#that was what made it satisfying and clever

[lunatf-ao3]

HEAT CYCLE ❦︎

[TFP] Megatron/Minicon!Reader

[⚠︎]: NONCON, nsfw, size difference, submissive reader

I'm hesitating whether to make a more complete part two of this. Thank you so much for the support I have received, it excite me so much!!

-

Megatron's gaze is disdainful as he stares at the diminutive technician a few feet away from him, fixing the sound system of some of your holographic communication systems.

Your small structure and design is similar, a minicon, of course. Smaller, weaker Cybertronians, initially created as low-level, unimportant workers. The war made that a thing of the past. In fact, you were the only minicon on your ship.

Was it low to have one working for him, in his strong legion? Something so small, so weak, useless? Hm, but you're cute.

Maybe it's his initiating heat cycle, but it's inevitable to find you attractive so vulnerable there, at his beck and call, even being so small and simple. Those optics barely looking at you nervously, those blunt antennae, those tiny servos....

Simply thrilling.

Unable to help it, your designation leaves his dermas.

"Come here." He barked, with contempt and excitement.

Your antennae perk up at the call, laying down your tools as if your life depended on being there as soon as possible (maybe it does, you'll never know). The steps are hollow until you bow to him submissively.

"How may I serve you, Lord Megatron?"

Megatron watches your timid approach intently, just having you there, so docile and harmless, he could tear you apart with his claws without any effort.

But that was not his plan. "Come here, between my legs."

You empty them a little before nodding and heading obediently up to between her legs, your tank bubbling. Your optics can't meet his filled with.... Something. You're unsure what his intentions are.

"Oh, come closer, do not be afraid. I will not hurt you." His voice is silky, too gentle for you who, without choice, can only move closer.

And with that you are facing their interface panel as a requested invader.

Megatron's red optics lustfully pierce you, and you can feel the heat radiating from him. You had casually heard something from Knockout about a heat cycle and Megatron.

You begin to suspect that your powerful leader is in a heat cycle. And you are his unfortunate victim. You're about to open your mouth when he speaks again.

"You are obedient, are not you? You do not question, you do not hesitate, how clever of you." He strokes one of your antennae, you swallow your words. "What delicate components, what fragile parts."

"I am going to enjoy you very much, little one."

With that statement, your interface panel retracts completely to expose a thick, hard, weeping spike. It confirms your doubts and fears.

"Suck."

The command is clear, but you hesitate. His spike is large, of course, too intimidating for a helmet as small as yours. Gray dominated the length, accompanied only by faint square biolights on the sides and a grayish purple tip that dripped thick, sickly violet transfluid.

Though seeing it squint through the optics with menace was enough.

Pulling out the glossa, you awkwardly lick the tip, the transfluid tasting odd, but you say nothing, continuing on. You only hear a hum from him, so you keep licking around it, smearing every part of his spike with oral lubricant.

The metal moves with each of your licks and his tip drips enough to cover his entire cock.

You think it's weird. It's definitely weird, and you can't exactly say you're enjoying it in any way.

After a few clicks, Megatron gets tired and pulls you away by tugging you away from an antenna. "I told you suck, not lick."

"I am sorry."

You mutter, turning your attention to a more specific spot. You take his spike in your smaller servos awkwardly, sucking the tip hesitantly.

Megatron looks down at you from above, satisfied with your submission. You were adorable, a perfect little toy.

He pushed your helmet with one of his claws to push a little more of his spike into your intake, unsatisfied with only receiving attention at its tip.

"Hm." You're annoyed to find that just a few inches in you can't push any further.

It made you pull away again, your words coming out quickly.

"I am sorry, Lord Megatron, my mouth is too small for your spike, it is too big."

"Then set aside some of those irrevelant parts in your intake to make room for me. You do not want to disappoint me now."

"They are not irrevelant..."

The tyrannical leader crouched down, looking directly into your optics. "What did you say?"

"Nothing." And your transformation mechanisms quickly do their job of pushing important parts of your intake further down. It's uncomfortable and a little painful, but more painful is death, so you open your mouth once more.

This time, he inserts his spike more freely, abusing the space until your intake can take no more and tears overflow from your optics.

"That is it." Megatron's moan is choppy, enjoying the tight, wet space. His claws hold your helmet firmly in place as he begins to wiggle his hips, fucking your little intake as if it was made for exactly that.

The lunges are lazy but hard. The penetration feels strange, painful, his spike touches your intake all the way down and crushes your glossa down, completely filling the already limited space.

You lean back on his thighs, letting him use you for several more clicks.

Finally, after upping the pace a few more lunges, his overload comes with a deep grunt of pleasure. The stream of warm, slippery semen went straight down into your tank and overflowed down your dermas.

Despite your moans, Megatron kept you going until the last drop of transfluid went right down into your tank.

The structure of your ingestion returned to its place as you felt the evil leader's spike withdraw. You'd be lying to say it's not too good a relief. Still, your vocalizer needs to reboot.

"Ah, you did magnificently, little minicon! What a good little thing, so obedient. You wll make a good toy for your master, will not you?"

He purrs, sitting on his lap with a hop. His spike now almost exceeded the height of your entire abdomen.

One of his claws caressed your interface panel as the crimson optics locked onto it. What a tiny valve you must have had under that tiny panel! I could almost lick your dermas with anticipation.

He was not surprised when you immediately obeyed his command to open before him. And he was right, you did have a small valve, made more for someone your own size. A little bigger than the size of the tip of his spike, well, that was enough for him.

He stroked the soft rubber already lubricated. "Do you enjoy serving your leader in this way?".

"Yes, my lord. I enjoy it very much." The tremor in your barely restarted voice amused him. You were so nervous, so shy.

"That is good to hear. From now on, I claim you as my property, unique to my use."

Followed by his words, he inserted one of his claws into your valve, earning a squeal from you. It felt big and long enough to touch a good spot inside you. Without waiting, he rammed in quickly, withdrawing his claw just long enough before inserting it forcefully again.

"Lord Megatron!" Your moan is sweet in his audio receivers, and he turns up the speed hoping to get more of those sweet calls out.

"That's it, moan my name like that, sweet little thing." He cheered, rubbing your node with his thumb.

*M-My Lord!" You wiggle your hips, whimpering and moaning like you're in heat.

Your valve quickly begins to lubricate, the pain delicious to Megatron, who quickly grows impatient as your cycle intensifies.

It's okay, surely you're ready enough as it is. I was planning to make you beg for your overload, but that would be for later.

I pull his claw from your wet valve, lapping up the rest of your fluids. "Delicious."

He quickly accommodated you, lining up the tip of his spike with your little valve. The difference in size was noticeable, almost sinful, and that further ignited Megatron's spark.

"Lord Megatron, that won't fit inside me!" Your intervention is annoyed, terrified and shocked.

Megatron rolled the optics. "Make it fit." And he pushed.

You barely get your mechanisms to push aside components inside you, making room for his spike once more, before you feel the tip penetrate the soft sealed rubber. The pain kicks in, and you doubt it will go all the way in.

When he pushes a little further, you swallow saliva, squeezing the servos. "Lord Megatron..." You plead, unsure of what you are asking.

A particularly hard thrust makes you whimper, clinging to him. He's opening you up like a newly purchased toy, waiting to use you to your heart's content.

When he keeps going lower, you gasp out some pleas as you give in and fall against the underside of his chest, clawing at his shoulders. "L-Lord!"

But Megatron doesn't plan to stop. Your valve expands like never before, and your insides desperately try to accommodate the painful invader. "L-Lord Megatron!!!"

For a click the door to the room opens amidst your shout, revealing a Knockout who, with quickly cut off words, turns around and goes back the way he came.

At least he'll know what happened to you, because you'll definitely have to pay him a visit.

Finally, Megatron settles himself inside you with a deep moan of pleasure, clenching his claws on your hips. Your legs hang limp on the sides of his thighs, and your servos squeeze him weakly.

"So tight..." Megatron murmurs, almost overwhelmed. Just as he imagined, you were deliciously tight, smothering his spike between your wetness. "What a greedy little hole, looking to get my transfluid out so fast."

You can barely mumble a few words. You feel... Drunk and overwhelmed. Her spike fills half of where your tank and processing system should be, pushing straight into your gestation chamber like it's nothing. You are... too full, too full to be comfortable. The heavy metal pushes against your abdomen, as if to split you in two.

Megatron is kind enough to wait a few clicks for you to halfway get used to it before, without asking, grabbing your hips and lifting you up to leave only half of his spike inside. "Wow, even so you are squeezing me so well!"

He teased, lowering you once more to take it all the way in. He leaned back on the throne, manipulating your hips to his liking.

"We are going to have so much fun, my little companion."

[marithlizard]

We watched the first two episodes! I'm happy. There are some things I wish were closer to the books, but not once did I find myself saying "argh that was a stupid choice". And some of the adaptation choices are downright clever.

(I really want images of the two beautiful space images we got, one of a space station and one of a space mining installation. Hopefully someone will post screencaps. Back in the day Babylon 5's space CGI made me ooh and ahh, and it's satisfying to see how the state of the art has moved forward since then.) Absolutely worth seeing. I hope it does well enough to greenlight a second season and we all get to meet ART.

[scarlct-vvitch]

oh new season of the boys i expected so much from you and got almost nothing

[icouldhyperfixatehim]

god almighty....uncanny counter fight choreo remains so unfathomably boss

[blythesarchives]

Just As You Are. | B.B

summary: He tries his best for Valentine's Day.

warnings: Smut | 18+ MDNI | Fluff | CW!Bucky x Fem!reader | Cunnilingus | PiV sex | Light dirty talk | Unprotected sex | Slightly insecure Bucky

a/n: I'm not big into Valentine's Day just because it feels very commercialized to me, but I like imagining it with Bucky. This plot changed so many times lmao but I think I am satisfied with how this turned out. If you're allergic to strawberries, just imagine a different fruit. Not beta read. ;; wc: 4.2k

Bucky stood motionless in the bustling store, his steely eyes fixed with a deep frown upon the endless aisle dedicated to Valentine's Day merchandise.

He didn't remember it being so...big back in the day. The sheer volume of products and options left him feeling completely overwhelmed, his mind drifting back to simpler times when a thoughtful bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolate were considered more than acceptable tokens of affection for your sweetheart.

Now, he watched as frantic shoppers rushed past him, their arms laden with elaborate bouquets, towers of candy boxes, and enormous stuffed bears that seemed to grow more ridiculously sized with each passing year.

There were some shoppers who took a different approach, selecting items for personalized gift baskets filled with practical things like cozy socks or fragrant bath bombs. That seemed more personalized with his old-fashioned sensibilities, but you weren't particularly fond of long soaks in the tub, making that option feel somehow inadequate.

A wave of insecurity washed over him unexpectedly. Despite knowing that you had never once demonstrated materialistic tendencies or pressured him for presents, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he should be showering you with gifts. Traditional values ingrained in him insisted that as the man in the relationship, this was his role to fulfill. His heart warmed slightly at the mental image of you beaming with delight over an armful of fresh flowers or savoring each piece from a velvet-lined, heart-shaped box of premium, ridiculously expensive chocolates.

Truthfully, he felt completely lost about what would be the perfect gift for you. The confident, charming young man he used to be - the one who could effortlessly capture a lady's attention with just a well-timed smile or clever word - seemed like a stranger from another lifetime. These days, the gazes that would drift to him were filled with suspicion and barely concealed hostility.

Defeated and increasingly anxious, Bucky turned away from the crowded store aisle, his mind spinning with uncertainty as he struggled to think of what to get you for this special occasion. As he made his way through the bustling shop, he passed by an enthusiastic florist who was eagerly displaying enormous bouquets of perfectly arranged, vibrant red roses.

The vendor was encouraging every passing customer to purchase one, his sales pitch well-rehearsed and persistent. The sight made Bucky recall a conversation from several months ago, where you had expressed your views on traditional romantic gestures. You explained that while roses were undeniably a sweet and romantic gesture, they felt somewhat predictable and conventional to you. Too ordinary, you had said, preferring instead gifts that showed genuine thought and consideration.

"Sure, roses are beautiful. I think they're a wonderful gift for birthdays or valentine's, whatever. But...I don't know. Everyone gets roses. I would be happy but it would also sort of feel like you didn't really try, since they're so abundant and common. It makes them feel less special. Hopefully that doesn't make me sound snobbish. I'd rather get a more personalized bouquet or...one with my favorite flowers instead." You glanced up at Bucky who was nodding and listening, remembering, for later.

Though the roses were beautiful, their pristine petals catching the store's fluorescent lighting to aid in their deep crimson coloration, Bucky could practically envision the polite but slightly underwhelmed expression that would cross your face if he chose such a common option.

Plus...why were flowers so expensive these days? A dozen roses for almost a hundred dollars? The modern pricing was ridiculous - back in his day, that kind of money could have bought several weeks' worth of groceries. Besides, a lot of the bouquets contained wilted flowers. If he got you a bouquet, each and every flower would be alive and well.

He didn't want to leave without getting you something special, something that would bring a genuine smile to your face. He stood there for several long moments, running his flesh hand through his hair as he considered what kind of gift would truly resonate with you, something that would perfectly balance thoughtfulness with appropriateness while still managing to surprise you.

After spending what felt like hours wandering through the store's aisles and watching other men pick the big red hearts off the shelves without a second thought, he began to carefully examine each heart-shaped box of chocolates, reading every label and ingredient list to ensure he found the exact type of varieties you had mentioned loving. Finally satisfied with a winner, he put it in the basket he grabbed.

Moving through the store, he made his way to the stuffed animal section, where he spent considerable time comparing different plush versions of your favorite animal, wanting to select the one with the perfect expression and the softest fur. That one looked too grumpy, that one looked lopsided, that one wasn’t proportioned right - but he found the perfect one.

Then rather than settling for a pre-arranged bouquet, he thoughtfully handpicked each individual flower, remembering all the times you had pointed out different blooms during your walks together, creating a personalized arrangement that represented all your favorites. Even with the care and attention he put into each gift selection, a nagging feeling of inadequacy crept in - everything he chose, while thoughtful, still felt too ordinary.

Bucky shook his head and paid for the items, ignoring the feeling.

Back at home, he arranged everything perfectly. He individually wrapped each item, positioning them precisely in the basket alongside the plush animal and chocolates. Taking his time with the flowers, he trimmed each stem at exactly the right angle and arranged them in the vase until the composition was just right. When Bucky finally stepped back to assess his work, his heart sank slightly, and he let out a frustrated sigh.

The entire arrangement somehow still didn't feel special or unique enough.

Alpine gracefully leapt onto the counter, her blue eyes focusing intently on the array of gifts laid out. She lowered her head, her pink nose twitching as she investigated each item curiously. "What do you think, girl...good enough?" Bucky asked softly, his fingers running through the ragdoll's silky fur as he gently stroked from her head down along her back.

After her inspection, Alpine cast one final, contemplative glance at the presents. Then, with typical cat-like indifference, she turned away from them, her fluffy tail held high like a banner as she delicately padded across the counter to the edge, and descended to the floor with one smooth leap.

"Bad, huh?" Bucky released a heavy sigh, his eyes lingering on the carefully chosen gifts as waves of uncertainty began to wash over him, his anxiety gradually creeping in and eating away at him.

He didn't have more time to wrestle with his uncertainties as the sound of keys jingling at the front door caught his attention. You made your entrance quicker than he had anticipated, your exhausted form slowly making its way through the doorway after what was clearly an demanding day at work. You kicked off your shoes in a haphazard manner, letting them land wherever they might. The weariness etched across your features told him everything he needed to know about the challenging nature of your workday.

"Hey," Bucky offered in greeting as he made his way over to you in the entryway, his mind racing as he tried to keep you from noticing the carefully prepared gifts just yet. Perhaps if he could buy himself a little more time, he might figure out something better to give you than the basic gifts.

A soft, tired grumble was all you could muster in response, though the gentle warmth in his eyes worked its magic in lifting your spirits considerably. "Hey..." you murmured an actual response, crossing the space between you to wrap your arms around his sturdy frame. He gladly hugged you back, letting you bury yourself against him.

The thought of spending the entire day at home with him had been your secret wish throughout your shift, but responsibilities couldn't be ignored. He had promised to make the evening special, and that thought alone helped you persevere through the long hours of your workday.

Bucky thought fast, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze with those intense steel-blue eyes. "How about a hot bath? I can get one ready for you, make it nice and warm - it'll be perfect for those sore muscles of yours...plus, I know you’ve been on your feet all day." He offered gently, his flesh hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from your face. A playful smirk slowly spread across his lips as he added, "I could even feed you some fresh strawberries while you relax..."

"Ugh, that sounds so heavenly right now..." You agreed with a soft, appreciative moan, already imagining the soothing warmth of the water and the sweet taste of cool fruit.

Bucky made his way to the bathroom, wanting to create the perfect relaxing atmosphere for you after your long day. He tested the water temperature with his flesh hand until it reached that ideal warmth you always preferred, then clogged the drain.

While the tub filled, he selected your favorite aromatherapy soap, watching as it created billowing clouds of soft, luxurious bubbles that released that soothing scent you loved so much. He also scattered rose petals across the surface - special ones he had purchased with your other gifts. They would slowly dissolve into the water, but for now they created a nice, romantic display as they rested atop the peaks of foam.

In the bedroom, you gradually shed your work uniform, letting each piece fall away with relief before walking into the bathroom to meet him. He remained unaware of your presence for a moment until he turned, and when he did, he took the chance to admire you. Bucky rose up to his full height and approached you, his hands finding their familiar place on your hips. "You're so beautiful, doll..." he murmured, his voice full of affection as he leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek, before adding, "Bath's all ready..."

"It looks perfect," you replied in an equally soft and tired tone, carefully stepping into the steaming bath water and sinking down with a contented moan.

God, it felt absolutely amazing - after countless exhausting days of non-stop work, your muscles were crying out for relief. Your back and neck were especially sore from hunching over your desk for hours on end. The perfectly heated water enveloped your body like a warm hug, melting away the tension and aches that had built up over time. The chosen aromatherapy oils filled the air with a soothing blend of lavender and eucalyptus that relaxed you even further.

"Thank you, Bucky... this is... exactly what I needed," you mumbled appreciatively, slowly sinking lower into the luxurious bath until the fragrant bubble clouds rose around your shoulders like a soft blanket.

Bucky's lip quirked up with a gentle, knowing smile as he reached for a plump strawberry from the delicate pink crystal bowl beside the tub. His eyes sparkled with affection as he held the fruit up teasingly, "Of course doll... now open wide~"

"Tease," you said playfully, leaning for the strawberry he held between his fingers. You gladly accepted the offering, letting your lips brush against the plump, red fruit before taking a delicate bite. The sweetness burst across your tongue as you savored each moment, watching his expression intently. Unable to resist the temptation, you gently caught his finger between your lips, your tongue darting out to taste the lingering juice - a deliberately cheeky move to provoke a reaction.

Bucky's eyes darkened as he watched you, a knowing smile spreading slowly across his face. His fingers twitched slightly at the sensation of your tongue, and he leaned in closer. "Don't start something you can't finish, doll..." he warned in a low, honeyed voice that made you shiver, even in the steaming water. "You know exactly what'll happen. Besides, it's Valentine's Day..." He reached out to trace your jawline with his thumb, his touch feather-light and promising. "...I'll make it all about you..."

You couldn't resist the temptation that coursed through you, causing you to slowly emerge from the water just enough to delicately capture his hand between your teeth and deliver a playful nip. Your lips ghosted across his wrist and laid a kiss, "I think I wanna see what you mean..."

That's how you ended up on the bed with his face between your legs.

Your swollen, sensitive pussy being devoured by the soldier keeping your legs spread open. His tongue flatly lapped at you before he would encase your delicate clit in his lips and desperately suckle. The alternating movements kept you close enough to the brink of orgasm, but he wouldn't let you finish all the way yet.

"Bucky! Pl-please," you cried out desperately as he suctioned to your throbbing clit once more, his skilled tongue working magic against your sensitive bud. Your trembling hands clung tightly to the twisted sheets below your hips, your knuckles turning white from the intensity of your grip. Your cheeks were deeply flushed as tears of pleasure pricked at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over.

It felt so fucking good - Bucky always dove into you like a starved man who hadn't tasted such sweetness in decades, you were a fruit from Eden and he wouldn’t stop until he has had all of you.

Which was kind of true, until you two had started dating and everything changed. Over time, he gradually gained the confidence he needed, becoming more and more comfortable with engaging in intimate acts. The hesitation that had once held him back melted away completely, and once that newfound bravado took over, he became a passionate and attentive lover who knew exactly how to make you come undone.

Bucky growled against you, tugging you even closer as he kept his face against your folds and lapped at you repeatedly. His eyes would peek at your expression from time to time, but he mostly kept them closed, purely focusing on your taste. So sweet and delectable, you were his favorite thing to lap up and devour. He never wanted to stop. This was his favorite thing ever. Being the source of your pleasure and hearing how you whined and squirmed underneath him.

"Come for me, baby...come on. Give it to me." He muffled against you as his tongue continued to move up and down with his repetitive licks, getting your juices and making sure to run over that swollen bud.

Fuck, you were. You were going to.

You moaned loudly as waves of pleasure coursed through your body, the tense burning sensation gradually building deep in your belly while your legs trembled uncontrollably. Bucky kept a firm hold on your legs, keeping himself buried in your pussy as he continued his feast. Heat radiated outward as you began to feel your nerves come alive, electric sensations traveling from your core and flowing down through your limbs to the tips of your fingers and toes. The pressure continued mounting until finally, everything began slowly blossoming and unwinding into an overwhelming, desperate climax.

When he pulled away from your folds, his face and dark scruff were thoroughly soaked with your juices. The smug, satisfied bastard slowly licked his lips and began climbing over your shaking body, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses from your sensitive belly all the way up to the crook of your neck. "Y'r so soft...god, I love every inch of you," he whispered in that husky, desire-laden voice as his lips grazed the shell of your ear.

