⇶ And Sho hasn’t the slightest clue why you stare at him in such a daze when he talks to you, thinks there’s something wrong :(

“… Y/n… Y/n,” Shoto softly called out to you.

Blinking out of your entranced state, you hummed at your boyfriend in response. His brows furrowed with concern, and he frowned at you.

“Is everything alright, love? You seem unfocused,” he said.

You nearly chuckled at how concerned he was, he really has no idea.

“M’okay baby, I just really like your voice,” you told him.

Shoto raised his eyebrows at you in confusion, cocking his head to the side.

“You like my voice?” He asked you.

You nodded, a small smile gracing your glossy lips before you leaned in to kiss his cheek.

“Now finish your story baby, I’m listening.”

⇶ Shoto has never been one to pay any mind to himself

⇶ Doesn’t give any thought to how attractive he is, or what others think of him (besides you, really, but he missed this one thing!)

⇶ He is, however, extremely attentive to you and your needs and likes

⇶ So when you tell him you like his voice, he takes note of that

⇶ He’s still quiet when out and about, but he’s made a clear effort to talk more when the two of you are in private

⇶ He complimented you a lot before, but he compliments you almost constantly now

⇶ Catches you by surprise most of the time, walks up behind you, tells you you’re beautiful, kisses your cheek, then leaves

⇶ And Shoto knows that you know you look good, but he also knows that you just like to hear it, and likes telling you so it’s a win-win situation

⇶ However, he’s a bit over the top, and if you give him an inch he’ll take a mile

⇶ Does nothing but send voice messages and face time you when you’re not together

⇶ You really don’t mind the voice messages, they’re honestly a huge step up from him texting normally because he’s lowkey a dry texter

⇶ Hardly uses emojis, and only says ‘lol’, not ‘lmao/lmfao’, his responses are never more than 3 sentences unless it’s important

⇶ So yeah, voice messages are definitely preferred

⇶ He sends a lot of short ones of just him chuckling after you say something funny and they make you melt

⇶ You secretly listen to his voice messages back when you miss him

⇶ Shoto is the type to FaceTime you when he has something to say that could’ve been a text message

⇶ But you bear with it because he’s your man

⇶ Shoto is very gentle with you, and treats you as if you’ll break

⇶ So when you two make out, it’s just soft and romantic

⇶ He’s not rough with you at all, and actually takes the reigns to guide you through it so you can just relax and melt into it

⇶ But he gets a bit overwhelmed and flustered, and has to pull away at some point to catch his breath

⇶ Always takes that time to call you beautiful while his face his flushed red, and once he catches his breath he peppers feather light kisses on your heated skin

⇶ Has a habit of touching your hair too, he won’t do it often if you tell him not to, but his hands normally find a way there a few times a day

⇶ Never sticks his whole hand in there, he just gently plays with a small section, or lightly pulls at the soft hairs on the back of your neck

⇶ But he does move your hair out of the way, without messing it up, to burry his face in your neck and tell you how much he loves you

⇶ Sho just loves to give you the room to be soft and feel loved around him, even if that means dragging out the little things you enjoy (not that you mind)

—

Thank you for reading, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!🫶🏾

[ala-baguette]

Could you tell us more about Kingsleys fondness and protectiveness of Harry. Love u to bits xxxx

What’s that?  A Kingsley Shacklebolt meta, you say?  Don’t mind if I do!

A relatively common and much-loved comment I get from some of my readers is that they never gave Kingsley much of a second thought before reading Knowing Where to Look.  Let’s change that, because I need company in over-thinking about random side characters.  Plus, I find Kingsley Shacklebolt so damn cool and other people should too!  For such a small character who is mostly just in the background throughout canon, I am always so impressed by the volumes of information one can glean from his tiny one sentence lines.  So, let’s start by looking at a few of these moments.

