#this election is close and that’s terrifying

[bldrdsh]

HE WATCHES QUIETLY, stalwart guardian of the Moon Isles, and as it would seem, GOD OF THE HAVEN in which many of Erlik's children might find peace. He has a sinking suspicion that THIS is going to become a recurring thing for him. The admission from Temir has him WONDERING just how many of Erlik's children felt the same way? MATYR was obvious, and Shyngay was FAR EASIER to get to open up than Temir, but the very IDEA that many of them feel the same way has him WONDERING if perhaps there was HOPE for them yet. He couldn't tell, and while perhaps it wasn't his DUTY, he'd likely do it anyway.

"I didn't say it was simple–I said it was possible. Make no mistake it is LIKELY to be a terrifying experience. Removing yourself FROM BENEATH the IRON FIST of a tyrant..."

HE LEANS back finally standing upright once more from his otherwise relaxed position on the railing of his cabin. HE CAN'T sit idly by and let this continue. DESPITE notions of frustration it's AGONIZING to watch deities cower from the prospect of a HATEFUL parent. It makes him ANGRY. It reminds him of memories of a parent who FAILED him as Erlik has failed his own children.

"When I was a mortal I studied history & mythology. It consumed much of my life–if there's one thing that BOTH of those subjects taught it's that TYRANTS only maintain their power when their subjects are split apart. When they DO NOT realize the power they possess. I've seen MANY of you & your siblings show up in my domain, yet your father himself IS just a shadow hiding in the dark. His influence is strong on all of you–but not indefinite."

The more Temir speaks, the more inclined he is to TRY HARDER. A fervid drive igniting within him as he draws in a QUIET breath, hands resting in his pockets once more as he watches the other god. THERE'S A SORT OF BREAK–like the facade can no longer be held up. His admission of FEAR followed by the CACKLE that comes at the idea that his SIBLING who should by all accounts be able to know ALL has been DECEIVED leads Karthisius to believe there's MUCH more to this than he is being led to believe.

"I told your brother as much and I am a MAN of my word above all else. While you tread on these lands, YOU ARE UNDER MY PROTECTION. No god from any other pantheon can step foot in this place without me knowing and ONLY if I allow it. At any point I can easily remove UNWANTED guests."

DID. Past tense, yet still somehow Karthisius isn't entirely sure he BUYS into that. Seeds of doubt remain, otherwise this conversation wouldn't have even been happening, but he ELECTS not to share that thought.

"Your father is a BULLY. Exactly. Bullies get power over the masses with fear–have you not wondered why he is SO intent on dragging your brother back into the fold? Why he insists that you & your siblings continue to chase and torment him?"

HE WAITS A MOMENT before finally closing a bit of space between them, stepping off the porch and approaching with a QUIET hum.

"He's afraid–just like you are–I would wager that the more you & your siblings allow yourselves to think about taking charge of your own existence, the more afraid he'll get––and like your brother I will extend the same off to you. This place is SAFE from prying eyes. Should you need a PLACE to...THINK and process those...DOUBTS you had, this place can be a sanctuary for you."

Now, Temir had a feeling how the interaction between this younger god and his brother had gone. Was it the same for him? Had this one plucked at his heartstrings? Stared at him as though piercing right through his soul? It was both invigorating and terrifying to think about, to finally be seen, to be known for what he truly was, but to a point where he was genuinely becoming uncomfortable. Maybe a little too seen -- - for the first time in his entire existence.

"You think you have it all figured out, don't you? You've got a good eye for the little details, I'll give you that." The Turkic deity mused with the lift of his chin. "But it's not that simple. Yes, one of my brothers walked away from his family a long time ago, yet that wasn't the end. He's still pursued by the rest of my siblings, a factor that I, personally, have never taken part in. I don't see the point and genuinely believe he should be left to his own devices. If he wants nothing to do with his family, then so be it, it's none of my concern." It was strange to think about, the two of them on Earth for hundreds of thousands of years, yet the younger of the two had always kept his distance from Matyr. Was it out of respect? Hatred? Was he simply disinterested? Or was it just painful to see him, to know he'd built his life there from the ground up as well, yet their paths had gone in entirely different directions?

One helped people, punished those deserving of it, while the other sought to punish everyone.

Yet as Karthisius continued, poking holes in the siblings' logic, shining a light on their fathers' lies, Temir fell silent. The latter was nothing new to him. He knew he was little more than a pawn in his father's grand scheme to screw over his siblings above, but to accept that humanity wasn't just black and white, that there were shades of grey in between? It just made things complicated. It was easier to think that they were all bad, that all of them were Giselle's in the making, ready to stab him in the back if he should dare lower his guard for a single second. Were they all like that? He'd never given anyone else a real chance to prove him and his father wrong.

"Yes..." The answer to the Greek god's question cut through that bravado like a knife through butter, almost surprising Temir himself as he physically stepped back, his shoulders sinking, not out of relaxation, but a moment of defeat. "Of course, we're all afraid. Isn't that the hallmark of a bully? We're scared?" It was a crushing admission, one that he'd known for a long time now, but never allowed himself to utter or ponder for too long. But it was the truth, wasn't it? He was scared, scared of defying his father, of letting someone in, letting them get close and being rejected all over again. "Stop..." His voice quietened, his breathing quickening. "Stop! This isn't fun anymore." He wasn't in control of the situation, emotions were running freely and he was more open and seen than he'd ever been. Again, he was afraid.

"I came here to find out what happened when Shyngay visited. It seems I have my answer... it doesn't take a genius to know that he likely went down this same path. I've shared his doubts in the past, I wager he doesn't even know I've ever had them, or that I took any notice of him. It's easier that way... but I do. I did." He was quick to correct himself, lifting his hands to adjust his lapel again, though this time as a mere distraction. "Above all... I knew this place had to be secure. Nothing had reached my father, or Uchar, which is quite the feat given that he's the god of informants. If someone knows, he'll find them. Yet... nothing. Silence." Dark eyes studied the other god for a moment when suddenly he began to laugh. "The sheer delicious irony that only the god of bravery has had the courage to leave while the rest of us stay in our place. Perhaps poetic in a morbid sense."

[cyncerity]

i don’t like getting political, i don’t like politics at all, but to my american followers and mutuals who are of age and able:

Vote if you haven’t yet!!

Especially if you’re like me and live in a swing state, your vote counts!!!

[5secondsofsomerhalder]

I’m not hopeful at all, or at least I try not to be, but at the same time I can’t imagine waking up tomorrow in a world in which trump has won

[clowningcrows]

i fear i cannot mentally or emotionally handle being conscious much longer so im gonna take a melatonin and hope to god it works enough to make me pass out by 8:30 tbh

[bucket-hat-benjamin]

God the us elections are over and I literally bedridden with how sick it made me (that + exams lmao). I haven’t live in the US for so long, it’s not even my country. I’m stress writing a report on project 2025 for a friend to deal w the anxiety, and she’s writing one for me on Agenda 47.

Help each other in these trying times please

[anti-gravity-insanity]

Hey guys, what’s a REAL strong cocktail I can make when I get off of work at 6AM this morning and have to come to terms with the reality of a full red country and second trump presidency?

[gender-euphowrya]

in other news what i can only describe as our local 'fox & friends' tv channel which was significantly responsible for normalizing & popularizing the far right has not been renewed and is no longer allowed to use the signal it broadcasted on so 🎉

[ddems2]

I am so fucking stressed !!!

[arecoveringpeoplepleaser]

I came out the day after the election

and I did not do it with grace. I did not do it softly. I did not do it kindly. But I did it because I could no longer stand by and be a quiet/acceptable gay when the next generation was watching their future burn.

I came out to my mother in an awful in-your-face. I-dare-you-to-be-a-bigot way. Because I could. Because for the first time in my life I am free of having anyone relying on me.

I came out to my family. Because I watch as half my niblings have come out to me and are terrified as my siblings spout anti-gay rhetoric. I came out to my family and hope I paved the way for those young eyes who are watching their parents closely to gauge their reaction. The way I once watched my parents reacting to Ellen coming out and knew it was not safe.

I came out the day after the election to a family that voted for Trump.

I came out angry that I will be attending more funerals.

I came out feral and biting.

I did not come out gracefully.

I did not come out kindly.

I did not come out softly or quietly or acceptably*probably not a word*

I will be gay out loud.

For me

For those who would not be safe if they came out

We forget pride is not about love.

Pride is a bloody fight for survival against those who would be happy to watch us burn.

I came out

And I am not apologizing.