"Bucky..." You whined needily, the desperate tone in your voice betraying just how affected you were, but you couldn't bring yourself to care - you were absolutely burning with desire for him. The delicious scratching sensation of his rough scruff against your skin felt absolutely divine, and you couldn't help but nuzzle your cheek against his strong jaw, seeking more of that friction. Your responsive action drew a knowing smile from Bucky as he pressed his body more firmly against yours, allowing his head to respond to your pressure and reaching his hand down to carefully position himself against you.

"Easy, my beautiful girl...I promise I'll give you everything you want and need. My perfect doll...just lay still for me, just like that...looking so gorgeous spread out underneath me..." He praised in that gentle, soothing voice that you normally adored, but in your current state of desperate arousal, his sweet words only served to turn you on even more. Something about it drove you insane.

When he finally breached you, your body arched off the bed and your hands immediately grabbed onto him, mindful not to claw at his heavily scarred shoulder.

The moan that escaped from between your parted lips was abruptly silenced as he captured your mouth with his own. The lingering taste of your pleasure danced on his tongue as it skillfully glided past your own, delving deeper to thoroughly explore every corner of your mouth. A deep, resonant hum of satisfaction rumbled in the soldier's chest and vibrated against your lips as he pressed into the kiss with mounting intensity, perfectly matching the quickening rhythm of the increasingly passionate snaps his hips made against you.

The gentle slapping that filled the room was drowned out by your cries of unison - the two of you spewing groans and moans of all kinds as his cockhead repeatedly kissed your cervix and coated it with his precum. The gummy walls of your tight cunt continued to squeeze and massage his cock with each little movement you made squirming beneath him and listening to his lower pitched sounds of pleasure.

"Bucky...ah, feels so good...feel so full," you whined and fell back onto the sheets, ignoring the gentle bulge that appeared beneath your skin each time he hilted himself inside you.

"So perfect for me, doll...made for me, made for my cock," he whispered with reverence, his voice thick and heavy. He leaned down, pressing hard, passionate kisses against your neck, which you willingly allowed. You tilted your head back, exposing more of your sensitive skin to him as he skillfully left a trail of bites and gentle purple bruises blooming across your flesh.

Prettier than any of those damned flowers he saw today.

"R'member when I bit all over you... 'round Christmas? I was so lost and confused back then and..nngh...all I knew was you. All I could think about was you. All I ever wanted was you...completely all to myself..." His voice came out rough and broken between desperate grunts as his hips pistoned at an increasingly frantic pace, his movements becoming more urgent with each thrust.

"Ah, yes...I remember it...you were so needy," You gasped breathlessly, a small knowing chuckle escaping your lips as you eagerly took him harder.

"Now look who's being needy...f-feel you squeezing around me so tight..." Bucky hissed through clenched teeth as he pushed even deeper inside you, his thick cock swelling noticeably with his rapidly approaching orgasm.

"Come for me, Buck Buck...I want it inside. Want you to fill me up," You reached up to him, yearning for more, pulling him down closer until you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. His silken hair cascaded down like a brilliant curtain, framing his face while he let out pants from slightly parted lips. The cool metal of his hand gripped firmly at the meat of your thigh, his touch both gentle and possessive, chilling the skin beneath it.

Bucky ducked his face down and pressed closer to you, a deep groan tore through his throat as his rapid thrusts finally stilled - you felt his thick member twitching inside you as he coated your pretty velvet walls in his cum. As his orgasm washed over him and made him thrust a few more times for good measure, the overwhelming sensation brought you to yours again.

You both panted, breathing heavily in unison as you relished in the feeling of him still tucked inside you, thick cum oozing out as you let out soft laughs together.

"That was absolutely incredible..." You breathed out in a contented sigh, your voice thick with emotion, "I love you so much..." Your lips tenderly found his in a series of gentle, loving pecks, while your fingers delicately traced patterns across his cheek, savoring the warmth of his skin.

"I love you too, babydoll. And actually, I have something special waiting for you in the kitchen..." He began, his eyes flickering towards the doorway. With a knowing smile, you gently guided his face back to yours, your fingers lingering on his jaw.

"Would that happen to be that beautiful arrangement of flowers and those decadent chocolates I spotted sat next to an adorable plushie?"

"Wait, what? How did you -"

"I saw the setup when you were preparing my bath earlier...sweetheart, you really shouldn't have gone to all this trouble. I feel terrible now." You propped yourself up slightly on your elbows, guilt evident in your voice. "Work has been so hectic lately, I didn't even manage to find time to get you anything..."

He drew you even closer into his warm embrace and gently rolled both of you onto your sides. As his softened length slipped free, you nearly whimpered at the loss of connection, you held the pout back for now. "Doll, you should know by now that I don't need fancy gifts or presents. What matters most to me is having you here, sharing these moments together.” He winked playfully before returning to a more serious tone, “You coming home to me is the greatest gift I could ask for. And you know what? The night's still young - we could curl up together and watch a movie, if you'd like..."

You smiled and nodded, letting out a soft chuckle. "That sounds wonderful, but I really think we should freshen up first...things got pretty messy and you made me feel all sticky." You whispered with a playful lilt in your voice, carefully lifting yourself from the tangled sheets. As you made your way towards the bathroom, your hips swayed flirtatiously, each step a teasing invitation. Pausing at the doorway, you glanced over your shoulder with a mischievous glint in your eyes. "C'mon baby...if you're good, I’ll do that thing you always like..."

His reaction was instantaneous.

Like a coiled spring suddenly released, Bucky leapt from the bed with the same sharp reflexes from his military days - every muscle alert and ready. His blue eyes darkened with desire as a roguish grin spread across his face. "Yes ma'am," he responded, voice husky with anticipation. In two swift strides, he crossed the room and swept you up into his strong arms, making you squeal and laugh with surprise, cradling you against his chest as he carried you eagerly toward the shower.

When your feet touched the cool tile of the bathroom floor, Bucky was already eagerly anticipating another passionate moment together, but you gently placed your hands against his firm chest, causing him to pause. Your eyes met his as you spoke softly but earnestly, "And just so you know, everything you got me was absolutely perfect. I love it all so much. You really shouldn't have gone to all this trouble - just spending the evening together would have been more than enough for me, but...everything you did get makes me feel so special. The arranged bouquet with all those beautiful flowers, the adorable plushie of my favorite animal, and those delicious chocolates...it's all too much. You are perfect."

Bucky felt an overwhelming wave of relief wash over him at your heartfelt words, the tension he hadn't even realized he'd been carrying suddenly melting away. His voice was tender, slightly hesitant as he responded, "O-oh... yeah, of course. I...I really wanted to make tonight special for you in every way possible. I picked all your favorite colors and included those specific flowers you always stop to admire during our walks together...and I made absolutely certain the chocolates only contained ingredients and flavors I know you enjoy...and found you a soft, cuddle buddy to keep you company when I have to be away." He ducked his head slightly, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as he added with endearing awkwardness, "Besides Alpine, of course."

"Yeah, whenever she's in one of her affectionate moods and decides it's snuggle time," you added with a gentle, warm chuckle, your eyes crinkling at the corners. He swore his heart beat faster each time he saw those delicate lines. "You are enough, Bucky." You gazed deeply into his eyes, taking in every flicker of emotion that passed through them, before offering him a tender, reassuring smile.

Your hand came up to cup his cheek as you leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, feeling the tension slowly melt away from his body as he relaxed against you. Drawing back just enough to meet his gaze again, you whispered to him with absolute conviction so he could feel the words as much as possible.

"You are always enough, and don't you ever doubt that for a second..."

Thanks for reading. -em 🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images found on Pinterest.

[fortunxa]

── .✦ H E A D C A N O N #2

boobs, ass, or thighs kind of girl?

#cw. Jinx x fem!reader (established relationship), needy!Jinx, fluff & mild angst, smut drabble bonus (thigh riding/humping). mdni .ᐟ.ᐟ

Jinx masterlist ⭑.ᐟ

Jinx is 100% a thighs kind of girl.

There’s something about them that undoes her. The strength hidden under soft skin, the way they shift when you walk, the way they flex when you sit. She notices every little detail without even meaning to.

Any excuse to get her hands—or herself—on them, she’s taking it.

Sitting? She’s dropping into your lap without even asking, one leg thrown over yours, draped casually like you’re a chair made just for her. “Best seat in the house,” she’ll murmur, proud and smug, her arms thrown around your neck like she’s claiming territory. She’ll bounce a little, wriggle around until she’s perfectly molded against you, then settle there like she’s got no plans of moving for the next six hours. “Perfect fit.” Bonus if she’s working on something. She’ll plop down with a huff, clever hands already busy. “Shh, stay still. You’re part of the workbench now.” She will then lean back with a satisfied hum, her back pressing against your chest, occasionally wiping grease, paint, or ink onto your clothes without thinking.

Sitting next to each other? Her palm is already sliding over your thigh like it belongs there (it does). She’ll grip it casually, thumb drawing lazy circles, or drum an absentminded beat only she can hear. “Mine,” she’ll whisper sometimes, not even looking at you, her fingers squeezing a little tighter like she’s making sure you know it, too. No matter where you are, no matter who’s around—her hands always remember where to land. Obviously loves it when you throw your legs over her lap.

Standing? That doesn’t stop her either. She’s sidling up close, hands trailing down your sides until she can squeeze the tops of your thighs, humming low in her throat like she’s found treasure.

If you’re wearing anything even slightly revealing? Good luck. She’ll whistle low under her breath the moment she sees you, dragging her gaze slowly. “Holy shit,” she’ll mutter, leaning in close, “You tryna kill me? ‘Cause it’s workin’. Dead. Done. Bury me between those thighs. Tell ‘em it’s what I would’ve wanted.” You’ll catch her eyes flicking downward mid-conversation, lingering just a second too long before she grins, all teeth and bad intentions. Half the time she doesn’t even realize she’s holding her breath watching you.

Laying between your thighs is one of her favorite things in the entire world, though. The way your legs bracket her body, caging her in, keeping her close and protected—it makes her feel invincible and small all at once. When she’s between them, she’s in no hurry to move. She’ll sprawl out on her stomach, arms hooked lazily around your leg, chin propped on your thigh as she peers up at you with that lopsided grin that always spells trouble. “Hope you weren’t planning on goin’ anywhere,” she’ll chuckle, slow and sticky sweet. “’Cause you’re stuck with me now, sugarplum. Whole lotta legs, not nearly enough me on ‘em.” She absolutely loves using your thighs as a pillow.

And gods forbid you run your fingers through her hair while she’s there. She’ll melt instantly—slack-jawed, eyes fluttering shut, a soft whimper slipping out before she can catch it. She’ll cling harder, pulling herself deeper between your legs like she’s trying to crawl inside your skin and stay there forever.

But when she misses you—really misses you—Jinx gets different.

It doesn’t take much—a bad dream, a rough night, a few hours too long without hearing your voice—and suddenly, she’s at your door, jittery and restless like she’s been pacing for hours, her smile stretched too tight, her laugh too high. She doesn’t even say hello, just collides with you before dropping to her knees with no grace or pride, arms around your hips, face pressed into your stomach. “Told myself I was fine,” she mumbles, voice cracking. “Lied right through my damn teeth.”

And before you can even process it, she’s climbing into your lap, straddling your thigh, pressing against you like she’s afraid you’ll vanish if she lets go. Her hands are frantic and everywhere at once like she’s trying to memorize you all over again. Then she starts moving—small, desperate rocks of her hips against you, chasing comfort, chasing anything that feels real.

Her breath catches in her throat, a soft, broken moan escaping before she even realizes it. “Fuck, baby…” she whimpers, forehead pressing hard against your shoulder, “missed you. Missed you so bad, it’s stupid. Thought maybe… thought maybe you—” Her face nuzzles into the crook of your neck, hot, desperate little gasps brushing your skin as she rocks harder and faster like she’s trying to grind the fear, hurt, and longing right out of her body. “Please…” she whines, barely audible, her rhythm messy and uneven. “Please, baby, lemme—lemme have this, just need it, need you. Swear I’m gonna lose my fuckin’ mind—”

Boobs? Sure, she’ll tease. She’ll squeeze, nudge, and make ridiculous comments. “Whatcha hidin’ under there, huh?” she’ll snicker as her hands snake under your shirt, not caring if it earns her a swat to the arm or an eye-roll.

Ass? Appreciated. She’ll throw a few playful smacks your way, maybe get caught staring once or twice when you walk ahead of her or if she’s following you up a staircase, but it’s a casual kind of want—background noise to her real obsession.

Thighs, though? Thighs are personal. They make her greedy. They make her ache in a way that jokes can’t cover up. That’s where her hands stop playing and start holding. “Gimme a minute,” she’ll mutter, half-draped across your lap, forehead pressed against your thigh like it’s the only solid thing left in her spinning little universe. “Or… y’know. The rest of the night.”

It’s the altar she’s absolutely willing to pray at. It’s the place she lays her head on, the place she rocks her body against, the place she clings to.

🩵 fanart bonus by @gloomycattoo !!

— dividers by @omi-resources !!

‘don’t mention thigh riding/humping’ challenge, go! (spoiler: i lost. i’m clearly very normal about it 👍)

[bennetsbonnet]

I came across this screenshot of a YouTube comment about Pride and Prejudice on Pinterest ↓

Ordinarily, I don't go out of my way to pour scorn on other people's interpretations, and certainly not without good reason. But this one really, really irked me.

I don't know what's more depressing; that someone interpreted Mr Darcy and Elizabeth's dynamic in this way, or that 12,000 people apparently agreed...

...because there are two major problems with this interpretation:

Firstly, Darcy is an asshole.

Secondly, he's very much not a stupid man.

This isn't just my opinion. This is canon.

Elizabeth doesn't think Mr Darcy is a terrible person because she happened to feel like it one day. Darcy gave her every reason to think he had absolutely no redeeming features. I mean, their very first interaction, before (contrary to what adaptations portray) they had even said a single word to each other, was when he insulted her.

Not only that, Darcy knew what he was doing, as this excerpt from chapter 3 proves:

'Turning round [Darcy] looked for a moment at Elizabeth, till catching her eye, he withdrew his own and coldly said: “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me; I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me.'

Darcy wanted Elizabeth to hear him. There is no mistaking that. Yes, Elizabeth should have listened to the repeated warnings she received from others that Wickham was not all he seemed and that, perhaps, Darcy wasn't so bad... but you can completely understand why she was prejudiced against him. I wouldn't forgive someone saying something like that about me in a hurry.

There are other examples of Darcy's rudeness to Elizabeth. His tone of voice is described as 'grave' and 'cold' when they dance at the Netherfield ball in chapter 18; when he visits Hunsford Parsonage in chapter 32, he ends their exchange in a rude manner '[Darcy] experienced some change of feeling; he drew back his chair, took a newspaper from the table, and glancing over it, said, in a colder voice: “Are you pleased with Kent?”' and there are too many examples in the proposal in chapter 34, but for me the worst is, 'towards him I have been kinder than towards myself.'

If a man implied that separating my beloved sister from the man who loved her, was kinder to them both than the agony of him proposing to me... well, I don't think he would've walked away from that exchange. Elizabeth Bennet you are a better person than me.

Regarding the other point: Darcy's intelligence is never questioned. In fact, the narrator devotes time to ensuring we understand that in chapter 4:

'In understanding, Darcy was the superior. Bingley was by no means deficient, but Darcy was clever. He was at the same time haughty, reserved, and fastidious, and his manners, though well-bred, were not inviting.'

Again, this man knew exactly what he was doing. He wasn't sorry about any of it, and he certainly was not 'internally crying.' Mr Darcy was a conceited, spoiled rich man who needed to be made aware of his flaws and reflect on them in order to become a better person; or at least, improve enough that he ceased to give the impression that he was not, at his core, a compassionate man with many great qualities.

At the same time, Elizabeth was not a poor, innocent angel who was slighted by a man and who subsequently never did anything wrong. She didn't deserve to be on the receiving end of Darcy's unpleasantness, no; but she, too, was absolutely blind to her own flaws... until she read Darcy's letter.

I just think that if you don't grasp this fundamental aspect of their respective personalities and subsequent interactions, then how can the payoff possibly be satisfying?

Pride and Prejudice is, amongst many other things, a story about two flawed people whose love for the other shapes them into the best possible versions of themselves. It's really beautiful and it's a shame to think such a key part of it is being misinterpreted.

[eelhound]

"The idea of reforming Omelas is a pleasant idea, to be sure, but it is one that Le Guin herself specifically tells us is not an option. No reform of Omelas is possible — at least, not without destroying Omelas itself:

If the child were brought up into the sunlight out of that vile place, if it were cleaned and fed and comforted, that would be a good thing, indeed; but if it were done, in that day and hour all the prosperity and beauty and delight of Omelas would wither and be destroyed. Those are the terms.

'Those are the terms', indeed. Le Guin’s original story is careful to cast the underlying evil of Omelas as un-addressable — not, as some have suggested, to 'cheat' or create a false dilemma, but as an intentionally insurmountable challenge to the reader. The premise of Omelas feels unfair because it is meant to be unfair. Instead of racing to find a clever solution ('Free the child! Replace it with a robot! Have everyone suffer a little bit instead of one person all at once!'), the reader is forced to consider how they might cope with moral injustice that is so foundational to their very way of life that it cannot be undone. Confronted with the choice to give up your entire way of life or allow someone else to suffer, what do you do? Do you stay and enjoy the fruits of their pain? Or do you reject this devil’s compromise at your own expense, even knowing that it may not even help? And through implication, we are then forced to consider whether we are — at this very moment! — already in exactly this situation. At what cost does our happiness come? And, even more significantly, at whose expense? And what, in fact, can be done? Can anything?

This is the essential and agonizing question that Le Guin poses, and we avoid it at our peril. It’s easy, but thoroughly besides the point, to say — as the narrator of 'The Ones Who Don’t Walk Away' does — that you would simply keep the nice things about Omelas, and work to address the bad. You might as well say that you would solve the trolley problem by putting rockets on the trolley and having it jump over the people tied to the tracks. Le Guin’s challenge is one that can only be resolved by introspection, because the challenge is one levied against the discomforting awareness of our own complicity; to 'reject the premise' is to reject this (all too real) discomfort in favor of empty wish fulfillment. A happy fairytale about the nobility of our imagined efforts against a hypothetical evil profits no one but ourselves (and I would argue that in the long run it robs us as well).

But in addition to being morally evasive, treating Omelas as a puzzle to be solved (or as a piece of straightforward didactic moralism) also flattens the depth of the original story. We are not really meant to understand Le Guin’s 'walking away' as a literal abandonment of a problem, nor as a self-satisfied 'Sounds bad, but I’m outta here', the way Vivier’s response piece or others of its ilk do; rather, it is framed as a rejection of complacency. This is why those who leave are shown not as triumphant heroes, but as harried and desperate fools; hopeless, troubled souls setting forth on a journey that may well be doomed from the start — because isn’t that the fate of most people who set out to fight the injustices they see, and that they cannot help but see once they have been made aware of it? The story is a metaphor, not a math problem, and 'walking away' might just as easily encompass any form of sincere and fully committed struggle against injustice: a lonely, often thankless journey, yet one which is no less essential for its difficulty."

- Kurt Schiller, from "Omelas, Je T'aime." Blood Knife, 8 July 2022.

[obeymeluv]

In Your Defense [PT - 4 - Diasomnia]

You decide to work at Sam's for Valentine's Day and your crush just happens to hear a customer hitting on you. If they get arrested, can you be their alibi? AKA: This person has a death wish and you find out your crush might be jealous?

Note: Each one is random and some will be longer than others. If I made everyone the same length this thing would be MASSIVE and I would probably die.

Happy late V-Day :)

Malleus is forever amused at the many holidays humans entertain. They're certainly festive and unique. This one relies on red, pink, white, and sweets! He's absolutely fascinated by the sheer amount of heart-shaped items and clever cards but the idea of so many sweets turns his stomach a bit.

Just a bit.

The almost-cloying smell of sugar hits his nose and it's nearly enough to make him leave the shop. He reminds himself that he's not required to eat the sweets nor get anything massive and that does well enough to settle his stomach. He stoops to enter, green eyes turned skyward lest he tangle himself in the cute, frilly banners strung back and forth across the store. Sparkly pink pens draw his attention, the tops decorated with hearts, and he wonders if his grandmother would be interested in it.

Perhaps the heart-shaped trinket box next to it? She's always looking for things to sort and contain her hoard. He picks the deepest one, a great red heart, and puts it in his basket along with the pen.

He meanders through the aisles, picking up an obnoxiously adorable pillow for Lilia. It's meant to look like an envelope sealed with a heart sticker and would do well for his back on gaming nights (which are most nights). Silver and Sebek are much harder to buy for, as they're quite practical and not really prone to whimsy like Lilia. Malleus recalls Lilia trying to broaden Sebek's...people skills...and sets his basket between his feet as he peruses the books. Some of the titles are simple and honest but he thinks Sebek would be hurt if he opened How to Make Friends so he opts for Success in Every Situation.

For Silver, who has hobbies but is always wondering how to incorporate things into training exercises, he picks up a crocheting kit and an origami practice book. Both of these things rely on manual dexterity and patience, the perfect compliments to swordsmanship! Satisfied, Malleus rejoins the line. He's distracted, untangling a heart-shaped hanger with curly gold ribbon when he hears it.

He can't UNHEAR it! Not with his fae ears.

How much do you cost? Malleus clucks his tongue in disapproval, careful not to move his feet lest the magic push down into the shop floor and start to splinter it. Because it needs to go somewhere, he's not surprised that it radiates off of him and starts shaking the shelves. Glimpses of light peeking through slats in the front of the shop are snuffed out by darkness as thunder roars in the distance. The shop lights flicker and buzz as if to protest the conversation on his behalf.

The shop goes deathly quiet. It's enough for him to reign in his magic, that cretin's voice no longer grating on his ears. Malleus swallows down the smoke tickling his throat and walks calmly to the front. His shoes echo quietly but pointedly on the floor. He can see the cretin shrinking with every step and it has nothing to do with the fact that he towers over him.

"Be careful asking the cost of things, human," Malleus looks down at the man, "you may find yourself in a situation where the cost is too steep and the unwillingness to pay leaves you worse off than what you started. So ask yourself: what are you willing to pay? Is the price worth it?"

