#tips for playing bards

[auntphibian]

Playing a Bard Tips!

not Scanlan but want to play a really good bard? read ahead!

so I LOVE and I mean LOVE playing bards. Bard and Paladin are my fav classes to play, but honestly I would say I’m best at bard. literally every DM I’ve played a bard under has complimented and given me special items because of how I play and I think I can give some handy tips. 

tip 1: use rhymes and this cite specifically https://www.rhymezone.com/ 

when giving bardic inspiration I always (except a few times) have a rhyme to go with it. saying “I play my lute” is fine but making little rhymes really pulls other players in. it’s also way easier than trying to write an entire song like Scanlan does, plus I can’t sing and it doesn’t take up as much time. 

tips for rhymes, find words you associate with each PC. 

look up rhymes for fighter, ranger, cleric ect. and try to make it fit. for example “he’s rather esoteric, our cleric, far from generic, and never barbaric, he’s calm even when I’m hysteric”. all of those come up when you look up Cleric. it’s a short inspiration that can fit most clerics but will make the one you’re inspiring feel good.

rhyme with names. names especially make other PCs feel good because it’s generally unique to the character. however names are hard because rarely will names fit perfectly in a rhyme, so just grab the last part. like if their name is “Zaram” you won’t find a rhyme, but you will if you look up “ram”. of if their name is something like “Garcar” pronounce it out loud and find a word that sounds like the last part. “car” is pronounced like “sar” which sounds like “Czar”, now you have a rhyme. “my friend Garcar, is a little bizarre, but careful if you Spar, because he’s a rock star”.

situations are great too. This could be based on the mission or recent RP. if you’re fighting vampires look for vampire rhymes, if you’re fighting goblins look for goblin rhymes. An RP example, in my current bard, Meku’s, game the barbarian said something like “I longingly look at the hammer” so my rhyme was “making quite the clamour, I don’t mean to yammer, but you seem enamored, you really want that hammer!”. It adds to the RP they already started and makes them feel heard. 

Tip 2: tell Jokes

I always play horny bard characters so my jokes are usually dirty jokes, but this doesn’t just apply to that. Really lots of situations call for jokes, or you can just make it a character trait they always tell jokes. This really brings RP out of people. Similar to before, look up jokes based around class, RP, or situation. A PC likes jewelry, look up jewelry jokes. Dumb blonde jokes can become dumb barbarian jokes. Fighting vampires, look up vampire jokes. Call out who you want to RP with like “my PC scoots closer to other PC and nudges them saying ‘There’s a bunch of food set out, we must be in the vampire’s casketeria!’” this will ALWAYS get a response. A groan, a “they roll their eyes”, a “they laugh”, or anything else. Now you have a dynamic set up with that other PC. 

This can happen during combat too. Spells that involve talking, like silvery bards, vicious mockery, or really any, can just have you making a joke as your spell casting. For example I like the Spirit bard subclass, in it you have different tales on a chart. So I looked up jokes based around those charts. One was “clever animal” so my joke was “people say dolphins are as smart as humans but I think they’re jumping to conclusions”. This led to the party talking about what a dolphin is and how smart they might be. It was fun, simple, and relaxed RP that made the party feel closer. 

Now jokes are hard, I suggest just stealing off the internet. You don’t have to be crazy creative with it or anything, if anything stupid jokes are more fun. However, you will have duds. There will be times where your jokes aren’t recognized and you will feel crummy. Just move on and don’t let it get you down. 

Tip 3: give gifts!

I can’t express this enough. Non-mechanical gifts do WONDERS for RP. Most of my bards make friendship bracelets for the party and this always goes down amazingly. A special card or pressed flowers, or a trinket made into a necklace, all things that will really just make the other PCs feel special. I’ve had campaigns end where the PC describes being buried with their friendship bracelet. 

Also, make a big deal of it if someone gives your PC a gift. Talk about them putting it on the desk in their room, or a special pocket. Say “thank you” in whatever way feels character appropriate. If it’s a big deal to your character say they tear up, if it’s small slap their shoulder, that sort of thing. 

I’ve never had a DM charge my PC more that a silver for these sort of gifts because they recognize that it’s good for building party cohesion. 

Tip 4: fashion

Give your bard a style. This could be a cowboy, or Gucci, or like a fool, or in Meku's case, like a spirit Halloween store. It makes them stand out as an individual but also gives other PCs something easy to work with. You make a bad joke and they say “oh quiet cowboy”. 

Speaking of cowboys, make your character wear a hat of some sort. There is so much description you can do with a hat alone. Someone casts gust, “my character holds their hat in place”. Under the frightened effect “she hides her face in her hat”. It’s also a easy target for other PCs. a rival PC might teasingly knock it off their head, one might ask to wear it, other might brush it off for you. It’s a very stylistic item that doesn’t have to be tracked or anything so it makes just randomly bringing it up easy. I’ve had other PCs start wearing the same style of hat as my PC. 

Ask other PCs to help with style. If someone mentions their character’s hair cut, say “oh my god it’s beautiful, could you style my hair”. Y’all, a hairstyle is the strongest of RP bonding things. I guess because it’s almost always visual so all PCs have thought about it. From “let me braid your hair” to “can you cut my hair” or “what products are you using” it’s amazing. It can really apply to any aspect of style but hair is just a insanely easy and simple way to build a bond between PCs. 

Lastly, have a key color. This is super important in my opinion. Give your bard a favorite color and use it OFTEN. Meku’s favorite color is purple. All her magic is described as purple, all her clothes are purple, if she’s buying an item she asks for purple, ect. It’s again super easy but a huge way to make your bard stand out within the party and seem extra charismatic. 

Tip 5: describe EVERYTHING

You don’t need to write a novel's long description or anything but every little description makes you seem more charismatic. When Meku casts dimension door I say “you see a sparkly purple door open up as she uses dimension door.” polymorph, her animals are always described as purple and sparkly. Last session had a good one, she used heat metal then fire bolt I described it as “she glares at the man, blows into her cupped hand like she’s blowing on a ember. Then removes a hand and flicks her middle finger up with a fire bolt going into his face”. It’s not super long but adds a lot of character to the bard and adds visually to a fight. It also got a few laughs because it killed the guy. 

I recommend giving your character an element or material as a theme. I’d clear it with the DM that you aren’t changing damage type, just taking creative liberty with description. If your bard is water themed, describe things like cure wounds as “a faint mist sprinkles over you and you heal for__”. Eldritch blast could be flicking water droplets off your hand. Heat metal could be boiling water, haste could be tossing them a drink. These small things really just add a lot. 

Feel open to act a fool. I’m sure a stern bard can be fun but I have the most fun playing the class clown style bard. You fail a dex check at catching something, say “I got it!! Uh.. oops” or “she puts her hat up like a shield and gets knocked on her ass”, “eats dirt” is another good description. It makes your character seem endearing and makes you seem really good at handling failure. In a weird way it makes your character cooler. A stern fighter who is gruff and strong getting knocked prone will seem embarrassing because the character is supposed to be cool and competent. A silly bard getting knocked over then making a joke as they jump back up makes it seem like nothing can affect your character. Everyone will fail at some point so being foolish with the failure just makes the character seem more charismatic. 

Tip 6: have a journal or doc 

I always make journals for my bard and bring it with me. In my spare time I’ll write down jokes or rhymes or descriptions of spells. I divide the journal up, spell descriptions in one part, jokes in another, and inspiration rhymes in another. Divide inspiration rhymes up by PC and have a general section as well. Cross out or add a checkmark when you use the joke or rhyme so you can keep track of what you’ve used already. For spell descriptions just add a brief description and have it handy for when you cast. “Mending looks like bright red thread weaving through the material and magically joining it together” then when you use it say “you see red magical thread sew the two parts of the page back together”. I forget to describe spells a lot so having the page open helps you make it fit the situation. 

Inspirations are especially important to write down. I have been playing bards consistently for the past 5 or so years on a weekly basis, but even I have a hard time coming up with a rhyme in the time it takes to get to my turn. Have back ups written down. Sometimes you’ll just need to be honest and say “I don’t have a rhyme right now, but inspiration to pc”. However you look like the best player in the world if it’s consistent. It’s not a ton of extra work but it seems like it in the moment to everyone else. And they do appreciate it. I get DM inspiration frequently because my DMs really do enjoy my silly 4-6 line rhymes. I do keep rhyme zone pulled up with my dnd beyond so I can make a spur of the moment rhyme, but most of my rhymes were thought about at work, or school, or while driving, or wherever.

[lovebirdgames]

DnD/Fantasy AU! What would the boys' races be? (Cadence would be human)

Sorry for the wait! I’M GLAD YOU ASKED because I’ve been meaning to draw this forever since I’ve been obsessed with Baldur’s Gate 3 (it basically makes up my DnD knowledge)! I had their race/classes jotted down in my notes for months. Here’s what I came up with, hope you like it!

[awesomechocolatesauce]

Violin playing is very popular in the Myconid Colony. 🎻

[collegeoflore]

xar wants to leave volo to die here soooo bad. so bad. but even ASTARION is like “we should prob save him :/“ and they’re like FINE. WHATEVER.

[honeykaes]

— 𝐈’𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞, 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭? 𝐢𝐢

✦ breeding their beloved god (yandere sagau!) feat. itto, diluc, scaramouche, ayato

✦ warning: smut, 18+ content, minors do not interact

✦ disclaimer: afab!reader with no set pronouns, everything is consensual, religious/cult themes breeding kink, creampies, yandere tendencies,  monsterfucking adjacent (itto), size kink (itto), cumflation (itto), dick piercing (itto), semi-public (diluc and ayato), power play (scaramouche), cockwarming (scaramouche), sadist (scaramouche), kinda hate sex (scaramouche), bath sex (ayato), dumbification (ayato), overstimulation (ayato), implied degradation (ayato and scaramouche), unedited

Itto is probably the acolyte that most recently discovered you. Growing up, he wasn’t all that interested in the Creator, after all—what Creator would have people throw beans at him of all things? It wasn’t until recently, seeing your face in person when the Shogun introduced you to her land, that he realized he had been wrong this whole time and he will do nothing to stop atoning for his prior disbelief.

