#especially when you think of their conversation on the way to the gate

[fullscoreshenanigans]

(The Promised Neverland Art Book World)

Ah yes, one of my favorite genres of baby full score trio pictures: Isabella being openly affectionate toward Emma and Norman in front of Ray while being hands off with him.

(Chapter 2 | Chapter 37 | Chapter 165 | Chapter 170 | Chapter 177)

[mantisgodsdomain]

We ought to write more Pokemon fic some time. We want to recreate the Pokemon Manners/Human Manners cheat sheet that we made a few years ago we think that this site would like the Sliding Scale Of Politeness When Greeting A New Pokemon You've Never Met Before.

[readwritealldayallnight]

in case you missed it, little add on to this idea where Simon decides you’re his wife

When the Captain first overhears tidbits about how his Lieutenant is supposedly giving the newest recruits an especially hard time, he chuckles to himself, thinking that it isn’t anything they can’t handle, not if they’re going to make it in this line of work anyway

But then he catches the end of a conversation between two medics, complaining about how they’ve never had to tend to so many injuries from the rookies in training before, and he thinks maybe Ghost was having an off day at the time, needed to let off some steam, no real harm done in the end

Which is strange though, when one of his sergeants comes whining about how ‘LT’s gone right soft, pure gallus! One bonnie lass was all it took and he’s now got manners, ya ken! Absolutely braw sight I tell ya, Cupid’s arrow stickin’ out of his arse-’

Price wasn’t even entirely sure Simon knew how to use his cell phone, surprised to find him suddenly glued to the device, answering only for a specific chime, but always answering instantly when it went off

It isn’t all that long however, until Price walks into his office one day and finds Ghost already sat at his desk and waiting for him, wanting to know more about marital leave, and benefits for spouses, and how soon could the Captain become ordained because there’s a ceremony he’d like him to officiate soon if he wouldn’t mind-

You’re especially confused when the guard who checks your ID at the gate each morning tells you ‘Congratulations by the way, Mrs Riley’ as he hands you a new pass that- sure enough- has Riley written as your last name

Series masterlist

[arthursfuckinghat]

@horseishere Your tags are so well put, never ever apologise for rambling because you're so right

You know, I don't think I'll ever get used to Dutch's constant two-faced behaviour.

One minute you're coming back to camp and then getting an earful from Dutch about not bringing in enough money, then the next minute he'll greet you and say how he missed you and asks what you've been up to as soon as you walk into camp.

On a bad day, you're the person who's going to betray Dutch in the end. Then on a good day, you're his favourite son who's always been special to him.

The camp gives Arthur grief for his 'moods' but the others didn't seem to comment on Dutch's camp behaviour in the same way, even in the early chapters.

[beloveds-embrace]

Hi Noona! First, I just want to say that I am IN LOVE and OBSESSED with your Dukedom au’s, especially all the delicious ANGSTTTT you’ve been feeding uss. Your writing is literally what’s keeping me going and I can’t stop rereading all your works!! <3<3

But imagine if Knight!Konig comes back, maybe he regrets leaving reader and has realized that he loves her but he comes back to see her in that state and to see that she is OVERRR all these men being so neglectful and just numb to everything. What would his reaction even be or how would reader even react to seeing Konig coming back, basically with his tail tucked under? Would reader treat Konig even worse than the 141 since he left her and literally abandoned her?

Hi!! Thank you so so much for your kind words!! 💕💗🫶🏻 here is how i think it’d go if konig showed his ugly mug again 🙂‍↕️ thank you to @awkward-fink for helping with the little german bits! 💗

Dukedom au masterlist

angst dukedom where konig leaves

König had thought, in the weeks after leaving, that distance would provide clarity. His departure had been necessary- he’d convinced himself that the pain of watching you suffer was more than he could bear. Watching you slowly fade, your spirit cracking under the weight of the neglect, was something he couldn’t stomach.

It had been a decision made from guilt and a twisted sense of self-preservation. He had left, and in the absence of his presence, he believed he was giving you space to heal, to be free of the burden of his involvement in the chaos that seemed to constantly surround you.

But as the days turned into weeks, something gnawed at him. The silence of your absence was deafening. The image of your hollow eyes, the light leaving them as his words registered, the way you recoiled from every touch, from every word, stayed with him. Every step he took away from you felt like it was dragging him deeper into a well of regret.

But wasn’t until he heard rumors- whispers among the servants, hushed conversations in the alleyway, because he couldn’t help himself but keep an ear out for you- that he realized how deeply wrong he had been.

You weren’t just neglected now.

You were gone. Your fire had dimmed to a flicker, nothing but a broken shell of the person you had once been.

And the thought of you, isolated, suffering, and numb, shattered him more than he cared to admit.

Es war meine Schuld.

The day he returned to the duchy was gray and overcast, the sky heavy, a dark glare that felt aimed at him. König stood outside the manor gates for a long while, his breath fogging in the cold air. His heart hammered in his chest, and every instinct screamed at him to turn back.

But he had to see you. He had to make things right, even if it was too late.

He’d made the decision to return quietly- no grand gesture, no apologies spoken aloud. Just the hope that your eyes would soften at the sight of him, that you might, just maybe, let him back in. That you’d let him kneel in front of you, hold your hand to his lips so he could renew his vows of protection and loyalty.

But as he crossed the threshold of the manor, something in the air felt wrong. He could feel the weight of the place pressing down on him, as heavy as the sky outside. The halls were eerily still, and the silence wrapped around him more like a shroud than a safe blanket.

The first person he encountered was Kyle. There was no warmth in head butler’s eyes- just a cold acknowledgment of his return. When Kyle spoke, his voice was tight with bitterness. “You’ve returned,” he said simply, gaze hard. “Do what you must. Her Grace is in the conservatory.”

König felt the sting of that comment, but he didn’t falter; whyever would he care for the words of one who also had a hand in your pain and suffering? Though he did notice that Kyle, for once, spoke your title with no hatred, but respect.

True to the butler’s words, König found you in the conservatory, sitting among the flowers, your back to him. There was an untouched tray of tea nearby, delicate curls of steam rising, alongside a plate of pastries.

None of that mattered.

König’s breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight of you. You looked different- distant, lost in a way he hadn’t expected. As if your body was here, but the rest of you was somewhere so far away he would never be able to reach you.

“Mylady…” His voice broke the stillness, like a tremor in the air.

You didn’t turn around. Not at first. You knew it was him before he even spoke, the heavy weight of his presence unmistakable, the sound of his footsteps unforgettable to your ears.

There was a flicker of something inside you- a flash of anger, a fleeting hope, a moment of disbelief. But it was all… meaningless, swallowed up by the crushing numbness that had taken root and spread its branches in your chest.

“… Why are you back here, König?” you asked, your voice soft and flat, void of any emotion. You don’t look away from the flowers, the only colors your eyes seem to notice these days.

König stepped closer, his hands shaking slightly as he reached out, unsure of whether you would allow him to approach. His throat tightened, the guilt in his chest like a snake wounding around his ribs. “I… I made a mistake, mylady. I shouldn’t have left you.”

The words felt weak, fragile. Nothing like what he wanted to say. But this was where he had to start, he thought. This was where he could rebuild, piece by fragile piece.

You finally turned to face him, your eyes meeting his with a dull, hollow gaze. There was no anger in them- not really. He had left, and it had shattered you, and now you kept the shattered pieces protected.

“You left me,” you whispered, brows furrowing, frown tugging down. “You left me when I needed you the most. There wasn’t- there wasn’t a better offer somewhere else, you just… left me.”

The snake around König’s chest constricted painfully. “I know,” he said, raw and aching. “I know, mylady. And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you like that. Das war ein Fehler.”

You stared at him, your gaze unblinking, the silence between you thick and heavy. Bitterness swelled in your throat, like ash. “And now you want to come back?” your voice was barely above a whisper, accusatory. “You… think that’s going to make everything better?”

He flinched, the words cutting into him like a knife. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t even expect you to want me here. But I need to try. I need to—”

“Stop,” you interrupted, your voice suddenly louder, sharp with pain. You hold your face in your hands, breaths shaky. “Stop- stop pretending like you can fix this. You all left me to rot. I’m… I’m beyond fixing. I just want to be left alone now.”

König’s heart shattered at your words, his breath catching in his throat. He had never imagined it would be like this- never imagined the depth of your suffering even if he should have.

“I should have stayed,” he said, trembling, weak in the face of your pain. “I should have fought for you. But I didn’t. And now… I don’t know how to make it right, mylady.”

The silence between you stretched, your eyes fixed on him as if you were searching for something- some sign of the man who had once stood by your side, who had once made you feel safe. But all you saw now was a stranger whose words yoy struggled to trust.

“… Why didn’t you fight for me?” you asked at last, quietly, the tears that had been held back for so long finally threatening to spill. But you didn’t let them fall- not yet. Your chest ached, your hands trembled, but you held on.

König opened his mouth, but the words failed him. He had no answers for you- only the crushing weight of his own guilt.

“I was afraid,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought leaving would right thing to do, for both of us. But it wasn’t. It was the worst thing I could have done, mylady. I am… sorry. Truly.”

You stared at him for a long moment, the numbness in your chest swelling to an unbearable weight. You could have screamed, could have told him everything you had bottled up. But instead, you just… turned away.

“I can’t do this,” you decide, your voice breaking. “I can’t keep letting people in only to have them leave. I can’t.”

König didn’t reach for you. He stood there, helpless, aching with the knowledge that he had done this to you- had left you to drown in your own pain, to rot in the silence of a house that cared so little.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered again, his voice thick with regret, but you didn’t turn back. You didn’t even acknowledge him anymore, merely focused on your flowers once more, thick tears slowly spilling down your cheeks.

König stood in the conservatory, the glass walls surrounding him, and for the first time in a long time, he understood the depth of his failure. The path back to you seemed impossible now, the distance between the man he had been and the woman he loved growing farther than he ever thought it could.

Still, he stood there like a dutiful Knight. He had left you once, and unless you specifically order him to leave… he won’t abandon you once more.

[wingedshadowfan]

some thoughts about the caitvi breakup scene

i saw ppl pointing out what looks like a tear running down caitlyn's nose after her and vi's fight w/ sevika and jinx (when she finally stops hitting the wall w/ her rifle and puts her forehead to it) and it could've been just sweat, but here's why i think it wasn't:

it's bcuz vi took the choice away from her.

we all know caitlyn's parents had been keeping her in a gilded cage since she was a child. we see this symbolically in her conversation with jayce when he gets kicked out of the academy after the explosion - he's outside in the rain, but she's within the gates of the kiramman estate, under an umbrella, protected, hidden. she tells him her parents don't allow her to talk to him anymore but she doesn't care. they're friends.

we know cassandra didn't approve of caitlyn's choice to become an enforcer either (we assume caitlyn had to fight for it and her family tried to stop her). even after that "win", her mother kept meddling and made sure caitlyn would always get safer tasks - out of harm's way and where she'd never be able to prove herself or do any actual good like she'd always wanted. her own coworkers make fun of her for being a kiramman and only "playing dress up" as an enforcer - a job she decided she wanted and had been working towards since she was a child, in order to help and protect people. she'd had to fight (not for the first time) to be placed on a case, in a real guard position, to be taken seriously.

caitlyn's choice and her agency - things she's barely been given in her own life, because of her parents, her name and how sheltered she'd grown up - she'd always had to fight for. she's had to fight to be able to choose, she's had to fight to defend her choices, and she's had to fight to prove herself over and over again.

then for the first time in her life, she didn't have to fight because vi (perhaps being swallowed by her own guilt for everything jinx had done to caitlyn) gave caitlyn the ability to choose what happens to jinx. unconditionally.

and caitlyn chose. vi agreed with her choice.

take the shot.

then vi took the choice away from her in the last possible moment, physically stopping her from shooting. (now, we can talk abt what that means to someone who's never been the stronger opponent in any physical altercation they've been a part of so far, but i won't)

this is the last thing cait needed to send her fully spiraling in the face of the adrenaline after almost dying again (sevika wasn't playing), the stakes of their mission and her trauma from jinx being unlocked. caitlyn completely disassociates shuts down, goes all out hitting the wall, possibly cries, refuses to look vi in the eyes and tells her, "i thought you were different but you're not"

she's yet another person who denies caitlyn the ability to make a choice in her life.

it's her blood in your veins.

to caitlyn in this moment, vi's loyalties lie with the blood of someone who'd worked for silco in oppressing the undercity, lured and blown up caitlyn's coworkers, tried to kill caitlyn (and vi) multiple times, kidnapped her from her fucking bathroom, dressed her up against her will, kept her hostage for a full day in which she with almost 100% certainty tortured her, kept her as the only person gagged throughout the tea party, asked vi to kill her, then blew her mother up along with 4 more counselors and (allegedly) attacked their memorial. talk abt taking someone's freedom of choice away.

then why are you the one acting like her?

vi - not fully without reason - compares caitlyn to her worst fucking nightmare. a psychotic killer who's caused so much fear and trauma to caitlyn that she admitted jinx's smile is all she sees when she closes her eyes, up there w/ her own mother's lifeless eyes?? and yeah, vi has a point - caitlyn had indeed grown more violent and aggressive in her desparate pursuit for revenge. that doesn't mean it hurts caitlyn any less, especially when she'd been trying so hard to do the right thing (sending a squad to catch jinx instead of a full blown armed invasion, only her and vi having hextech, clearing the streets first), and vi knows this: she just automatically did what she does best - aimed for where it hurts the most. i think she even realizes she's overstepped but before she can do anything about it, caitlyn bites back reflexively and hits her with her rifle. there, in the place of the wound she once took care of herself.

the perfect storm.

the only question i have left is why everyone in this fandom keeps acting like caitlyn is the only one who hurt someone and vi is the only one who got hurt in that scene.

[drgnmnts]

knuckles bruised (like violets) │ jacaerys velaryon x targaryen!OC

Title: knuckles bruised (like violets)

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Targaryen!OC (Daenys Targaryen, daughter of Viserys I Targaryen and Alicent Hightower)

Summary: There is no war so hateful to the gods as a war between kin, especially for those caught in between, longing only for peace as they're met with fire and blood.

_______________________________________________

Chapter 5 - A Final Tribute

Word count: 4.6k

The journey to King’s Landing had been pleasant enough regardless of Daenys’ nervousness in the days leading up to their arrival. As the carriage she shared with Jace, Luke, and Joffrey crossed the King’s Gate, the sight of the towering castle made her chest feel tight; despite how much she had missed the place initially all those years ago, the truth was that the Red Keep did not feel like her home anymore. 

And yet, there was a part of her that couldn’t wait to see her mother’s face, to hear her brothers' voices, and hug Helaena and the children. Daenys had been thinking about it the entire journey, imagining different things she could say or do to be the conciliator and make the days they were to spend there as peaceful as possible. 

However, her hopes quickly faltered when the only person to greet them upon their arrival was Lord Casswell. Jace held her hand reassuringly, in an attempt to convince her that perhaps they were simply caught up in preparations. But Daenys knew better. She was no fool, nor a child anymore. Rhaenyra’s family wasn’t welcome in the Red Keep— and neither was she.

As Rhaenyra and Daemon made their way inside to see King Viserys and introduce him to their children, Daenys followed Jace and Luke to the courtyard, a feeling of uneasiness set in her stomach. 