"No," he whispers in the absolute terror Malleus is all too familiar with. "No, it's not."

You were the first one to not look at him in such a way, and the realization hits him when he locks eyes with you. Yes, the man is running--tripping--out of the store but you look glowing and so happy to see him! His heart swells immeasurably in his chest. Fatally, he fears on occasion.

The lights flicker back to life in the shop, sun caressing the outside once more. Malleus apologizes to the people he cut in front of, gesturing for them to resume natural order but they refuse. He thanks them and hands you his basket. Before you can scan anything, Sam slides in to finish the transaction. "After I check out these lovely imps I'm going to close down for a bit and do inventory, check some things. You should grab what you were looking at earlier!"

You give him a curious look but take the opportunity. Sam probably didn't want to say he was worried about his freezers and fridges after that little stunt. Malleus' magic tends to cast a small effect field that wears off when he's not around. You're careful to hide the ice cream cake from Malleus, glad Sam has charmed bags for cold goods.

"Might I interest you in coming to Diasomnia for the holiday, Child of Man?" Malleus tips his head as he walks out the door. "We've had great success keeping Lilia out of the kitchen this time. He's not fond of marshmallows, you see."

"Sounds interesting! I'd love to! I have something to share, anyways."

"As do we!" Malleus takes your hand and teleports you to Diasomnia where you walk into a small feast catered by various places in town. Diasomnia students were picking and conversating. Malleus guides you to the tea room where there five places set. Lilia, Sebek, and Silver had made their plates and a pot of tea. Malleus pulls out your chair for you and takes your plate and his, not giving you time to make your own.

By the time he returns you've set out the heart-shaped ice cream cake.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Malleus!"

"Quite." he smiles down at you, careful to keep his hair from the food as he sets the plate down carefully.

----

Lilia is a bit put out that Valentine's Day doesn't really have any funny gag items like the April fool's day Sebek and Silver loathe. Surely there must be something, right? He can't stop his nose from turning up at the airy sweetness of marshmallows, finding them stuffed damn near everywhere in the store. Marshmallows have no place in his basket but crunchy suckers and candy hearts do. He giggles to himself as he tries on a pair of heart glasses and finds they actually cut the light quite well.

Super cute glasses for super cute him, right?

He gets Silver a cute stuffed squirrel holding a little sign saying 'NUTS ABOUT YOU!' and starts rooting around for something dragon related for Malleus. Lilia's forced to settle for a dinosaur card that says 'I love you THIS BIG! (My arms are short, okay?)' on the inside. Normally he'd get Malleus an ice cream treat but he found the secret stash and doesn't think Queen Maleficia would want him to have too much. Sebek is hard to buy for, as unyielding as Baur, but Lilia thinks a book of exercise challenges will keep him occupied.

Someone had stuffed a heart-speckled, tinsel-rimmed noisemaker near the book and he couldn't be more delighted. Lilia finds a Valentine's-themed confetti popper near fake mailboxes a few aisles over. Sadly, it's the only one of its kind. He consoles himself with a bottle of tomato juice and gets in line.

"How much do you cost? Come now, boy!" Lilia wants to bite his own tongue for saying 'boy' in public like he's old. He's not even 700 yet! Not very cute of him. "Why worry about the price when you don't even have your wallet?" he's waiving said wallet in the man's face.

Being an ex-general, it was nothing to pick his pocket. A mix of genuine skill and fae speed, naturally. Maybe a little magic to get him up to the front of the line. "H-Hey! Give that back!" the guy tries to grab it and Lilia casually flicks it back and forth out of reach.

Neither fast nor smart, this one. Sad.

"I'll trade you," Lilia offers with a sweet smile that belies the fact that he's not playing. "You leave this innocent cashier alone and you get your wallet back. Sounds good, yes?"

The man tries to grab it several more times before Lilia flicks it halfway across the store. It lands about six aisles over. Predictably, the whelp goes to get it.

"Next in line, please!" you call out, the two of you grinning at each other.

---

Silver knows he shouldn't enable his father's late-night gaming but when it comes to Lilia, he doesn't have a lot of ideas. The drinks are limited edition, colorful, and somewhat dessert-y. They claim to have vitamins and zero marshmallows so Silver thinks a can or two won't hurt. He picks up a few bags of popcorn and some 'mystery box' style candy snacks. Trying to guess the flavor of the jelly beans and fruit bars was sure to please Lilia's...unique palette.

Sebek's gift was a gamble; the artwork on the Fae and Folklore was absolutely gorgeous--gilded in gold and watercolor--but he didn't know if the contents would turn into a rant about humans and their inaccuracies. He decided he was willing to take the risk. Sebek was an avid reader and it might give Malleus a moment of reprieve (even though he didn't mind).

He'd really only come into Sam's for those two; he couldn't shop for Sebek while out in town with him and there were practically no energy drinks to speak of. Apparently online ordering was popular and someone had bought up quite a few. Malleus' gift was tucked away in Diasomnia because Silver was still on the fence about giving it to him. It was meant for children but you were supposed to be able to dig up your own bones and fossils like you were excavating.

It's the thought that counts, right?

Bags of mixed nuts catch his eye and he stops to grab a few. He meant to get some when he bought birdseed in town but it slipped his mind. Silver waits patiently in line, nearly lulled to sleep when the chatter melted into background noise.

"How much do you cost?"

He startles himself awake. That voice was so loud and begging for attention! Begging to be funny. Dredges of sleepiness disappeared with every blink; Silver's brow furrowed when lines upon lines of price stickers came into view. Who the hell was asking about the price of something when it was posted all over the store?! Sam was quite diligent in that; he would never leave you guessing!

Silver finds himself very awake when he realizes you're being accosted by this nonsense. He doesn't know if you look more mad or upset but the guy is clearly waiting for you to feed into something you don't want. Something in him burns and Silver finds himself clutching the handle of the basket so hard it almost cracks.

He stomps up to the man, his aurora borealis eyes boring holes into him. "Considering how you'll pay for the lack of consideration and insolence?" Silver asks him. He sets the basket down and crosses his arms.

He's prepared to roll up his sleeves and start swinging. Lilia would approve, he's sure.

"Lack of consideration?" the guy guffaws, "What do you mean--"

"Look around you! Who likes this? Who wants this? They don't!" Silver jerks his head to you, "And they don't!" he throws an arm out to the people behind him. The guy starts to look at different faces and Silver knows when his shoulders slump, he's won. Satisfied but still a little pissed, Silver goes to the back of the line and watches the man like a hawk to make sure he leaves.

"My hero!" you tease when he finally makes it up to you. Silver can only blush.

-----

Sebek didn't really see the point in Valentine's Day because you don't need a dedicated day to care for people. You also don't need to tell them, just show them! He's not quite disgusted at the amount of candy and sweets he sees but he doesn't know how to feel about it. It reminds him of all the times his father gave him candy and sweets unprompted. He didn't not appreciate it but he thought it was a little underhanded that his father was a dentist handing out sweets.

Who wants soft things, anyways? They need to make crunchy Valentine's candy! He finds candy bracelets and his mouth waters a little, imagining the sweetness and the crunch. It was about the only tolerable thing in this store. The rest of it was an infestation of pink and red and cute.

Gross.

He weeds through bad puns and tacky cards until he finds one for his mother and father. Not too sappy but not cold, either. Sufficient. The attempt to find Malleus a decent, non-bedazzled pen was almost futile but he thinks his Lord will like it for letters to Queen Maleficia. Grandfather Baur gets snacks these humans might find a little tough but the crocodilian fae will like the chew and challenge.

Silver was last on his list. Sebek tried to control the disgust on his face as he looked at all manner of pillows---fluffy ones, pink ones, fuzzy ones, soft wispy ones, ones with happy faces on them--on the aisle. Against his better judgement, he began stretching and squeezing them. Being half fae, it was drilled into him not to be a poor gift-giver.

And if he had to stand near pink, fluffy, glittery pillows he wasn't going to half-ass this. As he flipped them and patted them, Sebek was sorely wishing he could've found something while he was in town. Lilia and Malleus came so easily!

WHY MUST SILVER BE A PAIN? DUMB HUMAN!

You know you don't mean that, Sebek thought to himself, frowning a bit as he tested what must've been the twentieth pillow. Confident with his choice but disappointed that it was a pink cloud pillow, he tries not to sulk as he gets in line. He snaps to alertness when he hears the idiot human ask how much do you cost.

He can hear you trying to steer the conversation back to checking out and the guy says 'yeah, I'm checking something out' and Sebek is done.

"YOU ARE INTOLERABLE AND THAT IS INAPPROPRIATE!" he shouts at the man, pointing a finger at him.

There is a pause. The man looks down at his basket. "I'm not taking that from a guy with a pink pillow." he snorts.

Something in Sebek snaps. He takes said pink pillow and closes the space before the guy can put his hands up.

"SAM! SAM?" you call out as feathers explode and start raining everywhere. IT'S A PILLOW!

SAM DOESN'T BUY CHEAP STUFF! HOW DID IT BUST?!

You watch as Sebek effortlessly dodges every sloppy punch, pillow bunched angrily in his fist. The guy's already been smacked in the face, the stomach, just about everywhere one could think to aim a pillow. It lands solidly and you're not sure if it's because of the feathers bunched in what's left of the pillow or how hard Sebek is swinging. All of a sudden, the pillow is abandoned and they're grappling.

Sebek has the upper hand in this, too. It's not really a contest when he can wrap around him, slip under him, and fold him up like a lawn chair. He lets the guy flail in his arms, knees pinned to his chest, and drops him unceremoniously. The guy tries to take Sebek down at the knees and he's unfazed. Sebek goes dead weight on the man, falling unapologetically and knocking the air out of him.

The man is stunned and Sebek picks him up in one arm like a limp toddler. He's muttering curses all the way to the door, lobbing the man out like a sack of potatoes. No one moves as he disappears between the shelf and reemerges with a new pink cloud pillow.

Sam walks out to the sight of Sebek AND HIS FLOOR absolutely LITTERED with feathers. Surprisingly, he's not angry. Sebek is allowed to check out on the condition that he helps you sweep. It wasn't your fault, of course, but you're currently on the clock. He waits to the side, cheeks dusted pink, until you hand him a broom.

"Thanks for that," you smile.

"Say nothing, human!" Sebek stares at the floor, sweeping so hard he cracks the broom handle. Sam just sighs and gets another one from the back.

[devnmon]

undoing heat

Summary: Astarion feeds from you the first time and finds himself aroused. What he doesn't know is if you feel the same.

warnings: porn with plot and A LOT of feelings, blood drinking during sex, vampire feeding, grinding, needy, touch starved astarion, piv sex, multiple orgasms, creampie, bj, oral (r!receiving), fingering

a/n: listen. i could’ve made this nice and short but you all know me. can never be normal about This Guy ever. so have fun chowing down on the absolute meal of a fic i’ve cooked up for you all. enjoy mwah (also big big kiss on the forehead to my lovely moots @clericblood n @tillysketch n @bodythieves for all their pre reading n helpful editing they did. i love u <3 )

word count: 12.6k

A vampire feeding from one’s neck is intimate.

It becomes a degree hotter when it’s Astarion doing so.

—

Cold.

For many years, all Astarion had felt was an absence. One that could never be filled.

But warmth… that was something he’d longed for.

Beams of light from the sun, an embrace, a fire crackling before him. All these aspects of life he imagined would never be within his grasp again. Replication of any such gratification was far fetched. A myth, something he would never truly see again.

Then, the tadpoles, the mind flayer ship, and you.

Since the abduction, he’d been in a state less desirable and more disoriented than ever. Weakened from lack of blood— or the deprivation of it. For the first time in two centuries, he had a chance to find something different. 

Astarion has since lost track of the last time he’s had the sun on his skin and been able to freely roam under its blessing light. Vampiric ways of undead life never granted him such a thing.

Once he met you, everything changed.

The many fights that stood ahead of him along with a merry band of companions compiled by fate itself meant that kobolds and boars would no longer suffice. Thus came the shame of wanting to taste that crimson liquid running hot right under your skin.

Catching him staring at your neck was the first hint of his vampirism, the red eyes and fangs moreso a quite literal dead giveaway. He thought himself clever trying to keep that part of himself hidden. But you knew better. 

The first time he fed on you was very special, not only for him, but you as well. To even have the trust in him after you caught the elf trying to steal a nip from your neck while you slept opened his eyes to what kind person you truly were.

Willing to share a part of your life force so he could become stronger, that did a number on him drastically. It warmed his heart the same way it was physically; a spark in the dark, a flickering that soon burned to a roar.

Astarion is lucky in more ways than one to have someone willing to give him blood for no reason other than you wanted to. To find him- a vampire- worthy of something so personal, built an undeserving ache in his chest. 

You could’ve mistaken him for a cougar that hadn’t eaten in days by the way he was zoning out. His eyes dropped to the rapid pulsing of your jugular, so lidded he was almost drooling at the sight. 

Thanks to you, Astarion’s sanguine hunger had been satisfied for the first time in two centuries. Not only that, but the warmth it granted him, down his throat and in the tips of his fingers was so gratifying it had almost made him cry. 

At first surge over his tongue, it traveled through his system faster than light. Eventually coating his teeth, dripping down the sides of his mouth, transiting through every vein to warm his frigid body. 

Tasting it – mortal blood for the first time brought a tear to his eye the second it spread selfishly across his tongue. Each time it soared over his taste buds filled him more than the last, all his strength devoted to reining in the hunger most of all.

He had no words for how consuming it became, only satiating to the selfish desire of getting lost in it. For a split second he was there, floating in an ever so perfect ecstasy, falling deeper and deeper into its embrace. 

Your blood fulfills what he’s tried to do for years with animals. To be his first… he can’t believe you’ve offered yourself to him in such a way.

He’s buzzing as your blood – as you course through him.

Succulent, warm and thick, he forces himself to back off before getting lost in your taste.

“Ah! That- that was amazing.” His words are breathless from the taste of you, almost slurring against the warm slide down his throat. 

You watch as he stands, the sound he makes swallowing a depraved one. He almost looks about ready to lean in for another drink, eyes widening for a moment before focusing on you again. 

“My mind is finally clear. I feel strong. I feel… happy.” 

Happy he was, the blood going straight to his head… and other parts of him. 

One drop hadn’t made it past his lips, swiping it away on his finger. You stare up at him while he stands, weakened from the loss of blood and open wounds on your neck. Afraid the image of him savoring your blood would make your knees falter, you remain sat. 

Even with his pale complexion, he was beaming— glowing in the moonlight. An exceptionally good look on him.

“I look forward to seeing you fight, Astarion.” 

“With you by my side, it shouldn't take long at all.” he says with a wink, curtsying as he continues, “Now if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating, but I need something more filling.” 

As he turns toward the outskirts of camp, he pauses and turns back, sincerity filling his wine colored eyes when he speaks again.

“This is a gift you know, I won’t forget it.”

–

Immediately after draining a small animal, he’d noticed the lack of what mortal blood gave him; a rush so intoxicating. How long he’d survived in this world while missing out on such a thing, he would never know. 

Astarion gets overwhelmingly drunk off it all, a sensation he’s never gotten the privilege of exploring. To put it lightly, the man was overly sensitive and even the slightest touch across his chest sent his cock throbbing.

He’s not sure the last time he’s felt this type of arousal, not even sure of the last time he’s welcomed it. But he is aware of how much he wants to run his hands all over your body with his fangs in your neck. It makes him feel dirty, thinking of you in that way when all you’d done was give him a drink from your vein. 

He dotes on the image of you squirming under his touch a bit too long. Perhaps it was the blood talking, but accepting the image of you with your hands on his waist or anywhere else on his body makes a shiver run through him. For the first time it’s not out of frigidness, but one so invigorating he finds his eyes closed in sheer enjoyment. 

Astarion is warm all over, moreso from your blood he’s drank rather than the animals that helped satiate his hunger for the night. Thinking about the red liquid dripping from your neck when he pulled away– gods, the image was enough to make his vision hazy. He wasn’t aware of the raging hard on he’d gained from drinking something as luscious as your essence. It had never happened before when feeding on animals, but clearly this type was different. 

Was all mortal blood this potent? Would Astarion find the same hypnotisable taste in any of his other companions? Or was it you that was already affecting him in more ways than one that drinking your blood magnified? 

Either way, there was no containing it for the moment. What was he to do otherwise, walk into camp with a raging hard on? No, the embarrassment if someone– if you saw– might literally kill him. Better to sort it out in privacy while he still had some. 

Astarion freed his erection, dumbfounded at its warmth in his hand. Granted, he had not indulged in this sort of pleasure since… forever, it seems. The first full stroke down his length, he almost moaned too loudly, fingers gripping at the ruffles of his shirt, bottom lip caught between his pearlescent teeth. 

He was a sight, if you could’ve seen him then. Beads of sweat on his forehead, fangs glowing in the moonlight, cheeks pinked up just the slightest with how much he’s yearned for this sensation again. The elf’s high peaks quite fast, breath quickening as he attempted to stay quiet. 

Though he tries to picture anything else, the only image floating around behind his eyes is one of you. Your natural scent of sweetness, that pulsing jugular of yours, the kind hand you outreach towards all who need it. An inch further, just imagining your lips on his, is what brings him over the edge. 

 He’s not sure whether to feel relief or guilt when he spills over in his hand with a shudder. Once he steadies himself and cleans up, he’s quick to walk off as if nothing had occurred. How his mind and body ached upon his walk back into camp, observing you all tucked away in your separate corners of camp for the night. 

Astarion would just have to push down his guilt and hope to the gods it wouldn’t bother him in the days to come. 

–

Most nights afterwards were spent getting a control on the high your blood put him on. His first time though– had his body tingling in every possible way. Mortals truly underestimate the power that crimson liquid has over his kind. Astarion did not choose to spend two centuries draining animals. When the opportunity presented itself to him, truth be told he was a little nervous as to how he’d react. 

Your blood ran through his veins like lightning. Warming. Shockingly filling for once in his life. It’s up in his gums, behind his eyes, in the very essence of his being.

That night he realized how lucky he is for fate to have brought you to him. For you to trust him not to kill you upon his first taste of it. He’s elated, relieved, and knows for the first time, that he truly has someone who trusts him for the person he is. Not the vampire he happens to be.

He’s quite doting when he checks on you the next morning— a gesture that warms not only your heart, but your cheeks as well. You’ve never heard of his kind to be so concerned towards where their source of blood came from. A regular vampire would have taken what they wanted without care. 

But then again, he wasn’t so regular, was he?

“Good morning. How do you feel?”

Astarion’s eyes seemed to dart across your entire figure, looking for any sign of your current state. 

“I’m fine, I just feel a little woozy.”

“It’ll pass. I’m so glad last night didn’t end badly. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it, though. Your blood was… so filling.”

“End badly? Wait… have you never fed on a human before?"

“Well, yes… We needn’t get into the gritty details as to why right now. I’ve had this condition for two centuries, but truth be told? You were my first.”

The vampire almost presented bashful when admitting this to you, as if it were a secret he’d never spoken aloud. 

“Wow, I’m not sure whether to be surprised or impressed to still be standing.” 

"I fed on animals for the better part of two centuries. Rats, cats, boars, kobolds... anything and everything except mortals. Since drinking from you, I feel at my best for the first time in my life. Apologies again, I should have told you about what I am.”

“If you needed blood, all you had to do was ask.” 

“I- Really?” 

You nodded. 

“I’ll let you have my blood. But only if I come to you first. Alright?”

“Of course, you needn’t say any more. Thank you.”

“Like you said, blood makes you strong. We’re going to need that on the road ahead, wherever it takes us. Have you got my back?”

“Always, my dear. Lead on.” 

–

It took an enormous amount of strength for him to resist his bloodlust turning to a feeding frenzy, even when he was consuming animals. But the ecstasy that came with mortal blood, especially for the first time, was more overtaking than he thought.

Apparently it had awoken another feral part of him. He’d savor your taste, reminisce about it whilst alone at night. Not only did it go to his head, but it focused him like nothing else. So much so that he can’t think of anything except you. Any attempt to keep his eyes off your jugular resulted in something much too overwhelming entering his system. Thus, when he wasn’t out on the road with you, his nose was stuffed in a book to keep his mind focused on the task at hand. 

Many more nights passed with you suffering a woozy morning as if you’d drank one too many glasses of wine. Luckily, a certain druid had joined your party with just the spell to cure you of the disadvantages your bloodlessness came with. 

Astarion noted the way you immediately trailed over to Halsin’s tent in camp the mornings after he fed, almost letting jealousy creep over his shoulder. Once he found you were only doing so to keep a level head on the road, that pinch of guilt became harder to push away. Not just its surge as if he was taking advantage of you, but the notion of something more stirring inside him when he tasted your blood. 

Was it only that you deserved more than what he was asking of you? Or perhaps the appreciation that at least one person in his life cared about how he was doing after so long of being disregarded in that manner? 

When a particularly rough battle left you all drenched in blood and limping back to camp, Astarion was hesitant to reply enthusiastically about feeding on you that night. He’d done so for the better part of all the past nights since his first time. 

You only stared at him, reluctantly confused that he said no. 

“I don’t want you to think I’m using you just for your blood. You’ve been kind to give me anything thus far. I’m grateful for it but… you don’t deserve me taking something so personal as that without anything in return.” 

“So, you don’t want to feed from me anymore?” 

If it weren’t for him being so godsdamned caring and sweet towards you right now, he would’ve picked up the hint of disappointment in your voice. 

“No– gods, no. I wouldn’t be here today without your generosity,” Astarion places his hand on your shoulder, “I’ve just… grown fond of you, and it would be wrong for me to continue taking advantage of how kind you are for my personal benefit. I want you to know I mean that and, well, you deserve something more for what you do for me.” 

His hand leaves your shoulder, the warmth of your body already infecting his ability to think straight while his gaze averts to your neck. 

“Astarion… I wouldn’t be giving you my blood if you didn’t need it. It makes me glad to have you by my side through all of this. If I have to bug Halsin every morning to cure me with a spell, then that’s a sacrifice I’ll make for you. Besides…” You trail off, noticing his eyes have left your face and are now locked on your neck. “Astarion!” 