Whenever he would see you out, he managed to find you thanks to the rest of the Arataki clan, regardless of which high official you were with. This has granted many enemies he knows of, like Sara, to enemies he doesn’t realize like Ayato. Still, telling jokes and eating his favorite snacks with you is what he absolutely lives for. He is your obedient oni willing to go to jail time and time again if that means he can see your smile.

He could feel his heart thumping in his chest, cock pulsating and throbbing as he gulps to try to soothe his dry throat when your legs are splayed out to him—in the shabby, crackling shack he calls his home. He continuously swirls his tongue in his mouth, etching every sweet taste of your cunt in your memories before finally trying to push the tip of his cock inside of you.

Itto feared you would despise the inhuman curves and ridges of his cock, but you simply grabbed onto the sheets of the futon as he struggled to push his fat cock inside of you. He tries kissing every tear that drips from your eyes, feeling his stretch you out further and further as he pushes his way inside of you—the bulb of his length firmly nudging against your cervix wishing nothing more to push even further inside—body shivering from the cold metal from his Prince Albert piercing.

And even though he can’t fit, you’re shocked to feel your legs hooked on his arms as he proceeded to jam his cock inside of you over and over sharp teeth gazing over your neck. Even the oni teared up feeling your insides cave in, squeezing tight against his ridged cock. He can finally repent for being a disbeliever as you cry out his name repeatedly feeling him graze over the most sensitive parts inside of you.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head feeling his heavy balls empty themselves inside of you, a thick river of cum already beginning to stream down onto the damaged wood. Setting you down, he could only laugh patting the bulge in your belly—pressing it down to watch more of his cum drooling out of you.

Maybe if you accept his repentance, onis could truly be loved as you do him.

Diluc was motionless when he realized you were his beloved God. He remembered going to church with his father when he was young, hearing the gospel and the glories you brought to them. Those stories were the only thing giving him hope, like a lone flame in his life of darkness once he lost his loved ones. And here you are, confused, and oh so innocent from the atrocities of this world.

He was the one you would stay with at Dawn Winery as he made it a mission to make you feel like absolute royalty—the uncrowned King of Mondstadt wouldn’t have it any other way. Some of his favorite things to do were listen to your day as the two of you ate dinner. Hearing your stories of exploring the manor and asking about his past, always made the usually brudish man smile…that is until he began hearing that others, like that bard and his cursed brother, visit you.

He hated how quiet he would get after that, sipping his grape juice and pondering how he could deter anyone from ruining the sanctuary he’s made here with you, the heaven that he rightfully deserves after years of suffering. 

Dinners became much more interesting when his fingers plunged inside of you, as your body lay out on the luxurious grand table. His digits exited out of you, coated with your slick before he unbuckled his pants and pressed his tip along your folds—slowly entering inside of you. His eyes could only widen in delight as you pulled him closer to you, your legs wrapped around his hips to bring him closer and cock plunging itself inside of you. 

He didn’t care if his staff saw. He didn’t care if his regional God even walked in. All he cared about was connecting your soft lips against his, rutting into you like a madman and savoring the heaven you had given him. 

He could hear your muffled moans against your lips as his hands woved themselves with yours, placing them high above you on the table. He continuously ground himself against your aching clit, feeling your gummy walls flutter themselves against him. Even as his hips bucked, hot cum spurting out inside of you, he finally parted your lips—a string of saliva connecting you two—before brushing his lips against your nape. 

Please let him have more time in Eden, with his beloved. That’s all he asks for.

Why should he worship you, the Creator when all of his life has been suffering? Seeing you in person rattled the puppet, his body trembling in anger. Why are you looking at him in adoration? Weren’t you the reason why he could never have a heart, why one of your devolved followers, Raiden Ei abandoned him like a toy? As much as he hated to admit it, he so desperately wanted that look of want that you gave him.

Still, Scaramouche tried to avoid you left and right, but he always managed to come back eventually. He tried pushing you away with yours instead but seeing tears threaten your eyes was enough for him to succumb and apologize, holding you tight in his arms. He hated you…but he loved and craved you. How did this make sense? Maybe he was truly a faulty creation.

From this point on, Scaramouche began to travel with you claiming he was simply “protecting the creator” in an attempt to understand his feelings for you further. He couldn’t help but be irked seeing everyone worship and praise you or even seduce you. Wasn’t his feelings for you enough? Couldn’t you just be satisfied with that?

The frown on his face always curved into a smirk as you clung tightly to him, cock buried inside of you as the Ballader mockingly patted your back. Something was so thrilling to have the object of everyone’s admiration struggle not to cum by his orders. He could only shush you with a cruel smirk, feeling your inside clutch and try sucking him in further.

He pinched your cheek, causing a whine to erupt from you before snapping his hips up causing you to yelp. It was so utterly adorable to him, watching your lip quiver as he ground you against him trying to encourage him to finally plow inside of you. He chuckled, hand weaving around to pitch your throbbing clit instead, pulling on it as you cried out for him again before rubbing tender circles on it as your slick stained his fingers.

Suffer a little more, before he’s ready for you. It’s what you deserve for what you put himself through. Come on, tell him that he’s your favorite little doll already.

It was mere child’s play to convince the Shogun to let you stay at the Kamisato residence, after all, he and his little sister had proven time and time again how loyal they were to you. There was something about walking you through the halls of his estate, your timid smile trying to convince him there was a mistake about you being God was enough to almost let his inner mind slip just how cute and small you were to him.

Ayato knows better, studying who the Creator was and how to best serve them, but he couldn’t help but want to test theorize for himself—test if you were truly worthy of his worship. Seeing you pass every trial with a determined smile, made his heart truly flutter in adoration. He, out of everyone, knew it would be a matter of time before you got a concubine from the endless list of your devoted followers. So he was determined to be the one to seduce you first. 

It was rather easy getting you flustered. Simple touches here and there. Leaning in close to see if you’d finally close the gap between you two. Things were much slower than he would’ve liked, but he wasn’t sure what else he could do. Even as he sits in the hot spring baths, all he could do is sigh continuously strategizing before he heard the doors open.

Everyone knows this is the time the lord takes his bath, it’s in his schedule. When lavender eyes made your gaze, his lips could only curl up into a smirk. He would finally reap the benefits of this long political game he had set out to win.

Having yourself pinned against him, the warm, very shallow swatters of the bath—clit burning in overstimulation for his fingers continuously toying with it no matter how many times your body came in pleasure. His cock thrust inside of you rapidly, your legs propped up on his wide shoulders letting him rut even deeper inside of you.

He couldn’t help whispering how it was unbecoming of a god to cave into their lust as you did, but he would continue worshipping you despite your falls feeling your walls tighten, and back arch as you came yet again from him. Finally letting a groan out and cum inside of you, cock pulsating inside of you as it finally became to soften. 

A dark chuckle escaped him, pressing his thumb against your glossy lips, wiping the drool threatening to drip down. 

Aww how cute. It seems his precious God forgot their name.

[domsaysstuff]

Okay so this idea has been rocking around my empty skull for some time now just we know that Eddie can be a pretty mean DM and a shithead and I've been thinking abt romances in D&D and how it would work in Hellfire

And I had this thought that Eddie would like be "no romances!!" to the Corroded Coffin group (before the kids joined) and they're like why? and Eddie just to tease them says that he doesn't want to pretend to fall for their smelly ugly faces

Which just motivates them to try and seduce like every character that Eddie introduces for a fucking month and it leads to the creation of the rule: Every romance/seduction directed roll must be rolled above 15 to succeed AND if Eddie decides that the attempt is particularly bad the roll is with disadvantage

The Corroed Coffin boys are obviously teasingly like ohhh so we get an advantage if it's good?

"Doubt that would happen boys, but sure, if you make me, Eddie fucking Munson, to blush like a fair maiden then you'll get the advantage on the roll"

They try, they really do, but all the CC boys succeed in doing is killing off all of their party in three sessions and Gareth who is a little shit is actually rolling his third character (because the consequences of a failure are fucking brutal) by the time Jeff and [unnamed freak] give up

After that they know better (except Gareth who still sometimes does that just to annoy Eddie and be a little shit) to try and then the kids join Hellfire and Eddie has even less of an desire to flirt with fucking Wheeler, Henderson and Sinclair (they're baby children!!)

But the kids are a little shits too and they see Gareth being a little shit so they copy

It ends badly for them, they gripe about Eddie being unfair because like "all three of us have girlfriends Eddie and you don't so we clearly know more about romance then you do" Dustin not only gets a flick on the head for that but his character might have ended up being put into situations™ throughout the session that are "totally unfair!"

But fair to say all of Hellfire knows the rules and all of hellfire knows that no matter how well they try and how smooth they are (they really aren't ever smooth) Eddie will not blush or even consider they attempts as "good", the best they got was "tolerable" (Lucas got it and he's still very proud of it, as he deserves okay?), Eddie is impossible to fluster and so it's just is this fun thing they sometimes do when they feel particularly like little shits

And that's it about it

Until Vecna and all the upside down shit and the surprising friendship of Eddie and Steve happens

And suddenly Steve Harrington is not only sitting but playing D&D

Everything is going actually pretty good and Dustin practically vibrates out of his chair at how proud he is of Steve for how well he is doing so far and then

And then Steve tries to flirt with a pretty bard

Dustin deflates, he is ready for the absolute disaster that is going to fall upon Steve, he makes eye contact with Lucas - both of them ready with "it was actually a pretty good line tho!" at the tip of their tongues to defend Steve's decisions, he doesn't know Eddie's special rules after all and it would be funny to see Steve fail, sure, but it's Steve's first game and the kids wanted it to be good for Steve so convincing him to play again would be easier

But now Eddie is going to absolutely rip into him and Steve will never want to play again and-

"Roll with advantage" Dustin gasps, audibly, loudly, the room is silent, except for Steve who's very unaware of the chaos he just created and just rolls the dices, his usual confidence in place

And if someone looked closely - and all of the hellfire is fucking looking - Eddie Munson has indeed a light blush on his face

[sh1-n0bu]

yall this is my first time requesting something from someone so im a bit nervous but

imagine overstimulating venti until he cries 🤭

also can i be 🌊 anon ? PLEASE tell me if anything i asked made you uncomfortable!!