I’ll begin with the first time we meet him in Order of the Phoenix where he is part of the Advance Guard.  I remember just falling in love with Kingsley right from the first time I read this chapter at roughly 2am the night the book was released.  A few notable lines I present for consideration:

“‘Yeah, I see what you mean, Remus […]  He looks exactly like, James.’”

“‘A surprising number of people volunteered to come and get you,’ said Lupin as though he had read Harry’s mind; the corners of his mouth twitched slightly.”

“‘Remus says you’re a good flier,’ said Kingsley Shacklebolt in his deep voice.  ‘He’s excellent,’ said Lupin […]”

“Kingsley Shacklebolt and Sturgis Podmore were examining the microwave and Hestia Jones was laughing at a potato peeler […]”

“‘I’m just telling the boy the plan,’ growled Moody. ‘Our job’s to deliver him safely to headquarters, and if we die in the attempt—’   ‘No one’s going to die,’ said Kingsley Shacklebolt in his deep, calming voice.”

Information I infer from this first encounter:

Kingsley is highly trusted by Dumbledore and the rest of the Order despite having only been a member for a month or so.  (I’m fairly certain he was not in the Order during the first war.)

Kingsley knew James on a personal level.  He’s on a first-name basis, he remembers his appearance well, and Remus would have had no other reason to comment that Harry looked like him if he did not.

Kingsley is curious about Harry—likely in part secondary to Harry’s fame, but also, I suspect, on a more personal level (whether his apparent past relationship with James or his current one with Remus and Sirius).

Remus talks about Harry when Harry’s not around (I could probably write a whole meta on this sad and sweet observation, but I shall resist and stick to the topic at hand).  We’ll come back to this.

He’s pure-blood or at least was raised with minimal exposure to Muggle technology.

He’s calm and level-headed and not afraid to call out melodrama, though he’ll do so patiently, respectfully, and gently. 

We have several smaller encounters going forward in OotP that I also find telling:

“[Kingsley and Mr. Weasley] were talking to each other as though they hardly knew each other. […] ‘Here,’ said Kingsley brusquely to Mr. Weasley, shoving a sheaf of parchment into his hand, ‘I need as much information as possible on flying Muggle vehicles sighted in the last twelve months.  We’ve received information that Black might still be using his old motorcycle.’  Kinglsey tipped Harry an enormous wink and added, in a whisper, ‘Give him the magazine, he might find it interesting.’  Then he said in normal tones, ‘And don’t take too long, Weasley, the delay on that firelegs report held up our investigation for a month.’”

“‘Molly, I’ll be late, I’m covering for Tonks, but Kingsley might be dropping in for dinner—'”

Harry caught the sound of his own name.  Kingsley Shacklebolt’s deep voice was audible even over the surrounding chatter.  ‘—why Dumbledore didn’t make Potter a prefect?” said Kingsley.  ‘He’ll have had his reasons,’ replied Lupin.  ‘But it would’ve shown confidence in him.  It’s what I’d’ve done,’ persisted Kingsley.  ‘’specially with the Daily Prophet having a go at him every few days…’

“Kingsley had run forward to continue Sirius’s duel with Bellatrix.”

“‘Alastor Moody, Nymphadora Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Remus Lupin were all at headquarters [with Sirius] when [Snape] made contact.’”

My take-aways:

Kingsley has a good poker-face and can act a part that is required of him.

Kingsley is kind and considerate.  He goes out of his way to send Sirius a copy of the Quibbler with an article featuring Sirius/Stubby Boardman, for no other reason than to make Sirius smile in a time when Sirius had precious little to smile about.  Kingsley, in other words, is a big ol’ sweetie.

Kingsley drops in for dinner and any little festivities that happen at headquarters or with the Weasleys a few times throughout the series and is clearly welcomed any time, even when not truly on Order business.  Along with this, I speculate he doesn’t have much by way of family or close personal connections outside of his friends at the Order.