“Wh-What? I’m sorry… It's been such a long day. What were you saying?” His hand scratches the back of his head nervously. 

“I was saying that what I do for you isn’t because I pity you or some other reason you may have thought up. You’re not forcing me to do anything I don’t want. But, if you’re sure about this, I won’t stop you from hunting for animals tonight. If that’s what you really want.” 

“Well, I don’t want to drink from animals. Their fur gets stuck in my teeth and it tastes awful. Your blood is much more filling,” he states, ignoring the way his chest heats up, “But today has beaten all of us down a peg and I think your neck could use the break. Wouldn’t want a bruise to tarnish your skin. Gods forbid. I’d never forgive myself. What I’m saying is I don’t have to feed from you every night, even though you generously offer it to me.” 

“If you insist… you know where to find me if you change your mind.” You replied, sighing lightly. 

“Indeed I do, darling. See you in the morning.” He bids you farewell with a wave and stalks off into the forest, the usual swagger in his walk making it even harder for your eyes to turn away. The way his tongue curls around the words he speaks throws your mind into a frenzy, wondering what it would be like with his tongue curled around something of yours. 

Astarion had been lucky enough to drink from you the past couple weeks on the road, dissatisfied at how much more hungry he felt after two small creatures. 

Gods, how much more is it going to take to be full again?”

About three animals for him to have the same fullness when drinking from you, but nothing compared to the warmth of your body. That was something he knew could never be replicated, you radiating a forge’s level of heat below him. Though perhaps it was only because he’d been deprived of such for so long. 

Resting against the log of a tree, he took a moment to catch his breath before the blood he'd ingested traveled south. Even when he wasn’t drinking from your neck, his mind went to you nonstop. Innocent thoughts like ones by your side during battle turned to reminiscing about how your body reacted to him when his mouth was against your neck. 

He wasn’t aware of it at first, too caught up in the less than satisfying taste spreading across his tongue. As the nights continued with him feeding from you, Astarion became more aware of your heartbeat pounding significantly faster whenever he neared you in proximity, how your breath shuddered upon his fangs in your neck. Of course you were nervous, what else was he to expect? To welcome some red eyed, pale skinned creature jamming its fangs into your jugular nearly every night without dismay?

Astarion tried his best not to ponder how your blood tasted, rich and succulent when flowing across his tongue, on his lips, down his throat. Unfortunately for him, the more he tried to push those thoughts away, the more you’d wriggle your way into his brain. He had missed his nightly taste of it, how much more full he became after a few sips rather than having to kill a few helpless small animals to even get close to how you made him feel. 

Your scent, your blood, you. 

Once again growing hard under his trousers to the point of frustration, pulling himself out in the cool air. It’s so unsatisfying to feel warmth under his skin that wasn’t from you. Not in the one simple way that got him high faster than light. Especially not when your blood shot through him, lingering at best and he couldn’t take how less buzzed he felt without it. 

Was he an addict for your blood, or just obsessed with you?

It all combined in his frenzy of getting himself off, hoping and praying he wouldn’t moan too loudly when he came. 

Vision hazy and body growing warmer, he stroked himself at a slow pace, relishing in every moment of the electrifying thrill. Every pass down his length makes him grow harder and much more inclined to indulge in thoughts he’d been pushing away. Swallowing the thought of you on your knees for him, his cock in your mouth. He wonders just how warm you are, whether it’s your tongue along the veins of his shaft or your heat sucking him in. 

Gods– he shudders at the vision apparating in his mind. 

Astarion’s hips stutter relentlessly as he comes in his hand, cleaning the warm liquid off with a rag before heading back into camp for the night. His gaze caught your figure before he shut his eyes, relishing in the luck of your presence. 

He woke the next morning drenched in guilt at remembering what he’d done the night before. Taking your blood, selfish as it was, for his own benefit. Then to run off to the woods of all places and deal with the complicated feelings arising because of it?

How fucked was that, he thought. 

How dare he get aroused at the thought of you squirming under his touch with his lips pressed against your neck. Fangs under your skin, sucking out the very liquid that kept you alive. 

That thick, rich, liquid. Running along your veins and pumping through your heart, keeping you standing before him. Quite literally your life’s essence, and he was the only individual out of all the others in your life to have a taste for it. 

It was foreign to him, this pull towards you traveling over his entire body. A thing he wouldn’t have given a second thought to before this whole mess. Now with the control over his own actions, things were much different. He felt if he was ever going to do something right for once, it would be with you. 

Time passed whilst keeping up your little routine; he would only feed from you when you told him so, attempting to rein in his obsession with how you tasted. He was sure the fangs in your neck was a less than desirable experience, which had him shuffling off awkwardly afterwards most times. Truth be told, he didn’t want you to see how floaty and giggly your blood made him, better to keep up his stoic vampire appearance than let you see how drunk he got off your blood, to keep that mask of his up than let himself catch feelings. 

That same mask was becoming heavier with each moment he lingered too long on you inside his head. The only question was, would its slipping result in something catastrophic? Or life changing? 

–

On the road ahead with that certain vampire at your side proved plentiful, finding yourself walking near him more often than not. Astarion became the first person you turned to when in need of a second opinion, reassurance, or for when you just wanted to be in his presence until your eyes couldn’t stay open any longer. You find comfort in his voice softening when you’re troubled, talking his pointed ears off about your past and if you’re truly capable of leading this group. 

“Your self doubts… They’re nothing to what you’ve gotten us through so far. You can do it, even if you think you can’t. And I’ll be here to make sure you get through.” 

He’d pushed your hair out of your eyes and made sure you were thoroughly hydrated after crying so much into his shoulder about it all. You thanked him with the promise to wash your tears out of his shirt the next morning, overly fatigued from all your sobbing. He shushed you while stroking your hair, only telling you to let yourself rest for the night. 

Upon waking the following morning, your head ached from the lack of hydration, finding yourself curled up into his chest, softly breathing as he slept. To avoid any awkward conversations, you managed to slip away before he woke. 

From the darker moments to the happier ones, Astarion was there for all of them. Finding the nicest wine for the celebrations you rarely had at camp, saving the best bottle for him as a gift. For his endless support of your endeavors, having your back in all the fights, and stealing you things without anyone noticing. 

All the softer times in passing, glancing towards him when he wasn’t looking, were when your eyes lingered. Beyond just his physical attributes, which were distracting enough, you felt a warmth in your chest getting up every day, knowing he’d be by your side. How you ached to see him smile or laugh as often as he was using those daggers he’s quite skilled with. His true beauty, the moments of happiness he found with you. Something about him looking as if he’d taken the place of the sun with the way he beamed. 

–

Choosing you to feed from rather than any of your other companions was special. It meant a great deal to you that it was your blood he was drinking- not Wyll’s or Gale’s- yours. 

His protective nature became much too obvious, as he’d place himself in front of you whenever someone stepped too close or became hostile towards you. Growling a threat towards said person always had your mind going someplace different, along with being thankful he stepped in to de-escalate the situation. 

Meanwhile everything Astarion does for you is out of his own growing affections. Ones he’s kept pushing further into himself. He wants to worship the ground you walk on for everything you’ve done for him. Not only do you make all the hard decisions and bond with others around you as easy as breathing, but to do so with your head held high, taking all the hits whether physical or mental. He adores you with all his being. 

From feeding him to supporting his endeavors with a smile, it’s the mental gymnastics he’s doing to keep himself sane that have been a pain in his ass. Getting off in the woods every night without fail has made the resentment of guilt a lump in the back of his throat. The filth that washes over him as he’s realized the desire to have you doesn’t just extend to your blood. Astarion wants to take in every inch of your body, its warmth with his fangs in your neck, how intimately his lips press to your skin while he sucks.

To extend your blood’s warmth to him, understanding how your body responds when he puts his hands in the right place. On your waist, between your legs, down your torso, around the lengths of your hair. Holding you softly while he drinks, the little death being shared between you two. His dreams are filled with his imagining of how you’d sound squirming and whimpering below him, waking up from how vivid they become at times. 

Soon as he’s come with you on his mind again, it’s back to keeping his feelings undercover. 

That is until one night, observing Gale let you taste the camp stew he was in the process of whipping up one night. An aching ball forming in his stomach at the sight of you indulging the wizard. Your batting eyelashes when you looked up at him as your lips dragged over the spoon. Sickness filled him, unlike anything he’d felt before. It made the bile in his stomach begin to churn, slowly shoving its way up his throat with distaste. 

Your actions were innocent on the surface, but he knew Gale had been in relations with a goddess. 

Seriously, the wizard? Who couldn’t shut up for more than five minutes even if his life depended on it? He probably doesn’t know how to be with a mortal after so long. Too caught up on that astral plane nonsense. At least I don’t need to project and want to be a god to get off.

He couldn’t be the object of your affections, surely… 

Whatever his intentions were with you, innocent or not, they would have to stop before he got too confident. Before you slipped right through his dexterous fingers to that fool. Of all the things he’s failed to stop from happening, he had to make sure this didn’t happen the most. All Astarion knew was that he was desperate to be close to you more than ever. 

His voice grinds the vampire’s gears from across camp, like nails on a chalkboard. Why was his laugh so boisterous? Ever heard of subtlety, Gale? 

He doesn’t deserve your kindness, doesn't deserve your opinion on his fucking stew. 

But himself? The gentle vampire who has only ever been by your side, stepped in front of you when people got a bit too threatening? Much better than a human who couldn’t even go five minutes without talking about properties of the weave or something along those lines. Astarion always tuned those tangents out for his own sanity. He’d much rather laser focus on something like your sweet voice. 

Perhaps it was irrational to think he was the only one deserving of your time, but there was nothing else consuming his mind. To even think about someone as talkative as that wizard was trying to insert himself into your close circle when he’s been there from the beginning? He had to stifle the laugh in the back of his throat. 

Just give me a reason, wizard. 

Astarion huffed to himself and walked away from the sight before he did something unsavory he wouldn’t forgive himself for. 

Camp had settled down for the evening, everyone quietly going about their nightly activities. Peeking his head out of the red clothed tent, Astarion glanced over to see that Gale had retreated into his and wasn’t coming out until the next morning. 

Perfect timing for him to visit you for his nightly feed, but the nudging concern of the plethora of words he wanted to get out to you tonight wasn’t fit for the confines of your tent. 

The heat that flushed through his chest upon nearing your tent made him take a deep breath, to which he regretted the moment it was too loud for his liking. 

“Astarion? Is that you?” 

Your sweet, muffled voice sounded out from inside, and before he could even reach out to open the flap, you’d stepped out into the night to greet him. 

“Well, good evening to you too.” he answered, “Eager for my arrival? Or were you expecting someone else?” 

He grinned cheekily, making you smile in return. Who else would you be expecting this routinely?

“We’ve been traveling together for how long now? I always know to expect you over anyone else. If it wasn’t you, I’d be worried.” You move to the side to grant him entry to your tent, but he stands still. 

“Actually, would you mind taking a walk with me? I’ve got to get out of this camp for a while.” 

You agree, letting Astarion lead you down a path to quite a lovely view, one he’s frequented as a moment of peace before heading back to camp from his hunts. 

He stops short and from how closely you were walking behind him you bumped into his back, breathing in his scent of bergamot and brandy for a moment before backing away. When he turns towards you, a soft chuckle left his chest.

“I… have something to tell you, and I wanted to not be in camp when I said it.” 

“Is something wrong?” 

“Wrong? No, I–” he sighs, “There’s just something I need to get off my chest.” 

You looked up at him with those kind eyes, already feeling the heat in his stomach, churning his insides into goop. He took your silence as his cue. 

“Your blood, which you’ve been kind enough to grant me, helps me focus, yes. But you have an entirely more powerful effect on me. You’re selfless, kind and generous to those around you. Even to me, when I might not have deserved it.”

“Oh, Astarion…” 

He puts his hand up to stop you, so much more he has to say.

“You’re, well, everything to me.” 

The vampire’s voice breathily skirts over the word, as if it’s the first time he’s admitted it to himself. 

“You… you’re a vision. Everyone’s favorite, clearly. The one they all run to when there’s problems they can’t solve on their own. I… adore you for it. For being resilient even when the world may not have been so kind to you in return. You deserve every good thing that’s happened so far.” 

“No, I… I’m just doing what anyone else would have.” 

“Do you really think that? That me or— gods forbid, Lae’zel would’ve made the same choices?” 

“I… don’t know.” 

“For a fact, we wouldn’t. I don’t say things like this if they aren’t true, darling. I’m not a man of many words… unlike someone we both know. But that’s not the point. What is, is this. I’m fond of you in more ways than one, and I’m tired of keeping it bottled up. It’s become suffocating ever since this routine became regular for us. I’ve not been sure how to go about telling you all of it, but if I didn’t sooner or later, someone else would take the places I desire to be in. All I know is that whenever you’re not around, I worry, and I think about you constantly.” 

He looks relieved upon letting his words settle in the air, wringing his hands together nervously. You’re silent before you take a step closer to him, brushing a curl behind his ear and cupping his cheek. 

The stoic, unbothered vampire persona he’d been putting on had slowly worn away upon spending more time with you. It warmed his heart to see you not turn a blind eye to those in need of help, after he’d done so many a time. From reluctantly going along with whatever you said, to taking pride in being part of the ones who brought joy to less fortunate people, he found himself for the first time in two centuries, glad he had found such a soul. 

“You’re so…” you sigh, “I’ve been thinking about you too. So much.. I wish you had said something sooner. Then I wouldn’t have spent so many nights wondering if you felt the same. Worrying that I served no other purpose to you. But now…” you trail off, his rubies catching the light, as if they were filled with stars. The rest of your words escaped you, except, “Oh, just kiss me, you damn fool.” 

Astarion’s eyelashes fluttered, softening at your words, immediately feeling welcome to step closer. His cold palm cups your cheek as you’ve done to his, bringing you in close to touch your lips with his. One kiss sets him on fire, then another, and he’s pressing further against your mouth. It was almost as if he’d been waiting twice as long to do this with you, as you’ve been eager to do it with him. Your arms wrap around his waist, pulling him into your chest; his natural coolness fills the air between you. 

His hands, anxious as they are, softly place themselves onto your waist for the first time. Your lips are warm against his, your everything is warm against him. Intimately and gentle over all.

You pull back from him breathlessly, gods are his lips ever so addicting. Some of his saliva is left on your bottom lip as you do, but it’s not unwelcome. Nothing about him is. 

Your foreheads rest against each other, both of you grinning in the moonlight. There’s a light pink tinge to the tips of his ears, Astarion feels weightless in the grasp of your arms. 

“Somehow you’ve managed your way into my heart. I wouldn’t want anyone else intertwined so deep. I’m so lucky to have you in my life, Astarion. You mean the world to me.” Your words coat his skin like honey, sticking to him as they echo in his mind. 

“You’re such a gift. One of the things in this world I treasure more than anything. Above any gold or trinket I could ever steal.” His thumb caresses the apple of your cheek, your skin tingling under his touch. Astarion could feel the heat in your cheeks from his simple but sweet contact. 

“Gods, you’ve always been good with words. Not like anyone I’ve ever met before.” 

“None of your past lovers have had such great hair either, I know…” He turns to the side, showing off his profile and the silvery curls adorning his head. 

You giggle. Of course he would take a sincere moment to talk about how pretty he was. “Well yes, that, and none have been at my side as diligently as you without second thought.” 

“You don’t have to. You make it so easy to show up for you and be by your side… that I don’t even have to try.” 

“My sweet star,” you cupped his face now with your palm, “No one as loyal has ever been in my life before. I’m so grateful to have you.” 

Astarion’s pearlescent fangs glistened in the moonlight as he grinned, pulling you in for another kiss. You could feel the vibration of his groan on your mouth as he leaned in further, a firm grip on your waist now. He was almost in disbelief of the luck he’d come about, yet here he is, combining his lips with yours and getting to relish in the warmth of your mouth for the first time without that lump in the back of his throat. 

You pull back, breathlessly, a string of saliva connecting the two of you before you speak again.

“Wait, do you…” you swallow his taste down, “still want to feed from me tonight?” 

“How could I say no…” he replies, “Your blood is so very tasteful. Decadent.. Almost as good as my favorite wine.” 

“You don’t need to flatter me, you already own my heart.” You roll your eyes dramatically, but your cheeks reddening just proves how much it actually meant to you. 

“Even better in that case, now I can watch you blush without worrying if you feel the same.” 

Leading him with your hand in his, the two of you made your way back to camp, taking your sweet time giggling and kissing him while you walked. As you laid down in your tent, Astarion’s hands trailed up your torso, sensitive ears tuned in to your heart rate picking up its pace. The canvas of your neck was too pretty not to kiss, which he took liberty in doing now shamelessly. Each press of his lips against the flow of your blood under your skin only made his hunger grow, but he hadn’t wanted to bite you yet. No, he’d take his time, painting his way across softly. 

Upon his third kiss, you began to giggle again, such perfect music to his ears. Not knowing what came over him, his lips attached to your neck again, desperately. Kissing and sucking and nipping ever so lightly with his teeth, that you whined. 

“Astarion… you whispered, “You need to feed.” 

“I know, my love. But, everyone needs to know you’re mine.” He purred, the tone in his voice making it clear he was not above marking you up. 

You giggled again, “Okay, well when you’re done, it’s my turn.” 

“Don’t tempt me with a good time…” he flirted, eyes lidded as he looked down upon you. 

So you let him continue, marking your neck up with several bruises, before pulling back and gazing at his masterpiece. 

“Gods, I tried to be gentle… but I might have gotten carried away a bit. You know how I get around you.” 

“Oh, shut it and come here.” As if the two of you couldn’t get closer in proximity, Astarion leaned down to give you access to his neck. You decided on leaving the area with his scars alone, but wrapped your hands around his nape for even more contact. When his body reacted to your soft kisses, his thumbs pressed circles into your waist, breathing became heavier. His forehead dropped onto your shoulder as you continued, sucking and laving on his skin with your tongue, almost rasping with how his hunger surged. He could smell your hot blood just beneath the surface, singing in your veins. His mouth opened, scraping the tops of his fangs against your skin with a light scratch. 

“Do it…” you whispered, hearing the growl in his breathing. Without another word, Astarion sunk his fangs into the spot they frequented. What surged over his tongue was decadent, sweet, so thick and familiar that it danced across his tongue with every swallow. 

“That’s a good vampire…” One of your hands reached up to stroke the back of his hair, its soft curls sliding through your fingers with ease. A very prominent whine vibrated through the skin of your neck. 

Meanwhile the hands on your waist never stopped their soft rubbing up and down as he fed. Within his palms stirred a warmth, something he had been itching to do upon his first feed, it became so overwhelming. That sea of ecstasy he wanted to set adrift in seemed so much nearer now. With you, it would never cease. 

He released your neck with a gasp, blood dripping down his lips. Before he could clean himself up, your other hand reached up to swipe it away and let him lick it off your thumb. As he did so, you could’ve sworn his eyes glowed for a second. 

“Thank you, my love. For always feeding me so diligently.” Astarion drops a kiss on your cheek, moving himself to lay next to you.

“How else are you supposed to be big and strong for our battles, hm?” 

“Certainly not without your beloved blood, that’s what I know. Now, let’s get some rest. Today’s been long enough, no use in making it longer. Although I could stare at you forever…” 

“Oh, shush. Goodnight, Astarion.” 

“Goodnight, love.” 

He pulled you in close to his chest, so you’d fall asleep in his arms, listening to every heartbeat. 

Morning came with warm coffee and fresh bread that Gale had picked up before anyone woke. He offered you some along with a nice jam spread he’d made. Before he started along another spiel of talking his head off just to be near you, you moved your hair to the side, exposing your neck littered with red splotches from the night before. The wizard, rendered speechless, was even more surprised when Astarion made his way over and slinked his arm around your waist with a kiss to your temple. He then rushed off, almost dropping his own cup and getting to whatever business he’d be up to in camp. 

Across the many days that passed, from the goblin camp, eventually to Baldur’s Gate, your relationship with Astarion became so much more. He was devoted and kind, everything you expected him to be, not just spitting flirtations at you without care. The man knew which names you preferred to be called, ones he knew would have you bending to his every whim. 

You didn’t have enough gold to purchase a new knife for him? There he was, whispering into your ear, Darling, the store manager is slowly going over all the different potions with another customer. She won’t even notice its disappearance. 

So when you slipped the knife into your pack, he knew he’d gotten what he wanted. Perhaps not the best use of your time, but he took a little joy in corrupting your usual honest self. As a treat to lighten your conscience though, he’d had a necklace engraved from the same shop with his initials. It looked so delicate around your neck, the shine of its metal mirroring the glimmer in your eye. 

The soft mattresses of Elfsong Tavern were a blessing; not only did Astarion persuade the barkeep to give you the rooms for free, but the top floor was also all private. Everyone finally got their own space, save for the ones who decided to pair up together. 

He would feed from you almost nightly again, save for a few days here and there. Taking his time to kiss your neck, helping clean you up afterwards after he was done. Always using his lithe fingers to rub a healing salve into where he’d bitten. Though it became a guilty pleasure for him to see your eyes closed when he did so, ending up indulging in each other’s lips more often than not. Along the way, your desire for him simmered under your skin, desperate hands traveling across the expanses of his back, across the ridges of his scars ever so gently. 

One night you quite literally began grinding up against him, his thigh pressed under yours for a little tease. It was even before he started to feed, that you couldn’t resist him any longer. Your kissing quickly became more feverish, dotting your lips across his face and his neck with wild abandon. It was when you flipped Astarion over to straddle his lap that he caught the ravenous look in your eye. 

“What’s gotten into you?” He inquired, hands finding their place on your waist. 

“Astarion, has it occurred to you that we haven’t had sex?” You asked in reply, hastily moving your hair out of your face. 

“Well, of course it has. I just never wanted you to feel obligated to, if that wasn’t something you were ready for.” 

“I wasn’t… not at first. But I trust you much more now than I ever did, and… I don’t think I can hold back anymore. I want to do this with you.”

“You do?” 

“I dream every night about how it would be to feel you in that way. To cry your name in pleasure as I…” You trailed off, already recognizing the growing arousal for him stirring. 