“Ah, see? I told you it would still be here after all these years,” Jace said to Luke, pointing at an indentation in the stone, a story that Daenys knew nothing of but made Luke smile at the memory. 

Before she could even ask what that was all about, the sound of clashing swords made the three of them turn their heads and approach the noise.

The tall, slender man sparring with a member of the Kingsguard Daenys recognized right away. As soon as their eyes met among the crowd surrounding the sword training, Aemond put down his sword.

“Sister,” he said, loud enough for everyone to turn towards Daenys, their stares making her feel scrutinized. She noticed Jace tense up next to her.

“Aemond,” she greeted in kind, an unsure smile on her lips. As the crowd scattered, Aemond took a few steps towards them. Once in front of Daenys, he grabbed her hand and kissed her knuckles solemnly. 

“It brings me joy to see you again after all these years,” he said, and Daenys believed him.

Before she could say something in return, Aemond dropped her hand and turned towards Jace and Luke.

“Nephews,” he spoke to them then, “have you come to train?”

Jace’s face was anything but a pleased one, however he managed to offer Aemond his politest smile.

“My brother and I are mere spectators, but we appreciate your invitation,” he replied, ever so civil.

“We have only just arrived, brother,” added Daenys in an attempt to ease the tension. “Perhaps a meal and a conversation?”

“Hm, I’m not the kind to dine and converse, I’m afraid,” he replied, eyes lingering a bit too long on Jace, as if silently challenging him, before returning his attention to his sister, “but I do expect to see you tomorrow at court for the petitions—”

From the open doors leading to the inside of the castle, Ser Criston unknowingly interrupted Aemond.

“Princess Daenys,” he called ceremoniously, “His Grace the King wishes to see you. And Prince Jacaerys.”

__________________________

The King’s chamber was dark and lugubrious, and it engulfed them in the sweet scent of incense and something else Daenys couldn’t quite identify. Hand in hand, the couple approached the royal bed, and the sight of her father made Daenys’ breath hitch; King Viserys had lost most of his hair and half his weight, his skin had taken on a pallor that attested his sickly state and, despite being covered by pristine bandages that had been very recently changed, his face resembled the very image of the Stranger. His moans of pain and ragged breaths were the only proof that there was still some life left inside him and, despite everything, it made Daenys want to cry.

“Father?” she called as the pair stood by his bedside, still holding hands, none of them brave enough to touch the man. Her voice came out more like a whisper, and she tried once more, a bit louder. “Father.”

When the man spoke, he sounded tired and in pain.

“Rhaenyra…”

The confusion was nothing new to Daenys, and she was kind in her correction.

“No, Father, it’s Daenys. I’m here with Jace,” she explained, “Ser Criston said you wished to see us.”

“Daenys… Jacaerys…” Viserys said, reaching out to touch them. Jace held his hand. 

“We’re both glad to see you again, Grandsire,” he said, his voice loaded with fondness. If there was someone in the world who had always defended Jace, Luke, and Joffrey, apart from their mother, it was King Viserys.

The man smiled.

“Good children… you’re all grown now…” he said.

“Ten-and-seven, my King,” Daenys said.

“The betrothal… is it a happy one?” he asked then, perhaps in hopes that at least one of his decisions regarding his family had been the right one.

“Very happy, Grandsire,” answered Jace, smiling sweetly at Daenys, “Princess Daenys and I are… very fond of each other.”

King Viserys sighed with contempt.

“Good… good. In that case, I see no reason for the wedding to be postponed any longer.”

After sharing a look with Daenys, Jace spoke again.

“Queen Alicent thinks it’s best to wait until we’ve both turned eighteen,” he informed the king.

“Nonsense,” Viserys declared and, to Daenys’ surprise, his voice sounded steady. “I wish to see my daughter and grandson marry… it shall happen within the fortnight.”

The pair looked at each other again, hearts beating a little bit faster than before.

“Are you sure, Father?” Daenys asked, unsure of how much she could trust the king’s words in his state. Viserys nodded slightly.

“Otto and Alicent are in charge of the matters of the realm… but I am still the head of this family… your betrothal was made to unite us all again… and so it will be…”

As if able to sense that their king was in pain, two maesters Daenys had never seen before entered the room, ready to ease his discomfort and give him as much relief as possible given his circumstances. Feeling like an obstacle in the midst of the maesters’ work, Jace and Daenys decided to leave.

__________________________

Later that day, Daenys was summoned to the small council room by her mother and the Hand. As a child, she hadn’t been allowed in that room, which had led her to imagine it as far more majestic than it actually was: just a long table surrounded by fancy chairs and presided by a small wooden throne. That very head of the table, where Viserys would sit in the past, was now taken by Queen Alicent, ruling in her husband’s stead with the help of her father, the Hand.

After an awkward hug from her mother and a caress to the cheek from her grandsire that felt way too foreign, Daenys took a seat. 

“I hear you’ve been faring well at Dragonstone,” Otto said. Daenys nodded.  “It gladdens me, and the Queen.”

Alicent smiled softly. “I still remember how much you cried when we told you you had to go with them. You made quite a fuss,” she said to Daenys. Regardless of her smile, the queen’s eyes were no mystery to her daughter, and Daenys knew there was something going on.

“Well, yes, because I didn’t want to go. I didn’t know them… I was scared,” Daenys defended herself, because despite how much she loved them all now, she still remembered how abandoned and frightened she had felt back then.

“And yet I take it you’re quite happy now, are you not?” asked Ser Otto.

It bothered Daenys to admit to him that he was right, but she would not deny her happiness.

“Yes, I am.”

“Good,” he said.

“And your betrothed?” asked Alicent. The woman put her arms on the table and Daenys thought her mother was going to reach out for her hand, but instead she laced her own hands in front of her, as if their conversation was just another council meeting and she was not a mother, but a queen. “Is he kind?”

At the mention of Jace, Daenys smiled instantly.

“He is. Jace is gentle, and… loyal. Very intelligent. He will be a fine king one day,” she said.

Something in Ser Otto’s face didn’t sit right with Daenys, but it was such a fleeting gesture that she wasn’t able to fully discern what it could mean.

“I assume you have bled already,” he said, and the change of topic for one so intimate made Daeny’s face heat up in embarrassment. She looked at her mother, who encouraged her to answer the Hand.

“Yes, two years ago. Our maester says I’m perfectly healthy.”

Ser Otto nodded, pleased with the information. Then, he spoke again.

“I know my question will make you uncomfortable, but I must ask, and you must tell me the truth. Has Prince Jacaerys touched you?”

Daenys was left aghast by her grandsire’s question. She crossed her arms over her chest as she snorted indignantly, her cheeks turning cherry red. 

“What kind of question is that?” she inquired. 

“Just answer him, Daenys,” commanded Alicent, and whether she also wanted to hear her answer or not, Daenys didn’t know.

Reluctantly, Daenys did as she was told. “No, Prince Jacaerys has not touched me. He hasn’t done or said anything inappropriate to me, ever. He is honorable, more than anyone I’ve ever met.”

Ser Otto held his granddaughter’s gaze, only to nod once more at her answer. Daenys knew he believed her, but that didn’t bring her any solace.

“Let us hope he keeps his honor, until the time is right,” he said. Daenys had to make use of all her willpower to not scoff.

“Speaking of time,” she said then, and the two adults turned their heads towards her. “My Father, the King, has expressed his desire for Jace and I to marry within the fortnight. He says there is no reason for us to wait, and we agree.”

“Of course you do,” muttered Ser Otto.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Daenys questioned, anger making her forget about her manners and the rules of the court, and Alicent was quick to appease her daughter’s outrage by grabbing her arm. 

“What the Hand meant to say,” the woman began, giving her father a pointed look, “is that it is only natural for the two of you to want to rush things, but there is no need—”

“‘Rush things’?” Daenys asked, sounding incredulous. “Mother, we’ve been betrothed for six years. Aegon and Helaena have two children already, and Jacaerys is the crown prince.”

Ser Otto shifted in his seat, but Daenys didn’t notice.

“Yes, he is,” said Alicent, thin-lipped. “And what your sister has, that will come to you as well… when the time is right.”

“But my Father—”

“The King says many things,” intervened Otto. “He barely discerns reality from illusion. One must not take his words to heart, as it is difficult to know whether he means it or not.”

With that, the conversation was finished.

________________________

Daemon had sliced Vaemond Velaryon’s head in half. 

It had been a tumultuous hearing, one that had brought tears to Daenys’ eyes at the way the man spoke about Rhaenyra and her children, but Daemon had put an end to it the only way he knew how to handle things: with violence. 

At least the debate was over: Lucerys Velaryon would inherit the Driftwood Throne, as declared by King Viserys himself with the support of Princess Rhaenys.

Daenys didn’t know whose idea it had been, but the whole family was gathered at the dining hall, ready for supper. She was sitting between Jace and Aegon, who had been drunk all day and had only shown his face to greet his sister a mere couple hours before dinner. Aegon’s attitude saddened Daenys, especially because Helaena didn’t deserve a husband who spent his days in his cups, or asleep, or doing gods know what. 

“You look very beautiful,” Jace whispered in her ear, interrupting her thoughts. Daenys smiled from ear to ear. They hadn’t been able to see each other again after their conversation with the king, at least not alone. After the events with Vaemond Velaryon, Daenys had spent the rest of the afternoon with Helaena and the children, who were just as lovely as Daenys had imagined.

“Likewise,” she replied, briefly stroking his cheek. Unbeknownst to Daenys, Aemond was watching her and Jace very carefully, and so was Ser Otto. 

They all rose when King Viserys made his way into the hall, carried by his most trusted guards. Once he was settled between Alicent and Rhaenyra, everyone sat down again. 

“This is an occasion for celebration, it seems…” he began, out of breath. “As I’ve… recently decided, my daughter Daenys will marry my grandson Jacaerys… before the next moon.”

Daenys and Jace shared a look as they smiled with relief: now that it had been said in public, there was no way someone could try to diminish the King’s words. As Viserys continued speaking, Daenys raised her brows at Ser Otto, as if saying: See? I told you.

“Hear, hear!” cheered Daemon, raising his cup to them.

“Moreover,” the King continued, “as agreed by Princess Rhaenyra and Princess Rhaenys… my grandson Lucerys shall marry his cousin, Rhaena, further strengthening the bond between our houses.”

Daenys smiled with excitement as she reached over Jace to give Rhaena’s hand a squeeze. She was aware that weddings weren’t always joyful, but knowing Luke and Rhaena, Daenys was certain that the pair was as thrilled as her and Jace.

Overcome by the bravery that happiness can bring to a person, Daenys decided to stand, chalice in hand. 

“If it pleases my King, I would like to propose a toast. To Prince Lucerys,” she said, giving her soon-to-be brother by law a complicit look, “I’ve had the privilege to watch you grow into the young man you are today, and you’re as dear to my heart as any of my brothers. I wish you and your betrothed all the best in the world. To the future Lord of the Tides.”

After they all had drank from their cups and Luke had expressed his thankfulness, Daenys sat down again. Jace kissed her cheek as Rhaenyra smiled at her with gratitude for her gesture: Daenys had kept her promise, and the crown princess would not forget it.

 “I see congratulations are in order,” said Aegon, low enough so that the rest could not to hear him, only Daenys. His breath smelled of Dornish strongwine. “I do have to say, sister, I’m afraid you’re about to be terribly disappointed. But I am feeling kind today. So, if you ever need me to demonstrate to your betrothed how to please a woman, other than just put a dark haired babe in you and call it a day, all you have to do is ask.”

Daenys silently prayed to the gods that Aegon was too drunk to notice the red of her cheeks. His comment wasn’t just inappropriate, it was venomous.

“Perhaps you might want to focus your kindness on your wife, dear brother,” she replied, her lips a thin line.

“Is everything alright?” Jace asked in a whisper.

Aegon gave Jace a look and opened his mouth as if to say something to him, but Daenys pressed her fist against her brother’s thigh, her rings digging into his skin through his trousers, and Aegon fell silent.

“Yes,” Daenys said softly, smiling sweetly at her betrothed, her back turned to her brother. “Aegon is an idiot, that’s all.”

Princess Rhaenyra stood up now, raising her cup for Queen Alicent. Her words were sincere, and Daenys could tell her mother was trying hard to keep hold in her emotions.

“Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess,” the Queen said. “We’re both mothers. And we love our children. You have raised my daughter admirably, and for that I am thankful. We have more in common than we sometimes allow. I raise my cup to you and to your house. You will make a fine queen.”

The appreciation for Rhaenyra’s role in raising Daenys did not go unnoticed to her, and Daenys wondered how different she would be if she had spent the last six years at the Red Keep, with her mother.

Daenys didn’t notice Aegon walking behind her and reaching for a decanter near Jace, but she did hear what he said to him.

“You do know how the act is done, right? Where to put your cock and all that.”

“Aegon, stop it—,” she started, but was interrupted by Jace’s fists banging the table in anger. When he stood, Daenys looked at him with pleading eyes. Please, don’t ruin this.

But Jace wasn’t like that. He wasn’t vicious like Aegon, nor violent like Aemond, who was already standing, ready to jump at any sudden movement from his nephew.

“To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond,” he started, and Daenys sighed in relief. “We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may yet be friends. I understand your worries, as brothers, about your little sister getting married soon, but I’ve been preparing to be the kind of husband she deserves since I can remember. You have nothing to worry about,” he said, his eyes burning holes through Aegon’s skull in spite of his friendly smile. “To you and your family’s good health, dear uncles.”

Daenys put her cup to her lips to hide her grin.

That seemed to be the end of all the bickering, as the dinner progressed without further incidents. They were about to finish their first course when Daenys decided to have a conversation, or at least try, since he had not opened his mouth all evening.

After excusing herself, she stood and walked up to where her brother was, with the excuse of serving herself some more wine. The band was playing a cheerful tune, and the atmosphere in the dining hall was welcoming and warm.

“Have you seen the trees behind Evenfall Hall in Tarth? They’re starting to flower. I flew over the island a moon ago and it’s a beautiful sight—”

“What are you doing?” Aemond asked, eye fixed on Daenys, his brow slightly furrowed.

Daenys was taken aback by his reaction.

“What do you mean? I’m trying to speak with you.”

“So first you switch sides and now you wish to sweet talk to me about flowering trees—”

“Switch sides? They are my family, Aemond, just as they are yours despite how much you try to convince yourself otherwise.”

Aemond smiled, but there was no sign of amusement on his face.

“They’re not my family, they’re b—”

Daenys’ face hardened. She put the decanter back on the table with a loud thud, the impact causing the table to shudder slightly, and everyone turned to look at them.

Aemond quickly grabbed her wrist before she could go back to her seat, and Jace stood up. The music stopped, and the sudden silence made Daenys’ ears ring.

“I will not apologize,” Aemond said, speaking only to Daenys, as if he didn’t care about everyone staring at them. In his one remaining eye, Daenys saw the little boy from their past, the one who had once been the most important person in the world to her. She felt like she could cry.

Aemond’s thumb rubbed softly against the skin of her wrist, right above her pulse.

“Then I’m afraid you’ve lost me forever, brother,” she said, and this time Aemond did let go of his sister.

