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goosewriting · 3 months ago

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The Aftermath

summary: reader visits Joaquín at the hospital as he wakes up from surgery.

relationship: Joaquín Torres x gn!reader

warnings: established relationship, spoilers for captain america: brave new world, mention and description of injuries and medical procedures, mention of accident and explosions, brief mentions of PTSD from events in Infinity War/Endgame, self-doubts and guilt

word count: 2.2k

A/N: i started writing this the moment i came home from watching BNW. can't believe it took me this long to write for him,, he's been rotating in my mind ever since tfantws <3 we really need more fics for joaquín, he’s so blorbo coded like cmon!! 🥹🥹 if you have any recs pls send them my way!

[all masterlists] 🪶 [mcu masterlist] 🪶 [ao3]

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Sitting by Joaquín’s hospital bed, you bring your hands to your face as you remember his accident on the Indian Ocean. You had watched the broadcast in horror, your heart in your throat as his figure fell from the sky into the open water.

At that moment, you couldn’t help but remember the video from all those years ago, where you saw how Rhodey had fallen as well, like a rock, everyone watching, unable to do anything to stop him. Just like War Machine, Joaquín had turned uncontrollably on his descent, one of his wings ripped from the suit by the missile exploding right in his face.

You’ve been in the Avengers’ orbit since a little before the battle against Thanos on Wakanda, where you had also fought with everyone, but then got blipped. The transition back to society with a gap of 5 years had been very hard on you, and while you stayed in contact with everyone who remained, helping out whenever you could, you didn’t really have it in you to go back out to the battlefield. Even after all this time, you still have nightmares about the snap and the Battle for Earth.

Bringing your hands back into your lap, you let out a trembling breath, clinging onto the constant soft beeping of the machinery to tether yourself to reality and not fall down a spiral of despair. Every time your eyes roam over Joaquín’s injuries, you close your eyes, pressing the base of your hands over them, then open them again. Your sight is momentarily sprinkled with dots, and as it clears, you hope for everything to have been a horrible nightmare. But once your view clears up, he’s still there. Unconscious. Hurt.

The surgery he’d been in last night had felt like it was never going to end. Still, you had stayed the whole time, and once he got out, you stayed at his side.

It’s been several hours since Joaquín got wheeled into his room, the head medic saying he was still unconscious but stable. You shift in the armchair by the bed where you sit. One of the nurses brought you something to eat earlier since you refused to leave, the wrapper of your sandwich still in your hands as your eyes start feeling heavier and heavier, and you can’t find it in yourself to fight the welcome embrace of sleep, slowly spreading through your limbs. You’ve almost completely dozed off when you hear a groan, and immediately your grogginess dissipates. You straighten up in your seat, the wrapper falling to the floor as you scoot closer to the bed, tears stinging behind your eyes. How you still have tears left, you have no idea, given how much you’ve cried in the past hours, terrified of losing the love of your life.

Joaquín blinks several times, scrunching his face, eyes trying to adapt to the light. He lifts his good arm, looking at the tubes attached to it, and his gaze roams the room and down his body, face contorting in pain lightly. Then his eyes land on you, and his face immediately softens.

“Hey, there,” he croaks out.

“You’re awake,” you whisper, holding his hand in your trembling ones. “I was scared you wouldn’t.”

“Pfft, it’ll take more than a meagre explosion to defeat the Falcon,” he retorts with a pained smile.

Normally you’d laugh at his jokes, enjoying his silly side, but right now you have no humour left in you. Another wave of tears rolls down your cheeks, and his smile vanishes.

“Please don’t joke about that,” you plead, giving his hand a squeeze. “You were hit by a freaking missile. From a fighter jet. While up in the air between two armies about to start a war with each other.”

“Well, if you put it like that…” He sighs.

There’s a moment of silence where you again study his bruised face, your gaze landing on the massive burn covering his whole shoulder, streaks of red raw skin visible on his jaw and throat. Your brows furrow in frustration.

“I should have been there,” you mumble, angry at yourself for letting this happen.

“What?” he asks, craning his neck to fully look at you.

“I should have gone with you,” you say, bringing your eyes to look up at him. “Then I could have helped and you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

Joaquín exhales through his nose in disbelief.

“We were in the air, and I went head to head with the missile even after Sam told me to back off,” he retorts, shaking his head. “There was nothing you could have done.”

His tone isn’t scolding; he’s telling the truth and you know it. Still, you can’t help but feel like the outcome could have been different, if you had just been better, braver. You try to choke back a sob, unsuccessful, and his hold tightens around your hand.

“Hey, hey. Look at me.” He speaks your name softly. “This isn’t on you. Please don’t cry.”

You grimace, biting the inside of your cheek.

“For a moment I thought you died, Joaquín. I was so scared,” you say with a shaky breath, bringing his hand to your face, and he cups your cheek. You place your hand over his, holding onto it and leaning into his touch like it was the last time you could hold him like this.

“I’m sorry I scared you.”

Your heart shatters at the thought that even after getting hurt, after getting blown up, he’s the one apologising to you. He’s about to add something when the door opens and a nurse comes in. You back off a bit and hastily wipe your face with the back of your sleeves as she does some check-ups, both on Joaquín and the machines, taking some notes on her clipboard. She then takes one of the tubes attached to his arm, and places a syringe at the other end.

“What’s that?” you ask, suspicious. She gives you a quick look with a raised brow, but when she sees the state you’re in, her face relaxes again.

“Painkillers and antibiotics. He’ll need both of them,” she explains.

It doesn’t take long for the fluids to reach Joaquín’s blood system, and he visibly relaxes against the pillows and closes his eyes.

“Oh, hell yeah. That’s the good stuff,” he sighs, and the nurse chuckles softly. You still can’t get yourself to let go of your worry. Once she’s done with everything, she leaves the way she came, exiting the room. As the door closes behind her, your eyes land on the wrapper on the floor, and you pick it up with a sniffle, crumpling it up further.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty? Can I get you anything?” you ask as you throw the trash into the bin from where you sit, to your surprise making the shot. He doesn't answer, eyes still closed.

“Joaquín?” you ask softly, not wanting to wake him in case he fell asleep again.

“Huh? Wha?” His eyes open and he turns to look at you, his face visibly relaxed now.

“You okay?” You take his hand again, and he gives you a squeeze.

“Hmm-mm,” he hums with a nod, blinking slowly as he tries to focus on your face. “I just think I’m… kinda high right now.”

That’s when you finally break, unable to hold back an endeared chuckle, shaking your head. Joaquín’s eyes are filled with warmth and then concern as they land on your face, brows furrowing as if he just noticed something. His hand comes up to wipe away the remaining streak of tears. He also playfully pinches your cheek for good measure, eliciting another smile of yours.

“That’s better,” he concludes, a smile spreading on his face as well. The smile that could light up any room he’s in, in your humble opinion.

You prop your elbow onto the edge of the bed, head in your hands as you look at him, and he looks back at you with a silly grin. The beeps on the machine speed up a bit, and you look up at the screen, then back at him with a brow raised in amusement.

“Usually you can’t tell because I’m smooth as hell, but it’s true,” he notes, like a huge secret was just uncovered. “You still make my heart race.”

Heat prickles on your cheeks at his words and you avert your gaze with a snort. As long as your heart is still beating, you think, remembering that they had to resuscitate him after the accident, but you shake those thoughts away, preferring to focus on the fact that he’s still here, alive.

“I know that the moment you’re back on your feet, you’ll be out there again, suited up,” you start after a moment, shooting him a serious look. “So I won’t ask you to stop. But promise me to be more careful next time?”

“Pinky promise.” Joaquín lifts his hand, fingers curled except for his pinky, and you can’t help but chuckle as you mirror his gesture, curling your finger around his. He shakes your hand like that side to side for a bit, then drops it back down onto the bed. A strand of hair falls into his face as he leans back, and you brush it back, caressing over his bruised cheekbone gingerly.

“When was the last time you slept?” he asks suddenly.

“Hmm.” You look at the timestamp on the muted TV in the corner, currently playing some movie or other. It’s only then that you realise you’ve been intermittently awake for almost two full days now. “Can’t really remember,” you lie.

“You need to rest. You look exhausted,” he remarks, gesturing to himself. “I’m taken care of.”

“No, I’m not leaving you,” you say, putting as much finality into your voice as you can in your state.

He says your name softly. You look away. He sighs.

“Well, if you insist on staying, then at least I can get pampered a bit, yeah?” he starts, and you narrow your eyes at him in feigned suspicion. He asks with a playful pout, “You know what would make me feel better?”

“Hmm?”

Joaquín turns his head, offering you his cheek. You can’t help but laugh.

“I thought you were high on painkillers already?”

“Even the best medicine holds nothing against your kisses.”

“Pfft, is that so.” Now it’s your heart’s turn to speed up. You two have been together for a while now, but he still makes you feel warm and fuzzy, and gives you butterflies in your stomach, when he isn’t on the brink of death, at least. “Well, in that case, I better get started on your dose.”

You lean forward, placing a kiss on his cheek, and he hums pleasedly. He doesn’t move, though, clearly waiting for more. You’re more than happy to oblige, placing kiss after kiss on his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, being especially careful around his injuries. Finally, you hold his chin to turn his face towards you, and kiss the corner of his mouth, then his lips. It's chaste but sweet, and he smiles into it. When you lean back, his eyes are filled with love, slightly unfocused because of the meds, a goofy grin on his face. As you hold his face, you consider saying something cheesy, hoping he won’t remember it. But before you can speak, there’s a knock at the door, and someone steps in. It’s Sam. He looks surprised to see you.

“Damn, you’re still here?” he asks with concern, then turns to Joaquín. “How’re you feeling?”

“Splendid, really,” he replies, leaning into your hand still cupping his face.

“He got a decent shot of painkillers,” you explain, looking up at Sam with a tired smile. “He’s high as a kite.”

Sam chuckles, then looks at you worriedly.

“You need to rest. Both of you.” He places a hand on your shoulder. “Go home, I’ll take it from here.”

You hesitate, looking between the two, and Joaquín nods, his eyes pleading for you to also take care of yourself.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Joaquín says, taking your hand from his face and giving it a squeeze. “I’ll be here when you come back.”

“Right,” you sigh and rise to your feet with wobbly legs now that the exhaustion is finally kicking in full force, and Sam holds you up when your knees threaten to give in.

“Whoa there. You need a nap, ASAP.”

“Yeah, yeah I do,” you say with a sigh, steadying yourself as he lets you go, his hands still hovering over your arms for a moment in case he has to grab you again, but you manage to stand straight. You grab your jacket from the back of the chair, and turn to Joaquín. “I’ll come back this evening, okay? I’ll bring your favourite snacks too. Don’t tell the nurse, though.” You wink at him with a knowing smile.

“You’re the best.”

“No, you are.” You lean over him to kiss him goodbye, whispering ‘I love you’ against his lips, and pecking him once more for good measure. The machine’s beeps speed up again.

“Love you too. See you later.” Joaquín brings his hand up to caress over your cheek one last time, then you leave the room.

Sam is still standing there, hands in his pockets, looking down at his friend as the beeps slowly start decreasing back to normal.

“Very cute,” he remarks, unable to bite back a teasing smile.

“Don’t even,” Joaquín says and rolls his eyes playfully, knowing perfectly well that Sam will never let him live that down.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

🐥 taglist: [link to join in my pinned post!]

#goose feathers #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x you #the falcon x reader #marvel x reader #mcu #marvel #brave new world

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cutepresea · 6 months ago

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The exact time it happened is a few hours away, but I'll be asleep--Happy first anniversary to the last song in XDU and to the end of its story 🥺

I know I already posted a video with the song, but have the credits with it too

#as a warning there are endgame xdu spoilers so if you've been watching videos of that lately uh...yeah #the last song being a hibimiku duet is still the most fitting thing ever though #video

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vettelsvee · 3 months ago

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Hi love! For your tortured poets department, can I request endgame from the reputation album, lando being the driver please please 🙏

END GAME | Lando Norris

Lando Norris x Friend with benefits Piastri!Reader

SUMMARY: You were used to have random hookups just for fun, including with Lando Norris himself. It's not until he decides to lock both of you up on his driver room and talk about your weird relationship that you don't realize that, deep down, you're willing to settle down your mind and start a dating him ↳ REQUESTED: Yes! Thanks for requesting and hope you like it 💖 Part of REPUTATION in MY TORTURED DRIVERS DEPARTMENT

WORD COUNT: 2745

WARNINGS: Slightly +18 at the end (sorry for leaving it there ☺️), mentions of friends with benefits, spelling with multiple people, angst, curse words

VEE'S NOTES: Haven't written Lando in a very, very long time, so hope you like this one! University and my mental health are killing me but you know what? Writing is what keeps me going (and specially your comments have been a boost of serotonin for me lately). Also... the 2k special is already living rent free in my mind and I can't wait to achieve the goal to post it 😭 I wanna give spoilers now so... you know 🤓 ↳ TALK TO ME / REQUESTS! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

"You finally decided to show up at a race. I was starting to think you only liked having me naked in your bed behind your brother’s back."

You smiled at the screen, playing with your fingers as you thought how could you answer Lando. Your relationship was based purely on sex, moreover sexting, with barely any real conversations whenever you met, moans and orgasms speaking for you both instead.

You had never felt the need to go beyond that, to involve feelings in your relationship, or at least that’s what you had made clear to Lando before sleeping with him the very first time. You also let him know that, besides him, there were other guys with whom you had no commitments whatsoever.

However, it was with Lando that you spent most of your time. The others were nothing more than a safe escape, an easy way out when the Brit wasn’t around.

"Be grateful that I even came," you finally replied. "And don’t flatter yourself. I came to see my brother, not to make you come before a race."

You hesitated, wondering if your reply was harsh enough to keep him from getting any ideas and, more importantly, to stop him from insisting on meeting up. You weren’t sure how, but you wanted to end that strange relationship before it spiraled out of control because, whether you wanted to admit it or not, you had started to feel something for him.

Yes, just a few weeks ago, you had one of your usual encounters with a friend of one of your best friends. But everything fell apart when, right before reaching your climax, you couldn’t help it: you moaned Lando’s name instead.

That was what made you question what exactly you felt for Norris and why the label of friends with benefits seemed to be fading away.

"Don’t play dumb, Piastri. See you at the motorhome. You know exactly where."

You huffed. Of course, you knew exactly where you’d be meeting. After all, ever since your brother became a Formula 1 driver, you had visited his teammate’s personal room more than Oscar’s.

With a sigh, making sure neither your mother nor your sisters were nearby, you got up, grabbed the plastic cup that still had a bit of coffee left, and walked with as much determination as you could muster toward McLaren’s motorhome, finishing your drink along the way.

As you walked, mentally preparing a script in case things got tense with Lando, you greeted the people you knew, or at least those who knew you as Y/N Piastri. Lewis was genuinely happy to see you and even stopped to chat, but you excused yourself, saying you had already made plans. Fernando gave you a knowing look, as if trying to figure out what exactly you were about to do with a certain driver.

Even your brother crossed paths with you at the entrance to McLaren’s motorhome. You managed to lie to him, partially, saying Lando had asked you to take a few pictures of him before the race.

Oscar gave you a strange look, then rolled his eyes, offered a small smile and told you to enjoy whatever it was you both were about to do.

You said nothing, but you knew your twin brother well enough to realize he already had a pretty good idea of what you were up to with Norris. Not that you tried too hard to hide it.

When you reached Lando’s room, you didn’t even have to knock. The door opened instantly, revealing a slightly tired-looking Lando with a cup in his hand. His race suit was already on but zipped only to his waist, leaving the top half hanging loose. His team cap was still on, though it didn’t last long since he took it off and tossed it aside within seconds.

He grinned from ear to ear, like he had been waiting for you with far too much anticipation.

"Come in. Make yourself at home," he said with that mischievous tone you were so used to hearing, though something about it felt slightly different this time.

You walked inside without hesitation, crossing your arms and ignoring him, except for the occasional sideways glance to see if he would do or say something before you did. Unfortunately, he didn’t.

"If you wanted a quick fuck before the race you could’ve just said so, you know?"

"I don’t think today’s the best day to fuck you and let everyone hear," he replied. "At least, not yet. Today, we’re going to talk."

"We don’t talk, Lando," you shot back, feeling an internal alarm go off. "And when we do, it’s just to ask about the safe word of the day, what we want to do to each other, and how close we are to coming."

"Well, maybe it’s time we started talking, don’t you think so?"

His answer took you completely by surprise. Your gazes remained locked on each other, and you felt the atmosphere grow tense.

For the first time in a long while, there was no excuse you could use to avoid that conversation with Lando. Maybe the fact that you had been ignoring him for the past few weeks was enough to make him realize that there was a chance—however small—that things had changed between you two.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the growing sense of unease settling in your chest. Lando kept looking at you with that same intensity he always did, except this time… it was different. It wasn’t the first time you found yourselves in a situation like this, where there were a thousand unsaid things hanging between you, waiting to be voiced. But it was the first time, at least on your part, where feelings were involved beyond pure physical desire.

"I don’t think there’s anything to talk about," you said as nonchalantly as possible, but your tense posture betrayed you.

Lando set his cup down on the table beside him. Then, he sat on the edge, crossing his arms again, and reached for your hands only for you to pull away and take a step back.

"I think you know exactly what we need to talk about," he replied calmly. His voice was lower than usual, and you felt the heat grow between your legs. You shook your head, feeling guilty and doing your best to push away that sudden, but familiar, awakening in your body.

"You’ve been avoiding me, Y/N. And don’t tell me you haven’t, because you were in Monaco and never called me to meet up… to see each other," he added, his voice laced with something unreadable. "In fact, we usually sext almost every day, and you didn’t even bother to tell me what new lingerie set you bought for when you came over."

"I didn’t tell you I was coming to Miami either."

Your reply, rather than making you sound indifferent, exposed you completely. Lando raised an eyebrow, as if he had caught you red-handed. That was when you realized you had seriously screwed up.

"I haven’t been avoiding you, Lando. I’ve just been busy," you insisted.

"Busy? You mean busy by ignoring me?" He scoffed, ironic. His expression turned much more serious now, and you started to worry about where this might lead. "Tell me the truth, Y/N. What’s going on? What’s happening with you?" he emphasized.

You averted your gaze, pretending to take interest in the room’s decoration, a room you already knew by heart. You knew you couldn’t keep dodging the topic, but you also had no idea how to confront it without changing everything you had so far. It was impossible to put into words what you felt for Lando, not when your relationship had always been purely physical. And especially not when there was a real chance you were just confused… and, well, you couldn’t forget the possibility that he might only see you as his hookup.