“Oh… I see my love. This is something you’ve thought about for a while, isn’t it?” 

Astarion’s voice borders on genuine concern and his purr-like tone, almost as if he’d been thinking about it as well.

“I’ve thought about it and thought about it to the point where I can’t take the fantasies anymore. I have to have you…” Your voice dripped with desperation, as he noted your scent pricked with desire. 

His eyes go lidded, wrecking the image of that sweet vampire persona you’ve come to know and love in a second’s time. 

“I’d love nothing more. But if you get uncomfortable, we can stop whenever you’d like. Promise.” 

“I promise. I love you, Astarion.” 

“And I love you, too. My precious darling.” 

Your lips attached to his again, ever fervent than before. You so proudly moaned into his mouth, tasting his tongue swirling around yours. His breathing became heavier, growling into your mouth as his hands slid down to the soft padding of your ass and gripped firmly. The wet sounds of your lips moving together so perfectly sparked the filthiest of desires in his brain. 

Pulling apart from him with a gasp, you swallowed before thinking again. 

“Wait, there’s one more thing I have to tell you.” 

“What is it, pet?” 

“That night when you fed on me, it… did something to me. Something I didn’t understand at first, but now I do. It turned me on… and I liked it.” Astarion noted the scent of your lust as you spoke, and the way your heartbeat jumped. 

“Oh, you filthy devil. And I thought you were nervous about me feeding from you… When really it was turning you on… making you crave me, hm?” 

“I... yes.” 

Astarion bit his lip, dragging his eyes down your torso slowly before meeting your eye again. 

“And…?” 

“And… I would love nothing more than to honor you with my blood once more while we make love.” 

Astarion’s fangs make an appearance when he smiles oh so wide, eyes glowing with how much he is relishing in this moment. 

“You’re serious?” 

“Astarion, take whatever you want from me. take my love, my blood, my body. I trust you. Wholly.”

"You have no idea how much those words mean to me, thank you.” 

He pressed his lips to yours passionately, before pulling away to speak again. 

“May I confess something, this time, love?” 

“Of course.” 

“I felt the same when I fed from you.”

“You…” 

“Well darling, I can’t lie, I watch your blood slide along your veins whenever I’m close to you. It’s just part of my vampiric nature, but I can’t help it. Not when you’re this addicting,” 

“Tell me more…” your hands cupped his cheeks, playing with the stray curls that threatened to fall in front of his face. 

“From the first bite… it was such an aphrodisiac, and I couldn’t resist what power it had over me. It felt so wrong at the time, when we weren’t together. To think of you like that, I mean. The blood… took on a life of its own inside me. But now that we’re together… it seems right to tell you.” 

“That’s… gods. I don’t blame you at all. I would’ve done the same if I were in your place.” Immediately after your admittance, your cheeks pinked up right quick. 

“Oh, really?” 

“You’ve got me there, it seems.”

His hips grinded up onto you from below, noting each time his breath hitched between kisses. A hand scraped through his hair, sensation heightening what arousal was already beginning to simmer throughout his body. 

“You know… not once did I think you were too rough with your bites. You never even left a bruise… When you were close enough to breathe in my scent, you always made sure it never hurt. And I guess that… along with so many other things… is what made me fall for you. I enjoyed being close to you, I always will.” 

“I had to. I couldn’t take something so precious from you without care. I would’ve hated myself if that happened.” 

“I admire the strength you had… even for your first time drinking from a human. What an honor.” 

“The fact that you continue to bless me with your blood is just another testament to our bond. Thank you for trusting me.” One of his hands slinked its way down and interlocked with yours, thumb rubbing the top of your hand delicately. 

“I always will,” you replied, bringing his hand up to your lips and pressing a soft kiss to it. 

“May I ask for just a little taste before we… dive head first into each other? A petite one, at that.” 

You smiled. As if he’d ever have to go hungry again with you. 

“Anything you want, my star.” 

“Perfect…”

His eyes closed in bliss at the sneaky idea he’d just thought up. “Turn around for me, I want to try something.” 

You sat with your legs sprawled out, with Astarion out of your view. 

 “Close your eyes, darling.” 

You did as you were told, awaiting his first move. Astarion’s contact began with one of his hands running up your back triggering a flurry of goosebumps to rise across your skin. You exhaled shakily, intrigued by what he had in mind, but also the aching need for him continued to grow. 

That same hand moved to the right side of your neck, resting his fingers over your pulse point to take in how fast it was pumping that rich blood through your system. 

But he wouldn’t bite you just yet. 

His second hand wrapped around your waist, doing the same motion of small circles after slipping his hand under your shirt. You felt his breath turn to a low snarl against your neck, running his left hand across your stomach to your midriff and down the cloth of your pants. 

That hand rubbed over your crotch as he finally sunk his fangs in, leaning into his chest. Sharp coldness of said bite turned to pleasurable and warm quicker than you could expect. 

Your whole body warmed under his touch, the same heat filling you as it did on the night of his first bite. Except there was no shame or reason to hide it this time. So you welcomed it, along with the filthy desires that followed. 

Your bottom lip caught between your teeth, moaning low in his ear as he drank, with your head tilted to the side. His cold hand on the cloth of your mound only made matters worse, lifting your hips up for more friction. Gripped firmly under his hands, you could tell Astarion was smiling by the way his lips moved over where he had bitten. 

He lets up quickly after a few gulps, satisfied with his little drink. 

When your head falls back onto his shoulder, glancing upwards to the red lipped vampire, he catches the glimmer of your hazed eyes. 

“Oh, there’s the spark.” 

“Astarion…” you whined, unwilling to keep your desire for him under wraps. There was no point in doing so, he had you right where he wanted you. 

“Ah, you don’t have to say another word. I already know, darling.” 

His lips, stained with the crimson of your blood, press against yours again, moving his left hand to the waistband of your pants. 

The other that’s cradling your neck travels downwards, fingertips sliding over your shirt to grasp at your breast, nipple hardening under his light touch. All he has to do is rub over it once, before it made an appearance through the cloth. 

You aren’t wearing anything else under your shirt. Cheeky, he thought. 

“Your whole body’s been waiting for me to take you since that first day, hm?” A soft, massaging grip from his hand continued on the plush of your breast. 

“Mmnh… yes,” you whisper, “Please…” 

“Shh, sh sh sh. It’s alright. I’ve got you right where I want you.” 

You look to him, buzzing with eagerness in your eyes and plead again silently for him to touch you. The eager hand at your navel slips into your underwear, inching towards where you truly need him. To find you completely soaked wasn’t much of a surprise. 

Two of his fingers part your drenched folds apart, licking his lips at the knowledge of how much slick is gushing from you. With his fingertips, he ghosts over your aching clit once before traveling downwards again and pressing into your wet entrance ever so slowly. Not only do they slip inside almost immediately, but the sound that leaves you is incomprehensible compared to the ones you were making before. 

His digits are welcomed with no resistance, as if he couldn’t tell how alight your body became under his touch. Even through your clothes, the squish as they drag against your walls is enough to make him groan appreciatively. You gasp, the intrusion of such a different temperature compared to your own, noting the undeniable pleasure when he finally manages to find that sweet spot inside you.

Letting them rest against it for a moment before curling to his leisure stretches you out so nicely for him. Any upper body strength holding you up faded faster than light, falling against his broad chest with ease. 

You moan his name without a single thought, the apples of his cheeks pinking up from your glorious sounds that no one else was lucky enough to experience. It was music to his ears. How desperately he let the electricity form, tingling its way around on his skin. Slowly letting his own enjoyment build out of dragging his fingers in and out of you, he attuned to the hammering of your heart against his chest. 

Astarion took pride in every whine you let out upon the motion of his fingers, letting his thumb rub circles into your clit while he did so. 

“Gods, I want to undress you with my teeth… take my time with you… forever if I could.” he purred in your ear, earning him another breathy moan from you. 

“I can hardly resist you. Don’t make me–” 

“Beg? Oh, but that would be such a nice look on you…” 

“Astarion…” 

“Relax, darling.” 

You melt under his touch at the command, eliciting a proud smile from him from the knowledge that you’re wrapped around his finger. It’s not surprising how you already feel your arousal peaking from his simple touches, his heavy breath in your ear only urging you on further. Already eager to feel you clench around his fingers as you come undone. 

“You’re so close already, pet. Want to come on my fingers so bad, hm?” 

“Yes,” you whisper, “Please…” 

“Then come for me.” 

The next circle over your clit sends you soaring over the edge, breathing heavily and whining with a blinding release. Astarion’s lips peck and lick softly over your neck as you do so, relishing in the scent of pure ecstasy you emit. He’s already itching to be inside your walls, but desires to savor your taste on his tongue beforehand, as if he could be sustained from only that. 

He knows the way you write underneath his hands is only because of him, which only makes him grow harder tenfold. As his fingers pull out of your underwear, the sheen of your slick is such a sight to his eyes. Astarion is quick to bring your fingers to his mouth, letting your aroma fill his nose before indulging himself with you on his tongue. His eyes close upon your taste, almost as good as your blood, but nonetheless, one that takes hold of his mind so strongly, he can’t think of much else. 

“Your taste is like nothing else…” 

He crawls around you to your front, pushing you back onto the pillow behind him. 

“I must have more of you…” 

“Take whatever you want from me.” 

Astarion’s nifty hands pull both your pants and underwear down in one motion, not before noting how soaked your garments were and discarding them behind him. Between your legs was such a mess, one he undoubtedly caused; seeing you like this though, in the shallow wake of your high coursing through you, was where he found himself entranced. 

As if that wasn’t enough of an image to sear into his brain, you discarded your shirt off to the side, tired of the confining layers that kept him from seeing all of you. 

“I knew you were a vision, but this… not even the gods could find enough time to worship at your altar. You’re perfect.” His last compliment is admitted almost breathlessly, as if he’d walked in on a painter sculpting their muse. 

“Stop with the flattery and get up here.” 

Astarion compiled, meeting your lips with his while his hand grazed down your chest, fingertips like drops of cool water in between the sensitive skin of your cleavage. The stark difference in his body temperature made a chill run up your spine, turning on the most sensitive parts of you so easily.

Your lips intertwined moan after moan with his, while the touch of his hand traveled to your nipple. Another trails feather light across the expanse of your thigh. One flick of his thumb against it, and you were rutting up towards his body again. 

“Do you like that?” he murmured, too entranced with how you look below him. 

“Mhm… do it again.” 

He needs no further encouragement, diligently placing each way you like to be touched into a perfect little spot in his mind. Your mind is empty of anything else other than his hands on your body, exploring every inch. The echo of your voice in his ears does more than enough to spur him on. His subtle flick over your hardened bud is like a switch, setting your whole body off. 

You grip at the hair atop his head, pushing him down towards the apex of your legs. What you don’t expect is his lips to travel with the movement, pressing a path from your jawline down your neck, not before stopping to kiss and lick once or twice over each hardened peak and soft skin surrounding them. It then follows down your stomach to your navel before his tongue comes into play, laving over them the slightest bit through each kiss. 

When he comes face to face with your core, Astarion can’t control the way he begins to salivate at the sight. He’s breathing so heavily still, your scent of lust and sweat wafting around his head. He leans down, expecting to feel his tongue on you, but instead he kisses your pubic mound with appreciation, hooking his arm over your thigh. 

“Astarion…” 

He knows what you want, what you need from him, and he’s quick to indulge. He leans further down to your sensitive parts, and can’t help but run two fingers through you again to see how you shine. That ecstasy he took from licking you off his fingers would be nothing compared to diving in head first to your joyous arousal. When his eyelashes flutter and go hooded, it’s no surprise that he finally leans in, tongue first starting from your dripping entrance and all the way up to right over your sensitive button. His tongue laps at your opening, swirling and darting around to collect and devour every drop of your sweetness. 

The tip of his nose prods at your clit just enough to make you clench, each of the rogue’s movements calculated and determined to relish in how you spread across his tongue. When he swallows, a moan of content vibrates through you and your head falls back in gratification. It made his nose against your clit much more hypersensitive and your hips almost began stuttering upwards for more. 

Astarion’s multi talented tongue threatened to send you over the edge once more, but you nudged him a certain way and he let up. 

“You taste so good, I can’t get enough of you. My love…” His hand stroked your inner thigh softly, an action of comfort that only sent another jolt through you. 

“You’ve already made me come once and I haven’t even gotten the chance to touch you yet…” you whined, knowing all this pleasure taken should be given in return. Especially for a man such as himself. Your mouth watered thinking about it. 

“Oh, darling,” he laid a kiss on your heat, “You don’t have to do a thing for me.” 

“You’re very sweet, but if I don’t get to have you as you’ve had me, I will lose my mind. Now…” 

The assertiveness you commanded over him did nothing but command him to obey, unwrapping himself from your thighs before sitting up. Your eyes immediately traveled down to his crotch, where his pants did very little to obscure his tenting beneath the fabric. Without another thought, you push him back onto the bed to straddle him, grinding your bare cunt against his cock. The friction is incomprehensible, but you must stay focused; this was about him now. 

Your hands lock around the nape of his neck, only letting one of your wrists trail over his lips. His first instinct is to kiss it, but then he remembers why you both are here. Your blood continues to pump loudly in his ears, its aroma still prominent in his mind. 

“Go ahead, I know you want to…” you spoke in a low voice, goading him on to sink his fangs in. His head lowers, red eyes lidded and locked on yours. He abides, the quiet squelch into your wrist paired with the sting of his teeth’s sharpness a minor pain at this point for you. 

The slow pulls he takes immediately pink his cheeks and tips of his ears up so much so, you thought he might’ve been feverish if he wasn’t of vampiric nature. Out of curiosity, you ran your fingertip over the pinkness in his ear to find it warm– hot, even. Astarion released your wrist with a whine, gasping at your sudden contact. 

“Sorry, did that hurt?” 

“N-No… do it again, please…” He whispers his last word, the alluring persona washing away with every small rub, whining even louder this time. Within your teasing, Astarion takes liberty to heal your wrist and kiss it once the puncture marks faded away. 

His head falls back in bliss, feeling the warmth of his blood travel down his throat with your hand. It lightly trails down his jaw, your thumb lightly ghosting over his adams apple as he swallows down the rest. Astarion whimpers something pathetic, the weight of you over his cock making it throb unnecessarily harder than it already was. 

“Did my blood just… do that?” You glanced downwards at the erection you straddled. 

“I think so,” he replied breathlessly, passionately connecting your lips with his. 

“Let’s get these off you. That does not look comfortable and… I want to make you feel so good…” 

“That sounds delectable, pet.” Astarion replies, letting your greedy little hands find their way to the bottom of his shirt to discard it. 

You paused a moment before going any further, taking in the picture of him below you. What a vast expanse of his chest that has your eyes glowing, as his rubies look upward to you. You kiss him once more, peppering kisses down his sharp jawline to the sensitive skin between his pecs and flitting your tongue across his nipples in the same nature that he’d done to you. 

“Hah-” you hear him gasp, knowing you’re doing something right. He intently listens to your heart rate and how fast your blood is pumping through your body while you travel down his own. Kissing your way to his navel and licking softly, pulling the cutest little moans from him. The strong ridges of his torso are next for your lips, letting your tongue drag across it from time to time. Your hands tug his pants down over the length of his prominent bulge. 

You discard them ever so quickly, his cock springing up eagerly, as pretty as the rest of him. His pink tip throbs in the cooler air, finally freed from his tight clothing. 

“Gods damn…” You muttered in disbelief. Of course such a pretty man would have a pretty cock to go along with the rest of him. 

“Look at what you do to me…” Astarion whines, biting his lip and tossing his head back. He doesn’t have to say anything else before you’re lowering your mouth and kissing his tip, lightly dragging your tongue over his slit, desperate to please. His cock twitches, standing even more upright against his toned stomach. 

“You’re perfect… in every way.” You comment, looking up at him before wrapping a warm hand around his base. It’s as if you could feel all of the blood he’s consumed pumping through him while in your hand. You inch up his shaft, letting your palm cover his tip completely to hear him whimper again. 

“Ah–” 

What makes him grow even harder is the gaze in your eyes as you continue to fist him, the way your lips are parted and your tongue threatening to escape again. Astarion doesn’t expect your other hand to massage his balls, only earning you an even higher pitched moan from him. 

Before he knows, you’re bending down again, flitting your tongue over his slit to taste the salty precome. Your soft lips roam down his length, leaving the sweetest of kisses as you continue. His chest heaves, whole body firing up in response. When your hands are replaced by the warmth of your mouth and your tongue down the side of his cock, he almost cums right then and there. 

But he indulges you, letting your movements continue and swallows down what noisy sounds he would’ve made. The moment he does, you lift off him with a knowing look. 

“Let me hear you, please,” you ask, your vampire nodding before raking one of his hands through your hair. Your warm mouth continues, before his hips begin stuttering and his curses switch to unintelligible whining again. After all the teasing and pushing all the right buttons on his body, you’re seemingly about to send him barreling towards his release with the consistency of your mouth on him. Licking the side of his cock as you move up and down, lips red and swollen from the friction. You look a perfect mess with your saliva covering him and doing so willingly on him like this. 

“Gods, I’m going to–” 

“Come…” you plead, “for me…” 

That’s all Astarion needs to hear, hips stuttering as he bucks into your mouth, spilling down your throat with a groan that tapers off into a content whimper of your name. You swallow every drop of his spend and ease him down from the peak of his high. Chest heaving, you release him with a pop, cock twitching in the open air, dripping and still half hard. A sheen of sweat covers his forehead, glistening in the light of the room. 

“Thank you, my darling.” Astarion leans down, cupping your cheek with his hand and kissing you, tasting himself on your lips. 

“You look so pretty when you come…” you reply, wiping the extra saliva off your mouth. 

“Not as pretty as I’m going to look when I fuck you.” His voice lowers to a purr, immediately bringing you closer to him with his strength. “You'll take every inch, won’t you?”

“Mhm,” You whimper in reply as Astarion crawls over you, dragging his fingers ever so lightly over your torso. 

“Now tell me, did you touch yourself while thinking about me?” Your face is too quick to give you away to deny it, feeling your cheeks heat up. That’s enough of an answer for him. 

“You did, didn’t you? Don’t be shy. I want to hear that dirty little mouth admit it.” 

“Yes, I did. I… fucked myself with my fingers wishing it was you. I got off on the high your bite gave me. Gods…” You cover your face in embarrassment, but there was no admitting that to him with a straight face. 

“It’s alright, little love. No need to be embarrassed. I did too. My mind said no, but my body, filled with your blood, might I add, said yes. I dreamed of you laid out like this for me, so many damn times before I ever thought about it being real.” His hand pulls yours away from covering how much your cheeks are pinked up at the admittance of such a thing. 

“My tongue still remembers the way your blood tastes, you know. I can’t wait to fuck into you and taste you again.” 

“Please… please, please…” you whimper, finally at the crux of your fantasy where it becomes reality. All the nights you spent forcing yourself to be quiet, coming with a whisper of his name, were your real life now. 

“Please, what?” 

With the way he hovers over you now, his cock rests just over your navel, almost perfectly lining up with how it’ll fit inside you. 

“Bite me– drink my blood as you put your cock inside… I want to feel it grow.” You mewl, and when he growls with that all knowing smile, you know he’ll give you what you want. 

Your lips smash together this time, ever so hungrily, almost bordering on needy. Astarion pulls back for a moment, before letting his eyes drop to the pulsing point on your neck to lean down and meet it with a kiss. 

There’s nothing like the cold sharp sting of his fangs that soon melts into the purest form of euphoria as he slowly drinks, tongue greedily sweeping over the marks he’s made. The way he murmurs little strings of praise upon his approval against your throat, with blood covered lips. 

His tip prods at your entrance, pushing in slowly but with no resistance to the hilt before he’s consumed too much. Between the pulls he takes from your neck, he’s groaning with each swallow. Your blood sings inside him, truly feeling the aphrodisiac that is your essence of life. It consumes him, taking over the vast inches of his pale skin. Astarion’s grip on your body becomes the thing he clings to, letting his hands find your waist and back of your neck again. He pulls you closer to him, attempting to override the high he’s been put on, but he falls short just the slightest bit. 

From this point you were overjoyed to finally feel the drag of his cock against your walls, going from filled to the hilt to somehow even deeper, your blood filling him as he has filled you. It was poetic in a sense, erotic, and if you weren’t so lost in the high his bite was giving you, you could have cried at this ever so perfect moment. 

Finally he releases your neck with a gasp, apples of his cheeks pinked up, and eyes shimmering. Astarion is grinning ear to ear as he looks down on you, triggering a blissed out smile from your own lips. 

“How do I look?” you ask, slurring your words a little. 

“Beautiful. Like you always do.” When he asks, “Did you feel it?” in a low voice, you know he’s growing so impatient. 

“Mhm… fuck me… fuck me so good, the way you know how, Astarion.” 

Your moan again as his lips collide with yours, the first few thrusts of his cock slow and methodical. He angles his hips in such a way to hit that spongy sweet spot inside of you without trying, relishing in the friction of your walls. 

“So ready for me, and still so tight. Fuck, you were made for me, weren’t you? Hah–” 

His voice drips with lavishness, a devoted tone and desperate to please. 

“Astarion… faster, please…” 

He says no more, only growling in agreement as his hips pick up the pace. He smiles blissfully while his thrusts find a steady pace inside you. It’s even harder to not lose himself like he has in your neck several times before, soaked in happiness as his pace evens out. What a mistake he makes as he looks down at your neck, becoming so much more difficult not to lose all control and rut into you like a cat in heat. 

You moan out his name, every thrust a commitment to giving you his all each and every day he’s with you. 

“Again,” he says through gritted teeth. 

“Astarion.” his mouth is on you again, eager for another taste, snagging your lip with his fang. 

“Again.” 

He commands in a tone that leaves no room for second thought. The friction of his cock against your walls, swallowing him in repeatedly, as if it were what your body was made for, brings you barreling towards your release. It’s when he reaches down where the two of you meet in the most intimate way, that you lose all train of thought. Your mind goes fuzzy as his fingers swirl at your clit, your combined fluids doing enough to lubricate the way he circles over your clit. 