Daenys walked back to Jace, who put his arms around her in a protective way.

“Can we leave?” she asked him.

Perhaps it had been the way Daenys had searched for refuge in Jace’s arms, or the way he had shot daggers at Aemond with his eyes, or something else entirely, but the One-Eyed Prince stood up then, raising his cup.

“A final tribute before you leave, then,” he said. “To the health of my nephews: Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise…” his eye was fixed on Daenys, and he only looked away when he spoke again, “strong.”

“Aemond,” Alicent warned, knowing all too well where the situation was going.

“Come,” he continued, “let us drain our cups to these three strong boys.”

“I dare you to say that again,” said Jace, his voice threatening, positioning himself in front of Daenys.

“Why? ‘Twas only a compliment. My sister speaks wonders of you boys, and yet when I try to be polite like she wants me to be, I seem to offend you. Do you not think yourself strong?”

Jace’s fist landed on Aemond’s face with a loud crack, the sound of bone meeting flesh echoing through the room. From that moment on, everything happened too quickly:

Daenys went with Helaena, who was covering her ears, overwhelmed by the situation, and hugged her sister. As Aegon pushed Luke’s face against the table, two guards held Jace away from Aemond. Alicent tried to reprimand him, but Aemond freed himself with ease from his mother’s grasp, and only shut his mouth when Daemon put himself between him and Jace. 

“Go to your quarters. All of you, now,” ordered Rhaenyra. Rhaena and Luke, as well as Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena, left the hall. Daemon was speaking with Jace, trying to calm him down, and Daenys found solace in Rhaenyra’s arms.

“Rhaenyra,” called Alicent as she approached the two, and Daenys could’ve sworn it pained her mother to see that she was looking for consolation in Rhaenyra’s embrace, and not hers. “I apologize for this ugly ending to such a lovely evening.”

Rhaenyra nodded and gave her a closed-mouth smile. “These things happen, I suppose.”

Alicent put her hand on her daughter’s arm. “I was thinking… well, before all of this happened, anyway, that perhaps you would like to stay here until the wedding. It would be good to have everything prepared to your liking, and I’m sure Jahaerys and Jahaera would love to have you around a bit longer. And I as well.”

The idea of tending to her wedding preparations with her mother and sister by her side sounded like a dream come true to Daenys. With a small smile on her lips, she looked at Rhaenyra.

“If Princess Rhaenyra is fine with it, I… I would like that very much,” she said.

Rhaenyra smiled back, and left a motherly kiss on her forehead. “Of course,” she said. 

“But…” Daenys added, “I would also like you to be here, as well.”

Rhaenyra shared a look with Alicent, not knowing exactly what to say to Daenys’ proposal. Alicent smiled kindly.

“The King and I would like that very much,” she said.

“Very well, then,” said Rhaenyra. “Let me see the children home, and I’ll return on dragonback.”

Daenys’ troubles dissipated with the idea of spending such special moments with the most important women in her life, but her smile faded when she turned and saw that Jace wasn’t there anymore. 

Daemon said she would find him in his quarters, where he was indeed already packing up to leave.

Daenys approached him and grabbed his arm with both her hands to make him stop, and he did, but his eyes were still fixed on the trunk that contained his personal belongings. Daenys put her chin on his shoulder and, when she spoke, she did it softly.

“We’ve decided it’ll be good if I stay here until the wedding,” she said.

To this, Jace took a step back, meeting her gaze with eyes wide open.

“No!” he exclaimed, “Absolutely not. There is no way you’re staying here without me.”

“Jace,” she tried, gathering all the patience and good temper she possessed. “I will be fine, your mother will be here. I think I need this last moment with them, to— to put things right and make amends.”

Jace scoffed and turned towards the bay window, which looked out onto Aegon’s Hill. “I truly cannot believe you’re that blind,” he said.

His tone caught Daenys off guard; he had never spoken to her that way. “I don’t understand,” she said.

“Can you not see what he’s doing?” he asked her now, pointing at nowhere in particular. “What happened tonight, do you think he was just trying to irritate me?”

“Who?” Daenys asked, extremely confused.

“Aemond!”

“What about him?”

“He is in love with you!” he yelled, exasperated.

Daenys blinked in confusion. “What— that’s stupid, Jace.”

“Is it?” he asked, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Shaking her head, Daenys crossed her arms over her chest. “You wouldn’t know that. I mean, you don’t know Aemond, you wouldn’t know.”

“Believe me, I know what loving you looks like.”

Daenys’ frown immediately softened, and she bit her lip to hide her smile, but she failed terribly.

“Why are you smiling?” asked Jace, and his previous anger seemed to have disappeared already.

“What you just said… it was very sweet.”

Jace breathed through his nose and, although his face was still a serious one, he closed the distance between them and put his hands on Daenys’ waist, who immediately placed her hands on his cheeks.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he said, and the true regret in his voice warmed Daenys’ heart. “And I’m sorry everything got out of hand.”

“It’s already forgotten,” she assured him, her forehead against his. “But I do need you to understand something. You and I are going to be married in less than fifteen days,” she began, and the thought made both of them smile. “And it’s not like things are going to change much between us because the truth is that I’m already yours, Jace. No matter what happens, or who tries to get in between… it’ll be to no avail.”

Jace’s eyes were glued to her lips, and it took all of his willpower not to kiss her right there and then. He knew that, of all places, the Red Keep was the least appropriate to share that kind of intimacy before the wedding.

“What about Aemond?” he asked.

“Aemond is confused. He wants everything that isn’t his, that’s how it’s always been. You mustn’t worry, I promise.”

Jace sighed. “I will anyway, but I trust you.”

“Thank you,” she replied, and gave him a soft peck on the lips.

“Princess Daenys, where is your decorum?” he quipped, and Daenys let out an honest laugh.

“I will see you in a fortnight, then,” she said, hands in his curls as if she was afraid of never touching them again.

“A fortnight,” he confirmed, stealing another innocent kiss.

“Miss me terribly, will you?” she asked, letting go of him and walking backwards towards the door. 

“I will try,” he joked, although both knew they would in fact miss each other terribly and be miserable about it.

Rhaenyra and Daemon’s family left that very evening, with only Daenys and Alicent seeing them off at the King’s Gate. 

Later that night, King Viserys died in his bed.

__________________________________

Sorry for the delay! We rescued a kitten this week and I've been MOTHERING! But here you are my loves, I hope you enjoy!

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[faerievampling]

A Long Night

Summary: After Astarion and Tav have their first fight, Astarion is desperate to make up but can't fight his frustration. Set during Act 3, before the end of Astarion's personal quest.

word count: 1.5K

Link to AO3!

Pairing: Astarion x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+, Explicit. Vaginal Fingering. Biting. Blood drinking. Angst. Astarion is a bit possessive. Soft dom Astarion. Mild dub-con.

A/N: I meant to post something sweet about spawn!astarion but it's not ready yet...but this is :)

You and Astarion had had your first fight. It was about Cazador’s ritual, of course; the topic had been coming to a boiling point between the two of you. You can’t even really remember what all was said, only the outcome of the conversation: Astarion put his foot down and told you that he was going to take the power regardless of what you wanted. He said it was for the best, for both of you. Then, he stormed off, leaving you and the rest of your party standing in the streets of Baldur’s Gate.

Your embarrassment quickly reached your face, and you shooed your companions away, wanting to be alone for a while. But now, after a long walk, you finally arrive at the Elfsong Tavern.

You make your way to you and Astarion’s room and begin to take your armor off: unfortunately for you, you wore heavy armor. Even after so many months of adventuring, getting your armor off was a task you still struggled with, especially after a long day. It was bulky, difficult to take apart, and so heavy. It often leaves you frustrated to deal with alone. 

Astarion helped you take it off every night. He would pretend to be frustrated or annoyed with the task, but was always certainly happy with the result: that armor protected his beloved from the hardest hits.

You have only unclasped the right arm when you hear the opening of a door and feel another pair of hands on you. You already know it’s him. You’re greatly relieved, because part of you was worried he’d run from you. Astarion could be rather avoidant; the armor surrounding his mind might just be as tough as what you wear on the physical battlefield.

Astarion begins to work your armor off, not saying a word as he does. You allow yourself to breathe deeply, taking in his scent as he helps you shed the weight of the day.

Once you’re free, you shiver, feeling a bit exposed. As Astarion begins to take off his own armor, you gather your things and slink away to the washroom. Although Astarion usually joins you in the bath, you figure he won’t follow, because surely he is still angry.

He wants power. He said he wanted it for the both of you. Forever. For good. You wonder what he meant by that. You certainly understood the implication, but Astarion is known to embellish.

But you had already made your decision: you couldn’t allow it. You couldn’t allow your beloved to enter into a contract with Mephistopheles. To sacrifice seven thousand souls - it was unconscionable.

As you ease into the warm water, the smell of lavender wafts from the newly disturbed surface. You and Astarion had been lucky enough to get a private room with a washroom attached; the room resembled a small bathhouse more so than a wooden tub, which you had been grateful for, because it made for a luxurious experience.

You allow yourself to fully relax as you slide yourself to the depths of the tub, bringing your head underwater. You close your eyes and listen to the sound of your own blood pumping through your veins for as long as you can stand it. After an impressive length of time, you think to yourself, you hear the creak of the door. You bring yourself up, gasping for air as you push your hair out of your face. 

Astarion is there, and because you’re a little shocked from his presence, you can’t help but watch, unblinking as he begins to peel away his underclothes. 

Your heart races at the sight of his nakedness; the flicker of the candlelight dances across his muscular form, making your core feel swollen and needy. A blush rises to your cheeks and the tip of your ears, prompting Astarion to give you a little smile. 

His body was perfect—his alabaster skin, his muscled form, even the impressive length of his cock, which was already half hard, you could see. 

Astarion eases himself in the bath, water rippling around his gorgeous form. “I don’t want to fight anymore, love,” his voice is even, his hungry eyes sweeping over your naked body, lingering at the buds of your breasts that peek out from the water's surface. 

Treading water, he comes to you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist and pulling you onto his lap bridal style. He holds your gaze for a long moment before resting his forehead on yours.

You knew this tender moment was both an apology and a declaration of his love; one you appreciated, but were weary to accept. You want Astarion to use his words - to say he is sorry, or to ask for an apology, or something. You just wanted him to communicate, but you are so scared to push him.

He tenderly brushes his full lips onto your own, and you try not to react. You don’t want to give in. As you try to formulate the right words in your head, Astarion moves to the curve of your neck, pressing his lips to your pulse point before he nips at you, breaking your skin with the prick of a fang. A small droplet of blood blossoms from the wound, and you pull away, giving Astarion an incredulous look.

He’s supposed to ask.

He releases one of his arms from you, his hand trailing down the front of your body, brushing a nipple with his thumb before nestling between your legs. Fingertips graze your sensitive folds, making you shiver despite the warmth of the water. 

“Astarion,” You plead before he slips a finger inside you, teasing your lips with his thumb; your walls contract around his knuckles, drawing him in deeper.  

His lips meet yours, his tongue finding entry as he tastes you. 

You can feel the increasing hardness of cock against your ass as his finger stirs inside you. You feel the pressure of a second finger against your entrance for just a moment before he slides it inside you, filling you up a bit sooner than you’re ready.

A desperate whimper escapes your lips as he stretches your walls. Astarion pumps in and out of you, fucking you with his fingers, every thrust going deeper until he’s curling his fingers inside you, pressing on that spot that is so sweet, tender, and so deeply nestled inside you.

You’re feeling your build up, that delicious feeling of the anticipation of ecstasy; you already want to come. But you can’t ignore your need to check in on your lover: you break away from his dedicated kisses, surveying his handsome face.

“Astarion,” Your voice is higher than usual. You try to pull away from him, but his arm has you locked in. What he is doing with his fingers threatens you every second, and you know you are so close, but you continue to edge yourself, holding back the come that threatens to gush from your folds.

“Tav,” His voice is low and full-bodied. “You needn’t pull away from me, you know.”

“You -” You begin to say, but Astarion only digs his fingers in harder, deeper, your impending orgasm becoming almost impossible to ignore, emptying your brain. 

Astarion’s face twists, the frustration apparent on his face. “I’m fine,” he growls against your skin. “Am I not allowed to take my lover when I want? Would you really deny me that, too?” Before you can respond, his lips are on you, tongue crashing into yours as he continues his ministrations on you. 

The nip of his fang on your lip causes you to gasp, but Astarion is lapping and sucking at it, his own murmurs of pleasure causing you to buck your hips into his hand. You spasm and struggle in his grasp, but before long, you can’t take it anymore, and you feel the shockwaves of pleasure emanating from your cunt all the way to your fingertips. You’re creaming around his fingers; your body is hazy, almost numb with pleasure. 

The pulsing sensation of your cunt around Astarion’s fingers drives him nearly mad, and his fervent kisses are all over you. The brush of his lips and tongue could be felt on your cheeks, your neck, your ears.

He begins to nibble at you, leaving shallow bites in the wake of his kisses on your neck and shoulders. He’s marking you where he can, even though you both know it’s only temporary: he would douse you in healing potions and gentle touches after this, caring for your every ache and pain. 

“You’re starting to prune, darling,” Astarion’s voice is low. “Why don’t you get out of here and meet me in our room? And don’t bother to dress yourself, my love. You’re in for a long night,” The sound of his voice makes the hair on your skin stand up, goosebumps covering your body despite the ever warm water. 

You know your cheeks are flushed from the way Astarion is looking at you. His eyes are hooded, seductive, and the smirk on his lips almost meets his eyes. 

“Tonight, I’m going to fuck you however I want, Tav. I’m going to bite you wherever I want, whenever, until I decide I’m satisfied.” Astarion’s voice draws a whimper from your lips, and he lightly chuckles. “Go on now, darling. I’ll be right behind you.”