[ma-yawntu]

for you, anything.

pairing: neteyam x female!omatikaya!reader

summary: you're mad at Neteyam for some reason and he's determined to find out why

word count: 2.2k

warnings: mentions of injury and blood, mentions of parent death (father), fluffy, angst (sort of)

now playing... first love/late spring by mitski

Neteyam’s wound was angry and red, his skin raw with jagged cuts. Your skilled hands made quick work of his injuries, cleaning the area with fresh water to avoid infection, but despite your delicacy with his wounds; something was wrong. Neteyam could tell you were angry with him from the way you kept your lips drawn together instead of playfully lecturing him like you normally did. His ears were flat against his head as you worked, your eyes refusing to look up into his despite his obvious desperation for you to give him something– anything.

Neteyam wasn’t sure why you were angry with him, sitting there wracking his brain for possible causes of your turmoil. He knew you worried for him when he attended raids with his father and brother, but you worried for everyone. Unfortunately, it was in your nature to worry. Neteyam thought it was an admirable trait but you saw it was more of a curse.

For you, it was different with Neteyam. The two of you had been close since you were children, being born mere months apart meant you hit almost every milestone together. As children, the two of you were competitive, always pushing harder and harder to be better than the other… of course it was friendly competition. As you grew up though, you found yourself caring more and more about Neteyam as more than a friend. Of course you would never tell him– he was the Olo’eyktan’s son! Future clan leader of the Omatikaya and your best friend. You were absolutely dreaming if you thought anything could ever happen between the two of you.

That logical reasoning didn’t deter your feelings though, the heart unfortunately wants what it wants. Instead of facing the reality of your situation, you buried yourself in work. Work always needed to be done around High Camp. The Sky People closed in more and more every week and their war strategies were only getting bolder. 

You worked closely with Kiri and a few other healers under Mo’at, learning to tend to the sick and injured which only seemed to increase tenfold after every war party’s return. You wanted to be out fighting like everyone else– like Neteyam. But Jake would never allow it after you lost your father during a raid; he made Jake promise to never let you out in the field and that’s how you ended up stuck at High Camp working as a healer instead of where you were meant to be. 

“You are upset,” Neteyam mumbles after almost half an hour of uninterrupted silence as you run a damp cloth over his cuts and grazes. 

“I am not upset,” your tone alone was a dead giveaway that you were kind of upset. Neteyam’s ears flatten against his hair and he curls his lips inward, electing to give you some more time before he starts prying again. 

Your shoulders relaxed as your gaze flickered to his face. Neteyam was usually pretty unreadable; a product of his upbringing you assumed. Neteyam took after his mother in almost every way and that woman was terrifying, so it made sense. But you were always able to see through it, you’d grown up learning his tells and habits, you were sure you could understand him better than yourself most of the time. 

He seemed hurt by your short attitude with him; you weren’t even sure why you were mad in the first place, maybe it was because you were stressed and unintentionally taking it out on Neteyam. Or maybe it was because he got himself injured again and almost gave you a heart attack when Lo’ak and Jake had to carry him bleeding into the healer’s kelku because he was too injured to walk himself. It was likely a culmination of both things. 

Mo’at had originally dealt with him since you, Kiri and the other healers were busy tending to the several other injured warriors. But Mo’at was quickly called away, her expertise needed elsewhere and you were left to clean and stitch Neteyam’s body back together with shaky nervous hands.

You scooped up a heaping of Kiri’s yalna bark salve, applying the waxy substance to the jagged cut you had sewn shut along Neteyam’s chest. He winced at the slight sting, his brows knitting together at the feeling he would never get used to.

“Sorry,” you mutter, spreading the salve along the cut. You weren’t sure if you were apologising for your temper or for putting him in pain– possibly both. Now seeing his face and listening to him wince made your heart hurt and now you felt bad for being sort of mean to him. “I’m… I am not mad at you.”

Neteyam’s gaze lifts to yours and you give him a flicker of your eyes before you’re back to ignoring him and dressing his wounds. Your fingers work diligently to dress the wound but your movements quickly cease when Neteyam’s much larger hand wraps around your thin wrist. You stop what you’re doing and your eyes flicker up to meet him, falling victim to his intense golden eyes.

“Then what is wrong?” His voice is quiet, as if speaking at a normal volume would somehow scare you. 

You avert your eyes, a sigh rippling from your chest before you look at him again, heart drumming in your chest. “I was worried, that is all.”

“You always worry,” he doesn’t believe your answer but he is always gentle in his prying. 

“Then there is nothing more to say,” you retort, twisting your wrist out of his grip to get back to your work. 

Neteyam lets out a defeated sigh, “you know that is not how I meant it,” he cautions.

You know you’re being slightly unreasonable right now. But he simply doesn’t understand what it is like for you to see him like that; to see his limp body be dragged off his ikran, to see him covered in bruises, dirt and dried blood. It’s a horrifying sight to see, especially when it is someone you love and cherish. Yes, you love your best friend; you’re aware of the predicament.

You know that it won’t go anywhere. Sure, you can fight, heal and hold your own but you are nothing exceptional. There are far more pretty and talented Omatikaya women who are basically falling at Neteyam’s feet. You don’t stand a chance, you’re fully aware of that and you’ve tried to make your peace with it.

You almost feel like you have no right to worry over him the way you do. He is not yours and you are not his. You are forced to put on a brave face whenever you’re left to heal his wounds and act like it doesn’t twist your heart seeing him in pain.

You dress Neteyam’s wound and quickly move to gather your materials, completely disinterested in continuing your conversation. Your days at High Camp are never ending and at this point you’re beyond exhausted knowing you still have to clean the kelku top to bottom before you can even think about leaving.

“You need rest, no strenuous exercise or movements for at least a week or you’ll split your stitches,” you sigh, organising your materials back into their original places around the kelku. 

Neteyam’s eyes follow your body as you move around, still unconvinced by your behaviour and determined to get to the bottom of it before he leaves you alone for the night. He hates seeing you upset, it hurts him when he can’t fix things for you but it hurts even more you might be upset with him. 

Neteyam groans and winces as he stands up, his hand coming to clutch his side. You spin on your heel and let out a noise of frustration, “Neteyam, I’m serious.” You’re at his side in a second, your hands clutching his shoulder and arm to help him sit back down; he’s much heavier and taller than he was when the two of you dragged each other around as kids, you notice.

You allow him to get comfortable before you attempt to leave his side only for him to grab your arm, forcing you to stop. You peek over your shoulder and he looks so upset and your heart twists at the mere sight. 

“Talk to me,” Neteyam mutters, his eyes wide and pleading. 

You frown and sigh, relaxing in his grasp and letting him just hold your forearm for a moment. Your eyes meet his and you just crack under the overwhelming presence that is Neteyam. You feel tears welling up in your eyes, your jaw aching painfully as you attempt to hold back the flood that swirls around inside you. 

“Don’t cry,” Neteyam coos, using his other hand to pull you closer and wipe your tears with the rough pad of his thumb.

You sniffle and wipe your wet face with the back of your hand, eyes averting upward to will the tears to sink back down where they belong. You don’t know why you’re crying. You’re worried, angry, tired, frustrated; everything one person under immense pressure can feel.

Neteyam waits for you to calm down, his chest aching watching you heave and sniffle, your tears betraying you as they slip down your cheeks faster than he can catch them. His hands are holding yours, his thumbs stroking over the backs of your hands to help ground you. And he just watches you, afraid to take his eyes off you as if you’ll disappear. 

“I’m fine,” your voice comes out slightly broken and Neteyam just frowns.

“You’re crying,” Neteyam retorts.

You avert your eyes again. “Seriously, Neteyam. I’m just tired.”

“Please, sevin–”

“I worry about you!” You say rather loudly. Neteyam’s mouth presses closed and all he can do is wait with bated breath for you to continue. You sigh, eyes still glassy with tears, “I do not worry about you in the same way I worry about everyone else, Neteyam… You have to know that.”

He has to know how you feel by now, surely he is not that dense– then again, you’ve known him for a long time and he can be very dense (a trait courtesy of his father you assume). 

His brows are knitted together in a mixture of both confusion and worry as he stares at you, attempting to decipher what it is you’re trying to tell him. Neteyam has always felt something for you, how could he not? But he was so sure the two of you had grown apart because of your equally strenuous responsibilities. 

“When I watch you leave,” you start, your voice slightly shaking. “I just… I never know if you’re going to come back.”

Neteyam sighs, his hand reaching out to hold the side of your face, “I will always come back.”

“My father didn’t, Neteyam,” you reply, eyes falling shut as you will yourself to stop crying, knowing how much seeing you upset hurts Neteyam. Neteyam falters at your words and sighs sadly, his larger hand holding your jaw gently. Your lip quivers as you open your mouth to speak, another tear slipping down your cheek, “I… I cannot lose someone else, ‘Teyam.”

Neteyam feels his chest tighten at the sight of your sadness. “Sevin…”

“I cannot lose someone else that I love,” you whisper, your thumb stroking the back of Neteyam’s wrist. Your gaze finally meets his and your eyes are glossed with tears as the stress and anxiety pours out of you right in front of him. 