“I’m going to…” 

“Come for me… Please darling, gods, please…” 

The ruthless pace he keeps up in order to come with you will definitely leave you sore in the morning, along with bloodlessness and at much too many disadvantages. But in this moment, you just don’t care– sharing this pure hot bliss and pleasure with Astarion has tied your souls together for eternity. 

So when his hips stutter again, holding himself inside you as he paints your walls with his warm cum, is when you know he’s yours forever. You shatter around him, clenching uncontrollably that he almost comes a second time. Both your movements slow to a halt, catching your breath as your heartbeats continue to pound in your ears. 

“I love you, thank you…” Your voice is hoarse, but appreciative, as you speak

“I love you, infinitely more…” He returns your sweet words. 

When Astarion lays down next to you, he can’t quite help the throb of his heart in an endless river of warmth. You’ve put him there, not just physically, but spiritually and mentally. Within his heart he knows he can love and trust you like this till the end of his days. 

[tgirltorment]

The trick about devils is that the high-ranking ones are often less concerned with inspiring sin and perversion within mortals as they are satisfying their own. You believed that by identifying the right patron and giving them what they want, you could make a deal with no clever loophole or catch. Make an offer, follow through, and come back unchanged and unharmed. Easy. And you knew just the devil to chose: a Devil Lord of Lust, one of the most self-serving of sins. Pride is too unstable, sloth might never hold up their end, gluttony is insatiable, but a Devil Lord of Lust? That you could handle.

You summoned them one evening to your apartment, offering your demands with clarity. "Beauty and power," was all you asked for. "In return, I offer to enter your service for six months." He chuckled lightly, eyeing you up and down. "One year," he countered. "And I promise you'll not be hurt. Not in a way you don't enjoy, at least." You shook hands, and the deal was struck. You were given a day to get everything in order, pay any outstanding bills, notify your family that you'd be away, and went to sleep. The next time you awoke, it was in a cage.

You noticed right away that your clothes were gone. Every so often a demon would pass by, leering at you through the bars. You also noticed that your were very, very, very horny. At first, you tried to cover yourself up, hide from the observing demons. But a heat began to build in your chest. You ached to touch yourself, to cum. You tried to resist. "Not in while they watch," you tried to think, but it was fuzzy. Strained. You noticed that the demons were naked too. Were they always naked? Looking them only made you hornier, so you tried to look away, but the image of their cocks was buried in your mind. Without thinking, you began to touch yourself, and by the time you noticed, it felt so good that you didn't care.

Against your will, small whimpers escaped your mouth. It felt so fucking good. The noises you made riled up the demons, spurring them to get off too. Cum shot through your bars, covering you, making you feel so warm. Why couldn't you cum? You were so close, so fucking close, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't get over the edge. You began to beg. "Please," you whined. "Please let me cum."

Eventually, your hands became too tired to continue and fell to your sides. You lay at the floor of your cage, covered in the cum of a dozen demons, unable to orgasm but so desperate. You didn't care anymore. You needed it. So you pushed yourself against the bars and let them fuck you, their cocks taking turns inside you, filling you with more and more cum. Cocks appeared in front of you too, right before your face, and, without thinking, you began to suck them. God, it was so hard to think with their cocks so deep inside you. But you still couldn't cum.

Eventually, they all had their fill and left you, broken and desperate and unsatisfied, squirming on the floor of your cage in a pool of cum, which you brainlessly began to lap up. Soon enough, a familiar form appeared and opened your cage. You crawled out and immediately offered your throat to the Devil Lord, too dazed to even beg. "My sweet pet," he purred, grabbing your horns. Did you always have horns? "You've been so good. I believe you deserve to cum now." You whimpered in excitement, you tail (tail?) flicking behind you. He led you to a throne where he sat down, stroking his cock. "Have a seat," he said. So you rode him, pushing his cock as deep into you as it would go, screaming as you came again and again, unable to stop bouncing. Your back arched and your wings flared as wave after wave of euphoria ran through you, the sweet release you'd been desperate for for so long.

One year would not be enough. Not nearly.

[raven-dor]

Hi loves!!

I love your gwayne Hightower fics!

Can I have a request of gwayne x Targaryen reader (reader is rhaenyra’s young sis) where they are married for a while now then blood and cheese happened instead of jaeherys, one of their twins got killed 😔 and they’re both devastated

but still reader loves her sister (of course) and knows it’s not her fault

Thank you !! Sorry for any wrong grammars😅

are you satisfied?

In which gwayne hightower and his wife, rhaenyra targaryen’s sister, experience a great tragedy

PAIRING: gwayne hightower x targaryen!reader

WARNINGS: death, fighting, typical HOTD violence, like three swear words, 'betrayal'

WORD COUNT: 3.5k

🎶 : are you satisfied? - marina

AN: gwayne and the reader's children's names are Visenya and Velarion, and the reader is the rider of Silverwing

Gwayne always loved the fact that his wife’s violet eyes and bright white hair had transferred to their children. He thought his wife was far more comely than he, and he thanked the gods his children hadn’t received his looks. 

(Y/N made him swear to stop saying such things, that he was extremely handsome.) 

He smiled as his wife played hide and seek with their twins, pretending not to see their obvious hiding spots. She was an amazing mother, he told her as often as he could. His own mother had been cold, choosing court life over raising her children on more than one occasion. He had still loved her dearly, but it seemed, as he grew older, that that love was not returned. 

Over time, Gwayne had come to realize that his distaste for King’s Landing stemmed from his mother’s choices. When he had returned for the tourney celebrating the new heir, Prince Baelon, he found a reason to enjoy its high walls. Princess Y/N was a year younger than her sister, but it seemed as if she was much wiser and more deliberate in her decisions.

Because Y/N had loved King’s Landing, he had pretended to enjoy the place. He couldn’t stand to see the look of disappointment stretch across her beautiful face. 

So when Alicent sent a letter to Gwayne asking him to bring his family to King’s Landing, he couldn’t refuse. But he so wanted to. Y/N sensed his distaste immediately. She knew him too well, he would say.

His wife hadn’t wanted to return to King’s Landing either, her childhood home turned into that of a prison. Bringing their children, she argued, would put their whole family in danger. Gwayne had agreed, but how could he refuse the Dowager Queen? 

Y/N hadn’t supported Ageon’s claim, being very forthcoming with her husband when the topic arose. Gwayne remained stoic, never letting anyone know of his true opinion, not even his dear lady wife. If he had backed Rhaenyra, he reasoned with himself, his family would have been killed, and it wouldn’t have mattered that he was the Queen’s brother. If he told Y/N he supported his nephew, she would surely shun him. Which was almost as horrible as any punishment he could have received. 

Gwayne laughed as his son, Valerion, dashed across the room, hiding behind his father’s legs. The young boy looked up at his father, putting a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell her, Father.” 

Gwayne nodded, looking back to his wife, who was smirking. “Oh where, I wonder, is my little boy?” She looked over at the curtains, ripping it open. “He is such a clever boy, I am sure I will never find him.”

Valerion giggled, and Y/N whipped around, laughing. “What was that?” She looked to her husband. “Did you hear that, my love?” 

Gwayne shook his head, forcing himself to remain stoic. “I believe you are imagining things, my dear.” 

Valerion giggled again. “She’ll never find me.” 

Y/N practically bit her hand. “I keep hearing his voice…” She tiptoed over, jumping behind Gwayne and tickling their son. “I got you!” 

Visenya peeked her head out from under the bed. “Does that mean I win?” 

Gwayne let loose a loud laugh, gripping his stomach. “You are the champion, my dear.” He walked over, grabbing her from her hiding spot and spinning her around. “Bravo.” 

Y/N sighed, hugging Valerion tightly. Their son squirmed, pushing away from his mother. “Mummy please. I’m grown-” Y/N gasped, looking at her son with fake hurt in her eyes. 

“You are too old for embracing your mother now?” She sat him on the floor, pretending to cry. “You are six years old now, I should have known.” 

Valerion glared playfully at his mother. “Don’t cry, Mummy.” 

“I can’t help it.” She giggled. “Soon you’ll be gone and I will never see you again.” 

His eyes widened. “But I don’t want to leave!”

Y/N stopped ‘crying’ and looked down at their son with surprise. “Well, that is good news.” She picked him up, hugging him tightly once more. “I suppose you wouldn’t mind if I tucked you in then?” 

He shook his head. “Can you tell us a story?” 

Visenya nodded eagerly. “Please Mother.” 

Y/N sighed, like she was contemplating if she was going to tell them a story or not. “Well, if you insist…” 

Gwayne smiled, setting Visenya down. “Be good for your mother, you two.” He walked over, kissing Y/N on the cheek. “Don’t stay up too late, darling.” 

The twins looked repulsed, scrunching their noses. Valerion groaned.“Father…” 

He looked down, smiling warmly. “One day, your children will make the same noises of disgust at you and your wife, Valerion, and I will remind you of this day.” 

Valerion looked disgusted. “I will never marry. I will be free with my dragon, and we will fly across the seven kingdoms.” 

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “If only it were that simple, my sweet boy.” She clapped her hands, ushering the twins out of the room. “Now, time for bed.” 

Visenya yelled. “And a story!” 

Y/N nodded, shutting the door behind her. “And a story.” 

The twins' eyes drooped, but Y/N continued the story, knowing that if she stopped, she would be scolded. “And then Rhaenyra and I boarded our dragons, flew to Dragonstone, and retrieved our brother’s egg from our Uncle.” She smirked. “Your grandfathers were furious.” 

Valerion whispered. “Do you miss your sister, Mother?” 

Y/N nodded, her eyes tearing up at the thought. “Everyday my boy.” She pushed his hair out of his eyes, kissing his forehead gently. “Just as you will miss yours one day.” 

Visenya laughed. “We will never be apart. I will make sure of it.” 

Y/N smiled. “Goodnight children.” She stood up, walking over to her daughter and kissing her forehead. “Sleep well.” 

She took one last look at the pair, almost laughing at the fact that they were already asleep. She blew out their candle, shutting the door gently behind her. She had gotten halfway back to her chambers when a child’s scream echoed through the halls. 

Her blood curdled, and she whipped around racing back towards their chambers. Pulling her dagger out of its sheath, she pushed their doors open, whispering. “Childre-” Her eyes widened, and she glared, gripping her dagger tighter. “Who are you?” 

Two men stood in front of her twin’s beds, rat traps over their shoulders. The taller one turned around and Y/n recognized him immediately as one of the City Watchmen. His eyes widened. “Your Highness.” 

She put on a brave face, but her heart was racing. “What are you doing Sergeant?” 

The man ignored her, hissing at his accomplice. “This is the wrong room. He wouldn’t want her chi-” 

The smaller man interrupted, gesturing back to the Princess. “It’s too late. She’s going to tell.” 

Y/N shook her head, whispering so that her children wouldn’t wake up. “I won’t. Just don’t hurt my children, and I swear I won’t.” 

The small man ignored her, lowering his dagger towards Valerion’s neck. The Sergeant hissed. “That’s not who he wanted.” Reaching his arm out, he pulled the ‘rat catcher’ away from the bed. The ‘rat catcher’ jumped, and his knife fell out of his hand, plunging into her son’s neck.

Y/N gasped, a hand covering her mouth. The room was silent, none of them moving. 

The Sergeant looked panicked. “Your Highness-” 

A tear fell, and she looked up at the pair, whispering. “You are going to pay for that.” 

She walked forward, raising her dagger and plunging it into the murderer’s neck before either of them had the chance to defend themselves. She later would say that it served them right, they carelessly murdered her son, and so she simply returned the favor.  

The Sergeant pushed her away, grabbing his dying accomplice and racing towards the tunnels. She screamed, falling to the floor. Visenya stirred, her eyes opening slowly. “Mummy? What-” 

Y/N wiped away her tears, ripping her daughter out of her bed. She shoved Visenya’s face into her neck, whispering soothingly. As soothingly as she could for just witnessing her son’s murder. ”Go back to sleep my love.” 

Visenya’s eyes fluttered. “What about-” 

“Shh, my dear.” Y/N felt her eyes well up. “Shh.” 

Tucking Visenya in on the couch in their shared chambers, Y/N stalked towards their bedroom, her heart beating against her chest. “Gwayne.” She hissed. He stayed asleep. Anger raced through her veins, how could he sleep through this? She shook him harshly, on the verge of yelling. “Wake up.” 

He grumbled, rolling over. “What is-” His eyes widened, throwing the covers off as he examined his wife. “You are drenched in blood.” 

“Gwayne…” She sobbed, falling to the ground as he watched helplessly. “He’s dead.” 

Gwayne felt worried, and sat beside his wife, rubbing circles into her back. “Who is dead, my love?” 

“Valerion.” She wailed, throwing herself into her arms as more tears streamed down her face. “Valerion!” 

Gwayne’s heart dropped. “What?” 

“They-” 

“Who?” He grabbed his wife’s arms, eyes piercing into hers. “Who?”

“I don’t know. Some rat catcher and a-” She sobbed again. “A City Watchman.” He stood and grabbed her hand, pulling her out of their room and back toward their children’s chambers. Y/N fought against her husband's hold, still violently sobbing. “No, Gwayne please do not make me go back.” 

He stopped, realizing that she had truly seen everything. “My love, we have to. We need-” He choked on a sob he hadn’t known was forming. “We need to be strong for a little longer.”

Without waiting for her response, he pushed the twins’ doors open, their son lying lifelessly in his bed. He let go of Y/N’s hand, racing over to Valerion’s side. He gently pulled the knife from his son’s chest, pushing his bright white hair out of his eyes. “My boy.” 

Y/N wailed once more. “Valerion, this isn’t funny, you’ve upset your mother.” His throat felt as if it was closing up. “Valerion, wake up right now.” He felt his son’s throat, finally accepting his death when he felt no pulse. He fell back, staring at the bed. “We need to notify someone.” 

“Who?” Y/N cried. “Alicent? My drunken half brother of a king?” 

“Anyone in the Keep, Y/N.” He stared at their son. “How did this happen?” 

She simply shrugged, climbing up off the floor. “I must leave.” 

His head whipped over, staring at his wife in shock. “You are leaving?” 

“I will be back, I swear to you.” 

“Where are you-” 

“Leave it!” She snapped, a rage in her eyes that Gwayne had never seen. He nodded, watching as she walked out of their children’s room and down the hall.

Dragonstone was quiet, Y/N noticed. Of course it was, night still covered its dark walls. She landed Silverwing on the hill above the castle, stalking toward the entrance. “I demand to see my sister.” 

The guard laughed. “And you are-” 

“Y/N.” Rhaenyra stepped out from the shadows. “What are you doing here?” 

“My son has been murdered.” She slapped a hand over her mouth, another sob breaking out. “He’s dead, Rhaenyra.” 

Rhaenyra ushered her sister inside, out of the watchful eyes of her family and advisors. Rhaenyra closed her chamber doors, and sat her sister down, kneeling in front of her. “What do you mean-” 

“My son has been murdered. That is what I mean.” She glared at the older woman. “Did you-” 

“Seven hells, Y/N. Of course not.” She took Y/N’s hands in hers. “Do you really think that I would order the death of a child, let alone my sweet nephew?” 

“I just-” Y/N sighed. “I had to make sure.” Taking one last look at her dear sister, she stood, nodding. “I will see myself out.” 

Rhaneyra watched as her sister glided across the room. Just as the door opened, she cried out. “I miss you.” 

Y/N smiled. “I miss you too.” She’d almost reached the exit of the castle when she felt eyes following her every step. “Iēdrosa hiding isse se shadows, nyke ūndegon. (Still hiding in the shadows, I see.)” 

He stepped out, his face taking in the sight of his ‘traitorous’ niece. “Iēdrosa married naejot se hightower orvorta, nyke ūndegon. (Still married to the Hightower cunt, I see.)” 

She held her head up high, glaring at her uncle. “I’ll have you know that cunt is a good man. A better man than you will ever be.” Guilt flashed across his face, but she continued. “I don’t appreciate your insinuation that I support the usurper that is my half brother, and if you repeat that mistake again, you will have more than my words attacking you.” She nodded, walking past him. “Goodbye, Daemon.” 

Visenya had been wailing for days. Wailing over the death of her brother, and wailing over the fact that neither of her parents could look at her without tearing up. The couple sat beside each other at dinner, scarcely eating or speaking. Alicent sighed. “It does your daughter no good if you die of hunger.” 

Y/N looked up from her plate, tilting her head, hoping she had just misheard. “What did you just-” 

Gwayne grabbed her hand tightly under the table, signaling to not pick a fight. “Quite right, sister.”

Alicent smiled. “We are very fortunate.” 

Y/N fought against her impulse to pull her dagger out and commit a massacre. “How so?” 

“That they had the children’s rooms confused.” 

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut. She must have been hallucinating. “Excuse me?” 

“I only meant it would have been quite catastrophic if the assassins had found Jaehaerys instead of Velarion.”

Y/N smiled, and she could tell it had unnerved Alicent. “Yes, because my son is much less important than the heir to the throne. Thank the gods it was Velarion instead of Jaehaerys.” 

Gwayne stilled, setting his silverware down. Alicent’s cheeks flushed. “I hope I did not upset you.” 

Y/N laughed, so loudly that the whole room stopped talking, staring at the woman drowning in her grief. “Of course not. You began upsetting me twenty years ago.” 

Aegon smiled drunkenly. “Sister-” 

“You are no brother of mine, Aegon. So do not start acting it because of this little spat.” She pushed her chair out, making an announcement. “We will be leaving at first light. This has been, by far, the worst encounter I have ever had with King’s Landing.” 

Gwayne raced after his wife, not even bothering to say goodbye to his family. “Y/N-” 

“I cannot believe you.”

“What?” 

“You just sat there, Gwayne.” She seethed, practically running down the halls. “Our son is dead, and you sat there and let your sister act as if it was a minor loss. An accident.” 

“My love-” 

“Don’t!” She snapped. “I am taking Visenya, and we are going to Dragonstone.” She stopped outside their chambers, whispering so that their guards would not hear. “I do not care where you go, but I do not wish to ever see your face again.” 

He sighed, walking into their room after her. “Y/N-”

“Gwayne, that is the end of our discussion-”

“No it is not!” He yelled. “I am grieving as well. You do not get to pretend I am not.” 

“Then show it!” She yelled back. “You have been silent for days. You do not defend me at dinner, you do not defend me at all. You sit there like you are dead yourself.” She scoffed. “You might as well be.” 

Gwayne was practically glowering. “Do not say things you do not mean, wife.” 

“I will say-” 

“Mummy?” The couple looked down, realizing they had just fought loudly in front of their daughter. Y/N crouched down, opening her arms. 

“Come here, my love.” 

Visenya faltered, and Gwayne watched as Y/N cracked, standing up. She barely spared a glance at Gwayne. “I will be sleeping in my own chambers tonight.” 

He shook his head. “No.”

She scoffed. “I didn’t realize you controlled me, my lord.” 

He widened his eyes, gesturing down to their daughter who was watching with wide watery eyes. “Y/N, do me this one kindness.” 

“Gwayne, I need to be alone.” She stepped back, walking towards her secret exit when his hand wrapped gently around her wrist, pulling her back. His breath hit her neck as he whispered. “Sleep in our bed. I will stand watch, and we will leave at first light for Dragonstone.” She turned around, her eyes wide. He looked determined, and in that moment, Y/N understood that he would do anything to keep them together. Her heart skipped as he bore his soul to hers, his voice heavy.  “I will not have my family thrown into chaos and ruin.” 

Her eyes were teary as she whispered. “Thank you.” 

He nodded. “Go to bed.” He turned back to their daughter, carrying her over to her makeshift bed. Visenya’s sweet voice could be heard whispering to her father. “Did I upset Mummy?” 

“No my dear.” He kissed her head gently. “Your mother is hurting, as am I. Never forget that we love you dearly.” He tucked her back into bed. “Sleep tight, little one.” 

It had been surprisingly easy to escape the Red Keep. Y/N gathered it was because they did not think anyone would want to leave, which made her laugh. Who would want to be held captive in such a place?

Gwayne never understood how Targaryen’s flew dragons like it was as simple as riding a horse. Being this high up horrified him, but his wife and daughter enjoyed it immensely. Visenya giggled as she reached out, grabbing a cloud with her bare hands. “Father, open your eyes!” 

Y/N laughed. “Your father is frightened, dear.” 

Gwayne scoffed. “I am not. I’m simply-” 

“Scared!” Visenya laughed. “I thought knights were supposed to be brave, Father.” 

Gwayne gasped, clutching his heart as he forced his eyes open. “Are you calling me a coward, young lady?” 

Y/N smiled, forgetting for a moment that their family had been torn apart only four days ago. “Hang on.” 

“Hang on?” Gwayne questioned. “Why-” 

Silverwing dove, and Gwayne felt the air leave his lungs, clutching onto his wife’s waist. “Seven Hells!” 

Y/N laughed, her hair flying in the wind. “Enjoy it, my love!” The great dragon landed roughly on the same hill she had visited days before. Helping down Visenya, she smirked as her husband clambered off of her dragon’s back. “Careful, Gwayne.” 

“I am-” His leg caught on the saddle, and he fell backwards, causing his two silver haired beauties to burst into tears. “Do not laugh.” 

“It is quite difficult.” Y/N’s violet eyes glittered in the sun. “Come down, we have much to do.” 

Y/N held Visenya close to her as they approached her sister and her family. Gwayne trailed behind the two, looking around the room skeptically. Rhaenyra sat tall on her throne. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, sister?” 

Y/N bowed deeply. “Your Grace, we come to swear allegiance to you, and ask that you allow us to stay with you on Dragonstone.” 

Daemon laughed. “And why would we-” 

With one look, Rhaneyra shut Daemon. “That is not necessary, Y/N.” She stood up, embracing her sister tightly. The elder sister looked down, waving at the young girl. “Hello, little one.” 

Visenya smiled shyly, clinging to her mother’s form. Y/N laughed, whispering. “Visenya, this is your Aunt Rhaenyra. Say hello.” 

Rhaenyra laughed. “Hello, Visenya. You are the spitting image of your mother.” 

The young girl blushed, smiling. “Thank you.” 