Masterlist

[lovesickpvppy]

- SUMMER SONG -

word count: 1.2k

plot: leon is back from college and you have some fun together ; )

warnings: oral (f receiving), fluff, awkwardness, re2 leon !

notes: haii, hope u guys enjoy this !🤍

you met leon on a hot summer day, sweat dripped down your neck as you planted some flowers in your garden, a family has just moved into the house beside yours, specifically his family . you still hadn't met any of them yet but you wanted to, lucky for you right when you got up from your knees leon was passing by your gate, you waved at him and he waved back, your first interacting with your neighbor! now that was three years ago . you had just finished high school and college was right around the corner, leon on the other hand was visiting his parents for the summer, he was now twenty one years old, a three year age gap wasn't that bad, right?

his parents had so generously invented everyone on the block to they're house for a pool party or rather a barbeque, you chose your swimsuit and put on your sandals, you and your parents made your way to they're home, knocking on their door . when the door swung open instead of seeing leon's parents like you expected you saw him, fuck what were you gonna say, luckily your parents could tell you were stuck and they started to greet him, he stepped aside, letting you come in, they're house was big, not like rich rich big, but definitely big

leon guided you to they're garden where the pool and everyone else was, you sat down on a lawn chair and unexpectedly leon sat down next to you . you immediately panicked, your mind racing while thinking about what to say, 'how was high school?' leon broke the silence, you quickly thought of a short response, 'oh, good...I think' he chuckled, 'how was college?' you asked, 'fun, stressful too' you nodded your head, the silence was comfortable but leon got up and patted you on your shoulder, 'you want something to drink?' you looked up at him from your seat and nodded, 'use your words' he gently demanded, that caught you by surprise but before you could think words were already coming out of your mouth

'I would like a glass of water' he smiled and nodded, walking off to go get the both of your drinks . minutes later he came back with two plastic cups, one with water and the other one with beet, right he could drink . he stopped in front of you, 'you wanna sit by the pool?' you were to focused on how good he looks in the sun to form a sentence, all you could let out was a weak 'mhm' before standing up and taking your glass . you sat down at the pool, dipping your calves in the water and sipping on your drink, leon sat next to you and leaned back, fuck he looked so good, you thought as you tried your absolute best to not stare

he started to make conversation, yet the conversation was mostly him talking, but you didn't mind, you could listen to him talk for hours . suddenly you spaced out, completely lost in thought, you don't particularly know about what but you do know it was about leon, maybe it was about his eyes, maybe his hair or maybe his hands, 'you look really pretty in your bathing suit, the colors suit you' his words broke your train of thought, 'huh?' you whipped your head in his direction, 'I said, you look pretty in your bathing suit '

'oh' you awkwardly cleared your throat, 'thank you', you wanted to giggle like a school girl, leon kennedy just called your pretty, sure it wasn't actually that big of a deal, he probably calls a bunch of girls pretty, especially with all the college girls he was around . 'you wanna go inside? I can show you my room' you thought about it, was going into his room really a good idea? probably not but that didn't stop you . holding his hand you slipped away from the rest of the people, he led you to his room, up the stairs and first door to the left

you sat down on his bed, he started to show you all his collections, he looked so cute explaining all his stuff to you . you giggled at every dumb joke he made and nodded as he talked about all the "interesting" facts about video games, you could get used to being around him . once he was done he sat in his desk chair, 'so...' he trailed off, it was an awkward situation, a pretty girl was in his room and he'd spent ten minutes geeking out on her . with all the thoughts going through your head one of them came out of your mouth, 'leon I want you' his head perked up as you said that, did he hear you right?

he chuckled and stood up, he slowly walked over to you, his pointer finger and thumb capturing your chin, forcing you to look up at him, 'what did you say?' he said with a light smirk on his face, fuck, he was forcing you to repeat yourself. I... want you' you cringed as you said it, you couldn't believe you actually let that slip out. his thumb traveled up to your cheek, he gently caressing it, he took in the sight of you, your eyes wide and your lips parted, 'pretty' he mumbled before crashing his lips into yours

it took you a second to register what was happening, when you did you kissed back, his lips feeling like heaven against yours. he gently and slowly pushed you onto his bed, his hands placed on your hips with his fingers digging into the bone. you winced or rather moaned when he bit your bottom lip, he chuckled against your lips. your hands trailed up his spine to his hair, your fingers gripping on to it as the kiss became sloppy, he hooked his finger on the waistband of the bottom part of your bikini, 'can I?" you quickly nodded

'yes, please get it off' you whined, he slid it down and kissed the inside of your thighs, he hooked your legs on his shoulders and gave your clit a kiss, you moaned from the stimulation.

he licked a stripe from your the bottom of your cunt to the top before sliding his tongue inside you, 'fuck' you whined out in pleasure, he replaced his tongue with his two of his fingers, curling them inside you, your hips bucked and you dug the back of your head into the pillow below you. his mouth quickly moved to your clit, kissing and licking it, he was practically making out with your pussy

his fingers slid in and out of your gummy walls, you felt an intense feeling bubbling up in your stomach, 'leon, gonna cum, please don't stop' he complied to your request, he curled his digits into you on more time before he felt your clench around him and cum, he help you through your orgasm, your mouth agape and your eyes shut as you came. he gave you clit one last kiss before sliding his fingers out of you, licking and sucking all your juices off them

you regained your senses and opened your eyes, he roughly kissed you and messaged your tits, 'wanna make you cum too’ you said inbetween kisses, he shook his head

'you can do that another time'

another time?

[comatosebunny09]

oral fixation | astarion a.

summary: he loves your lips. especially when they’re so eagerly wrapped around him. genre(s): erotica, romance warning(s): female anatomy described, oral fixation, face-fucking, bj, jealousy, possessiveness, bodily fluids, choking, cum-eating, brief dacryphilia, explicit language, alcohol and tobacco use (hookah), blood drinking now playing: criminal - taemin notes: please thank @nanaoise08squad for helping me write this! also, please let me know if i missed any warnings! hope you enjoy, lovelies! screenshot credit

Lips.

Your lips.

They’re his favorite—if anyone ever bothered to ask what he enjoys most about your body.

Well, other than the devastating clench of your pussy, of course.

They’re pillow-soft. Thick. Flushed like rose petals. Cute when they’re pulled into that warm smile. 

Alluring, stretched into a thin line as you glare at your enemies. 

Exquisite, stained with blood and bruises and split—he can’t help wanting to lick them whenever he sets his eyes on them, even in the heat of battle.

Perfect and sweltering, curled around him. Dribbling with globs of spit and pre-spend as you take him down your throat. His favorite of all. And those pretty, garbled sounds you release when he presses deeper, testing your gag reflexes, amplifies his love for them.

Your sinfully gorgeous lips.  

Gods.

Astarion bites his lip, threatening to draw blood. 

He observes you through the wispy haze of tobacco smoke staining the lounge, trained on every twitch and spasm of your mouth beneath the dulled lighting. Every smile, every scowl. Every dart of your tongue from betwixt them, chasing wine that glides down the corners.

Your tongue leaves a sheen of saliva in its wake. Astarion swallows thickly. Unconsciously flashes back to how you make his cock gleam like that. Glistening and flushed an angry red when you release him with a lewd pop after swallowing him down like a fucking pro.

Astarion shudders, his eyes rolling into the backs of their sockets. His fingernails pull at the plush, crimson cushions beneath him, a groan trying to make itself known.

You’ll be the death of him; he’s sure of it. 

Astarion sulks, swirling the contents of his goblet, brows weighed down in the middle by something like irritation. 

You’re doing this on purpose. Enticing him. Vexing him. Your eyes occasionally find him across the lounge. Twinkle with mischief below bowed lashes before flitting back to your company. Company he wishes would piss off.

He can think of better ways to occupy your mouth that don’t involve meaningless conversation.

However, everyone’s gathered around you to celebrate the famed Hero of Baldur’s Gate. Despite Astarion’s protests, you insisted on staying. 

You are a beacon of hope. An idol perched on a plinth, the Madonna della Pietà. Who would he be to steal you away from your adoring fans?

He just wishes his trousers weren’t so unbearably tight. Wishes he wasn’t straining against the seam of them, throbbing and pulsing with beads of pre-cum staining the thick material. Plagued by memories of the beautiful sounds he evokes from your mouth instead of your airy laughter filling his head once again.

Astarion crosses his legs with a petulant sigh and shoves a pillow onto his lap to mask his growing need. Quietly simmers, downing what remains in his cup. He swipes the back of his hand across his chin to clean up errant dribbles of wine, uncaring of how unsightly he must appear.

He’s in no mood for pleasantries. No mood to entertain others, waving off the belly dancers who try vainly to charm him with the wind of their hips. He’s too busy boring holes into the arm draped about your shoulders—one of your fans getting a little too cozy. 

If looks could kill, he would’ve murdered this imbecile a thousand times over.

His vision glosses red when the man’s thumb swipes at the corner of your lips under the pretense of cleaning off some wine.

“There you go, lass,” he murmurs, the rough pad of his thumb grazing your chin. “Good as new. And still just as pretty.” 

There’s no mistaking the gleam in his eye. The lecherous cant of his lips. A look Astarion knows all too well, having pinned you with it so many times himself. 

You chuckle something tense, finding Astarion’s gaze through the discord.

Astarion moves on instinct. Soundless as a panther, pushing through the harem of dancers that had gathered around him. Parts through the revelers assembled at your feet, and they look up at him with varying degrees of alarm.

With an abrasive sound pinched from his lungs, Astarion plucks you from the settee with a possessive hand encircling your wrist. Murmurs a curt excuse us, daring the man who touched you to protest with a predatory glare over his shoulder. 

The hairs of your neck stand ramrod stiff. A pleasant, cooling sensation pools in your belly. Trickles southward into your underwear, and you throb.

You do so love it when he gets like this. Green-eyed and seething.

You bid the other patrons farewell, unable to disguise the sinister arc of your lips. Toddle behind your beloved, your body still buzzing from the wine, your head still spinning from the nicotine. Astarion finally tugs you beneath layers of sheer, burgundy curtains, far from the grasp of the lounge’s other clients.

“Astarion,” you gasp as the world twists around you, and he pulls your stumbling, giggling self before him.

You’ve hardly any time to admire your surroundings, the swell of sound from the longue muddled and blotted out by the clipped growl rumbling in Astarion’s chest. 

You only have the gleam of his irises and the flash of his teeth as warnings before you tumble backward onto a mass of pillows, shoved into them by your beloved. You clamber to your elbows, breaths labored, pupils dilated. Again, you’re pushed into the satiny cushions as Astarion crawls overtop, fingers winding around your jaw and neck to hold you in place for him to ravage you.

He slots himself between your legs, and it’s like he’s always been there. Feasts on your mouth, pushing past the barrier of your teeth in pursuit of your tongue, thumb pressing against your larynx. He pours the most relieved sound between your lips when he finds it. Entices it into an ardent dance, and Gods, you’re so warm and wet here. He can’t help how he bears down, hips rolling like waves licking the shoreline as he presses against the stitching of your breeches.

You moan in tandem, and the air punches from your lungs, the heels of your feet digging into his back as you twine your legs around his waist. 

His other hand pulls and bunches up your clothing in search of the supple glide of your skin. Groans something satisfied when the hardened pads of his fingertips find the xylophone of your rib cage, easing upward. He grazes the underside of your breast, and he kneads and rolls your nipple with slow, meticulous circles, luring the prettiest little whine from your throat.

“Astarion,” you recite, clawing at the bindings of his breeches. It’s the sweetest supplication to his ears to hear you begging so wantonly for him. To see he isn’t the only one who missed the hot press of your body to his.

He abandons your mouth to blister your neck with kisses, fangs nipping at your clavicle, thumbs cruising down the dip of your stomach in search of your hips whilst you arch your back. He sighs around your nipple when your soft hands close around the head of his cock, tugging and squeezing, your thumbs generous as they spread pre-spend around him. Instinctively, Astarion ruts into the scorching clasp of your hands, breathing hot against your flesh, rolling your other nipple between lithe fingers.

It’s almost embarrassing how desperately he yearns for you. How he leaks and whimpers while you fist him, and his canines sink into the doughy flesh of your tit, pulling a yelp from your mouth. He licks over the wounds in apology, hips pinning your waist to the floor. He’s dizzied and overwhelmed, and the wind of your waist isn’t helping matters. 

The succulent tang of your blood provokes his tastebuds, and his hips paint a rhythm of their own volition as he pistons against you. He glances up whilst your head crashes into the pillows, your lips glistening and parting with a breath, and your lids shuttered against the wave of ecstasy sifting through your spine.

“Astarion,” you breathe, pulling so nicely on his cock. Swallow. “Astarion, please. My mouth. Need, I—you…want you in my mouth.”

How sweet you sound, begging for your mouth to be stretched wide and violated. The jumble of your words is endearing. Usually, Astarion would tease you for your impatience. But he hasn’t the tolerance to, having gone without your lips sucking him in for days.

Astarion pants, scrambling to his knees, straddling your shoulders, and tugging his breeches down, down, down until his impressive girth springs free of its confines. It slaps intimidatingly against his abdominals, a pretty, gossamer string of pre dribbling from the slit towards your chin, and his cock twitches at your eagerness.

There’s reverence in your stare. Hunger as your mouth opens and closes, and your perfect body squirms beneath him, anticipation lancing through you. You squeeze your thighs together to ward off the delicious, sparkling rush of endorphins collecting between them. 

You watch as Astarion handles himself, his hand swallowing up the bulk of his cock whilst he pumps himself, head thrown back, the tendons of his neck flexing. 

He groans something feral and desperate, his cock grinding against the hot, sticky pucker of your lips. 

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Fuck, darling. Open your mouth. Now.”

He spares you a few more stuttered rolls of his pelvis. Taps the turgid flesh of his cock against your tongue before feeding the swollen, sensitive head between your lips. 

“Oh, Gods,” Astarion sighs. Draws back, his body shivering as your mouth releases him with an obscene pop. You flitter your tongue over the slit, chasing the briny edge of pre-cum.

He peers down at you through furled lashes, irises smoldering like liquid spilled over hot coals. He chuckles something breathy, easing back into the hot suction of your mouth.

“Eager, aren’t we, darling?” he husks. Cheeky as he drives himself deeper until your jaw clicks, your eyes roll back, and your whimper vibrates around him.

Your pussy clenches, and you undulate your hips off the floor. Grip the taut globes of Astarion’s ass, urging him further inside until he agitates your gag reflexes. 

Your throat constricts around him, a fist-like vice that brings him barreling forward onto his hands. And he’s a pretty, panting mess hovering over you, alabaster curls falling over his eyes, sweat gliding down the tips, brows creased in anguish.

He gives you minimal time to adjust before taking a fistful of your hair and pinning it to the pillows, keeping you in place so he can fuck into your mouth. 

Slowly, he draws his hips backward until only the head rests on the palate of your tongue. You whine petulantly before Astarion pushes back in, building a steady tempo thereafter, your lips stretching so wonderfully to accommodate him each time.

His mouth forms around silent ohs. Breaths choppy as he fucks your face, and saliva meddled with pre-spend bubbles on your cheeks. 

Your eyes gloss over with tears, your throat rubbed raw, jaw aching. But you squeeze his ass ever tighter, urging him to use you. To chase that cresting wave of pleasure. You could die like this, with his cock distending your throat and your pussy weeping and begging to be stuffed.

“Gods, fuck, fuck, fuck,” chants your lover. His hips stutter, and his cock throbs on your tongue, fingers gripping your hair in a way that’s almost bruising. You know he’s nearing his peak, and you take to kneading his weighted, tight balls to help steer him to the edge.

It takes but a few more thrusts into the opulent warmth of your mouth before he paints your throat in thick, syrupy steaks of white. He pushes a groan through clenched teeth, eyes screwed shut whilst he cranes his neck back, exhaling his release.

You choke, the hot rush of tears blistering your cheeks. But Astarion holds your mouth in place as you thoroughly milk him, dumping the last vestiges of his cum down your throat. 

He slowly unsheathes himself. Crawls down to straddle your hips, petting through the riot of your hair and drawing your swollen mouth into an apologetic kiss. He tenderly entwines your tongues together, the briny tang of his cum coaxing a moan from him.

Astarion rolls onto his back beside you, giving you time to catch your breath. And with your lashes dewy and wet and your lips abused, you chuckle something satisfied. Astarion looks at you warily before laughing himself, seeking out your hand to lace your fingers together.

“I should make you jealous more often,” you muse once your laughter peters. You roll onto your side, propped on your elbow, cheek perched on your hand whilst you run your finger down the length of his arm. A cattish grin rounds your lips.

Astarion scoffs, avoiding your stare. “Jealous? Me?”

You give him a pointed look.

