#He could use a history lesson too I think | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kittenintheden · 3 months

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You Can Read Me Anything Part 2

*ELMO ON FIRE GIF* so that took longer than anticipated but you know. HERE YOU GO. (thank you for all the wonderful comments on Part 1)!

***

Druidic Tav grew up in a nomadic clan that recorded their history through spoken word and song rather than written text. As such, she's illiterate, and one charming-ish vampire offers to help her with reading lessons and a whole lot more. Out of the goodness of his heart, of course.

Then one night, she unwittingly brings him smut for their lesson.

Rating: E Word Count: 5100 words Content: illiterate Tav, Astarion being a shit, but also being cute, innocent Tav, suggestive dialogue, blood drinking, biting kink, first time oral, cunnilingus, fellatio, PIV sex, Astarion playing himself

AO3 Link

Astarion cradles her head, palm gently pressed to her cheek as she leans into it. She sighs and it tickles his ear, sending a dissipating wave of gooseflesh down the length of his back.

“Are you done yet?” Tav asks, voice breathy.

He hums and detaches from her neck, admiring the clean pair of fang marks he left there. His tongue swipes his bottom lip so he doesn’t waste a single drop of her blood. He releases her and takes a step back.

“You…” he says with a lazy smile as he reaches out with a finger to boop her nose. “... are so delicious.”

“Ha, ha,” she says with an affectionate eyeroll. She spreads her hand over the bite mark and calls on her connection to nature, using it to knit the flesh back together and restore her blood supply. “Glad to help.”

“I’ll bet you are,” he drawls at her with a wink. “Thank you for the appetizer. I’d best go find myself a full meal now.”

As he starts to saunter off deeper into the woods, Tav clicks her fingers and lightly bonks herself on the head. “Oh, almost forgot.” After him, she calls the Elvish phrase Shadowheart taught her.

For the first time since she met him at the site of the nautilus crash, she watches Astarion trip over his own feet.

He catches himself quickly, spine unusually straight as he puts his hands on his waist and takes a few more steps like he’d meant to do that the whole time. When he turns around to look at her, her smile fades when she notices his wide-eyed expression. The tips of his ears have gone very pink.

“Wha-” His voice cracks and he clears his throat and tries again, tone painfully casual. “What did you say?”

Tav grimaces. “Shit, did I get the middle part wrong? It was tricky when Shadowheart had me practice.”

Astarion leans forward a bit and gives a shaky laugh. “Ah. Right. I must’ve misunderstood. What were you trying to say?”

“She told me it meant, ‘I’m pleased to have provided you a good meal,’” Tav says, reaching up to pull some of her hair over her shoulder and fiddle with it.

“I see,” he says as he comes closer, his eyes searching her face. “Could you say it again? So I can correct your enunciation.”

“Oh, okay.” Tav gives a soft cough into her hand and repeats the phrase.

Astarion is close enough now that she sees his pupils dilate the tiniest bit. The flush at the tips of his ears spreads down the edges. Do they always do that after he feeds? They must.

He reaches delicate fingers up to cup her chin and draw her jaw down, parting her lips. His eyes are trained on her mouth and that makes her feel all too warm.

“Loosen your tongue,” he says softly. “Once more.”

She tries one more time and watches his eyelids flutter, inches from her own.

“There we go,” he whispers.

His gaze shifts to her neck again and he leans down toward it. She nearly stops him, but then she feels the draw of his tongue over the spot where he bit. He punctuates it with a soft, barely-perceptible press of his lips. A kiss, she might think, if she were a silly little girl. Which she certainly is not.

Then he’s standing straight again, releasing her face and putting space between them.

“Missed a smudge. Can’t let it go to waste.” His eyes rove over her face. “It’s so very precious.”

Then he walks off and she’s left standing there, cheeks hot and chest uncomfortably tight. Tav continues to run her fingers nervously through her hair as she turns and walks back toward their camp.

Astarion counts out fifty paces before he ducks behind a tree and leans his back heavily against it, letting out a shivery breath. He puts his cool fingers to his ears and tries to rub the heat out of them.

“Stop it,” he whispers to himself. “Stop it, stop it.”

---

Near the crumbling wreckage of a stone alter, Shadowheart kneels in prayer seeking guidance and direction from her Lady. The darkness, the loss, the silence… they are vast and answerless. She opens her eyes and takes a deep breath in and out. Clenches her right hand, glancing at the ever-present wound there.

If only she could remember… anything useful. No matter. For now, it’s whatever path will take her back to Baldur’s Gate.

She gathers her components and packs them away, standing to walk back down the path toward camp. There’s a trio of crumbling walls that clearly used to be some sort of holy building and she walks along one, trailing her fingers over the soft moss overgrowth.

Then she turns round the corner of the broken temple to find a bristling, broody vampire leaned up against the wall with his arms folded, glaring at her with a tic in his jaw. He raises an accusatory finger.

"You," he says, the word hard on his tongue. "Are an arsehole."

She gives him a smug smile and arches her brow. "You're a bigger arsehole."

He refolds his arm and narrows his eyes at her. “Really think you’re clever, don’t you.”

The cleric shrugs and cuts off to the side to walk back to the path. “The goal was to make you lose your cool. Seems like it worked.”

Silently and suddenly he’s walking at her side, lip curling in disdain. “Congratulations to you, you managed to annoy me. Don’t do it again.”

“Oh, he’s testy tonight,” she says, putting a hand to her cheek in a mockery of shock. “Maybe you’d feel less the fool if you hadn’t been teaching her to talk dirty.”

“We can’t all be ice queens, dear,” he sneers. “Some of us are queens with needs.”

Shadowheart rolls her eyes and her entire head along with it. “You should be thanking me, then. I gave you your opening.”

Astarion stops and she keeps on walking.

“To what?” he says.

“To have your ‘needs’ met,” she calls over her shoulder. “I’m not the one who was teaching her to invite me betwixt her thighs. Have a frustrating night.”

Astarion makes an affronted noise after her, pouts a moment, and then calls back, “Your bangs are wretched, by the way.”

She throws a rude gesture up at him and continues onward.

---

He plots and flirts for three days straight before he decides to make his move. Tav’s guard is down, her shy little moments are increasing in frequency, and he can literally hear her heartbeat quicken when he’s near. If that’s not all signs pointing to yes, he doesn’t know what is.

All he has to do is, you know. Make the move. Which he’ll do. Soon.

Because she still makes the most sense. The others all adore her, listen to her. She’s the perfect choice of protector should his vampirism prove a problem to anyone. She’ll say yes. Of course she’ll say yes.

… of course she’ll say yes. No one denies him. It doesn’t happen.

… it rarely happens. Not as if he’d care if it did, this time.

Astarion rocks his weight onto his back leg, flicking his gaze up to see Tav kneeling near the campfire and giving the dog a generous belly rub. Before she stops, he goes back to his extremely casual reading. Standing posed outside his tent. Holding a book with the title facing out. Very normal.

After what feels like an hour, his ears pick up approaching footsteps and he skims the page he’s on, waiting.

“Is that a new one?” Tav asks timidly.

He closes the book and looks up to meet her. His close-lipped smile feels almost natural. Almost.

“There you are,” he says, dropping his register a fraction. “I was just thinking about you.”

Not a lie, actually.

She tucks her hair behind one ear. “Oh? Do I owe you something?”

He laughs and sets his book aside. “Only a bit of your time. I do enjoy it so very much.”

Tav quirks her mouth up on one side. “Yeah? You’re pretty okay, too.”

“Better than okay, I should hope.” He closely examines his thumbnail. “I’m… growing to enjoy the whole package, honestly.”

She doesn’t immediately respond and he chances a look up at her.

“Deer in the magicked light” is what one might call the expression on her face. She blinks rapidly and gives her head a small shake before she looks to the side, color rising prettily in her cheeks.

“Is that so?” she says, giving a tight laugh.

His smile starts to go a little toothy and he dials it back. “I’ve been thinking an awful lot about our last reading lessons,” he lilts at her, peering up through his lashes. “And our language lessons. I’ve been pondering over what other sorts of lessons I could offer.”

Tav’s cheeks go pink to red.

He leans in to speak softly, making her lean in closer to be able to hear him. “I like you,” he says. “And I think you like me, too. So?”

“So, what?” she blurts, immediately grimacing at her own outburst.

A giggle bubbles up out of him before he can stop it and he puts a hand up in front of his mouth to hide his smile. When he regains control, he lowers his hand. “So, I thought you might like to indulge in certain curiosities with me.”

I want to go down on you.

Astarion blinks the thought away as soon as it appears in his head, briefly letting his smile slip before he snatches it back.

Tav is blushing furiously, but she leans in closer to him nonetheless to whisper, “Like what, exactly?”

Elvish, rising like the language of his dreams: I want to drink of your fountain.

He gives his head a light shake, playing it off with a mirthful huff as he says lowly, “Like sex, sweet thing. Whatever kind you might be… interested in.”

Tav nods rapidly and hums, slowly leaning back and standing at her full height again, not quite meeting his eye. “I was pretty sure that’s what you meant, but you know. Better safe than sorry? Is that a thing people say?”

Astarion reaches out to gently guide her chin toward him until she’s looking at him. “Think about it. If you’re amicable, you’ll find me later at the clearing where you last offered me a bite after the others are asleep.” He chucks her under the chin. “I’ll be waiting.”

She nods once more, expression unchanged. “Yeah. Yep. Okay. I’m going to… see you later. Maybe.” Then she turns on her heel and walks away.

“See you later,” he says. “Lover.”

When she disappears into the dark, he blows out a breath, subtly shaking his hands out. That was a yes.

Right?

“Of course it was,” he snipes at his own brain.

---

Hours later, Astarion paces the moonlit clearing, fiddling with the cuffed sleeve of his shirt. The others must be asleep by now. He pulls at the sleeve. It feels too tight.

Should he take the shirt off? He should just take the shirt off.

He does.

Astarion glances around the clearing once more, noting the blanket he spread on the ground nearby. Not a bed, but you know. He’s okay with that, actually.

He clenches and unclenches his fists, rolling his hands at the wrists. Cracking his neck. Rolling out his shoulders. He takes a deep breath and forces himself to be still. Controlled. Practiced. This is an act he’s performed thousands of times. This is no different.

It’s not.

She’s going to come out of those bushes any moment and-

The bushes he’s looking at actually rustle and he jumps, whispering “oh, shit” before he can stop himself. He manages to put a smile back on his face just as the leaves part and a small doe takes two hops into the clearing and freezes when it spots him.

Astarion doesn’t move. He doesn’t even breathe. The doe relaxes very slightly, flicking an ear.

It’s one of the little black-tailed deer native to the area. He’s made a meal of more than one of them in recent days. Her coat is smooth and healthy, her eyes brown and clear.

The doe blinks at him and takes a step closer.

He gives a relieved chuckle and says, “There you are, Tav.”

“Oh, you heard me? Damn,” says a voice from behind him.

“Ah-” he yells. He tries to cut off the sound, but it’s too late. The doe spooks and bounds off into the underbrush once again.

“Apologies,” he says, regaining his composure and rolling his eyes to the stars above. “She was such a pretty little thing that I assumed it was you.” He starts to turn. “But I’m glad you made it. I was starting to worry you’d gotten lost and…” He finally sets eyes on her and loses his smile immediately. “... and you’re already naked.”

Tav stands before him without a stitch on, her long hair hanging over her rounded breasts and everything from the waist down on full display. He spots her clothing and staff in a neat stack nearby. Her whole body is flushed.

Astarion swallows. He’s seen untold numbers of people in states of full undress. This is routine. She caught him off-guard, is all.

“I… was I not supposed to be?” Tav says, hands going up to run nervously through her draping hair. “Sorry, I thought… you said sex? And then I saw that you had your shirt off, so…”

He holds up a hand and ticks up his brows. “No, no, it’s fine. It’s fine! I like it.” He finds the mask, the posture, like muscle memory. Slips back into the person in control. “You’re just full of surprises, beautiful.”

Tav rewards him with a bashful smile, continuing to comb her hands through her hair.

Astarion huffs a laugh. He can’t help himself. He approaches her with slow, intentional steps. “I had a whole catalog of poetic nothings to whisper in your ear, but looks like I needn’t bother, which is fine by me.” He stops in front of her, smiling his charmer’s smile. “So long as you still want to be tasted.”

He’s starting to notice it’s a good sign when the apples of her cheeks turn red. She nods. “I’d like to try the tongue thing, yes, please.”

“Good,” he purrs, reaching for her hips.

He pulls her in for a sweet, well-executed stage kiss. Most people needed about that much before they got to what they were really with him for. He pulls back and gives her a tight-lipped smile.

Tav looks into his eyes, her lips parted. She’s not moving, and oh gods, he’s going to have to lead completely, isn’t he? Ah well. Such is life.

But then she tucks her chin, her gaze going heated. The pupils of her eyes flicker, changing shape ever so slightly, and Astarion hardly has time to drop his pretender’s smile and ask before she surges forward and kisses him back, throwing her arms around his neck.

Astarion gives a surprised “mmmn!” as he stumbles slightly under her vigor, but he corrects quickly, wrapping his arms around her ribcage and lifting her against his body. Her tongue runs along his mouth and she’s nipping, nipping, and-

There’s a sharp sting on his bottom lip and he releases her right as she pulls back from him, hands to her mouth and eyes wide as saucers. He reaches up to touch his lip and when he looks at his fingers, they show a smeared drop of blood. He blinks down at it, astounded.

He feels a snap deep inside him as the monster in him, the hunter, stirs at the sight and scent of blood.

“I’m so sorry,” Tav says, dropping her hands. “It’s a druid thing, we can get a little wild, I’m really sorry, I won’t do it again.”

Astarion licks at the cut on his lip and stares at her face, his breath heavy and his shoulders ever so slightly hunched. He can see the smallest bit of his blood at the corner of her mouth.

“Do it again,” he says with a voice like gravel as he scoops her bodily up and goes to his knees so he can set her on the ground.

He lays his body on top of hers and she gasps as his mouth covers hers, exploring and hungry. It doesn’t take long for her to return it in kind, arms wrapped around his shoulders and tangled in his hair. He can’t even bring himself to care when she’s making it look like.

Murkily, his brain reminds him why he’s actually here.

Astarion forces himself away from her mouth and she whines at him, a sound far more animalistic than humanoid, but he doesn’t stop trailing his lips down her body until he gets to her hips. He rolls himself up onto his knees and runs his palms up the tops of her legs from knee to thigh, coaxing them open so he can position himself between.

He looks at her face to find her gaze far less “startled doe” and far more “she-wolf in heat.” Her tongue darts out, licking her lip before she says, “People really like to do this?” Then, “You like to do this?”

Astarion positively grins, his pointed teeth showing through.

"Yes. Though it’s a pity this is your first experience," he says through his feral smile. "Because no one will ever best what I'm about to do to you."

“O-okay,” she stammers, clutching her fists close to her sides.

He purrs deep in his throat and puts his mouth to the inside of her knee, the tip of his tongue tracing a sensual line down her thigh, toward her center. He holds her eye the entire time and delights when her leg twitches.

When he nears the crease of her hip, he gives her a sharp nip and she growls at him, bucking her hips. He runs his tongue up along the crease until he reaches her hipbone, to which he gives a firm suck. As she attempts to roll her hips toward him, he spreads a palm over her hips and applies pressure to hold her down.

“Shall we check to see how you’ve kept your garden?” he says, looking at her from under his brows as he speaks.

In response, Tav giggles and slaps a hand over her mouth. Then nods.

She drops her hand to the ground and shakes her head, murmuring, “It can’t be that different, I’m sure it’s just like…” She shudders in a breath. “... just like…”

Astarion parts his lips and huffs out his breath against the slick skin at her core, already shining with want and anticipation. The sensation is a warming one.

Tav continues muttering to herself. “Books are full of all kinds of nonsense, I’m sure it’s-”

He flicks his tongue right over her clit.