Neteyam’s heart pounds in his chest, he knows you love him, you’re his best friend. But you’ve never said it with such sincerity before. You’ve always been special to him, the only person who seemed to understand who Neteyam was outside of being the Olo’eyktan’s son. He’s always loved you, how could he not? But it was in this moment that he realised how desperate he was to keep you. 

Neteyam’s thumb strokes along your cheekbone and you let out a soft breath, completely drowning in the golden hues of his kind eyes. And without thinking, your body surges forward, your eyes falling shut as you plant your lips firmly against his. 

Your hands find purchase on the nape of his neck as you force his much taller frame down to meet you halfway. Neteyam’s free hand lands on the lower section of your ribs, his body stiff at the sudden contact. But the kiss is over as soon as it starts and you pull away, your face flushing and eyes blowing wide as you realise your actions.

“Shit,” you curse. “I’m… Neteyam, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to–”

Neteyam is quick to shut you up when his hands reach out to cup your face and he kisses you again. His kiss is softer than yours, far more gentle than the awkward peck moments ago. He breathes hard against your lips between kisses, his body suddenly crippled with the urge to keep you close. 

Your smaller hand holds his cheek, careful to avoid the small cut along his cheekbone. You smile giddily against him and he pulls away to smile back at you, his thumb gently wiping away the last of your tears. 

“Now you really have to come back,” you whisper.

Neteyam smiles, “For you, anything.”

a/n: i know it's short but it's cute!!

[oh-my-damn]

Reverie

Pairing: Astarion x f!Tav/reader

Summary: You wake up to your lover having a nightmare. You do your best to soothe him afterwards, but Astarion knows the perfect way to distract himself from it, and it includes having your naked body under his – among other things.

Wordcount: 5500

Warnings: Angst (regarding nightmares/Cazador), fluff (including cute nicknames for Astarion 🥹), smut (fingering, piv, unprotected sex, dirtytalk, explicit sexual descriptions, breeding kink, blood/blood drinking).

Masterlist

You jolt awake at the sudden movement against you, your mind alert and ready to face danger even if you were just hauled out of sleep.

Your wide eyes search the dark room for any threats, rapidly moving over the space until you realize no one is there.

But then there is another movement next to you, this time followed by yelling.

"No.. No! NO! Don't-please!"

You look to your right to find your lover tussled up in the sheets, his eyes firmly closed while he thrashes, his yelling intensifying.

"Please! NO!" Astarion yells again, making your heartbeat spike, your hands quickly finding his bare shoulders to offer him comfort.

He's asleep, clearly embedded in a nightmare that's causing him horrors you could only dare imagine, given his history. You keep your voice low and soothing to your best ability, your hands gentle when you stroke them up and down his arms.

"Stari, baby, wake up. You're safe. Wake up."

He doesn't react, instead tossing his head from side to side as he screams again. Your heart breaks at the terrified look on his sleeping face, your touches turning more determined to try and wake him.

"Astarion, hey. Wake up baby, you're having a nightmare, wake-"

He suddenly jolts awake, his wide, crimson eyes finding you in a panic, his breathing ragged. His cold fingers wrap around your wrist, and it takes a moment before he realizes who is touching him.

"Shh, it's just me, you're okay baby. You were having a nightmare."

His panicked eyes bounce between yours, a beat passing before he breathes in heavily, almost like he was suffocating under the pressure. His fingers stay wrapped around your wrist, but the touch turns more desperate than panicked, like he needs to touch you to ensure you're real.

"Shh," you coo, letting your hand run through his hair to soothe him, "It's okay, you're okay. You were having a bad dream, but you're okay."

He lets out a small sob, and then he suddenly wraps his arms around you. You let out an oopmf when he pulls you down to him, hiding his face in your neck, one of your hands continuing to caress his hair while the other strokes his arm.

You gently shush him, doing your best to help him calm down, and he gradually does, although he elects to stay quiet.

After a while, he calms more, allowing you to gently shift him around. You move to lie down on your back, pulling him with you, his face still buried in your neck while his arms wrap around your waist in an iron-tight grip.

He moves slightly to allow himself to lie on top of you, holding you close, and you wrap your legs around his waist to make the new position more comfortable for both of you. Your fingers gently move down his back, careful as they move over the scarring there, occasionally running up over his shoulders and the back of his neck.

You let him take his time, deeply breathing in your scent as your warmth envelopes him, his cold lips brushing over the skin on your neck occasionally.

You let your fingers travel up into his hair, carefully playing with his curls, and when you feel he's mostly calm you quietly whisper, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. I'd just like to hold you a little longer, please."

His response is immediate, making you nod and wrap yourself tighter around him. He hums at the feeling, nuzzling his face into your neck while your fingers scratch his scalp.

"Okay, my love. Take your time. Do you want me to talk or stay quiet in the meantime?"

"Talk," he murmurs against your skin, "Your voice always helps."

You hum, smiling softly while you continue caressing him as if he was the most precious, delicate thing in the world – which to you, he truly is.

"In that case, do you want to hear about the time Gale almost consumed my favorite pair of boots?"

Astarion pauses, then huffs out against your neck, "That oaf would eat anything even remotely magical."

You chuckle, shaking your head, "That's the thing, they weren't even magical, he just figured they were."

Astarion snorts against your neck, and then he finally leans back to look down at you with an amused smile, "Are you telling me Gale almost consumed a pair of your normal boots for no reason at all?"

You smile up at him, reaching up to cup his cheek in your hand while you nod, "Mhm, and they were an old, dirty pair, too. I almost let him do it but I didn't want to be mean."

"How'd he get them if they weren't magical? Why would you give them to him?"

"He tried to steal them," you muse, and that makes Astarion chuckle, that beautiful smile of his finally returning to his face.

"You should have let him eat them, my love."

You grin up at your lover, and he mirrors it, his crimson eyes taking in the features of your face.

"I knew you'd say that."

He chuckles again, and then he leans down, his soft lips meeting yours in a gentle kiss. He pulls back for a moment, but then he leans back down, kissing you more intensely this time. His lips move over yours languidly, like he's relishing in it, his lips careful and sweet against your own.

You let him control the pace, kissing him back with the same fervor, and then your stomach does a flip when he whispers against your lips, "I love you. Thank you for being mine."

You smile into the kiss, your thumb caressing his cheek, "Always."

Astarion hums at your reply, his lips moving over yours with more determination, his tongue swiping at the seam of your lips. You part them for him, granting his tongue access to your own, and he lets out a rumbling groan in response.

Your fingers slide back to curl in his hair, letting the soft locks envelop your digits before you lightly pull on it, earning another groan from him.

When his lips travel down your jaw to your neck, however, you let out a small chuckle, "Star."

He only hums, his lips lightly sucking on your neck while his tongue darts out occasionally to soothe your skin. You can feel a noticeable hardness growing between the two of you, pulling a breathy gasp from your parted lips when his hips grind down into yours.

"Astarion.. Are you trying to distract me so I won't ask about your nightmare?"

Astarion pauses, a moment passes before his lips latch on to your skin again. Then you feel something sharp and pointy pressing against your neck, scraping over it teasingly.

"Mmh, why on earth would you think that?"

"Because I know you," you snort, but it's becoming more and more difficult to remember why you're protesting when he presses himself against you again, his cock rubbing against your covered core. Your legs tighten around his waist in response, eliciting an amused chuckle from him.

"How about I make you a deal," he murmurs, his tongue swiping over your pulsepoint while his hips start to slowly move, rubbing his covered length against you, "You indulge me now, and I'll tell you all of my innermost secrets after. How's that sound?"

He starts grinding more determinedly, his clothed cock rubbing on your core in a way that makes your toes curl. You only manage to breathe out your words, halfway to a moan before you finish speaking, "Deal."

"Good girl," he hums, making your stomach flutter, and when you feel his fangs nip at your skin again you muse, "Are you hungry or horny, hm?"

"How about both?" He replies, his words followed by another groan when you tilt your hips up to rub against him, his breath catching before he whispers against your skin, "Will you let me have a nibble, my treasure? Just a little one, if you'll allow it – you just taste so sweet, you feel so warm and soft.. I can't resist."

You smile at his words, your fingers tugging on his hair again while your head tilts to the side, presenting the curve of your neck to him, "I'm all yours, you know that."

Your words earn you a few gentle kisses, his voice soft when he whispers, "I do. Just like you know that all of me belongs to you."

You gasp when he sinks his teeth into your neck, your skin stinging when it splits from the pressure. Astarion moans, latching on while his hips start moving more eagerly against you, his clothed cock pressing firmly into your core.

You moan in turn, feeling delirious at the combination of him drinking from you while the feel of his cock turns you into a needy mess, your fingers tightening in his hair.