He flinches beneath the weight of your glare, a nervous smile twitching his lips. “Well…maybe just a little.”

You sit like this for a while longer, admiring the flutter of his lashes and the peachy hue of his cheeks. Finally, he breaks the comfortable silence, pinning you with a scarlet-spun gaze. 

“We should go.” Astarion slowly sits up, a smirk taking residence on his lips as he tugs you into the circle of his arms. “I’ve much more in store for you, my love. Things I can’t be bothered to do…here.”

You shiver at the thought, boneless as your lover hauls you to your feet. You fix your clothes and hair as best you can before Astarion leads you back to the main lounge, twin smiles adorning your lips.

Astarion swings by the bar to drop some coin onto the counter to pay for your drinks. Catches the eye of the man who’d had his arm around you earlier, and his mind sparkles with a sinister idea.

He draws you against him, your breath coming out in a gasp before he takes possession of your cheeks and lures you into a soul-siphoning kiss. One of tongues and teeth and sloppiness, and you find your thighs rubbing together again to curb the insistent throb between them. 

You whimper into his mouth, and Astarion fixes the man with a sinister look over your shoulder as he grips your ass and squeezes. Something of a warning, a threat. 

Touch her again, and I’ll have your head on a pike. 

masterlist

[frantic-fiction]

May I request some Jealous!Fem!Reader x Astarion? Maybe one where someone from Astarion’s past makes an appearance and while Astarion sees this woman as just a friend, reader can see the woman blatantly flirting with her vampire spawn and she doesn’t like it one bit. ESPECIALLY if Astarion’s oblivious to the woman’s advances and innocently engages (because let’s face it, our boy loves being praised & complimented 24/7). Reader decides it’s her turn to stake her claim on our little sassy vampire and remind everyone who he belongs to ;)

Yes! Yes! Thank you for the request!

Jealous

Astarion x gn!reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.5k

Masterlist

It was nice being back in the city. Yes, there was still the ever-looming threat of the Absolute, but most of the party was back home, and for once, it felt like, for a moment, everyone could breathe. You had a fluffy bed to sleep on instead of a lumpy bedroll. And while Gale always made whatever perversions the party scavenged taste good, the warm, hearty tavern meals you've been treated to as of late were too good to beat.

But the best part of being back was taking any moment to drag Astarion out into the city to wherever he fancies so he can explore Baldur's Gate in the daylight without the darkness of Cazador. He wanted to visit the farmers market today, so you wandered the vendors' stalls, stopping to take moments and smell flowers and sample wares.

Astarion politely conversed with a tailor about the fabric quality used for a shirt he wanted. Frankly, they had been talking longer than your attention span could handle, so when your eyes wandered to a stall full of beaded jewelry, you wasted no time giving Astarion a quick peck on the cheek and telling him where you'd be.

The pieces were beautiful and skillfully crafted—brightly colored beads and gold inlays, gems of various minerals, all catching your eyes. The older halfling woman propped highly on the stool, greets you politely, and gives little details and facts about each one you set aside for closer inspection. Maybe you should get something for Shadowheart and Karlach? Probably not Lae—

"Astarion!"

A feminine voice has you snapping your head back to your partner. A frown instantly settles over your features when you see a tall, elven woman pull Astarion's hug. Her brown hair is intricately braided into a top knot decorated in sparkly chains. Her dress hugs her curves, framing her body perfectly.

Why are they still hugging?

"Oh Gods, it's been too long. You're looking amazing." Her nasal voice filters down the markets. "How are you, love?"

Astarion finally manages to break the hug, giving the woman an automatic flirtatious smile, the tailor long forgotten. "Eleanor, I've been well. I do hope the same can be said for you."

Dropping the beads with little care, you leave the stall, ignoring the halfling. You don't like this woman. You don't like how her hand still lingers on Astarion's forearm or how she leans ever so slightly closer as if daring him to kiss her.

"I've been fine, though I'm upset you haven't visited in quite a while. It's been rather dull without you." She runs her hand up his arm.

Astarion laughs, flicking his hand in the air and clearly enjoying the woman's words. "I could only imagine, my dear. Those brutes are fowl at their best. Who wouldn't miss me."

Your jaw clenches when her obnoxious laughter rings in the air. Pushing past a family of four throwing a half-ass apology, not paying mind, too pissed off. Who does this woman think she is putting her hands on Astarion as if he's hers?

"Astarion, you always knew how to make me laugh." Elenor ducks her head, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "If I'm being honest, I was always jealous of the ones you took home. But now that we're here, maybe…"

Oh, hell no! You practically jump the rest of the way and run into Astarion's arm. He lets out a breathy oof, arms tightening around your waist to keep you from tumbling to the ground. Pretending you weren't aware of the woman, you capture Astarion into a chaste kiss before beaming up at him.

"I hope you found what you were looking for, my love." Your voice is sickly sweet as you trail your thumb across his cheekbone. Then you turn your head and feign innocence, looking at the elf. "Oh, I'm sorry, Star. Who is this?"

Astarion gives you a look but recovers quickly. Clearing his throat, he speaks, "Darling, this is Eleanor. She owns a tavern I frequented. One of the only decent companies I've had before we met."

Moving away from Astarion's side, you reach your hand out in greeting, giving her your name, "It's a pleasure to meet a friend of my Star,"

Eleanor looks a bit taken aback, staring blankly at the two of you, clearly not expecting this change in her plans. You're internally preening. She takes your hand in a limp shake before dropping it and stepping back. Eleanor quickly wipes her hand on her dress slyly and chuckles.

"That explains why I haven't seen you in a while."

You sneer at her, wanting nothing more than to punch her. Instead, you drop your hand onto Astarion's chest, nuzzling warmly into his side. "Yes, sorry about that. I've been a bit selfish. Sometimes it hard to get out of bed."

"Right…" Eleanor says. Astarion, I never took you as one to settle down, especially someone as… unique as them."

"What is that supposed to mean?" The venom drips from your words, and Astarion has to keep you in place.

Eleanor smirks. "Oh, I meant nothing bad." The mocking tone alone reinforces that she meant this to be as insulting as possible. "I'm just stating you're rougher around the edges."

Astarion's hold on your waist tightens as you move to step forward, hand reaching for the dagger discreetly hidden against your thigh. There is no possible way this woman values Astarion in any way more than as a body to conquer. That thought alone has you practically baring your teeth.

"What the fuck does that mean!"

Astarion steps in before you can do anything extreme, "Eleanor, it was lovely seeing you again. We'll have to come and visit sometime for a drink, but I'm afraid my love and I must make our leave."

"Oh yes, of course!" Elenor says, her voice a bit too filled with fake cheer. Her smile is strained, and her eyes stare daggers into your skull. "I hope I can see you at the tavern sometime soon."

"Yes, we'll come down for a visit sometime soon. " Astarion calls over his shoulder, practically dragging you down the cobblestone. You think about ripping your arm out of his hold and turning back, but you let him pull you along with only a death glare sent toward Eleanor.

As soon as the two of you are in a secluded place, Astarion drops your hand and turns on you. "Darling, what was that?"

Picking at your nails, you shrug your shoulders. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Astarion takes your hand and, with a finger, tilts your chin to force you to meet his eyes. He has a shit-eating grin, and his fangs are even more prominent in his smile. "You were jealous."

Swatting his hands away, you step back. "I was not!" You lie and storm down the alleyway. You didn't get far before Astarion caught your wrist and spun you into his chest.

"You were jealous." He repeats. "But you really shouldn't be."

"She was all over you."

"It was a hug, my dear, from probably the closest normal friendship I had before the tadpole."

"Friendship? She was practically begging you to fuck her." You huff, fiddling with the lapels of Astarion's shirt.

Astarion chuckles deeply and presses a kiss to your forehead. "Gods, you're cute when you're jealous."

"Don't make fun of me, Astarion."

Ignoring you, he continues. "For argument's sake, if she was begging me to fuck her, as you so eloquently put it, who cares? I certainly don't, not when I have this beautiful, strong, incredibly understanding partner who knows all the darkest parts of me and still stands by my side?"

"Well, I am pretty noble for putting up with you when you're hungry." You smile, looping your arms around his neck, all jealousy draining from you like water from a colander.

"How could another soul handle me in that horrid state." Astarion runs his nose against yours. "I love you and don't plan on stopping soon."

You beam and kiss him breathlessly before mumbling, "I love you too," against his lips. "I think we should head back to our room."

Astarion chuckles under his breath, running his hands down the curve of your spine. "Oh, what for my sweet?"

"Well," Crawling your fingers up his chest, you press your lips to his ear and whisper. "If you'll let me, I want to mark every inch of your neck." "Mark me as yours, darling?" Astarion hums.

"Mhmm, we could go further, but" you continue. "Tonight, I want you to show me this tavern Eleanor owns. I think we deserve a date night."

"You are jealous."

"If I agree, will you take me out?" You lean in for a kiss.

Astarion presses forward, brushing his lips against yours. "As long as I have a necklace of your pretty love bites."

"Then yes, my love, I am very much jealous."

I've been struggling with inspiration lately. Moving was super stressful and I had to leave a hostile work environment very quickly so life's been a bit messy. But I've got my kitty cat and don't have to deal with a shitty boss so hopefully things will go up from here.

I'm kinda iffy on how I feel on this one but that might just be my current mindset. I hope you all enjoy it regardless, and stay tune because I plan on have something spicier posted soonish...possibly Astarion discovering his breeding kink 🫣❤️

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[alrightieaphroditie]

screwed | j.m series masterlist | next part!

pairing *:·ﾟjoel miller x female!reader wc *:·ﾟ2.2k an *:·ﾟ.... yeah i don't know where this came from. i've literally been itching to write for joel but the man makes me so nervous. not too sure how much i like this but i think this will be the beginning of a lil series so hopefully i can make it work! pleaase let me know if this is bad lmao i really appreciate any feedback! i hope you enjoy!

synopsis *:·ﾟyou can't stand the sight of joel miller sitting alone - again - at the tipsy bison, so you finally decide to introduce yourself to him.

you knew who joel miller was before you even officially met the man. 

granted, anyone in jackson could’ve made that same claim. it wasn’t like you were special or anything, really. but when tommy came into the community, it only took him a few weeks to get settled in. it took about the same time for him to casually be able to mention his brother into almost every conversation. 

helping some of the guys out with making plans for a new building? joel miller would’ve been great at that. trying out a batch of the new whiskey they had made? joel miller would’ve been all over that. brushing the horses and maintaining the stalls? tommy actually wasn’t sure how joel would feel about this one, but he made sure that everyone knew his brother would do it if asked, no hesitation.

so, when you heard that joel miller had shown up near jackson, and was going to be entering the community, you felt like you had a decent understanding of the man. however, you weren’t anticipating joel miller to look… like that. even now, you still remember being huddled outside near the entrance of the town, bundled up in an oversized jacket. as the gates opened and you first caught a glance at the older, taller man walking through, you felt your cheeks burn bright red. 

your first thought about joel miller? he was unrightfully handsome. 

it wasn’t until after joel and the girl he came in with, who you later learned was named ellie, got settled that the rumors started to spread. you weren’t entirely sure where the source came from, but soon enough the town of jackson was talking about joel as much as his own brother had, but this time it was accompanied by whispering, stolen glances, and an air of hesitancy. 

you were never one to gossip, but you couldn’t help yourself strain to listen to those whispers floating around. you couldn’t understand how someone who was as highly praised by tommy, a man so well trusted within jackson, could be so ostracized in the community. you heard mumbles of him being a hunter, previously. of him murdering innocent people for his own selfish ways. of how some people didn't feel as safe in the community now with this big, bad man roaming around. 

the thing was, you had gotten quite close to ellie in the weeks that they had been there. she appeared at your house one day, standing near the curb as she watched you and some of the towns children haphazardly building a snowman. you caught her eye, waved her over, and that was that. she was your new best friend. she showed up on your doorstep almost every day after, and the two of you would talk about almost anything. especially about joel. she was very much like tommy in the sense that ellie could relate almost anything back to that man, and she meant it as praise. she really did look up to him. 

during your talks, while you sat at your small dining table with cups of tea (which, ellie had decided she quite liked chamomile tea, so you made sure you stocked up for her) you learned more about the man that joel was, and with every conversation, you found yourself wanting to simply know more about joel. ellie often referred to him as a 'scary motherfucker' but the fondness that laced her voice betrayed her. it was because of ellie that you were part of the minority of the town that was not afraid of joel miller. 

and it was then that you knew you needed to do something. it wasn’t really the whispers, the rumors, that bothered you. there wasn’t much to do in jackson, truthfully, so when people needed the entertainment, they tended to make it themselves. a few weeks ago, you were the center of it, the people claiming you were glowing from pregnancy from a hookup that quite honestly never even happened. all you could do was laugh. the people would believe whatever they wanted to, even if you were adamantly insisting otherwise. 

the thing that got you, though, was how joel seemed to have almost expected being treated poorly, being totally unwelcomed in this small town. how he seemed to be fine quietly eating dinner alone almost every night when ellie wasn’t around or tommy had patrol duty, then sitting alone, again, at the bar with a shot of whiskey. the way he seemed so comfortable being alone, and yet you couldn’t help but notice the yearning in his eyes as they shifted around. the weariness. as if he was used to everyone in his life leaving him, alone, and he was the only one left to pick up the pieces. 

so, one evening, almost a month and a half later, when you walked into the tipsy bison for dinner and saw joel sitting in the back - his usual spot, his back to the wall, facing the door - alone, again, you paused in the doorway. his gaze was focused on the lone glass of whiskey in front of him, his fingers trailing the rim slightly. the image sent a shock of pain in your heart for some reason, and before you even realized it, your footsteps were carrying you to him. 

his gaze shot up as you drew near, and you watched as his eyebrow quirked up slightly. you cleared your throat softly, suddenly feeling more nervous than you probably should've, your fingers fiddling with the edge of your sweatshirt the dead giveaway of your anxiety. 

"hi," you managed to get out as you stepped up the edge of the table. his brown eyes were staring intently into yours, and you swear you saw the corner of his mouth quirk up. "i know you've been here a little while now and i just realized i never got around to properly introducing myself. i'm-"

"i know who you are. the kid never shuts up about you." he interrupted, raising the glass to his lips, and taking a sip of his drink. you trained your eyes to stay on his, focusing really hard to not let your gaze go to his lips as he licked them. 

you felt your cheeks flush almost immediately, and a small smile found its way to your lips. all this time that you felt like you had known who joel was, and for some reason, you weren't prepared to hear the slight southern accent in his voice. you thought it was cute. "well, i hope that's a good thing," you motioned to the chair on the other side of the table. "may i?" 

his face gave away nothing, and it could have just been you, but his eyes widened slightly at the question. he hesitated for a split second before nodding his head to the chair, shifting back in his own seat. "sure, have at it. s'long as you’re not afraid to be mingling with the town outcast." he gave you a grin at the self-deprecating joke, and you didn't want to but you couldn't help but laugh. 

"oh, i promise you aren't the town outcast. i think that title goes to jimmy. i haven't seen him around town in weeks, but i know he's home because he keeps shovelin' his driveway." you teased, smiling even more to yourself as joel huffed out a laugh before drinking again. "besides, ellie doesn't think you're all that bad. that must count for something, yeah?" 

his eyes went soft at the mention of the girl, which caused your heart to melt. he shook his head while examining the glass again, his finger wiping off a bit of condensation on the side. "that girl is about as fearless as it gets. not sure you really wanna be followin' in her footsteps." 