“Ah,” she yelps, trying to buck her hips again. He doesn’t let her.

But he does flick again.

“Wha-” she says, thighs jerking on either side of Astarion’s head. “Why is-”

Astarion presses the flat of his tongue firmly at her entrance and draws it slowly all the way to the hood, teasing with the tip before he curls his tongue in slightly and dips back down to better open her inner labia.

“Holy hells,” Tav groans out, her chest arching up and the hands clawing the ground at either side of her growing actual claws.

He gives her another lap before pulling back to smolder at her. “And here I’ve only just started,” he says, voice silky.

“Holy hells,” Tav shouts to the sky this time.

Astarion huffs a laugh against her and goes back down, playing her with highly practiced skill. Full, long licks paired alongside firm draws over the swelling pearl at her center. She continues to buck ever now and again, but mostly she’s gone near boneless above him, head lolling lazily to either side and fingers weakly gripping the grass on either side of her.

When her breathing begins to stutter and he feels the flutter of her getting close, he finally moves his hand from her belly back down until he can get the angle right. He places the tips of his two middle fingers at her entrance so he doesn’t surprise her and glances up to see her eyes flutter open. She stares down at him from between the mounds of her breasts, pupils blown wide.

She licks her bottom lip.

She nods.

Astarion slides his fingers inside her and begins to pump in time with the movements of his mouth. Tav goes wild, both literally and figuratively. The pupils of the eyes watching him go slitted like a cat’s, gradually dilating back as her teeth go sharp and a random patterning of fur shivers down the length of her body before turning back to skin.

He takes that as a good sign and curls his fingers inside of her until he finds what he’s looking for.

Tav bark-mewl-roar-calls into the air above the clearing, her hips grinding into his mouth and hand now that she can move them again.

“Why does that…” she gasps. “Feel… so… good?” The last word comes out a growl.

He’d answer, but his mouth is preoccupied and he dare not let it leave its task.

With his free hand, he pushes her thigh up and guides it higher until she can wrap her leg round his shoulders and he can go deeper. He feels the swell of her under his tongue, going harder beneath his touch, and he begins to trace circles around it as he continues to pump his fingers into her.

Tav’s entire body rolls, trying to get closer, to get more, to get-

She howls as the tension finally snaps. Literally howls, from the very bottom of her chest.

Astarion slows but doesn’t stop, continuing to fuck her through it as he feels her release in the palm of his hand. He’s gentle, taking a touch of pity on her as he gives her a few more soft licks before he leaves her, drawing his fingers from her at the same time. They’re a mess, as is his face. He sits back on his knees and looks her over with lidded eyes, a self-satisfied half-grin on his face. Then he reaches into his pocket to produce a soft cloth to clean up.

He’s not much of a planner, but he plans enough for things like this.

Tav lolls on the ground, her body fully returned back to humanoid form. All except her pupils, which continue to occasionally flicker across the animal kingdom.

“Oh, that was good,” Astarion says, brows raised and grin on his face as he wipes his hand down. “Even for me, that was good. You’re welcome.”

She throws one arm out to her side, then the other, and slowly pushes herself up onto her elbows, trying to focus on him. “Why doesn’t… everybody do that? Oh my gods.” She flops back onto the ground.

Oh, she’s very good for his pride. He gives a pleased wiggle.

“You tell me,” he says. “Or call upon your old lovers and ask.”

Tav weakly waves her hand through the air. “They were bad. I’ve realized. Just now. They were bad at sex.”

“Poor thing,” Astarion croons. “All better now.”

“Yeah.” She rolls onto her side and sits up. Shakes out her head. And starts to crawl toward him.

He instinctively leans back as she comes closer, breasts swaying as she moves. “What are you doing?” he says.

She blinks at him. “I’m going to do it back.”

He blinks at her. “What?”

Tav draws her knees closer and matches his kneeling posture. “I’m going to put my mouth on you back.” She waits a beat. “If you want me to.”

“Uh,” Astarion breathes before he shakes himself and gets his wits back about him. “I would like that very much,” he says. He tries to purr it, but slightly lower in pitch is the best he can do.

It’s been years since he’s been with anyone who even bothered to ask. Probably decades.

Tav beams at him, a bright smile that’s so sunshiny it nearly betrays what they’ve just done. She rolls up onto her knees and pulls him by the wrists to do the same so she can reach the laces that hold his trousers on. His arousal pulses near her hands.

Astarion blinks. He’s… more into this than he usually is.

He blinks again.

He’s very into it, actually.

His fingers go to join hers and together they make quick work of his pants and underthings. Gently, she guides him back to kneeling again as she curls forward. Without thinking too much about it, he reaches out so he can hold her hair up out of her face. She’s at eye level with his cock, inspecting it with the eye of someone all too familiar with all the things nature has to offer and completely unashamed for it.

Astarion swallows back the wanting sound that tries to claw its way out of him.

“Have you done this before?” he asks softly.

Tav peers up at him from her position below and bends her legs at the knees, kicking her feet slowly through the air. She shakes her head “no” and something frozen inside him melts. Best ignore that. That’s a future-him problem.

“You are adorable,” he breathes. He finds he means it in the affectionate way rather than the condescending one, which is alarming. That’s another future-him problem.

Astarion clears his throat. “Same general practice applies here, really,” he says lightly.

Tav licks her lips and reaches out to touch him. Her fingers on him give him a little jolt to the solar plexus and he curls toward her on instinct before he catches himself.

“Tell me if there’s something I could do better,” she says, simply.

Then she licks along the underside of his cock and puffs her breath out across it, much in the same way he did to her.

He curls in toward her again and tightens the hand in her hair.

She puts her mouth over the head of him and he’s enveloped in warmth and oh, yes, he remembers this. This feels good. This feels very good.

Tav doesn’t get down very far before she backs up again. When she pulls off, he reaches a hand down to cup her jaw and draw it down, parting her lips.

“Loosen your tongue,” he whispers. “Once more.”

She does. She descends on him again, relaxing her jaw and loosening her tongue, taking him down deeper and deeper with each pass. Astarion means to watch and guide her, he does, but instead his head lolls back, eyes falling closed, and he smiles. A real smile.

It feels so bloody good. It feels good and he doesn’t have to… he can just be…

Tav hums a little with him mostly inside her mouth and he gasps from it, blinking back to the surface.

Oh, that’s too good.

He lets her go a few seconds more before he tightens the fingers in her hair once more to still her and gently guide her back. His chest heaves as her mouth leaves him, a string of saliva connecting them, and Astarion shudders forward.

“What’s wrong?” Tav asks, her eyes wide and concerned.

She can’t look at him like that. That’s not fair.

He lifts her beneath her arms and pulls her up toward him, her face to his, and kisses her again. She happily responds, catching his lower lip between hers and nipping once more.

Astarion groans.

Hands on her face, he breaks their kiss and tries to collect his scattered thoughts. It’s all hazed over with want. There was a reason for this, they were supposed to… he was supposed to…

“Why don’t we…” He loses the thought and swallows. Tries again. “Let’s find our mutual…”

Words, words, words, where are his words?

Astarion hisses through his teeth. “Oh, just… sex. Let’s have sex.”

“Oh,” Tav breathes, lips swollen and cheeks ruddy. “Okay.”

Whatever he had planned, which was not much, goes completely sideways as she simply climbs up onto his lap, reaches between them, and holds him steady so she can sink down onto him.

He’s so wholly unprepared for the suddenness and initiative of it that his eyes nearly roll back in his head before his mind catches up and he grips her hip with his hand, guiding her as he rolls up to meet her, his hips rhythmic, until their hips meet and he bottoms out.

Tav throws her arms around his shoulders and immediately begins to rock against him, her eyes closed and her joyous grin on her face. Astarion is doing his absolute best not to completely lose himself in her heat, her closeness, her scent.

Her pulse, oh, gods.

Astarion rocks himself up into her with steady rolls of his hips, tilting in to press his open lips to her neck with a moan.

“You can,” she gasps as she rides him. “You can bite, if you want.”

He’s not sure if the words he makes are language, but he does know he’s biting her and her blood washes over his tongue and he drinks lazily, sipping as he fucks into her at the same time. His mind is so unbelievably, blissfully bare of anything except how good, how hot, how much, how full, how winding winding winding-

Astarion pulls off her neck with a gasp almost on the edge of his orgasm. Automatically, he reaches between them and uses all the wiles of a skilled lockpick to send her spiraling over her ledge a second time before he furrows his brow, slams his eyes shut, and yells out as he climaxes, his spend spilling where he’s still buried deep.

“Oh, fuck,” he blurts before he can stop himself, nearly collapsing onto his side with Tav along for the ride. He slips out of her on the way down and immediately feels the mess they’ve just made.

Another future-him problem.

Tav casts a very half-hearted create water spell that at least rinses them off. She drapes herself over his chest, dopey smile plastered on her face. “You win,” she says. “I see what all the fuss is about now.”

“I bet you do,” he says breathily.

He’s grateful she’s not looking at his face as he struggles to hide the worry pulling at his expression. It’s future-him time, and future-him is having a moment.

He just had the best sex he can remember having in… that he can remember. With someone who will still be alive in the morning. And he likes her.

Oh, hells.

He likes her.

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion smut #astarion x tav #astarion x female tav #astarion x f!tav #bg3 #kitten writes #lol idk I'm so sleepy please enjoy

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maxarchive · 1 month

Text

Fear, faith, friendship: Inside F1’s most precious relationship

[...]

When now-triple world champion Max Verstappen was first promoted to the Red Bull team mid-season in 2016, race engineer Gianpiero Lambiase was tasked with moulding an 18-year-old possessing both supreme talent and a frank demeanour with only a few days' notice.

"I had experience working with multiple drivers before Max, and that was one of the biggest helps in terms of hitting the ground running with him. I think if I would have been a newbie to my role - I won't quite say he would have eaten me alive, but I'm not sure he would have had that respect for a junior engineer."

Their relationship was an immediate success. Verstappen became the youngest race winner in F1 history, finishing first on his debut at the Spanish Grand Prix. But, generally, the first few years of Lambiase and Verstappen's partnership were spent chasing perennial frontrunners Mercedes.

"Max learned some really harsh lessons in the two or three years before 2021. His racecraft really was something that we focused on, making sure we were just picking up points when it wasn't possible to win a race. We were concentrating on building his consistency, needing to be finishing every race, maybe not putting himself in a situation where he can end up in a 50/50 accident with another driver."

[...]

Sometimes, though, tension between driver and race engineer can spill over in the most high-pressure moments.

Now in his ninth season working with Verstappen, having won the championship in each of the past three seasons, Lambiase's voice is a staple of every F1 broadcast and has become recognisable to fans all around the world.

The pair's success does not mean their communications are entirely straightforward.

"I think it is inevitable in any relationship that there are disagreements. The first port of call is acceptance of that. Secondly, you need to have faith in each other that it is for the greater good rather than there being any kind of malicious undertone. That is at the core of the relationship. As an engineer, I need to understand that ultimately Max is in the hot seat, not me. So while we are all working in a pressurised environment, the driver is at a level well beyond that. As an older citizen I would like to think I am mature enough to step back and let him vent when necessary, but to also make him understand why decisions are being made. If I was a yes man, I would have been gone long ago. We have just got that honesty in the relationship between us that we can be blunt and straight-talking when needed."

As well as coping with adrenaline themselves, race engineers must manage the pressure on their racers.

The 2021 campaign was arguably the most intense in F1's 74-year history. After an acrimonious year marked by heavy collisions between the pair on track and serial sparring between their respective team principals in the paddock, Verstappen and rival Lewis Hamilton's title fight came down to the wire at the season finale in Abu Dhabi.

"I wouldn't want to repeat 2021 in a hurry. It was incredibly competitive on and off the track [but] sometimes I think it went beyond the realms of sport. In terms of taking that pressure away from Max, I tried to stress with everybody here that we continued as normal. We treated every race as a single event rather than trying to look too far down the line at what could be."

[...]

In some cases though, the idea of starting afresh following the end of such a deep connection doesn't appeal any more.

"I honestly see Max as a younger brother. We can talk about anything and anyone at any time. We're at the point where we just felt completely relaxed and at ease with each other. Maybe I am speaking out of turn, but I don't think I would have any interest in working with another driver now. Having had the success that we have enjoyed together with Max, working with one of the greatest talents that the sport has ever seen, I don't think it would be fair on another driver, from their perspective or mine, to try and replicate what we have achieved with Max."

In Formula 1, as in all our lives, the magic of the most special relationships will always remain utterly unique.

#max verstappen #gianpiero lambiase #f1 #2024

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charmercharm3r · 6 months

Note

i cant NOT think about jeongin asking the 9th member for help with/practice kissing (the phrasing is weird but i lovee this idea 😭)

Masterlist

prev: three, next: five

☆ﾟ

“It’s not that I haven’t wanted to… It just never happened.”

Jeongin was defending himself like his life depended on it. Not that he needed to, no one blamed him or thought it was weird— more of a pride thing on his end.

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” you crumpled the empty water bottle in your hand and turned to Jisung. Raising and bringing it down playfully onto the top of his head, Jisung didn’t run from the scolding. “Why’d you put him on the spot like that! What’s your dating history like then, hm?”

Jisung immediately skipped over to Jeongin to take him into an embrace while the younger attempted to escape. “Ew, hyung— get away! You’re sweaty!”

When he managed to catch him, Jisung rubbed his cheek into Jeongin’s shoulder, “don’t feel bad, Jeonginnie. I’ve kissed people, but don’t worry, it’s not that fun.” Jeongin looked at you with a face that begged for mercy but not attempting to push him away.

“He’s lying, kissing is really fun,” Hyunjin chimed in and took a seat the open space beside you. “Kissing me is even more fun. C’mon Y/N’ie, just one?” He shoulder bumped you and puckered his lips.

“Kiss each other.” With that, you excuse yourself to the bathroom, only to come back minutes later to find Jisung pinning Hyunjin to the floor trying to take your words literally. You turned around and left again before witnessing anything that’ll make your eyes burst into flames.

☆ﾟ

What was probably hours had passed and everyone since forgotten about what had been said in the practice room, entirely too preoccupied with other things. Like singing lessons, for example. The session just didn’t go as you had hoped, that one high note was kicking your ass. As you walked through the corridor towards the exit, you could hear a soft voice from another occupied room.

Peaking through the small sliver of window, Jeongin was sat alone in the tiny confined space. You knocked twice before letting yourself in. He wasn’t startled, but surprised to see you, though the happy expression he wore quickly changed to something more melancholic.

“You’re still here? I thought your lessons ended an hour ago?” You stood in the door frame not wanting to invade too much of his space. Jeongin was always emotionally delicate, though he put up a hard shelled front.

“Yeah, just wanted some quiet before going home.” He twiddled his fingers, mind clearly not in the same room.

“Okay, wanna head back together? I can wait for you, I’ll grab us something at the convenience store.”

“Actually, can you come in?”

You closed the door behind you and sat in the spare chair. “Are you okay?”

He hated talking about his feelings, let alone things as personal as what Jisung had brought up earlier today about kissing. Jeongin has no idea how to go about it. He can’t articulate that he thinks you’re so pretty and that the way your nose crinkles when you laugh is adorable. It’s hard to put into words that he’s never kissed anyone because he didn’t want to waste his first with someone temporary because, “I only get one.”

Your eyebrow raised, “one what?”

His voice caught in his throat, hardly able to push the words past his lips, “one first kiss.”

“Are you still thinking about what Jisung said earlier? It’s nothing to feel bad about.”

Jeongin fidgeted a second longer before deciding to bite the bullet. “Take it. I don’t want it anymore.”