Astarion drinks from you for a few seconds longer before he gently licks over the spot, his bite turning into delicate kisses instead. He licks his lips, kissing his way up your neck to your jaw, and then his lips brush over your ear when he whispers, "Would you like to know what I want, my darling?"

"Yes," you breathe out, a shiver running down your spine from the desire laced in his voice, "Tell me, please."

"Mmh," he hums in approval, one cool hand sliding down your side, his fingers brushing the side of your breast. Then it wanders back up, and you keen when his palm cups your breast through your nightdress, your back arching in response.

"I want to be inside you," he whispers in your ear, his deft fingers finding your hardened nipple through the fabric, "Gods, how I miss being inside you. It's been far too long, don't you think, my sweet?"

You moan out your words, your mind turning hazy, "You.. Oh gods, you were inside me this morning."

"I know," he purrs in your ear, his fingers squeezing the hard peak, "It's been far too long."

He buries his face in your neck as his hands travel down your sides, finding the hem of your nightdress. His slender fingers curl in the fabric before he starts lifting your dress up, sliding it up over your ass and hips. Then he leans back on his haunches, his crimson eyes watching as his hands reveal more of your skin to him, a smug smile painting his lips when he sees the panties covering you. You're wearing a new pair you found at Facemaker's; thin lacy material, more skimpy than your usual findings at the boutique, and you bought them specifically hoping that he would enjoy how they barely cover anything.

"Cute," he muses, fingers inching under the waistband, "All for me?"

You nod, letting out a breathless giggle when his touch tickles your sensitive skin, your eyes meeting his when they lift to watch your face. Then his expression turns more serious, one perfect brow arching.

"You know what I need," he says quietly, his lust-haze temporarily forgotten, "May I make love to you, my darling? I won't do anything further if you don't want to, but please take into account that I am dying to get inside you right now."

For Astarion, the most sacred part of your relationship was the constant reassurance and consent you both cherished from one another. It was the most important element, and something he took extremely seriously. Even after being together for years, he still wanted to hear you say, out loud, that you wanted to be with him before he took it too far.

You nod, smiling softly as your hand travels up his arm reassuringly, "Yes Astarion, I'd like you to make love to me. Please."

His lips lift in a smirk, and then his fingers curl in the waistband of your panties, "As you wish, my love."

His gaze drops to your lace covered core, his deft fingers inching their way underneath, but when his eyes flick back up to look at you, he frowns slightly, as if he is offended at suddenly noticing that your upper half is still covered by the nightdress you went to bed in.

Then he tuts, his fingers changing direction. Instead of moving south, they slide up your stomach, pushing the fabric up as they go.

His touch is cool on your skin, as it always is, raising goosebumps in its wake. You've learned to enjoy and crave the chill that comes with his touch, it feels like being electrified – like you're not truly alive until you feel the coolness of his fingers on you.

Astarion pushes the dress up to your stomach, pausing once he has the fabric bunched up right below your breasts. Then his eyes flick to meet yours momentarily before they move back to watch as he slowly unveils your breasts, a rumbling sound at the back of his throat when they bounce once he pushes the fabric over the plush mounds.

He releases a breath, his face dropping to your stomach before he nuzzles his way upwards, his lips moving over your skin. Then his tongue darts out when he reaches your breasts, licking over one until he finds a hardened nipple. He flicks it teasingly, then wraps his lips around it with purpose, sucking and nippling on the peak with another groan.

You keen, arching your back while your hands fly to his hair, shivering when you feel his cold fingers finding your other nipple to play with it in tandem. You squirm a little on the bed, grinding your hips upwards, your voice breathless, "Oh gods, your tongue is like the sweetest sin."

Astarion chuckles softly against your skin, he loves spending time worshipping your breasts – in fact, he loves worshipping every single inch of you – and you know that too.

He cups the plush mounds in his hands, pushing them together to better smother his face in them, moaning at how warm and firm yet soft they feel against his face.

You help him out by removing your nightdress completely, pulling it over your head to let him have free roam over your body.

His lips and teeth pull on one nipple while his fingers do the same to the other one, his large palms massaging the flesh greedily.

Your hips start squirming more insistently, your fingers back to pull on his hair as you let out a whimper, "Stari, please.."

"Please what, love?" He muses, experimentally biting down a little harder on your nipple before he switches to the other one, his fingers taking over the work on your now spit-covered peak, "Please continue or please more, hm?"

"More," you gasp, lifting your hips needily against him, crying out when he sucks and bites on your other nipple, "More, more, please, more."

Astarion hums, his lips staying firmly latched on your nipple while his hands travel down your waist again, finding the lacy fabric covering you.

His fingers hook in the waistband, and then he starts dragging them down over your hips and ass, groaning in annoyance when he needs to pull away from you to get them fully off. He sits back up, yanking them the rest of the way off you before he finally has you fully naked, his scarlet gaze dragging over your naked form.

"Finally, just as the gods intended for me to have you," he murmurs, his palms wrapping around your inner thighs. He spreads your legs wide, his piercing gaze on your soaked core, "Naked and writhing desperately, so needy to give yourself to me, isn't that right, my treasure?"

His gaze flits up to meet yours, making you nod, "Yes, I need you, please."

He grunts softly at your needy tone, his hands leaving your thighs to pull at his own underwear, now desperate to feel your skin against his without any barrier between you.

He quickly drags them down, his erection springing free and slapping against his stomach when his large cock is revealed to you. It never seizes to amaze you, the sheer size of him, and even after years of being together, you're still not used to how deeply he manages to fill you each and every time. His cock is thick, veins adorning the girth of him while the pink mushroom tip always steals the breath from your lungs.

It surprised you, at first, that his cock still had some coloring to it considering every other part of him is pale because of the vampirism. Astarion explained that it has to do with the very healthy bloodflow steadily streaming through it, and that had made you giggle at the time, because he made a point of telling you that it happened very frequently, especially whenever he is around you, and assured you that you had absolutely nothing to worry about in that department. Showoff.

It wasn't long after that you became obsessed with worshipping his cock, feeling how hard and heavy he would be on your tongue, his taste became an aphrodisiac to you. You've spent many hours tasting him, worshipping every part of him, not just his cock but his sack too, so heavy and somehow warm despite the usual coldness of his body.

Something else that fascinated you was how hard he could manage to get. Depending on what you'd do, it seemed like he would get harder, thicker, especially if he had been drinking from you. He loves drinking from you while being intimate, and you love it too, it feels like connecting on an entirely different level.

You're pulled out of your reverie when his fingers find your core, pressing against your wet folds and dragging down the slit of you. Astarions gaze is lustful when his eyes connect with yours, taking in how your breath hitches when his fingers brush over your sensitive button, and swipes down to experimentally press against your entrance.

He watches, taking in how your jaw goes slack and your back arches when he slowly pushes one thick digit inside you, a groan bubbling up inside him at how wet and warm you feel. And tight, so fucking tight, always squeezing him so snuggly it makes him want to bury himself in you and stay there forever.

You let out a moan when a second finger joins the first, the stretch delicious and welcome. He loves how you always spread your thighs a little wider on instinct, it's your body's invitation for him to ravish you however he pleases, and he adores that you succumb to him so easily, giving your entire being to him without restraint.

It's part of the reason he fell in love with you so quickly. After being used to holding back for centuries because he had to give himself to people he didn't truly want, it was fascinating to be with someone who so freely gave themselves to him, and only him. It made him feel things, the way you'd become so compliant and submissive even, how trusting you were from the very first moment he first touched your naked form.

His fingers set a slow pace, dragging out and then in again, while he leans over your body, his free arm caging you in. Your eyes meet his when his face leans over yours, his lips brushing over your own as you both moan in unison at the way your walls squeeze his fingers. He increases the pace, pumping them inside you quicker, his body covering yours while he fucks you with his fingers.

Your hands slide up his chest, curling around his neck, dragging him down to connect your lips in a wanton kiss when you can no longer hold back from feeling him against you.

Astarion moans into the kiss, his fingers moving quicker now, and then he catches you by surprise when he adds another finger, stretching you more to prepare you for him.

You whimper at the stretch at first, but his tongue swipes into your mouth to soothe you, and soon you're both moaning heavily while your tongues dance around each other.

"Need to be inside you," he suddenly whispers, his words tinged with desperation, "I need it. Now."

You barely have time to process his words before his fingers leave you, but it only takes a moment until you feel his cock prod at your entrance, pushing inside you slowly. Your hands grip his shoulders at the intrusion, his thick tip stretching you out, your breaths mixing as he pants into your mouth when he slowly enters you.

"Oh gods," you moan, tilting your hips slightly to grant him better access to slide home, "You're so big, you feel so good.."

"I know, sweet pet, but you can take it," Astarion whispers, leaning down to brush his lips over your ear, "I know you love how well I stretch you out, you're so tight, my love. You're gripping me so perfectly, I wish I could spend the rest of my life buried inside this sweet cunt."