"i'll take my chances, then." you traced a crack in the wood on the table, suddenly feeling a little awkward. you weren't the best with people, having been quite the introvert before the outbreak. good to know somethings never really changed. "how are you liking it in jackson so far?" 

"s'alright. i never thought something like this could be possible again," he trailed off, draining the rest of his drink in one go. he leaned back in his chair, arms folded against his chest. you couldn't help but notice how his long sleeve shirt stretched across his broad arms. "'m happy that tommy was able to find a community like this." he confesses, which makes you smile. the one thing you had learned from both tommy and ellie was how loyal joel was, especially to his family. it was a trait you heavily admired, and something you genuinely didn't see nowadays. it was every man for himself out here. well, not in jackson, but that's besides the point. 

"it is pretty great," you agreed. you didn't know where you would be without the community. you had somehow luckily stumbled upon them from the woods as you escaped from a group of hunters that had kept you and your best friend captive. maria had seen you and instantly took you in, giving you space to heal while becoming comfortable again. you didn't share this joel, although you felt the strange urge to, to maybe help joel see that the town wasn't all that bad and that there was good in it. 

"so, i admit i had a secret agenda coming over here. i wanted to ask you something." you tucked your hair behind your ears, trying to muster up the courage to ask. you weren't scared of joel miller, but god he was really intimidating. you weren't sure what you would do if he turned you down.

"oh?" he looked intrigued, that eyebrow of his quirking up slightly again. his expression was soft, almost inviting. "well ask away, sugar."

sugar. your blood rushed in your ears at the endearment. 

"well, i wanted to invite you and ellie over for dinner one night. i already mentioned it to her earlier, but i figured i should probably ask you directly as well." you confessed with a small laugh. ellie swore she would mention it to joel, but then the next second she was asking you about one of the books you had on the counter, and you really can't be sure that she remembered your invitation. 

joel was silent for a moment, his eyes studying you in a way that made your knee bounce. the silence made your thoughts go into overdrive. maybe you misread joel earlier when you believed him to be lonely. maybe he really did just enjoy his own company and maybe he didn't want some strange girl inviting him over and interrupting his time. and maybe - 

"i'd like that, yeah." he responded quietly, tilting his head slightly in your direction as a subtle nod. it could've just been the whiskey, but you could've sworn his eyes shined in the light. you stared at him for a moment. your brain and thoughts catching up to the confirmation joel gave you. 

"oh, perfect!" you resisted the urge to clap your hands in excitement. and you were excited, but you didn't want joel to know just how much lest you come off as some crazed woman. with the way he looked he probably dealt with that all the time, right? 

"okay, well, ellie already knows where my house is so that covers that. if you both don't have duties tomorrow, we could do it then? or if you wanted, we could schedule it for next week or somethin'?" you were well aware that you were rambling, but you couldn't help it. joel didn't seem to mind it, though, as he gazed at you while you talked with your hands. 

"tomorrow's fine with us, 'm pretty sure." he adjusted himself in his chair, the old wood creaking slightly under his weight. “i appreciate the gesture, too. nice to know i haven’t scared everyone off.” you think he’s teasing with you, his grin almost invisible but you can see it. tommy never said his brother had a good sense of humor, but you were starting to wonder if there was a different side of joel that he was letting you see. you felt like you could run 10 laps around the border of the town with the way your heart was racing after his grin. 

“of course! truthfully it’s more for me than it is for you; i got a little sad seeing you in here alone almost every night.” you started to laugh, but then your words caught up to your ears and you realize you inadvertently told joel you’ve been watching him. embarrassed, cheeks flushed with heat, you stood up quickly, tucking your chair back under the table. 

“well, it was nice to finally meet you, mr. miller. i’ll see y’all tomorrow night!” the words rushed out between your lips as you slowly backed away from the table, giving joel a small wave before turning around. he probably thought you were acting like a fool, but you knew you needed to get out of the building before you said something worse. 

as you passed the tables towards the exit, you could’ve sworn that you heard a deep chuckle coming from the corner of the room, coming from the table that you just vacated. 

oh boy, you thought. you were officially screwed when it came to joel miller.

[randoimago]

Crush Fell First, Tiefling Boys Fell Harder

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Character(s): Dammon, Rolan, Zevlor

Note(s): This was so much fun to write! Especially for Dammon cause we don't see too many sides to his character in the game. So, it was nice to come up with something for him realizing how far he's fallen for Reader.

Also I just realized that I made a new post for the ask instead of just using the one in drafts with the actual ask box format on it oops.

Dammon

Dammon found it amusing how easily you fawned over him at the grove, how you gave him your company so quickly, and how natural your conversations were. It was never unwanted or overbearing. It was nice.

And now, as he holds the hammer, his hand shaking as even the forge can't keep him warm in this darkness, you're still there. As memories of bodies fall around him, you take his hand and lead him to safety while he freezes.

He doesn't have to say a thing before you're talking to him, soothing him from those godforsaken memories. And he holds you tightly, letting himself breathe and relax. Because throughout those nightmares, you're still here with him. And he doesn't think he can let you go.

Rolan

Well, he thought it was apparent. Of course, you fell for him; he's an amazingly talented wizard. Admiration is something that he's bound to get for his talents.

Or they're things he had thought he'd get, not the pain and bruises when he finally reached where he hoped to hone his talents. But you still give him admiration. And you're so gentle when you hold his face still to help him with his injuries.

Regret fills his heart at how cocky he's been towards you. How teasing and snarky he's been. Here you are, still with him after his pride and dreams have been shattered. Perhaps you have magical abilities as well, instead of a snarky, cocky comment. He gives you the gentlest "thank you." He'll deal with whatever pain comes his way and keep aiming for his dreams so he can be powerful enough to protect you how you deserve.

Zevlor

This man doesn't understand your affection for him. He views himself as a broken man who's harmed those he swore to protect. How could anyone still look at him and feel more than disgust?

And yet you do, and the sweet words you give him, the reassurances and praise for everything he has done right (not that he believes it fully). Well, it's enough for him to realize how precious you are to him and how he doesn't deserve you at all.

He'll protect you. It's a personal oath he makes. Zevlor has failed at protecting before, and may every god smite him if he ever fails you. You are precious, and he's not good at showing his love, but he'll protect you.

[bxttxrflybxddie]

Kinktober Day 1: Dirty Talk - Rolan

a/n: yippee first time actually doing a kinktober!! this kinda turned into praise but f it we ball

pairing: rolan x gn! reader

word count: 0.8k

warnings: MINORS/AGELESS DNI I BLOCK ON SIGHT!!!!!! unedited, a hint of breeding towards the end, unprotected, not specific genitalia for reader, dom reader, rolan cries but it doesn't hurt, bites, someone tell this tiefling I'm obsessed with him, reader calls rolan baby btw

One of Rolan’s favorite aspects about you is your voice. 

Ever since meeting you at the grove, your voice has been playing in his head- repeating a constant harmonious tune. The way words rolled off your tongue was enchanting, he was sure you must’ve permanently charmed him. Despite his hurtful beratement in the shadowlands, you’ve continued to be a friend to him and his family. Including saving his siblings and helping defeat his previous master. When you approached him shortly after saving Baldur’s Gate asking for a place to stay, he was thrilled to welcome you as the newest addition to the tower. Not only was he excited for your presence but also to hear your music daily.

Some of his prized memories of your voice have been your first meeting where you cut into his and his siblings’ argument conversation, questioning his plans for the tower, and agreeing to have him be yours.

However, His most beloved melody from your voice is here and now. “You like it when I fuck you like that, Master?”

The wizard would answer obediently whilst on his knees, feeling you up from below and thanking you for indulging him tonight. Alas, you’ve ridden him so long to the point of overstimulation that he can say little but moan in response. 

Suddenly, you grip his jaw and force him to look at you, minding the bruises and bites littered around his neck. He’s pulled into a kiss while you shift your weight for support. He can feel your teeth pulling at his lip, and he’d almost feel worthy of an apology if his nails weren’t digging into the plush of your thighs. You pull away with a thin string of spit.

“This is what you’ve needed, right baby? To be taken care of?” You ask him between your groans. A particularly hard thrust against him knocks a sense of clarity into your Rolan, if only for a second.

“G-Gods, yes!” He manages to reply. It’s been stressful as of late, dealing with the intricacies of the tower. There’s no where else he’d want to be, especially with you, but it’s been a heavy weight to carry nonetheless. When you agreed to let him do nothing but lay back and listen to you, he just about came then and there. Thank the Gods he didn’t, this moment is perfection.

Your hands snake their way back against his chest, helping you push yourself off and on against him.

“You are so handsome, you know that? I love it when you look like this, debauched.” His ears burn until they’re numb, on nights when you bed him you’ve made it clear how attractive you find him. He didn’t think that tonight would’ve been one of those nights as well. Obviously, he was mistaken.

“Answer me.” You purr, slowing your pace to a stop, his throbbing cock nestled deep inside you.

“Y-yes, yes gods- please!” He sputters out, tears threatening to spill from the sudden lack of vigorous movement. You lean down again and kiss the cusp of his ear, biting gently as your speed returns, but not to the same as before. He moans as chills spread against his skin; bringing his nipples to a peak.

“Say it. Say you’re handsome. I’ve seen how you’ve looked at yourself today, looked at what’s mine.” You roll your hips against him with the last word falling from your lips, drawing emphasis. You were not going to accept your love thinking of himself however low he was today, not with the beautiful sight under you currently. His hair stuck to his forehead and horns from sweat, purple blooming on his neck and collarbone, and golden eyes that can barely hold your loving stare.

“I’m handsome..” “Louder.”

“I-I’m,” the tears from earlier have began to fall.”I’m handsome.”

You move your hips to the pace matching his volume. Rolan’s jaw drops with a whine as he realizes what you’re up to.

“You’re what, baby?” “Handsome! Zurgan- I’m handsome just p-please..” 

“That’s right, and all mine.” With your grace, you return to your previous pace- if not more unrelenting. 

Rolan shakes, and you know exactly what it means. A sob from his lips confirm your suspicions.

“Are you going to cum in me, Master? Fill me, claim me as yours?” Rolan can only whimper in agreement, his hands moving to rest on your waist as you brutally fuck yourself on him- chasing after his orgasm. 

The wizard shakes, a degenerate moan filling the room as well as skin slapping skin. Warmth floods your senses as you ride out the last few twitches of his cock, your own pleasured noises accompaning his. 

“That’s it, there you go, baby.” You mutter. His head falls back on the pillows, his throat stretched as he cries throughout the rest of his orgasm. 

After plenty of deep breaths from you both, you shift your weight off of your love and curl up next to him. You invite him into a conversation about his current state of mind before sharing “I love yous” and falling into a satisfying sleep.

© BXTTXRFLYBXDDIE

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the heist

the wistful wyvern, chapter five

a/n: HEIST TIME, BABYYYY!!

summary: eventually, after you thought the palace couldn’t unfold any further, you finally came upon the chamber that you sought.

warnings: knight!bucky barnes x knight!reader, fantasy AU (monsters, but not much magic), original fantasy world, ex-friends to lovers, coworkers to lovers, former fuckboy!bucky, tattooed!bucky, slow burn, one-sided pinning, forced proximity, ball, heist, kissing, violence, injuries, cliffhanger

word count: 3535

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With city walls high enough to shade the outer rim of the town, Ingorn, the capital of the southern kingdom, was notoriously operated under tight supervision. One could not simply wander in or out of the city, a key factor that had managed to worry you to the point that your stomach was still in knots long after you and Bucky had successfully blended in among everyone else and sneaked your way inside through the main gate. 

The central castle towered behind you as you now found yourself tugged away in the shadows of one of the small alleys that made up the vibrant and bustling market. The stick in your grasp dragged through the dirt as you explained with the aid of your spontaneous battle map. 

“…and then we slip out,” you moved the little pebbles you’d found to help the visualisation, “right under their noses,” Bucky’s eyes then flickered up from the map at your feet to flash you his slightly apprehensive expression, “it’ll be fine, we’ll be fine,” you tilted your head, “and if not, you know, the food on the inside isn’t as bad as people think.”

Tossing the stick, you then dragged your boot over the drawing to erase it.

“Alright,” you exhaled, “step one,” and cast your glance out the dim alleyway to the seamster across the street, “we gotta look the part in order to blend in.”

Seizing a goblet of wine as a waiter passed, “here,” you handed it off to Bucky beside you, who was visibly fighting every instinct in himself to not undo the tight top buttons of the black ensemble he now wore, “don’t actually drink it.” 

As you both scanned the ballroom meticulously, you slinked your arm in his to blend in with all of the other couples at the party.

“So,” you murmured above the music, “we know the king has a copy of the key, as well as his head of security, Commander Abbot.”

“Which are both too risqué,” Bucky chimed in as his gaze checked in the opposite direction to you, “so we’ll have to go with the last option.”

“Crown Prince Callum,” you elaborated, only seeing drunken gambling and dancing duos for as far as your eye would take you.

“Mhm,” he hummed, then swiftly nudged your side lightly as he spotted the aforementioned royal, “purple dress shirt, to your left,” he subtly pointed him out for you, “the keys are on his belt.” 

After slyly sneaking a peek at the royal standing further down, mid-conversation with a monocle-wearing gentleman, you let out a heavy sigh and tugged the neckline of your blue gown down further, “gods, why couldn’t you have been his type?” 

But when you turned to grab the wine goblet out of Bucky’s grasp, he only bit down a laugh and winked, “good luck.”

Making your pace brisk, you neared the prince just as he began to turn. Clutching the full glass of burgundy wine in your hand, you purposely collided with the noble and spilt the drink all over his purple tunic. 

“Oh gods,” you faked a gasp and stared down at the stain, “your highness! Please forgive me, I didn’t see where I was going, I–… I’m so sorry.” 

The immediate anger that began to blossom on Prince Callum’s face withered and faded when his gaze did a double take as you bashfully batted your eyelashes at him. 

As you swiftly grabbed a napkin from the nearby buffet table to hand off to him, he simply breathed, “ah, it’s–…” as his stare was too busy dropping to your cleavage to notice how yours dipped to the keys dangling from his belt, “it’s fine.”

“You sure?” 

“Yeah, I mean, you can barely even notice the stain,” he glanced down at the faint mark, “so that’s lucky.” 

“I’m still so sorry, I really should have been looking where I was going.” 

After he let his stare linger even longer, the crown prince then blinked, “forgive me if this is too forward of me, but would you care for a dance?”

“A dance?” you faked a timid gasp, though the corners of your lips lifted as this was exactly the proximity you needed in order to steal the keys, “with you?”

“Yes,” he then leaned in closer to smugly whisper in your ear, “if you’re so sorry, then dance with me,” before floating back enough for his emerald eyes to capture yours. 

Bending your knees slightly, you offered him a small curtsy and said, “it would be an honour, your grace.”

After he offered you his palm and you swiftly slid yours into it, he led you to the middle of the dancefloor. Snaking his grasp around your waist, he drew you in a little too close for what you were comfortable with, but exactly what you needed to get the job done. 