♡︎ 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙚𝙢𝙤 𝙜𝙤𝙙’𝙨 𝙙𝙚𝙫𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 ♡︎

characters: sub!venti x nb!dom!reader

warnings: overstimulation, size kink, dacryphillia, reader’s genitals/pronouns are never mentioned so the cock can be interpreted as a strap on

notes: of course you can be 🌊anon! and yes, i’m slowly coming back to life. man author’s block is hard to beat. also, if this get’s flagged by tumblr when i wake up tmrw, i’ll delete it and post it again so don’t get too scared if it’s suddenly gone bbies

venti, or better yet known as barbatos to his people, was never really much of an archon.

he never plays by the rules, governs over his people nor even tries to abide by celestia’s rules. often, the wind spirit simply prefers to lay back and watch as his people takes care of any problems. they’re strong after all, his children always has been. of course, the windborn bard slurs out words of being the anemo archon in his drunk dazed self but no one ever takes it seriously.

and another thing was that, venti never worships the celestia. the floating island in the sky is full of nothing but liars, manipulators and cowards. besides… why would he worship those pathetic things when you’re right here?

why kneel before them when he can kneel before you?

why worship those who spat venom everytime they open their mouth when ballads and praises, songs of life flow from yours?

why chase after meaningless praises when your words sting like the strongest alcohol, burning his throat, making his eyes water as he becomes more and more addicted to you?

that’s exactly why the anemo archon prefers to worship you instead. when you braid his hair and comb out the knots as he nuzzles against your form, dazed and sleepy.

when you’re there to console him, help him through his darkest days when those wretches of celestia has done nothing.

when you’re kissing away the tears that spill from his eyes, shushing his slurred speeches and sobs of pleasure as you continue to ram into that one spot inside him, making him shriek and spill over his stomach again and again.

the windborn bard could worship you for eternity.

spilling another load into his stomach, the god in your arms spasms and twitches as his legs weakly wrap around your waist to at least try and calm the twitching of his small body.

dear stars above, you felt so big he could almost feel your tip in his stomach in his sex drunken haze. slurred whines of what seems to be your name flowing out of his mouth as he tries to keep his last threads of sanity together but how can he do so when he can just feel your previous loads slipping out of his rim and down to the sheets.

it all felt so hot, the room was so hot, everything was spinning. the warmth of your cum seeping out of his hole, the slight bulge in his stomach, the feeling of your finger wiggling in next to his already stuffed hole and pushing the cum back inside while your cock stays in — venti lets out a weak sound.

“look at you, little bird. you’re leaking out my cum that i worked so hard to put in you. can’t have my hard work being spent, right?” you coo out teasingly, a grin bit too sadistic tugging on your lips as venti writhes under you when you add in another finger. stars above, were you trying to break him?

venti couldn’t respond. he couldn’t even fully understand and register your words. brain too fried from the previous rounds of your just absolutely handling his small body around, pinching, teasing, smacking, leaving marks and hickeys but he loved it all.

as a response, the bard only weakly bucks his hips back into your strap again seemingly wanting more. my, what an insatiable little bird.

throwing his leg over your shoulder, you take out your fingers from his hole and squeeze his tiny waist once in a warning before fucking back into him again. small whines, weak noises and slurred whorish moans spill out from under you, the anemo archon far too fucked stupid to even try to properly say your name anymore.

making a grabby motion with his hands — a silent ask to hold you close while you fuck him full of your cum again — you decide to be nice and lean down, the absolutely filthy wet noises of your cock easily entering him causing venti to dig his blunt nails into your back, pulling you closer to himself.

feeling another orgasm building up embarrassingly quickly, the archon chases after your lips with weak whines, a sob following as you deny him of a proper kiss. instead teasing him by kissing his soft cheek. he didn’t even realize he was crying.

but soon those soft and weak whimpers and slurred words turn into a sharp scream as he feels himself cumming into both of your stomachs again, a sob of your name following along as you chase your high, getting more frantic with your movements.

the archon feels himself getting filled up again when your hips stutter, causing the short man under you to whimper a quiet “[n-nameee…❤︎︎]” in your ears.

after having caught your breath, you pull away from him slightly. pushing his hair away from his face, you couldn’t help but laugh as you wipe away his tears. but that laugh is cut off short as the archon bucks his hips against yours again, a cheeky grin pulling on his lips.

[greer2301]

My Mothers Keeper

Daemon X Fem!Reader

|Step father x step kid fantasy taboo|

Reader is of age!

Smut! MDNI !

He looked so good, his blonde hair cut short, brows pulled together as he leant back and took a sip of his wine with his free hand thudding his fingers along the edge of the table.

I know what those fingers feel like. The euphoria they bring me when he plays with the bundle of nerves between my legs, I know how they fit in my mouth and how my juices taste on them. Daemon Targaryen, my step father, my mother’s keeper and the only man to know what I truly desire.

He sat conversing with Jace about his swordsmanship, he didn’t give away if he noticed my hand creeping up his thigh. Having been leant against his chair for quite some time now no one questions when I lean in a little more. Mother too immersed in what Luke has to say to pull away her attention, I work my hand over his clothed length smirking when I feel him harden in my palm and his body slightly tenses. I loosen the lace on his pants just enough to pull him out, slicking my hand with his seed as I begin to stroke him slowly. I take the opportunity that no one’s paying attention, slipping beneath the table as I keep working his cock.

I wait a moment for someone to notice, my core throbbing as I stroke his thick cock knowing anyone could catch us if they paid any attention. I take him in my mouth, licking from his base to the tip swirling my tongue and tacking him in fully hollowing out my cheeks, bobbing my head quickly and stroking what I can’t reach while twisting my wrist. Daemons hand moved from the table to hold my hand that rested on his clothed thigh, squeezing at times to let me know it feels as good as I think it does. His hand moves to my hair and he shoves my head down without warning, my gag reflex triggers as he blows his load in the back of my throat I swallow and pull off slowly. I clear my throat after I sit back in my seat, taking a sip of wine and placing Joffrey on my lap as his nurse maid brings him in.

Slowly everyone disperses from the dinning area, I step into my room to take my bath, the boys are gone down to the dragon mont, Joffrey is off with his nursemaid and I have no idea where mother and Daemon went. I strip of the days clothes and get into the bath, unbraiding my hair as I breathe in the rose and vanilla oils in the water humming a tune from a bards ballad. I was washing my hair when he came in through one of the old tunnels, quietly sitting at the table across from me and pouring himself some wine as he watched me finish bathing. As I was ready to get out he brought a drying sheet, extended me his hand helping me down the steps while admiring my bare self.

“You’re truly an amazing creature” Daemon started “A little fox, sneaky, beautiful and vicious” Daemon teases as he wraps his arms around me, pulling me close and kissing my neck. Running his hands around my damp curves as he walks us to the bed, his lips molding with mine before he removes my towel and lifts me onto the bed. Daemon wastes no time as his fingers immediately make contact with my aching core, my slick coating his fingers as he skillfully manipulates my clit. “You’re such a pretty whore, a whore for your daddy huh” Daemon grumbles out, his voice thick with lust as he looks into my mixed coloured eyes and watches the look of pleasure on my face.

“Only for Daddy” I tell him with a tremble, gasping as he inserts two fingers in my aching cunt and starts ruthlessly thrusting into me. “Mmm- you were fucking made for me” Daemon says as he moves over me, removing his hand from me and placing his mouth on my clit, his tongue drawing shapes as he applies more pressure. “S’good daddy, please don’t stop, fuck” I moan out as he places his fingers back in and sets his pace again his mouth slurping my juices relentlessly as he shakes his head with a moan. “Need yo- your cock, Daddy please” I moan arching my back as I feel my climax coming. Daemon just moans in response pressing his head against me harder, with one last flick of his tongue I cum. Shaking and sweating, hands holding his head in between my legs moans flowing loudly out of my mouth as he rubs my thighs his tongue slowly helping me ride out my high.

“Now you’ll take Daddy’s cock you little slut” Daemon demands as he unlaces his pants, pushing them down and rubbing his hard length between my lips collecting my slick, without warning he thrusts into me, my hand finding his hip and our eyes locked as we both moan at the sensation. Daemon is ruthless in his speed, slamming his hips into mine with each thrust squelching sounds being heard around the room as his dick forces my cunt open. Our moans are hardly held back, his hands holding my legs bent and pushed back as one of mine plays with my nipple and the other grips his wrist. “Daddy feels so good!” I moan out, back arching off the bed as he thrusts deeper, his head thrown back a little before he looks back at me with a smirk “This is Daddy’s perfect fucking pussy. I’ll burn any man who tries to claim it” Daemon groans as he lets go of my leg and moves to wrap his hand around my neck, cutting off blood flow with the new position his pelvis slaps my clit with each thrust.

“Gonna fucking cum Daddy” I moan out as I scratch his wrist, my pussy tightening around his cock as I start to see stars. “Cum on Daddy’s cock sweet girl” Daemon demands, speeding up his thrusts and pushing me over the edge, shaking as I choke out a moan and cream all over his pretty cock, Daemon moans as he spills his seed in me and stays still for a moment. “You’re going to bare my child, you will never know another cock” Daemon says breathlessly, walking to the basin and grabbing a damp cloth coming back to wipe me off and then himself. Daemon says nothing else as he crawls into bed and holds me close, caressing my shoulder as I snuggle into his side. “We are not naming him fucking Aegon” I tell him finally realizing what he said. “On that we agree” Daemon says with a chuckle.