His crude words make you moan, he always becomes more daring once he feels your walls around his cock, it's like a trigger going off in his brain, and you adore it. It turns you on beyond belief.

He pushes further inside, your hole stretching to welcome him, and then he lets out a deep, satisfied growl once he's finally fully sheathed inside you, buried to the hilt.

"There we go," he murmurs, pressing gentle kisses to your neck and up your jaw, "I'm finally where I belong, hm? Can't believe I have to spend all day doing other things when I could be right here."

He punctuates his words by grinding his hips into yours, reaching depths beyond even your wildest imagination. Your hands grip his shoulders harder, another moan ripped from your lips.

"I'm going to take my time, stretching you out," he murmurs, nipping on your earlobe with his teeth, "And then, I'm going to fill you up so deeply, you'll be dripping and soaked when I'm done. Would you like that, my darling? Would you like to be so full of me you can think of nothing but how every single part of you belongs to me?"

You whine in response, his tone taunting yet somehow still adoring, and the contrast makes your head swim. Your walls clamp down on his cock, forcing a deep growl out of him, his scarlet eyes narrowing, watching your face intently. You hold eye contact, your lips parting in a breathy moan when he pulls out ever so slightly only to thrust back inside, still waiting for your reply.

"I asked you a question, sweet pet. I said, would you like that?"

He pulls out and thrusts back inside just as you're about to reply, making you keen and stammer out, "Y-yes, I would-I would like that Astarion, please!"

"There she is," he whispers, pulling his hips back until only the tip is resting inside you before he snaps forward, filling you to the brink. "There's my good girl."

He sets off an intense pace, his strokes deep and hard, but the look on his face is loving. His eyes stay locked on you, watching the way your brows furrow in pleasure, your body flushing warm.

When your fingers pull on his hair he leans his chest to yours and tucks his face in your neck with a moan, his hands sliding down to grip your hips. His fingers dig into the flesh as he lifts your ass off the bed, giving him momentum to rut into you harder and faster.

You wail at the new angle, his thick tip rubbing over that spongey spot inside you, throwing your head back and baring your neck for him as you cry out.

Astarion growls in response, he can tell he found the spot that makes you unravel, his lips brushing over your skin as he husks out, "That's it, sing for me, sweetheart. Your moans are my favorite melody."

Then he sinks his fangs into your neck again, and the pain mixed with the way he's fucking you brings you to the edge and forces you to topple over it eagerly.

Your orgasm rips through you, causing you to tighten around his length while you cry out loudly, your fingers tugging on his hair roughly.

He grunts against your neck, licking over your sore spot, his voice restrained, "Fuck - your pussy is begging to be filled, the way you're milking me right now. Your body is just begging for me, begging to be stuffed, begging for me to fucking breed you."

You gasp, shivering when you hear the feral edge to his voice. The two of you have played this game before, it's one of Astarion's favorites. For some reason the idea of knocking you up makes him incredibly hard, and it does inexplicable things to you as well, even though you both know the odds of it ever happening are basically zero.

You whimper at his words, shuddering under him while you ride out your orgasm, his thrusts turning deeper, rougher, the tone of his voice possessive when he hisses in your ear, "Gods, just the thought of you, round with my baby, the thought of you being mine so thoroughly. I dream of it, you know. Dream of starting a family, watching you carry our child."

You gasp, your back arching while your hands slide down his back to embrace him, his thrusts turning sloppier. You can feel his panting breath against your ear, his voice turning ragged.

"I wish - oh gods, I want that more than anything," he moans, his lips dragging up your neck and over your jaw before they meet your own. You moan, kissing him deeply while he ruts into you, his own release nearing.

His fingers dig into your skin, his hips rolling against yours to reach as deep as possible, and then he presses his forehead to yours while his eyes hold your own captive, "I'm going to come inside you, my love. There's nowhere else for me, is there? I belong here, just like this – we belong like this. Joined together, in every sense of the word, forever. Isn't that right, baby?"

You whine and nod, tears starting to form in your eyes at the pleasure. Astarion chuckles breathlessly, reaching up to cup your cheek but his fingers quickly travel into your hair to tangle in it, "Fuck, oh gods, I'm-I'm close, you feel so good sweetheart, I can't-"

He lets out a deep, rumbling groan when he pushes his hips flush against yours, his warmth flooding your insides. You moan in turn at the feeling, your entire body overstimulated from pleasure.

Astarion doesn't stop, though; he keeps fucking you, slowly, sloppily, breathing out heavily against your lips while he fucks his spend deeper inside you, "Gotta fill you properly, don't I, my sweet? Can't let any of it go to waste, hm?"

You shake your head in response, whimpering softly at the sensitivity when he pumps into you a few more times, his moans deep and breathless.

He slows down, his hips eventually coming to a halt, releasing a deep breath before he tucks his face into your neck. He doesn't pull out, though – he remains buried inside you, another thing you know he thoroughly enjoys. You wrap yourself around him, holding onto him tightly while you both catch your breath and relish in the feel of each other.

Astarion breathes in deeply, inhaling your scent like he so often does, but when he speaks his voice is quiet, more solemn, "It was about you."

Your brows furrow slightly, your hazy mind trying to make sense of his words while he's still filling you. Your fingers dance up his back and into his hair, burying them in his soft curls, "What was about me, my love?"

"The nightmare," he whispers, "It was about you."

That makes you pause. Your frown turns more worried, concern lacing your voice, "What happened?"

"It.." Astarion hesitates, pulling his face out of your neck to look down at you. Then he gently cups your cheek, his thumb stroking your bottom lip, "We were back at the palace, with Cazador. And he.. He took you."

You blink, your eyes searching his scarlet ones, the emotion flooding his face and making your heart ache. You let your fingers move through his hair soothingly, tilting your cheek into his touch.

"What do you mean he took me, Star?"

"For himself. I was.. I was back, being his.. His puppet, his slave. I couldn't resist his hold. And I brought you there, and then he.. He took you, turned you into one of them. It felt like every piece of me was breaking apart, it was so real, so vivid; all I could do was scream and weep as he drained your life and turned you into yet another of his spawn."

You hesitate, unsure what to reply. Astarion has had nightmares before, they usually get worse this time of year – around the anniversary of the day you defeated Cazador. But he rarely wants to talk about them in depth, usually he just needs you close.

Knowing his screaming was because of what was happening to you and not himself breaks your heart even more.

You reach up to cup his face in your hands, letting your thumbs gently stroke his cheeks. His eyes glisten, the sadness you've unforunately seen before covering his features.

You keep your voice a gentle whisper, your eyes not straying from his, "It wasn't real, Stari. I'm right here - we're right here, together. Just as we will be, forever. I'm okay, we're both okay. He can't hurt you anymore."

"I know," Astarion sighs softly, breaking eye contact to study your face, "I know he can't, even with the nightmares, somehow I'm always sure that it's not real. But this time it wasn't me he was hurting, it was you, because he knew.. He knew that would be the greatest way to harm me, the only way to keep me under his command. He knew I would never be able to leave you, or risk him hurting you. He knew you'd become my biggest weakness, and he took advantage of that."

"It wasn't real, baby," you whisper, tilting your head a little until his eyes meet yours again, "I'm so sorry these nightmares still haunt you, but he can't hurt you anymore. He can't hurt us."

"Part of it was real, though," he whispers hesitantly, searching your eyes, "The part about me not being able to ever leave. That part is real. If he.. If he was still a threat, if he was still alive, that's exactly what would happen. I could never leave you, I don't know if I could survive knowing he was hurting you. I would want to stay under his control for eternity if it meant I at least would get to be near you, with you."

You tear up, your mind conflicted - this is not atypical for Astarion. That a beautiful confession of love comes as a result of pain, but it's part of why you love him. You know every single declaration from him has been true, because he always makes them when he's at his most vulnerable.

You smile softly, caressing his cheeks, "I would endure any form of torture he could throw at me if it meant I'd get to spend my life with you in it, however that may be."

Astarion cracks a small smile, leaning his forehead on yours, "I never thought I would have this. I never thought I would fall in love, be happy like this. I never thought I would find someone I knew I would sacrifice anything for at a moments notice."

"Me neither," you murmur, letting your hands slide into his hair to the back of his neck, "I would do anything for you, Astarion. There is not a thing in this world I wouldn't do to make you happy."

"I would burn the entire world for you, my love," he whispers, his voice gravelly and serious, "I would walk through the nine hells, I would face any devil or deity to ensure your safety. To ensure you'd stay with me, forever. No one will ever take you from me."

Your smile widens, your cheeks flushing at his serious tone. You lean up to plant a quick kiss on his lips, and then you whisper, "The feelings mutual, you know. You're not going anywhere."