"Nothing’s wrong," you finally responded.

"I thought we were always honest with each other," Lando sighed, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

You felt your throat tighten. It was hard to breathe. You had been honest, at least when it came to the unrestricted desire between you, to touching each other without attachments, to seeking comfort in one another without questions that went beyond your wildest fantasies. You had avoided anything personal.

But now, you were slowly breaking the unspoken rules that had kept you in perfect balance until this moment.

"I’ve been busy, Lando, and the last thing I wanted was to deal with you, alright?" you insisted, trying to sound as convincing as possible. "Things should have stayed the way they were until, according to you, I started ignoring you."

"No, Y/N, things aren’t like that," the Brit denied, shaking his head. He stepped closer, cornering you against the wall. "If you don’t want to face something because you’re afraid of rejection, just tell me. But, for fuck’s sake, don’t act like I did something wrong, because you’re killing me."

"Lando…"

"Stop insisting that nothing is happening between us, when that’s exactly what makes me think the opposite."

His confession caught you completely off guard. His words—clear, direct, and without a hint of sarcasm, threw you off… especially because you knew he was right.

You felt the urge to run, to disappear, to pretend none of this had ever happened. Most of all, you wanted to deny yourself any romantic thought you had ever had about Oscar’s teammate.

When you lowered your gaze, Lando moved back slightly, giving you space and making sure he didn’t overwhelm you more than you already seemed to be. You sighed, trying to relax once again, but before you could say anything, he spoke first.

"Tell me nothing’s wrong between us, Y/N Piastri," he said softly. "If nothing has really changed, if everything is the same between us… dare to look at me in the eyes and say it."

Your chest tightened. You couldn’t run away, not when Lando had you emotionally cornered, teetering on the edge of an explosion. Your breathing was unsteady, heavy. Your mind screamed at you to find an excuse, anything that would let you stay true to yourself regardless of what happened next.

Lando waited, unmoving, his blue eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made you tremble for the first time in your life—without him even touching you. It was the first time he had shown himself to you like this: so vulnerable and yet so determined at the same time.

"Nothing is wrong between us, Lando Norris," you finally whispered, forcing the words out, ignoring both your heart and the boy standing in front of you.

"Say it again, but this time, look me in the eyes."

He didn’t move an inch. He knew you were lying; your posture gave you away—the way you avoided his gaze, the way your fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt and your accreditation pass…

You squeezed your eyes shut tightly. You had no choice… at least, not entirely.

Lifting your gaze, you met his blue eyes once again. Your lips parted slightly, ready to try and let out a lie convincing enough for both him and yourself.

But it was impossible. You couldn’t keep doing this, not when, deep down, and no matter how hard you tried to deny it, you felt something more than just pleasure for Lando Norris. The fear of rejection… it terrified you. The thought of him turning you away, of losing what you had with him, was unbearable.

"Lando…"

"You don’t have to say it if you’re not ready," he interrupted. "But please… stop pushing me away. Stop making this to us."

"It’s just…"

Nothing. No matter how much you tried to explain yourself, to find a logical enough reason for your sudden ghosting, you couldn’t.

"It’s just what, Y/N?" the Brit pressed. "Are you afraid to take a risk? To admit something because you’re scared of what might happen next? Because you don’t want to change the life you’ve had until now? Because you want to…?"

Lando forced himself to stop. He ran his hands through his hair, exasperated, turning his back to you. Guilt hit you immediately, your body trembling as the storm inside you began to break free. The driver rubbed his face, frustration radiating from him. This was exhausting him. You were exhausting him, to the point where he was starting to doubt his own feelings. Feelings that had started to grow the moment he realized it hurt when you ignored him, when you didn’t even send him a simple "Hey."

"I wish this were different, Y/N," he finally murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he turned to face you again. "I wish you didn’t make me feel like this. I wish I could just be content with what we had before and pretend none of this was happening…"

Your stomach twisted painfully. That was exactly what you had been thinking, the very reason you had pulled away from him and from whatever this was. You had ignored the fact that your feelings for Lando Norris had become something much stronger—maybe they had been there for far longer than you were willing to admit.

"Lando, listen" You tried to step closer, but he pulled away.

"No, Y/N, no," he said bitterly. "I tried convincing myself there was a reason you were ignoring me, acting like I was nothing to you, and then it hit me that I really want you as more than just someone to fuck."

"That…" you struggled to say, stepping toward him. This time, Lando didn’t stop you. The sincerity in your eyes, the way you looked both calm and nervous at the same time, made him realize he had to trust his instincts. And that was exactly what they were telling him.

"That’s what I wanted to tell you," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, but Lando still heard you. "That’s why I kept you on standby for two weeks… I knew this would change everything, that you’d react badly, that we’d end up fighting, and I… I didn’t know how to face the possibility of you rejecting… this."

Lando stared at you in surprise before a sad smile crept onto his lips.

"Y/N… I’ve always been good at reading signals, but this has been driving me fucking crazy."

"And you think it’s not been making me feel the same?" you shot back, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders.

Lando stepped closer, taking your hands in his. You didn’t resist, feeling how the both of you tensed at the contact. His lips inched toward yours, and when they finally met, the kiss was so fierce, so full of passion, that you ended up straddling him on the couch, moving against him, desperate to feel him. Even though you both knew there was still a race in two hours.

"I don’t want to touch you like this, Y/N," Norris whispered against your ear as you left small bites along his neck. "Y/N, stop it babe…"

"I don’t wanna be just another ex-love to you, Lando…" you murmured between kisses, still searching for friction between your bodies.

"And I don’t wanna miss you like your other lovers do, babe…"

This time, Lando gripped your waist firmly, flipping you onto the couch beneath him. His eyes never left yours as he carefully lifted your shirt and started massaging your breasts over your bra.

"I wanna be your end game, Y/N," Lando breathed, unable to tear his gaze away from you.

Your breath came out in shallow pants, and you felt like you were teetering on the edge. Your hands gripped the unfastened gear around his waist, tugging lightly to keep him close.

"Then prove it."

"I have a race in two hours, love…" he murmured, his voice rough as he pressed his forehead to yours, his arousal growing.

"Then you better be quick," you teased, running your hands over his abs beneath the fireproof. "Especially if you don’t want Osc to hear us…"

"You’re gonna be the death of me one day, Y/N Piastri," Lando groaned as he trailed his fingers up your thighs, lowering himself before you. "Now, open your legs for me... You deserve a punishment after being such a bad, bad girl these past few days…"

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swordgrace · 10 months ago

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𝐀𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐘.

༺ aemond targaryen x fem!reader.

SYNOPSIS: in the aftermath of rook’s rest, you seek aemond out to inquire about his wellbeing. instead, you find him somewhere else — somewhere unexpected. (set after S2 EP4).

༺ FORMAT: one-shot — not requested.

༺ WORD COUNT: 5.2K.

༺ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni) , spoilers for s2 ep4, public sex / risk of getting caught, knifeplay, imbalance of power, rough sex, darkish!aemond, dom!aemond, p in v sex (unprotected), oral (f!receiving), fingering, brief tiddy sucking, groping, biting / marking, hair pulling, choking, fucking right in front of the iron throne, inaccurate high valyrian, brief dirty talk, lots of aemond’s inner thoughts, breeding kink if you squint, aemond is extremely possessive of the reader to an unhealthy degree.

༺ AUTHOR’S NOTE: to preface, I am working on requests, this just happened to make its way out of my brain before anything else did. This was inspired by the single shot of Aemond standing in front of the Iron Throne in the S2 EP5 trailer, you can tell how desperate I got as soon as I saw it. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy! There will be a Jace fic dropping tomorrow, too! ❤️

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐄 — a seat of power constructed by Aegon the Conqueror in the aftermath of a bloodied war, forged from thousands of surrendered swords.

In the days of Aegon the Conqueror, it was said that the Throne was sometimes too high to climb, a jagged labyrinth of blades melded by dragon’s fire, a throne fit for any ruler. Men impaled themselves upon one another’s blades for it, turned against one another, endless betrayals and treacheries ensued all for the sake of the endgame, to see themselves upon the Throne.

Brother turned against brother — you didn’t expect anything less from Aemond, whose desire to exact revenge boiled just beneath the surface. The Battle at Rook’s Rest had proved a slaughter on all fronts, between the decimation of both Cole’s armies and the castle they laid siege upon, to the death of the Princess Rhaenys and her dragon, Melys.

Whispers spread through the Red Keep in regards to King Aegon’s condition, bones crushed beneath the weight of Sunfyre, who plummeted from the skies in a ball of fire. His flesh was scorched, half of his body melded to the Valyrian Steel armor he wore, burnt beyond recognition.

If they were to be believed, King Aegon was gravely wounded — and if a fatality ensued, who would then bear the mantle of King?

A restless dusk gripped King’s Landing as the surviving soldiers from Cole’s armies arrived at the city gates, King Aegon amongst the wounded. In what you considered to be a mass panic and hysteria, Maesters rushed to diligently attend to their King, who seemed to be meeting a simmering grave inside of his armor — it would be his tomb if they weren’t careful.

Merely a handmaiden and servant to nobility, the antics of your masters didn’t interest you — you were wholly preoccupied with your own survival and self-preservation, amongst other things. It was said that Aemond and Vhagar had swarmed the battlefield and come to King Aegon’s defense, but by the time they had, Aegon had been swallowed by dragonfire.

Part of you had difficulty believing that Aemond truly attempted to save his elder brother, given Aemond’s embittered sentiments. Your relationship with the Prince had transcended all bonds of propriety — and if anyone were to find out, they would likely have your head for sullying his virtue.

Nevertheless, as chaos swarmed around you, you knew exactly who to seek out. Queen Alicent had little desire to be hounded by handmaidens while her eldest son struggled to hang onto his own life, something you could understand. Instead, you made for Aemond’s chambers, the route embedded into your mind.

You sought him — all of him. His lilac hue, a maelstrom of forlorn emotions, and his silvery tresses, like cascading silk, embedded themselves into your mind. His cunning countenance and beguiled expression were like hot-iron brands cast onto your thoughts, tormenting you with each waking moment.

As you stepped closer to the Throne Room, no longer guarded by Kingsguard, you saw the great door ajar — no King atop the throne. You wondered if he would live, Aegon — a drunken, broken man who preferred his cups and whores over ruling — or if he would perish.

You knew who would sit the Iron Throne, should Aegon fall.

A heavy darkness had befallen the throne room, fitting for the many tragedies, like the gloom of a shadow haunting all who dared to enter. Curiosity gripped you as you stepped inside, a place well above your station, yet you wondered if there was anyone inside.

The doors remained shut, save for the one you slipped through, the gap slim. Flickering braziers provided some illumination to such a grandeur hall, but it seemed so dour and lifeless without the presence of the day, without subjects fluttering in and out. Instead, it provided an ominous sense of dread, as if luring those inside with dark omens and false promises.

A familiar crown of silvery tresses stood at the very center, before the throne — he didn’t need to turn around for you to know who it was. He seemed entirely unscathed by the battle at Rook’s Rest, hands carefully folded behind his back, posture poised and dignified.

Aegon’s dagger flashed within his right hand, clutched tightly at his side. You wondered how he had acquired the blade so swiftly after a tragedy — but you knew. You had always known of Aemond’s nature, of his restrained resentment towards his brother, the King of the Seven Kingdoms.

“Aemond.” Your voice reverberated throughout the throne room, carrying a fair distance as you closed the door behind you. The studded mahogany groaned in protest, yet bent to your will as it closed with a noisy thud. Admittedly, you were surprised to see him here, and not in the comfort of his chambers.

He didn’t move, rigid and still as you quietly approached, dresses sweeping across the smooth stone beneath you. His violet hues remained transfixed upon the Iron Throne, a throne that would soon be his, if fate favored him. So many swords, so much strife and conflict that forged such a chair — so much bloodshed.

Aemond often wondered what the weight of the crown would feel like upon his brow — and even then, he knew he would wear it better than Aegon ever could. He had stood by the wayside for far too long, learned in his studies and a talented swordsman, wondering if it would all have some reward, some payoff.

Now, his opportunity was swiftly approaching.

Whatever anger he’d often kept leashed, it had struck out, like the bite of a poisonous viper, sinking into its prey with all its bitter viciousness. It was the same tempestuous rage that had lashed at Lucerys Velaryon, and now it had struck his brother, Aegon the Magnanimous.

A stupid sobriquet for a stupid man — a drunken fool. Aemond would simply pass it off as an unfortunate accident, with Aegon carelessly stepping into the line of fire whilst tangling with the Queen Who Never Was. Swift decisions had to be made on his part, his brother a victim of such action.

Any silver-tongued words that would placate his Mother, he was prepared to let them fly. Aemond knew enough to know that the consequences would be slim, and those of true action and cruel intentions would take Aegon’s place — men like himself.

Soft footfalls fell across black stone, and you called his name again, like a siren’s song luring the sailor into deeper waters. “Aemond.” It was saccharine, dripping with genuine warmth that the Prince was simply unaccustomed to.

The unexpected lull of your voice broke his fixation, and he looked to you with a gaze full of desire. It was a farcry from the frustrated, despondent man you’d encountered days prior following the incident at the brothel. There was a newfound fire within his eyes, a confidence restored — a sense of triumph.

Admittedly, you were rather perplexed by this invigorated side to Aemond — that wild gleam within his lilac eye only seemed to grow in intensity as you approached him. “I heard the news of what happened to your brother,” You began, pondering his reaction. “You have my deepest sympathies.”

The admiration he had for you only seemed to blossom, knowing that you were simply keeping up appearances for his sake. Aemond’s mouth tilted into the ghost of a smirk, feigning melancholy despite the truth of his own actions. “It was a horrible thing, what happened to the King,” He uttered, glancing toward the throne. “I wish for his swift recovery.”

A facade was a mere understatement — you could almost taste the smug bemusement that rested within Aemond’s tone. The slight quirk of his mouth, the manner in which he spoke — his sympathies for Aegon were nonexistent.

“As any good brother would.” You replied, stepping closer until you stood before the Iron Throne, gaze falling upon the thousands of swords swarming the seat, blades of many shapes and sizes. You wondered about the people behind each sword — who swung it, what their lives must’ve been like.

A brief hum escaped Aemond, who observed you hawkishly as you approached, violet hue greedily drinking you in as he had many times before. You had stood so faithfully by his side, never admonished him for the brash actions taken against his family, never deemed him pathetic for what happened at the brothel.

He cared little for your station, little for your status as a lowborn — if he sat the Iron Throne, he could have whatever he wanted. It didn’t matter if you were a commoner, Aemond could envision you as his wife, a Queen — no longer bowing to the whims of greater men and women who cared little for you.

“Did my Mother dismiss you this evening?” Aemond questioned, digits tense around the pommel of Aegon’s knife — now his. Seeing as he was no longer fit to carry the weapon, it was only just that it pass to his brother, his next of kin.

“She did,” A gentle exhale escaped you, one that allowed you to maintain your composure. Being in Aemond’s presence seemed to make you dizzy with desire with each passing moment — not a new sentiment, but an intoxicating one. “I was coming to find you, to see if you were well after the battle.”

Shamelessly, Aemond became quite aroused at the thought of you wandering about the Red Keep with the single-minded desire to see him. His blood ran hot after the battle — the surge of adrenaline did not lessen in your presence.

His jaw tensed slightly as he appraised you, taking a step closer, brazenly closing the distance between you both. He could smell your perfume, the warm bouquet of flowers and a touch of honey. “How thoughtful.” His voice dropped to a low purr, dripping with the first inklings of lust.

Your breath hitched, words turning to ash upon your tongue as your fingers curled into your dress. Aemond enticed you in ways that no man had before — and he saw you, a woman beneath the gowns of a servant. The hammering of your heart within your chest had stirred something powerful — your want for him consumed you like a tidal wave.

Before you could utter his name, he descended like a starving wolf to kiss you, open-mouthed and bleeding lust. You shivered, wanting to coax him into returning to his chambers before things became heated. His hand dropped to seize your hip, hauling you closer to him until no space was left between your bodies.

You reciprocated his kiss, able to hear a faint growl of approval building up within his throat. It was fiery and hot, with little concern of who might see you. Aemond was growing emboldened, brazen knowing the power he now held within his grasp.

“We should return to your quarters,” You whispered, a strained whimper tearing past your lips as Aemond kissed your jaw, sucking at the flesh of your neck. “Aemond, we can’t — not here.” Your breathy pleas fell upon deaf ears — what better place to claim you than before his new throne?

“We can,” Aemond murmured, pushing your tresses aside as he claimed your throat, laying waste to your flesh in his rabid kisses and hungry bites. “The rest of the Keep is preoccupied.” His reassurance was threadbare at best, but you were beginning to slip off of the deep end, fingers clawing at his tunic.

“What if someone sees?” Fear trickled into your voice, a subtle fright that Aemond found to be enticing. You worried for your own skin — he could understand that. A moan escaped you as Aemond nipped at your jugular, squeezing at your hips.

You failed to comprehend that he would protect you, shield you if needed. He did not need to justify his obsession for you, just as Aegon never offered any justification for his nightly whore hunts. Aemond seemed quick to soothe your worry, hand clasping at the nape of your neck.

“Then I will have their head,” His delectable purr dropped an octave, scratching the itch within your head. “You needn’t worry, ñuha dōna. I can do whatever I wish.” Aemond assured you, a great fire burning within his lilac hue. The leather of his eyepatch concealed the listless sapphire beneath.

He only needed to serve himself — his family cared little for him, and the world was often against him. He looked forward to facing Daemon whenever the time came, should he be bold enough to challenge him. Aemond dismissed it all — Aegon, his mother, Criston Cole — the only thing that mattered were the both of you.

Aemond’s streak of possessiveness had grown into something uncontrollable, a festering desire to keep you close, spiraling into obsession. You were many things to him, many things he coveted for himself.

After a moment of hesitation, you decided to make things tempting for Aemond, loosening the bodice of your dress. His breath hitched, the noise subtle if one wasn’t observant enough. He seized the back of your head once more, hungrily pressing his lips to yours, consuming you in another heated kiss.

A dour portrait of dusk hovers around the Red Keep, its shadowy tendrils slinking into the throne room. Only moonlight and dying braziers are your guide, and Aemond is at his prettiest whenever he’s touched by the silvery rays. It strikes his narrow visage, paints his silky tresses in pale light.