[no-road-home]

Stewpot: Tales from a Fantasy Tavern on Backerkit now!

Stewpot: Tales from a Fantasy Tavern is a GMless one-to-three shot TTRPG based on games like MF0: Firebrands and The Sundered Land. It's a collection of 20 mini-games where former adventurers open a tavern together and reintegrate into society after a life on the road.

What happens after the adventure? What does daily life in a fantasy world look like? Stewpot draws inspiration from stories like Dungeon Meshi, Redwall, Frieren, and Bartender, as well as various aspects of D&D. It's a great way to wrap up a long-running fantasy TTRPG campaign.

Start a garden, cook monsters, run a festival booth, reforge old weapons, flirt with mysterious strangers, and more in a new version of the game with tons of art and new storybook-style layout!

(more info and full description of the mini-games in the read more!)

The structure of the game is based on characters having an Adventurer Job, with Adventurer Experiences that represent their abilities and powers, and a Town Job with Town Experiences. You can make new characters just for the game, or bring in old characters and recreate them with the existing Experiences or write your own.

As you play the game, you'll cross off Adventurer Experiences as you let go of them or let them fade into the background, and gain new Town Experiences that take their place. Along the way you'll upgrade your Tavern and give each other Keepsakes!

Games from the old Itch.io PDF version (0.41):

The First Step: Before you decided to put down roots here, before you found this group of friends, what were you doing? What was the first thing you learned about how to live in town?

NPC Sidequest: Your adventuring days may be over, but there are plenty of people in town that could use your help.

Wear and Tear: There’s always something to fix, or clean, or pay off.

Market Day: You never would have guessed how many things you need just to keep a tavern running. 

Homegrown: There’s something special about using ingredients grown nearby. Why not give growing your own a try?

Sliced: Sometimes supply routes get disrupted. Or maybe you just want to stand out from the rest of the taverns. Whatever the reason, you’re playing this game because you want or need to do one thing: cook with monster parts.

Romancing a Stranger: Someone in the tavern makes eye contact with you, and their gaze lingers a little longer than you’d expect. Your co-workers urge you on, and make every excuse they can to send you over to talk to the lovely Stranger.

Off the Clock: Where do you go after the tables are wiped down? Who’s heard every story you have about the worst people who have walked in?

A Friendly Tavern Brawl: Every tavern has its rowdy patrons. You know they’re good at heart, but sometimes when the ale is flowing and spirits are high, things get a little out of hand. How do you handle the situation?

Festival Day: Your town has a few festival days a year, and they’re some of your busiest. How do you prepare? How do you handle the influx of people?

A Bard's Tale: During your time as an adventurer, you accomplished many daring deeds. In fact, some of those deeds are retold to this day by travelling bards.

A Glass of the Gods: Sometimes a troubled adventurer will come in, looking for answers, and letting them drink themselves into oblivion is the wrong answer. It's up to you  to  mix the perfect drink, something perfect for the situation that can push the adventurer to look inside and find the answer on their own.

A Distinguished Guest: Someone important is in town, and they’re already almost here. The tavern has to be at its best for this guest. After all, they might leave a generous tip.

In the Rhythm of Things: Time passes. Rough edges are sanded down. Before you know it, life in town has become like breathing. You gather in your favorite part of the tavern and wonder where the time has gone.

New games for this crowdfunding campaign:

Shields and Skillets: Enchantments are volatile things, especially when they sit unused for long periods of time. You have to let go of your old equipment before it’s too late.

Shelter from the Storm: Early one morning, you feel it. A familiar ache in your bones. Something is coming.

A Funeral: As an adventurer, you said farewell many times. Sometimes it was only temporary. Most of the time, it wasn't. 

Retracing: You've left town for something: an errand, a vacation, an old favor. Suddenly, you recognize the route you're traveling. You've been this way before, during your adventuring days.

A Fleeting Memory: Something about the way the fire flickers lingers in your mind. The smell of hay and clover brings a tear to your eye. A fading memory resurfaces.

A Familiar Face: An old friend you haven't seen in a while has stopped by. Why not show them around the town and the tavern?

[mayakern]

doodled a new character concept during dnd

she’s a barmaid with a sweet look who is uniquely skilled at getting good tips

she’s probably a rogue, but i could also see her as a bard… or, to totally go against appearances, it would be very fun to play her as a barbarian

(btw if you want to use my dnd designs you can do so by supporting my patreon)

[itsonlydana]

hello! I see you have requests open...(?) for the hobbit/lotr, and I was wondering if I could request a modern!thranduil x reader fanfiction? the reader is some sort of barista/baker/other thing, and Thranduil is obviously all rich and shit and comes in once, is enamoured by shy, flustered reader and then becomes a regular? obviously, they end up together in the end. thank you!

Lattes and Love | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader 👑

it's a rainy monday, perfect for a meet-cute with the new, handsome and rich customer that you totally don't embaress yourself in front of

tags/warnings: coffeeshop!au, fluff

word count: 2,7k

an: oh, this was such a good request! Thoroughly loved writing it :)

+ masterlist + rules + 🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

"Falling for customers strictly forbidden!" was the non-negotiable rule for anyone who found themselves working at the loveliest café in Laketown; 'Beans & Leafs'.

Despite being written out on a wooden board behind the counter and in the kitchen, this rule was obviously ignored by more than half of the employees; the others were either happily coupled up, had no interest in romance, or had such an unhealthy work-life balance that this didn't matter anyway.

You, on the other hand, a longtime single and die-hard lover of romance novels, were one of the employees who couldn't go a month without an over-the-counter crush, serving coffees and teas as well as heart eyes and shy blushes.

You had perfected your craft of pouring coffee while thinking of scenarios where, instead of getting a tip, the handsome brunette with the gentle smile would wait until the end of your shift and invite you out for not coffee, but a drink, perhaps.

These fantasies did no one any harm; you would even go as far as to debate that the love you pledged for the customers was an ingredient that fitted exquisitely into the crushed beans and steamed milk.

There had never been any complaints, so there was no reason whatsoever why your boss, Bard, flung his arm out and pointed at the sign when the doorbell chimed one rainy Monday morning.

The weather had been particularly awful the entire weekend, clouds hanging low and leaving you to barricade yourself into your apartment, and when you'd left the house this morning, paddling away on your bike and avoiding muddy puddles as well as you could, the skies were still gray and gloomy. Inside the café the warm lamps tried their best to fight against the pale sunlight that fell through rain-streaked windows, coloring everything in washed-out watercolors.

When you followed the length of Bard's hand however it was as if the sun broke through, even if it was only for the few seconds you stared at the man who just entered the shop and stepped into the small line of customers.

He was breathtakingly gorgeous, right up the alley of models you saw in fashion magazines with his sharp cheekbones and the pair of high-waisted jeans that hugged his waist perfectly. Even his long black coat seemed like it was tailored for his broad shoulders and he looked, by all means, expensive.

"Eyes, Darlin', eyes."

It was only when Bard gently nudged his hip against yours as he passed you from behind and tapped one finger against the sign again, that you bewilderedly realized that hadn't been a direction to the customer's eyes – oh boy, they were twinkling like starlight – but rather a command to advert yours.

"Stop bossing me around," you groaned quietly, glad for the jazz music that played from speakers over your head and the chatter of the few other customers that had found their way into the 'Beans & Leafs'.

"I am your boss. I have every right to command you 'round," Bard said, knocking his knuckles against the sign, "And a rule 's a rule. Doesn't matter if you're the best worker I've got 'round here."

You stuck your tongue out at him of the corner of your mouth under the pretense that it was nothing but concentration over the milk you were pouring into a cup for the customer in front of you.

"You're so annoying," you said as you turned your back on the counter to grab a new cup. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

The question was directed at Bard but it's not his warm voice that answers your teasingly snappy question, but a deeper one without the familiar drip of Bard's accent:

"Yes, actually, so I would appreciate my latte with three shots of espresso for takeaway please."

You immediately flew around, hot shame bubbling up straight into your cheeks as you squealed, "Oh shit– I mean, shit, sorry!"

Of course. Of course, the 6ft beauty was the next in line, casually resting one arm on the counter and scrutinizing you with those captivating bright eyes that, now that he stared at you and there wasn't anything between you except the bar and miles of shame, did look exactly like starlight. This was so unprofessional and it didn't help that you were frozen on the spot.

You heard Bard's rough laughter, saw him shaking his head in not-so-quiet disbelief out of your peripheral vision and it only fueled the blush that took over your whole face. "I'm so sorry," you apologized and lowered your chin to look away from the customer and down to the coffee machine instead.

Flaming red cheeks reflected in the silver metal greeted you as you let the machine take over for the espresso – arabica beans from Brasille, rich, sweet and slightly nutty, and, if brewed correctly, which you always managed, would leave a lingering taste reminiscent of dark chocolate. "Whole milk, oat, almond, or soy?" you asked, swallowing the lump of embarrassment that was lodged in your throat.

"Oat, please."

You nodded and fell into the rhythm that you were used to, that, despite the hope the ground would tear up and swallow you completly, comes like second nature. "I just want to let you know that I truly wasn't talking to you," you started and foamed up the milk, hiding behind the steam.

The customer huffed out an amused laugh. "No? You're only that cheeky to your employer?"

Great, now he thought you were an employee who didn't respect her higher-ups. "No no! It's a joke," you cringed at the nervous chuckle you laughed, "Nothing serious, just joking. He knows I would never disrespect him, he's a good boss, one of the best actually! And–" you heard your rambling and wanted to close your eyes at the next blink and never open them again, "– and I should probably stop talking now."

Bard passed you again, patting one hand fatherly on your shoulder though this helped barely because the slight touch immediately zipped straight through your spine. In what could only be described as unfortunate timing your arm flinched forward, breaking the carefully concentrated pouring of steamed milk into the paper cup, and to your horror you watched as the foam parted through the coffee.