Astarion lets out a surprised chuckle, kissing you gently. When he leans down to tuck his face into your neck again, you let out a content sigh, "Although the nine hells sound like a big adventure, I think I'd rather stay here, wrapped around you for a while longer. Do you think burning the world down can wait?"

Astarion hums teasingly, kissing your neck, "Hmm, fine, you've convinced me. Burning the world can wait. At least for a little while."

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Imperfect Couple - 5

Character: politician!Bucky x ex-wife!reader

Summary: A separated couple must pretend to be happily married while the husband runs for Vice President, dealing with old issues and political pressures during his election campaign.

Warning: The couple's arguments could be triggering.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5, Chapter 6 , Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 , Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Chapter 11 , Chapter 12 , Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

You were deep in conversation with Greg, discussing the next move, when suddenly, you were called to Steve’s office. As you entered, you noticed Steve and Bucky sitting with serious expressions.

“What?” you asked, feeling a twinge of anxiety as both men locked eyes on you the moment you walked in.

Steve exchanged a glance with Bucky before he spoke up. "We found a comment that mentioned our divorce," Bucky said, his voice low.

“Oh,” you replied, crossing your arms defensively. “Does it also mention how you kidnapped me?”

Bucky chuckled, a small smile playing on his lips. “The things I’d do to bring you home.”

You rolled your eyes, refusing to be swayed by his charm.

“When we separated, did you ever tell anyone about our divorce?” Bucky’s tone grew more serious as he leaned forward, searching your eyes for the truth.

“Me?” You raised an eyebrow, the memory of Caroline’s threat flashing in your mind. “Did you forget that your mother threatened me not to tell anyone?”

The tension in the room thickened as you spoke. Caroline had made it clear she didn’t want the divorce to be public knowledge. She wanted you as far away from Bucky as possible, and she had the power to make it happen.

You’d learned quickly that fighting her was futile. Every news station and newspaper in the country had mysteriously closed their doors to you after the separation, leaving you with no choice but to pursue a career as an independent international journalist.

“That woman is ambitious as hell,” you muttered under your breath. Caroline’s wealth and connections were unmatched, and she wasn’t afraid to use them. She had even used Julius’s money to secure people who would do her bidding. Once you left the country, it seemed she lost interest in you, allowing you to continue your work in relative peace.

Working alone as a journalist in foreign countries had its challenges, but it also opened your eyes to the world. You found purpose in being a voice for the unfortunate, using your platform to shed light on the truth. Along the way, you met new friends, formed new connections, but you never let slip the truth about your marriage or divorce. The scars left on your heart were too deep, and the thought of trusting another man terrified you.

'What’s the point of having a husband if he can’t protect and defend me? you thought bitterly, the pain still fresh.

But perhaps, in a moment of vulnerability, you’d let a clue slip. You couldn’t lie to fellow journalists; they had a way of sensing the truth.

“What about your family?” you shot back, narrowing your eyes at Bucky. “Don’t just point fingers at me.”

For Bucky, the divorce was never acknowledged. He even burned the documents in the fireplace, a secret known only to him and God.

His parents, especially Caroline, were too embarrassed to admit their golden child had been divorced, while Julius, who never agreed with the divorce in the first place, remained silent.

Shawn, his oldest brother, was too high to care, and Hazel never bothered with such matters.

“It wasn’t my side either,” Bucky said, his voice steady as he locked eyes with you.

“Suit yourself,” you replied, your tone laced with a mixture of defiance and resignation.

“Sooner or later, the person who wrote it will show up,” Bucky added, his voice calm but carrying a cold edge.

“How can you be so sure?” you asked, a flicker of unease crossing your face.

Bucky merely shrugged, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “If they take too long, I’ll use my way to find them.”

A chill ran down your spine at his words, the threat lingering in the air. You knew what he was capable of, and the thought of him resorting to his methods sent a shiver of fear through you.

Steve, sensing the tension, stepped in, patting Bucky’s shoulder in a calming gesture. “Let the cyber team do their job. We don’t need you taking any extreme measures, especially with the convention so close.”

Steve understood Bucky better than most. While Bucky might present a soft, composed exterior, inside he was a beast—a man unafraid to take risks, to do whatever it took, especially when it came to you. The lengths he would go to protect what was his were both terrifying and awe-inspiring.

But Steve also knew the stakes. If the truth got out—that the future Vice President’s family, particularly Bucky's mother, had abused his wife to the point of divorce, and that the wife, thought to be widowed, had been kidnapped before the election—it would destroy the perfect image the Barnes family had worked so hard to maintain.

And it wouldn’t just affect Bucky; it would drag you down with him.

It would be the scandal of the century.

That’s why, before it could escalate, they had to find the source.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

The Barnes family gathered in the opulent conference room, tension crackling in the air like a live wire. Everyone was present, except for Shawn, who, as usual, was nowhere to be found.

Greg stood at the head of the table, flipping through his notes. “Well, after the Rogers family makes their appearance, it’s time for the Barnes to take the stage.”

“Of course,” Caroline chimed in, her voice sharp with authority. “All of us need to be up there.”

“Me too?” you asked, directing your question to Greg.

“Yes,” Bucky interjected before Greg could respond. “We’ve prepared the ramp for Tim’s wheelchair.”

Before you could even register the thoughtfulness behind Bucky’s statement, Caroline’s voice sliced through the room, dripping with venom. “No. It will ruin the balance. Everyone else can stand on their feet. While…”

“You know what? I hope you die and rot in hell!” you snapped, your voice ringing with years of pent-up anger.

The room froze, every head snapping in your direction. Caroline’s eyes widened in disbelief, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “Did… Did you hear that? She cursed me!”

You didn’t back down, the rage pouring out of you like a dam breaking. “So you’d rather parade your cocaine-addicted son who crashed his car and killed someone than show my brother who, despite losing a leg, works tirelessly from nine to five?”

Caroline was too stunned to reply, her face draining of color. Bucky, though usually stoic, couldn’t keep the anger from his voice. “You’re out of line, Mom. Tim is her only family left.”

Hazel, normally indifferent, nodded in agreement. “This time, I’m with them.”

Caroline, her voice trembling with indignation, shot back, “Is this how you treat your own mother?”

“No, Carol,” Julius said, his voice cold and cutting, “this is what we call karma.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened as he fought to control the emotions boiling beneath the surface. “She’s been in the same position as you,” he said, a lump forming in his throat as memories of his mother’s cruelty resurfaced. “You only felt that sting for three minutes, but my wife endured it for years.”

Caroline’s eyes narrowed, her fury now directed squarely at you. Her face flushed with rage, and you could almost see the steam rising from her ears. “So what? You want me to apologize?”

You met her gaze without flinching, your voice icy. “No. I don’t need your apology. It wouldn’t be enough to cover the pain I’ve suffered because of you. And honestly? I’d feel relieved if you died. If someone could confirm you’re burning in hell, it’d be the best news I’ve heard in years.”

Caroline, still believing she was the true victim, stormed out of the room, her heels clicking angrily on the marble floor. Julius and Hazel exchanged a glance before following her, leaving a tense silence in their wake.

Bucky watched them go, his fists clenched at his sides. He turned to you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of what you were feeling. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice softening for the first time that day.

You shook your head, the adrenaline still pumping through your veins. “I don’t know. It felt good to finally say what I’ve been holding in, but it doesn’t erase everything she’s done.”

Bucky nodded, stepping closer to you. “You shouldn’t have had to go through that alone. I should’ve stood up for you sooner.”

You looked up at him, the tension between you both palpable. “It’s too late for regrets, Bucky. We’ve both been through hell. The only thing that matters now is what we do next.”

He reached out, taking your hand in his. “Then let’s make sure this doesn’t break us.”

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Before the convention starts, the air buzzes with the anticipation of the event. As you stand in the corner of the vast convention hall, adjusting your outfit, a familiar voice calls out your name. You turn and see Ian, the British journalist you’ve met a few times before. His tousled hair and easy smile make him stand out in the crowd.

“Ian!” you greet him, a genuine smile spreading across your face. “What are you doing here?”

Ian chuckles, clearly pleased to see you. “I’m here to cover the election, of course. But, honestly, I jumped at the chance to come because I knew you’d be here.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “So, you flew all the way out here just for me?”

He grins, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “My boss didn’t believe me when I said I knew you. I had to show him a picture of us together just to convince him.”

You laugh again, feeling the warmth of his presence. “Well, I’m glad you made it. It’s been a while.”

As you and Ian catch up, the conversation flows easily, your shared ideas and interests making the time fly by. He tells you about his latest assignments, and you share some of your recent experiences. The banter between you is light and effortless, the kind that comes naturally with someone you’re comfortable with.

But then, you sense a shift in the air, and before you can react, Bucky appears at your side. He’s polite, as always, his smile perfectly in place, but you can sense the underlying tension in his posture. His eyes dart between you and Ian, and although he doesn’t say it, you know he’s not thrilled about the easy rapport between you and the British journalist.