“So, my lady,” he uttered as the pair of you began to sway to the music, “I don’t believe we’ve formally been acquainted.”

“Oh, I’m aware of who you are, your highness.” 

“But I don’t know who you are,” he briefly twirled you an arm’s length away from him before whirling you back to him, “we haven’t met before. I’d surely remember a beauty such as you.”

“Lady Delphine of Cællimbe, your grace.” 

“Ah,” his brows lifted with recognition, “so you must be one of Arthur’s daughters?”

“I am,” you lied. 

“Forgive me, I’ve always had a hard time keeping track of all of his daughters,” a skill you knew even some members of that house in Cællimbe didn’t have, “but perhaps now’s the time I finally learn.”

As you let your eyes drift down to the keys dangling from his hip once more, you then uttered, “you know what I think you deserve,” you let your hand softly, yet suggestively, glide from his shoulder and down his frame, “after I so rudely spilt my drink on you?”

With a palm firm on your lower back, he dipped you down to the rhythm of the song. Staring back at you with bated breath, “what?” you knew he was hooked. 

“A kiss,” you managed to whisper just before he crashed his lips against your own. 

Running your palm further down his body, your fingers grazed the delicate loop the keys hung from just as he began to lift you up from the dip and press your frame closer against his. Letting your other hand wander, you tried to make your touch come off as just the same kind of attention he was giving you. You tried not to gag when his caress curved around your bottom and stole a swift squeeze. But just before he finally parted from the repulsive kiss, you snatched the small bundle away and hid it down your cleavage. 

“Wow…” he breathed, eyes fluttering between each of yours, “that was–…” he speechlessly murmured as the song came to an end and everyone around you began to bow and curtsy to their partners, though the prince didn’t move an inch. 

“Thank you for the dance, your highness,” you pulled away and offered him a small smile. 

And as you turned to walk away, his voice found your ears once more as you weaved through the crowd, “will you grant me another one later? Perhaps in a more private quarters?”

Casting a glance back over your shoulder, you playfully answered, “how about you find me at midnight and get the answer then?” before you ducked out the open glass doors onto the broad balcony that stretched so wide it connected many of the chambers. 

Rounding the corner, you wedged yourself into a little nook and momentarily let yourself melt against the stone wall, finally granting yourself a chance to shutter over what you’d just endured. 

“Did you get it?” your eyes swiftly fluttered back open as Bucky’s low timbre washed over you, haven evidently kept a close eye and followed you out here. 

“Of course, I got it,” you fished the keys out from between your boobs and handed them to him. As he slid them into his pocket, you swiftly leaned away from the wall to snatch up a drink from the tray balancing servant that hastily passed by. In an attempt at washing out the taste of the prince’s possessive kiss, you downed the sweet liquor as quickly as you could manage, “urgh,” you groaned, then noticed the amused expression plastered on Bucky’s features and grumbled before he could begin to tease you, “oh, shut up,” you watched him bite down on his grin, “let’s just go.”

Heading back inside, the two of you swiftly slipped down hallways and sneaked by a bunch of boozed-up guests, before your swift steps echoed softly on the staircases as you made your way deeper down into the gilded palace. 

When you reached the basement, you quietly made your way down the long corridors. The torches hung sporadically along the walls were the only source of light, making the sudden passages that occasionally crossed the one you ventured down nearly come as a shock. 

Suddenly, a pair of footsteps, not your own nor Bucky’s, found your ears. 

And just as a shadow began to appear from around the corner, Bucky’s arm quickly wrapped around you as he dragged you into what he’d assumed was a chamber, but turned out to be a very tight broom closet.

The sound of the treads slowed as the door shut behind you. With Bucky’s burly body now firmly pressed up against yours, you scarcely breathed at all as you listened intently to the approaching footsteps. As torch light began to seep in from the crack beneath the door, your eyes found each other’s in the darkness. 

Though as the handle began to twist, your partner reacted quickly and did the very last thing you thought he’d do in order to not blow your cover. 

Grabbing a hold of your face, Bucky swiftly pulled you in and captured your lips just as the door swung open. 

“Oi! You can’t be down here,” the guard bellowed and Bucky’s lips faded from yours just as swiftly as they had appeared, making the whole decoy feel like it had just been a dream.

Being quick to respond, Bucky glanced at the man and said, “sorry, just thought we could find somewhere private down here,” but your eyes were still too spellbound to tear away from his visage even as the ruse faded. 

“Sir, just take it back upstairs,” he held the door and ushered you back out, “there are guest rooms a servant can point out for you if things get very dire,” before the guard then began to escort you back to a staircase leading up. 

“Thank you,” Bucky said, his palm still scorching through the fabric of your dress on your waist as you conquered the lowest of the steps, leaning enough into the guard’s command for him to turn and go back to his post. 

You stayed at the foot of the stairs a moment longer before the coast was clear once more.

Eventually, after you thought the palace couldn’t unfold any further, you finally came upon the chamber that you sought.

Around the corner from a short and curving stairway, there stood the entryway to where the massive vault lied. Before the solid door stood two guards, a layout you silently explained to your partner with a few hand motions. 

With your spines pressed against the wall at the very bottom of the staircase, you wordlessly shared your plan before giving it a go.

Purposely stumbling down the last step, you glanced up at the guards and pretended to be incredibly intoxicated, “oh, hey,” you took a few wobbly steps towards them. 

“Madam,” one of them perked up, “you’re not allowed to be down here.”

“Do you know where the bathroom is?” you slurred, “I think I might have taken a wrong turn,” before you reached out and leaned against the decorative vase standing tall at the edge of the chamber. As it began to wobble violently, one of the soldiers instinctively reacted and reached out to catch it before it smashed, “wow! I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” with their attention turned to you, you tried to twist their view away from the stairs where Bucky waited to sneak out from, “that last drink is just really getting to me, I think.” 

Doubling over the vase, you pretended to heave. As one stepped even further away from his post to near you, the other one pipped up, “madam, you really should return to the party–, uh!” before Bucky appeared and his solid fist knocked him clean out. 

Swiftly, you wrapped your limbs around the guard close to you, nearly climbing him like a monkey, as you slipped your arm around his throat and squeezed.  

“Go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep…” you murmured through your laboured breathes as the soldier slowly lost consciousness and tumbled to the floor, taking you down with him. 

Offering you a hand, Bucky helped you back up onto your feet. As he conjured the keys, your eyes fell upon the dark hellstone that made up the sturdy vault door. The intricate lock in the centre of the arched entrance wasn’t difficult to spot in the slightest as its opulence was on par with the rest of the palace’s decor. 

When the corresponding key twisted and the vault door swung open with a heavy creak, your arm swiftly shot out to hold Bucky back before his boot could cross the threshold. 

“Stop!” you nudged for him to glance down and spot the tripwire he nearly triggered, “this place is probably rigged with tons of traps…” 

Carefully, you stepped over the wire, each one of your slow footfalls came accompanied by an anxious breath. Like a shadow, Bucky meticulously placed his feet exactly where yours had been. 

Between the hoard of glimmering gold and sparkling gems, dazzling armour and secretive scrolls, there below a shiny shield lied a small chest, already cracked open to reveal the treasure within. 

“There!” Bucky pointed for you to spot it as well. Safely tucked away in the narrow box were five coarsely textured eggs, all the size of honeydew melons. Crouching down before it, Bucky then closed the lid and seized it safely under his arm. Turning to you, he flashed you a bright smile, “we did it.”

But his victorious grin didn’t last long as his boot then shifted and stepped on what turned out to not just be another tile on the cool floor, but a pressure plate that clicked down from just a fraction of his weight. 

From a cluster of small holes on the opposite wall, a dozen poisoned darts soared out, but thankfully, Bucky’s reflexes were sharper than his perception, as he swiftly tackled you both to the floor.

Treasures clanged around you from the crash as you blinked up and saw the small bolts fly above your heads. 

“Are you okay?” one of his palms found your cheek as he hovered above you, eyes frantically scanning your features, “did you get–”

“I’m fine,” you swiftly stated before the approaching of rushed footsteps suddenly found your ears. Evidently, the clatter had been enough to alert your presence, “Buck,” you panted as the alarm hadn’t yet seeped into his soul, “we gotta move.”

After you scrambled to your feet and exited the vault, the warden at your side cast a glance your way before you began to run. 

“You smuggled that dagger in with you, right?”

“Yep,” you breathed, as you bent down and grasped the fabrics of your skirt, giving it a stubborn tug till it ripped a slit all the way up to the top of your thigh in order to grant you better mobility, but retroactively also revealing the hidden blade that was strapped to your leg, “let’s hope we won’t have to use it though.” 

Running back the way you came, you managed to hide from the first wave of guards that came rushing down towards the vault, but when you rounded a corner and came upon three soldiers, everyone froze up for but a moment. 

“Oh, no…” Bucky muttered before he raised his voice and tried, “uh, gentlemen, this isn’t what it looks like,” before he gave up and threw a punch at one of them. 

Unsheathing your dagger, you tossed it into the thigh of one of the ones storming Bucky. With the chest still clutched under his arm, Bucky snatched up the weapon with a flourish and used it to his advantage. 

The last in the trio rushed at you and swiftly wrestled you to the ground till you found yourself in a position you weren’t sure how you’d get out of. But then, your eyes flickered to the long leather bracelet ever glued around your wrist. Swiftly, you unfurled the improvised weapon and tangled it underneath the guard’s thick neck and tightened it so fiercely that the boulder of a man nearly turned blue in the face before he passed out. 

As you pushed his heavy body off of you, you watched as the last of Bucky’s guys tumbled to the ground, both of them bleeding, though nothing fatal. 

Getting to your feet, your gaze found your fellow warden's while you hastily wrapped the cord back around your wrist before your feet began to move once more. 

Eventually, after you’d slipped out of the basement and raced higher up into the palace, you found yourself cornered with nowhere left to run. Every corridor you ran down had guards on the other end of it. 

Ducking into a chamber that had a canopy bed so elegant that it nearly kissed the tall ceilings, you and Bucky worked together to push a polished wooden wardrobe against the door to block it off. 

Your stare stayed glued to the only exit as your chest heaved with every breath, though Bucky’s didn’t linger as long, instead flickering to the windows right behind you. 

“I’ve got an idea,” he uttered before unlatching the window and pushing it open. 

Stepping closer, your gaze mimicked his and spotted the roofline below. 

“Seriously?” you glared at him as heavy thumps began to echo at the barricaded door, “how far down is that?” 

“Just don’t think about it,” he grabbed your hand and helped you up onto the windowsill, “it’s not like we got that many options,” his fingers laced with yours as he came to join you, “on three,” you stared down at the shingles below in horror, “one, two, three!” 

And just as the cupboard scraped across the floor, the guards successfully barging the door down, the two of you jumped. Getting the wind thoroughly knocked out of you, the pair of you crashed onto the roof in a bruising tumble. 

Thankfully, though your body throbbed from the fall, nothing seemed broken as you helped each other to your feet and began to sprint across the rooftops and jump over gaps between buildings towards the pending city walls. 

And with one last leap, you reached the parapet. Helping him down the wall first, Bucky then promised to catch you as you hesitated the steep climb. 

You felt like sitting ducks as you sprinted across the open fields surrounding the city. Lungs burning from how long you’d been running, you saw the main gate roll up and let out a hoard of soldiers, all on horseback. 

The lights in a few of the watchtowers flickered as you passed them, and before you knew it, arrows began to fly, only narrowly missing your heads. 

A plan then stuck your partner as he pushed the chest into your arms and urged you to keep running in the same direction while he curved off in a reckless attempt at leading the enemies away. 

Though you knew it was too dangerous, he darted off before you could stop him, only glancing back to tell you to meet him behind the small cluster of pine trees that shot up further down the meadow. 

Tears began to prick the corners of your eyes as you soon heaved to regain your breath and the pine needles pricked your spine. Whipping your head around, Bucky was nowhere within your sight, even as your breathing began to grow steady. 

And just as paralysing thoughts of his demise settled within your mind, his silhouette suddenly appeared from around a tall shrub.

Unable to stop yourself, you ran into each other’s arms. 

“That was so stupid,” you sniffled against his shoulder as you clung onto him like you never had before. 

Seizing your face, he gently tilted it back enough for him to flash you a cocky smirk, “worked though,” as he wiped your cheeks dry.

Blinking up into his eyes, the moonlight nearly made them sparkle as fiercely as the palm-sized gemstones you’d spotted in the vault. 

Then, just as victory washed over the both of you, the soft smile that warmed Bucky’s features faulted as a breathless gasp of pain tumbled out of him. 

Still faintly vibrating from its journey, an arrow suddenly jutted out of his left shoulder. 

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[luminoustarlight]

As Fate Would Have It | Chapter Two

It's your first day of work at Skywalker Enterprises.

◂ chapter one ▸ chapter three

rating: mature | pairing: dilf!anakin skywalker x afab!reader | wc: 3.7k | read on ao3

warnings: swearing, age-gaps, sexual fantasies

The moms at St. Lucas Preparatory School are shameless. Single, divorced, and married women (and some men) alike can’t help but hold their breath when Anakin Skywalker steps onto campus. The dads are intimidated by him and the moms… well, let’s just say the moms have less than school appropriate thoughts about the billionaire. 

Anakin detests the end of the year. He hates being involved at the school. He doesn’t want to spend 2 hours of his day off packing meals in a crowded gymnasium with other parents who also don’t want to be there. 

He doesn’t want to make small talk or ask about Luke and Leia’s classmates because frankly, he doesn’t give a crap. The only children he likes are his own and he won’t pretend otherwise. 

“Mr. Skywalker,” Leia’s teacher, Ms. Clark sighs, “you are the only parent in my class who has yet to sign up for a slot at this year's Cranberry Sauce.” Cranberry Sauce is just the name the school gives the Thanksgiving Drive to make it sound more “fun”. 

Anakin gives his children a kiss on their foreheads and sends them through the school gates. Once they’re out of earshot, he addresses Leia’s teacher. “I already wrote a check to buy the damn food. Isn’t that sufficient?” 

“Mr. Skywalker,” Ms. Clark repeats with annoyance. If it were up to her, she’d let Anakin donate all of the money he wants in order to keep him from volunteering at school events. She thinks he’s arrogant, stuck-up, and far too handsome for any man to be. So she decides to loathe him since she can’t fuck him. But Headmaster Franklin is adamant Anakin attends the event. 

“I really insist that you participate for at least an hour at Cranberry Sauce next weekend. It is important for your children to see you involved at the school. At their school.” 

Anakin’s tall and broad stature seems to grow even larger at this statement. How dare this woman insinuate anything about him as a father? 

“You think I’m not involved in my childrens’ lives?” Anakin has just enough self-control not to completely raise his voice at his daughter’s fourth grade teacher. Especially since parents are continuing to drop off their kids. “You think I’m an absent father who gives the school money to compensate for my lack of paternal instincts?” 

“I didn’t say that,” Ms. Clark answers cautiously. “There is no need to make a scene. I have no doubts you are an excellent father, Mr. Skywalker. I don’t think Leia would be the young lady she is if you weren’t. One hour. That's all we ask.” 

Anakin raises an eyebrow. “We?” 