And created the perfect heart.

You gave yourself a second to breathe, to stare down into the paper cup and this was totally fine; you made latte art all the time and most of your favorite customers got a heart one day or another. And even if you didn't know the man at all and already made a fool out of yourself, other coffee places did this as well.

It's just coffee.

But it was never just coffee with all the love you poured into it, wasn't it?

So you steeled yourself, ignored the churning of your stomach, and plastered on a flustered smile. "Here's your coffee, Sir." The heart cheekily smiled right back, foam bobbing on top and this was definitely a moment you would be thinking about, maybe even use as an opportunity to reevaluate the importance of Bard's stupid sign. "Cash or card?"

He already pulled out a sleek wallet, manicured nails and long fingers pushed a neat $20 over to you. He wore a smirk, the corners of his mouth turned so far up that white teeth showed and dimples buried themselves into his cheeks. "Cash. I suspect the tips go straight to–" one finger lifted and pointed straight forward, "you?"

"Me," you repeated and quickly shook your head, "I mean yes, they go to me."

"Good," he chuckled, "wouldn't want anyone else to share what you earned rightfully, don't we? Keep the change."

"But Sir!" you protested because this tip was ludicrously big for a latte; more than double the amount of what he had paid for the drink on its own without the free show of you being a complete fool.

The man arched an eyebrow though it carried nothing but curiosity instead of the superiority that it would communicate by an older, more stuffy guy.

You busied your hands, cleaned the frother, and emptied the remaining ground coffee into the trash before you ran a rag over the machine, or otherwise, the probability of ruining your nailbeds was much too high. "The coffee's maybe not to your liking – what if you absolutely hate it?"

"Then I will simply order another one another time," he replied and the hope that sprung up inside your chest, another time– another visit, he would come back– bounced around your ribcage and threatened to burst right through.

Your throat clicked as you swallowed, looking up from the dark brown coffee that filled the next mug, coffee black, arabica beans imported from Peru, fruity and perfect for the cappuccino order, up to the man, this stunning beautiful man who tipped like he could throw away money and not notice the amount missing, the epitome of all what you've dreamed about and exceeding those standards the longer he stood around.

You grabbed the opportunity, damned the sign because why the hell should anyone be forbidden to fall in love with him and bit down on your lower lip, smiling softy.

"Could I get your name?"

"I already have my coffee," he said amused and the heat was back in your cheeks. "But it's Thranduil. Nice to meet you," Thranduil's starlight eyes dropped to the name-pin buttoned to your apron and flittered back up, warm and deep voice wrapping around your name in a manner that was close to too overwhelming. "Now, let's try this drink, shall we?"

Completely entranced by his soft-looking lips that twitched back into a smile at the sight of the heart, eyes locking on yours again as he lifted the cup, you watched him take a sip.

A soft hum.

Long lashes fluttering shut against the apple of his cheek.

Yep, there was no way back from this. By the end of your shift, you would probably bike home and dream about this moment, when Thranduil opened his eyes again and you were still staring, caught despite the line forming behind him, other customers held up by Bard, this wonderful man you would never ask anything of him ever again, and Thranduil competed in the new game of who would look away first.

"Sweet," his voice was still deep, coated by a warmness that only satisfactory coffee would bring, and you swore you tasted the chocolate on your tongue as you bit down on it.

The way your eyes scanned the work area to check if you had accidentally poured sugar into his coffee, he didn't order any, right? – and while the oak milk carried some sweetness with it, it wasn't much but what if– were a clear message of slight panic, nervousness of having gotten his order wrong and Thranduil quickly deescalated the deep frown forming in your eyebrows.

"Ah, don't worry. I wasn't talking about the coffee," Thranduil said, and, lifting the cup to his lips, he winked at you over the rim.

He left you like that, mouth hanging slightly open while your mind ran the calculation of whether or not he had flirted with you.

You spent the rest of the day in a haze, only managing the midday and afternoon rush with the memory of Thranduil whom you swore, you saw rushing past the window of the shop in the evening, long hair flying in the wind at his quick steps and if your mind didn't play tricks on you, his head turned when he passed you, eyes finding yours in a second that quietened down all the sounds.

The next day, he came in again, a phone pressed to his ear and an apologetic voiceless: "So sorry," when the call was seemingly important enough for him to take his latte, foam-heart included, and dashed back outside, leaving you another hefty tip but no further interaction.

You sighed.

For good measure, you even glared at the sign.

Thranduil stopped by on his way to work every morning from Monday, Thursday and Friday, ordering his latte until it waited for him at exactly 7:45, the heart inside the coffee wandering onto the takeaway cup when you started scribbling his name onto it, first on the dot of the 'i' and then, later, when you were brave enough, next to the name.

It was a hurdle, more than often you had the sharpie pressed into the paper, blacking out from sheer panic that seeped through you like the dark ink that ended up either a smiley or a flower or full stop.

Thranduil would come in, sweep you off your feet by simply smiling or smirking at the new doodle on his coffee, steaming hot as soon as the bell announced his arrival, and leave. Never without tipping you enough for you to buy a new bike at the end of the first month of him visiting the 'Beans & Leafs'.

On Saturdays, Thranduil came in and settled his tall body into one of the window tables, entirely oblivious to all the ogling he got from passersby as well as customers, they stared all the same at his beauty and the weekend always got better because his sole focus was on you.

On Saturdays, he got his coffee, a Cappuccino served in dark blue mugs that complimented his white-blond hair and the rosé of his lips that savored every last drop, and he started asking you for your opinions on the breakfast options.

The first time he did it, long legs crossed over each other and his head propped up on his hands listening intently, you rambled on the entirety of the menu, babbling on and on and on:

"We got wonderful apple rose tarts, that truly look like roses, and rhubarb pie or a lemon shortcake – that one goes perfectly with the chocolaty taste of the coffee beans! And we have croissants, banana bread, and a cheese Danish!"

"Mhmm, all of those sound ama–" Thranduil started but was interrupted by your nervous continuing chatter:

"And of course, you could have a chicken and avocado sandwich, if you want something more savory. Or our chefs make a mean bacon and egg one with arugula and a blueberry vinaigrette?" you asked and threw a quick look to Thranduil who hid his amused smile that lit up his whole face behind his fingers. "Oh, or are you a vegetarian? Then I would recommend the olive, tomato and hummus bagel, but maybe you don't like olives. For that, we have a walnut quiche–"

"Yes, I am vegetarian–"

The smile bloomed past the, noticeably large, hands, the corner of his mouth curling up while his eyebrows furrowed in the concentration of keeping still, watching you in awe as your breath held on far longer than his ability to remain calm and it was only a matter of time until you were done.

Your eyes landed on the dimples, the soft crow feet next to his eyes, and low on oxygen you finally managed to detangle yourself from the menu that you had previously, in preparation for this moment, had carefully written down on your notesblock, the page now crinkled at the edges and most of the ink smeared under the hard press of your thumbs.

"Great! Do you want me to repeat the vegetarian options?"

Thranduil ordered all of your recommendations.

Not all at once, it wasn't past you to bring out dozens of plates at his request but Thranduil kept to two cups of coffee and worked his way through the display of cakes, pies, breads, rolls and sandwiches, always prepared by you.

You served him his first coffee with a heart in his mug and a plate for him to eat and after rushing through the next hour, eyes locking across the room now and again whenever you looked up from the coffee machine and he from his plate, you would bring him his second cup, carrying the heart-coffee and another one for you to sip on during your break, legs brushing against each other under the small table.

It was there, at this table, that Thranduil asked you out, not two months after the first interaction.

It was also at this table that he kissed you for the first time, tasting like love, lattes and a bit of chocolate.

©itsonlydana 2024, character art by MiracleAna on Devianart

[gatorbites-imagines]

Astarion Ancunín x Bard Tiefling Male reader

Headcanons

I’ve been playing Baldurs Gate 3 little by little, and I’ve fallen for this vamps’ charms. I blame Twilight. Reader is a Tiefling Bard cuz that’s what my player character is. I also have only played DnD like twice, so I know nothing about races or canon. If you guys have any cool dnd facts, let me know, id love to hear them.

Heres just some light and overall headcanons, there’s no specific theme.

In the beginning like any relationship started with Astarion, it wouldn’t be romantic from his part in the start. You, being a bard, have met and experienced a lot of people, so you can read between the lines in his actions though.

You aren’t cruel when it comes to helping others, not one to fit the stereotype some people seem to have for Tieflings and bards. You are just perspective, and you’ll need a reason to do something, having been burned so many times in the past by trying to be good.

Early on, before you knew he was a vampire, the two of you could regularly be found sitting a bit away from the fire at night as the others slept. You would play your instrument at a low volume, as the sound helped your allies sleep, and Astarion would stay nearby since you guys were allies.

Overtime it would develop into something more, you two would flirt, and feelings would actually bloom. It even reaches a point where you might start writing poems or songs about Astarion and your feelings for him, though you’d never show them to anyone, especially not Astarion, his ego is already big enough.

Astarion would struggle with the feelings he is developing for you, as we all know he would. In the beginning he would deny it, and try to convince himself that it was just something going hand in hand with lust, or something about being free and in the sun.

As the story goes on though, we all know that Astarion becomes softer and finally accepts his feelings for you. The two of you being shunned in ways from society, him being a vampire, and you being a Tiefling, probably helps build some solidarity too.

After you guys officially get together, hed start making jokes about you writing ballads about him and his excellence, and you’d joke there’s no need for that. In the end he would figure out the songs you wrote about him before you guys even got together, and of course he preens like a peacock.

I don’t know if Tiefling blood tastes different or has different properties, but to Astarion, the first time you let him feed on you, he would never be able to feed on anyone else. You are perfect to him, from the top of your horns to the tip of your tail.