He is closer to a god now than he is a man — fortunately, you were willing to return to religion if it meant that Aemond was who you worshiped. As much as you liked to believe it was the foundation of your relationship, he thought of it alternatively, the roles reversed.

Your digits slip beneath the overcoat he wore, marred by speckled dirt and brimstone. His broad, sinewy shoulders are concealed by his tunic, and he seems vastly overdressed compared to you, still wearing your servant’s clothes. Aemond had gotten you a dress to wear with him before — you never wore it otherwise.

There is a certain intensity in the way he kisses you, as if each embrace might be your last. In the aftermath of a battle, you understand such sentiments, given the fate of the King and the Princess Rhaenys.

A growl reverberates within the depths of his throat as he pries his mouth away from you, gesturing toward the flight of obsidian steps that ascend toward the Iron Throne. “There,” He uttered, more of a command than a suggestion. “Lay down.”

A shudder rolls down the length of your spine, followed by an onslaught of goosebumps that snake across your flesh like a fever. Your stomach churned with anticipation, filling with the sensation of sloshing heat, burning brighter as each moment passed.

Without question, you step toward the throne, noticing the sharpness of some blades, the dullness of others. You find your footing upon the last step, feeling Aemond stalk closer. The rustling of his belt makes you shiver, only to find the steely chill of the Conqueror’s knife pressed against the dip between your shoulder and neck.

Aemond closes in behind you, caging you against his chest, like a predator swarming hapless prey. His narrow nose brushed along your soft tresses as he dragged the tip of the knife from your shoulder to ribcage. “Shall I cut this from you?” He uttered, digging the Valyrian steel into the fabric of your dress.

Swallowing the growing lump within your throat, you brace yourself for the bite of the knife, for the unruly tear of fabric, but it never comes. Instead, Aemond’s mouth pressed vigorous kisses against your neck, hand seizing you by the throat.

“Ao sytilībagon naejot nyke.” Aemond purred, feeling you turn within his grasp. Desire oozed between you both, an onslaught of carnality soon to follow. His lilac hue flickered over your countenance, drinking in your beauty with unrestrained rapture. You belong to me.

From what little High Valyrian you’d learned in the time you’ve been with Aemond, you strung enough of the sentence together to know what he meant. “Iksan aōhon.” A soft whimper emerged from between your parted lips, noticing the way his pupil dilated with amorous intent.

I am yours.

A flame of obsession roared within his gaze, enough to burn you alive where you stood. Aemond reveled in your submission to him, drank in your devotion — a devotion that would prove fruitful, should he ascend the throne. The tip of the knife prodded into your sternum, and you absentmindedly leaned forward.

Aemond captured your mouth once more, laying claim to you — his paramour. There was nothing sweeter than your desperate mewls and reciprocated passion, the succor of your mouth, the saccharine scent of your perfume.

The both of you descended to the floor, icy and stony as it prodded into your back. He knelt between your legs, gaze momentarily flickering between the shadow of the Iron Throne and your mesmerized visage. Aemond kissed you again, nipping at your lower lip before rucking up your skirts, pushing them toward your hips.

With one knee, he bullied his way in between your thighs, breaths heavier, wrought with anticipation as he lowered his mouth to your collarbone. In one smooth tug, he loosened your bodice, wrestling with the coarse material as he buried his face into your silky skin.

The throes of passion filled the air — short gasps and labored pants accompanied by the constant shuffling of fabric. “Aemond,” You moaned, watching as he bit the leather of his glove, removing the garment in one jerk of his head. Flesh to flesh, he moved to drag his digits along your weeping slit. “Aemond.” Urgency crept into your voice, strung-out by need.

“Hm,” His cajoling hum sent shivers down your spine, heat sloshing around within your stomach. Arousal pooled between your thighs, nectar sticky and gathering swiftly. “What a delicious gift you’ve given me.” Aemond uttered, slender digits continuing to stroke at your cunt, his pace agonizingly slow.

Lifting his fingers to his lips, he let them rest upon his tongue, gathering your juices to taste. A satisfied grunt of approval escaped him, one that made you meld into the floor. It was an uncomfortable surface, yet any thought of discomfort dissipated the moment Aemond’s lips pressed against the inside of your knee.

Instinctively, your hands flew toward his crown of silken tresses, digging in with an ironclad hold. Aemond released a low hiss of satisfaction, pressing hot kisses along the inside of your thigh. He dipped lower, breath fanning across your cunt.

His tongue raked hot embers across your aching core, delivering a series of deliberate strokes that were sure to make you squirm. Aemond preferred to savor you, consuming every drop of your nectar as if it were the finest of wines.

“Aemond!” Your voice rose above the cacophony of lewd noises ensuing below, noisy enough to reverberate throughout the throne room. It worried you, the potential of someone finding you with the Prince-Regent between your legs, but pleasure began to outweigh logic.

His name felt sweet from your mouth — if Aemond had it his way, he would make you say it a thousand times over. The sharp bridge of his nose buried itself into your mound, cock twitching within the leather of his breeches.

Another breathy moan left you, stomach pooling with a rush of molten heat. It oozed between your legs as your arousal fell upon the Prince’s tongue, much to his delight. He did not waste a drop, mouth traveling wherever he pleased, lapping at every inch of your cunt.

The Iron Throne overshadowed the both of you, a jagged mess of swords surrounded by dusk. Slats of moonlight trickled in from the stained glass above, falling across his visage, violet hue sparkling with lust. His lips greedily kissed at your clit, causing your hips to lurch forward.

“Look at me.” A pointed demand spoken from an edged tongue, one that commanded your attention without wavering. With a strangled moan, you turned your head to him, furthering the fire within your belly. Your doe-eyed stare locked onto him, lips falling apart.

As your eyes flickered over his poised features, your hand tightened within his tresses, coaxing him closer toward the apex of your thighs. Aemond wasn’t sly at suppressing the delight he felt in that moment, greedily lapping at your cunt.

You watched, enthralled by the ministrations of his mouth, the flick of his tongue, the tantalizing efforts made to draw you back in. His features were carved like marble, by the steady hand of a sculptor — godly, in the best way possible.

Aemond hoped that your blissful cries would alert the guards — perhaps, all could bear witness to his carnal delights, know that you belonged to him and him alone. His lips crawled to a sluggish pace, made only to torment you as he peppered feather-light kisses against your clit. The lack of pressure nearly made you wretch, digits curling into a fist.

Every fiber of your being felt as if it had been set ablaze, washed within the fires of his affection. He knew your body well, as well as he knew his own, tongue dipping to have a taste of your core as it lightly jutted against your entrance. You whimpered, the noise pathetic and pitiful, yet overwhelmingly eager.

“Please,” You moaned, breathy and clawing for some shred of release, canting your hips forward. Aemond retreated, just enough to leave you writing upon the steps before a sly chuckle reverberated between your thighs. His torture of you was playful and intimate, intended to make you beg. “Please, Aemond!”

How could he deny you when you sounded so sweet?

With a soft hum, Aemond returned to devour your cunt, drink from the nectar that oozed between your legs. His hands situated themselves against your thighs, nails digging in enough to leave behind traces of angered crescent marks.

The heat between your legs intensified, arousal stinging your bones, body bent underneath Aemond’s will as he lapped at your core. His lips were accompanied by his spindly digits as two fingers prodded at your entrance, feeling the crescendo of your whimpers before sinking themselves into your tight cunt.

Squelching intermingled with that of brazen pants and your myriad of moans, a cacophony of lust that permeated the throne room. It felt sinful, to defile the steps of a seat of power, but that shame swiftly contorted into bliss — it felt good.

It felt good to be desired, for Aemond to feel not an ounce of regret or remorse for being with you or for the carnage his actions wrought. The darkness that festered within his eye only grew, once a flickering shade, now growing into something sprawling.

At last, his lips pursed around your clit, stimulating that sensitive clutch of nerves. Your back arched from the stone, thighs rattling like falling leaves as he brought about your ruin. His digits viciously pumped in and out of your cunt, preparing you for the act that was to follow.

His tongue lashed across his lower lip, not wasting a drop of what sweetness you provided him with. Aemond’s mouth hastily abandoned your cunt, yet the curling of his fingers seemed to make up for the loss of pleasure. You felt his wet lips purse around the pebbled peak of your breast, suckling like a greedy babe.

Aemond’s senses drowned in desire, cock throbbing within his trousers, desperate to be inside of you. It wouldn’t be much longer now as he bit and kissed your chest, letting the work manifest as love bites, evidence of his carnal want for you.

“I need you, Aemond. I need you inside of me.” The suddenness of your words left him reeling, a snarl stirring within his chest as his teeth gnashed into the soft flesh between your breasts. You longed to feel his cock lay waste to your cunt, for him to fuck away his anger, his frustration.

Hastily, his hand flew to the ties of his breeches, loosening the threads of leather. You grabbed the front of his tunic, enough to effectively grab his attention as you pulled him in for a hot kiss. Passion bled through, and you could taste yourself upon his tongue as it danced with yours.

The warmth of his cockhead prodded against your folds, already slick with your cum and his own. It was messy, an entanglement born of desire, of the will to possess one another — a claim eternal. Aemond’s hand snaked toward your hip, the other keeping himself afloat before he snapped forward.

His cock invaded your cunt without any sluggishness to it, the deliberation gone entirely. A wild shimmer glistened within his eye, a domineering edge that seemed to wrestle with itself. Aemond wanted to submit to you, but in the wake of Rook’s Rest, adrenaline and a desire for power simply wouldn’t allow it.

As he fucked you like a hound, as Aegon had colorfully put it, Aemond could see you seated beside him, a crown upon your brow, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. A commoner, crawled from dirt and from nothing, into his arms — into a seat of power that none would dare challenge.

Fantasy consumed him, making him mad with lust. He wanted to crawl beneath your flesh, reside there, hear your heart hammering within your breast. He seemed pleasantly surprised when you claimed his mouth, your tongue advancing past his parted lips.

With your skirts having fallen to the swell of your hips, you hitched one leg around him, hand clawing at his back, between his shoulders. “Aemond,” You moaned, overwhelmed by his barrage of erratic thrusts. His stamina was something to witness as he kept a rather vigorous pace. “My King.”

A low growl stirred within his throat, a stark warning not to continue with your current line of thought. Aemond bit at your lower lip, prompting you to moan into his mouth, but you surprised him again when you reciprocated. Things were intense, far more fiery than they ever had been before.

Battle made him hot — such a sensation wasn’t aided by your presence, intensified tenfold. With Aegon wasting away inside of his chambers, steel melting into his flesh, swarmed by flocks of Maesters, Aemond felt no remorse — none at all as he fucked you before the Iron Throne.

He felt no remorse when he ordered Vhagar to burn his brother, he felt no remorse when he brought you into his bed — and he would feel no remorse when he ascended the throne and made you his Queen.

His cock furiously battered away at your cunt, the lewdness of flesh and intermingled breaths being the only sounds that mattered. That lilac hue of his studied your countenance, the devotion and rapture that rest upon it, your complete and utter joy. Aemond had been blessed with the loveliest creature — you.

The stretch you felt as Aemond invaded your nethers was a pleasant one, your walls tight around his length as he continued to fuck you. Face to face, chest to chest — there was no room left for deception, nowhere left to turn to. With a groan, Aemond kissed you yet again.

“Kesan mazverdagon ao ñuha dāria.” I will make you my Queen; he growled into your ear, biting at the shell, the act enough to make you whimper. He filled your cunt with his cock, the only one that it would ever take. In the heat of the moment, he bit at your neck, hand gripping your thigh so hard that it was bound to leave bruises.

Darkness swallowed the hallowed halls — braziers flickering out completely, leaving only moonlight. Even through the silvery haze, Aemond’s face remained a picture of living perfection, his brow creased with concentration.

The fervor of his pace began to slow, cock throbbing with an onslaught of arousal, one that flooded his body with waves of bliss. He wasn’t neglectful of your needs, swiftly placing a hand between your bodies, thumb rubbing circles around your clit.

Heavy footfalls of guardsmen resonated from outside of the sealed doors, a nightly patrol, prompting you to shiver from worry, but Aemond did not stop — and he wouldn’t. His blazing eye bared down upon you, glistening with the sheen of lust, of obsession, a man starved of the love and devotion he so desperately chased.

Your lips felt swollen, a byproduct of Aemond’s biting, of the many shared kisses that had turned into hunger. You were ravenous for him in ways that you had little knowledge of, scraping the surface of what desire truly meant.

Silky, pale tresses fell through your digits as you threaded them within his hair, gripping it in fistfuls as you continued to kiss him until every wisp of air was stolen from your lungs. Aemond did not relent, continuing to adopt a rhythmic pace of fucking you, cock halfway out before he thrust forward again and again.

As the both of you approached the precipice, falling into a white-hot abyss, you could hear him murmuring something in High Valyrian, strings of sweet praises and compliments. His thumb continued to circle your clit even after you had your release, milking his cock with an onslaught of your nectar.

Aemond grunted, forehead nudging against yours as he snapped forward one final time, cock sheathed inside of you as he found a warm place to spill his seed. The recklessness of it was of little consequence to him — an herbal tea could remedy it, yet the thought of filling you with an heir became tantalizing.

Not yet — not now.

If his seed were to take, it would sow discord across his house, and there was enough of that already. Aemond huffed, gathering his composure as your whimpers dwindled into soft pants. His claws sank so deep into you, talons wrenched into your heart, your body, everything.

He placed a kiss upon your brow, a subtle gesture that reminded you of his lingering duality. Aemond pulled himself out of you with an onslaught of stickiness, a mess that would only be remedied by a long soak in the bath — something he would need you for.

Your chest felt tight, both from exhilaration and the intensity of it all. As you adjusted your skirts back into place, Aemond gently coaxed you to your feet, pressed close against you as he stared at the throne. “Perhaps, once I ascend, we will have to make use of the throne.” His salacious purr made you shudder.

“There is no law forbidding us from acting upon that now,” You challenged, and Aemond had to restrain himself from acting upon such a lascivious impulse. For as coy as you could be, you were just as lustful as he was at times, a quality that he greatly adored. “Your Grace.”

As much as the teasing title seemed to provoke him, Aemond grabbed your hips, lips twitching into his familiar smirk, a near-permanent expression. “Aemond,” He corrected, pressing a kiss against your jaw. “For now, I will need assistance with drawing a bath.”

The Throne’s harrowing shape cast its shadow as the both of you abandoned the dark halls and into the light of Aemond’s chambers.

copyright @ swordgrace ; please do not attempt to steal or translate my works onto other platforms or claim it as your own.

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x y/n #hotd x reader #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd smut #hotd fanfic

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high-dragon-bait · 6 months ago

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The following post contains MAJOR ENDGAME SPOILERS

Major endgame spoilers incoming!

Last warning!

Okay!

If there was one scene I wish we could see, it would be the aftermath immediately after Rook is taken into the fade by Solas.

Davrin or Harding are dead. Bellara or Neve are gone. And the remaining team members watch Rook just disappear into nothing, and there's five of them left in the rubble. And it's all so quiet

How long did that quiet last? Before Taash finally broke it with a shaking "What the fuck just happened?" Who was the first one to scream for Rook? Davrin? Harding? Emmrich? Neve? Bellara? Taash? Lucanis? Whoever it was had to be dragged away. They wouldn't stop looking. They weren't dead. Dammit, Rook isn't dead.

And Taash or Lucanis looked for Lace and Davrin too, despite what they all saw, what they all know. They looked and looked and looked and there was nothing left.

I just wanna see how that went down. I wanna know what they said

#dragon age #veilguard #veilguard spoilers #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age the veilguard spoilers #dragon age spoilers

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kyri45 · 8 months ago

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ISAT Sky: Cotl!AU!

No update today! But I wanted to do a redraw of my very first ISAT Sky: Cotl!AU post that I did back this May with some additional notes. Boy I did not know how to draw Sif at all.

This is also a small callout: We are now slowly reaching the endgame part of the AU. If you never played either Sky: Children of the Light or In Stars and Time and you DON'T want to be spoiled, this is your last warning. From now on, there will be major spoiler from both games!

Also, if you could share the story (even in other socials) I would really appreciate it! I would like for all of us to be there for the ending together :D

#kyri45 #my art #spoiler #fanart #isat siffrin #isat fanart #sky cotl #in stars and time #isat sky cotl au #isat sky au #in stars and time siffrin #sky cotl au #isat au

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limethefirst · 3 days ago

Text

When You're Gone

pairings: Thunderbolts* x teen!reader

warnings: major spoilers, reader has powers, reader has a form of ptsd from the events of endgame, slighttt survivors guilt, mentions of suicide/committing (in the void), angst but it turns into found family, honestly pretty long fic (3k+ words)

summary: being the youngest ex-avenger was weird, it's even weirder being grouped up with a bunch of misfits to save new york and take down the director of the cia

a/n: just watched thunderbolts and gawdddd, because the timeline in the mcu no longer matches our timeline, i imagine reader is in their late teens, early 20's, but no age is mentioned, so go wild. this is a very heavy topic to write and i'm not taking it lightly, the only mention of any type of self harm is when reader is in the void so please take that into account, love you all (this is cross posted on my ao3, Maaaak95, my only acc ty)

New York was never peaceful, maybe that's why it was called the city that never sleeps.

Leaving New York was something you'd considered for a while, it was crime ridden, constantly under attack by aliens, in need of every hero it could get. That's actually why you chose to stay.

Somewhere in that brain of yours, it was engraved, by Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, everyone you'd once fought with to save the world. It was engraved in you, that if you had the means, you had to fight, because who will protect the little guy?

So, there you stayed, but moments like this made you, slightly, regret your choice.

"How did you even get this number?!" Your expression was exasperated, to say the least. Bucky Barnes- pardon, Congressman, Bucky Barnes, was on the other end of the line.

Somehow he'd gotten your number, most likely from Sam at some point, and was telling you to suit up.

As if you haven't already been suited up daily, protecting New York from minor threats. Which was strange, considering only four years ago, you'd gone against Thanos.

It was weird, going from fighting against a God-like being, to stopping a petty thief from holding a gun against your favorite corner store clerk.

A grumble came from the other end of the phone, Bucky sounded tired, then again he always sounded tired, at least you assumed so from the brief meetings the two of you have had.

"Doesn't matter, listen," He paused, you swore you could hear some weird chattering in the back, "I'm going to be in New York in a few hours, be ready to fight."

"You?"