Fuck, he scared you. You’re looking at him like he has two heads and is speaking in tongues. “When you say it like that, I don’t want you to jump into things just because everyone else does. Don’t rush—“

“I’m not rushing. Like, the total opposite,” he sat on the edge of his seat and that much closer to you. “There have been people who wanted to kiss me, and I’ve wanted to kiss them. But I felt like I couldn’t? If I’m going to kiss someone, I want it to stick. Those people, they were temporary and I knew that, it wouldn’t have been fair to them. Now, I’ve been putting it off for so long that I think it’s not even an option anymore. But… then I look at you, talk to you, exist around you. It feels, for lack of a better word, right?”

At a complete loss for words, how have you not crumbled around him earlier? Let alone noticed he felt that way? You sat still with your lip between your teeth, running through all the possibilities that could follow if you were to go through with what he’s asking for. There was the fact that you already kissed one of them— briefly recalling your stolen moment with Felix— and that Jeongin hasn’t shied away from complementing you when he could or being all together boyfriendly. Even if you didn’t think of dating him, what harm could kissing him really do? If anything, doing it will satiate that need for the both of you, then close that chapter.

“Okay, but don’t tell Hyunjin. It’ll make him jealous.”

“More than when you kissed Felix?”

“How do you know that?!”

“I live with him?” He said it as if you were the stupid one to believe none of them would find out. Case in point.

You sighed, “yes, more than that time.”

As you moved and got more comfortable, he copied in sitting up straight and puckering his lips. “What’re you doing?”

“Getting ready to kiss you?” You rolled your eyes.

Jeongin came from a good place, even if he was entirely clueless. You suppose he was just parroting every time Jisung exaggeratedly tried to kiss the next nearest person. It was kind of endearing, a little geeky, but heartwarming nonetheless.

Putting your hands on his shoulders, you pushed them down to get him to relax. Then scooting your chair closer to his, you spread his knees to let your own take up that space. Jeongin let you maneuver him however you pleased, breath hitching as you stole his hands to place them lightly on the tops of your thighs. His hands were huge, not new information, but definitely a new feeling now that he was touching you. He was on the taller side, broader shoulders and probably able to wrap around your entire body if you hugged him properly. All those thoughts briefly swam around your brain just from the image of his hands on your thighs.

Jeongin was felt as though he was sweating bullets, but still immensely excited. Physical touch wasn’t his most favorite thing in the world, but he enjoyed it when it was you. These small, lingering touches, like where his hands were now, he probably enjoyed it more than he should.

“I’m going to put my hands on your neck, is that okay?” Jeongin nodded immediately, holding his breath. The warmth of your palms on his pulses made him shiver. “Don’t over think it. Kisses don’t need to be aggressive, they also don’t have to be too gentle. Just find a balance, not every person you kiss will want the same thing.” He nodded and absorbed every word that dripped from your perfectly plush lips. At some point he almost stopped listening and focused on your lips all together.

“What do you like?” He blurted out nervously. You giggled, oh so beautifully.

“We’ll get there,” your fingers traced back to comb through the hair at the back of his head teasingly, Jeongin almost fully leaned into it like a puppy. “Be calm. All the time in the world.”

Jeongin’s hands lightly kneaded the flesh of your thighs in anticipation, in need and desperation and longing to just feel your lips on his for the first time. He didn’t realize you were slowly drawing in closer and closer, then he could feel your breath fanning across his mouth and suddenly all the air was sucked from his lungs. “Make sure they want this as much as you. Look into their eyes, hold them tenderly, then ask. Can I kiss you?”

Glassy, watered over with all the stars staring back at you, “please.”

“That’s not a confirmation.” You were so close that the heat radiated off your body made Jeongin overheat in the best way possible.

“Yes, please kiss me.”

You were slow to press your lips to his, whereas as soon as the contact was made, Jeongin leaned further into you, almost shoving you out of your chair. Quick to push him back, you held his neck a little tighter and reined him in. Taking the hint, he put his excitement into his hands that now squeezed your thighs tighter and tighter, not that it hurt. His lips softened more, less eager but just as excited, he followed your lead.

The simple peck ended far too quickly for his liking, chasing as you pulled away. “No, no, more please.”

He moved to grip the bottom of your chair and tug the entire thing closer with the scrape of the legs on the floor echoing with a screech. Now you had nowhere to go, further trapped between his legs where you’d put yourself and Jeongin now reaching for your waist with one hand and the other cupping your jaw. And you didn’t hate it. Actually, you loved it. Getting attention from the one person that hates giving or receiving attention feels so rewarding, which is why you let him take what he wanted.

Long fingers threaded through your hair and tugged you to meet his lips half way, you fell forward into him and let your arms wrap around his neck. For his first time kissing, he was surprisingly well versed. Everything you’ve told him up until now he applied in his rather scattered yet charming kissing technique. He was everywhere all at once and it made your brain fuzzy.

Close lipped, simple, safe, eager, yearning, wanting, warm, fervorous, you didn’t want to let go almost as much as he did. Jeongin lightly whined when you pulled away, chasing after you again and keeping your upper body pinned to his. You hadn’t realized that your knees were pressing against his pelvis until you leaned a little back and he softly whimpered one more time.

“I don’t think you really needed kissing lessons.” He shrugged, smug. “Did you just wanna kiss me?” Another shrug and a crooked smile. “You little shit.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t kiss and tell.” You couldn’t tell if he lied, but truthfully you didn’t care, it didn’t matter.

Rolling your eyes again, he leaned in for a soft peck, molding your lips together sweetly, honey like moans being swapped between mouths.

That is, until the door to the vocal room was being burst open. You jumped in Jeongin’s hold, the both of you looking at who had just ruined your lovely moment.

“Oh, come on! Jeongin?! That is so not fair!” Hyunjin took up most of the doorway with Jisung peaking on his tiptoes over his shoulder.

A sigh fell from your mouth, patting Jeongin’s shoulders and reluctantly slipping from his grasp. He sat still, shriveling into the backrest of the chair as you gathered your stuff. “Aren’t you coming?” You asked him. Sheepish, he scratched the back of his head and pulled the hem of his shirt lower. “Nevermind, see you tomorrow, Jeonginnie.” He avoided eye contact again as you ruffled his hair and pushed past Hyunjin and Jisung.

The two followed behind you, bombarding you with question after question, mostly about how good the kiss with Jeongin was. Hyunjin was dramatically livid, nothing out of the usual, storming ahead of you and Jisung down the stairs to head home.

Jisung lightly pulled you back to a stop, curious eyes looking at you. “What is it?”

“I— I know I joke about kissing, said it’s not that fun and everything but…” he trailed off as though he couldn’t trust the words that he truly wanted to say. You waited patiently until he could articulate himself. “Can I be next?”

☆ﾟ

A/N: it’s been a minute..hoping posting this can jumpstart me into posting more!! i really missed writing and finding this in my inbox after a month was so fun n cute to write, thank u anon!!!

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aroeddiediaz · 25 days

Text

7x04 Coda

Sprained ankles hurt. Eddie shouldn’t be as surprised as he is by the pain, because he knows all too well that the amount of pain injuries feel like is almost inverse with the actual damage they cause. A shot from a sniper felt like almost nothing, while a stubbed toe sends ricochets up his spine.

But that’s nothing compared to the encroaching feeling of dread as Eddie thinks back on his interactions with Buck over the last two weeks, and what might have caused his best friend to lash out at him.

“I think we fucked up,” he grumbles to Tommy, who gives him a quick glance before returning his attention to the road.

“You mean with Evan?” Tommy says.

Evan. That was kind of weird, right? Eddie had only ever heard Buck’s sister and parents call him by his first name before. He’d only used the name once himself, when he told Buck about his will.

But Buck hadn’t corrected Tommy on it, so he must not mind, Eddie supposes.

Eddie shakes that stray thought away.

“Yeah,” he continues, even though talking kind of hurts right now. That didn’t seem fair, it’s Eddie’s ankle that’s injured, not his lungs. “I mean, with me kind of blowing him off to come to that karaoke night… and the UFC fight in Vegas… and the pickup game…”

Looking back on it now, Eddie’s not sure when it all got so out of hand. He and Tommy had hit it off on the Coast Guard ride back to LA, while Buck was off checking in with Bobby and Athena. He’d been so excited as they shared their similar interests and history- army, MMA, old cars- that he’d immediately made plans to hang out. When Tommy mentioned that he could get them rinkside tickets in Vegas, Eddie had jumped on it immediately. He didn’t even think about mentioning it to Buck.

And the babysitting thing… Eddie kind of wants to curl up thinking back to the strange face Buck had made when Eddie asked him to watch over Chris. Buck usually loved hanging out with Chris, even volunteering for it when Eddie mentioned having plans, so he didn’t think twice about asking it of him. He should have known.

“Ooh, yeah.” Tommy lets out a whistle. “We did fuck up, huh. Could have at least invited him to muay thai after the match.”

Eddie laughs a little, strained by the pain and the stirrings of shame. “Buck doesn’t know muay thai. Just boxing.”

“Yeah?” There’s a funny tone to Tommy’s voice. “Maybe we should teach him.”

Eddie does a careful rotation of his inflamed joint. The stretch does help ease the pain a little. “Maybe you should offer him lessons,” he says. “I’m gonna be out of commission for a little bit.”

Tommy glances at him again. A slightly longer one, with them stopped at a red light, kind of searching. “You think he’d be interested in learning from me?”

“Oh yeah. You’re great. And Buck’s a quick study for sure.” Eddie glances out the window, and sees the urgent care clinic sign just past the intersection. “Actually, you think you could do me a favor?”

The light turns green. Tommy drives forward. “Of course.”

“Could you talk to Buck for me?” Eddie asks. “I’m sure he’s feeling all sorts of guilty right now, and it’s not his fault. He just got a little too aggressive at the game.”

It’s really too bad. Buck’s really good at basketball, for someone who hates the game so much. Eddie’s sure he’ll never get Buck to touch a ball again.

“Uh, yeah,” Tommy says, slowly, as he pulls up into the parking lot. “If you’re sure you want me to speak with him.”

Eddie nods. “He’s probably licking his wounds at his loft right now, and he’ll need a bit of a kick in the pants before he comes to see me. I trust you.”

Tommy chuckles a little. “Alright, then. I’ll swing by his place in the morning, before my shift, check in on him for you.”

That’s a relief. They find a parking spot close to the clinic entrance, and Eddie hisses a little as he opens the door and swings his legs out. He needs to be more considerate of Buck’s feelings, going forward. He has the sinking feeling that he’s started to take him for granted.

He’ll have to pay him more attention.

#911 abc #eddie diaz #tommy kinard #evan buckley #i did not expect to be able to pack in as much subtext in this as I did lmao #god this was fun

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devildomditzy · 1 year

Text

“Alright, again.”

“Mammon, c’mon, do I have to? We’ve been at this for hours?”

He clicks his tongue in annoyance, hands flying to his hips.

“Well, we wouldn’t have to be if your form wasn’t so sloppy. So c’mon, arms up.”

You lazily lift them, noticing the extra pull of tension you felt from the overexertion of moving all day.

“Tighten!”

You lock your elbows as best as you can, bawling your hands into fists.

Mammon takes a step back, shifting his hips so one foot took precedent in front of the other to steady himself.

“Now, come at me.”

Honestly, you don’t think you have anything left to come at him with, but talking your way out of it doesn’t seem to be working.

“This is so dumb. Why do I need to learn self defense?”

He gawks at you like the answer is so obvious. “So you can defend yourself? What kinda question is that?”

“Why do I need to know? Shouldn’t my guardian demon always be there to protect me?”, you tease.

He gives you a pointed look, before breaking into his usual bravado.

“Of course The Great Mammon’s gonna protect ya! But what if while I’m kicking one guy’s ass, some other guy comes up behind ya? You need to know what to do!”

You don’t know why he’s so fixated on this, but you assume it has more to do with his recent Deviltube search history of “cool fighting moves” and “sick karate”, then actually being worried about your well-being

“I know what to do. I’d use one of my other pacts to call your brothers.”

“Hey w-what? Those guys? Are ya kidding me? Ya don’t need them, ya only need me!”

“Exactly, which is why I’m going back to my room. My first man’s got it covered.”

You throw in the nickname just as an extra precaution. If you could catch him off guard and turn him into a stuttering mess, maybe he’d forget about this whole thing and you could go face plant directly onto your bed to get some much needed rest.

As you start to walk past him, you’re surprised at the speed of which he grabs your shoulder, pulling you into his arms and locking you tight, your back against his chest.

“See? If ya’d just listen to me, you’d know how to get outta this, wouldn’t ya?”

You wiggle and squirm to the best of your ability to free yourself, but you know it’s no use. He is the second strongest brother.

“Mammooonnnn please,” you whine, trying to crane your neck back to see his face. “I’m tired.”

“I know, on account of you remindin’ me every five seconds!”

You huff and glare back at him, continuing to attempt to jostle free.

“Just break outta this and I’ll let you go for the day.”

It’s all too easy, really, to get one over the avatar of greed. Maybe not for some people, but you seemed to have a special effect on him.

“Fine,” you say, leaning your head back as far as you can in his grasp and leaving a timid kiss to his cheek.

The response is instantaneous.

“H-HEY! W-What was that! Whaddya think you’re doin’?”

He quickly lets go and stumbles back, stammering as he brings a hand up to his face to cup where your lips had just been in disbelief.

“I think I’m going to my room to lay down.”

You start to walk past him as he stands there, dumbstruck.

“Are you coming or not?”

He doesn’t give you much of a verbal response, letting out a quick “tch”, but like clockwork, you find him catching up to you, falling into stride at your side, grumbling to himself, “Stupid human with their stupid cheatin. I outta start chargin’ ya for these lessons.”

#idk why i wrote this i just want him to teach me how to fight #obey me #mammon #om #obey me shall we date #obey me mammon #omswd #obey me headcannons #obey me mc #mammon headcannons #mammon x reader #mammon x mc #mammon x y/n #obey me drabbles

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pasukiyo · 1 year

Text

𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐦 | sebastian sallow

sebastian sallow x reader notes; no gender is specified, hogwarts house is entirely up to you 727 words warnings; nothing but fluff<3

“you know, sometimes i wonder if professor binns is actually trying to kill us,” sebastian thought aloud, and you glanced over at him, an eyebrow raised in question. “what makes you think that?” you asked, the corners of your lips twitching in the beginning of an amused smile. sebastian shrugged as the both of you continued down one of hogwarts’ many corridors, history of magic books in your hands. “i mean really, it’s like he’s trying to subject us to the same fate he faced,” he continued. “sometimes i’m so bored and get so tired in his class, i wake up checking to see if my skin has turned blue yet”

you couldn’t help but laugh at this, giving his arm a playful jab with your elbow. “you’re ridiculous, sebastian sallow.”

sebastian couldn’t suppress his own smile. “no, this class is ridiculous.”

you laughed again and flushed when you felt his eyes linger a moment too long over you, and you glanced away, your heated gaze fixated on the stone floor below instead. sebastian sighed from beside you, and you peeked up at him again, watching the way his shoulders heaved when he stretched. “i’m in a good mood today too,” he pouted as they approached the entrance to history of magic, sebastian slowing beside the door to allow you to walk through first. “this is rubbish,” he spoke a little too loud, and you winced, peering up at where the ghostly figure of professor binns stood at the front of the room.

luckily, he seemed to not have heard sebastian’s declaration.