When you guys cuddle your tail curls around him, and it even seems to do it without you realizing during the day. It becomes a joke amongst your friends, much to your embarrassment.

You being a Bard and Tiefling also means higher charisma, you two are probably lethal when it comes to persuasion or anything involving your charms and lies, especially when you work together.

I don’t know if Astarion plays any instruments, since he wouldn’t have been able to do so for all the years, he’s been under Cazador, or I assume so. But even if he did, I could imagine him asking you to teach him how to play your instrument.

You being a Tiefling also means you are warmer to the touch, and Astarion being a vampire means he doesn’t have any body heat. So, he’s like a big lizard or cat when you guys’ cuddle, just curling up in your arms or melting against your chest.

[dhampling]

butter gn!reader, 2.5k

Astarion and his legendary beauty. Old hunting ground turned safe haven. A halo of well-aged tavern dust floats atop his perfect head in the sunlight and you couldn’t be more in love if you tried.

-

you and the vampire spend a short gloaming sun discussing marriage outside the Elfsong.

word count: 2,538

crossposted on AO3 HERE

read the tags and decide your fate!

He’s softer this evening and the room is fuzzy.

The smell of richly slow-roasted meats & seasonal field greens slapped up high on battered dishes and lathered with fresh salted butter, topped with baby mint, with window-grown rosemary; with truffle salts and crushed peppercorns. Red wine gravy. The open kitchen and the overworked barkeep with sweat glistening at his cheekbone.

Chalices lift from sticky dark tables, sleeves animated in shades of burgundy & emerald moving yellowed, peeling playing cards to chests. Hands joined in prayers of gratitude and glory. Extra chairs for those held close. Laughter; lilting as the bounce of those who whirl around the open floor to the sound of the bards, folding over in some giddy stupor and barreling back to the bar for more.

You nurse a now-warm pint of Balor Ale with eyes closed, calm in empty contemplation as the city smells and sounds wash over you. A late summertide tapestry. 

Though people mill about the bar frenetically and the sounds from inside the Elfsong are as raucous as ever; it all knots together to form a sweet, almost melancholy ambience. 

Nearby merchants bellow late-day deals on (mildly) heat-foetid produce. Peals of children laughing as they bomb through the cobbles. 

Occasionally you’ll flit your lazy eyes open to find him amongst the throngs of people inside.

And in perfect view, he lounges on the back support of an open booth seat Karlach occupies. 

Other party members dot similarly around the bar area and the wine flows free as the Chionthar among them. Legs crossed one over the other and cool hands coloured in late amber - one to support, the other to hold the stem of an ‘aged’ Rosymorn Firewine which threatens to spill a little overside as his arm moves in conversation.

From this angle he’s captured beautifully in the gloaming tenday light and from his slightly straightened poise it’s clear he knows that you’re watching for him. 

A voyeur. 

He’d question your intent, right by your ear, in a sing-song voice so sinfully rich it’d go straight to your head; before chortling in that one silly way he knows never fails to make you smile and capturing you - his darling dearest - in a kiss for the ages. 

Astarion and his legendary beauty. Old hunting ground turned safe haven. A halo of well-aged tavern dust floats atop his perfect head in the sunlight and you couldn’t be more in love if you tried. 

-

You see he looks to you after what seems to have been a joke told by one of the group, eyes heavy lidded with joy and the worn creases by his eyes a little deeper by the day. Checking in. You join your friends when you want and are gratefully received on those many occasions, but you revere your time alone. He holds back because he doesn’t want to upset you in the slightest. 

Despite reiterating that he is forever welcome to join you in said alone time - and all puns entailing your ‘ alone time ’ whispered in a soft silken purr aside - you feel it in the way he speaks to you. 

A fruitfly hums by your ear. You swat it away and look to him once more. 

Astarion’s eyes are back on the group. 

He listens to stories beyond your earshot and smiles, lolling his pretty head back and dipping to sip from his glass often, the tips of his ears twitching ever so slightly as he does. You clock the sparkling glassware as opposed to the standard tavern-offering pewter chalice and grimace. A heavy bell rings from one of the gilded towers in the near distance.

There’s a cathedral near where you’re from - you remember your visits there as a young thing. The height of the tallest spire seemingly miles above your tiny skull. Ribbed vaulting and lancets. You’d marry him there, when he’d let you, in one of the smaller chapels just off the aged cloister walkway. 

The old stone reminiscent of so many who’d loved in all sorts of mangled, patchwork ways before you two were even a thought. 

You’d find a way for the sun to forgive him once this was over, so he could stand in the light of a stained rose window and feel faith in something the way those born into religion do. 

A reception bursting at the seams with old friends at the Elfsong. You could dance yourselves to the point of a tired stupor with reason enough to do so. A celebration. 

Travel across Toril and find a way for him to be able to stomach real food, maybe. Have a cake with marzipan and trifle with rich sherry-soaked sponge for the guests. For him.

His lips show the faintest touch of a wine singe as he looks from Wyll and across to Jaheira, squinting in the sun before standing to - presumably - head to the bar. 

-

You close your eyes again and somewhere in the middle distance, bells continue to ring. A dopey grin as light heeled footsteps approach.

“I think everyone was beginning to wonder if we’d had a tiff.” 

Astarion sniffs gently and sits - almost slumped - toward you before leaning in for the kiss.

His lips open lazily to meet yours over and over again, skimming over the back of your teeth with a tannin-stained tongue and all the urgency of a tenday rest. A cold thumb brushes over the apple of your newly freckled cheek. 

A carafe of freshly corked wine on the bench before you both, glassware and a plate with warm bread. The butter you’d smelled earlier. 

“Could’ve come to me sooner, lover.” You pose with a slow blink, holding his arm still at the wrist to keep his hand to your burning face. 

Foreheads meet. The sun beats in the back and the still early evening air is interrupted by the faint buzz of insects and far-off children.

“I know. I do. You just looked so very deep in thought. Our heroic leader.” He jokes, emphasising ‘heroic leader’ in a mock grizzled tone before his head leaves yours and bringing you into his torso with his arm around you. 

His stillness feels reverent. 

He doesn’t jostle, not a single gesture. You steadily pour two glasses of Firewine from the hefty carafe and sit back into him again. 

“I was thinking about you.” You say in earnest while moving to toy mindlessly with the hand draped over your shoulder.

“Hm?” 

A flicker - his eyes are on you, a familiar burn, a fire poker. He knows that he’s often the subject of your pondering (if your word is to be believed) and has spent days of his own considering what that could mean.

On nights where his tongue sours with centuries of fermented scorn and his bedroll soaks through with thick, cold sweat; your mind is a fertile meadow and he resides as naught but a simple buxom milkmaid - giving and dense and virile atop dry grassy knolls and by stony running rivers, rutting and riding and suckling and spilling with bare teeth brushing shining cheekbones and dirt smears on thighs. Dimples on cheeks. Eyes of green and silver, blunt teeth.

“You. I was thinking about you.”

Astarion looks into the oncoming twilight. He rests his head to the side on yours, then nestles in a little. A sigh.  

From that meadow however, there’s a house with a thatch roof in the far distance; in which he sits by a roaring fireplace in comfortable clothes of his own choice and you, bundling through the door with a basket of fresh produce to stew in hand. 

Those lips alone capable of crafting a euphoria akin to a godsly blessing on him. 

One bedroom; perhaps two. 

Maybe even three. 

“How so, my sweet?” He speaks with the familiar measure of a thousand yard stare.

He doesn’t make the voyeur joke you’d seen so vividly in your mind’s eye, nor does he collapse around you with both arms at either of your sides and his chin on your head; burying kisses into your hair and cackling maniacally. 

His laundry must’ve dried on the balcony in your party’s quarters during the blazing height of Flamerule. Ruffled shirt linen, crisp and earthy.

“You want to know how I was thinking about you?”

A soft intake of breath. 

“Yes.”

You shift a little to look to the Lower City further down the hills and pathways of Baldur’s Gate, the span of the Chionthar and its banks now lit with flaming torches. 

The racket continues inside the Elfsong with songs being sung; food arriving at waiting tables and being spooned, hot, into hungry, wet mouths. Sweat slickened palms joining in prayer. Yellowed cards downed and reshuffled, hands dealt. Bards plucking at lutes and lyres on streets and in parks just far enough away.

He looks to you as you roll your tongue around the inside of your cheek. Soft round eyes seeking permission to dream alongside you. 

‘I was picturing a wedding. Our wedding. In the cathedral back near home - I’m sure I’ve mentioned it before.”

Though it hasn’t been left to sit long enough to aerate, you take a long sip of wine and a cloying film of carnelian remains on your tongue. 

His eyes sharpen.

“You didn’t just propose to me, did you?’ 

He quirks a brow.

‘Really, darling? Here?’

He gestures to your surroundings while feigning disdain and reaching for the other glass. You begin to shake your head.

‘Come on now, little love. Not even a ring?”

Astarion drinks. His voice is lower. You roll your head back in loving laughter and wriggle yourself from his grasp, buttering a chunk of bread before popping it cleanly into your mouth.

”You want a ring?’ 

A sip. A smile.

‘Go nick one. You’re the rogue here.” You quip, chewing still on the crust and wiping your fingers on a scrap of cloth. 

He brings them to his lips and licks clean any trace of salty butter, kissing each pad of calloused flesh attentively before sipping from his glass. 

“Thieving my own engagement ring? How very sad.’

Spare hand gesturing once again to the tavern in such a blasé fashion it would make you cringe if you still put any doubt into his estimation of you.

‘This whole thing.”

His brows furrow in jest, the corner of his mouth pulling at a quick smirk. 

“Steal one for me, then.” You suckle at your wine, keeping the vessel close pressed to your lips lest their wavering seriousness give your smile away. Astarion studies you.

“You’d accept a stolen ring as a sign of promise? Of intent to marry?” He queries, though not sounding as airy - nor aghast - as he likely means to.

“Depends who stole it.”