"No," That was disappointing, it would've been fun to fight him.

"Aw."

"Don't 'aw' me, this is serious, I know you patrol the area. I need, help, with a problem." He slightly hesitated when he asked for help. Bucky was a capable man, that much you knew, if he needed help then this must've been important.

You let out a small sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose, "Okay.. just text me when you arrive, I'll be ready."

With that you hung up, quickly changing the new number that was in your phone to 'Bucky Barnes'. Welp, now you had the number of another person from your unpleasant past.

It wasn't that you hated being an Avenger, hell, you technically never became one. You were just destined to become one. But that day never came.

Gifted, blessed, abnormal, savior. Words needlessly passed around during your childhood, all because of the strange power you possessed. A form of light manipulation. It wasn't overpowered, it was cool though.

Being able to create forms of light, alter it, change the trajectory, even make beams that harnessed the heat of the light. Something better than nothing, something that caught the eye of the infamous Tony Stark.

You never exactly got time to bond with them all, well, you were a kid when you accidentally demonstrated your powers in a public setting. The ol' parents weren't fond of that, so when Tony decided to help, seeing you as a future Avenger, they didn't pass up the opportunity to essentially hand you off.

You trained a bit, met some cool people, had a family for a short while, then they split, then they lost half the population, brought it back, half died, half survived. And for a while, you were alone again.

Some of the remaining Avengers checked in, hardly, but maybe it was the effort that counted?

An hour or so had passed before you got your next text, Bucky was finally in the city. He asked you to meet him by.. the old Avengers tower? You lived there only for a brief time. Hardly a few months, because after what happened between Stark and Rogers, Tony couldn't bear to continue to keep the tower.

You don't remember it very well, you were young and still getting used to being trained by hero's.

Shaking your head, you left, making the quick trip to the old tower.

There seemed to be soldiers inside, so you waited. Not for long of course, when suddenly a truck crashed right through the doors of the building.

Pushing yourself off the wall you quickly entered, seeing the man of the hour himself.

"Bucky?" Your voice cut through the commotion, the older man turned. His body now facing you.

He gave a curt nod, "Hey there, kid, no time no see."

You couldn't help but let out a snort at his words, even if you were never close to him, God it felt good to talk to someone with some kind of connection to who you used to be.

"Time hasn't been kind to you, Barnes, you look tired,"

He smirked, through all the stress it was nice to see the kid he once fought next to, grown, still seemingly protecting the people. Before he could respond a voice cut through the speaker of the lobby, a woman who you didn't know spoke.

Something about her having left the door unlocked for them. Whatever, the doors were broken now anyway.

With that, the group headed to the elevator, Bucky ushered everyone in.

You stepped in, looking at the group.

The elevator started its awkward ascent, "Hello there," A woman with a Russian accent spoke, "You must be the person Barnes was calling earlier." She stated, looking you up and down.

"Oh yea, that was me." You gave a small nod, leaning against the railing, offering your name.

"Ahh," The Russian woman said with a nod, "Yelena," She pointed to herself, then the man next to Bucky, "John Walker, Ava Starr, Alexei."

Just as she finished, Alexei interrupted, "You are quite young!" It sounded more like a statement than a question, "Why does the Soldier bring you along, little one?"

"He's not wrong, you look pretty young." Ava chimes before you can answer.

You sigh, not really wanting to divulge into the details, "I'm someone from his past,"

"That's not vague at all," John rolls his eyes, gripping his shield tightly.

Bucky gives him a small glare, you're unsure if it's on your behalf or there is some unsolved beef between the two, "It's almost like that was the idea!" You said with a sarcastic tone, "I'm just someone with certain capabilities, let's leave it there."

"Ah ah! Now I remember where I've heard of you!" Yelena smiles, not a real smile, more of a know it all grin, "You were one of those heroes who fought against Thanos, no?" She asks, causing everyone else to look either at Bucky or you.

You internally groaned at that, "Yea.. yea I fought against Thanos." Geez, was it just you or was this the longest elevator ride you've ever been on. Curse Tony for making his old building so tall.

"We both did, she's an old friend, and she's here to help, so don't antagonize her." Bucky told everyone, but it looked like he was looking mostly at Alexei and John.

Of course, Alexei didn't pay attention to Bucky, instead he put a hand on his belly while he laughed. He kinda looked like Santa, in a weird Russian way.

"Yes!" He pumped his fist into the air, "Now, we are a real team! The Thunderbolts will be unstoppable!" He exclaimed proudly, Yelena lowered her face into her hands in slight embarrassment.

"Oh my god, do not get started on this again."

You raised a confused brow, "What's the Thunderbolts?" You asked.

"Yelena's old soccer team! The West Chesapeake Bay Thunderbolts!"

Yelena just groaned loudly, "Okay, dad, we get it."

A small chuckle escaped your lips, it was nice, the dynamic at least. You'd been alone ever since the events with Thanos ended, so being able to be part of a team, even if for a fleeting moment was, homey.

All moments end though, and this one would end sooner than later, because once those elevator doors opened, everything became a quick blur.

It all went wrong pretty quick.

There was a moment that Yelena paused, as a man named Bob, -well apparently Sentry- descended the staircase. He had blonde hair and a strange yellow suit.

Ava commented on his hair, and he seemed more self aware after that. In the blink of an eye, everyone attacked. Or, at least tried.

He was so strong, for a moment you felt scared. Not because of the fact this guy could probably kill you with a flick of the wrist, but because he reminded you of that damn purple giant, the one who took away the future you could've had.

It felt like Thanos all over again, as dumb as it sounded. You saw Tony's body, you remember hearing what happened to Nat, remember the feeling of standing there as Steve explained on that bench that he lived a full life in the past.

You couldn't hesitate though, quickly using your powers to try and blind Sentry giving Bucky an opening to attack.

It was pointless.

He made quick work of you six, tossing you aside like a rag doll. Not even your powers, which were the only thing you had left worked. No matter how many beams you used, the deflected, in fact, they hit you. Pushing you back against the wall.

You spit out some blood, trying to get up, but Ava put her hand on your shoulder, shaking her head.

Both of you looked at the rest of the group, each one beaten and bruised. John's shield was bent in half, this guy means business.

Bucky was the last one standing, he tried to land a punch but Sentry discarded him with ease. He ripped off his arm, knocking him out with it and tossing, along with Bucky next to you.

Your eyes widened as Ava grabbed your shoulder, along with Bucky's arm, pulling you with her towards the elevator.

Alexei and John quickly grabbed Bucky, Yelena scurried up as well, joining you and everyone else.

The ride down was tense, your breathing felt heavy, your hands clutched to your chest. You've dealt with terrible things, maybe worse? You couldn't tell at the moment, it all felt like it was crashing down on you.

Turning to the side, you saw everyone else. Everyone was utterly defeated, John was trying to fix his shield. Alexei was quiet, for once. Ava still had a small reassuring hand on your shoulder. Yelena stared at the elevator door and Bucky was leaning against the wall with the assistance of Yelena.

There was a clear contrast from how you entered to how you left.

The elevator, that was filled with noise no longer than ten minutes ago, was now eerily still.

The ding let everyone know they'd reached the bottom, slowly making their way to the front of the building.

Ava finally let go of your shoulder, handing Bucky his arm.

There was talking but you weren't listening, the last time you felt defeated, a stupid purple man with a gauntlet had blipped half the universe away.

This wasn't the same, that was something you had to remind yourself of. You were not going to lose anyone else anymore. No, no, this was a corrupt CIA director using a man as a human experiment. Not the end of the world.

The feeling of someone's hand tapping your arm snapped you out of your daze.

Glancing towards the person, you saw Bucky, his arms crossed over his chest, a brow raised, "Kid, you okay?" Bucky was no idiot, he knew the signs of PTSD, the fear, anxiety. It was so plainly rolling off of you in waves.

You wanted to run away, scream, go back to that warm place you called home. But home wasn't a place, it was a fleeting memory. One that grew more blurred as the days passed by.

When you first met the Avengers, Tony brought you in, showed you around, then you met them all. Tony told you to 'put on a lightshow', honestly, it was stupid. A lightshow? Really? But you listened, because you were a kid who didn't know better.

It was a fun first day, you felt like you belonged somewhere.

"No," You shook your head as you responded to Bucky. He didn't push though, he could see in your eyes.

Instead he offered you a nod, patting your shoulder, "Okay." Bucky didn't know how to comfort people, at least not anymore. Maybe before the war, before his Winter Soldier days.

It was enough though, even if for a moment. He opened his mouth to speak, when suddenly you both noticed the way everyone had paused, looking up at the sky.

A shadowy figure floated above New York, you saw the helicopters closing in on it. But they began to spiral out of control, crashing into nearby buildings, causing debris to fall.

Neither Bucky, nor you wasted time, jumping into action. And it seemed you two weren't the only ones thinking that you saw them. The rest of the Thunderbolts jumped into action, helping protect people.

You saw a father running with his son in his arms, when a piece of cement made its way down, it was going to kill them.

Quickly you ran, raising your arms. Hands trained on the failing debris, a faint glow emitted, when suddenly it blasted, hitting the cemented building. It shattered, only smaller rubble fell, the bigger chunks luckily pushed to the side.

The man didn't stop running, but you could hear his grateful sobs as he held his son tightly against his chest.

You returned to the group, making sure everything was okay, when suddenly everyone clapped. Alexei looked ecstatic at that, his grin was proud.

It fell pretty quickly, as he saw a little girl standing right below another piece of the falling building, he rushed over to her. Using his body as a shield he saved the girls life.

At least he thought he did.

The girl became a shadow before your eyes. New York wasn't saved yet, as quickly as it became a rescue mission, it turned into an evacuation order.

You all ushered everyone inside nearby buildings, everyone but Yelena. Who stood before the void.

No one noticed before it was too late. Alexei yelled, both Bucky and John held him back. It wasn't two men holding back a Russian super soldier, no, it was two super soldiers holding back a father.

God, it was hard to watch, the remaining group rushed into an alleyway.

Ava proposed the idea of entering the void, to you, it sounded like a death wish. No one knew what was on the other side.

Actually, that was a lie.

Apparently John Walker knew. Of course he knew, he mentioned what happened when he first met Bob, the interaction that happened when he grabbed his hand.

It gave a vague idea that the void was a place where you relived your worst memories.

And if you wanted to save Yelena, and Bob. Then, dammit, you'd have to.

You all looked at each other, nodding, ready to let the void take you all.

Bucky gave you a quick glance, his expression held guilt, in the midst of trying to take down Valentina, he'd forgotten that he'd dragged you into this mess. To him, you were just a kid, no matter how old you were.

A kid who was raised with the idea that they had to be a hero, it was noble. Stupid, that's also what he thought it was.

He couldn't think about it for long though, because within a matter of seconds, the void had swallowed you all whole.

The Void either wanted to start off strong or you had a pristine line up of terrible memories to choose from.

The first thing you saw was you, standing next to an overflowing bathtub.

You could feel the wince you let out at the sight. This wasn't long after the battle with Thanos, when things were getting harder to deal with.

When the thoughts of how Tony should still be alive with his family, how Nat should've been at the Barton's annual Christmas party.

You tried to grab onto the past version that stood in front of the tub, but you couldn’t.

That person turned around, grabbing at your wrists and threw you against the wall with a hard crack.

Looking up you saw the same image again, it was repeating. This time you didn’t intervene. Instead you watched.

You knew you wouldn’t do anything, you were still here.

This past version of you fell to their knees. The tile floor was cold, and wet.

Instead of getting in, you only dunked in your head, screaming into the water.

A glimpse in the mirror caught your attention, it looked like, Yelena?

You quickly punched the bathroom mirror, shattering it and feeling how it sucked you into another memory.

One where you couldn’t save everyone.

This was a fairly recent memory, that’s why it felt more vivid, at least in your opinion.

New York was a big place, and even if you knew there were other heroes who could help, they also couldn’t be everywhere.

You had stopped a mugging, but not fast enough, not carefully enough. Someone had been shot.

You were careless and stupid and slow. Everything you thought you were taught not to be.

The paramedics were on the scene, your arms had blood, the woman’s blood.

She looked old enough to possible be a mother, maybe she had a partner at home, she was someone’s daughter, aunt, neighbor. And you let her die.

Maybe it would’ve been better if you took the bullet, because at least you wouldn’t have anyone truly worried about you.

The memory replayed, this time, you stepped in front of the gun, trying to save her.

But the trigger never went off, instead, she pushed you away, her face was sad, her frown killed you. Then she was killed.

The memory kept going on over and over, and for a moment, you were somewhere terrible.

You were in front of Tony Starks body, his side was burnt and he looked weak. There was a body in front of him.

You didn’t recognize him though, his face was almost blurred. He spoke the words over and over again , ‘Mr Stark, we did it,’ it was painful to hear.

Then, there she was again, Yelena, being strangled with Bob beside her.

You gritted your teeth. Forget these memories. They hurt like hell, but you had somehow prevailed, each time growing stronger because for some reason, you felt that this was your purpose.

You were still alive because you needed to help people, help them, help Yelena.

Within the blink of an eye you were in the same room as her, along with the rest of the Thunderbolts.

Each one looked confused, and slightly worried for the entire group.

You saw Bucky again, “You look like shit, Barnes,” You let out a shaky, relieved exhale.

“Well, you know my life was pretty good so no bad memories.” He joked, trying to lighten the mood. It wasn’t the best joke to make, but you smiled at the effort.

Ava also seemed to notice you, she had seemingly taken a liking to the youngest ex-Avenger, maybe because she knew the burdens of having powers growing up. Even if her experience was different.

With everyone back together, you all needed a plan of escape. Thankfully, Bob seemed more than ready to try and fight back against The Void.

Everyone began to rush through Bob’s memories, most were sad to see. Just from the small snippets, you could gather that his father was abusive, he was an addict, and he had some mental health issues.

Although it was funny to see Bucky punch a giant chicken.

Finally you all arrived at the last room, “I’ve been here before,” Yelena spoke, her eyes darting around.

In the middle of the room stood Void. His eyes held a faint glow and it was making you more nervous by the second.

Just as everyone got ready to charge, he lifted his hand, and pieces of metal had bound everyone against the walls.

John got it worst of all, his shoulder was impaled, he was stuck against the wall like that.

You tried to kick, get out of the metal bounds, but if three super soldiers couldn’t get out, you doubted you’d be able to.

Then they fought, Bob and his darker half.

The Void was taunting him,

“You thought you were gonna be some great man?” Void had kicked Bob to the ground, he stood tall. He paused before he continued again, “Some savior? You can’t even save yourself,”

Bob got up this time, but Void quickly put him down again, “We will always be alone.”

His words were painful, but Bob stood, and charged at him. Tackling him to the ground.

Yelena was struggling to breath a bit, Void had tied something around her neck, trying to egg Bob on, make him angry, accept the dark part of him.

He kept punching, over, and over.

Beating Void, but that was what he wanted. The shadows began to consume Bob, “Stop, Bob, stop it!” Yelena yelled, trying to get free.

Alexei used all his strength, lifting the metal off them enough to get Yelena out of the binds.

She ran as fast as she could to Bob, hugging him, “You’re not alone” she whispered.

And his punches slowed, but not enough, not yet.

Quickly the rest of you were able to get free, running over as well, all of you wrapped around Bob. As the Void lost.

You returned, all of you.

The shadow that engulfed New York began to retract itself.

Unfortunately Valentina was able to use this to her advantage. Debuting you six as the New Avengers.

Alexei actually thought AvengerZ was better.

It didn’t matter though, because at least this way you could keep that evil woman in check, and you kinda got a new family out of it.

For once in a long time, everything felt okay, you were going to be okay.

14 months had passed since then, you all lived in a new Compound together as a family. You still wonder what the old Avengers would’ve thought of you now.

Maybe they’d be proud, that you continued on, despite the pain. Or would’ve hated the idea of a new team of Avengers.

“Sam’s suing us for use of the Avengers name,” Bucky let out a low sigh, sitting down on the couch beside you.

A small laugh left you, before you stopped and realized his serious expression, “Wait, he can do that?”

Alexei laughed, as he still tried to sell Yelena and John on his new, ‘AvengerZ’ team sweaters.

Bucky walked over to Yelena, getting more info on the supposed unidentified ship nearing Earth.

Alexei gave you one of the sweaters as he argued with John about supposedly using Bob as some kind of rocket to launch them all into space. Safe to say Bob wasn’t amused.

“That sweater looks dumbs,” Ava smiles at you, taking Bucky’s empty seat beside you.

“Really? I think it’s growing on me.”

She just rolled her eyes at your words, “Don’t let Alexei hear, it’ll get to his head.”

With that, Ava gave you a light pat on the head.

This was nice, you were happy, even if your team was going through legal issues and was a weird set of characters. You wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Life with the New Avengers(Z) wouldn’t be so bad after all.

#mcu #marvel #x reader #thunderbolts #the new avengers #AvengerZ #james bucky buchanan barnes #Ava Starr #yelena belova #alexei shostakov #john walker #bob reynolds #sentry #marvel x reader #x teen!reader #heavy topics #found family #bucky barnes

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averagewriter-inthedark · 6 days ago

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Thunder Couple ⚡ | Bucky Barnes

Marvel Masterlist

note: Just saw Thunderbolts* today in theaters and all I can say is Marvel cooked with this one. It's the best MCU movie in a while (up there with GOT3 post-Endgame) and the overall theme/messages throughout the film were portrayed so well. And I nearly jumped out of my seat during the second post-credit scene I mean I literally almost lost it. Anyway, I'm might even see it again tomorrow and y'all already know I'm sat for Fantastic Four First Steps. Get ready for some Thunderbolts* headcanons these next couple chapters.

content warnings: spoilers for Thunderbolts*!! (scroll if you haven't seen it yet!) overall major fluff

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

Being in a relationship with Bucky Barnes while also being a Thunderbolt* would look like:

Having been a CIA operative turned rogue hitman for Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, you were 'a guest' in her little cleanup operation that ultimately resulted in your unorthodox team-up with fellow anti-heroes that in turn became the Thunderbolts*/New Avengers. Falling in love with former Winter Soldier turned Congressman Bucky Barnes was not in the plan, but hey you can't help what the heart wants.

The others constantly tease y'all and will be like "uh oh, mommy and daddy are fighting again," whenever you two argue during a mission or while planning an attack. Bucky is headstrong and stubborn, but you're the only one who can really get through that hard head of his. He respects you so much that honestly, there's no point in arguing, he's gonna do what you think is best.