Even when he has only just met Harry, Kingsley is already concerned for his feelings (not just his physical safety) when Dumbledore doesn’t make Harry a prefect.  He is observant enough to notice that Harry is out of sorts and disappointed, which no other character particularly seems to notice.  He’s already attuned to Harry’s moods even then.

Also from this same moment, we see that Kingsley is one of the few characters who doesn’t seem to entirely blindly assume everything Dumbledore does is best.  He doubts Dumbledore’s judgment when he doesn’t make Harry a prefect. What else might he doubt?

Kingsley is brave and loyal.  He jumps in to duel with the most ruthless Death Eater present who just killed his friend.  Later, he does it again with Voldemort who he believes has just killed Harry.

Moody, Tonks, Remus, Sirius, and Kingsley are often described together.  From their interactions, I see these five having a particular bond, beyond that of simply colleagues.  They’re friends. What do all of Kingsley’s friends have in common?  (1) They all have affection for Harry they show in one form or another throughout the series.  (2) They all die.  I’ll let that sit for a moment—we’ll come back to it.

Now we come to The Half Blood Prince and Deathly Hallows:

“‘I’m not getting rid of Kingsley Shacklebolt, if that’s what you’re suggesting!’ said the Prime Minister hotly.  ‘He’s highly efficient, gets through twice the work as the rest of them—’”

“‘All right,’ [Uncle Vernon] said, stopping in front of Harry yet again. ‘All right, let’s say, for the sake of argument, we accept this protection.  I still don’t see why we can’t have that Kingsley bloke.’  Harry managed not to roll his eyes, but with difficulty.  This question had also been addressed half a dozen times.  ‘As I’ve told you,’ he said through gritted teeth, ‘Kingsley is protecting the Mug—I mean, your Prime Minister.’  ‘Exactly— he’s the best!’ said Uncle Vernon, pointing at the blank television screen.  The Dursleys had spotted Kingsley on the news, walking along discreetly behind the Muggle Prime Minister as he visited a hospital.  This, and the fact that Kingsley had mastered the knack of dressing like a Muggle, not to mention a certain reassuring something in his slow, deep voice, had caused the Dursleys to take to Kingsley in a way that they had certainly not done with any other wizard, although it was true that they had never seen him with his earring in.”

“‘Miss Granger with Kingsley, again by thestral—’ Hermione looked reassured as she answered Kingsley’s smile.

“Kingsley showed no pleasure at the sight of any of them.  Over Hermione’s shoulder, Harry saw him raise his wand and point it at Lupin’s chest.  ‘The last words Albus Dumbledore spoke to the pair of us?’  ‘Harry is the best hope we have.  Trust him,’ said Lupin calmly.  […] ‘All right, all right!’ said Kingsley, stowing his wand back beneath his cloak.  ‘But someone betrayed us!  They knew, they knew it was tonight!’   ‘So it seems,’ replied Lupin, ‘but apparently they did not realize that there would be seven Harrys.’  ‘Small comfort!’ snarled Kingsley.

“‘Now they’ve put a Taboo on [Voldemort’s name], anyone who says it is trackable—quick-and-easy way to find Order members!  They nearly got Kingsley—'  ‘You’re kidding?’  ‘Yeah, a bunch of Death Eaters cornered him, Bill said, but he fought his way out.  He’s on the run now, just like us.’

“‘I’d like to appeal to all our listeners to emulate their example, perhaps casting a protective charm over any Muggle dwellings in your street.  Many lives could be saved if such simple measures are taken.’  ‘And what would you say, Royal, to those listeners who reply that in these dangerous times, it should be Wizards first?’ asked Lee.  ‘I’d say that it’s one short step from Wizards first to Purebloods first, and then to Death Eaters,’ replied Kingsley.  ‘We’re all human, aren’t we?  Every human life is worth the same, and worth saving.’

“[…] Kingsley had stepped forward on the raised platform to address those who had remained behind [to take part in the Battle of Hogwarts].  ‘We’ve only got half an hour until midnight, so we need to act fast!  A battle plan has been agreed between the teachers of Hogwarts and the Order of the Phoenix.’