“don’t worry,” sebastian murmured in your ear as the two of you found your usual seats next to each other, and you flushed again when his breath fanned over your hot skin. “professor binns practically functions like we’re not here more than half of the time anyways.”

you giggled behind your hand as you flipped open your history of magic book, patiently waiting for the lesson to begin.

and when it did, you swore the sound of professor binns monotone voice added weights on top of your eyelids. it wasn’t long before you— including the entire room— began to droop their heads, fighting a war with yourself to stay awake. sebastian was leaning his head against his palm already beside you, his lids narrowed but very nearly still open, using his other hand to hide his yawn.

as lazily as you could, you swung your head towards him, and he did the same, raising one finger to the side of his head as if it were a wand and mouthing the words, ‘avada kedavra.’ you nearly let your giggles slip from your lips before you turned back to face the front of the room, desperately trying to tame the pounding of your heart inside your chest.

your eyelids began to flutter closed again, your body easing into the wooden seat, your hands folded in your lap. you could feel your body begin to sway as you proceeded to fight to stay awake— or alive for that matter— but professor binns’ voice began to muffle, becoming somewhat of a soft, distant lullaby..

sebastian’s arm tensed at the feeling of a sudden weight falling onto it, and his eyelids flew open, his head turning swiftly to see what had hit him. he blinked the sleepiness away from his eyes as your leaning and sleeping figure came into focus, and sebastian felt he could turn into magma right then and there.

he watched the rise and fall of your shoulders, your breath soft and in rhythm with your chest. the tension in his muscles from moments before faded away, his lips curved into a soft smile as he watched you, almost wearing you proudly on his arm as if to say, ‘look everyone! they’re asleep on me! and i’m the only one they’ll ever fall asleep on!’

sebastian suppressed the urge to pet your head, to touch your hand, to wrap his arm around you, to touch you at all. this was new, in fact, it was the first instance of intimacy between them he could even think of. it was refreshing. it was nice. it was a beginning.

so instead, he let the sleepiness from a moment before wash over him, but, he did let his own head fall on top of yours, as if it were a shield.

a/n; this is the first time i’ve written a gender neutral imagine, which makes me feel kind of bad gah i’m just so used to writing with she/her pronouns since i like to write imagining myself lol but i wanted to try including everyone in this one! this was also my first time writing in second person so i hope it’s not too bad!

#hogwarts legacy imagine #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x you #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy sebastian #hogwarts legacy x reader #hl #harry potter imagine #harry potter fic #harry potter #harry potter fandom #wizarding world

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fromforeigntofamiliarity · 8 months

Text

Hell Hath No Fury | Aemond Targaryen | Two

Requested: yes

Summary: Aemond learns things have changed since he’s been away. (Part One)

Warning: emotional affair, BAD WRITING!

When Aemond made it to the dining room you and Beth had already entered.

"This is Armon," You smiled while handing the babe to Luce before taking the other babe from Beth. "And this is Aemon." The two of you held the babies side by side smiling down at them.

"Well we certainly didn't plan for two." Lucerys says looking between you and the babies. "I wish I could have been there for you."

"you have been there Luce, we never could have predicted the exact time when the babies would come or the fact that there would be two." You assured him as he walked you towards the table. Pulling our a chair for Luce didn't hesitate to take the one next to you.

Aemond looked on as you two talked animatedly about the babies with the rest of the family.

"Hmm." looking away and walking to the opposite side of the table to the seat he assumed Luce once occupied.

***

The next morning Aemond woke in the library, he had fled there after the meal in order to take is mind off what you had said before. There was no way that you knew about Alys, how could you? if not then what did you mean by that? Maybe he misheard you, yes. he had misheard you.

"Though it seems you have grown quite fond of strong bastards as of late."

"Though it seems I have grown quite fond of strong bastards as of late."

Of course! of course that has to be it, you did seem overly fond of the 'Velarian' boy."

Walking through the halls Aemond comes across the Godswood, where he hears the familiar sound of your laughter.

A blanket laid out on the grass he sees you and Lucerys once again, with each of you cradling one of his children.

"Wife, here you are." He announced as he approached the small group. "You must have begun the day quite early, I could not find you in our chambers."

"Yes, Lucerys was just too excited for the boys to meet Arrax, so we all took a little trip to the dragon pits before we came to have our picnic."

"We spent quite some time here before the twins were born, it always seemed to calm them whenever they decided to kick up a storm." Luce informed his uncle.

'Hmm, Well mayhaps you would not mind another trip the the dragon pits so that my sons would meet Vhagar while we choose two eggs from the clutch that was just laid." Aemond suggests with a small smile.

It had always been important to you for the your children to be dragon riders or swordsmen or scholars, because Aemond could spend time with them as these were all things that he enjoyed. You two had talked endlessly about these things, choosing eggs for your children, Aemond being the one that would teach them to handle a sword, reading to them every night about the history of their great house.

"Actually Lucerys has done us the honor of choosing two eggs for the twins, they were placed in their cradles last night." You informed your husband smiling to Lucerys before looking to Aemond once again. "Besides I think the boys are too young to be introduced to Vhagar just yet, she is quite large. What if she hurt the boys?"

"I'm sure they will enjoy the experience much more when they are older." You added as Luce nodded in agreement.

"Hmm." Turning around and walking away, Aemond hears as Lucerys begins to talk about the boys learning to sail with him and Lord Corlys.

***

"Emagon gevie se dōna dreams se skori ao wake va se ñāqatubis, muña kessa jorrāelagon ao sesīr tolī bona tubī. Kostilus skori ao sīmonagon kesā rhaenagon aōha olvie own zaldrīzes" You soflty whispered rubbing your finger along Armon's cheek before moving to his brother.

"Are you speaking High Valarian?" Aemond asked as he entered your chambers while coo to Aemon laying him into his cot.

"Lucerys has been teaching me, he thinks speaking valarian to the boys as they grow older will help them when they begin their lessons." You replied walking over you the vanity talking a seat in front of the mirror.

"Yes it seems that my nephew has a great many opinion on what would be best for my sons" Aemond says coming to stand behind you looking at you're reflection through the mirror.

"Yes Luce cares very much for the boys," You confirmed picking up your brush. "I think he was the only person that was as excited as me for the baby."

"He seems to care very much for the boys." Aemond pointed out.

"Of course her cares, they are his cousins." You pointed out narrowing you eyes at him.

"Hmm, but his care seem to be that of someone closer such as a brother or perhaps a fath-." Aemond words are cut of as you quickly stand, turn around and strike him across the face.

"Don't. You. Dare." You seethed glaring up at your husband. "It would seem you learned more from Ser Criston than just combat." Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath you look back up at him before you started to let out a chuckle.

"I honestly don't understand why you are so upset." You spoke sitting back down in front of the mirror and continued to brush your hair. "Why you would accuse me of something like that, You should be thankful to Lucerys for taking over your duty as husband and father so that you might have more time to comfort your mistress."

Any delusional thought that Aemond had misheard you yesterday. "I mean I couldn't imagine loosing a child that close to birth, Lucerys provided me with such comfort during my pregnancy I doubt he would leave my side if I had gone through such a thing. Oh how Alys must feel to not have the comfort of my husband during this trying time."

"You know." Aemond stated keeping his eyes glued to the ground.

"Ironic isn't it. How you accuse me of treasons that would not only lead to my death but the death of our children, how you're the one who has been unfaithful yet I am willing to forgive you, I am willing to put this all in the past...as long as you keep it in the past."You assured him placing your hand on the cheek you had struck. "Or you might find the next thing lucerys takes from you is your wife and children."

Pulling a piece of paper from the table you hold it out to him. "This arrived today, from harrenhal." He slowly reaches out and grabs the letter. "Make your choice Aemond, her or us." You say letting go of the paper as you make your way to the twins resting in there cots.

Aemond watched as you made your way across the room before you turn and lock eyes with him. Making his way towards the fireplace his eyes never leave yours as he drops the letter into the flames.

With a small smile you hold out your hand towards your husband. Walking over Aemond takes your hand before placing a soft kiss on the back.

"You have no idea what I've done for this family." You say placing your head on his chest, wrapping you arms around his waist. "And it would be in your best interest, to not give me a reason to show you.

Part Three

Taglist 🏷: @watercolorskyy

#masterlist #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen x reader #lucerys velaryon #aemond targaryen #lucerys x reader #house of the dragon #hotd imagine #house of the dragon imagine

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annoyinglandmagazine · 9 months

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I love everything about Elrond’s complicated heritage and his relationship with it. Because that duality in not only being part human and part elf (plus a little Maia) but also being both very firmly of the Finweans and raised partially by Feanorians yet also being directly of the line of Thingol and predominantly ethnically Sindar. Potentially he has a direct claim to both the thrones of Sindar and the Noldor and that’s pretty incredible considering their shared history.

What made me think about this is the foundation of Imladris, because that’s some Melian shit right there. Seriously he’s drawing from his Doriathrim heritage, never mind Luthien come again that’s Thingol’s Maia queen behaviour. And yet he doesn’t use it like his ancestors did. They tried to protect their people sure, but he didn’t draw the line at his people. Rivendell is a direct contrast to Doriath and I feel like that tells you something important about Elrond.

Because Elrond knows his family history but he also has a unique ability to sympathise with yet assess critically all the actions of his ancestors as a consequence of his mixed heritage. He can empathise with the Feanorians because he’s witnessed how much they suffered and their capacity for kindness but he’s also experienced a kinslaying from a vulnerable child’s perspective and so understands the Sindar’s anger. But as a mixed race person who speaks multiple languages including Quenya and lost a lot of homes he can also acknowledge that Thingol went too far sometimes because he knows what it’s like to be different, to be living somewhere where your cultural identity is treated as something you can change or fix.

So we see that he learnt from their mistakes to try and do the best he could to be welcoming to other people regardless of anything else, by outright doing the opposite to Thingol. He also seems to have learnt similar lessons from his experiences with the Feanorians in his wisdom regarding the ring’s corruption and ‘I bind you to no oath.’

#silmarillion #tolkien #Meta #elrond #elrond peredhel #imladris #rivendell #thingol #melian #Maglor #maedhros

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loveliestlovelygirl · 2 months

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tangle of strings

pianoteacher!anakin x student!reader

synopsis: mr. skywalker has been your piano instructor since you were fourteen years old. from the moment you met, you knew he was the one. he never expressed his feelings for you vocally, despite all the time you spent together. but after you turn eighteen and prepare to leave for college, he changes his tune.

w.c: 6.9k

warnings!! {minors dni}, dark content, grooming heavily featured, sexual content occurs after the reader is 18, p in v, fingering, oral, fem!reader, gentle dom!anakin, sub!reader, "loss" of virginity, jealousy, religious themes

the content you consume is your responsibility ♡

The piano is the only thing Mr. Skywalker told you that he loved.

He was never spotted with a girl or anyone for that matter in a romantic sense. He was always single, which never made sense to anyone in your small town because he is handsome. He’s always been handsome. His yearbook pictures from high school proved it.

When you would go over to his house for piano lessons, he would show you many things from his life, like his award cabinet, filled with every trophy and certificate he’s won from piano competitions or his yearbook photos. Those photos were one of the first things he showed you. It was one of your first memories of just you and him.

Mr. Skywalker takes a big stack of books off the shelf in his library all at once. Using his strength to balance the dusty books on his arms, he brings them to the reading table where you sit. He takes off the top one and opens it up before you.

Eventually, you find his picture. You cover your mouth as you giggle. He had thick glasses making him look like a nerd. But he was cute. So, undeniably cute to you. You wish he could be the same age. You would want to be his friend. You would want to kiss him.

If you were the same age, he could be yours.

“I wasn’t always like this,” he muses, his large body looming behind you as he looks over your head to gaze at the picture. “I used to be the kid everyone picked on. When I’d get home, I would write a song about how I was feeling. Some of those songs inspired the ones I play at my shows.”

When he talks, you gush. His warm voice is safe. He’s the kind of person you could tell all your secrets to.

And you did tell him everything you couldn’t tell your parents. You’d tell him your deepest secrets. Like the boys you crushed on. Or your new feelings of lust towards them that caught you off-guard as a teen. He understood you like no one else in the whole world. He was the first to know about your first kiss when you were sixteen. And he seemed… jealous when you told him.

“I don’t know how it happened,” you say. “One moment, we were talking and laughing. And the next thing I know, Drew is pushing me down on the bed to kiss me!” you squeal. “But don’t tell my parents. They’ll think I’m a whore.”

Mr. Skywalker pats your shoulder. “Don’t worry. I always keep your secrets. Drew is the boy in your history class, correct?”

You nod, amazed that he would remember. The last time you spoke of Drew had been several months ago. But he always pays attention to even the smallest details. That’s how you know he cares.

“I don’t know if he’s good for you,” he mutters, noticeably bitter about something. “Does he really know you? I think… he doesn’t. He’s probably just trying to use you.”

Mr. Skywalker is much older than you. And wiser. So you take his advice to heart. Maybe you shouldn’t see Drew tonight after all.

“How many times have you been kissed?” you ask him, your voice all innocent. Although your motives were anything but pure. While you might have just shared a kiss with Drew, there is one man who is truly the object of your greatest desires. You just haven’t found a way to tell him.

He shakes his head. “You know I’d rather talk about you.” That’s what he says when you pry too deeply into his private life, which only adds to your secret obsession

Anakin has always been the one thing that rivals your obsession with your instrument of choice. And it’s the only secret you kept from him all through high school because you knew he couldn’t possibly feel the same way about you.

Even if the small touches, the secret looks, and long hugs seemed to indicate otherwise. You were too afraid to ask him what it all meant. He never gave that kind of attention to anyone else.

And as an awkward teen, you were furious that you couldn’t express your love to him directly. You kept telling yourself that you would when you’re older. When you turned eighteen, you would confess to him.

Since you couldn’t tell anyone, even him, about this secret, you’d use the piano to share your soul, to put your feelings out into the atmosphere. When you play, no matter where you are, you feel him sitting on the bench beside you, watching over you.

He taught you everything you know now. He’s the reason you chose to major in Piano Performance in college to the great horror of your parents. But what did they expect? They watched you sacrifice your youth for excellence in your craft. The nights were filled with pools of tears, cries, and screams as you played until you got the part, section, or note just right.

When your fingers rest on the ivory keys, you feel him and nothing else. He’s your muse in every song you write.

The piece that won you a full scholarship to your dream university, you wrote it while thinking of Anakin. Your beloved piano teacher. Your closest friend. Your secret love.

He’d been in your life for so long, giving you lessons when you first showed an interest in music. How could you not love him?

He went to the same church that your family attended every Sunday. He played piano sometimes during worship service if the music minister was out on vacation or fell ill. Church was how your father met him, and they became good friends. He often came to your Sunday lunches.

Your mom always cooked fried catfish or fried chicken because that’s what your dad wanted. Mr. Skywalker, as you called him back in your high school years, would eat two plates of food. He’d say things like “I haven’t had a home cooked meal in years,” even if he was at your house just last week. You would laugh the loudest at his jokes. As you think about them now, you realize they weren’t funny, but you’re in love with him so it doesn’t matter.

After lunch, your parents would take care of the food and dishes, giving alone time with him. Like a young pup, you’d follow him outside on the back porch where you’d sit side by side on the creaky old swing.

“Do you cook or bake?” he asks you.

You haven’t the slightest idea of why he’d ask such a thing. You still lived with your parents. Your mom does most of the cooking. Your dad grills sometimes. “No. I get scared that I’ll burn myself.”

Suddenly, he reaches over for your left hand, the closest one to him, from your lap and holds it between his great palms. “Cold,” he whispers. He massages your fingers to revive them. “I wouldn’t want you to burn your hands. They’re so perfect… for playing.”

Anakin looks down at what he’s doing to you and his expression sours. At the time, you don’t know why. You wonder if you said or did something he doesn’t like because the mood changes instantly. He drops your hand and pats your thigh.

“You have piano hands, remember?” he reminds you. He smiles at you, and you feel secure again.

That’s exactly the thing that you always tell him. His hands spread out further than a whole octave, while you struggle to hit the two octave notes simultaneously without pulling a muscle. His fingers are long, and his palms are wide. You can’t compete with that.

You wonder what other things he’s good at with hands like those.

For the entirety of your high school existence, you pined and pined after him. He was always on your thoughts every minute of every day. You never grew sick of daydreaming about him. And on occasion that was reflected in your grades though you maintained a high GPA regardless. Every week was just your going through the motions of life mindlessly, only waiting for two short hours out of the week on Friday which was when you took lessons with him.

You lived solely for those two hours in which he gave you piano lessons free of charge. He said it was because you had such potential, but still to this day, you like to think he reciprocated some of your feelings even before he actually made a move on you.