Couples that throw hands against bad guys together, stay together. The two of you are an unstoppable duo when it comes to missions--watching each other's six, throwing weapons for the other to catch, throwing each other if it's necessary. "Babe, I know you're a super soldier and all, but can you try to be a little gentler when I ask you to toss me across the platform?"

Staying up late in the tower's penthouse going over files which just ends being you two cuddled on the couch watching a Met's game if it's on or catching Bucky up on another movie he missed out on. Star Wars, the Godfather, The Matrix, the Equalizer, Grease, etc. He's got so many questions and anytime you watch an action movie the man is criticizing the fighting technique.

You train together most days although the man tends to hold himself back because he's afraid of hurting you with his strength. and he's not available then you usually train with Yelena and Ava while he, John and Alexi do their super soldier showdowns. At that point you three just watch and take bets on who wins. Of course, your money is on Bucky.

Bucky will put his arm in the dishwasher to clean and you'll discover it when you go to load the dishwasher. "Bucky! Is your arm clean to your liking or do you want me to give it another spin?" "Another spin, darling, thanks!"

If his hair gets too long, you'll offer to give him haircuts because he's too damn lazy to do it himself or go to a barber saying, "We've got more important things to worry about than my hair." It gets to a point that after his millionth complaint you simply grab his arm and push him into the chair yourself. "Your ass is staying here until I'm done and if you get up while I'm working then it's your fault for the fuck ass hairdo you'll be rocking from here on."

Expect harsh kisses filled with relief after a job completed. Especially if there was a close call involving you. Bucky will grab your face in his hands and practically push you off your feet by the force of his lips claiming your own. And he doesn't give a fuck where you are or if his political reputation is reprimanded, that man is kissing you like it's his only way to breath. "Don't ever--." *kiss* "--scare me like that--." *kiss* "again, L/n."

#bucky barnes headcanon #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #james bucky barnes #winter soldier imagine #winter soldier fluff #thunderbolts headcanon #thunderbolts fluff #thunderbolts spoilers #marvel headcanon #marvel fluff #sebastian stan

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mandoalorian · 30 days ago

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a new dawn [bucky barnes x f!reader]

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Personal Assistant!Reader

Synopsis: It's Election Day and you and Bucky stand at a crossroads. As the world turns its gaze toward you both, you're forced to confront the power of love, sacrifice, and the unknown future ahead. Together, you prepare for what comes next, but the path is uncertain, and the stakes higher than ever.

Word Count: 9000

Tags/warnings: an 18+ series, mentions of torture, brainwashing, Hydra typical antics, injections, action/fight sequence, canon typical violence, a lot of angst, like an unreasonable amount of angst. I feel like that's all I can say without spoilers. This is the Endgame of Congress & Carnality. This is where everything happens.

Masterlist

prev chapter <3 | congress & carnality masterlist

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.Election Day | 09:21am. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Yelena groaned softly, her body shifting against the cold tile beneath her cheek. She’d pretty much been out since the attack on her in Russia. The dim lights of your apartment buzzed above her, casting flickering shadows on the cracked ceiling. Rain tapped against the windows in a steady rhythm, an eerie metronome counting down something neither of you could name.

You sat in silence on the worn armchair across from her. Elbows on your knees. Hands clasped. Still. Too still.

Yelena stirred again, one eye blinking open slowly, then the other. Her brows furrowed. She groaned and pushed herself upright with a wince, her voice groggy and low. “What the hell happened…?”

Your eyes lifted to meet hers. Blank. Cold. Calculating. Yelena’s breath caught.

She saw it then. The vacancy behind your gaze. The stiffness in your posture. The flicker of something broken, something twisted, behind your pupils.

“You’re awake,” you said, voice even. Hollow. “Where is the Hydra intel?”

Yelena froze mid-movement, blinking slowly as though trying to buy herself time to wake up from a bad dream.

“What?” she asked cautiously, already sliding a hand toward the kitchen drawer behind her, where she’d stashed a concealed knife. “What are you talking about?”

“The hard drive,” you replied flatly. “The one you took from the base before the detonation. You had it. I saw you.”

Yelena stiffened. “It was destroyed when the base was blown,” she said carefully. “I couldn’t hold onto it. It’s gone.”

Liar.

The word wasn’t yours. It slithered like a whisper in your mind. A phantom voice you couldn’t place. Something buried under the static that had lived in your skull since the Russian base.

You took one slow step forward.

Then another.

“No,” you murmured. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not—”

“You’re no use to me anymore.”

Yelena barely had time to react before your hand shot out, fast as lightning. You grabbed her wrist just as it reached the drawer and twisted. Yelena was the best fighter, but yo were stronger. A sickening crack echoed through the kitchen. She gasped sharply in pain—but she still tried to fight. Even as her good hand reached for you, even as she snarled your name, you spun and slammed her into the floor.

There was no emotion in it. No hesitation. Just protocol.

“Wait,” she rasped, panting beneath you. “You don’t have to—”

You didn’t answer. You raised your fist.

One hit. Two. Then stillness.

Her body went limp beneath you.

And you stood up, adjusting your jacket like nothing had happened. Her blood smeared faintly on your knuckles, but you didn’t look at it. You barely felt it. Her betrayal registered somewhere deep beneath the fog, but it didn’t matter anymore.

You walked over to the bay window, slowly. Calmly. Outside, the city moved on like nothing was happening.

You checked your phone. A text from Tara had already come through:

Tara: “Target neutralized?”

Your fingers hovered over the screen for a moment. Then you typed:

You: “Yes. Awaiting next mission.”

And as you stood there in the quiet, sterile glow of the living room, you felt… nothing.

No remorse. No sorrow.

Just silence. Just orders.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. 11:11am . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The knock at the Yelena’s door was gentle. Three slow raps. You already knew who it was.

You stood in front of the mirror near the hallway, staring at your reflection. Eyes vacant. Shoulders straight. The bruises from the earlier scuffle with Yelena had been expertly covered with makeup, as instructed. Hair tamed, lips lightly glossed. The picture of control.

The knock came again.

You opened the door.

Bucky stood there, soaked slightly from the lingering rain. His suit was navy, pressed neatly at the collar, his tie slightly crooked like he’d been tugging at it the whole ride over. In one hand, he held a small bouquet—roses. Your favourite. Pale pink, soft, fragrant.

The kind he’d bought you just a few days ago, when things were still innocent and warm.

He gave a soft smile when he saw you, relief washing over his expression like sunlight through storm clouds. “Hey, doll,” he said gently. “Thought I’d come early.”

You blinked once. Then stepped aside without a word, letting him in. His brows pinched just slightly, but he masked it quickly, stepping over the threshold.

“I, uh… got these for you,” he said, offering the flowers.

You took them. Held them in your hands like something foreign. Then nodded, stiffly. “Thanks.”

That was all.

Bucky’s heart dropped half an inch. His voice was soft as he tried again. “How’s Yelena?”

You glanced back toward the hallway, toward the unconscious form you had tucked into the bed with a sedative strong enough to keep her out until evening. “Sleeping,” you said.

No warmth. No affection. No flicker of guilt.

Bucky studied your face as you turned away to grab your coat, something inside him clawing at his ribs. You looked… beautiful, as always. But wrong. Like someone had taken your soul and replaced it with frost.

“I feel like I’m going to need all the luck I can get today,” Bucky scratched the back his neck. “Ride with me?” His question read more like a hopeful statement, a sparkle in his blue eyes. You nodded, leaving Yelena at her apartment, alone.

To your surprise, Bucky had driven himself to you. It was possibly the biggest day of his life and he hadn’t even got his own personal driver to usher him around. You knew that it was probably down to control; that he wanted to be in control of everything that went down today. That way, if something went wrong, he could only blame himself.

The journey to the White House was mostly quiet.

You sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window. Your hands folded neatly in your lap, the roses resting in your arms.

Bucky gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. He kept glancing at you, his thoughts screaming loud enough to drown out the engine.

Did I push her too hard?

Is she still mad about Russia?

Why does it feel like she’s not even here?

He cleared his throat as they neared the Capitol. “If I’m honest I feel pretty nervous about the election today,” he said softly, like a man trying to make conversation with someone he loves but who might be slipping through his fingers. “Votes start coming in by tonight. I’ll be at the White House all day. Ethan too. Media’s gonna be nuts.”

You didn’t answer.

Not even a nod.

He licked his bottom lip and glanced at you again. “I was thinking… maybe after the results come in, we could go home together. You and me. Maybe get takeout. Watch something dumb. Just… be us again.”

You turned your head slowly. Your eyes met his. And for a second—just a second—his heart jumped.

But then you said, “I’m staying with Yelena. She needs me.”

And looked away.

Bucky felt the blow in his chest like a punch. He swallowed, looking back at the road, trying to pretend like he wasn’t bleeding.

“Right,” he said quietly. “Of course. I understand.”

But he didn’t. Not really.

Because the woman next to him wasn’t the one who had whispered promises in his arms or cried into his chest during late-night fear storms. This woman was a ghost of her. A stranger wrapped in the shape of the girl he’d die for.

And deep down, something in him—something ancient and terrified—was beginning to scream.

And still, he smiled through it. Still tried. Because you were here. You’d come with him.

You just weren’t you.

The black SUV pulled into the secured lot and curved around the front of the White House. Reporters clustered behind metal barriers out front, cameras already flashing as you stepped out into the grey morning light. Bucky reached for your hand again. You didn’t take it.

Sam was waiting just inside the lobby, suit pressed, his shield slung across his back like a quiet promise.

“You ready, man?” Sam asked, offering a brotherly hand that Bucky clapped without hesitation.

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “I think so.”

Sam’s eyes flicked to you for a beat, something uncertain in his gaze. You gave a polite smile that didn’t touch your eyes. Bucky glanced between you both, then looked down at the bouquet still in your hands.

“You gonna be alright here?” he asked gently.

You nodded.

He hesitated—something deep and raw flickering behind his eyes—then leaned in and pressed a kiss to your temple. You didn’t flinch, but you didn’t soften, either.

“Come find me when you’re ready,” he murmured. “No pressure. Just… I’d like you there. Beside me.”

You said nothing.

Sam placed a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Let’s get you prepped, Congressman Barnes.”

They disappeared down the corridor, the sound of Bucky’s boots fading behind polished doors.

And then it was quiet. Too quiet.

You remained frozen in the center of the lobby, the walls around you sterile and white and humming with invisible security systems. The roses were starting to wilt at the edges from the cold.

Behind you, the air shifted.

A voice like silk dipped in poison whispered, “He still loves you, you know.”

You turned slowly.

Tara emerged from the shadows like she belonged there. Not a sound betrayed her entrance—not a footfall, not a breath. Her black trench coat flowed behind her like a shroud, and her expression was maddeningly calm. Her gaze swept over you like a predator assessing prey, but there was something different this time. Not satisfaction. Something… watchful.

“You’re looking well,” she said, eyes sweeping over you. “No visible scarring from the reprogramming. Good.”

You didn’t respond. Your fingers clenched around the rose stems hard enough to snap one.

“I saw how he looked at you just now,” Tara continued, circling you slowly like a predator testing the boundaries of its cage. “Still hopeful. Still believing you’re the same girl he fell in love with.”

A beat.

“You’re not,” she whispered, almost reverent.

The buzz of nearby electronics seemed to fade under the weight of her words.

She stopped in front of you, tilting her head with the smallest, satisfied smile.

“Mission report.”

Your lips parted, voice cold. “Yelena is down. She said the intel was destroyed along with the base.”

“Very good,” Tara said. “Your next mission should be an easier one…” She tilted her head and leaned in, her voice like ice wrapped in velvet. “Bucky is due to take the stage at 2 o’clock, but now is our chance to take him down for good. You can’t fight him, no. You’re not strong enough for that yet. So you’ll break him down the only way you can. You will end things. Tell him you don’t love him anymore, that you never did. Do it so he can’t take the stage. Do it so he drops the whole presidency campaign. Hurt him.”

There it was.

The order.

It hit like a hammer. But your body didn’t seize. You didn’t fall to your knees or zone out like before. You just… blinked. Slowly. Deliberately. Tara’s smile faltered.

There was a flicker behind your eyes. Not defiance—but something worse.

Emotion.

She narrowed her eyes, suddenly circling you more cautiously. “Did you hear me, sweetheart?”

“I heard you,” you said softly.

There was hesitation in your voice. Not enough to refuse. Just enough to make Tara freeze.

“You’re… hesitating,” she said, her voice razor-sharp. “Why?”

You stared straight ahead. But the trembling started—so faint even you didn’t notice at first. A tremor in your jaw. A flutter in your chest.

“I’m not,” you said flatly.

Tara stepped closer.

“Do you still love him?”

Silence.

You didn’t answer. Not aloud. But your breath hitched. Just slightly.

Tara’s smile faded.

“Interesting,” she murmured, more to herself than you. “So the programming isn’t suppressing emotion anymore.”

She studied you like you were some broken machine.

“But you can still follow orders.”

“Yes,” you said.

“Even if it hurts?”

“Yes.”

Tara stared at you for a long moment. Then, slowly—dark amusement returning—she smoothed a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Fascinating,” she whispered. “That little heart of yours still fights.”

She leaned in, lips brushing your temple mockingly. “Pity it won’t save you,” Then she stepped back and pulled on her gloves again with slow precision. “Stick to the mission. Hurt him. Break him.” Her eyes cut into yours. “Kill whatever’s left of that love, and maybe I’ll believe you’re still mine.”

And with that, she vanished into the marble corridors of the White House, heels clicking like gunshots in your skull.

You stood still, frozen in place, the roses beginning to wilt in your hands. One petal drifted to the floor.

From the hallway ahead, you could hear Bucky’s voice. Laughing gently with Sam. Practicing his speech.

And behind your eyes, something cracked.

1:51pm

The White House ballroom had been transformed into a temporary media center—walls lined with velvet curtains and towering LED screens flashing electoral maps and campaign footage. Cameras were stationed like sentries, red lights blinking steadily as they streamed live across the nation.

You stood near the edge of the room, away from the chaos. From here, you could see Bucky—hands folded in front of him, brows furrowed in deep focus as Sam spoke quietly at his side. He looked beautiful beneath the golden light. Presidential. Hopeful. Vulnerable.

You stared at him like you were memorizing him for the last time.

Your heart beat slowly. Unnaturally. Like your body was regulating it. Like you weren’t allowed to feel it race.

But deep inside, beneath the programming, it did race. And you were so aware.

“You clean up nice,” a voice said from behind you.

You turned, slowly.

Ethan stood there, smug and charming in a fitted navy suit, hands in his pockets, red tie donning his neck. His gaze trailed shamelessly down your body.

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t blink. But something cold rippled down your spine.

“I always knew you’d end up on the winning side,” he said smoothly, stepping closer. “Shame Barnes won’t. But you… you’re a survivor. That’s what I’ve always admired about you.”

He reached out, fingers brushing your arm. It was light. Innocent-looking. But there was too much behind it. Too much ownership. You didn’t move.

“After today, maybe we can get some drinks,” he said under his breath, smiling like he’d already won. “You and me. Talk about your new… responsibilities.”

Then—her voice.

“Ethan, can you stop flirting with my subject,” Tara said coolly, appearing like a ghost behind him.

Ethan raised his hands in mock surrender. “Relax.”

But Tara’s eyes were only on you.

“Mission update,” she said softly. You stiffened. She stepped closer, voice now a whisper for your ears alone. “He’s about to take the stage. Do it now.”

Tara watched you closely. Like she was testing you. Waiting for hesitation.

When none came—at least visibly—she smiled.

“Good girl,” she whispered.

But deep down, you could feel it again. That wrongness inside you. That flicker of something human.

Still, you nodded. Accepted the mission. As you processed it, Ethan and Tara melted back into the crowd, leaving you in silence.

And then—Bucky approached, as if his fate was written in the stars.

His suit was slightly rumpled, tie loosened just enough to make him look like himself. His eyes searched yours immediately, hopeful and soft.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said gently.

You said nothing.

He offered a nervous smile. “I go up next. Sam says it’s the biggest speech of my life, but honestly? I don’t care about that,” He stepped closer, voice lowering. “I just care about you being here when I give it.”

He reached for your hand.

You didn’t stop him.

You should have.

But you didn’t.

“You remember what I said this morning?” Bucky asked gently, stepping closer. “About needing a little luck?”

You turned toward him slowly, masking the flicker of dread deep in your chest.

“I remember,” you said, your voice steady, detached.

He smiled — a small, nervous thing, softened by the warmth in his eyes. He held out a hand. “In the 40s I used to go dancing whenever I needed a distraction. I’d drag Steve with me, to some sleezy jazz bar. We were so young we couldn’t even afford to buy drinks,” Bucky laughed fondly at the memory and somewhere, deep inside you, you softened at the admission. “Dance with me. Just one. For luck. For distraction.”

Your eyes dropped to his open palm. A million thoughts screamed inside you. But you nodded and placed your hand in his. It was like your body was moving outside of your control, and no matter what your head was telling you, no matter what your heart was telling you, it didn’t matter. Everytime you dared to think of something other than the mission at hand, it felt like your body was going to rip apart.

The music was faint — something playing low from the hallway, not even meant for dancing. But he didn’t care. Bucky pulled you close, his hand finding the small of your back. Your body remembered him. Every line, every breath. You pressed your cheek to his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of him. You didn’t want to forget.

“I’ve been thinking,” he murmured, swaying you gently. “After this speech, win or lose, we should disappear for a bit. Just you and me. No politics. No cameras. Just... peace.”

His thumb traced circles into your spine. The warmth of his hand — the way he held you like you were fragile, like you were everything — it shattered something inside.

“I can’t,” you said.

He leaned back slightly to look at you, confused. “Can’t what?”

Your throat burned. The words were lead in your mouth. But they came anyway, clipped and cold. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Bucky froze, but his hands remained on you, holding you. “What?”

“I’m ending it,” you said. “Us.”

His brows drew together, disbelief flashing across his face. “What are you talking about?”

You took a shaky breath and stepped back. “You and me. Whatever this was... it’s over.”

He laughed, almost nervously, like he thought you were joking. “Is this about earlier? About Russia? Because I already told you, I was wrong, I—"

“It’s not about that.”

He stared at you, his voice cracking. “Then what is it?”

You looked up at him. You hated how much pain was in his eyes already. You hated that you were doing this. “I don’t love you, Bucky.”

Silence.

You could see the moment the words tore into him. Like a slow rip down the center of his chest.