“Mother, what is the meaning of-” A tall, dark-haired young man sauntered in. “Y/N!” He rushed over, hugging her tightly. “How-” 

“I was most tired of the 'hospitality' of King’s Landing.” She smirked. “If one could call it that." She stepped back, taking in her grown nephew. "My, you have grown. Last I saw you, you were half your height.” 

He scoffed, glaring playfully. “Yes, well…” 

Rhaenyra clapped her hands. “Let us show you to your rooms.” She put her arm through her sisters. “You must be exhausted.” 

“One moment.” Daemon’s voice rang through the throne room. “What about her traitorous husband?” 

“Daemon-” 

Y/N glared. “What did I tell you would happen if you said that again?” 

Daemon laughed. “I would like to see you-” 

Gwayne's auburn hair blocked her view of her uncle, standing in between the two. Y/N smiled. Standing in between two angry Targaryens was a recipe for death, and yet there her husband stood, stoic as ever.

“Please.” He turned to the King Consort. “I know that my family has done nothing but hurt yours…” He spared a look to his wife. “But you must understand that my love for your niece has overcome any loyalty I once had to my family.” 

“How can we be sure you will not betray-” 

Gwayne hissed. “They are the reason my son is dead. I will never forgive them.” 

Daemon nodded. “Very well.” 

Gwayne nodded back, turning to his wife. “Let us go rest my love.” He kissed her temple, following after the queen. “I believe we have earned it."

taglist: @beebeechaos

[insidekatmind]

Christmas in New York- Jobe Bellingham

wearning: +18,smut

It was a cold Christmas Eve in New York. The snow slowly fell from the grey sky, covering the streets with a soft white mantle. The colorful and glittering lights adorned every window, and the air was permeated by the scent of roasted chestnuts and hot chocolate.

You and Jobe Bellingham walked hand in hand down Fifth Avenue, wrapped up in your heavy coats. He wore an elegant black coat with a grey scarf framing his face, while you were wrapped in a beige coat with a soft wool hat covering your ears. Jobe turned to look at you with a sweet and mischievous smile.

"I can’t believe we’re here together," he said, shaking your hand and approaching you. "New York at Christmas is just like in the movies."

"Yeah," you replied, leaning your head on his shoulder as you kept walking. "But it wouldn’t be the same without you."

He stopped suddenly, holding you by the hand and turning you towards him. His warm hands laid on your cold cheeks.

"Don’t even joke," he muttered, staring at you with his dark eyes full of sweetness. "This Christmas is special only because you are there."

You felt yourself melt like snow under the sun. His words were sincere, and the warmth of his gaze made you forget the bitter cold.

"You’re too sweet, Bellingham," you said, your cheeks turning red, perhaps from the cold or perhaps from the fast-paced beat of your heart.

"And you are too beautiful to be true," he replied, bending over to rub his lips against your. The kiss was slow and gentle, but at the same time full of feeling. The noise of the city around you seemed to disappear for a moment.

"Shall we go see the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center?" you proposed with a smile when you parted. His lips curled into a complicit smile.

"Only if we can take a picture like those sappy tourists kissing under the tree," joked Jobe, but there was a shadow of sincerity in his voice.

"Deal done," you laughed, and together you headed to the Rockefeller Center.

The crowd was huge, all with their eyes up to the imposing Christmas tree illuminated by thousands of colorful lights. You let yourself be enchanted by the show, shaking Jobe’s hand more strongly.

"It’s beautiful," you whisper, your eyes shining with wonder.

"Not as much as you," he replied, looking at you instead of the tree. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, and when you turned towards him, Jobe stared at you with an intensity that left you speechless.

"Let’s stop with the compliments, Bellingham, or I might start to believe it," you tried to joke around to hide your embarrassment, but he shook his head, a clever smile painted on his face.

"Do it. Believe it. Because every word is true." His hands again placed themselves on your cheeks, touching them with their thumbs. "May I kiss you again?" He asked with a sweet expression, but his eyes revealed something deeper.

"Why do you ask again? You have my permanent permission," you whispered, and he chuckled before bending down and kissing you again, this time with more passion. His arms wrapped around you, clinging to his warm chest.

People around you applauded and laughed, but neither of them noticed. You only came off when the breath was short, and Jobe looked at you with a satisfied smile.

"Now we look like those sappy tourists," he said laughing.

"And it’s beautiful," you replied, leaning your head against his chest.

Later that night, you returned to your hotel. The room was warm and welcoming, with a small decorated Christmas tree by the window. Jobe closed the door behind him and stared at you with a look that made you shiver.

"You know what?" he said, slowly approaching. "I think this is the best Christmas of my life."

"Why?" you asked, stepping back, but smiling.

"Because I have everything I want right here in front of me." He took another step forward, until your back touched the edge of the bed. His hands laid on your hips, holding you with a gentle but firm grip. "And I don’t want to lose a second without you."

You felt your heart beat in your chest, and his lips found yours with a sweetish overwhelming. His hands moved slowly along your hips, his fingers drawing imaginary lines on the soft fabric of your dress. You felt every touch like a spark of heat.

"Jobe," you murmured against his lips, but he did not let you finish.

"Yes, love?" he replied in a low, husky voice, kissing your jaw and then your neck, where he knew you were most sensitive.

"Promise me one thing," I said, breathing hard.

"Anything," he answered without hesitation.

"Promise me that every Christmas will be like this," you said, looking for his eyes with yours.

"No, love," he said with a smile that made you miss a heartbeat. "Every Christmas will be even more beautiful."

You smiled and kissed him, and he immediately returned the favor. " I love you doll" said Jobe near your lips and you smiled giving him a kiss to the mold. "I love too"

His dark eyes twinkled as his hands drew you closer, as if he could not bear even a centimeter of distance between you. His lips returned to seek yours, this time with a passion that made you tremble. There was nothing more delicate: the kiss became intense, deep, full of desire. His hands, first resting on your hips, moved with exasperating slowness, tracing the curve of your back, while your fingers intertwined between his hair, drawing him even closer.

The room seemed to fade around you. There was no more city noise or Christmas lights reflecting off the walls. There was only him, the warmth of his body against yours, and the way his lips seemed to explore you with an unstoppable hunger. He kissed you as if he were the first and last time, with an intensity that left you breathless.

His fingers stopped on the edge of your dress, barely touching your skin, and that simple touch made you shudder. You felt his lips detach from yours only for a moment, just the time to look at you with a look that spoke more than a thousand words. "You’re so beautiful," he muttered in a husky voice, his breath irregular as his thumb drew a gentle line on your cheek.

"Jobe..." his name slipped away as a whisper, while he smiled, that smile you knew so well, full of sweetness and desire. He didn’t wait for you to continue: he bent down again, capturing your lips with such intensity that you felt your heart beat wildly. His hands, now more secure, lifted you slightly, making you slide on the bed as his body followed yours perfectly synchronised.

The fabric of his sweater was rough under your hands as you pulled it closer, your bodies seeming to find a way to match perfectly. His kisses fell down your jaw, to your neck, where his lips lingered, leaving you breathless. Each kiss was like a promise, a secret shared between you two.

"I don’t want to stop," he whispered against your skin, his voice low and charged with emotion. His warm breath caressed you, and his words made you smile as you looked at him with eyes full of confidence and desire.

"Don’t stop," you replied, pulling him back towards you, ready to live every second of that moment that seemed only made of magic and warmth.

Jobe looked at you with a new light in his eyes, as if all the control he had tried to maintain until then had vanished. His breath was warm and irregular, his pupils dilated as his eyes fixated in yours. He didn’t say a word, but the way his hands slowly fell down your hips was enough to make you understand what was about to happen.

He leaned towards you, his lips brushed your neck with exasperating delicacy, almost as if he was savoring every inch of skin. Then, without warning, he began to kiss you with more force, more passion. Each kiss was a mix of sweetness and desire. His lips moved firmly against your skin, leaving a trail of heat behind.

His warm breath stopped right at the groove between the neck and shoulder, and at that instant his teeth touched your skin. You were out of breath for a moment, fingers instinctively sank into his chest, feeling the strong and constant beat under the palm of your hand. Your nails drew a slow line along the fabric of his mesh, following the contours of his muscles.

"Jobe..." his name escaped you like a whisper, more like a prayer than a simple call. He just lifted his face, looking at you with a look that sent a jolt down your back.

"Say my name again," he murmured, his voice so low and stinging that it gave you the shivers. Before I could even answer, he attacked your jaw again with slower but incredibly intense kisses. Every time his lips closed on your skin, he left a small pink sign that darkened slowly, unmistakable proof of his presence on you.

"Jobe," you repeated with a whisper, closing your eyes as his lips stopped under your ear, where your breath was faster. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your fingertips drawing slow circles on his chest. You could feel every muscle under the tissue, the solidity of his body against yours.

"So, my love," he muttered, never taking his lips off your skin. "I want to hear it again." His voice was low, full of sweet authority that made you shiver down your back.

His hands slid to your back, pressing you further into him, as if trying to eliminate any space between you. Every touch he made was slow but firm, and every kiss on your neck brought with it a jolt of heat. You felt light-headed, like the whole world was a blur except him.

“Jobe…” you whispered again, and the way he groaned against your skin made your legs feel weak.

"I like it when you say my name like that," he confessed, his lips now resting on your shoulder, his teeth pressing lightly, leaving another sign that you knew would stay there for a while. "It’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard."

Your heart was beating like crazy, and as your fingers kept stroking his chest, he lifted his face, his dark eyes that were looking for yours with a hunger that left you breathless. "I will not let you go tonight," he said, his voice that was a promise and a sweet threat at the same time.

"Who said I want to go?" you replied with a cheeky smile, letting your eyes gaze upon hers. He smiled slowly, looked down again at your lips and, without hesitation, caught them in a kiss so deep and passionate that the world ceased to exist for you.

Jobe smiled and then he started to strip you off, and you did the same thing with him. He smiled as you were naked under him. " So beautiful baby" he muttered and then kissed your belly and you made little sighs. You moaned and then felt his tongue in your pussy, making it squirt. At first he was mocking you around putting his tongue in and out and you were moaning wanting more.

You raised your hips for more friction and pulled his hair. " Jobe please" you muttered and he smiled and started making out with your pussy as if it was his favorite dessert.

Jobe started licking your pussy and eating it like a hungry man and this made you squirm with pleasure, you moaned his name as a prayer and he was fucking your pussy with his tongue so well that you couldn’t even feel your own pussy anymore.

"continue like this please" you screamed with pleasure and Jobe satisfied you. Your legs were shaking and about to close from too much pleasure. You could feel your high coming, Jobe squeezes your legs to keep them from closing and you keep moaning and screaming as you pulled his hair making him moan into your pussy and this sent the vibrations and made you rub your pussy on his face.

"Let’s go baby don’t close these beautiful legs, I’ve just started" whispered Jobe near your pussy and you cry with pleasure.

It was making you feel so good that you couldn’t even think anymore, you just thought about the pleasure you were feeling. Your eyes were rolling back as you opened your mouth moaning at his name, like a song. You pushed your hips more on his face and tightened his hair to bring it closer to your pussy.

"What a good girl" Jobe muttered as you cum in his face.

He leaves you a kiss on your pussy and then slowly moves away and looks at you and smiles at your face with such a fucked up expression.

You looked at him and moaned as he was hot with your cum on his face and tried to pull it to you to kiss him and he smiled back. When you broke off, you caressed his curls. " the best Christmas of my life" you whispered and he smiled, bringing his lips back to yours with a sweetness that contrasted the urgency of a few minutes before. It was a slow, deep kiss, as if he wanted to savour every moment. His hands went up your back, pressing against him, the heat of your bodies that did not seem to fade.

"I can’t get enough of you," he whispered against your lips, interrupting the kiss just to look into your eyes. His thumbs touched the sides of your face, his gentle and reassuring touch. "No matter how much he has you, it will never be enough."

Your heart lost a beat, his words that settled in your chest like a sweet melody. You looked at him, trying to hide the smile that threatened to bloom on your lips. "You’re a real romantic Jobe Bellingham" you said to him, leaning your forehead against his.

"Just for you," he replied with a half smile, pressing another sweet kiss on your nose, then one on your jaw, and finally back on your lips.

His fingers kept caressing your hips, and the way his thumb drew lazy lines on your skin made you feel a comfortable and familiar warmth. It made you feel safe. Every kiss, every caress, was like saying "you are mine" without needing words. And at that moment, you knew you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else enjoying Christmas.

[p0orbaby]

Oh so exciting about the currently working on!! Is there any chance you could do another like seperate universe where ale is a provider of some sort like that I love the way you write that dynamic - like she’s sort of mean but also whipped af

context: so they’re together romantically but ale gives reader like a monthly allowance

also @wosospacegirl wrote a similar trope here so go check it out!

-

You don’t ask for the money this time.

That’s what makes it worse, apparently.

“You’re getting clever,” she says, not looking up. She’s reapplying lip balm with the precision of a sniper. Her eyes are flat and reflective, like polished stone, like there’s something buried behind them—something untraceable, long dead and vacuum-sealed. “Which is dangerous. For you.”

She transfers it anyway.

You hear the low, satisfied thrum of the Monzo notification against the marble kitchen counter. Your phone doesn’t unlock—Face ID can’t identify you under the sulphur clay mask you put on half an hour ago, the one that smells faintly of wet pennies and promises a brighter complexion in twelve uses. You got it free in a PR package you never posted. The other items still sealed under your bed, probably expired. You liked the name of the brand—RUIN, all caps—and their slogan: deconstruct your skin. Thought it was funny.

You pick up the phone with a slow sort of reverence, like you’re checking exam results you already know are excellent. “Three days early,” you say, not bothering to keep the smile out of your voice. “You feeling generous, or just reckless?”

Alexia doesn’t reply. She lifts her glass of Verdejo—chilled exactly to ten degrees, the way she insists, the way you now recognise by tongue alone—and takes a measured sip, like it owes her rent. Her expression is dry and remote. Old-money disdain tempered by post-sex warmth. She’s wearing a floor-length robe in ivory silk, Valentino, vintage. The hem nearly touches the floor but never quite does—like even the fabric’s been trained not to presume.

The neckline is low enough that you catch the edge of a missed tan line, a delicate crescent just under her collarbone. A soft curve of pale skin that makes her look human, briefly. Unfinished.

You wonder, not for the first time, who left the mark. Herself, or someone else.

She sits. She always sits like it’s a statement. Like the air parts for her. The robe falls open just slightly at the thigh, enough to derail your thoughts mid-sentence. It’s not a mistake. Alexia doesn’t do those.

“You think this is a game,” she says, calmly. “It’s not Monopoly, guapa. You don’t get to collect two hundred euros for passing go.”

You tilt your head. “No, but I do get to stay in the hotel suite and wear the jewellery and get absolutely railed against floor-to-ceiling windows. That’s kind of the same thing.”

She sighs. It’s not exasperated. It’s theatrical. Composed. Like an aria just before someone is stabbed. Her toenails are painted a lurid, almost hostile shade of coral. New. You stare at them. You know her taste well enough to know she’s trying something different. A softness she hasn’t earned, or maybe a protest in disguise.

She once told you—after two negronis and a very slow orgasm—that she didn’t wear warm tones because they made her look “Mediterranean in a vulgar way.”

You’d blinked at that. “You are Mediterranean.”

“I’m Catalan,” she’d corrected. “There’s a difference.”

You’d let it slide. You’re used to her taxonomy of the self.

“You’re intolerable,” she murmurs now, almost affectionately. She’s swirling the wine with idle menace, not drinking it. “A charming parasite. Like toxoplasmosis. Very bad for pregnant women.”

You grin at her, wide and deliberate. She hates when you do that. It makes her want to ruin you. “Still keeping me around, though.”

“I don’t keep you,” she says, sharper now. Like a shard of glass wedged under skin. “You’re not a pet.”

You stand. Take the wine glass from her hand like it’s legally yours. She doesn’t stop you. Never does. She watches as you drink, watches the lipstick smear on the rim—Hermès, shade Rose Boisé, which she bought you last month in a silence that felt like penance.

“I’m not a pet,” you say, easing yourself onto her lap like you’re made of something softer than you are. She’s all tension and cheekbones and proprietary rage, but she smells like cedarwood and powdered sugar and some French brand that doesn’t even have a website. “But you do pay me. And feed me. And fuck me. So, if it quacks…”

She kisses you before you can finish. It’s brutal. Less affection, more obedience training. It makes your teeth knock a little. You like that. She doesn’t.

After, she touches your cheekbone with her mouth. It’s almost tender. Almost.

“You’re very lucky I like you,” she says, like it hurts her.

You hum into her collarbone. “Like me? Or love me?”

She doesn’t respond. But you feel her reach for her phone. She scrolls with surgical detachment, then taps something. The coat arrives two days later. The one you sent her a screenshot of at 2am, with the caption I want this like I want God to apologise.

You told her you’d forgotten about it.

She didn’t.

You don’t say thank you. You just press your mouth to her jaw, just where it starts to go sharp. You whisper, “You’re such a melt.”

Alexia exhales like she’s surrendering. “I really am.”

[thegnomelord]

Simon Ghost Riley

CW: SFW, GN reader

You're a tactile thing.

You're not satisfied with the occasional thickly veiled words of endearment Simon throws your way like scraps off his plate. You shouldn't be expected to be satisfied by the rare phantom brush of his gloved fingers against yours or his hand on your nape when you two are hidden in the far back corner of the changing room. You shouldn't be expected to have a partner who can never commit to the smallest crumb of tenderness (bloody fool), ready to shrug off your hand and brush past you at the barest creak outside the door, dozens of well rehearsed denials worming through his tongue; there's nothing between you two at all.

You're a tactile thing. Or perhaps you just lack that 'in' before the 'human' part of you.

He knows you want more — deserve more. Simon sees how your eyes wander to the passing couples while you two only pretend to be one for a mission, your fingers twitching with the restrained urge to replicate them. And when you do touch him to keep up the act, you don't have to force yourself to do it. Whether it is holding his hand like the couple passing you, or kissing him as tenderly as the two girls kiss on the corner, everything comes so naturally to you that it leaves him torn. One part wants to reach out, grasp you like the lifeline that you are. The other wants to pull away even more so you wizen up and leave him for someone better.

But you never do.

He can see it every time he looks into your eyes, every time you see him off to another mission and every time you greet him with a steady shoulder to hold his exhausted body up — the care. The affection. The need to hold. To kiss. To spell out with your fingers across his skin what otherwise falls on deaf ears.

You could do it so easily too; he has so many scars, he's sure your clever mind could find meaningful shapes in the static of pain etched into his skin. Shit, the half dead nerves in his skin tingle just from the fantasy of your tough, wondering if your fingertips would trace the upside down 'L' curving under his peck, the 'O' left by the meat hook, the shallow 'V' at the corner of his lip where the Glasgow smile starts, the scratchy 'E's all across his back made up of flogging scars.

You're a tactile thing. And you make Simon crave to be one too.

You make him earn for more than a quick fuck — that's the closest you two ever get to a real connection, bloody fervent and raw just like him. Simon wishes he could call it something else, but crowning that desperate clawing for release as 'making love' leaves him feeling sick to his stomach. There's no love in the act — not from him — just a frantic rutting of hips and a bruising hold, eyes shut and biting into the meat of your shoulder to chase away any softness you might try to bring in.

Ironic when it's his tongue that burns with three painfully simple words: I love you.

The inevitable release feels like like a punishment, like he's back in that dingy cell, orgasm torn out of him like Prometheus's liver. It makes his teeth dig deeper until warm blood fills his mouth and fizzles out the words he wants to say. He disentangles from you the moment he can feel his limbs again, putting only a few inches of space between you two but the empty area created feels as deep and wide as a canyon.

He lays there next to you, mind a low buzz of static. His own flesh doesn't know what it wants. One part wishes to pull you close and hold you tight until he grows moss, to remember what it's like to be held without it coming with dozens of strings attached. The other desperately claws to get away before yours becomes the next jaw he has to use to bash his way out of yet another coffin.

He can't bring himself to do either.

He lays like a statue next to you. A minute passes. Then two.

He can feel your eyes on his chest, your gaze burns his skin as you watch the slow rise and fall. The clock on the wall ticks along the many moments he takes to decide what to do, what action will pull him out of stagnation while your heat is right there next to him. He wonders, briefly, if this was Adam's true temptation, the fruit just a formality at best.

It's by the five minute mark that he thinks he's tricked you into thinking he's asleep, his theory confirmed when your fingers experimentally brush his bicep. You always become a little more touchy when you think he's asleep, when he doesn't have to prove to bygone ghosts that he's emotionless.

He's practiced this many times before with spare pillows and your clothes arranged in his best facsimile of you, your lingering smell on the fabric keeping the thoughts of 'this is stupid' and 'you're pathetic' from becoming too loud. But suddenly trying to put it into action has his pulse skyrocketing.

He breathes in deep like he's tired to try and calm his nerves. You retract your fingers like his skin is iron hot, afraid of 'waking' him, and he mourns the loss. He mumbles some slurred words he hopes you'll take as sleep talking, muscles tensing before he rolls over like a sleeping bear. He tries to make it as believable as he can, but his main priority is draping as much of himself over you as possible .

His first attempt is better than expected. Honestly it's perfect. His front almost perfectly aligned with yours, skin to skin so there's nothing to hide yet his masked head still ends up the crook of your shoulder. You two are chest to chest. He remembers why he doesn't do this when you both can feel his heart beating far too clearly.

He prays you can't tell how his heart beats for you and you alone.

You stay stock still under him, waiting, waiting, waiting, and when he shows no sign's of 'waking up' you relax under him. Your chest shakes with a shaky breath, you never believed you'd get this far, and ever so slowly your fingers curl around his hand that had so perfectly ended up over yours. He struggles not to smile when you squeeze his hand, just a little pressure in an attempt to see how far you can push without cutting this dream short.

The sweat on your body feels cool against his skin and it leaves him shivering. It gets you to carefully pull the sheets up over you two before slowly wrapping your arm around his firm waist, fingers experimentally trailing up and down the length of his spine. It's so hard to keep his breathing normal when you press your thumb into a tangled knot of muscle near his pelvis, the one that had been bothering him for a while now. He can't help the way his back arches under the tender care of your fingers, breath stuttering as he tangles his fingers between your own so neither one can pull away and squeezes your hand, biting his balaclava in an attempt to keep himself silent.