“Hi,” Bucky says, his voice calm but laced with something you can’t quite place. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Just thought I’d come by and check in.”

Ian extends his hand to Bucky with a friendly smile. “Ian, nice to meet you.”

Bucky shakes his hand, his grip a bit firmer than necessary. “Likewise. I’ve heard a bit about you.”

There’s a brief, almost imperceptible moment of silence, where you can feel Bucky’s eyes on you. His polite smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and you can tell he’s itching to separate you from Ian.

“Well,” Ian says, oblivious to the tension, “I should get going. Need to find my spot before the chaos begins.” He turns to you, his smile warm and genuine. “Let’s catch up properly after this?”

You nod, still smiling. “Definitely. See you around, Ian.”

As Ian walks away, Bucky’s gaze follows him, his jaw tightening slightly. Once Ian is out of sight, Bucky’s shoulders relax, but only a fraction. He turns to you, his expression unreadable.

“You two seem close,” Bucky says, his voice carefully neutral, but you don’t miss the hint of something more beneath the surface.

“We’ve met a few times,” you reply casually, though you can sense Bucky’s unease.

He nods, but his eyes narrow slightly, as if something about Ian doesn’t sit right with him. Deep down, Bucky’s instincts are on high alert. There’s something about Ian—something he can’t quite put his finger on—that doesn’t add up. And as much as he tries to push it aside, the feeling gnaws at him, making him wonder if Ian’s presence here is as innocent as it seems.

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[siempre-bucky]

not a senator.

Qimir x Senator!Reader

Summary: On the run after a failed assassination attempt, you run into a peculiar apothecary owner

WC: 1.7k

Warnings: Mentions of blood

A/N: For the Anon that requested a senator!reader meet cute <3

You weren’t sure how long you’d been running through the outskirts of Olega, it felt like as soon as you left your ship you were being followed, hunted. The branches of the trees rustled in warning, and the whispers of threats danced along your ears. You picked up the bottom of your cloak, the last thing tethering you to your former self, and ran. It was a gift from the Senator elected before you, a soft navy blue velvet with matching metallic fiber woven into seams. You treated it as a reminder of who you once were. 

 The state of exhaustion had set in, hunger squeezed your stomach, but the adrenaline kept you going. 

Get to safety, get far from here, the terrified guard told you in the dead of night, an assassin lying dead at the foot of your bed in a pool of crimson that glowed in the bright lights of the Courscant nightlife outside the large windows of your room. It was an assassination attempt, a group of assassins hired by political rivals to remove you from the Senate—permanently. Supposedly, it was an era of peace but you soon learned how fleeting peace was. 

“Get the Senator!” a man seethed, pointing his knife in your direction as you disappeared into the bustling crowd of the marketplace, his other hand had the collar of his henchman clenched tightly in his fist, pulling the man in with a look of sudden fear in his eyes. The market had made good cover so far, the people of the planet were barely paying any attention to you running for your life. They went about their business, loitering on rust ridden buildings and eagerly bartering for goods. 

You heard someone mention an apothecary as you passed them. Your eyes hastily searched for it, just make it there. There’d be plenty of places to hide inside. You slid the dirty red door open and walked inside cautiously, the patrons paying no mind as you stepped through the doorway. Your eyes scanned the apothecary noting that it was a rather small place. A few people examined the various items on the shelves while a couple of others stood by the window beside you. It was a mess, you thought as you caught your breath. 

In front of you, stood a tall slender man behind the small counter. He paid you no mind as his eyes narrowed at the glowing yellow tile in the center of the counter, his hands tinkering with some broken parts that illuminated in the small light. You thought he was peculiar, the way he watched his work so intensely. 

“In there,” you heard the same voices from earlier shouting from the other side of the window, “check in there.” 

You were out of time to make a getaway, and in this small space, you didn’t have many hiding options. Taking in the lack of hiding spots, you ran towards the apothecary's owner, jumping and sliding behind the counter, his scraps falling in all directions with various clinking sounds. 

The man looked down at you with wide eyes and a shocked expression while you made yourself as small as you could, bringing your knees to your chest and pressing your back to the counter, your shoulders hunched over. Panic was setting in. “Hello,” he said lightly, clinging the two metal bottles in his hands together. If you weren’t so scared, you would have thought he was handsome this close up. Cheekbones carved especially by the Maker and disheveled black hair that covered his dark brown eyes. He was beautiful and in desperate need of a good shower. His loose but tattered green and brown clothes made him fit in with the rest of the place, a little dirty and run down.

“There are men trying to kill me out there. Please don’t let them find me!” you pleaded with him, skipping the pleasantries. He just stared at you blankly, and you assumed he already made up his mind. This was the way that the galaxy worked, you were too sheltered on your home planet and then sent to Coruscant where it was no better in the Senate. Things weren't perfect, people were not good like Jedi Masters told you they were.

He smirked playfully down at you, “Was that a pickup line?” he asked with a chuckle. Your face fell, lips falling to an annoyed grimace. 

“Maker,” you cursed, accepting your fate The door was suddenly ripped from its hinges, the earth-shattering thunk caught everyone's attention. You jumped, clasping your hands over your mouth to muffle any kind of fearful cry. 

The man looked at you and then back to the two burly men who barreled into his apothecary. They strolled up to the bar with confidence, the owner's eyes fixated on them. “Hello!” he greeted with the same light tone, “how can I help you?” 

The taller of the two bounty hunters leaned on the bar, his eyes narrowed. “We’re looking for a Senator,” he informed plainly, “Got a high price on that pretty head— we could cut you in for any relevant information.” The man pulled a hologram from his pocket and placed it on the table, turning it on. The owner looked at your official portrait that was slowly rotating in front of him and narrowed his eyes, he was taking it all in. He probably thought you looked more put together in the photo than you do now. Dirt covering your cheeks, strands of hair stuck to your sweaty forehead. 

He chuckled, “You sound a little desperate if you’re offering a cut to someone like me.” 

You looked up at him worriedly, you could see how his jaw clenched but his body remained light at his tone of voice. Your heart pounded against your chest, the men were about to offer a large sum and the owner was about to take it, you were sure of it. 

The bounty hunter snarled, but the other man stood still and held his ground. “I should have your head for that.” 

The man put his hands on the counter and nonchalantly turned off the hologram. His face was stone, unreadable as he continued to make eye contact with the bounty hunter. They stared at each other in silence, the background noise of the apothecary began to get increasingly louder in your ears. It was almost deafening, the clanking of jars and whirling of mechanical tools screamed at you. You moved your hands from your lips and slid them up towards your ears. 

But you stopped when the bounty hunters began to speak lifelessly, almost as if he was in a trance

“There is no Senator here, we will leave,” the bounty hunters spoke in unison, reaching into their pockets and retrieving two brown sacks of credits. The owner smiled as they placed it on the counter and exited without another word. 

You waited until you heard their footsteps fade to cautiously rise from the floor, your eyes frantically scanning the room to make sure it was safe. “They left,” you breathed as if it was the first time. 

“See,” he beamed, “Not so bad.” He took the two sacks in one hand, and your shaky one in the other. Your eyes met as he put the bags in your hand, “This should probably be enough to get you started if you choose to stay.” 

He let go and made his way to the back entrance, leaving you there staring at the bags in pure shock, “Thank you-,” you whispered before swiftly following him to the back alley. It suddenly dawned on you that you didn't know his name, he saved your life and you didn’t even ask. 

“Qimir!” he called back as if he knew what you were thinking. Strange.

You followed close behind him, but once you started to think, your steps became slower and separated the two of you. How was he able to change their minds so quickly, they were dead set on killing you. They were bounty hunters, the most relentless creatures in the galaxy. 

You paused, clenching the two bags in your hands tighter. “How’d you get them to leave like that?” You asked sternly, the Senator in you coming out. “Are you—” you paused. You had only seen methods like that from a select few, “—Jedi?” 

He stopped, blood running cold in his veins. You saw how his body tensed up then he stood up straight, pushing back his greasy hair, the strands falling perfectly into place. Qimir slowly turned to you and everything abruptly seemed off. His face was no longer filled with meek eagerness, he was secure and held himself with such poise. A whole shift in personality you noted. He slowly strode over, his eyes darkening as he moved. His whole presence felt dark. 

A chill ran down your spine as he approached you. Was he about to kill you? 

“Quite the opposite, Senator,” he spoke lowly with a slight rasp to his tone, his head tilting to the side, looking up at you. Another chill went through you. 

 His face was so close you could see every freckle on his face, every shade of brown in his eyes. 

You heard the stories of those who practiced the ways of the Force outside the Jedi Order, they had a name but you couldn’t recall what it was. The Council didn’t like to talk about them, another senator you became acquainted with once said they didn’t mention it purposely for it would “dampen the era of peace in the galaxy.”  You were too busy staring at the man in front of you, unsure if you wanted to run or kiss him, “N-not a Senator,” you swallowed, you couldn't call yourself that any longer. 