He shook his head slightly, searching your face. “That’s not true.” It came out like a scoff, an air of disbelief.

“It is.”

“No,” he whispered. “You’re lying. You don’t look at someone the way you look at me and not mean it.”

You said nothing.

Bucky stepped toward you, desperate now, panicked. “Look me in the eyes and say it. Tell me you don’t love me.”

Your lips trembled — but the programming held firm. You forced your face into stone.

“I don’t love you. I never did.”

He stumbled back like you’d hit him. His hands dropped to his sides.

“Don’t do this,” he pleaded. “Please.”

You turned away. “You have your speech now and I have to get to the press room.”

“Wait— no, that can wait. This whole fucking thing can wait,” He reached for you, but stopped himself. His voice was barely a whisper. “Please don’t go. We can fix this. I love you.”

And that—those three words—they cracked the mask. For a single, painful second, you faltered. Your eyes glossed with tears. But then it passed, like a glitch in the system.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

And you walked away, leaving Bucky standing in the middle of the empty ballroom, his heart in ruins.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.2:02pm. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The press room was filled with buzzing voices, cameras clicking in rapid succession as the crowd anticipated Bucky’s final speech as a congressman. The stage was set — the podium stood firm, the American flag behind it, the weight of a nation’s expectations hanging heavy in the air. But for you, the world felt distant, like it was happening far away from where you stood.

You stood in the back, barely aware of the crowd, of the reporters, of the historic moment unfolding before you. All you could hear was the hammering of your own pulse in your ears, the feeling of loss that wrapped around your heart.

Bucky was about to walk out there — but he wasn’t walking toward you anymore. He’d never look at you the way he used to, like you were his world. That had been stolen from you both, ripped away by the mission, by the serum that you had been given in Russia. But more than that, it was stolen by the simple truth of your own heart. The love you had for him was a force you could never control, not when the pull of it was stronger than the programming that had been etched into your soul.

“Are you okay?” Sam’s voice broke through the fog in your mind, his concerned gaze settling on you. “You’re not looking so good.”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you forced a small smile. "I’m fine."

But you weren’t fine. Your emotions were spiralling out of control. You could feel the serum warring inside you — the cold, methodical part that wanted to follow orders, to keep your mission clear. But then there was the other part of you — the part that loved Bucky with an intensity that left you breathless. You wanted to scream, to let it all out, but the pain was suffocating.

Bucky was off, stepping toward the stage with the same determined stride he always carried — like nothing could break him. But you knew better. You knew how much the weight of this moment — the weight of your words — was breaking him inside.

The applause roared as he approached the podium, but you could barely hear it. Your heart was a hollow echo, beating only for him, despite everything.

“Thank you,” Bucky began, his voice strong but soft. “I’m sorry I’m a little late. Thank you all for being here today. It’s an honour to stand before you as I have, and it’s an honour to be a part of something that matters. But it’s also a day for me to tell you that my journey as your congressman is coming to a close.”

The room fell silent. You didn’t want to look at him, but you couldn’t help it. His eyes scanned the crowd, but for just a brief moment, they flickered to you. A small, vulnerable moment that no one else could see.

“I’ve spent my life fighting for I think is right,” he continued, his words steady despite the storm raging inside him. “But today, I stand before you as a man who’s learned that what truly matters is the love we have for one another. It’s about fighting for the people we care about. It’s about the future we leave for the next generation.”

The room felt suffocating as Bucky’s words hung in the air. His final speech as a congressman was meant to be a victory, a declaration of what he stood for. But to you, standing there in the shadows, it felt like the weight of a thousand lifetimes pressing down on you. His words, so full of conviction, were breaking you from the inside out.

You could feel it — the love you had for him, so raw and untamed, clawing at the remnants of the mask you wore. It was supposed to be the perfect facade, the perfect soldier under Tara’s control. But Bucky… Bucky had always known how to reach you. Even now, when he was giving this speech to the world, his eyes lingered on you. He didn’t know the truth, and that’s what hurt the most.

Bucky’s voice echoed through the room as he spoke of love, of the people he cared about, but his words, so tender, only made you feel the distance between you grow wider.

"I will always fight for what’s right. And that means protecting the people I love, no matter the cost," he finished, his eyes scanning the crowd, but his gaze — it was always drawn back to you.

A single tear slipped down your cheek, but you quickly wiped it away. You couldn’t let it show. Not now.

As the applause swelled, the room erupted with cheers. Yet, you felt nothing. Your heart was a hollow, aching pit. And then, just as you thought you might collapse under the weight of everything, the door burst open.

“Y/N!” Yelena shouted, her voice filled with rage, panic, and determination. “You’ve been compromised! Bucky, she’s been compromised!”

Her words hit you like a slap in the face, but something deeper inside you snapped. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. It was like a storm had ripped through you, and before you knew it, your body was moving on instinct. Yelena was awake and Bucky had taken the stage and that meant: Mission Failure. The serum coursing through you was on the verge of taking full control again — but the remnants of your love for Bucky surged to the forefront. It was too much. Too much to bear.

You lunged at Yelena, a blur of motion. You could feel her strength as she dodged, but you were faster, driven by the need to fight, to do something — anything to break free of the control that threatened to consume you.

Yelena’s eyes flashed with surprise as she tried to block your blows. But you were relentless, landing hits faster than she could react. The room erupted in chaos as you and Yelena clashed in front of everyone — Bucky, Sam, Tara, Ethan, and the press. The tension in the air was electric, raw, as both of you moved like warriors, battling with everything you had.

“Y/N!” Bucky’s voice cut through the frenzy. His eyes were wide with confusion and pain. “What the hell is going on?!”

You didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. Your emotions were a whirlwind, and with every strike, every move, you felt like you were tearing apart.

“Bucky!” Yelena shouted, her voice filled with desperation, cutting through the noise like a blade. “They gave her some fucking Winter Soldier serum thing back at the Hydra base! That’s why she’s been acting so—”

Not letting Yelena finish, you rushed forward, propelled by something deep within you, something primal, something that fought back against the lingering traces of the serum that had once controlled you. The fight had begun, and you weren’t about to let Yelena — or anyone else — stop you from making it right.

Some people ran out of the room in fear. Some stayed. Camera flashed, capturing the whole thing. The world was watching.

“Where did she learn to fight like that?” Bucky asked, his voice low and a mix of shock and awe, his gaze fixed on you.

Yelena, panting and clearly impressed, shot him a wry grin. “Oh, shit. Yeah, now’s probably a good time to tell you I’ve been training her in secret. Sorry about that.”

Bucky’s mind raced, but he couldn’t focus on that now. He just had to stop the two of you from tearing each other apart. Sam stepped in, dressed in his Captain America suit, his shield at the ready, his eyes focused as he quickly assessed the situation. He wasn’t about to let this turn into a bloodbath.

“We need to stop her,” Sam said, his tone firm, his body ready to intervene. “Without hurting her.”

Bucky nodded, his eyes not leaving you. The two of them moved quickly, but they didn’t approach with hostility. Instead, Sam used his shield to deflect your next strike, while Bucky’s strong hands reached out to gently hold your shoulders, turning you away from the fight. He was there, right there in front of you, his eyes soft yet filled with desperation.

“Y/N,” Bucky whispered, his voice shaking, “Please. This isn’t you.”

But it was too late.

The serum may have been pulling you in one direction, but the love you had for him was almost stronger. It fought against everything, and for the briefest second, it felt like you could break free. His touch — his warmth, his love — was the anchor you needed. But before you could respond, Sam and Yelena were there, forcing you into submission without hurting you, not really.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to fight. But your body betrayed you, exhausted and broken. The control was slipping. And when you looked into Bucky’s eyes, it was the hardest thing in the world to see him. To see his heartbreak. His confusion.

“You’re not alone,” Sam said gently, his hand on your shoulder. “We’re gonna get through this, okay?”

But all you could think about was Bucky — and how, even in this chaos, you still loved him with every broken piece of yourself.

The chaos of the room slowly began to settle. The press was still buzzing with excitement, confusion, and disbelief, but everything felt surreal. Bucky stood there, his eyes fixed on you as you were being held by Sam and Yelena, both of them making sure you couldn’t move, couldn’t fight. Your body, weakened by the serum, was finally giving in.

“I won’t fail,” you bit out, tears spilling from your eyes. Your blood burned and your hands made fists, nails digging crescent moon shapes into your skin.

But even as Sam’s strong arms kept you still, you could feel the lingering ache in your chest, the remnants of the love you had for Bucky. You felt it more than anything, a painful reminder of what was slipping through your fingers.

Bucky’s gaze was unrelenting, his eyes searching yours for something — anything — that could explain what had just happened. What he had just seen.

“Bucky, it hurts,” you whispered, your voice cracking as the weight of the moment hit you. There it was. You. Not super soldier you. Not mind-controlled by Hydra you. Just you.

Sam and Yelena stepped aside, giving you space, but you couldn’t move. You felt numb. Almost like you were floating, caught between two worlds: the world you once knew with Bucky, and the world you were now a part of. The mission. Tara. Everything you had been programmed to do.

Bucky was standing there, so close yet so far, his face etched with disbelief, pain, and something deeper. “Y/N…” He said your name like it was the last thing he could say. The world around you seemed to fade, the noise of the press and the reporters melting into the background. All that was left was him, and the look on his face. He didn’t care about his audience. He didn’t care about his campaign. He only cared about you.

Yelena checked her phone. “Shit, this is all over the news.”

Bucky reached out, a tentative hand hovering near your cheek. You didn’t pull away, but you didn’t lean in either. You were frozen. This was the moment you knew you’d regret forever. And yet, even in this moment, your heart was still torn between what you felt and what you had been forced to become.

Tara strode in to the press room, her eyes narrowed, her face tight with fury. Ethan was behind her, his face a mask of arrogance. The look in his eyes sent a wave of hatred through your veins, but you couldn’t act on it. Not yet.

“Well, well,” Tara’s voice sliced through the still air, thick with venom. “Looks like the mission’s gone a little… off-course.” Her eyes flicked over to you, and then back to Bucky.

Bucky’s eyes hardened, his jaw tightening. “What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded, stepping toward Tara. “What did you do to her?”

“Just a little serum, nothing you’re unfamiliar with, Barnes,” Tara replied, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. “I gave her the mission, and she followed it. Or at least, that’s what I thought.”

Her gaze shifted to you again, and this time, there was something colder, more calculating in her eyes. “You’re not the same anymore. You still love him, don’t you?” Tara’s words were cruel, a twisted mockery of everything you had tried to suppress. “You’re too weak to break him. And that’s exactly why you’ve failed.”

Your body trembled, but you clenched your fists, determined not to show weakness. “I’m not failing,” you spat. Still, a fight. But you were tiring.

You were so tired.

Tara’s smile faltered, and for a moment, there was a crack in her icy demeanor. She stepped closer to you, her voice a low hiss. “You don’t have a choice. And neither does he.” She turned her attention back to Bucky, her eyes glinting with malicious satisfaction. “I think it’s time you knew just how far things have gone, Barnes. It’s time for you to understand the true cost of this.”

Before Bucky could respond, the door slammed open again, and this time, it wasn’t another ally entering.

It was an arrest team. They surged into the room, guns drawn, catching everyone off guard.

“You’re under arrest,” one of the officers barked, his eyes locking onto Tara. “For conspiracy, kidnapping, and treason.”

Tara’s expression shifted from smug satisfaction to fury, her eyes flashing dangerously. “What is this?!” she hissed. “You can’t do this!”

Bucky, still in shock from everything that had happened, watched as the officers moved swiftly, cuffing Tara and Ethan with cold precision. The room was filled with the sound of clanging metal and murmurs of confusion from the press.

You watched, numb, as the chaos unfolded. Tara’s face contorted in fury as she was forced into a chair, the cuffs digging into her wrists. Ethan stood motionless, his expression frozen in disbelief.

As the officers took Tara and Ethan away, you stood motionless, the weight of the situation crashing down on you. You had never felt so broken. So lost.

Bucky, however, had finally turned to face you, his eyes still filled with that deep, endless sadness. “Y/N…” His voice cracked, his words trailing off as he struggled to find the right thing to say.

You could feel the weight of his stare, the deep ache in your chest, but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak.

Sam approached cautiously, his shield still at his side. He looked between you and Bucky, understanding flashing in his eyes. "Hey, I know this isn't easy," Sam said quietly, his voice steady but filled with compassion. "But we’ll figure it out. We always do."

Bucky didn’t say anything, just stood there, broken in a way you’d never seen before. There was nothing left but the wreckage of the man you loved — and you were the one who had caused it.

Tara and Ethan were gone, arrested and carted away, leaving a silence that felt too heavy to breathe in. The room was eerily still, the press murmuring questions that weren’t being answered. But you didn’t care about that anymore. All you cared about was what was left between you and Bucky.

And right now, nothing seemed like it would ever be the same again.

Out of nowhere, the door to the press room flung open with a loud bang, and in walked a figure that no one had expected. Bruce Banner — still in his Smart Hulk form — stepped into the room with purpose, carrying a small, unmarked vial in his hand. His face was serious, yet there was a flicker of hope in his eyes as he scanned the room.

“Is that the Incredible Hulk?!” One journalist shouted excitedly, raising to their feet.

“I’ll take selfies and sign autographs later,” Bruce smiled, giving a salute to the journalists as he strided past them to the stage.

Yelena stood behind Bruce, her eyes focused on you, and it was clear she had been the one to call him. She was still breathing heavily from the fight, but now there was a sense of urgency in her posture, as if she knew this was the final chance to make things right.

“Bruce,” Yelena said, her voice low but insistent. “Did you bring the antidote?”

Bruce didn’t waste a second. His eyes met Bucky’s, then shifted to you. He took a step forward, a calm presence in the midst of the chaos. “Yes. I’ve got something for her,” he said, his voice steady despite the madness surrounding them. “This should reverse the effects of the serum. It’s not a cure, but it’ll get her back to who she was.”

You felt a surge of hope at his words, but also a deep sense of dread. You didn’t know if you were ready to face what had happened, to face Bucky’s eyes after everything. To face yourself.

Bruce moved quickly, uncapping the vial and pulling out a needle. You could see the faintest tremble in his hand, a sign of the pressure he was under, but he was focused. “This won’t be easy,” he warned, his voice low and filled with gravity.

Bucky was standing just a few feet away, his eyes never leaving you. There was something broken in his gaze, a pain you hadn’t seen before. He was torn between watching you, seeing the final moments of the mission, and trusting that this antidote would help bring you back to him. But in his heart, there was a fear — a fear of losing you forever.

Bruce stepped forward, and without further hesitation, he pressed the needle into your arm. You flinched, the pain sharp and sudden, but it was nothing compared to what followed.

The moment the antidote hit your bloodstream, an overwhelming wave of heat washed over you. It burned, like fire under your skin, a thousand needles prickling all at once. You gasped, fighting to stay conscious, but it felt like your body was shutting down. Every muscle screamed in agony, and your vision blurred.

“Bucky…” you whispered, your breath ragged as the world around you twisted and spun.

Bucky’s arms shot out instinctively, catching you as your legs gave out. He pulled you into him, holding you tightly, the heat of his body grounding you in the midst of the storm. His hands were trembling as he gently cradled your face, his touch tender yet desperate. He whispered your name, as if afraid you might disappear if he let go.

“Stay with me,” Bucky murmured, his voice barely a whisper, his forehead resting against yours. “Please, stay with me.”

You could barely feel your own body anymore, the pain taking over. But through the fog, you could still hear his voice. His words were like a lifeline, tugging at the remnants of your broken heart.

“Bucky, I…” you started, your voice a faint rasp. “I’m so sorry…”

Tears welled up in Bucky’s eyes, his heart cracking under the weight of your apology. He shook his head, holding you even tighter. “No, don’t say that,” he said urgently. “You don’t have to apologise. You’ve been through hell. I know it. I know how it feels.”

“I—” Your breath hitched as the pain intensified. “I’ve failed you. I—I couldn’t fight it. I couldn’t…”

His lips pressed against your forehead, gentle but firm. “You didn’t fail me. You never failed me.”

Your vision swam, and you felt like you were going to pass out, but the sound of Bucky’s steady heartbeat, his whispered words, kept you tethered to the moment. His love was the anchor you clung to, even as everything around you shattered.

The crowd, still silent in the wake of the chaos, had been watching everything unfold. They had witnessed the fight, Tara’s arrest, the tension, the confusion — but now, they were witnessing something even bigger. Bucky holding you, loving you, in spite of his heartbreak. The antidote working its magic.

“You’re okay now,” Bruce said quietly, his voice calm. “But it’ll take some time to fully recover.”

Bucky nodded, though his gaze never left you. “Take your time,” he whispered to you, nudging his nose against yours. “I’ll be right here.”

And then, in that fragile moment, everything seemed to stop. The weight of the crowd, the press, the world outside — it all melted away. There was only Bucky, his arms wrapped around you, holding you through the pain, through the recovery, through the endless confusion.

And then, as if to confirm that this wasn’t just a dream, Bucky leaned down, his lips pressing gently against yours. It wasn’t a passionate kiss, but it was one filled with all the things you hadn’t been able to say. All the emotions that had built up over the past days, weeks, and months. Regret. Relief. Love.

The room seemed to hold its breath, the world watching, waiting for what would come next. But for you and Bucky, it was the beginning of something new. Something you weren’t sure would ever be the same — but you were willing to fight for it.

And as the press began to roar with excitement, the world outside shifted. Bucky had come through the storm, and now he was more than just a man. A soldier. A congressman. He was a hero. And the votes were flooding in.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.3:08pm. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The room was still alive with the buzz of reporters, the hum of questions, and the anticipation of what was to come. But inside the chaos, there was only silence between you and Bucky, a quiet bubble that shielded you both from the noise of the world. He was standing before you, his hands still gripping your arms, his face a mask of raw emotion. His eyes were soft, though his gaze burned into yours, a mixture of relief, tenderness, and confusion all tangled up in one.

The antidote had worked. The serum no longer held you captive, no longer controlled your actions. The mask you’d worn, the one that had hidden your true emotions, had cracked and shattered, leaving you exposed. But there, in his arms, you could finally feel something again.

Bucky’s heart pounded in his chest, as though it had just been given a second chance at life. He wasn’t sure how long this moment would last, but he didn’t want to waste it. The world could wait. The crowd could shout their questions and demands, but right now, nothing mattered more than the person in front of him.