He thinks you're aware of his deceit, you hate to be with how you lazily seek out each little painful knot along his spine, caressing each vertebra when you pass it, fingers reverently tracing his scars without an ounce of pity or disgust. But you don't draw attention to it either, face angled to look straight at the peeling paint on the ceiling so you don't somehow meet his gaze and ruin this for the both of you.

His body feels like kinetic sand and his mind is filled with low tv static, so he doesn't think when he nuzzles his nose into your neck. It's a small and timid move, easy to miss or misconstrue as just movement in his 'sleep', but to him it feels like a massive leap in. . . some kind of direction. He doesn't want to think about it now, can't think about it when the smell of you curls so nicely in his nose; like a drug he wouldn't mind getting addicted to.

He feels you move your head enough to press your lips to his temple, the heat of your skin palpable through the fabric. He shudders, eyes shut tight like he's a little kid again, sharp tears burning his eyes when you whisper in his ear how you love him, as you touch and caress his battered body to show you love him, as you kiss his temple so tenderly it hurts.

God, Simon has never wanted to do something as much as he wants to return your affection now. Even the worms and maggots crawling beneath his fingertips urge him to do it. . . but he just can't.

He's not ready for that yet, it feels too fast, too soon, his chest feels so jam-packed with feathers that his ribs will shatter if he even tries to open his mouth. So for the moment he lets himself enjoy the comfort of your hold, the press of your lips against his head, the slow glide of your fingers and the easy happy beating of your heart.

You can call him unhappy (miserable, utterly broken) but for this single moment in time he feels alive.

[theonottsbxtch]

SWAN LAKE PT 2 | OP81

part one

an: hello this is a part of a collab i did with my beloved @iimplicitt i hope you enjoy!

wc: 4.1k

THE SHEETS WERE SOFT AGAINST HER SKIN, tangled around her legs as she stretched lazily beneath them. Morning light filtered through the open balcony doors, casting golden streaks across the floor, over the bed, over him.

Oscar stood near the window, half-dressed, buttoning his shirt with slow, methodical movements. His hair was still a little tousled, his skin still marked from the night before. He hadn’t noticed she was awake yet. He was watching her.

She kept her eyes closed for a moment longer, letting him look.

Then, deliberately, she shifted, stretching her arms above her head, arching her back just slightly. When she opened her eyes, his gaze had dropped to her bare shoulder, the exposed curve of her spine where the sheets had slipped low.

She smirked. “See something you like?”

His lips quirked at the edges, but he didn’t bite. Instead, he finished buttoning his shirt and exhaled, amused. “You might be a little sore today.”

She huffed a quiet laugh, rolling onto her side. “You can’t get the role of Odile without a few sacrifices.”

Oscar blinked, brow furrowing slightly. “That supposed to mean something?”

She turned her head into the pillow, smiling against the linen. “Or so they say.”

His confusion didn’t fade. She could feel it thickening in the air between them, could see it in the way he tilted his head slightly, watching her like a puzzle he hadn’t quite figured out yet.

Then—hesitation. A beat of silence. And finally: “What do they say?”

She sighed, rolling onto her back and staring at the ceiling. “That I slept with my stage director to get the role.”

Something in his expression sharpened.

She turned her head to look at him, searching his face, waiting for the usual flicker of doubt, of suspicion.

But it didn’t come.

He just stood there, watching her. Silent.

She inhaled slowly, gaze flickering past him to the city beyond the balcony. “Now I’ve slept with a Formula One driver,” she murmured, voice quiet, wry. “Won’t be long until they hear.”

Oscar’s jaw flexed, just slightly.

She smiled, but there was no humour in it. “That’s Paris for you.”

The words hung between them.

And for the first time since she met him last night, Oscar didn’t have a clever reply.

She pushed the sheets off her body, the cool air kissing her bare skin as she moved. The stretch of muscle, the lingering ache in her limbs—it was a familiar soreness, one she was used to, though for entirely different reasons.

Slipping on a pair of black lace underwear, she straightened and ran a hand through her hair before glancing at him. “Last night was good.”

Oscar didn’t respond immediately. He was watching her, hands hanging loosely at his sides. His gaze dragged over her, slow and measured, like he was committing something to memory.

She held it for a moment, let him look, then turned away, reaching for the clothes scattered across the floor. His jumper was there too, discarded carelessly from when she’d pulled it off him, but she ignored it. Instead, she grabbed a pair of sheer tights and the loose jumper she’d worn to the bar last night.

“I need to get back to Garnier,” she said as she tugged the jumper over her head.

Oscar exhaled through his nose, like he already knew she was going to say that. “I’ll drive you.”

She almost declined. Almost told him she could take the Métro, that she didn’t need him chauffeuring her around like some kind of thing that belonged to him.

But then she thought of the eyes that would be on her the moment she stepped outside. 

She pulled her hair into a loose bun and looked at him. “Fine.”

He gave a small, satisfied nod and leaned against the wall, watching as she moved into the tiny kitchenette.

She made the coffee in silence, the way she always did—black, strong, nothing sweet to soften the bitterness.

Oscar had moved to stand behind her by the time she took the first sip. Close, but not too close. Close enough for her to feel the weight of his presence, but not close enough to touch.

She set one of the cups on the counter beside him and reached for the cigarette pack lying next to it. She slid one between her lips, then flicked the lighter, the flame briefly illuminating her face before she inhaled.

Smoke curled between them, dissolving into the morning light.

Oscar watched her as she exhaled, then shook his head slightly, smirking. “Didn’t have you down as a morning smoker.”

She raised a brow. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

His smirk didn’t fade.

She took another drag, then, on impulse, turned and held it out to him.

Oscar wasn’t much of a smoker. She could tell by the way he hesitated, by the brief flicker of uncertainty.

But then he took it anyway. Brought it to his lips. Inhaled, slow.

She watched as his throat bobbed when he swallowed the smoke, watched the way his mouth parted slightly when he exhaled.

Something dark and amused curled in her stomach. “You look good like that.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, handing the cigarette back. “Careful,” he murmured, low and lazy. “Might start thinking you actually like me.”

She blew the smoke out between her teeth and smiled. “Wouldn’t go that far.”

Oscar chuckled, shaking his head, and then drained the rest of his coffee. “Come on,” he said, pushing off the counter. “Let’s get you back before Paris starts talking.”

She smirked. “Hate to break it to you, but Paris never stopped.”

His gaze flickered to hers. And for the first time that morning, he didn’t have a joke.

He just grabbed his keys and held the door open.

And without another word, she walked through it.

The streets of Paris were still slow with morning, the air crisp and cool against her skin as they stepped outside. She tugged her jumper further down her arms, rolling her shoulders as she walked beside him.

Oscar didn’t say much. Neither did she. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable—just easy, like the aftermath of something inevitable.

They turned a corner, and she recognised the street immediately. Luxury hotels lined the boulevard, polished and pristine, their facades untouched by time.

And then she saw it.

A sleek, low-slung McLaren parked just outside the entrance to one of the grandest hotels. The kind of car that didn’t belong on these streets, that looked too modern against the history of the city.

She huffed a quiet laugh. “Who the hell brings a car like that to Paris?”

Oscar didn’t respond. Just pulled his keys from his pocket and pressed a button.

The McLaren chirped. Its headlights flashed.

She stopped walking.

He glanced at her, amused. “Problem?”

She looked from the car to him, narrowing her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

He grinned. “You’re just jealous.”

She scoffed, shaking her head as she crossed her arms. “Paris wasn’t built for cars like that.”

Oscar leaned in slightly, dropping his voice. “And yet, here I am.”

She didn’t dignify that with a response.

Instead, she stepped forward, running her fingers lightly over the smooth, dark paint. The car was beautiful, sleek and untouchable—just like its owner.

Oscar watched her with something unreadable in his expression.

Then he stepped around to the passenger side and opened the door.

“Get in,” he said, smirking.

She exhaled through her nose. Shook her head.

And then—because the city was already talking, because the damage was already done, because, for some reason, she didn’t hate the way he looked at her—

She slid inside.

The McLaren purred to a stop outside the Palais Garnier, sleek and predatory against the backdrop of old Paris. Even through the tinted windows, she could see people turning their heads—passersby, stagehands loitering near the side entrance, a few dancers filtering in for morning rehearsals.

She sighed. “Subtle as ever.”

Oscar smirked, drumming his fingers against the wheel. “You love it.”

She huffed but didn’t argue. Instead, she reached for the door handle, pausing only when she felt his gaze on her.

“You alright?” His voice was easy, but there was something behind it. Something quieter.

She forced a grin. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Oscar held her stare for a second longer. Then, with a shake of his head, he looked away. “Go on then,” he muttered. “Go make Paris talk some more.”

She hummed, pushed open the door, and stepped out.

The air outside was sharp with a chill of early morning, but the weight of eyes on her was sharper.

She didn’t look at them. Didn’t react to the whispered conversations or the not-so-subtle glances. She simply smoothed down her jumper, rolled her shoulders back, and walked towards the stage door.

By the time she stepped inside, the murmurs had already started.

She ignored them.

The corridors of the Palais Garnier smelled like old wood, resin, and sweat, the scent woven into the very foundation of the theatre. She moved through them on instinct, nodding briefly at a few dancers she passed, stepping over a pair of discarded pointe shoes near the costume department.

It wasn’t until she reached her dressing room that she stopped.

The air inside was still. The scent of perfume and powder and theatre dust lingered.

And then she saw it.

The mirror.

And the word smeared across the glass in bold, red lipstick.

Slut.

For a moment, she just stood there.

A day ago, it would have knocked the breath from her chest, sent something cold and ugly curling in her stomach. But now—

Now it was almost funny.

She tilted her head slightly, exhaling through her nose. The irony wasn’t lost on her.

They had called her worse. They had whispered about her, speculated about her, assumed they knew her, as if their own lives weren’t fuelled by quiet scandals and well-dressed betrayals.

The only difference now was that the words weren’t hushed in dressing room corners or slipped between conversation.

Now, they were written in red.

She stepped forward, fingers brushing over the lipstick, smudging the last letter slightly.

Then, without another thought, she grabbed a cloth from the vanity, wiped the word away, and turned away.

She stood in the centre of the stage, breathless. The vast emptiness of the Palais Garnier stretched around her, but she didn’t see the ornate balconies or the golden angels watching from above. She saw only the mirror in her dressing room. The word smeared across it in a cruel shade of red.

Her ribs expanded, contracted—too fast. She forced the breath to slow, forced her muscles to obey as she lifted her arms into position. Her body was a machine, drilled to perfection. It did not care about whispered rumours or the ghosts of last night still lingering on her skin.

The music started, and she moved.

She didn’t hesitate, didn’t falter. Every step, every pirouette, was a violent declaration: I am still here. Her pointe shoes struck the stage like a battle cry. The ache in her limbs was a welcome distraction, the burn of exertion preferable to the one left by Oscar’s hands on her waist.

She hated that she could still feel him.

He was meant to be a moment—a fleeting thing, like the flicker of city lights against a speeding car window. But now he was here, tangled in her thoughts, pressing against her like the weight of expectation. Like the judgement lurking in every corner of this theatre.

Her vision blurred. Sweat dripped down her spine. The music crescendoed, and she leapt, pushing herself higher, harder, until she landed with a sharp, jarring force.

A mistake.

She never made mistakes.

She exhaled, steadying herself. She would dance until there was nothing left but movement. Until her body was raw and her mind was silent. Until there was no room for guilt, no room for regret, no room for the boy with fast hands and a reckless mouth.

The music started again.

And so did she.

She danced until the edges of her vision darkened, until her breath came in ragged gasps and her muscles trembled beneath the strain. She pushed harder, let the pain become her anchor. If she danced enough, if she bled herself dry on this stage, perhaps it would be enough to silence the storm in her head.

But it wasn’t.

The mirror in her dressing room still existed. The word still sat there, seared into her memory, as if it had been scrawled across her own skin instead.

Her foot slipped. Just slightly—just enough for her to feel the flaw.

She hissed through her teeth and forced herself back into the rhythm, but the mistake clung to her. Another crack in her precision. Another fracture she couldn’t ignore.

A door creaked open in the distance, footsteps echoing through the empty theatre. She didn’t stop. Didn’t acknowledge whoever had come to watch her self-destruction. If it was her stage director, he would only remind her that rehearsals hadn’t started yet. If it was another dancer, they would only watch in silence, waiting to see if the rumours were true.

But when the footsteps stopped, they were closer than she expected. Too close.

She spun, body poised to snap at whoever dared to interrupt—

And there he was.

Oscar.

Standing in the shadows of the theatre, hands in the pockets of his jacket, head tilted just slightly as he watched her.

Something inside her twisted. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t see her like this, raw and shaking, a woman undone by the weight of a single word.

She lifted her chin, a silent warning. “What are you doing here?”

His lips twitched at the edges, but it wasn’t quite a smirk. “You left your scarf in my car.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t let herself react. She hadn’t even realised it was missing.

Oscar took a step forward, then another. The stage lights cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles, the dark intent in his gaze. “I thought you might want it back.”

She should tell him to leave. Should turn her back and start dancing again, let him know exactly where he belonged in her life—nowhere.

But she didn’t.

Because beneath the exhaustion, beneath the anger curling in her ribs, there was something else.

A spark. A pull. A memory of last night, of heat and recklessness, of hands gripping the balcony rail as he ruined her in the open air.

She hated that he was here.

She hated that she wanted him to stay.

And Oscar, perceptive as ever, saw it.

He stepped onto the stage.

She didn’t stop him.

And that was her second mistake of the morning.

Oscar moved with the kind of confidence that made her breath catch in her throat. He belonged in fast cars, on city streets, in places where speed blurred consequence. He did not belong here, beneath the gilded chandeliers of the Palais Garnier, on the stage where she had bled for perfection.

And yet, he walked towards her like he was meant to.

She should stop him. Should tell him to turn around, to take her scarf and whatever was left of last night and disappear.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she stayed perfectly still, forcing her muscles into cold, quiet control as he stepped closer.

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the scarf—soft, pale fabric, the colour of fresh cream, delicate against his rougher hands. He held it between them, a silent offering.

“You didn’t have to bring it,” she said, voice carefully even.

He tilted his head slightly. “I know.”

The way he looked at her made something shift beneath her ribs, something she refused to name. He was watching her too closely, gaze sweeping over the sweat-dampened skin of her throat, the unsteady rise and fall of her chest. He saw too much.

She snatched the scarf from his hand and turned away, retreating to the edge of the stage, to the safety of distance. “You should go.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, the sound of his footsteps moving towards her.

She spun to face him. “I’m serious.”

He didn’t stop. “So am I.”

Frustration flared, sharp and unwelcome. “This isn’t your world, Oscar.”

His mouth curved slightly. “No? You seemed happy to bring me into it last night and letting me drive you here a minute ago.”

Heat flashed up her spine, tangled in something darker. “That was different.”

He reached for her. Not to grab, not to restrain—just to touch. Just the barest brush of his fingers against her wrist, but it was enough to set her off balance.

She yanked her arm back, breathing too hard, standing too close to the edge of something she didn’t want to name.

Oscar watched her for a moment, then exhaled, shaking his head. “I saw your mirror.”

Her stomach dropped.

He shoved his hands back into his pockets, gaze steady. “Someone really doesn’t like you.”

She forced herself to hold his stare. Forced herself to keep her voice detached, as if it didn’t matter. “It’s nothing.”

His jaw tightened. “It’s not nothing.”

She wanted to laugh. Wanted to ask him what he thought he could do about it. He was a man who lived in a world of speed and adrenaline, of roaring engines and champagne-soaked podiums. He didn’t know what it was like to exist under the weight of constant scrutiny, to have every moment of her life measured against an impossible standard.

But she didn’t say any of that. She just shook her head and turned away.

Oscar let out a low breath, something unreadable flickering in his expression. For a second, she thought he might leave.

But then he spoke.

“What if I stayed?”

The question was quiet. Uncertain. A dangerous thing.

She went still. “Why would you do that?”

A beat of silence. Then—

“Because I don’t like the idea of you being alone.”

Her throat tightened.

She shouldn’t let him in. Shouldn’t let him see the cracks in the walls she had spent years building.

But she was tired. And the word on her mirror was still there, still bleeding into her thoughts no matter how hard she tried to scrub it away.

So she didn’t tell him to leave.

She didn’t say anything at all.

And Oscar, reckless as ever, took that as permission.

Oscar didn’t say another word. Instead, he turned, disappearing into the wings. For a brief second, she thought he had actually left—had come to his senses, had realised that whatever this was between them had no place here.

But then she heard it.

The scrape of wood against the stage.

He emerged from the shadows, dragging a chair from backstage. He set it down just off-centre, angled slightly towards her, and then, with the same ease he had behind the wheel of a car, he sank into it.

And watched.

She exhaled sharply through her nose, turning her back on him. If he wanted to sit there, fine. Let him watch. Let him see exactly how little he mattered.

The music started again, and she threw herself into the routine.

But her body betrayed her.

Her turns weren’t as sharp as they should have been, her leaps lacked the effortless grace she had spent years perfecting. And then—

A misstep.

Not a large one, nothing anyone else might notice, but she felt it. The failure.

Her breath caught.

She reset, started again.

Another mistake.

Another crack in her precision.

Again.

And again.

And with each failure, she felt it. Him. Sitting there, watching in silence. The weight of his gaze pressing against her skin, seeing every flaw, every falter.

She hated it.

She hated him.

She hated that, last night, she had been perfect beneath him, and now, here, on the stage where it actually mattered, she was falling apart.

A slow clap echoed through the theatre.

Not Oscar.

Her entire body stiffened. She didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

Charles.

“Magnificent,” he drawled, the sarcasm dripping from his monegasque accent like honey laced with poison. “Truly, a masterclass in mediocrity.”

Her jaw clenched as she turned. He stood in the centre aisle, impeccably dressed as always, his sharp features pulled into a smirk.

Oscar shifted in his seat, but she ignored him.

“Are you here to gloat, Charles?” she said coolly.

Charles pressed a hand to his chest, mock-wounded. “Me? Gloat? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

She said nothing. She just stared at him, waiting.

And, as always, he filled the silence.

“You know,” he mused, stepping closer, “it’s fascinating, really. The way people talk about you.”

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides.

“They think you’re untouchable,” he continued, eyes gleaming. “They think you’ve earned your place here.” He tilted his head, watching her too closely. “And yet, it seems they’re not so sure anymore.”

Her pulse pounded in her ears.

She knew what he was doing. He wanted to shake her, wanted to remind her that no matter how hard she worked, how ruthlessly she pushed herself, there would always be whispers. That there would always be people who thought she hadn’t bled enough for this.

Because of him.

Because he had spent too long watching her like she was something he could claim. Because he had hovered too close, spoken too softly, let his admiration curdle into obsession.

She had never touched him.

But no one believed that.

And Charles, the sick bastard, enjoyed it.

Her nails dug into her palms. “Say what you came to say, Charles.”

His smirk widened. “Careful,” he murmured, stepping close enough for his breath to ghost over her cheek. “You’re starting to sound like me.”

Her stomach turned. She clenched her jaw, refusing to step back, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her flinch.

A slow, deliberate cough cut through the tension.

Charles’s attention flicked past her, to where Oscar still sat. Not tense, not glaring—just watching.

Something cold flickered in Charles’s expression. “Ah,” he said, his voice quieter now. “So that’s what this is about?”

Oscar leaned back in his chair, legs sprawled, arms draped lazily over the sides. A study in nonchalance. “Don’t stop on my account,” he said, voice smooth. “I’m enjoying the show.”

Charles’s lips pressed into a thin line.

Something inside her twisted—something sharp, something vindictive. She didn’t want Oscar here. But if Charles hated it, then maybe she didn’t mind so much.

She smiled, slow and deliberate. “You should go, Charles.”

His jaw ticked.

And then, with an exhale, he stepped back. Smoothed down his suit. Offered her one last, amused glance.

“I do hope you get your footing back,” he murmured, voice silk-smooth. “I’d hate to think you were slipping.”

With that, he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing through the theatre until he disappeared.

Silence settled between her and Oscar.

She turned back to the stage, fixing her posture, steadying her breath.

Behind her, the chair creaked as Oscar leaned forward. “Charles, huh?”

Her movements stilled for half a second. Then she glanced at him over her shoulder. “You know him?”

Oscar let out a quiet huff, more amused than anything. “Well, he definitely knows me.”

She turned fully now, brow furrowing.

Oscar stretched out his legs, his arms draped lazily over the back of the chair, like this whole thing was funny to him. “You really don’t know who he is?”

She shrugged, unimpressed. “He’s my stage director. He’s annoying. That’s all I need to know.”

Oscar raised a brow. “Yeah, and he also owns my rival Formula One team.”

That caught her off guard.

She stared at him, processing. “What?”

Oscar tilted his head slightly, watching her reaction. “Charles Leclerc. Former F1 driver. Retired six years ago—one of the youngest to do it. Took over his family’s team, turned them into one of the biggest powerhouses in the sport.” He leaned forward, smirking. “You really had no idea?”

She frowned, arms crossing over her chest. “No. Why would I?”

Oscar shook his head, laughing under his breath. “That’s a first.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met someone in any country who doesn’t know who Charles Leclerc is.” His smirk widened. “Kind of refreshing, actually.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Well, forgive me for not following your stupid little sport.”

Oscar smirked but didn’t take the bait. Instead, he glanced towards the spot where Charles had stood moments ago, his expression turning more contemplative. “Makes sense, though.”

She frowned. “What does?”

“The way he looked at me.” Oscar exhaled, shaking his head. “Like he’d already lost.”

Something about the way he said it made her chest tighten.

She swallowed, forcing herself to look away. To turn back to the stage, to the music, to anything other than the thought of Charles losing something that was never his to begin with.

Oscar didn’t say anything else.

He just sat back.

And this time, when she danced, she didn’t miss a single step.

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow @driverlando