“Voldemort was now dueling McGonagall, Slughorn, and Kingsley all at once.”

“One shivering second of silence, the shock of the moment suspended: and then the tumult broke around Harry as the screams and the cheers and the roars of the watchers rent the air.  The fierce new sun dazzled the windows as they thundered toward him, and the first to reach him were Ron and Hermione, and it was their arms that were wrapped around him, their incomprehensible shouts that deafened him.  Then Ginny, Neville, and Luna were there, and then all the Weasleys and Hagrid, and Kingsley and McGonagall and Flitwick and Sprout, and Harry could not hear a word that anyone was shouting, nor tell whose hands were seizing him, pulling him, trying to hug some part of him […]”

Observations:

Kingsley is likeable and has a skill for garnering trust.  Both the Prime Minister and Uncle Vernon trust him despite having a general dislike for wizard-kind.

Kingsley is clever and adaptable and a good actor.  We see fascination with a microwave in OotP suggesting he had minimal exposure to the Muggle world, but by DH, he is already able to play the part of a Muggle, dress like them, and conform to their society, something that the likes of Arthur Weasley, who has obsessively studied Muggles for years, never manages.  He even knows enough to take out his earing (which he otherwise always seems to wear) to better appeal to the Dursleys conservative views.

A small speculation to which we can never know an answer but… Given that he knew Harry was listening, is it possible Kingsley’s choice of security question for Remus was intentionally chosen to offer Harry a little assurance that they had faith in him?

Kingsley is constantly described as calm and cool throughout all sorts of strife in the series, be he is not entirely unflappable.  After the Battle of the Seven Potters, the man is visibly livid, and I love it!  At no other time do we see so many exclamation marks in his speech.  He has suddenly been forced to face the possibility that one of his friends betrayed them, and he is not okay!  Even after this speech, he is totally flustered: he laughs derisively at Hermione’s naivety in an uncharacteristically impatient way; he seems panicked when he hears Voldemort had gone after Harry directly; he’s pacing the yard in a way that reminds Harry of Uncle Vernon as they’re waiting for the others to come back; he nearly comes to blows when Arthur arrives and is trying to get past him to see George… Can someone just please give the man a hug?  (Obviously, this is a trait I’ve exploited in KwtL.  Betrayal by a friend is definitely a sore spot for him.) 

The Trio sees Kingsley as untouchable.  Hermione’s relieved to be paired with him when they leave the Dursley’s house (and to not have to ride a broom).  Harry’s shocked to hear of him in hiding in much the same way they are.  They’re thrilled when they hear him speaking on the radio.  They have unwavering awe and respect for Kingsley.

Again, I speculate that Kingsley doesn’t have a romantic partner or children.  When Kingsley goes on the run, there is no mention of family which would have been a big concern if he had one. 

Kingsley has a strong sense of morality and a drive to stand up for those weak and defenseless. Despite the fact that his blood status and that his family was one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight would likely allow him to simply sit out the war safely, he’s still in the midst of it, constantly fighting for the little guy.

Kingsley is a natural leader, but he really only takes up the mantel when he has to (ie, Dumbledore and Moody are dead and the Order is leaderless)

Just another reminder that Kingsley dueled Voldemort and he’s a badass.

Kingsley is one of the first to rush to Harry after he’s defeated Voldemort.  He’s listed among all the people who love Harry most.  (Shut up, I’m not crying, you’re crying.)

So we come to what is perhaps more your question, kind Anon. What is Harry and Kingsley’s relationship like post-war.  As you point out, I write him as having fondness and protectiveness for Harry right from the beginning of Knowing Where to Look, and I have had readers challenge me (kindly) that Harry and Kingsley really weren’t that close in canon. 