For those two hours, you would sit right up against him on the leather cushion of the piano bench and play for him whatever pieces you were working on or things he assigned you from the previous week. He was never harsh with you even when you weren’t getting something.

You throw your hands on the keys, striking a dissonant chord that makes you both wince. Mr. Skywalker instantly pulls your hands away.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” he said with concern. “I promise you’ll get this. It just takes time. I know you practice too much as it is.”

“I want to be good! I want to be a star!” With that, you break down instantly and cry. He never minds when you cry in front of him.

“One day, you will be. I believe in you,” he soothes you, rubbing your back and kissing the top of your head as if you belong to him. He hugs you. “We can try again when you’re ready.”

“Okay,” you say, leaning against him to hear the echo of his heart. His heartbeat is sensual to you, even at sixteen. You can’t explain it. These stupid hormonal feelings you have for him are so wrong. But when you look up into his passionate eyes, you see the man you want to spend the rest of your life with. You have to marry him. You have to.

From the time you were five, you were afraid of thunder and lightning. Terrified by it actually. The fear is still with you today. But it was so much worse in middle school and high school. You started taking lessons from Anakin when you were fourteen years old. And you were still such a child then. You remembered the time it stormed so hard during your lesson that you had to spend the night at his house because it was too dangerous for your mother to come pick you up. But that also meant you couldn’t hide your abnormal fear of a thunderstorm from Anakin.

He had this giant plush rug under the piano. When you asked him about it, he said that it caught the sound. At the tail end of your lesson, the night you had to stay over, lightning struck close to his house and spooked you so much that you shrieked and slipped under the piano, curling up on that soft rug like a scared puppy.

Anakin was such a sweetheart because he followed you there.

“Hey,” he whispers, rubbing your back, “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

You cry into your arms, hiding your face. “I know! I know it’s stupid of me. I just—”

“It’s not stupid. We all have different fears.” After he says that, he lies on his back beside you. “But I won’t let the storm hurt you, okay. We can stay here all night.”

And that you did. You cowered under the grand piano in his parlor all night long. That was the first time you ever cuddled with a boy, only he was a man almost twice your age. But that didn’t bother you. And it seemed not to bother him. He let you hold onto him through the night and squeeze him a little harder when you heard thunder. It has been one of your most precious memories of your piano teacher.

You had always known Anakin could be a little jealous. Any time you would mention your school friends the air would get tense, as if he didn’t want you to have anyone else in your life but him. He never said that, but he didn’t have to. There was always rage somewhere beneath the still blueness of his eyes, but his rage was never directed towards you until you told him that Drew wanted you to be his girlfriend.

You were seventeen. And you were so excited to have your first boyfriend even if you weren’t in love with him. At least people might not tease you for still being a virgin because it wouldn’t be so obvious. Anakin never did make fun of you for your innocence. He always said that it’s okay to wait until you’re ready or for the right person.

Immediately after you share the news of your official relationship with Drew, he freezes and closes the lid to the piano keys.

His jaw is tight. His voice is tense. “Maybe... we should be done for today.” He doesn’t even acknowledge what you said, as if he’s afraid to.

But you have no one else to celebrate with. Drew is a secret you keep from them because he’s not involved in church. “Did you hear me?” you press.

He grinds his teeth hard, and you hear bone against bone. Anakin nods. “I did.”

You nudge his arm. “Well?”

“Well what?” he snaps bitterly. He turns slightly to glare at you. “You know how I feel ab—about him.”

You roll your eyes. Anakin is a dramatic guy sometimes. “Drew isn’t that bad. He can be sweet. And he’s going to take me to prom!”

Anakin rises off the piano bench and pats down his black slacks. “So, you don’t care what I think then?” He’s staring down upon you with overwhelming disapproval. The muscles of his arms bulge when he crosses them over his chest.

Palms against the leather cushion, you hold yourself up. You notice yourself trembling when you realize that he’s not teasing you. He’s very upset... with you. Why would he be—does this mean—does he feel something after all?

“Of course, I do, Mr. Skywalker.”

“I told you not to get close with him!” he shouts. You’ve never heard him raise his voice at you. “He has bad intentions. He’s just a dumb kid. What does he know about loving you?”

You start to sob. “I’m sorry. I thought you might be... happy for me?”

He scoffs. And it sounds like you disgust him right now. “I don’t want to hear about him ever again. I don’t want to know anything about your little boyfriend. Do. You. Understand?”

Having him speak to you that way made you feel like a little girl. And you hated that feeling more than anything else. You knew that you were innocent, and you hated yourself for it because it made you feel inadequate to love the man you really wanted.

But now you’d do anything to have that innocence again. You didn’t realize at the time how free you once were. Growing up was harder than you thought it would be. It almost broke you.

You were lucky to have someone like Anakin to build you back up again, even if he was the one that tore you down that time.

After he yelled at you, you rushed out of his home as quickly as you could. The silence lasted a day. And then he drove to your house and knocked on your door. He held in his hands a bouquet of white roses and on his lips was the apology you were waiting for.

Nothing changed between you after that. Until your next birthday came around.

Up to your eighteenth birthday, your interactions were mostly harmless. But when you turned eighteen, an official adult, the tension between you had changed. The energies you both entertained shifted and became... dare you say... sexual to a degree. Anakin seemed to treat you a little differently now that you were fair game.

To celebrate your eighteenth birthday, he was there. In fact, he was the only one you insisted that mother invite. Not Drew or any of your school friends. Just Anakin. And he had to be there because he really was your one true friend. You couldn’t imagine celebrating your birthday without him. He was always a guest at your birthday parties, but he gave you a special gift this year, one so unforgettable that sometimes you hear it clear as day.

Anakin wrote you a piano solo. One that was simple, sweet, and addicting. You told him to play it again and again. After cake and presents, you made him teach you how to play it. You were very proficient now, and often could play things just by hearing them once. But the chords he chose for your song were unique and shouldn’t have meshed so well together. But they did. Just like you and him. Unlikely friends. Star-crossed lovers in your head.

The two of you stayed at the piano all evening, messing around with the song. By the end, you both had figured out how to layer the notes and chords in an even more perfect duet. Playing piano with him was almost the best birthday gift in the world to you. But it was not what you wished for.

You wished for a kiss.

But that would mean you’d have to tell him how you felt. And you were terrified. As an adult, now you could. It was more empowering than you thought it could be.

But you never did find a chance to tell me on your birthday. You were too afraid to ruin your night with a love confession. You know he would do the right thing and reject you, but that didn’t stop you from dreaming for the impossible.

When you walked him outside to his car—you insisted—your secret birthday wish came true. Not in the way you expected. But a kiss did happen. Your piano teacher kissed you on the cheek. Your face burned the whole night through. You couldn’t sleep because you wanted to know what it meant. He had never used his lips to touch any part of you before.

Physical contact had always been an important part of your bond with Anakin since the beginning. There were always the hugs that lasted just a little too long. And he seemed to always find an excuse to hold your hand. But he was your piano teacher, and the hand-to-hand contact always felt necessary and never strange.

But following your very special birthday, you found him staring at you a little longer, a little more deeply, and he seemed to always find an excuse to touch you, not in a sexual way but in a way that led you to believe the attraction wasn’t one sided.

He’d tuck your hair behind your ears, brush the side of your arm, and sit impossibly close to you that you swore you could almost hear his heartbeat. Anakin had never been hesitant to touch you before, but if there were any boundaries before, they were forgotten by him. And you enjoyed it. His new attention made you feel special and wanted. And that was all you ever wanted.

You began to touch him too. And seek physical attention from him. You would nuzzle his arm. Slip your fingers between his. Tap your shoes against his. He’d always notice, and he always hugged you or kissed your cheek in response.

You two were getting closer than ever before. Sometimes... you would barely touch the keys, getting lost in conversation. At this point, Drew and any other boy you were interested in before might as well have been dead. There was only room in your heart for Anakin.

And you had discovered a way to tell him without using your fragile words.

You sit on the bench waiting for him to get off the phone with his mother. She called him shortly after he let you in. About ten minutes later, he comes back.

“Sorry. I was worried she was in trouble,” he says, taking his spot beside you. “Now, where were we last week?”

“We... didn’t really go over anything.”

He bites into his full lower lip with a mischievous look in his eyes. “What are you paying me for then?”

You laugh because you’ve never once paid him for his time. You nudge his thigh with yours. “Honestly, I don’t really think there’s much more you could teach me.”

He raises a brow. “Oh really?”

You nod. “Actually, I’ve been writing something for you.”

His jaw lowers, and his mouth hangs open slightly. “How long have you kept this secret?”

“Since my birthday.”

He slips his arm around your back and rests his hand on your hip. “I’m impressed. Show me?”

You gulp heavily. That had been the plan today. It is ready for him. He’d never judge you even if it were bad. But you know that it’s not. You know that he’ll know what this piece means. He knows you too well. He’s too perceptive of everything. You wrote it in his favorite key, C minor.

With your hands a little shaky, your fingers glide softly across the piano and press down powerfully in chords. Through music, you profess your love. Anakin sits beside you and waits for you to finish. When you do, he’s waiting, staring with tears thickening his dark eyelashes. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t say anything, but you know... he knows how you feel.

You tug on his shirt, drawing him closer. A war of heart and mind reflects on his face. He’s doubting what he wants. His resistance is half-hearted. It isn’t long before he scoops you up in his arms and kisses you. This time his mouth is on your lips, wetting them, and tugging them apart to fill you with his tongue.

Drew was never this good. His mouth was sloppy and tight. Anakin kisses like he’s done this a thousand times before. And he kisses like he wants you. Like he’s wanted you for such a long time, despite how wrong you both know that is.

He holds you down in his lap, and you hug him tightly, carding your fingers through his dreamy hair. You start to feel lightheaded because you haven’t been able to breathe, but you don’t want to stop him. If you stop him, he might think and realize that he doesn’t want you anymore.

But you’re dying. Turning blue. You tap his shoulder. And he stops devouring you. His lips sparkle when he smiles. “Too much for you, baby?”

You sharply inhale, finally catching your breath. You shake your head. You want more. You need it. More isn’t even enough.

You spend the whole lesson entangled with one another until your mother comes to pick you up.

For the next month, that’s all you did. Kiss and kiss and kiss. Breathe and breathe and breathe. And kiss some more. You wondered why he was waiting to take you to his bed. You wanted that with him, but he never asked you to go that far. He seemed afraid. Even when his affection was overflowing in passion as you always knew it would be, it was clear that he was holding himself back. Did he need you to tell him what to do?

Your make out sessions extended beyond just your lesson time. Whenever he would come over to your house, he would go upstairs with you to your bedroom, and you’d end up tangled in the sheets. Though with every item of clothing on. Your parents never suspected anything was happening to their young, virtuous daughter. They trusted him completely. And so did you. You would have done anything he asked of you no matter the risks.

Even at church, he’d find a way to get you alone. In the girl’s bathroom. During the preacher’s sermon.

Anakin lifts you onto the sink and spreads your legs out so that he can fit between them and get close to you. Thumb under your chin, he tilts your face up to his. He grins before going in for a kiss.

Your lavender baby doll dress rides up your thighs as he inches closer. He presses up against the crotch of your panties. The dampness is cold against your tender flesh. His erection only grows as the friction between you builds, your bodies rubbing against each other in a clothed attempt to satisfy yourselves sexually.

And now you’re glad you waited and didn’t mess around with Drew like he wanted when you were together. Because that means Anakin could be your very first.

He freezes up when you try to unbuckle his big belt. Anakin looks at you strangely, almost disturbed by your actions.

You lean to his ear and whisper, “I. Want. It.” You had thought your seductive voice would be enough to cast him off the edge of all hesitation, that he’d bend to your will and give you what you want.

But all you did was kill the fire.

Head shaking, he backs away. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

And you didn’t see him for nearly a month after that. But you don’t regret what you said. You were tired of just endless make out sessions. It seemed so immature, and you knew you were ready for something real.

All of those memories, those beautiful capsules of your favorite times with Anakin, are the reason you find yourself on his doorstep, a quarter till midnight in the pouring rain.

Complete desperation.

You took your moms car without permission just to drive over despite the threat of a storm. And you’re still deathly afraid of them. But you came anyway. Because tomorrow, you’re leaving for college. You might not get another chance to fix things. Death would be better than living another moment without him.

“You haven’t been answering my texts or my calls, Anakin.”

The door is barely cracked open, just enough that you can see his pale face. Dark circles surround his rainy eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he mutters, not even making eye contact.

Thunder echoes behind you. The wind blows your hair around. Leaves rustle, filling the silence between you both. It’s going to storm soon. You had been stupid enough to drive to his house just before a storm. But you couldn’t take not knowing what had happened to him and why he was dodging your calls.

The eyes that used to linger a little too long won’t acknowledge you even as you stand in front of him.

“Why are you being like this? This isn’t you!” you nearly scream. You’re so afraid that he’s not only pushing you away but also ejecting you from his life completely, as if the memories you share can be erased. He’s engrained in almost every memory you have.

“It can’t happen. Go away.”

He tries to close the door on you, but you stick the toe of your right shoe in the crack before it shuts.

“Please… please don’t do this.”

Anakin’s eyes are bloodshot as if he’s been crying. “What I want isn’t right. I can’t do it. I don’t know if I could live with myself after.”

Does he really hate me so much? Is that the truth? Perhaps it’s your naivety, but you won’t let him go so easily. You have suffered in silence for nearly a decade, pining after him, waiting for him to reciprocate the depth of your feelings. Your hands shake as you reach out to him. If he would just… hold your hand like he used to, then maybe everything would be alright.

Your fingertips brush against each other. You feel the spark instantly, and it travels down your spine, leaving you wanting to touch him more.

“What about what I want?”

Anakin blinks several times before he speaks. It’s as if he didn’t consider your feelings in this decision. “You’re… not in a position to see things clearly. You’re—”

“Don’t say it!” you exclaim, squeezing your fists. “I’m not a child. I’m all grown up. And you know it. You see it.”

Anakin sighs a long time, his eyes scanning down your body. “Of course, I see it. But that doesn’t make it okay.”

Though you can never overpower him, you still try to force the door open. “Just let me in. We can talk. Just let me talk to you.”

Anakin’s frown is firm, and his stillness enforces that he’s not backing down. “I don’t know. If I let you in… if you cry… I’ll want to hold you. Then things might happen. I don’t know if I can control myself around you.”

Hugging yourself, you gaze upwards, into eyes that finally meet yours. His eyes reveal his mourning, his grief, his lust. It’s the latter that sends shivers through your body. The knowing that he wants you is more than you can take.

“I don’t want you to.”

There.

You said it.

You have told him exactly what you want. And if you hadn’t made it painfully obvious before, he knows now that you’re no longer thinking like a little girl.

Following a sigh of defeat, he backs away from the door, and you move in.

All the lights are off in his home. He must have been sitting in the dark like a vampire. The piano lid is open. He never left it open unless he was actively playing.

Anakin strides across the room to seat himself on the piano bench. He taps the spot next to him. “You’re right.... We should talk. Talk. Nothing more.”

Sitting beside him here feels like the most natural thing in the world. Here, you’re not afraid to speak from the heart. He’d never judge you even if he disagrees. But you’re not so sure he disagrees this time.

He wants you too.

“I couldn’t let you go back. I can’t believe you drove in the rain.”

You shrug. “It’s just rain. The storm hasn’t—”

The windows flash like they would in a horror flick, and thunder comes after. With a whimper, you grab onto his arm.

“I can drive you back home once we talk,” he says emotionlessly, gently pulling you off him.

But you double down and grab his arm, tugging him back again. “Don’t push me away.”

He doesn’t do it again. He stills. And sighs. “That’s the last thing that I want to do.”

With your chin resting on his sleeve, you look up at him, wide-eyed. “Just kiss me like you always do. And don’t think about it.” You stretch your arm out and fiddle with the top button of his dress shirt. “I’m not thinking.”