He looks back to the city in the distance. Silence between the two of you.

“What were you picturing in that pretty head of yours? The wedding.”

His hands roll over one another nonchalantly as he says the word. Wedding. The glass sloshes. He’s toying on the precipice of serious, a scene he can’t quite play at comfortably yet.

“Oh no no no, my love. You’ll recoil. It was far too homely for your tastes.” You shake your head animatedly, waving your hands in emphasis. 

He leans in towards you; a sordid grin. He’s comfortable now. The warmth in which his shirt dried vividly present.

“Oh go on, darling. Make me squirm. Tell me every fang-rottingly flaccid detail and I’ll absolutely hate it, I promise.”

You choose to forget the face of endless night this evening. 

The anticipated fast approaching absence of the tadpole means - most likely - the rescinding of Astarion’s ability to walk in the sun, to bask under the stained glass rose in the chapel; or to waltz in a quiet midday embrace atop the Elfsong veranda.

“Can I trust you to be as absolutely appalled as I imagine you’ll be?” You whisper, saccharine in mock secrecy. 

“I swear it. Hand on undead heart.” 

He lingers barely above you, solemn; a voice of liquid gold. 

You let the silence hang.

“A chapel’

He winces.

‘Cold and draughty in some early morning moment - a choir elsewhere in the building, not close enough to be loud but not far enough to have their verses be wholly indiscernible in song.” 

“Go on.”

“Maybe a little austere in tone owing to the nature of the environment, but each moment feels anticipatory. A small - no, intimate - service, fast but…’

You tap your fingers on the dry wood of the bench. Trying to recall the exact sentiment.

‘Eager. Full of devotion so sickeningly true it literally fizzes below the surface of the flesh. Both of us.” 

Now you sip, content. Astarion looks into the distance 

There are no burdens pertaining to the ‘Absolute’. Life is being lived and the day feels as if it is ending only for another one - just the same - to rise in its place tomorrow. The idea of fighting and peril waits for the morning chimes. An unspoken agreement.

“I keep forgetting I can make choices like that now, truth be told. To commit myself to something with no intent other than that which I decide.”

He’s wistful. A little contemplative. Fingers tapping away.

“There’s no rush, my dove.’ 

Eyes back on you, hand reaching for yours.

‘Besides - for the trifle I pictured at the reception; we’d need to solve your little taste problem first before I’d dream of allowing such an indulgence to go to waste.”

Astarion coughs, a glint in his eye.

“You’re questioning my taste now?”

“Oh, absolutely. Look at your choice in partner.” 

He laughs softly.

“You're an insufferable thing.’

Your fingers & knapsack are both heavy already with stolen gems, as are those of every friend you’ve met along the road. Rings of onyx, quartz; once personal keepsakes & now your plunderer’s spoils. He’s like a magpie whilst rummaging through burlap sacks and rotten barrels. Token pieces without rhyme or reason.

He knows they’re worthless to sell on, anyway.

‘Who knows, though. I might like that. Once I know who I am again.”

Wobbles his head. Examines his pristine fingernails, buffing them softly against his blouse.

“Did you just accept a proposal that you fictionalised in the first place?” You gulp the last of your glass before refilling it swiftly.

“No. But now, you’ve got me thinking.”

“Pray tell?”

He looks at you, eyes now awash with mischief. 

“Though I absolutely adore the vision of you on your knees for me - you know I do pet, hush now - I also like the idea of claiming the pose for myself. In a way that’s meaningful for me.’

He sips. You remain in place, hushed.

‘I’m not a details man, my love.’

Eyes on you.

‘Don’t do it for me. I want to. Once we know where we are.”

You beam at him. Pinpointing the moment he turns from rogue to butter, a soft smile on his face. Sincere in the last of the sunshine.

You’re not hinting, and you’d never intend to. When - or if - you’ll tie the knot is as asking the length of a piece of string. 

The road which brought you to this very bench, however; has been one fraught with similar nonsensical questions.

[squiddy-god]

Love on the breeze

Re-uploading from terminated blog squid-god-supreme, this is honestly just a self indulgent venti fic because I love him

CW : tooth rotting fluff because I'm sad- gn! Reader, mischievous x mischievous, venti uses anemo on you

The winds seemed to sing to the beat of his heart while he held you, a joyful tune that made your stomach fill with butterflies. He held you from behind while you sat under a tree. His hands laced with yours and his head nuzzled into your neck as he gave you a squeeze. “My heart sings for you love~” he mumbled as you giggled, trying to move away so he didn't tickle you. “Nope!” he rolled over, still holding you and taking you with him.

Your head hit the soft ground as grass touched you cheek “ehe i won't let you go” he sang again. “Cheeky bard” you rolled over to face him, a smug smirk plastered proudly on his face. His teal eyes gleamed with playfulness as his finger came up to boop your nose. You glared halfheartedly as you pecked his lips, his smirk falling as his cheeks were lit aflame, bright red spreading to the tips of his ears and you could swear the tips of his braids were glowing lightly. “Why so quiet venti~ cat got your tongue?” you teased lightly, eyes holding nothing but love for the childish bard. “Aww~ come on that's no kiss! How about another? “ you pretended to ponder it for a minute as he flung his arms around you. “Please? Please please?” 

“Hmmm, I don't know venti~ what's in it for me?” he pouted at your response, cheeks puffing out before he sat up and smiled at you. “Why don't I sing my sweet, and you can pay me with kisses” he suggested as the wind swirled by his hands, wooden lyre and iron strings settling softly against him. You nodded enthusiastically and shot up to sit criss-cross next to him. 

One strum then two, his hands danced across the strings as his voice joined the breeze. Leafs swaying to the rhythm of his song he watched you as you listened with closed eyes, content smile on your face. He stood up, fingers still delicately playing his lyre as he sang his gentle song. His voice was gentle, like summer breezes it made your heart warm and content. But alas his joyful song was over far too soon, lyre disappearing with asure light. “Now for my payment~ he looked at you excitedly. Falling into your arms upon seeing them outstretched and inviting.

He wasted no time peppering your face with kisses from the tip of your nose to your cheek he left no space un kissed. “Hmm, for such a great song I think I deserve one more kiss” he giggled before pressing his lips to yours, hands cupping your cheeks with the utmost love. Venti loved freely, the affection and adoration he felt for you flowing threw his touch and makinging you feel giddy. 

“Now how can such a cheeky bard always leave me so lightheaded?” you asked as he pulled back for air. “Why that's my love course~ stealing the air from your lungs” he laughed and you let your head rest in the palm of his hand. “I love you my sweet cecilia, and my heart only sings for you” 

You kissed him again, a gentle smile shared between the two of you. “I love you too venti, with all my heart”

[corvusasteris]

the sands of time is a fantasy interactive fiction where you play as the mage of a small provincial town who, in the process of investigating into strange magical phenomena, finds themselves embroiled in a far-reaching political intrigue with potentially deadly consequences. and ghosts.

themes/tags : intrigue, fantasy, effects of time, power, magic, ghosts

You are a mage who, after being forced to flee from the capital for a crime you may or may not have committed, has taken refuge in Kemorlen, a small, unremarkable town ideal for keeping out of the political reaches of the Illyosian Empire. But when an apparently straightforward investigation into bizarre magical phenomena forces you into conflict with figures from your past and powerful forces that care little for you, how will you navigate through the oncoming storm that shatters your fragile calm ?

The continent of Aiolos has been dominated by the Illyosian Empire, with its back-stabbing nobles and complex court politics, for generations. Yet their hold is beginning to fray, and its rulers will do anything to take back their former power, sparking events that quickly spiral far out of their control.

Aiolos is a land at the crossroads of the mortal and spirit realms, where the effects of the underworld are felt keenly, and the delicate balance between mortal and spirit realms is ever on the verge of tipping over.

worldbuilding info

Flee from the capital under dubious circumstances: choose whether you were a spy or scholar when in Melera.

Meet five characters (one male, two female, one nb and one selectable: either male or nb) and choose to pursue romance, friendship, or rivalry.

Navigate a world of complicated politics, spirits that frequently won't stay dead and magic that permeates everyday existence.

Choose your name, pronouns, gender and place of origin.

Pick which area of magic you are strongest in, out of four (warding, enchantment, healing and transmutation).

Try not to get assassinated, arrested or possessed.

detailed character info

Jasper (m) :

A familiar face from your past, and not one that you expected to see again. He's a snarky, obsessive researcher into spirits and, during your time in the capital, your closest companion. After getting caught up in the incident that provoked your rather abrupt exit, you presumed him to be dead, and he you.

Leonora (f) :

The owner of the alchemists shop next door to you in Kemorlen. Despite her saving your life (numerous times) and helping you to create a new life for yourself there, she remains a figure that you know surprisingly little about. She's blunt, impulsive, skilled with a sword, and definitely hiding something. All in all, you don't quite know what to make of her.

Augustine (nb) :

A quiet, unassuming healer who arrived in town shortly after you did. Surprisingly squeamish and possessing a dry sense of humour, they have quickly become indispensable in helping you deal with the everyday magical difficulties of Kemorlen. Their past remains a mystery to you, and you suspect there may be more to them than first appears.

Mira (f) :

A charismatic bard who wanders the roads of Aiolos collecting stories, gold, and animal companions after being exiled from her home kingdom. She seems to attract trouble, but as long as the resulting chaos makes for a good tale she doesn't appear to mind much.

Theodorus (m/nb) :

A spirit with patchy memories and a thirst for revenge after being accidentally brought back from the underworld. They're awkward, restless and struggling to reconstruct a life for themselves in a world where they are supposed to be dead.

demo : here currently 17k words, prologue

release medium : twine & itch.io

rating: 16+

pinterest: here

[ticklygiggles]

Late night company | Diluc x Venti

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY LOOOOVE ( @otomiyaa ) ❤️🎉🧁🎂 I hope you enjoy this little gift~ I'm still on time hehe ❤️

I'm wishing you the best, sweetie 🥺❤️ I loooove you so muuuch MWAH 💕❤️

Summary: 🤭🤭🤭

“Until tomorrow, Master Diluc!” 