I’ll agree that Harry was not close with Kingsley, but I’m here to argue that that’s not entirely true the other way around.  I think there’s subtle hints that Kingsley was fond and protective of Harry in canon.  Whenever Kingsley knew Harry was in danger, he came running.  I don’t think that was just duty to the Order.  There’s a personal component there as well.

We know that at least Remus and likely Sirius spoke of Harry amongst other Order members.  Before he even met Harry, Kingsley would have heard about Harry in ways that most strangers would not have heard of him.  It’s almost certain he knew many of the details of Harry’s experience in the graveyard when Voldemort returned (most all Order members would have been briefed on this when the Order was reestablished). He had likely heard tales from Sirius and Remus of how Harry braved Dementors and werewolves and time travel to rescue Sirius.  Maybe even rumors of his exploits with the Chamber of Secrets and the Philosopher’s Stone which Remus may have picked up from other professors when he taught at Hogwarts.  Remus even spoke of Harry enough to have mentioned that he looked like James— something that would have had no bearing on the mission.  The point is, the people surrounding Kingsley loved Harry, and I think that affection would naturally have bled into him just from the types of stories they were likely to tell about him. 

Then, all those people who surrounded Kingsley and who loved Harry die.  I think it’s very natural that as his friends— who were all so committed to protecting Harry— all died one-by-one, Kingsley would have taken up that mantel and felt the need to protect him in their place.  Even if it wasn’t one hundred percent from his own personal affection at first, he would have felt this a duty he owed his departed friends who all died in the name of keeping Harry safe.  After Harry emerges from hiding, older and more independent than ever, I think it would have been challenging for Kingsley to accept that Harry is not that kid he needs to protect (hence his sometimes-unwelcome paternal instincts in KwtL).  Furthermore, given my theory that he is without family and especially after the loss of so many Order friends and colleagues, post-war Kingsley may have been a little starved for affection himself which may have encouraged him to reach out more to Harry as he struggled with the isolation of his position of power. 

In conclusion, Kingsley loves Harry, and no one can convince me otherwise.  He’s prepared to give up his career for him, and though Harry would be completely devastated to know it, he’s prepared to give up his life for him. 

(A few random and less-related but perhaps still interesting headcanons:  As I mentioned above, I doubt he is married or has children.  I headcanon him married to his job and decidedly single and generally fine with that (who knows, maybe even aroace?).  I know his age is never really stated or implied, but I headcanon him to be a few years older than the Mauraders.  His vibe in the books just says forty-something for some reason.  My completely unfounded headcanon is that the Shacklebolt and Potter Families were friends—Kingsley’s and James’s parents moved in the same social circles, throwing Kingsley and James together enough growing up to be friendly but not besties.  Friendly enough that he may have attended Lily and James’s wedding, for example, but not so friendly as to have followed him into the Order the first time around.  Again, these bits are purely my imagination and yes have no real importance to the story.)

Thanks for the Ask, Anon!  I clearly have thought way too much about this. I hope you enjoy the insights into how my brain builds on characterization as I’m writing some of these smaller side-characters. Love ya back!

[argisthebulwark]

Remind Me I Am Your One & Only

summary: How I think various skryim men would react to feeling jealous. gn reader, no pronouns or y/n used. feat: Brynjolf, Cicero, Vilkas, Farkas, Miraak, Balimund, Erandur warnings: none

For Brynjolf, jealousy is unexpected. He’s secure in your relationship and your feelings for each other but isn't prepared to see you undercover. Watching you snag a pocket watch off some unsuspecting noble hardly distracts him from the flirtatious tone dripping from your lips. He can't exactly voice how he feels without blowing your cover. Instead, he decides two can play that game. Brynjolf knows you’re watching when his touch lingers just a tad too long on a Thane’s bejeweled necklace, smug satisfaction smothering the burning pit of jealousy in his stomach. “Don’t worry your pretty head, love. I don’t mind as long as I’m the only one you’re leavin’ with tonight.” 