His chest rises and falls with his breaths. He doesn’t stop you as you unbutton his shirt.

When you rise on your knees, you’re at eye level. He’s so much bigger than you even now. He makes you feel so small. Holding onto his arm, you lean close and peck his clean-shaven cheek. He winces as if you pricked him with a needle.

“Angel, I shouldn’t.”

You kiss him again, closer to his lips, almost tasting him. “It’s me. Don’t you want me?”

Finally, he turns and looks in your eyes. Then at your mouth. “Don’t tell anyone. You... understand how this might look. What they might say about—”

“I’m good at keeping secrets,” you whisper. “What’s one more?”

You finish unbuttoning his shirt for him. Taking care of him feels good. You run your fingertips down his chest and his abdomen. His bare skin. It’s soft and warm. Suddenly, he grabs your wrist.

“Cold hands,” he murmurs. He takes your hands between them. He rubs his hands over your fast to warm them with friction.

“Sorry.”

Still rubbing your hands, he stands and leads you to the back of his grand piano near the flashing window.

Any other time, you would be trembling in fear because of the loud storm, but tonight you’re trembling because of the new feelings bubbling inside you. You’ve never been so aroused before.

“Can I hold you?” he says as pulls you into his embrace.

You can hear his steady heartbeat and feel it pumping right against your sensitive ear. Your piano teacher holds you against him and tangles his talented fingers in your hair. He sniffs your neck before taking a bite. His teeth pinch your flesh, and his tongue soothes you. The pain he leaves in several spots along your neck means that he’s marked you as his.

Your own heart is racing at lightning speed. You can’t think. In his arms, you’re helpless to his whims. You need him to tell you what to do. All you want is to please him.

“I’ll do anything,” you whisper to him so weakly you question if he hears you.

Anakin slowly unzips the back of your dress. “Consider this a teaching moment.” His voice doesn’t sound like it usually does. The undertones are sultry and possessive. “I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to—” He stops to pull down your dress, and his eyes wander over your pretty body. You wore transparent lace underwear and a matching bralette. He can see everything you hide from the rest of the world.

And he tells you, “You’re perfection.”

That makes you want to kiss him so badly. You try to lift yourself to reach his lips, but he’s too tall.

“Be patient,” he chides. “I want you to lay down first.” He guides you under the piano.

You lie down on your back atop the giant rug. Instantly, relaxation takes over as you remember all the times you used to lie here with him, hiding from the storm. Never did you think this would be the place where you’d give yourself to him. This must be meant to be.

He follows you after fully undressing. His body is every inch a man’s. His size makes you feel so small. He runs the risk of crushing you with his weight.

Lying on his side, he looks down at you, watching his own fingers running under the elastic of your lacy panties. “Take these off and spread your legs.” He whispers kisses to your cheek. “You can do that for me, can’t you?”

Nodding, you do as you’re told and wiggle out of your underwear. He snatches them from you and crunches them in his hands before throwing them over his shoulder. You proceed with fanning your legs open. The air is frigid as it touches you.

Anakin is looking where no one else has. “I’m so proud of you for waiting. Saving yourself just for me.”

You gasp as he kisses you between your legs. He kisses you there for a long time. It feels strange and wonderful. The feeling building inside you makes you moan and your toes curl. You feel so good your body aches. You hear your own heartbeat. You breathe but can’t find relief. Nothing soothes the need inside you but his mouth, his lips, his tongue. And before long you hit the breaking point, pleasure storming through your body from your place beneath him. Your cries are dampened by the thunderous sounds outside, but he hears you. He stops to look at your face. Making eye contact with him heightens the vulnerability of the situation. The intense way he looks at you burns. He notices every little change in your expression.

Anakin knows he made you feel good, but he still asks, “Did you like that?” He brushes the wild strands of hair away from your face. You know you’re precious to him. He sweetly kisses your forehead. “I like your taste.”

Your cheeks are seared by that comment. You cover your eyes, not wanting to let him see how he’s affecting you. “I did like it.”

“Do you want to do more?” He kisses your lips this time, and you taste yourself. “I don’t want to push you if you’re not ready.”

“I am ready!” you lift your head up and cup his cheek. “Don’t make me wait longer. I’m leaving tomorrow.” You bite your lip, knowing how dangerous what you’re about to say is because of who you’re saying it to. “Do you really want some college guy to be the one who gets me first?”

As if trying to reject the image you gave his mind, he closes his eyes and tightens his jaw. “No,” is his short answer. From the way his lips are pressed together, you know he wants to say more, but he’s saving you from his own selfish anger.

“Me either.” You rub his cheek with your thumb. “Anakin,” it feels right to call him by his first name instead of Mr. Skywalker, “I’ve waited for you. I always knew this would happen.”

He chuckles lightly. “I never gave you permission to use my name. Don’t forget—” he grunts as he slides two of his fingers between your slick folds and pushes them inside, “your manners, young one.”

These same fingers were the ones that rested atop yours when you were first learning to play piano. They pointed to the right key when you played the wrong note. They pointed to the sheet music to guide you along for all these years. They held your hands when they were cold.

And now he’s using them to teach you something new. But he’s just as skilled at fingering you as he is with music. You’re like his new instrument. He’s plucking all the right strings in just the right way to make you cry out for him. With your body pliant, he controls when you come. He doesn’t make you wait for it. He uses his thumb too and nudges until you come. It’s wetter than the last. And he instructs you to lick his fingers off when he’s done.

“Do you want to keep going?” he asks again. “Don’t hate me for asking.” He hangs his head a little.

What he doesn’t understand is how insatiable he’s caused you to be. There were so many times you thought you might explode from how desperately you wanted him. But now it’s okay if that does happen.

“Keep going. Please,” you beg. You’re not ready to stop. You’ve waited for this moment since you were fourteen years old. If it were up to you, you’d live here forever.

“If that’s what you really want,” Anakin moves from lying at your side to settling himself between your legs.

“It is,” you reassure him. Holding onto his neck, you pull yourself up a bit. “Can you kiss me too?”

He grins before pushing you down, his large hand spread out over your soft stomach, and he chases your lips as you fall. You’re partially distracted by his mouth as his cock slides inside you. You had expected it to be more of a challenge, all things considered. Throughout high school, your friends always complained about how much it hurt their first time. Some girls bled too. And that had scared you, which is one of the reasons you never took Drew up on his many offers of a “good time.” Deep down you knew he wouldn’t treat you right. But Anakin clearly is experienced with having sex. Maybe he wasn’t as alone as you thought he had been all those years.

This being your very first time, it does sting when he fills you completely, his bony hips pressed against yours. You feel the tightness and the stretch. But you enjoy how it feels. You’re so close to passing out just because this is as close as you can get to someone.

Anakin rocks in and out slowly. Maybe he can feel that you’re tired. He’s being gentle with you despite how much he wants to rail your cunt to shreds. You can tell when he’s holding himself back. He has that weary, pained look in his rainy eyes. A part of you wants to tell him that it’s okay. Let go. But you both know that you couldn’t handle the full extent of his lust.

“Can I come inside you?” he asks before sinking his teeth into a bruise along your neck.

Short of breath, you answer, “I said... anything.”

“Okay,” his shaky voice whispers. He buries his face into the curve of your neck and moans your name into your skin. He pulls your hair gently as he finishes, his heat spreading through your core. It’s so much that you feel it leaking out.

After, he holds you there all night long. He doesn’t let you leave. And you wouldn’t want to escape.

The three words he says to you as you leave his house the morning after, you realize that he’s lied to you all the years you’ve known him.

The piano isn’t his only love or his only obsession.

It’s an outlet, and yet a mask for his sin nature which you understand more deeply than any other girl ever will.

He’s kept his real obsession hidden from everyone but you.

add yourself to my taglist!! @hanasnx @princessswifie @doblasftcisco @multifandermissesanakin @jadegmfu @coldkiss @mysteriouslydelightfulcloud @karei009 @anda-the-valkyrie @avoxzy @edclynns @ter-luer @anakinniesluv @purelevna @forets-noyees @anisgirl7 @reine-lalune @ssskywalkerrr @anakinsbbgirl @sweetcheesecakesblog @moonlight-kr @anonymous1996s @luvanaise @ziggystarduzzt @gwdnsqal @lonelywitchv2 @tembud @obsessedrebel @c-losur3 @just-here-to-readd @slut4ani @abaker74 @anakinbbg @ellebunnie @sandymorgan12 @ultraviolenceticket @emotionallybruisedx @ririszn @itsoneofusworld @pheonixfucu @kittycai @mushy-mushroom04 @crack240 @emotionallybruisedx

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inbox me if you want to be removed from the taglist. ty

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kkvqwrites · 1 year

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You Flinched | 141 Headcannons

Don't mind me, just some 141 boys reacting to finding out reader has a history of abuse or DV. We all know that our boys would never harm a loved one, but I began thinking about them responding to their loved one being triggered. Because trauma isn't rational.

CW: DV mentioned/alluded to (not on-screen), trauma

Characters: Simon "Ghost" Riley, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, John Price, gn!reader

Word Count: 2,833

A/N: Yes this is self-indulgent because I have my own history and use my comfort characters to help. So I hope it can help someone else in the same way it helps me. Also forgive me, I threw it together on a whim and didn't really edit it.

Simon "GHOST" Riley

Simon is usually very careful with how he presents. He knows he's big, he knows he's intimidating, and most of all he knows what it's like to be vulnerable and scared of someone bigger than you. He knows when to use his voice/stature to his advantage (like on the battlefield) vs when to tone it down (like in private). He never wants to be scary to those he loves, ever. In fact, he wants his loved ones to have the opposite experience from what he had growing up.

That said, we all have our moments. It was, you both could admit, a silly argument over what ended up amounting to a non-issue. He was fresh back from the field and sleep-deprived and you had had a long shitty day and so a small disagreement became an argument. Somewhere in the bickering Simon decided he was over it. He stood, crumpling the paper he was holding into a fist and raising his voice, which he almost never did.

The combination of the fist and the yelling was what did it. He stood up so tall, so fast, and suddenly you were eight again, hiding in the cupboards and terrified to make a sound. Not knowing what would happen if you were found, but knowing for certain it wouldn't be good. When your parents went into their rages, there was nothing to do but hide and wait it out. As if reciting a dance you knew by heart, you shrank back, hands coming up defensively.

Simon noticed instantly, despite your best attempts to play it off. He knew all too well the look of a terrorized inner child and recognized it immediately in your pale face and shrinking posture. It broke his heart; he immediately regretted lashing out as it was, but this was even worse.

He'd step back, giving you space. He'd ask permission before approaching you and before hugging you, and once you gave it you'd be wrapped in an embrace that was both tender and hard as steel. He'd hold you for a long time, not saying anything. If you cracked and it all came spilling out, he'd listen intently. If you didn't want to talk about it, he'd respect it and not breathe a word about it until you were ready. You could feel in his heartbeat his need to make you feel safe warring with his desire to find whoever made you afraid and teach them a lesson about fear.

Simon is a man of actions, not words, and he's never been a fan of "sorry" and instead prefers follow-through. Now, though, the word poured from his lips. Wrapping your arms around him in return, you forgave him wordlessly.

The next free time you both had, he'd surprise you by taking you to a shooting range. Another weekend, he'd teach you basic knife skills and how to throw a decent punch. If questioned, he'd say it was something he'd been meaning to do for a while with a dismissive shrug. But you had a hunch, even if he couldn't or wouldn't verbalize it, that he was sharing with you the ways he'd learned to overcome feeling powerless when he was younger. By learning to defend and fight back, you could take your agency back and walk into the world unafraid. It didn't matter that he'd grind anyone who bothered you into dust, because it was about you and making you feel empowered. Simon wasn't one to give you bouquets of flowers and poems, but he could give you this. And, slowly but surely, it started to work.

John "SOAP" Mactavish

You and Johnny were out with some mutual friends at the pub one night, drinking and having fun. Your boisterous Scotsman was ever the social butterfly, and he never failed to bring the party wherever he went.

You and a friend were laughing at something on your phone, and when you handed it Johnny to show him, you froze as your eyes saw an unmistakable silhouette over his shoulder. You recovered quickly, sure that it was a mistake, but not quickly enough. Johnny's face went serious as he studied your expression, which was suddenly tense.

You'd play it off, not wanting to ruin the good vibe. You'd even double check to reassure yourself that it wasn't him, but your stomach would sink once you looked back. In a corner of the bar, nursing a glass of dark liquor, was your ex. He noticed you at the same time, and the eye contact made you feel sick.

At this, Johnny would take a look for himself, and would pick out the man eyeing you from across the bar right away. After giving the man a once-over, he'd turn back to you.

"Is that who I think it is?" You'd nod. You had told him bits and pieces of how your ex treated you, but left out the worst of it lest Johnny go on a rampage to defend your honor. He's loyal to a fault and would not take kindly to anyone mistreating people he cared about.

The unfortunate thing was, being special forces came with an ability to read people and situations, and your reaction to seeing your ex filled in the gaps well enough for Johnny to understand what wasn't being said. You were scared, and the man seemed to know it by the smug expression he wore as he stared at you.

Rather than cause a scene, as you had feared, Johnny scooted so he completely blocked your view of the other man (and the man's view of you via his broad shoulders). Seamlessly, he'd continue the conversation with the folks around you as if nothing was amiss, despite his hand never leaving your thigh in a move that was at once possessive and reassuring. You leaned into the touch, comforted by Johnny's presence and relieved that the situation had seemingly blown over.

A bit later, Johnny announced he was going to the bar to get another round for the table. On instinct, your gaze shot to where your ex had been sitting, but his seat was now empty. Breathing a sigh of relief, your eyes turned to follow Johnny through the room. You could never get tired of looking at him. It wasn't until he reached the bar and clapped a fellow patron on the shoulder that you realized the individual he was talking to wasn't the bartender, but your ex who had moved seats. Keeping his hand on the man's shoulder, Johnny struck up a conversation like a true natural.

Oh no.

You braced for a commotion, but Johnny's expression and body language stayed friendly and open. You couldn't hear what he was saying to the man, and if asked he'd tell you he was just introducing himself. But when he let go of your ex's shoulder and flagged down the bartender to order a drink, the other man threw some money onto the bar and all but ran out the door.

The place would become a frequent haunt for your friend group, but you'd never see your ex darken the doorstep again after Johnny's talk with him. Good riddance.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

You and Kyle had been going steady for a bit now, and you were excited to introduce him to your family. Well, most of your family. You didn't have a good relationship with your stepdad, and Kyle respected that it was a sore spot for you. He would never pry, but he could pick up on how your tone would change when your stepdad would come up in conversation, how your posture would change when your mom dragged him into the frame to say hello during your video chats.

A big family dinner was the perfect opportunity to introduce everyone to Kyle, and you were looking forward to it. Truly. You had a nice outfit picked out and Kyle bought some fancy wine to bring, hoping for a good first impression. He needn't have worried; your aunts and cousins all fawned over him, and your uncles were endlessly impressed by his stories from his job. Long story short, he was a hit.

He stayed by you all night, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb as he made conversation. At first, you chalked it up to being the new guy in the room, but the ease of his posture suggested he wasn't nervous. Rather, his frequent check-ins started to make it feel like his closeness was for your benefit. You were the one who was nervous, looking over your shoulder every few minutes praying you didn't see a certain face in the crowd. You loved your family, but get-togethers always came with a certain amount of anxiety. Every time your eyes strayed around the room, Kyle's followed, taking in the crowd. Even more frequently, you caught him sneaking glances at you, as if assessing if you were alright.

You were alright, until the front door opened and you heard a specific voice boom in greeting. Your mom and stepdad strode in, late as always, your mom carrying the casserole dish and your stepdad slapping a case of beer on the counter. Your demeanor changed immediately, shrinking yourself as if you could become invisible if you just hunched enough. It didn't work, of course, and they spotted you within seconds. Before you could react, Kyle was in front of you, placing himself between you and your parents with a smile and his hand out to shake.