“You’re free,” Bucky whispered, his voice hoarse. The words were simple, but they carried so much weight. It wasn’t just that you were no longer under the serum’s control. It was that you had returned to him.

You nodded, your own chest tightening with the enormity of what had just transpired. “I’m so sorry,” you said again, the words feeling inadequate in the face of everything you had done, everything that had been lost.

Bucky shook his head gently, his thumb tracing the edge of your cheek. His eyes were filled with something deeper now—an understanding, a patience. “You don’t need to apologise. We’ll fix this. Together.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, the weight of the past days hanging heavily on your shoulders. You had hurt him. You had been torn between the mission, your programming, and your love for him. But now, with the antidote working through your system, you could finally feel the weight of your emotions without the interference of the serum.

“I need you to know that I do love you, and what I said before wasn’t the truth,” you swallowed, your throat itching. “I have loved you ever since you helped me carry my heavy boxes up to my apartment. I loved you when I interviewed for you, even when you told me you were some bodybuilder and not a literal Congressman. I loved you when I worked with you, late nights at the office and I love you even more so now. I don’t think I can ever stop loving you, Buck.”

Bucky gently pulled you closer, his grip tightening as if he was afraid to let you go. There was so much he wanted to say, but the words felt too heavy, too frail to express the depth of his feelings. He didn’t need to say anything. His actions spoke for him as his lips hovered above yours, as if asking for permission, as if waiting for the moment when everything would make sense again.

“I love you too.”

And then, as if the world had paused to take a breath, he kissed you. It wasn’t hurried or desperate. It wasn’t a kiss born from need or urgency. It was a kiss that spoke of everything you had been through together. Of everything you would face together. It was the kiss of a man who had fought for you, fought for your heart, and was finally getting it back.

You melted into him, your hands gripping his shirt, pulling him closer. The world outside them faded into oblivion, leaving just the two of you in that perfect moment. The kiss deepened, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you could feel the warmth of Bucky’s love pour into you.

But just as the moment seemed to reach its peak, a voice sliced through the air, pulling Bucky away from the spell he had been lost in.

“Bucky,” Sam’s voice rang out, his tone clear and commanding. “Look at the votes,”

“You’ve won.”

Bucky’s heart skipped a beat, but the shock on his face was replaced quickly by something else: a quiet, solemn pride. He didn’t know what he expected, but he hadn’t been prepared for this. Not in the way Sam had just delivered it. For the last hour he hadn’t even been thinking about the election. The reality of the moment hit him like a tidal wave, and for the first time in his life, he realized how much had changed. How far he had come. He had won. Not just for himself, but for you. For everyone who had stood by him.

Red, white and blue confetti fell from the ceiling and flooded the stage, twirling and spinning around you.

His hands fell away from you, but only reluctantly. His gaze remained locked on yours for a moment longer before he turned toward Sam, still in a daze.

Sam gave him a firm nod, the expression on his face a mixture of approval and quiet happiness. He stepped back, his eyes shifting between Bucky and you, and stepped to the podium. “It is my honour and pleasure to announce the presidency of my best friend, James Buchanan Barnes,” Sam said, his voice heavy with the weight of the words.

The crowd went wild. Screams and applause. Bucky had won by a landslide. He had made history. There was no denying it.

Bucky stared at Sam for a long moment, disbelief still clouding his features. But then, a small, tentative smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. The moment, the feeling, of everything finally coming together... it was overwhelming. But it was also beautiful. He had been through so much to get here. And now, with you by his side, it felt like the world had finally started to make sense again. He slowly walked over to the podium.

“I... I can’t believe this,” Bucky said quietly, his voice catching slightly as he turned back to you. “This wasn’t just about the election. It was always about you. And now—”

Before he could finish, the applause from the crowd erupted even louder — impossibly louder, a wave of sound that seemed to shake the room. The press was already buzzing with questions, but none of it mattered. None of it compared to the fact that he was here. He had won. He had overcome his demons. And most importantly, he had you.

You could feel the weight of the world, and yet, you were here. Together. In this moment, you weren’t broken. You weren’t under control. You were free.

Bucky faced the room, but this time, it wasn’t the politician standing before them. It wasn’t the man who had fought through wars and had been betrayed. It was a man, a person, who had fought for love—and won. And for the first time, Bucky felt like he truly belonged.

The country had voted for him, chosen him as their leader.

Yelena helped you to your feet and walked you over to Bucky. The weight of it settled over him, but it was nothing compared to the weight he felt at his side. His hand instinctively brushed against the side of his suit, as if ensuring that the most important part of this moment—the heart of everything—was still with him.

You.

The lights were blinding, the world around you a blur as you stepped forward. You grabbed a hold of the podium for support, still feeling weak, but leaned into Bucky when he slung his arm around you.

The crowd buzzed with anticipation, but there was one person Bucky was focused on, and that was you. You, who had stood by him through it all—through the worst of times, through the darkness, and into this very light. You had returned to him, despite everything. Despite the manipulation. Despite the serum. Despite the heartbreak.

Bucky’s breath caught as he turned to you, his gaze softening for a moment as Sam approached from behind. Sam, now dressed in his Captain America suit, had always been by Bucky’s side—through the trials and tribulations, through thick and thin. Sam had been there, both as a friend and as a protector, and now, as Bucky’s moral compass in this moment, Sam stepped up beside the two of you, his hand resting gently on your arm.

As Bucky adjusted the microphone, his voice was steady, but you could see the subtle tension in his jaw, the small frown of concentration as he prepared to address the world. He had been through so much—both for himself and for the country—and now, he was here, standing tall as the President of the United States.

"Thank you," Bucky said, his voice ringing out across the room, the microphone amplifying the depth of his words. "Thank you to every single person who believed in this mission, in this country, and in the possibility of something greater."

The crowd quieted, hanging on to every word.

“This... this wasn’t just about me,” Bucky continued, his hand tightening around the edge of the podium. “It’s about all of us. About fighting for something better. For unity. For healing. For the future.”

His eyes flickered toward you, and for a brief moment, he couldn’t hide the softness in his gaze. You were standing beside him, silently supporting him, and he was so grateful that you were here.

“And there is no way I would be standing here today without this woman,” he said, his voice suddenly cracking with emotion. His chest tightened as he gestured toward you, his words full of love and sincerity. "The woman who has stood by me through everything. Who never gave up on me, even when I gave up on myself."

A soft gasp swept through the room, and the crowd fell even quieter, awaiting the next words to come.

With a gentle smile, Bucky reached out his hand toward you, his fingers curling with a deep familiarity as he guided you forward, standing at his side. The audience’s reaction was immediate—a ripple of awe, followed by applause. The weight of their gaze felt heavy, but in Bucky’s presence, it felt like you were floating above it all.

“I’m honoured,” Bucky said, his voice low and sincere. “To introduce my partner, my equal. The woman who will stand beside me, guiding this country as my First Lady—[Y/N].”

As the crowd erupted into applause, your chest tightened, but you couldn’t stop the smile from breaking across your face. This was it. This was the moment where everything changed. Where the battle, the pain, the fear, and the uncertainty all melted away into this one, perfect moment. You and Bucky, together, standing tall as the future of the country.

You turned to face him, your heart thudding in your chest. The reality of what this meant—the responsibility, the power, the eyes of the world on both of you—it was overwhelming. But you couldn’t help but feel that, despite everything, this was exactly where you were meant to be.

Sam stepped back slightly, a proud but quiet smile on his face. He was there for Bucky, always had been, always would be. But this was Bucky’s moment now.

Bucky’s eyes locked onto yours as you stood together, his hand finding yours again. The world was watching, but right now, it didn’t matter. Not with him beside you. Not with you beside him.

And as the applause died down, Bucky leaned in, his voice just above a whisper, but strong, certain. "We’re gonna do this, together."

You squeezed his hand tightly. "Together," you echoed, a promise you would both keep, no matter what came next.

The moment was electric with possibility. And as Bucky finally raised his hand, waving to the crowd, the weight of the next chapter settled in—the two of you had come this far, and now, you were ready for whatever was to come next.

Nothing could break down you and Bucky Barnes.

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#sebastian stan #bucky barnes #bucky banres x you #bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x reader #the winter soldier #congressman bucky #avengers #thunderbolts #yelena belova #angst #smut #fic #series #president bucky #congress & carnality

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fangswbenefits · 2 years ago

Text

The Arrangement (1)

Summary: You managed to convince Astarion not to go through with the rite of profane ascension. He remains a vampire spawn, and you now offer your blood from time to time to help with his sanguine hunger until a solution is found. Even though you had both decided to stay as friends back in Moonrise Towers, lines begin to blur once more as other cravings come to the surface… and things with Astarion are seldom uncomplicated.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Word count: 6k

Warnings: 18+. Endgame spoilers. Blood drinking. Mutual pining. Biting. S*xual tension. Mentions of past trauma.

Series masterlist . AO3

"He's upstairs."

You nodded curtly, but before you could turn in your heels and head to the wooden staircase, you felt a hand grip at your arm.

"He hasn't been paying his due," Bork, the Blushing Mermaid tavern's publican, said with a rise of his brows.

"Noble room again?"

"Yes."

As expected. Astarion would sooner be caught dead again than having to stay at a merchant or peasant room.

He adored all things lavish and that extended to his accommodations, naturally.

"I'll cover for it," you said, snatching your arm away. "How much?"

He bared his yellow teeth. "Thirty gold pieces."

You felt Shadowheart's burning gaze on you. She didn't approve of you cleaning after him. Especially since her protective instinct dragged her along with you every single time.

"Very well," you said through gritted teeth, rummaging through your pouch, and handing him the expected amount.

"Good," the older man said with a twirl of his kitchen knife. "If your pale friend does it again, he's done for."

Threats like this would usually warrant you to bare your dagger or cast a less friendly spell, but you couldn't afford to cause a scene.

Not in front of so many onlookers.

You felt Shadowheart briefly tense up by your side. "Do hurry up. I shall wait for you."

Nodding, you gave her an assuring nod before heading up the staircase.

The first floor was reserved for the highest paying customers, and it was heavily decorated and with candles spreading along the narrow corridor.

You paced quickly along the wooden floor, already knowing where to find him.

Room 7.

At this point, you were already over common pleasantries, so you skipped knocking at the door and just barged inside.

You heard a sleepy groan from the crimson bed placed at the centre of the luxurious room.

Astarion wasn't alone.

He was laying on top of the silk sheets, flipping through a book, seemingly undisturbed by your sudden appearance. Curiously enough, he was fully clothed, wearing a frill shirt and his regular trousers.

However, the woman next to him was very much fully naked, with only a blanket draping over her bare torso.

The sight made your stomach twist and turn.

"Hello, darling," he said casually as if you had just walked in on him picking flowers.

She peeked over her shoulder with a horrified look spreading across her pleasant face.

Of course she was extremely attractive.

She let out a shriek. "Do you mind?"

"No," you said dryly.

She immediately rolled out of bed, shooting a murderous glance your way, while scrambling to collect her belongings from the carpeted floor.

The door snapped shut behind her, and you were already pacing toward his bedside table once you spotted his coinpurse.

"Happy, are you? You scared her off, poor thing," he shook his head, feigning disapproval.

"You owe me."

You reached out to grab the thick pouch, but caught sight of the glint of a blade and the cool touch of metal being pressed gently against the back of your hand.

Typical.

"Ah-ah-ah..." he tutted with a click of his tongue. "Where are your manners?"

He seemed very serious all of a sudden, but you knew better. "I'll hex you."

"Faster than me piercing through your skin?" he asked, tapping the flat side of the blade playfully on your skin.

You really did consider hexing him for a split second just out of spite. "You overestimate your abilities."

"And you could have cursed me already, but are too lost in my dashing good looks."

Your jaw dropped in utter disbelief.

"That lovely mouth of yours could never compete with my agile fingers."

The insinuation wasn't even subtle, and it was enough to make your blood boil.

You scowled deeply at him, shoving his dagger out of the way. "Thirty gold pieces."

He slipped the blade under his pillow again with a devious grin.

"Bork was rather eager to have at you, so I just paid him. Maybe next time I won't intervene."

"And what would he do? Kill me again?"

Point taken.

A dangerous smile danced across his lips. "And here I thought you intended to start charging me for our arrangement."

You glared at him intensely, feeling momentarily outraged. "You're the one profiting off of it. Entirely."

"Hmm, debatable."

You narrowed your eyes. "If anything, you should be paying me, no?"

He snatched the coinpurse from your grasp, tugging it open before handing you a few gold pieces.

"Here you go, darling. Sixty gold pieces," he said, voice dripping with amusement. "Buy yourself a new attire, while you're at it."

You glanced down the length of your body, arching a brow and straightening your shirt and trousers. "What's wrong with my clothes?"

Astarion scoffed. "I don't even know where to begin, but do not fret. You could be wearing nothing but a rotting sack of potatoes, and I would still not be deterred from your neck."

You pressed your lips tightly together, and glanced at the gold pieces in your hand. "Your sweet-talking skills have been slightly below par as of late."

He chuckled, crossing his hands behind his head and against the meticulously wooden-carved headboard. "Yet here you are."

Not that you had much of a choice, really.

Halving the sum of money he had given you, you shoved the rest in your pocket while placing the other half on the table.

"Keep it."

"Don't be ridiculous," you groaned.

"Working on your flattery, I see?"

He was enjoying this far too much, and the more you talked back, the more you instigated him to continue.

"Why don't you just pay him when he asks for it?"

"Oh, darling…"

Here we go…

He was casually checking his hands, putting on his condescending demeanour. "Patience is a virtue he clearly lacks. If I'm to live eternally, I might as well teach these commoners some manners."

"Or you just adore getting on people's nerves," you said with a sly smile.

He grinned so wide, you caught a glimpse of his razor-sharp fangs peeking through. "You know me too well."

You used to think so.

Now, you weren't so sure.

Clearing your throat, you looked around the dimly lit room until your eyes settled on the large majestic bed. "She was really pretty."

"You sound surprised."

"Not at all. She does fit your type."

He laughed dramatically, further grinding your nerves. "I have a type?"

You gave him a look.

"You mean outrageously beautiful and undeniably entertaining?" he asked innocently. "Like you?"

Your heart jolted.

His method of seduction was deemed nigh pristine, and a few weeks ago, you would have maybe fallen hard for this level of charm.

But not anymore.

Well, for the most part…

"She was not outrageously beautiful."

He placed on hand at his chest, feigning hurt. "First you rob me, and now you question my taste in beauty. I'm not entirely sure my dead heart can take much more of this."

You huffed, crossing your arms before glancing out the window. The full moon lit up the street below, as the night began to draw out those who preferred to keep to the shadows.

And those who had no choice but to do so.

Like Astarion.

"I didn't do it."

His voice startled you and you stared at him in confusion. "What do you mean?"

He paused briefly. "I didn't do anything with her, if that's what you're thinking. There is an odd comfort in being surrounded by beauty, even if only to glare at, and nothing else."

Your heart clenched at how vulnerable he sounded all of a sudden. His pleasing face held an expression that you'd seen many times before…

Guilt.

The ripple effects of centuries of torture and abuse still slipped through the cracks of his usual pompous demeanour.

"Your personal matters are your own, Astarion. No need to justify yourself."

He stared at you in silence for a moment, and the urge to reach out to embrace him nearly took over.

Until his features began to twist into a light frown. "Don't look at me like that. I can't stand it."

"Like what?"

"That look. Pity. Spare me," he groaned with a roll of his eyes.

You weren't surprised in the slightest that he went into his defensive mode so rapidly.

He would fluctuate so often around you these days, that it gave you whiplash. Some days, he would let his guard down and allow you in, while others were plagued with him having a brick wall up around him if you happened to breathe in the wrong direction.

You had learned how to navigate through his tough exterior when the two of you traveled together, and as he opened more and more to you.

It all culminated when you offered your help against Cazador, and having him make the decision not to go through with the ritual that would doom so many souls – including his own — in the process.

He had thanked you for saving him from himself.

But nowadays, talking to him was like walking on eggshells while simultaneously dancing around his weathervane mood.

It was as if your relationship had somewhat soured over the past few weeks, and all the remnants of a solid friendship were now beginning to crack.

"You know, you don't have to be here," you said softly, trying to disperse the tension. "You are more than welcome to stay with us."

Astarion snickered darkly. "And having to endure that dullard? Please. I'd rather stake myself, darling."

You rolled your eyes and heaved a sigh at the targeted provocation.

"Gale is not a dullard. He is quite inter-"

But he began to part his mouth into a forced yawn. "Boring already! See, this is what happens when you choose to surround yourself with such unstimulating company – it spreads, and you used to be so much fun," he finished with a dramatic pout.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you sent him a death glare. "He's not the only one there."

There was a hint of amusement gleaming in his eyes. "Oh, yes! How could I forget Shadowheart and her magnificent ability to bore me." He swung his feet off the bed, standing gracefully. "Or perhaps you mean Lae'zel? She's clearly in debt to whichever god bestows a sense of humour."

An added layer of defense: sarcasm.

No one wielded it quite like Astarion, which also proved to be a major inconvenience when trying to win an argument.

I'm also there, you wanted to say, but chose to remain silent.

Deep down, you detested how you still longed for his company. Even after so many weeks had gone by. Even when he seemed so averse to it outside of this… arrangement.

Your relationship had been reduced to nothing more than a transaction.

Once again.

Your blood for his hunger to be quenched even if only momentarily.

"Or are you referring to yourself?" he mused, pacing towards you while adjusting his shirt.

It was extremely infuriating that he could see through you so easily.

"Let's get this over with, then," you said, words stinging in your throat.

He offered a faint smile, as he came to stand before you. "I must say, our weekly encounters are nothing short of exciting," he brought his fingers to your jaw, tilting your head gently as his eyes roamed across your neck. "And I am positively famished."

You felt a gentle tug at the collar or your shirt, and glanced down to see him undoing the buttons with just one hand.

All those years of honing his dexterity were bound to come in handy at the most convenient of times, and Astarion would never shy away from displaying his expertise.

Your senses were suddenly hit with the faint scent of bergamot, rosemary, and aged brandy.

His scent.

The same that once brought you comfort through the toughest of times.

But now…

"Which side will it be this time?"

You swallowed hard, shuddering. "You decide."

He caressed your neck tenderly, tipping your head to the opposite side, half-hooded eyes roaming across your exposed skin.

"Ever so generous."

You huffed in annoyance. "Astarion."