“Oh, um, well-” Ms. Clark stammers. Busted. She sighs with defeat. “Headmaster Franklin would very much like to see you there.”

“I’m sure he would,” Anakin replies smugly. Headmaster Franklin wants him there for publicity. Anakin should be more pissed about that than being accused of not being a present parent, but he’s not. He likes his ego stroked every now and then. “One hour.” 

“Thank you,” Ms. Clark smiles tightly. “Does 10-11 work for you?” 

“Fine,” Anakin waves his hand dismissively as he gets a message on his phone. 

Ben Kenobi 

Your new secretary is here. 

Shit. It’s Anakin’s first day without Dorothy. No wonder the morning has gone the way it has. Between Luke spilling orange juice on his shirt, Leia’s uncooperating French braids, and his conversation with Ms. Clark, Anakin can’t help but fear the change in routine with a new assistant. He types his response. 

Anakin Skywalker

Assistant. Not secretary. I’ll be there in 20 minutes. 

Ben Kenobi 

If you say so. 

Ben Kenobi is Anakin’s closest friend. Some might even call them brothers. Ben is fifteen years older than Anakin, married to the mayor, and enjoys fly fishing on the weekends. He’s also Luke and Leia’s godfather. Should anything happen to Anakin, there is no one else he’d trust to raise and watch over his children than Ben Kenobi. 

And Ben knows better than anyone that Anakin doesn’t like change. He’s been dreading Dorothy’s last day since she told him she was retiring a year ago. How was he going to find someone as good as her? Someone who anticipates his needs before he does? 

That’s why he tasked her with finding her own replacement. He’s just too busy to interview a replacement for Dorothy himself. He wouldn’t know what to look for, anyway. If he doesn’t know what he wants in a woman to date, how is he supposed to know what he wants in a new assistant? 

.

.

. 

“Mr. Skywalker is not in at the moment. Can I take a message?” You’ve uttered that exact sentence at least seven times since you arrived at the office at 8:00 a.m. Now, as it nears 9:00, you expect to see your new boss very soon. 

Each time you hear the elevator ding, you look up with hopefulness at the arrival of the esteemed Anakin Skywalker. What will you say to him? How will you introduce yourself? Will he be nice and welcoming? God, you hope so. You’ve read just about every article, watched every interview, and listened to every podcast he’s done to prepare yourself for the job. The consensus is the same in all of them. 

Anakin Skywalker is generous, he’s polite, and generally gets along with everyone— if you don’t get on his nerves. And, according to Dorothy, he’s a charmer. 

“Yes, absolutely,” you say while taking notes of the message on a legal pad. Your head is down so you don’t notice Anakin walking out of the elevator. He stops 5 steps away from your desk. His ribs feel like they’re collapsing around his lungs because of that voice. Why does he know that voice? 

“I will let Mr. Skywalker know you called as soon as he gets into the office.” You hang up the phone and as you look up, there he is in all of his gorgeous glory. 

You actually have to tell yourself to take a breath because he’s even more handsome in person. Faint lines around his eyes represent years of life he lived before you were born. His dark blonde hair is combed back effortlessly and is it wrong that you want to run your hands through it? Yeah, probably. He’s your boss and over twenty years older than you. 

“It’s-” Anakin can’t even say more than that because holy fuck. Is he dreaming? He squeezes his eyes and then opens them, only to see you now standing with your hand extended to him. “It’s… you.” 

“Um, yes,” you say while awkwardly returning your arm to your side. “I’m Y/N. Your new assistant. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Skywalker.” 

“I- um, yes,” Anakin clears his throat. Christ, that wasn’t even a sentence. “I need to take care of something,” he says on his way towards his office. “I am not to be disturbed until I come out. Do you understand?” 

“Y-yes. Yes, sir,” you barely answer before Anakin’s office door is shut violently. Well, that certainly wasn’t the introduction you were expecting or hoping for. You’re starting to think not meeting him beforehand was a bad idea. It honestly should’ve been a red flag but Dorothy insisted it was fine. 

It doesn’t seem fine. 

And things definitely aren’t fine. For Anakin, that is. To say he’s freaking out is putting it lightly. He paces the length of his office, shoving his fingers through his hair and muttering to himself. “It can’t be. There’s no way it can be her.” 

Maybe he’s hallucinating. Maybe he’s having an incredibly vivid dream where his favorite OnlyFans performer, who he has known as HoneySuckle for the last three years is his new assistant. What did you say your name is? Anakin couldn’t hear you over the erection that was forming in his pants because he knows your voice. He’s cum from your voice alone. He’s cum because of you so, so many times. 

This can’t be happening. 

He’s never seen your entire face but he knows it’s you. He’d recognize your lips in a police lineup. He hears your voice in his wet dreams. He just knows it’s you. 

And the fact that he has a hard-on is a problem. A problem he wishes you could take care of but you can’t because now you work for him and he’s your boss. This is all so, so wrong. 

Anakin doesn’t so much sit on his leather chair as he does collapse into it. This was never supposed to happen. Yes, he has dreamed about meeting you on more than one occasion. He’s thought about telling you who he is during your countless direct messages so many times. He’s thought about using his infinite resources to find out who you really are on more than one occasion.

But he always concluded that it would be so insanely wrong and borderline creepy if he did that. You were always supposed to remain a fantasy. Just a nameless woman on a screen who doesn’t live in the same country, state, or city as him. 

Yet here you are— sitting outside of his office, taking his calls, calling him Mr. Skywalker and being even more beautiful than he could have imagined. 

You are no longer the woman on his tablet spewing filthy words as you make yourself orgasm. You’re tangible. You have a name- although he can’t remember what it is. He replays the interaction over in his head. The feeling he felt when he saw you was reminiscent of seeing his wife walk down the aisle at their wedding. He was a blundering mess then, just as he is a blundering mess now. 

He doesn’t even want to think about your first impression of him. He’s supposed to be Anakin Skywalker for crying out loud! The suave, handsome millionaire who has the ability to make men cower and women fall to their knees. The embarrassment he feels from that interaction is enough to subdue his hard-on. He pours himself a bit of Bourbon, shoots it back like it’s a normal thing to do at 9 in the morning, and prepares to reintroduce himself to you. 

Anakin smooths his hands down his slacks before opening his door. As his eyes are magnetized to you, his heart starts beating irregularly. Get a fucking grip. 

You stand attentively when you notice Anakin walking towards you. Worried you made a terrible impression on him, you wait to speak. But Anakin doesn’t say anything either and now he’s standing in front of your desk, all tall and lean and smelling like Cedar and Whiskey. He’s looking at you with an expression you can’t read. Did Dorothy tell him anything about you? Or did he go into this just as blind as you did? 

His eyes seem to dance all over your body which makes you feel like he’s studying you. Or criticizing every single thing about your appearance. From your simple burgundy dress to the pearl studs you bought with some of Skyguy81’s most recent (and overly generous) tip. 

Finally, because his gaze on you was becoming too much to bear, you are the one to talk first. “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Skywalker?” 

Yeah, you can remind him of your name for starters. “Do you have messages for me?” is what he asks instead. 

“Yes,” you answer, picking up the pad you’ve been scribbling notes on for the last hour. “Rex sent over the final schematics for the 0525 project that needs your approval by 3 p.m. today in order to begin production. Mayor Kryze’s office called about the upcoming Gala in December and wanted to know if you would be in attendance. And if so, how many tickets should they reserve? Oh, and someone from St. Lucas Preparatory School called to let you know that your son ripped his pants and needs a new pair brought to school because they don’t have any new pants in his size.” 

Anakin taps his index finger on your desk while he listens to you. He barely registers anything you say because it’s really hard to hear your voice without getting aroused. It’s hard even looking at you without automatically picturing you naked. There’s not an inch of your skin he’s never seen. Well, except for the top half of your face which now, of course, he has seen. And God, does he love what you have to offer. 

You’re still relaying messages but suddenly you’re bent over your desk, gripping the edge of it with pale knuckles as Anakin slams into you over, and over, and over. He’s making you yelp his name so loudly the whole building can hear you. 

“Mr. Skywalker?” 

Anakin snaps back into reality where you’re still fully clothed and definitely not moaning his name. “What?” comes out a little harsher than he intended. And he immediately regrets it when he sees you visibly shrink right before him. 

“What- what would you like me to tell the Mayor’s office?” 

Anakin has gone as a bachelor to the last two Christmas Galas. Ben stays close to Satine the whole night and he really doesn’t see the point in asking a woman he has no interest in to be his date. Plus, going alone lets him leave the party with whomever he wants or to call it a night and go home early to watch ELF and drink peppermint cocoa with his kids. 

“Have them put me down for 2.” 

You nod whilst making another note on the pad. “And what about your son’s pants?” 

“Did they say where he ripped them?” 

“Right down the middle,” you answer. 

Anakin shakes his head. “Oh, Luke,” he mutters to himself. “Alright, I’ll go home and get him a new pair.” 

“Icandoit,” rushes out of your mouth. 

“What?” 

“Sorry, my mouth moved faster than my brain,” you reply, hoping Anakin will find it endearing instead of annoying. “I said I can do it. I don’t mind. It’s my job, isn’t it?” 

Anakin opens his mouth but doesn’t say anything. Yes, technically it’s your job to do this sort of errand. But Anakin doesn’t want you going to his house alone, sifting through his son’s drawers, and bringing him new pants to his school. 

Primarily because he’d much rather you be in his home under different circumstances. 

“We’ll go together,” Anakin decides against his better judgment. “I’ll drive.”

.

.

.

So, Anakin definitely didn’t think things through when he said he’d drive. 

In what world did he think sharing a close, confined space with you was a good idea? This whole morning has been a cluster-fuck. Honestly. He’s still struggling to wrap his head around who you are. When you announced Squirting for Sky was going to be your last video, he thought what a devastation it would be to not look forward to your videos every week. Who would’ve thought you’d be the one replacing his dear old assistant the very next week? The odds of it all are overwhelming. 

But isn’t this what he’s always wanted? The opportunity to meet you? To know your name and know you personally? Every wish of his has been granted— except for the fact that he is your boss and you are technically his subordinate. He says technically because Dorothy always felt more like family than an employee. 

You could be family. 

You could be so much more than his assistant.

Oh, Jesus Christ, Anakin. Be reasonable. She’s your employee. She’s practically a kid. 

Anakin looks over to you for the first time since getting in the car. You’re pressed against the side of the passenger door, knees angled away from him and arms crossed over your chest. “Are you cold?” 

“Oh,” you say, looking at him with a tentative smile. “A little.” 

“You should’ve said so,” Anakin turns on the heater and your seat warmer. “My kids call seat warmers butt toasters. Let me know if your butt gets too toasty.” 

You have to bite your lip to keep from laughing. 

There’s an awkward pause as Anakin realizes what he just said. He absolutely cannot think about your butt any longer than he has to because we all know how that will end.

 (A hard cock, in case that wasn’t clear). 

 “I mean, uh- shit,” Anakin briefly closes his eyes to compose himself. Let me know if your butt gets too toasty? 

“Just turn it off yourself if you get too warm.” 

Do you make him nervous? No way. You decide to let it go. “Kids? Plural?” 

“Yeah.” Anakin drapes his right arm over the center console and taps his fingers against the gear shift. Long, dexterous fingers at that. You have to look away before you start thinking about something completely inappropriate of your boss. “I have twins. A boy and a girl. Luke, he’s the silly one. Right now he’s big into archeology. He’s also pretty clumsy, hence the rip in his pants. And Leia, my daughter, she’s far too serious for any 9 year old to be. She says she wants to be a senator when she grows up.” 

This is the longest you’ve been able to look at Anakin without feeling your cheeks burning. Now, they’re just hot because of the heater blasting in your face. “You light up when you talk about them,” you say. “You must love them a lot.” 

“More than anything,” Anakin doesn’t hesitate. “Here we are.” 

You should’ve been paying attention on how to get to his house from the office. Surely, you’ll be running these errands on your own if things go well with your employment. Oh, well. That’s what the Maps is for. 

Anakin’s house is a stunning Eichler. It looks straight out of an Architectural Digest cover. The lawn outside is perfectly cropped and perfectly green but littered with a soccer ball, football, a baseball bat and whiffle balls. You wouldn’t have pegged Anakin for a mid-century modern kind of guy. You would’ve thought he’d opt for an insanely modern, sterile house. 

As you walk through the atrium and into the main body of the house, it’s clear it is a family home. Anakin uses his foot to sweep his kids’ shoes out of the way so you don’t trip over them. “Sorry about the mess.” 

“It’s okay,” you shrug. Anakin’s house isn’t even all that messy. It just looks like a home. There are so many pictures on the walls, it would be impossible to look at all of them in one go. One in particular, though, catches your eye. It’s the largest out of all of them and the only one in black and white. A significantly younger Anakin is at the bedside of who you presume to be his wife with two bundles of babies in their arms. They are both looking down and smiling. His wife was stunning. They definitely made an attractive couple. 

It’s not lost on you that there are no other pictures of Anakin’s kids with their mom. He’s only spoken about his wife’s death in one interview, about a year after her passing. If you remember correctly, she died shortly after the twins were born. 

You can’t imagine the kind of pain and heartache Anakin must have felt losing his wife. You don’t know what it feels like to experience that kind of grief. You want to tell Anakin you’re sorry for his loss, but what good will that do? Is there any consolation in that at all? 

You’re still looking at the photo when Anakin returns from Luke’s room with a new pair of tan pants. You can feel his presence right beside you and the silence is louder than words. 

He shouldn’t have brought you back here. It’s only your first day and you’ve already seen too much of his life. 

“Let’s go,” Anakin orders. You nod without a word and follow him out to the car. 

The tension in the air is palpable on your way to St. Lucas Prep. You feel like you’ve done something wrong by simply stepping foot in Anakin’s house. His whole demeanor shifted when he came back to the front room with Luke’s pants. Does he regret bringing you to the house? If so, why? Dorothy clearly laid out your responsibilities to you. Tending to personal matters at Anakin’s house is part of the job. You are not just a professional assistant, but a personal assistant, too.

You can’t stand not knowing why someone is upset with you. “Did I do something wrong?” 

Anakin’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. “No.” 

Wow, how reassuring. “Okay, then why do I feel like I did something to upset you?” 

You’re really pressing your limit with him right now. You’ve only just met 2 hours ago. See, this is why meeting him should’ve been part of the hiring process. You’d be a lot more acquainted with each other than you are right now. 

If only you knew how acquainted Anakin is with you… 

“You didn’t,” is all he says. But with a twitch of his jaw, you still feel like he’s not telling you the truth. 

“Look, Mr. Skywalker,” you begin. “I understand Dorothy meant a great deal to you, and her leaving is going to be an adjustment. But I promise you I am capable of this job. I’m never late, I’m up late all the time so if there was anything you needed, I’d be able to fulfill it. I love kids, I’m a hard worker and I would really appreciate it if you gave me a chance before making any decisions about me.” 

“You’re right,” Anakin says. “I’ll give you a chance.”  But he’s already made up his mind. He doesn’t have to ‘give you a chance’ to know that he wants you. He is crawling out of his skin with how badly he wants you. And he knows it’s wrong, probably immoral, but he really doesn’t care. Because now that you’ve been inside of his home, the boundary that should exist between him as your boss and you as his employee feels impossibly blurry.

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