“Yes. Have a good night.”

Slowly, the last customers began to leave, the employees yawning and wishing Diluc good night after their shift. Diluc stayed inside the tavern, finishing arranging some chairs, cleaning some tables and perhaps, doing a little inventory to see if anything was missing for tomorrow. 

He worked in silence, adjusting here and there, his cheeks a little flushed from the heat inside the tavern and his feet a little tired after having played not only bartender but also as a waiter, but being busy also kept his mind busy and there were times when he just didn't want to listen to his own thoughts. 

Luckily for him, there was something else that was still keeping his mind more occupied than the work he was doing. 

Well, actually... someone. 

He couldn't resist, his eyes just moved on their own to the bar where a very drunk Venti was talking and talking about archons know what. In fact, Diluc could barely understand half of his words. He was stuttering, unable to form very long words and slurred his speech. The r's became b's and some vowels changed sound too. It was kind of funny and cute.

It was already a habit for Diluc to have Venti accompany him until late at the tavern when everyone else had already left. At first Diluc thought it was just so he could drink more, but no matter how much he asked him to leave, Venti flatly refused, and if Diluc was honest, Venti's company didn't bother him at all. 

The nights passed like this and over time, Diluc began to notice Venti. Really notice Venti. He had a lovely face, really adorable. His blue eyes always sparkled while he talked and talked with a huge, toothy smile; his rosy cheeks looked like apples about to fall from the tree. Diluc's heart began to race at the thought of spending more time with Venti and he looked forward to every night, even his duties as a Darknight Hero were affected, but that was another story. 

In short, Diluc had fallen in love with Venti, but there was no way he was going to confess. That would be... complicated and overwhelming not only for him, but for Venti as well, plus, the bard was usually too drunk to understand a word Diluc said. It just wasn't worth it. 

“And then, and then!” Venti continued his story, his arms flailing around and his legs kicking a little. “The traveler was there and- and I was-” 

Traveler this, traveler that. He certainly didn't make any sense, but his face lit up at the mere mention of the traveler. It bothered him. He has never been a jealous person, not even when Kaeya came into his life, but now... why did he feel that way? 

“And then, the traveler grabbed his sword and-”

“You've been staying overnight for almost a month.” His voice came out a little too abrupt and dry. Venti finally stopped talking and the silence was deafening. 

Venti tilted his head to the side. “And?” 

“And?” Diluc put down the rag he was wiping down a table to look at Venti, his arms crossed over his chest. “You haven't paid me. Not even a single day. Do you think you can drink for free just because you stay late?” 

He didn't really care, but making this scene had worked to get Venti's dazed brain to stop thinking about the traveler. Diluc took it as a victory. 

“I thought you liked me keeping you company.” Venti pouted and Diluc felt the tips of his ears heating up and his heart tingled when Venti giggled. “I will pay you, definitely!”

Diluc raised an eyebrow. “Will you now?”

“Yes! I'll definitely pay you… with a performance!” 

Diluc's brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed. The bard laughed nervously and it seemed like his cheeks had reddened even more. Diluc looked at him for a moment and then walked over, stopping right in front of him. 

“A foolish performance isn't enough to settle your debt." Diluc leaned forward, placing his hands on the edge of the bar, caging Venti in his arms. Venti leaned back as far as he could, stuttering as he tried to speak again. 

“W-What are you s-saying! My performances are a-always s-so- so good!” The bitter smell of alcohol hit his nose and he wrinkled it slightly, it was a smell he had never liked, however, in Venti, Diluc thought it wasn't so terrible. The bard gulped and Diluc saw his pretty eyes moving from side to side, looking for a way out of his predicament. 

He didn't seem as dizzy as he had been a few moments ago, but his brain really couldn't handle his own limbs yet.

“Th-Then, I'll-” His warm breath hit Diluc's cheeks again. Now that he thought about it, his cheeks not only looked like apples, Venti also smelled like one. “I'll p-pay you with-”

“Your body.” 

Silence reigned and Diluc was sure Venti had stopped breathing as his eyes widened. His heart was also beating hard and now the shells of his ears started to get warm, but he tried to act calm. He let out a soft chuckle and his hands closed around the other's waist. Venti squealed and he kicked a bit, but Diluc easily lifted him up and sat him on top of the bar, placing himself between his legs as he pulled Venti’s body closer to him. 

“W-What are you d-doing?!” Venti squirmed, his cheeks and ears reddening. “M-Master Diluc, this is not appropriate, I- I can't pay you with my body… here.” 

“Yes you can,” Diluc said calmly, just a couple of centimeters away from Venti's face, their noses almost touching, their breathing mingling. “And you will.” He moved a little closer to Venti's face. Diluc felt him tense, his breathing quickening as his eyes closed tightly. What was Venti expecting exactly? He couldn't help but feel butterflies. 

Diluc smiled softly as his hands began to move on Venti's waist, tickling him. 

Venti jolted and gasped and Diluc fought the urge to laugh when he saw him opening his eyes wide as his lips started to tremble into a smile. “What- what are y-you- no! Nohoho! Why?!”

“Hmm? Didn't I say you'd pay with your body?” 

“Not like this!” Venti's hands wrapped around Diluc's wrists, trying to push his hands away. 

“Oh? Did you have anything else in mind?” He smirked, his hands squeezing Venti's tiny waist. “Please do tell me what it was.” 

Venti's face turned incredibly red and Diluc couldn't help but blush as well as his heart skipped a beat. However, his hands did not stop for even a moment, he wiggled his fingers up and down Venti's sides, squeezing here and there to make him squeal and jolt as if he had been touched by electricity. 

Venti was laughing wildly, trying to make Diluc stop, his smile was really huge and his nose was scrunching up a little, making him look even more adorable and carefree. His laughter was so bubbly and funny, Diluc had to chuckle himself as his fingers gently dug into Venti's ribs, pinching and rubbing each bone, causing Venti to squeal and cackle and arch his back. 

“M-Master Diluc!” He gasped between laughs. “I c-cahahan't!” 

“We’re not even halfway through it.” Diluc moved down to Venti's tummy and Venti giggled brightly, curling forward, his forehead resting against Diluc's shoulder. “At this rate, I'll have to do this for weeks until you pay me off.”

Venti shook his head, unable to speak as Diluc vibrated his fingers against the center of his stomach and he laughed and laughed like a little kid. His hands still desperately tried to push Diluc's away and cover the spots Diluc went after. 

“Tch.” The tickling suddenly stopped, but Venti could barely relax before Diluc grabbed his wrists with his hands. “These pesky hands are on the way, don't you think?” 

“H-Huh?! N-Noho! They're d-dohoing their work defending me from your pesky finge-e-ehehers! Lehehet gohoho!” 

Diluc gathered both Venti's wrists in one of his hands behind Venti's back, exposing his torso completely to his tickly fingers. The bard tried to fight him off, but Diluc's grip was like iron and so Venti could only kick his legs and squirm from side to side like a little fish out of water. He looked at Venti fondly, his smile gentle. Oh, he was so head over heels for him. He really, really liked him. He really wasn't going to do anything about it? 

“AHAHAHA! Not thehere! Nohohot there!”

“Stop moving.” 

Diluc's hand had found Venti's armpit. His fingers wiggled, dug and vibrated against the spot, making Venti shriek with laughter, little tears gathering in the corner of his eyes. His head low, face so close to Diluc's. So close, he could angle his head up just slightly and their lips would meet. Just… a slightly… tilt of his head and…

The laughter suddenly ended and a sharp breath echoed through the Angel's share as Diluc pressed his lips against Venti's smiling mouth. Diluc closed his eyes, his lips parting slightly to poke his tongue out and touch Venti's lips. Venti gasped, opening his mouth and Diluc pushed his tongue in, kissing him deeply, one hand holding Venti's waist, pulling him close. The other was still holding his hands behind his back. 

The bitter taste of alcohol filled his mouth, but he couldn't care less. That felt so good. Pleasant chills ran up and down Diluc's spine, his heart hammering against his ribcage, he was sure Venti could feel it because he could feel Venti's. The bard seemed to have turned to jelly in his arms. His body practically melted against Diluc's, kissing him slowly and gasping softly every time the tip of Diluc's tongue touched the roof of his mouth. 

Diluc also felt like jelly, his knees shaking a little and his hands trembling. He didn't want to stop, what would happen next? He didn't want to know, but Venti was already breathless from laughing so much and Diluc was scared he would pass out from the lack of oxygen, so he slowly pulled apart, enough to look at Venti's eyes, their noses gently touching. 

Venti opened his eyes slowly and he blinked a couple of times, the tears falling down his cheeks. Diluc didn't know what to say, but he was glad Venti did:

“T-That kiss was worth like one m-month of payment.” 

Diluc widened his eyes slightly before letting out a bright laugh. “Yeah… I guess you're right.” He let go of Venti's hands and he quickly wrapped his arms around Diluc's neck, bringing him closer to him. Diluc gasped, holding onto the bar. 

“Now I really want to pay you with my body, you know?” Venti smirked, leaning close to Diluc's ear. “And I'm not talking about tickling, Master Diluc.” 

Diluc breath hitched. He shuddered, feeling Venti's warm lips against the erratic pulse on the side of his neck and then his hot tongue licking a path to the hollow under his ear, making him whimper slightly. 

“... Don't forget about this in the morning.” Diluc whispered, his hands untying Venti's corset. 

He giggled. “I won't, Master Diluc. How could I?” 

Diluc was going to have to clean the bar again, but it didn't matter. Not when Venti was making sounds that sent shivers down his spine and his soft skin felt like silk against Diluc's. 

Venti looked at his eyes and smiled. “I like you, Master Diluc.”

Diluc smiled back and kissed him deeply. Yeah, he liked him too. Very much.