He didn't need to be warned twice, and you soon felt his soft lips brush across your skin, as he searched for your steady pulse. The contact made you jolt slightly and he took your hands in his, placing them at his waist.

"Hold on, darling," he whispered, as his breath fanned your flushed skin, before darting out his agile tongue and enclosing his lips around the selected area.

You had let him feed on you many times before, but the flutter was ever present. It wasn't out of fear or concern that he might take it too far. He never did. But the knowledge that you were, once again, involved in something so intimate truly gnawed at your nerves.

As soon as you felt the initial sting, you balled your fists, gripping the fabric of his shirt tight, as you hissed in pain.

He held your jaw in between his fingers whilst his other hand was firmly pressed to the back of your head, making sure you were anchored in place.

Astarion moaned first – a muffled and deep sound that reverberated across his lips with each mouthful of blood he downed.

Your eyes dropped close all of a sudden and he pressed his body against yours, acting purely on the instinct driven by his bloodlust.

And just like all those times before, you began to feel it.

With each passing second, the all too familiar and ever-growing pressure in your lower abdomen became harder and harder to ignore.

He had once revealed how your blood worked like an aphrodisiac whenever he drank from you; how he couldn't keep his body from reacting to it, and, ultimately, to you. After all, you had been the first thinking creature he had ever fed on.

As such, you had grown accustomed to his erection being pressed firmly against you – a constant reminder of how easy it was for him to make you yearn for more.

Whatever pain you had left from the initial bite, had morphed into a very subtle wave of pleasure that spread from between your legs.

You cursed inwardly, tugging harder at his shirt.

You didn't wish for your body to be so… primal.

Even with blood being drained from you, and the act itself being considered so profane, it was still a much welcome moment of intimacy that you had come to embrace.

A soft roll of his hips lulled you into him like a moth to a flame. Your body struggled with fading from the blood loss as well with the increasing throb between your thighs.

At this point, you couldn't help but moan softly as he eased his grip on you until he had fully withdrawn his teeth from you.

Your eyes fluttered open and you had to blink twice to disperse the haziness blurring your vision.

Crimson red tainted his lips, and droplets of the warm liquid threatened to spill over. The sight of him revelling in your blood used to make your stomach turn, but now it had morphed into a habit.

But what truly caught your attention was how he looked faintly… displeased?

He lowered his head, crimson eyes locking in with yours.

"That was quick," you whispered, struggling to ease your throbbing clit, as his erection was still very much pressed against you.

But now he was frowning.

Suddenly, you felt experienced fingertips trailed across your lower abdomen, casually teasing the hem of your waistband.

You sucked in a breath, chills sprawling all over your body, as he began to trace down your thigh, just where your dagger was resting.

"What are you–"

He pressed a long finger to his blood-stained lips and you swallowed, his eyes darkening. "We have company."

Before you could process his words, you felt your dagger being yanked swiftly from its sheath. With a languid shift of his feet, you watched as he threw the sharp blade across the room.

Just as it cut through the air, the large wooden door began to swing open and Shadowheart came into view.

The dagger landed dangerously close to her head, the tip carving into the wood and wobbling faintly.

She frowned slightly. "You missed."

He darted out his tongue to collect droplets of blood. "Did I?"

She looked positively unimpressed by such a display of skill, even one that could have easily maimed her.

But he had deliberately missed.

Of course he had.

You caught a glimpse of Astarion's reddened ears – the ultimate proof that he had recently fed, and one that, somehow, sent a shiver down your spine.

The bloodless effect was also beginning to take a hold of your body, as dizziness spread more and more.

Snapping out of your transfixed gaze, you hurriedly brought the handkerchief in your pocket to apply some pressure to your bleeding wound.

"Stealth was never your forte, darling," Astarion mused, visibly annoyed. "You're about as subtle as a pack of gnolls."

A teasing smile parted her lips. "You have such a way with words."

He grinned deviously. "It's called being eloquent, dear Shadowheart. Not that you'd know anything about that."

"I was taught to converse with others without constantly resorting to sarcasm," she mused, hurling your dagger back at him. "Not that you'd know anything about that."

As expected, he caught it in between his fingers with little to no effort, twirling it easily with the expertise that only centuries of practice could provide.

He clicked his tongue. "No wonder you're so tedious. But… eavesdropping? My, my… how unbecoming of you, darling."

A flash of surprise crossed her face. "I - I was doing no such thing! I merely decided to make sure everything was all right." Her face softened as she turned to you, her usual caring nature surfacing. "Do you need any healing?"

You smiled warmly at her, patting the pouch at your hip. "No need, thank you. Brought the scroll of Lesser Restoration you gave me."

Astarion scoffed.

Shadowheart ignored him. "I ought to go. Gale needs my assistance with some letters he's received from Waterdeep," she said, straightening up to her default stoic pose. "I trust you're quite done here."

You nodded, clearing your throat.

"What, you're not joining us for a nibble?" Astarion pouted dramatically.

"Over my dead body."

He looked as amused as ever. "That can certainly be arranged. Though I prefer fresh blood… right from the source."

Her features hardened once more and you decided to intervene. "Will you stop it? You're like a cat with its claws out."

Astarion snapped his head at you. "Excuse me? Claws?"

"Would it kill you - well, again - not to be so damn abrasive all the time?"

He groaned sheepishly. "She interrupted my feeding. It can be quite hard to resist the urge to behead her."

Shadowheart's gaze dropped to his lower half with the slightest uptick of one corner of her mouth. "By the looks of it, Astarion, you have other hardships to concern yourself with."

A rush of heat spread across your face as you followed her line of sight and were met by the very prominent outline of his erection strained against his trousers.

He turned around, mumbling curses under his breath to adjust himself, and Shadowheart looked at you with a triumphant smile.

It wasn't an easy feat to silence Astarion, yet she had achieved it so gracefully.

"I'll see you later, I suppose," she mused and you nodded. "It was rather entertaining seeing you again, Astarion."

He threw her an infuriating glance over his shoulder.

By the time she had closed the door behind her, you were already taking the scroll into your hands and whispering the incantation, as the paper scroll began to disintegrate itself.

A wave of warmth spread through your hands, before engulfing your body in it. Strength and heightened senses gradually returned to you as the lasting effects of him feeding on you dispersed.

From the corner of your eye, you spotted him glaring at you with a visible sulk.

"I'll come back next week."

"Leaving already?" He asked, fake heartbreak twisting his features and voice. "Was wondering if you could, perhaps, give me a hand."

He handed you your dagger, which you promptly slid back inside its sheath.

Your eyes then widened at his not so subtle suggestion.

Uncertainty boiled deep within you, and you had to muster your will to keep yourself from immediately leaving.

Astarion's healing path had been one he had decided to tread alone. The relationship he had with sex had been the reason you two had decided to be as friends and nothing more. You had fallen hard for him – or his deceit – but you figured what he truly needed was a friend and not a lover.

And so you left your infatuation for him behind.

It was better off this way.

But now… watching him fall back to his usual charming advances made you somewhat wary. Was he back to forcing himself to seek intimacy with his body, because he still couldn't do it effectively in any other way? Was he simply feeling more at ease?

You met his sultry gaze and cleared your throat. "Well, I'm sure you can ask that outrageously beautiful woman to help you out, if that is what you truly seek."

That seemed to have caught him by surprise, and he cocked his head. "What?"

"She seemed positively distraught for having to leave your company so early," you said, dragging the handkerchief down your neck to wipe off the trail of blood.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Do I detect a hint of jealousy, darling?"

"Delusion does not suit you, darling."

He took a few steps towards you until you could see the crimson of his eyes flicker as they studied your face.

Your stomach turned.

The proximity made you feel vulnerable and you immediately felt naked under his burning gaze.

Astarion had over two centuries of practice when it came to reading others. It wasn't an easy feat to deceive him, and you were no exception.

"We traveled together for so long and I can safely say I never took you for a liar – perhaps too soft-hearted for my liking, but not a liar."

"I did not lie," you shot back, lifting your chin in defiance. "I can offer you my friendship and even my blood, but I'm not so sure about anything else."

He heaved a deep sigh.

"I just fed on you and the bloodlust can be quite… overwhelming," he confessed. "I usually take care of it myself, but you did taste absolutely exquisite tonight, what can I say?"

That caught you off guard.

"What do you mean? Take care of…" your voice trailed off as realization hit you.

Oh.

Astarion clicked his tongue. "Don't act so surprised. You can feel it whenever I'm feeding, can't you?" He took another step back and only came to a halt once your back was pressed against the carved-wood wall. "There is only so much I can withstand with your delicious blood coursing through my body, darling."

You swallowed hard.

He was being particularly firm on his advances tonight. You were used to his occasional flirtatious remarks whenever he fed on you ever since the arrangement took place. However, this was bringing things to a whole new level.

One that you hadn't expected you'd reach ever again with him.

Somehow, you managed to find your voice. "Maybe you should stop feeding on me, then?"

A weightless taunt, obviously.

Crimson eyes darted all over your face as if studying you. He remained silent for what seemed like an eternity, before the corner of his mouth curled into an intriguing smile.

He had seen immediately right through it.

"If that is what you wish, then so be it," he said in a rather dismissive tone, but still towering over you.

You arched a brow. "That's it?"

"Darling, as immortal as I am, I do not beg," he continued, now tracing around the fresh bite marks on your skin with uncharacteristic tenderness. "I will surely find other exquisite necks to sink my teeth into."

His words carried a hint of a threat, which unsettled you.

"That was not the arrangement, Astarion," you said with a scowl. "It's either wild animals or my blood."

His fingertips paused at your pulse point, and you were certain he could feel the throbbing increasing rapidly. "How possessive of you, my dear," he mused playfully. "Although, I am quite sure you are aware that many do carry fantasies with vampires."

You pressed your lips together in a silent reply.

A man as attractive as Astarion was bound to allure all sorts of attention. When passing through Moonrise Towers, the drow Araj had tried to have him bite her in exchange for a rather powerful potion, but you had assured him that you did not demand anything against his will.

The memory still left a sour taste in your mouth.

But he did have a point.

Vampires could be regarded as a taste of the forbidden, and he could certainly deliver it.

"That was not the arrangement," you repeated through gritted teeth, deciding to ignore his previous remark.

His eyes narrowed dangerously in an instant.

"'The arrangement'," he mocked, inching near and pinning you frozen against the wall with the weight of his burning stare. "Does dear Wyll know that I haven't been exclusively feeding on wild animals? Because that was the arrangement, darling," his face drew closer and his cool breath fanned your skin.

Upon becoming Duke of Baldur's Gate, Wyll had agreed to allow Astarion to reside within its walls, but not without assuring he posed no danger to others.

But then you decided to volunteer in aiding him until a solution to his vampiric condition could be found. Hopefully, it wouldn't take too long to find something useful.

Your research had led to a couple of enchanted items, but those were rare to come by. A wish spell seemed to be the easiest way, but even as a sorcerer and with Gale's help, it would be extremely challenging.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "He does. He knows blood from thinking creatures sates you more effectively, so he allows it for the time being."

He scoffed, dropping his hand from your neck. "How very thoughtful of him, indeed."

"This is what friends do."

He sneered at you. "Friends do not hand out ultimatums. Care to revive my memory?" His lips almost brushed against yours and you didn't dare take a breath. "I am to wag my tail like an obedient pup as I wait for a solution to this minor inconvenience, all the while enclosed in a golden cage."

Impatience gripped your nerves ferociously. "These things take time, Astarion."

"Oh, my darling… I have all the time in the world, but you only have a limited supply of blood," he whispered softly and you could almost taste his taunting words.

He drew back slightly, his glare so intense you felt yours waver and drop, catching a glimpse of his sharp canines. "We are actively looking for a solution. Gale is also making some progress-"

He pressed a finger to your lips, effectively silencing you.

"Do not make the mistake of thinking I am faulting you," he said, his face suddenly softening, as he caressed your lower lip. "If anything, you are the only reason I was ever able to kill Cazador."

He was being sincere, and that was what made your heart drop to your stomach.

"You have my eternal gratitude."

You shuddered under his touch, feeling your breath quicke, as his other hand trailed down your neck until it was resting just above your left breasts and beating heart.

He was too good at this…

Unfairly so.

"Wyll ought to allocate more of his resources into aiding me, don't you think? After all, you are the one at risk here," he continued. "I know he cares not for me, but I could have ascended and bent Baldur's Gate to my will… if not for your intervention."

"I'm not at risk," you said with a roll of your eyes. "And if you drink more than what you need, then you know the consequences."

His eyes dropped to your cleavage as he began to caress the flushed skin. With each deep breath you took, you pushed more of your breasts into him, further igniting the heat between your legs.

"Promises, promises… unfortunately for you, darling, your words don't match your body."

Fuck you. "You're impossible."

He slowly dipped his head until his lips grazed yours. "You would stake me?"

Never.

"I would."

He chuckled. "You would stake me as I sink my teeth into your darling neck and feast on your divine blood?"

No. "Yes."

But his smile only widened as amusement settled on his face. "I can't think of a better way to part this world for good."

Your mouth parted slightly in surprise, and he rolled his hips into you, earning a soft gasp.

You half-expected him to finally take your lips, but he tilted his head instead to press a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth.

And your body nearly imploded as old sensations resurfaced.

Fuck.

"You're so sweet…" he whispered with a sigh, as he began to graze along your jaw, taking your hands in his and planting them on his waist. "So warm… the gods above could never do you justice." He continued in between light kisses with his hips matching the pace.

As your eyes fluttered shut, you lost track of how eagerly your hands tugged at the hem of his shirt, fingers brushing impatiently against the waistband of his trousers.

Astarion groaned softly, helping you with the inconvenient lacing at the front. "And here I thought I was the starving one."

He always talked way too much and had a natural talent for doing so at the least opportune time.

"Can you shut up for once?"

"Gladly," he said as he quickly took your lips in his, muffling your groan of protest.

Reason told you to halt everything once. That you were taking things too fast, and that there was no need to indulge in such depravities.

But you had missed this.

You missed having him so close that he completely overtook your senses.

The kiss turned rougher and his tongue soon found yours. Instinct guided you as you succumbed to the vicious grip of desire, and you pressed yourself further into him.

It was almost embarrassing how wet you already were and how intensely your swollen clit was pulsing. Your body was already readying itself for him to be buried inside you, and you shuddered at the prospect of it.

Your tongue darted into his mouth and your eagerness had it glide across one of his sharp fangs, and you felt a sting of pain as you accidentally drew blood.

"Fuck," you grumbled, breaking the kiss at once.

The familiar taste of metal began to pool in your mouth, and you felt gentle fingers grip your jaw tight, as he titled your head back.

"I would apologise, but it was your own doing," he said with a smile, hunger in his eyes. "So let's not allow it to go to waste, hm?"

And then he pressed his lips against yours, immediately parting them with his experienced tongue, in search of the warm liquid he so badly craved.

The cut wasn't deep or wide enough to cause much to spill, but it was certainly enough for him to let out a beautiful moan of delight, as he lapped at your blood.

Your hands gripped the front of his trousers, the lacing now undone and offering you the opportunity to feel him, and he was kissing you so ardently, that your mind was completely clouded by all of him.

Testing the waters, you caressed his cock through the fabric.

He immediately parted from you to let out a delicious hiss, as he rolled his hips into the palm of your hand.

Astarion was incredibly hard, but just as you were about to slide it inside to grip him, he caught your wrist and held it firmly in place.

And everything halted all at once.

Your eyes found his, and he seemed… distant.

Concern washed over you. "Astarion?"

He was frozen, eyes fixed on the floor.

As he eased his grip on you, it became apparent that he wasn't listening to you.

Fuck.

You brought one hand to grip his shoulder. "Astarion…"

He shook his head lightly. "Give me a moment, darling."

The way the last word drawled out of his lips, made your heart clench violently. It was so instinctive for him, that you doubted he even realised he had uttered it.

You stood still, unsure of what to do to help.

The two of you remained silent for a few moments. You kept your hold on his shoulder, gently caressing it in an attempt to bring him some comfort.

Then you felt rage swirl in you.

Cazador had warped him in such a way and for so long, that the ramifications of his abuse on Astarion seeped so deep and gripped him so tight, causing you to feel nothing but anger.

You took a deep breath, and carefully placed your hands on either side of his face, slowly guiding him to meet your eyes.

He looked broken.

"I apologise."

You caressed his cool skin with your thumbs, shaking your head. "There is nothing to apologise for. Ever. Do you hear me?"

He tilted his head until his forehead touched yours. "I really wanted this."

Even though the two of you had grown apart over the past few weeks as he had distanced himself, you couldn't think of anyone else who had such a hold on you.

With one hand drifting along his soft curls, you pulled him further into a hug, which he promptly embraced, lacing his hands behind your back.

This was your Astarion.

The one who made it so easy to love and care for him.

"Sometimes what we want is not what we need."

His cheek was pressed to the side of your head and you heard a faint chuckle. "So poetic. I reckon Volo has competition."

"Your mind goes to Volo when holding me? Is there something you wish to tell me, Astarion?" you teased lightly.

He patted your back twice before letting go.

"Guilty as charged," he mused, slipping back into his usual antics.

He crossed the room, tying the laces of his trousers before plopping himself on the bed with a stretch of his arms.

"I'm sure you're exhausted. Maybe you should go back to that dullard friend of yours," he said with a sly grin.

His words hit you hard and your face dropped. "I can stay a little longer…"

He picked up the book next to him, examining the cover. "Whatever for? I'm perfectly fine, darling."

Now, this was not your Astarion.

Cold. Distant. Impenetrable.

The one who pushed you away whenever you attempted to bridge the gap that had come in between you two.

He focused his attention on the book in his hands and you swallowed the lump in your throat.

"Very well."

You composed yourself, and headed to the door, not even bothering to exchange another look.

"Thank you for the meal, and for… well, you know."

You nodded, feeling the overwhelming urge to just leave. "See you next week, then."

He didn't reply.

You rushed out of the room, feeling the familiar prickle of tears in your eyes, and you tried to convince yourself it was better off this way.

That he needed time and space.

That he didn't need you.

By the time you crossed the crowded lounge of the tavern, you crossed paths with that woman again.

She locked eyes with you, a faint smile curving her lips, as she rose to her feet from her chair, probably heading back to him.

She truly was a sight to behold, no doubt.

But what tore your heart was realising that, even after everything you'd been through with Astarion, he still favoured her company over yours.

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#astarion smut #astarion #astarion x female reader #astarion x female tav #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion fanfic #bg3 smut #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x you #astarion x mc

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