Cicero’s jealousy is stealthy. Most wouldn’t notice the way his smile devolves to a sneer or the narrowing of his eyes. He holds back the barrage of threats dancing along the tip of his tongue, concealing the bloodlust simmering just under his skin. He trusts his Listener. He does not trust this stranger who dared to put an all too familiar hand on them.  “Silly, funny Listener. Cicero is your fool! Devoted Cicero, your loyal Keeper will take care of those who cross your boundary.” 

Vilkas will get frighteningly quiet. He’s tense, eyes darkening and brows tightening as he glares down at whoever dared to speak to you in such a way. His presence at your side is near constant, always your shadow. He assumed everyone in Whiterun knew the Harbinger owned his heart. Luckily, the intensity of his stare is enough to shoo off your pursuer.  “Of course I wasn’t glaring - why would you think such a thing? If I wanted to scare them off I would’ve drawn my sword. I’m not jealous, that’s childish.” 

Farkas isn’t one for jealousy. He knows you only have eyes for one another. Watching someone attempt to flirt with you is fairly entertaining, knowing that you must be biting your tongue in anticipation for the killing blow. He can’t be blamed if he flexes just a tad when you point him out or drops a few more terms of endearment into the following conversation.  “I thought everyone learned what a Band of Matrimony meant in our primary lessons. A shame, remind me to do something sickeningly romantic when we next visit the market.”

Miraak’s jealousy is deafening. Despite escaping Apocrypha and returning to a mortal body he’s maintained the stature of a god. Strategically placed, possessive hands and a voice rich with ancient power make no qualms with broadcasting his place as your beloved.  “Mere mortal, do you not realize who stands before you? You deign to speak to them in such a familiar tone? Tsk, if I were the Dragonborn you would not remain standing. Pity.” 

Balimind is not a man that is jealous often. He knows his feelings and yours, he is quite comfortable in your relationship. Even when you’re out on the road and he’s dutifully working away at his forge you remember to send letters. Whether you’re keeping him up to date on your latest conquest or expressing how lonely you are it’s reassuring. On the rare occasion he’s alone, dining in the tavern and some idle chatter about you reaches his ears, he’ll have no trouble reminding them whose arms you fall into upon returning.  “C’mon now, folks. I know they’re easy on the eyes but it’s my tub they’re wrecking with all those dragon guts. Best watch your words.” 

Erandur’s jealousy would be turned inward. He can only see the ways in which whoever shows interest in you compares to him - they’re younger, their pasts surely less sordid. It will surely take him some time and the occasional word of encouragement to feel confident in his place as your partner.  “I assure you, my love. All is well. No need to worry over me. I am simply astonished by you. As always.” 

[zombiboon]

RE BOYS & DOING IT PUBLIC .

characters | Albert Wesker, Chris Redfield, Leon S. Kennedy, Carlos Oliveira

GN!Reader

I’m dodging the shit out of the actual terms, so take “it”, “needs”, and “bedroom activities” lol. also will be doing the requests i received after this <3

smutty content, mentions of public sex, some acts are described .

18+ Content Below . Minors, I ask that you do not interact .

ALBERT WESKER .

He’s not going to just engage in indulging your needs wherever, nor will he indulge in his anywhere. He’s a man who can be just a smidge picky when it comes to bedroom activities. Totally just a “smidge”. 

That’s not to say the idea of fucking in public isn’t somewhat appealing to him. No, no, in fact, he’s thought about it after you’ve brought it up and he’s amused with the idea – especially when he thinks of the risk as letting others know you’re his and his alone. 

Wesker’s going to be selective with locations and he’s bound to say no to most places but there’s one he’ll always say yes to – if he’s not the one suggesting it.

His office during work hours. 

Wesker’s office is the first thing he thinks of. The enclosed space with blinds and a lock on his door, his S.T.A.R.S members just on the other side. It’s perfect. And if you fail to keep quiet, any Alpha member that knocked on his door understood fairly quickly that he was not to be disturbed – not until you sheepishly left his office, looking a little more rattled than when you arrived. 