"I'm Kyle, heard lots about you," he said neutrally, shaking hands with both of them. They turned to you, but Kyle spoke again. "How was the drive? Heard you had to come across that new expressway, have they finished that yet?"

It was like that the rest of the evening. Kyle remained an immovable barrier between you and your stepdad, keeping him engaged in conversation and unable to address you. You and your mom were able to slip away shortly to help set the table and catch up, and every time you snuck a glance at the men out of the corner of your eye, the view was the same: Kyle orienting himself as a physical wall, keeping you out of eyeshot. His body language was at-ease, his smile friendly enough, but his eyes were tight, not like they had been when talking with everyone else.

When everyone grabbed a seat, Kyle pulled a chair out for you before quickly stealing the spot next to you from your stepdad. You looked at him with gratitude and he squeezed your knee reassuringly under the table, all the while maintaining conversations with those around him as if nothing was amiss. If you hadn't already loved him, you certainly would have after that night.

Captain John Price

Ah, spring cleaning.

Well, it was November, but still. It's refreshing to get rid of old stuff and start anew, but it's also essential when you're combining two households. John had finally convinced you to move in with him, so the two of you were creating piles labeled "Keep" "Trash" and "Donate". Upon reaching the bottom of an old box labelled "Miscellaneous," you came upon something that had your stomach churning. Old records: Johnny Cash, the Sex Pistols, the Doors. You hadn't realized you had them, and you weren't particularly fond of who they belonged to.

You didn't realize you had frozen in place until John snapped you out of it, coming up behind you with a hand snaking around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder.

"Whatcha got, love?" He whistled when you showed him.

"The condition those are in, you could get a pretty penny. I didn't know you collected vinyl, I'd have bought a player."

"They're not... mine." You explained, as briefly as possible, that they were your ex's and must have gotten mixed up in your stuff when you split several years ago. He hummed in understanding.

"Right, then. To the garbage with it?"

It was the logical solution. He hadn't asked after them, so he must not miss them that badly. You would rather lie down in traffic than have any contact with him. But John's comment about their value stopped you from throwing them onto the "Trash" pile. Damn your too-kind heart, always causing problems.

It was easy enough to find your ex's contact info; you had changed your number after the split, he hadn't. Soon enough, you had agreed on a time for him to swing by and grab the stuff when he was free. The rest of moving made the days go by in a blur of organizing and unpacking and bickering over where the toaster should go and which wall to mount the TV on. That is, until you looked at your calendar and realized that it was today. This afternoon was the interaction you'd spent the week trying not to think about. You'd stepped around the box of his things all week, mentally blocking out why it was sitting in the front hall. You'd managed to stay busy, and bury your anxiety in the endless tasks that come with setting up a new home.

But time had run out, and in mere hours you were going to be face to face with someone you had once sworn never to see again. The realization made the room feel too small, made the air feel too warm, made you feel like you were suffocating. Suddenly you just had to get out.

"We need... yogurt." You blurted, walking too quickly and too loudly into the foyer to grab your keys.

"Yogurt? Right now?" John called from the kitchen.

"Yes, right now! For... for a recipe," you mustered, hoping you sounded convincing. This had been a mistake, a huge mistake, and your brain was screaming RUN! RUN! RUN! as loudly as it could. Hand on the doorknob, however, you froze. If you left, John would be here when your ex arrived. He'd answer the door, introduce himself, and hand off the items. Shouldn't that be ideal? No contact between you and him, simple and easy. But rather than provide relief, the thought made you sick to your stomach. It felt like a defiling almost, to think of him entering your new sanctuary and meeting the love you thought you'd never have. It felt wrong on every level, and your feet rooted to the spot in agreement.

"Still here, love?" John came into view, the book he'd been reading in hand, finger acting as a bookmark. "I was thinking, I could go if you wanted. Just text me what we need. Don't you have someone coming by?"

Yes - that's it, you thought. Have John go, get him away from here before he could arrive. You'd handle it on your own; you'd done it before.

Nodding, you stepped aside, slipping your shoes off next to the door. John put his book down and approached, taking your place and grabbing his keys off the hook. He turned to kiss your forehead, but stopped short and stared at you. He noticed for the first time that you were fidgety, as if anxious for him to leave when usually it was the exact opposite. His ever-observant eyes spent several seconds taking you in, and you knew as he asked the question that he already knew the answer.

"Everything alright?"

Of course it was! How silly to think otherwise! You began playing it off, the same way you had gotten so good at doing back when you and he were still together and your friends would ask you the same thing. Just hyper, just busy, just this, just that, always an excuse to avoid saying "I'm afraid." Afraid of what mood he'd be in, afraid of what awaited you when you two would be alone later. Fear you hadn't felt in a long time, but could feel now just as bone-deep as it had been back then. As if your body had stored it as muscle memory just in case this day came.

"Are you nervous about something?" It was another question you could tell he already knew the answer to, and you wanted to feel irked about it, but looking into those eyes you suddenly just felt tired. Tired of carrying the fear and the uncertainty alone. So you exhaled for a long time, and slowly told him exactly what you were nervous about.

It felt good to get it off your chest. Until now, no one had ever known the extent of what had gone on. You expected John to explode into some fit of hyper-masculine protectiveness like guys on TV, but he didn't. He listened to you talk, and then he nodded and sat on the couch, reopening his book on his lap.

"What are you doing?" You eyed him suspiciously, unable to believe that that was the end of the conversation.

"Well, I'm waiting right here. And when this lad knocks, I'm going to answer the door and have a little chat with him."

#who would have thought I'd get wordy writing about Price #it's my older man kink #can you tell the writer juices flowed as I kept writing #mwii headcannons #task force 141 #141 headcanons #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #price x reader #no use of y/n #ghost mwii #soap mwii #gaz mwii #price mwii

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lilacsbeeswax · 2 months

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🌹 draco realizing he has feelings for a hufflepuff reader :)

To Like a Hufflepuff

(Thank you for the request! 💕)

Part of my 2 year milestone writing event!

MASTERLIST

——-

“God, another boring lesson at this boring ass school. You’d think we deserve better.” Draco commented to Mattheo and Blaise.

“You’re just upset that you have to sit with some ugly ass Gryffindor, while I sit with Pansy. She’s one beautiful piece of work.” Blaise smirked.

He pushed Draco into Mattheo, causing Mattheo to reply, "We get it, Zabini, you hookup with Parkinson when you’re both drunk out of your minds.”

“Funny for you to say Mr. Man Whore,” Blaise responded, looking Mattheo up and down with feigned disgust.

“Oh whatever, at least I’m getting some ass, unlike Malfoy here.” Mattheo said, raising his his hands in front of his chest.

Draco sped up and turned around so he was walking backward as to look at the boys. He laughed, “My sex life is none of your-“ He was quickly cut off as he ran back first into someone, bouncing off of them slightly, neither falling. “Watch where you’re going you filthy-“ he began quickly, before being cut off as he looked the girl up and down.

Lovely. That’s the only way he knew how to describe her. Her perfect hair, her beautiful eyes, the smile that never seemed to waver plastered across her stunning face, he loved everything, except for one thing. She was a Hufflepuff.

He’d remembered her, she would stand out in a crowd, her bright yellow and black robes could be seen from a mile away. He always had an odd urge to say ‘hi’ but the words were so difficult to come by. Now, that wouldn’t be so hard.

“Hey.” He said, voice squeaking slightly.

“Hi.” She replied, crouching to pick up the book she had dropped. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying much attention to walking because I had forgotten to read a chapter of this book for history of magic and I was trying to get it done but I guess that was a bad idea. But, also to be fair, you shouldn’t have been walking backwards, not that I can dictate what you do, but,” she paused taking a deep breath. “I’m rambling aren’t I?”

“A little bit, it’s alright though, love.” He chuckled, gaining confidence in her nervousness.

He could hear his friends groan and say under their breaths, “Good luck mate.” As they walked away, leaving the two alone.

“Thanks, um,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry was what I was trying to say.”

A beat of silence laid upon them as Draco thought up what to say. He wasn’t used to feeling such intense feelings for anyone, especially a Hufflepuff. “Would you like to come to a party with me this weekend? Just some friends from a few different houses getting together.”

“Oh, uhm… sure?” She giggled awkwardly. “Out of all of the things I thought you’d say my first guess was not that.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I’d love to go with a beautiful girl, such as yourself on my arm.”

“Okay, well we can meet up to talk about it later? By the lake after dinner?”

“I’d love too.” He smirked.

“I have to get to class, but I’ll see you then Malfoy.” She replied, placing a hand on his bicep as she began walking away.

“See you then, pretty girl.”

He walked away himself joyfully, maybe there was a reason she felt so special to him before. Perhaps, it wasn’t so bad to have feelings for a Hufflepuff.

——-

MASTERLIST

#fluff #draco malfoy x reader #harry potter fanfiction #draco malfoy #draco lucius malfoy #draco x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #lilacsasks

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farity · 1 year

Text

Longing

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x you

Summary: A ward of Rhaenyra’s, you are present on that fateful night when Luke’s being a little shit.

Warnings: Smut.

“Luke, no.”

You whispered to your half-brother. He had been smirking and laughing at his uncle across the table, and the longer it went on, the more you could feel Aemond Targaryen’s anger radiate off of him.

You knew the story well, even though you hadn’t been around when it had happened. Your father, Ser Harwin Strong, had never known of your existence, but when your mother became gravely ill, she went to the Princess Rhaenyra, begging her to take you in. Rhaenyra could see Harwin’s eyes in yours, the same unruly hair, the same determined demeanor. She promised the dying woman to care for you and in exchange, you tutored her children.

You had found Rhaenyra to be kind, her husband Daemon to be unpredictable, and the children to be close. You also knew well what had happened just before you joined the household. The fight that culminated in Aemond losing an eye.

Once again, Luke made a small sound, amused at his own private joke, and again, you walked up to the table from where you stood a few feet away, kicked his chair and whispered. “Stop it.”

Too late.

Aemond struck the table with his fist and rose, and your heart sank.

“Final tribute,” he said. You saw Rhaenyra look up at him, and even though you didn’t yet know what else the prince would say, you felt nothing good would come of this.

* * * * *

“All of you, go to your chambers, go now.”

Rhaenyra sent her sons and Daemon’s daughters to their rooms. She didn’t oversee how you spent your free time, trusting you enough to let you manage your day as long as the children’s lessons took place as scheduled. You nodded at her and followed, catching up with Luke.

“You’re an idiot.”

He turned, ready to argue, but you kept going. “Why the hell would you provoke him like that, Luke? Do you never think beyond the next three seconds?”

You rushed past him and went into the chamber you’d been given, closing the door.

At least the dying king had already left before the evening went to shreds. Poor soul, he didn’t even realize most of the family problems were of his making. In wanting everyone to tolerate the simmering issues, he had only created a cauldron full of roiling hatred, and it was about to spill over.

Stupid, stupid Luke.

Restless, you paced from hearth to bed over and over until you realized you would never fall asleep like this. Some reading might help settle you down. You had finished the small volume you had brought with you, but you knew where the library was here.

You opened the door as quietly as you could, looking around before slipping out and taking the hallway that led to the library. There was no sound and you hoped everyone had settled down in their rooms.

In the library, several candles were lit on the main table, and you walked towards the closest bookcase to look at some of the titles.

“Here to apologize for the whelp?”

“Mother save me!” you slapped a hand to your mouth, your heart jumping into your throat.

Prince Aemond sat on the far corner, fading into the surrounding darkness. Now that your eyes had adjusted, you saw him more clearly, long silver hair, a book in his elegant fingers, long legs extended in front of him. Were he anyone else, you would be besotted. Were he not someone who hated your family, you would allow yourself improper thoughts. Were he not who he was, you would admit to yourself that the tall man in the dreams that tormented your nights was the same man sitting in the library with you.

“I doubt the Mother has the time for the likes of us, my lady.”

Heartbeat going back to normal, you grabbed a candle. “I am not a lady, as you well know, Prince Aemond. And no, I am not apologizing for Luke, although I did tell him he was an idiot.” You turned to examine the titles on the shelf, and to escape his stare. Mostly history books, it seemed.

“Are you seeking something in particular?”

“Travel stories, anything on Essos?” you turned to find he was not ten feel from you.

“Do you wish to see the world, then?” he asked, taking another step towards you.

You wanted to run, to lock yourself in your room and avoid talking to him. Avoid longing for those hands to be on you, for that hair to be wrapped around your fingers, for that mouth, usually so severe unless curved into a cruel smirk, to be on yours.

Steeling yourself, you met his gaze. “Someday, yes. I must make my own way sooner or later.” His eye bore into yours, the pale blue shimmering in the candlelight. He said nothing, and the seconds stretched between you.

You’d heard Daemon say once that silence was the best way to get someone else to speak. That people were unused to silence and rushed to fill in the void with careless words. That when he wanted to find out something, he simply waited for the other person to speak.

Aemond said nothing and you became more and more uncomfortable. You would not speak. You would not move. You would not look away from that intense scrutiny.

He took another step toward you.

You could smell the leather of his jacket, the soap used on his shirt, and some kind of earthy scent you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

You bit down on the inside of your lip to force yourself to remain quiet, and you saw his usual smirk appear. He was so close. He reached up past you, never breaking eye contact with you, and brought down a book, holding it up for you to see.

You took it, not bothering to look at the title, curtsied, and as casually as you could manage, turned and walked out of the library. Every step seemed to take an eternity but you would not give him the satisfaction of hearing you run from him.

Then you heard it.

One step, two. Leaving the library.

Following you.

Forcing yourself to keep your steps slow and steady, you headed to your rooms. The steps behind you matched your pace, and your heartbeat picked up.

What was this torment? What was he doing?

Blessedly, you reached your rooms, opening the door with shaking hands. Stepping inside, you turned, finding yourself almost nose-to-nose with him.

“Lost your way, Prince Aemond?”

“I am exactly where I wish to be.” He watched you closely. “Well, maybe not exactly where I wish to be just yet.”

“Then I wish you luck in finding your way, good eve-”

He took your arm, pushing you inside and closing the door smoothly before taking your face in his hands. “I find myself craving your company, my lady.”

You couldn’t make yourself push him away. It was difficult enough to remain impassive when those hands you’d dreamed of were cradling your face so gently. “Your memory seems to be failing as well as your sense of direction, Your Highness, as I must repeat that I bear not the title of lady.”

His breath was warm on your lips as he pulled you closer. “And yet there are those who bear noble titles who are not entitled to them,” he mused, his eye roving over your mouth.

“I am sure I have no idea who you could possibly be referring to,” you replied, tired of the never-ending talk about your half brothers. In response, he smiled, almost gently, surprising you. Gentle was not a word you associated with Aemond. He was fire and fury wound tightly, ready to unleash, as he had earlier after Luke’s provocation. “Would you unhand me, I wish to go to bed.”

“A delightful suggestion.” He didn’t move. If anything, his fingertips had started to rub tiny circles high on your cheeks. You wondered if he was aware he was doing it.

“Alone.”

When he still didn’t remove his hands, you reached up to take them off your face, realizing too late that touching him was a dangerous idea. You placed your hands on top of his larger ones, and he immediately took your fingers in his, bringing them to his lips. You watched as that cruel mouth kissed the back of your fingers, taking each one in turn. “What is this, I wonder,” he murmured, switching to your other hand, “retribution? Punishment? I despise your brothers, their very existence is an insult to the realm, but the thought of you occupies my thoughts to distraction.”

“Prince Aemond, this is most improper,” you whispered, clinging to the last of your sanity. You had to stop this, stop him, and you nearly laughed at the thought of anyone, let alone you, stopping Aemond Targaryen.

“You know not the meaning of the word.”

“Please, Your Highness.”

He’d turned one of your hands over, and was now kissing the sensitive pads of your fingers. “Please . . . what?”

Each brush of his lips against your fingertips made fire spark inside you, and there was a heaviness low in your belly that was becoming impossible to ignore.