“‘I’ll make you a deal.” You nodded. “Tell no one of what happened here,” and I’ll spare your life, “and anything in the apothecary is yours for free.”

You smirked, “Deal,” you said, taking a step back and holding out your hand, “Thank you again, Qimir.”  Qimir nodded and shook your hand, his skin tingling at the sensation of your hand in his. Was this desire? He pulled away and began to walk back towards the apothecary, before he reached the door he looked at you with a smirk on his chiseled face, “You’re quite welcome, Senator. I hope to see you soon.”

[dog-park-dissidents]

i don't know what to do

First of all, stay alive.

Second of all, be fucking obnoxious. Do not let this unqueer you. Hiding and moderating didn't do shit so go absolutely feral. They think you shouldn't even exist? Fuck it, fisting is SFW now and rotate through a new unpronounceable neopronoun every time someone even slightly misgenders you. They want you to fucking die so live each day like it's your last and stop giving a shit.

Third of all, STAY ALIVE, DO NOT ACTUALLY DIE, specifically do not do it to yourself, ever. You will be okay. And if they want to murder you let them do it with their own shitty little hands, not yours.

Anyway. Take a deep breath and realize that we don't know how bad things are actually going to get. These people are terrifying but they are NOT smart. They have spent the past four years brooding and scheming and making it look like they were coming up with some kind of evil master plan that will actually be effective christofascism this time, but they're still monstrously incompetent. Everyone who was present during the first Trump regime who actually knew how to run anything at all has defected and left. True, they were also the people telling this fuckin nutcase not to nuke North Korea, but that is a level of apocalypse completely beyond any of our control like the fuckin sun exploding randomly, and always has been. Barring random armageddon, it is entirely possible these losers will trip over their own shoelaces trying to actually legislate you out of existence.

Honestly their first priority is probably blowing up the entire economy by putting tariffs on China and closing the border with Mexico. The price of eggs and smartphones are about to get ridiculous, a lot of people are going to lose their jobs, and all of this is going to suck but it very well may suck so much that they'll just forget to ban HRT.

Keep in mind the incoherence of what happened on election night. Trump won and so did a bunch of red state abortion protections. The first trans person made it into Congress. The people voting for the Leopards Eating Faces Party also voted for minimum wage increases, so when the leopards start actually eating their faces it's not going to go over very well. This is probably less America's Hitler and more America's Brexit, where life is going to get noticeably shittier and everyone who voted for it is going to be very shocked and confused about why everything is shittier, but we also won't all die.

Whatever happens it is not above your ability to survive. Hold your friends close. Connect to your local community. If you don't have a local community or you're legitimately stuck someplace where you're the only queer person, then it's okay to run away and never look back, but find yourself your friends, your chosen family. Stick by each other.

Our love will help us break through.

[barcarsenal12]

Election season (alexia putellas x american reader)

A/N: American reader is dealing with the stress of the election from overseas, while Alexia and their teammates try to understand what a terrifying situation reader is in.

(This is very very short, I can expand if you guys enjoy it. Also this is 100% me projecting.

You had a match the next day, but you knew you weren’t going to sleep. You had hardly been able to sleep all week. Back home, in America, your friends and family were staying up too. Here in Barcelona, no one cared who won the presidential election. 

“Come to bed, love,” Alexia called from the stairs. 

“I can’t, Ale.” You said, closing your eyes. CNN was starting to sear into your eyelids. You felt two hands on your shoulders, and leaned into her touch. 

“The sooner you fall asleep, the sooner you will know who won. Like Christmas morning.” 

You laughed, resting your head against her arm. “I knew that Christmas was always going to be good, though. I won’t be able to sleep. I might as well be here.”

Alexia sighed, and let her head droop. 

“Ok, then I’ll stay here with you.” 

“No, go to sleep. Us both being tired tomorrow won’t help anyone.” 

“But I want to be here. Explain the, como se dice, electoral college again?”

“Go, Ale,” you chuckled, shoving her shoulder. 

She sighed again, but rose from her seat and pressed a kiss to your forehead before making her way back upstairs. 

---

“What’s wrong with her?” Mapi whispered quietly to Alexia during warm ups the next morning. 

“She stayed up all night watching the election. I found her asleep infront of the TV this morning.” Alexia whispered back. 

Mapi let out a low whistle. “She’s not playing today, right?”

“She swears she’s fine.” 

“She doesn’t look fine.”

“I know.” 

You were glued to your phone the next four days, as the results were counted and recounted and confusion over swing states ensued. On the second day, it seemed like it was going the way that you were so desperately praying it would. On the third, though, the opposition won Florida. The election consumed you, and you were so far away from anyone else affected by it that you felt increasingly isolated. Alexia tried to be there, listening and keeping up with the results and trying to ignore how tired you looked. She told you that she loved you and cooked you meals and forced you to sleep. 

When the results came, you were at training. You were in the gym, with MSNBC playing through your airpods as you did reps of squats. You remembered 2020, when your side won and everyone ran onto the streets with pots and pans. This time, you had no neighbors to react with. You calmly placed your weights down and walked through the gym door, shutting off your phone for the first time in days. You needed somewhere-- a closet, ideally, but an empty meeting room would also suffice-- to fully absorb the news. You made it as far as the bathroom before the results sunk in. 

“Why did she leave?” Ingrid leaned towards Frido, as the door swung closed behind you. 

“I don’t know.” Frido responded. “I’ll text her.” 

“Ok, good idea.” Ingrid said, returning to her lifts. After a moment, she glanced back at Frido, and immediately noticed the frown on her face. “What is it?”

“He won.” Frido whispered. 

“What?” Ingrid said. Even from across the world, she knew what that would mean. 

“He won.” 

“Mierda.” Ingrid cursed under her breath, pushing out of the gym. 

----

(Sorry to cut this off, lmk if you want me to finish this story)

[paris9]

𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧

Victoria Neuman x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Legal Age gap, Sugar baby dynamic, SMUT, sexual content, fem! Reader, definitely 18+, etc. (let me know if I missed anything).

____________________________________________

Spoiled..That’s what you were. From your lacy see through custom underwear to the expensive Jewelry that hung delicately around your wrists and neck. It felt nice being cared for, pampered even. When she ‘found’ you, you were nothing but an over exhausted college student taking morning shifts at a local New York Cafe to help make ends meet.

Now you lived in Upper Manhattan in an overly expensive Penthouse, being taken care of, and chauffeured around like you were someone that was important. You were important, specifically to her.

Victoria Neuman treated you better than anyone has ever treated you in your entire life.

All for the cost of your company.

Soft moans and shaky breaths escaped through your lips as Victoria had her face buried between your thighs. Her tongue tracing your clit, teasing your hole. Your body was sprawled across your king sized bed with her on top of you. your hands clinching and unclenching the white silk sheets underneath you.

She took her time with you, slowly bringing you to a bittersweet ecstasy. “Cum for me sweet girl.” Victoria rasped out before quickening the pace of her tongue and finally giving you the permission you needed to let yourself go. Your thighs clenched around her head and your body tensed up as you finally came undone underneath her.

She pulls away as you fall back against the bed, your body relaxing. “Atta girl.’ ” Victoria praised softly, moving up to peck your lips before moving down to your neck to attack it with her mouth.

You felt her suck, taking a moment to mark you up with a couple of hickeys. You’re hers and she was going to make sure everyone knew that.

You felt calm, your body tired. She got up and made her way into the bathroom, running the sink until it was warm while grabbing a rag to wet. Victoria came back and cleaned you up. “You did so good, sweetheart. I’ll be getting you that perfume you wanted.” The older woman pulled you up and you settled your head on her bare chest while she laid back into your plush pillows. She smelt so classy..so expensive.

It was small moments like this that made her happy. Victoria Neuman was always so stressed, especially with The Presidental elections coming up. Her fingers moved through your hair slowly, feeling your soft locks while she laid deep in thought. You were already quickly dozed off against her completely warn out.

She wished she could stay with you but she was too busy, her work called for her. After an hour she got up while making sure not to wake you. Victoria pecked your forehead, closing her eyes for a moment as she took in your scent.

She got dressed back into her tight black pantsuit, sliding her stilettos back on, and fixed her hair in the mirror. Quickly taking her leave before she convinced herself to lay back down with you. Neuman couldn’t get attached and she told herself that but you were just so pretty.. so sweet. If you found out what she could do then you would be terrified of her. You would leave. She couldn’t have that happen.

The next day you woke up alone, sighing to yourself before grabbing your phone off the night stand to checking the time. You saw a notification pop up on your Home Screen that 2,000 bucks had been added directly to your Bank account. It was truly all worth it in the end, especially with how much she was paying you so generously.