Obviously, in such a position, he prefers to have you pressed against his desk as he snaps his hips into you or you cockwarming him as he does some of his tedious paperwork. 

CHRIS REDFIELD .

Not one too open to the idea. Fucking you in public? One, that’s risky, what if someone stumbles upon you two? Two, he prefers the bedroom, where he’s not on the verge of a heart attack, worrying someone’ll overhear. 

But he’d agree to it eventually. It’d require a lot of trust in you, a lot of research and information to agree — also, probably a turn-on. Maybe something akin to seeing a sensual scene at the movies, or seeing you try on a revealing fit at a store, or maybe you just tease him in public. 

He’ll let you know he’s riled up by hugging you from behind, making sure his semi is pressed firmly against your rear. He’ll pepper the back of your neck with kisses while his hand squeezes your side, just so the close hug didn’t seem too weird to passersby. 

He’s willing to do it in closets or dressing rooms, open to maybe a washroom stall, but an absolute no is his workplace. He’s got to keep it professional there. Also, he knows way too many people there, the risk is far too embarrassing for him to even get hard — if you were caught, he’d never hear the end of it from his team and colleagues. 

LEON S. KENNEDY .

If we’re talking RE2 Leon, I feel like he’d have thoughts about it but wouldn’t be able to do it. He’d be too embarrassed and his heart would practically implode if he tried. Don’t worry, he’ll show clear interest. Little too under-confident to actually do it, basically.

But after RE2, he’d be open to do it, having gained just a little more confidence in the bedroom. It’s an almost instant yes when you bring it up. Hell, he’d do it right there if you mention the idea in public.

Mostly though, he’ll keep it to just oral when it comes to fucking in public. Not going to lie, he’ll prefer receiving — he enjoys the view, plus, he knows he can keep quiet; you, not so much. But he also loves servicing you just as much— if not more. He will eat you out like a starving rabid dog, no matter the place. 

Much prefers dressing rooms or gender-neutral bathrooms. He likes some space, not that he’d used much of it anyways, he’d be busy being all up in yours. After you guys tried a closet and Leon bumped into the shelves and had a bucket smack him in the head (followed by the matching mop), he decided he needed space to fuck you.

CARLOS OLIVEIRA . 

Absolutely into it. You don’t even finish bringing it up before he’s agreeing. 

Honestly, you should’ve picked up the hints sooner. Naturally, he’s a very handsy person, but he gets even more touchy when out in public and clearly horny. He likes teasing you with  hushed words of what he’ll do to you, letting his hand get dangerously close to your rear and the occasional needy squeeze, all in public. 

Will absolutely fuck you anywhere if you so please, just like… as long as there’s some sort of privacy. He loves you, but he’s not about to get arrested just because he couldn’t keep it in his pants. Closets, bathroom stalls, dressing rooms, in the car, maybe an elevator, doesn’t matter.

There are riskier places he’ll enjoy too. He’ll probably take you to the movies and sit the two of you all the way in the back, just to tease and play with you before silently fucking your brains out, with his hand clasped over your mouth just so you don’t let out any squeaks. 

Additional risky places he’ll accept: hot tubs, concerts (decent cover), alleyways, and the woods.

reblogs are greatly appreciated <3

[themultifandomgal]

Tommy Shelby- 1 Becomes 2

They say that when you know who the one is you just know. I thought I knew, but I was wrong. So wrong. So wrong in fact I ended up here in small Heath having to take a barmaids job and sorting out the protection from the Peaky Blinders just to keep myself alive.