“Stop?” he asked, switching to the other hand, “or continue?”

“Please,” you managed, but could not make yourself say another word.

He stilled, and looked at you. “There are signs,” he said quietly, “when a woman’s desires are awakened. The breathing speeds up, the lips become redder,” he smirked, and brushed his thumb over your lower lip, “the skin warms and the pulse quickens.”

You became acutely aware of your breathing, of how overheated you felt, and summoned your will. “And what about men?”

His eyebrow rose at your question. “Much the same, except for one or two differences.” He brought your hand down until you felt your palm brush against something impossibly hard and warm.

You gasped, trying to pull your hand away, to no avail.

“Undeniable, hmm, the effect you have on me.” His eye was icy fire and you felt the smallest sliver of power begin to thread to you.

Foolish girl.

Ignoring your quickly disappearing sense of self-preservation, you flexed your fingertips, the tiniest movement, and felt him pulse against you. Aemond gasped, hips jerking against your hand.

More.

You squeezed gently, and this time he moaned, his free hand still cupping your face.

��Stop now, or I shall have my turn,” he whispered harshly. “Choose.”

You raised your chin, your eyes meeting his gaze, and slowly moved the backs of your fingers up and down his leather-covered length. Aemond made a low noise deep in his throat and pressed his forehead against yours. Before you could do it again, he swiftly grabbed your wrist and began walking you back toward the bed.

You stopped when you felt the edge of the bed hit the back of your legs. Still looking at him, you found the ties to his breeches, tugged on one.

“You will be my ruination.”

You grabbed the other tie. “Someone should be,” you replied, and tugged, letting the breeches become loose on his slim waist. Emboldened, you slipped your fingers into the waistband, feeling the muscles in his stomach tense at your touch. His skin was so warm and smooth, and you began to slide your palm up beneath the tunic he wore, fingertips tracing a map as you explored.

“The skin warms,” you murmured, and pressing your palm against his chest, felt the fast beating of his heart. “And the pulse quickens.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw and he pulled you in, mouth on yours, tongue demanding entrance. You gasped and he took advantage, deepening the kiss, and you wrapped your arms around his neck. The taste of him was unexpectedly sweet, with some dark spice you could not name. He placed a knee on the bed, pulling you with him to lay down in the center.

“Tell me,” he whispered, “tell me you want this. I will not have you unwilling.”

“I am not unwilling,” you managed, dizzy from his kiss. “I want, I-”

“Name it, and you shall have it.”

“I don’t know,” you said quietly, “I don’t know what I’m asking for.”

“Then I shall spend all night finding out.”

#aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond smut #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #hotd smut

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freyyzu · 1 year

Text

I LOVE YOU’S

In which there are a thousand ways to tell you “I love you,” but saying it is still my favorite.

a/n; because i love them. and also because every time they say “i love you,” in-game i start kicking and screaming from embarrassment. not proof-read or edited because it’s too long and i wanted to be done already aksjd

LUCIFER —

Lucifer has always been openly honest with how he feels for you.

Words of appreciation aren’t considered strangers in your relationship, and there’s not a day that passes by where they’re not exchanged.

Simple ‘thank you’s when you hand one another an extra pen or paper.

Brief kisses and ‘good morning’s when you pass each other in the hallways of the House of Lamentation.

Gentle reminders to ‘sleep well,’ when you know there’s a long day ahead tomorrow.

He’s always been a person reserved in showing you physical affection in public, but you know more than anyone that he cares more deeply than he’ll allow anyone to see.

Lucifer was used to working for long hours, oftentimes going the whole day without leaving his room — today just so happened to be one of those days.

It’s late evening when he finishes going through all the papers that have piled on his desk. A full 24 hours without running into any of his brothers or even taking a break to eat.

It’s strange, he thinks. Typically when he works he could still hear the ruckus outside. Whether that be Levi chasing down Mammon for not paying him back for something or Satan yelling at Beel to stop clearing out the kitchen before any of them have time to cook a proper meal.

With curious steps, he makes his way downstairs, hoping to see what his brothers are up to and sneak in a late night snack whilst he was at it. To his surprise, the only thing he finds is an empty, quiet house, and you standing in the kitchen preparing a tray of food.

“Ah, Lucifer!” The way your expression lights up upon seeing him makes it feel as if all the stress from the past few hours have melted away. “Are you done with your work? I was just about to bring you something to eat since you missed out on your meals.”

Lucifer doesn’t find the need to respond, or perhaps he’s simply too tired to, all he does is walk over to your side and wraps his arms around your waist. Immediately, he feels your hand come up to rest on his head, gently rustling his hair.

“You did good today.”

“Mmhm.” He eases into your touch, “I love you.”

Your laughter tickles his hands, “I love you as well. Now c’mon, you gotta eat. I’m sure you must be starving.”

MAMMON —

There’s never a day in which Mammon wouldn’t deny being in love with you.

He’s lucky that you find it endearing above all else, otherwise he would’ve suffered a few bruises already.

Because he finds it difficult to tell you how much he loves you, he decides it’s probably best to show you, instead.

He holds your hand on the walk to RAD, making sure to tell you that it’s simply ‘for your protection,’ even though you both know you’re more than capable of handling yourself now.

That cake you had offhandedly mentioned wanting to try shows up in front of your door the next day along with a very embarrassed demon holding on to it, claiming how he ‘just so happened to get lucky,’ even though the lines for the bakery are known to span for three hours long.

Mammon can’t seem to focus.

Perhaps it was the boring lesson plans that he had to get through, or maybe it was Lucifer’s threat of once again stringing him from the ceiling if he failed another test looming over his head, but the demon’s thoughts were only fixated on you. You, who’s currently sitting right beside him, pointing at blurry words on a page and spouting nonsense about some history notes he’s going to forget three seconds later.

“And so… Mammon?” You look up at him curiously. “If you’re tired we can—”

“I love you.”

The words leave his lips before he could even process he was saying it, or even why he was saying it. There’s nothing romantic about your situation right now. There are papers scattered all across your coffee table, eraser shavings lost within your carpet, and three books open, none of which he has paid attention to. If anything, this was the absolute worst moment he could’ve picked to say that phrase.

You blink.

And then he blinks.

You turn red.

And then he turns red.

“Ah…”

“AHHHHH,” he covers his face, flailing his hand wildly. “Ignore that! I didn’t say anything!”

He’s ready to get up and run out of the room, failing the test and being strung up again be damned, if not for you grabbing his arm and preventing him from moving anywhere.

“Say it again,” you insist, leaning in closer and giving him your best puppy-dog eyes, ones that you know he can’t resist saying ‘no,’ to. He caves, as you were sure he would, “I… I love you. I love ya’ lots, okay?!”

If smiles could reach past the eyes, he was sure yours would. “I love ya’ lots, too, Mammon.”

LEVI —

Levi would rather hide in his room for a hundred years than ever say that he loves you.

Of course, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to, but every time he tries he chickens out.

Thankfully, you have the patience of a saint, and he couldn’t be more grateful that you haven’t tried to pry those three words out of him (yet).

Still, Levi does what he can to show you he cares in his own way. Whether that be buying games of your favorite genre, or binging your favorite series just so he has more things to talk with you about, anything else will do.

Though it makes him feel extra bad whenever you say it so easily and he’s left to be a stuttering mess.

Levi sucks in a deep breath.

He hardens his nerves, counts to three, and then tries his best to vocalize how he feels. “I…” He pauses, eye twitching from nervousness. “I- I- I CAN’T DO IT!”

A loud groan escapes his lips as he crouches onto the floor of his bedroom, covering his face with his hands from embarrassment. He’s been at this for days now, looking at Henry through the tank and trying with every nerve in his body to just get those three words up and out of his throat to no avail.

Every time he thinks he’s going to get it your face pops up and instantly all his confidence disappears into thin air.

Levi sucks in another deep breath.

One more time, just one more time, he’ll get it this time.

If there was ever a time for the phrase “fake it ‘til you make it,” to be used, this would be the time. With newfound confidence, he pushes himself up to his feet again and stares directly at Henry, who looks back curiously.

“I-” he scrunches up his face and forces the words lodged in his throat out in a tiny squeak. “I love you.” It’s so quiet, and he barely manages to get your name out afterward, but he did it!

He did it!!

He—!

“I love you too, Levi!”

“AKJSDHJKSFGFGKJ????!?!”

“Wow, I didn’t know you could vocalize a keysmash like that.” You’re laughing, he’s on the floor, face completely red and regretting all his life choices, and you’re laughing. “Sorry for entering without your permission, but I tried knocking a few times and no one answered.”

The best thing you could do for him right now is to stay away, get out of his room even, while he waits for the floor to consume him whole, but instead, you walk towards him, stopping just inches away from his face.

“I couldn’t hear you very well the first time. Could you say it again?”

SATAN —

If simply being in one another’s company and enjoying each other’s presence is considered a way of saying ‘I love you,’ then no one does it better than Satan.

He doesn’t really find the need to say the words very much, but when he does, it’s filled with so much softness and care.

He’ll also say it the most when it’s just the two of you, away from prying eyes.

It’s something special, only for your ears, something only you get to hear.

The best moments in life are the ones where you get to spend them with your loved ones, and for Satan, it was no different; a book in his hand, you in his arms, a blanket thrown loosely to cover your legs as your head rests on his shoulder.

It's been two hours now, two hours of uninterrupted reading time — no brothers barging in his room looking for you, no text messages blowing up his notifications, no uninvited guests knocking on the doors of the House of Lamentation — there wasn’t much else he could ask for right now.

“‘And so, the man looks at the person standing in front of him, the person he’s respected and cared for the most in the world, and holds out a hand. Whatever it is that you need, whether it be riches, luck, or power, I’ll be there to deliver it right into your hands.’”

You shift in his arms, and he pauses his reading for only a moment to make sure you’re comfortable before continuing.

“‘And what if I said that the only thing I desire right now was neither riches, nor luck, nor power, but happiness — happiness with you? What would you deliver unto me, then?’”

“‘I would tell you then that I love you. That I would deliver to you: me. Mind, body, and soul.’”

Satan chuckles, “you stole my line.”

You smile, blinking up at him innocently. “Then just say it again.”

His eyes scan over the words once more, “I would tell you then,” he places the book down and cups your cheeks, pressing your foreheads together, his steady gaze holding onto yours. “That I love you. That I would deliver to you: me. Mind, body, and soul.”

ASMO —

No one tells you that they love you more than Asmo does. To him, saying he loves you is just another ring thrown into an endless pool of compliments.

‘You look so cute today!’ He’ll tell you the moment he spots you with a new outfit on. ‘Are you using a new lipstick?’ He notices every small change that you make to your appearance.

It makes you undeniably happy, of course, but it also makes it hard to differentiate from when he’s just being from when he’s being genuine.

Though if you ask him about it, he’ll be more offended than you could ever imagine. Everything he says to you is genuine, how could you ever think otherwise?

There’s been something strained about your relationship with Asmo lately, and unfortunately for him, he can’t seem to figure out what it is.

His compliments don’t have much of an effect anymore. The cute blush you seem to always adorn when he tells you how cute you look doesn’t appear, and every time he gives you a kiss he sees for a fraction of a section that a frown adorns your lips.

“Now, will you please tell me what it is that I’m doing that’s making you sad? I can’t bare to see you frowning anymore.”

Today, he plans to get to the bottom of it — and the first step was to corner you.

You’re laying on his bed with him on top of you, arms caging you in to prevent you from running off. Still, the both of you know full well that if you really had any intention on escaping then you could easily use your pact.

“I just…” You break away from his gaze, embarrassed, mumbling something incoherent under your breath.

“One more time?”

You turn even redder, “I don’t know… what it is you really like about me.”

Asmo blinks.

What do you mean you don’t know what he likes about you? Does he not tell you every day in full detail? So much so that his brothers would actively complain about how annoying and overbearing he is? He sits up, and pulls you forward to face him.

“I love your eyes,” he begins, “I love how they light up every time you get excited about something. I love your personality, how kind you are to everyone, even if they won’t show that same kindness back. I love your determination, how you never give up even when things don’t go your way.” He reaches out to cup both of your cheeks. They’re warm. “I love how rosy your cheeks get whenever I compliment you.”

“I-” you stutter, and his grin widens. “I think I get it now, please stop!”

“Stop?” He muses, “but what about my compliments? I think I deserve that much after you’ve been avoiding me for a week now!”

You glare at him, no doubt just wanting to end this conversation already. “I love you.”

Oh, that’s just unfair. You can’t just pull the ‘I love you,’ card out on him like that and get away scot free — but you do, and he lets you. “I love you, too, cutie!” The both of you once again crash onto the bed, his arms wrapped tightly around your neck. “Don’t you ever forget that!”

BEEL —

If you looked up the definition of ‘gentle giant,’ in the dictionary, Beel’s face would appear.

Despite his larger stature, there’s no one more willing to lend you a helping hand, whether you really need it or not. He just wants to make your life a little bit easier.

To Beel, ‘I love you’s don’t need to have any special meaning behind them. He simply says it because he wants to, whether you’re doing mundane things, or going through something eventful.

He just wants to remind you from time-to-time, and you enjoy doing the same.

“You aren’t mad at me?”

“Hm?” Beel hums, glancing at you, resting on his back. “Why would I be mad at you?”

“Because I made you leave fangol practice early?”

His thumb absentmindedly brushes over your thighs, shifting you into a slightly more secure position (not like he would let you fall either way). “It wasn’t your fault.” If anything it was his.

“Really?”

“Really.”

He was the one who had gotten distracted in the middle of their practice match and turned right as he threw the ball and ended up almost hitting you in the face. Thankfully you had stepped out of the way in time, but ended up tripping over the bench and sprained your ankle, leading Beel to call off early to take care of you and help you back home.

You had insisted that you were okay and that just a bit of ice and bandages would be enough, but he insisted. With his genuine concern in wanting to help, and the notion that he might’ve been the one caused you to get hurt, there was no way you could have denied him.

And so, here you were, arms wrapped around his neck as he carries you back to the House of Lamentation, piggyback style.

There’s a rumble on his back, and he hears your quiet giggles. “Thank you for always taking such good care of me, I love you, Beel.” Your thanks are followed by a quick beck to the back of his head, and he wishes he could just move you into a different position right now and return the favor.

Unfortunately, he can’t without risking further injury to your leg, and so he settles for pressing a kiss to the side of your arm. “Of course I do, I love you after all.”

BELPHIE —

Will tease the living daylights out of you to show his affection.

If you want him to say ‘I love you,’ you’re gonna have to jump through three rings of fire and let him use you has a pillow for minimum three days first.

Even then, he’ll only say it if he’s in the mood, and probably after you’ve already fallen asleep so you can’t hear it.

“What do you mean? I already told you yesterday,” he’s having way too much fun with this. “When? While you were asleep, of course.”

“You’re terrible.”

He chuckles at your comment, simply basking in the way your hands brush through his hair.

So what if its been two weeks of him teasing you just for you to finally hear him say that he loves you? It was fun (to him) and that’s all that matters. Besides, it wasn’t as if he’s never said it before, he just wanted to make it a little game this time around.

“You say that, but here you are.”

“Well,” you brush a strand of hair away from his nose. “Even if you are an ass this feels nice for me as well so it’s okay.”

“So it’s alright for me to never say it again?” He teases, knowing it’ll just push your buttons further.

“Don’t push your luck.”

It’s the dead of the night when you finally fall asleep and somehow, Belphie was still awake. He pokes your cheek, stifling his laughter when you shift uncomfortably and mumble something akin to ‘that tickles’ before proceeding to bury yourself further into his chest.

He likes this, he thinks. It’s fun to tease you, and it’s even more fun knowing that you’re just playing along with him when you could full-well just use your pact to make him say it already. Though, he’s sure that if he mentions that you’ll retaliate saying it’s more genuine to hear him say it without using the pact.

“I love you.” He places a gentle kiss on the top of your head.

You don’t need to know he’s been saying it every night.

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