When I met my now ex, he was kind, handsome, a true gentleman. He had a well payed job and was respected amongst his colleagues. Woman wanted him, men wanted to be him. So when he took an interest in me there was no way I was going to pass up on that opportunity. Woman were envious which gave me a confidence boost… that is until a year into our relationship. He changed from the most gentle, kind guy to an evil son of a bitch. Threats were constantly made, bruises were often appearing on my arm in the shape of fingers, I tried to leave before, but he’d always suck me back in “I do this because I love you” he’d often say “there’s no one else but you. I need you” and I believed him. I believe him until I saw him fucking one on his coworkers butt naked bent over his desk. That was it. The final straw. He didn’t care about me, hell he probably never did. So I packed up my shit and left, but those threats he made never seemed empty.

I’d heard about the Peaky Blinders through the grapevine like most people, but most people don’t pack up their lives and leave to meet the dangerous men of Birmingham.

I finish closing up the Garrison when I hear the bell ring signalling that someone has just entered. I don’t bother turning around thinking it will be one of the regulars

“We’re closed” I say sounding bored

“Good job my brother owns the place eh?” Turning round I see Tommy Shelby strolling his way towards the bar I’m behind, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, peaky cap on his head as it always is. No one can deny that Tommy Shelby is handsome, but men have done nothing but cause me pain and heartache

“Mr Shelby” I acknowledge “whiskey?” Tommy grunts in response

“Make sure it’s…”

“Irish I know” I give him a little smile before turning round and grabbing a glass and Tommys usual whiskey. I slide it over to him as he stubs out his cigarette. I continue wiping down the surfaces trying to ignore the fact that Tommy Shelby is watching my every move making me nervous “is there anything else I can get you Mr Shelby”

“Enough with the formalities. Call me Tommy”

“Ok, Tommy, is there anything else I can get you?” I repeat my question

“Maybe” he replies, but doesn’t continue. Instead he downs his whiskey then rolls another cigarette on his lips before lighting it up. I stand there in silence, not really sure what to say until he finally tells me more

“I have a proposition for you” Tommy points his cigarette towards me while wearing a smirk across his face

“What… what’s that?” I nervously ask

“I want you to accompany me to the Cheltenham Race. I’ll purchase you a dress to wear”

“But why?”

“I heard your ex will be there with his new girl”

“Ok?” I frown still not knowing why Tommy wants me to go with him, but all he does is smirk before leaving alone in the pub.

The day of the CheltenhamRace arrives, Tommy picks me up in his car and drives us there. The ride was fairly quite, but a good quiet. It didn’t feel awkward at all, we we just both enjoying each other’s company. When we arrive, Tommy helps me out of the car

“Thanks you” I smile holding on to my clutch that Tommy bought. I feel him place his hand on my lower back, guiding me into the building

“You look beautiful by the way” Tommy lowly says, just quiet enough for only me to hear and close enough that I can feel his breath by my ear

“Thank you Tommy. You look very handsome yourself”

“This way” Tommy guides me, his hand never leaving the lower part of my back.

We end up in a room where jazz music is playing and many men and woman are dancing. That’s when I see him. I freeze staring at him from across the room

“Let’s show him what he’s lost then eh?”

“Pardon”

“Care to dance?” Tommy holds out his hand, this time he genuinely smiles at me. Not a smirk a real smile. I smile back and take his hand in mine and we begin to dance 

“I’m still confused to why you asked me here” I tell him as our bodies are pressed against one another

“Your ex…”

“No I know he’s here, but why do you care?”

“He’s been threatening you, talking shit about how if he wanted he could come to small Heath and take you back”

“How did he find out where I was? I didn’t tell anyone”

“Do you know who he works for?” Tommy asks. I shake my head in response “Billy Kimber”

“Shit” I breath out feeling scared

“But, he won’t fucking come near you now he knows your under the Peaky Blinders protection”

“Why do you care about me Tommy?”

“I’m drawn to you YN, like I’ve never been drawn to anyone else before. Let me keep you safe”

“I don’t know what to say”

“Say ok” Tommy says dipping me and looking into my eyes. Tommy Shelby is an enigma, but I truly don’t care. There’s something about him that now I’ve had a small taste, I know I’m going to be addicted.