#god.. old portraits. pain

[pocketbelt]

they announced one of the main writers for FFXIV: Dawntrail is the one who wrote the Shadowbringers trial series, "Sorrow of Werlyt", and the amount of people going "ew no that's the one that redeems Gaius" drives me kind of insane

That storyline takes Gaius and says "Behold this idiot, watch and be stunned as everything he ever said to anyone turned out to be fucking obviously wrong. Watch as the fascist imperialist philosophy he ingrained into his beloved children makes them run to their deaths, even as he pleads them not to, and they tell him to fuck himself and do it anyway. Marvel as he watches them die by your hand, you, who destroyed Gaius himself at the peak of his life, and he can do nothing to stop it", and that's a redemption arc to people

The only surviving kid only makes it because her brother acts to protect her, she doesn't make it because of any act of Gaius'

The entire story is literally "In case you somehow missed it in ARR and most of Stormblood, everything Gaius believed in was horseshit and there's no such thing as a 'noble general in the evil empire'". All his meritocracy bullshit vanished the second he was gone, no-one but his own children believed it or held onto it, and the empire put someone directly opposed to that belief into his old seat when he vanished. No-one cared, no-one else "believed", the Empire was never about that, it was only propped up in his own singular legion by him being there and the second he was gone the legion dumped it and moved on and only Gaius was too naive and stupid to see it.

I mean for fuck sake, the Empire digs up the chemical gas weapon he explicitly had sealed away and destroyed all record of after he's gone and if it wasn't for a particularly dedicated and enterprising catboy and his comedy crew of hardcore engineers, it would have caused the eighth apocalypse

Even the follow-up in patch 6.4, of the family portrait, isn't some "aw he good now" thing. The family portrait you help organise for him has to have four of its six members be projected onto the scene via a machine's reconstruction of them as normal people because they're dead, they threw their lives away because the ideology Gaius taught them meant they could only think to die fighting and nothing else. That's his loving family portrait: four ghosts stood at his back as his last living child smiles through her pain.

"well the people of Werlyt didn't kill him for conquering them" they let him clean up the mess he made (which meant watching his children be killed) and as "thanks" they're letting him stay there to live out the last third of his life or so attempting to atone by fixing the damage he did.

He's 56 at the time of ARR; the Empire he gave 3-4 decades of his life to is gone, it's a smouldering ruin, all but one of the people he loved is dead, his surviving daughter is scarred by the path he led her down, and what few friends he had are also dead. He learned that his beliefs were all horseshit and pretty much everyone around him except for himself knew it, he must live knowing that those beliefs got his children killed, all that he achieved that he once considered "good" was for nothing, he learned that the cool old emperor he idolised who had no magic but built an empire by pulling up his bootstraps and who told him that magic and gods were bad was actually an ancient incredibly magical sorceror attempting to resurrect his own god.

That's not a redemption arc, he's the most owned man still alive in XIV

#ffxiv #pocket post

[dubiiety]

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[barbieaemond]

A snake in the bosom

Moodboard by the queen herself @zae5

PAIRING: Prince Regent Aemond x Lady!reader

WARNINGS: dark Aemond, angst, public humiliation, semi public sex, p in v, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), religious kink, knife kink if you squint, overstimulation, light choking.

WORD COUNT: 5.3k

Author’s note: House Peake were green loyalists during the Dance. Shout out to @zae5 who helped me brain storming this filth 🫶

taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @chompchompluke

The skies rumble as they always do when preluding a storm. But it’s different this time. The thunder echoes in your chest, sliding through your ribs and then rattling them to break free.

A warning, the Gods’ way to seal what cannot be undone. They greet this new day, this new order, with blinding lightning. The Wood seems bathed by the early morning light, and yet the owls will soon resume their sentry task on the branches of these ancient trees.

A new flash forces you to look up and you think you can see them, the Seven, leaning out from their perches, pointing a finger at a woman like any other, with her bowed head devoted to obedience and her tight corset to choke to death any desire inside her heart.

And you did.

You stopped going to the library, you kept your eyes faithfully down, weeding out the need to caress the silver through your gaze, to feel the cold alabaster carved into angles so precise and sharp as to be exhausting.

You stopped lingering on the delicacy of long white fingers turning pages, on white knuckles around the sword, rippling with veins, blue and green as snakes crawling underneath. 

Not looking didn't do much good.

It's all burned into your eyelids, and the more you don't look the more your mind betrays you like a stab in the back, evoking slender hands and an arched mouth that lazily pulls itself up into an omniscient smirk.

It happens so often that you've come to terms with it. Desire is a shadow that follows you step by step, crawls into your bed as you lie with your husband, makes you close your eyes as you peak and in the darkness that shadow is finally flesh, pulsing and weighing on you, but it is not.

It shouldn’t and it will never.

The lightning tells you can no longer hide, there is no way to stall now, no way to trick the King about the allegiance of your family. It is easy to fool a fool, more so when he’s willing to make himself one in front of a woman. But the King is burned. His cries of pain can be heard outside Maegor’s Holdfast, until the Maesters are merciful enough to give him milk of the poppy.

The throne is empty, the Kingdom has no ruler. But the Gods are snickering with thrill and dread.

Not for long.

“My lady, there’s a storm coming.”

You turn and see your maid clutching a cloak to her chest to shelter from the wind. "Please, you should go back inside.”

You nod tiredly, walking on the thick grass, dragging yourself back within these walls in which days seem to pass following two different times.

There’s the real, urgent one, a military up and down of whispers and promises, pawns moving and ravens coming and going, breaking or forging alliances as easy and quick as their wings flapping. And then there’s your time, dilated, obscenely slow, like molasses. It sticks to your fingers, prevents you from picking up ink and parchment and write, cheat, whisper what you have easily spilled from the worn out lungs of your husband.

“Men sing like parrots in their final throes, remember that. They’d tell you anything when they think with their cock.”

Samantha had been right. But your sister is playing her game in Oldtown and Old Town is not the Red Keep. There are no eyes on the walls there, or ears behind the portraits. There’s no shadow trailing on her path, clouding her mind enough to look away from the game. A game of life and death, your father reminded you in his last letter, the scolding clear in the way the feather had pierced the parchment in some points. The answer was nowhere but in your head, and you were too ashamed to even confess it to a Septa, let alone put it on paper. There’s a snake crawling in your garden of lies and instead of chasing it away, you’re nursing it in your bosom.

You slow your steps upon glimpsing your husband. He’s striding towards you along the corridor. There’s a slight furrow between his brows, one that you have been able to recognize on the faces of many within this fortress. But it's more severe now, or maybe it's just that shadow that makes you see a new man, a stranger.

Has his hair always been that dull and mousy? Has his posture always been so unassuming?

They have since that night in the library, the sin whispers.

“Husband.”

“I’ve been looking for you. We have been summoned to the throne room.”

“Is something the matter? Is the King—"

"The King lives. But the Maesters believe it is best to confine him to bed. Come, Prince Aemond is waiting for us." he grabs your arm and you walk with him, glad that he can’t see the shadow falling on your face at the mention of the King’s brother.

The throne room is so dark that servants are hurrying themselves to light more candles. Every now and then a new lightning flashes from the large windows, making the Iron Throne an eerie sight at the center of the Hall.

There are a few Lords of the court with their ladies, and they seem just as lost as you as they see you and your husband halting before the ancient seat.

Whereas not more than a moon ago, Lords and Ladies would have had to wait hours to be received by Aegon, the new ruler is not long in coming.

The huge doors open and Aemond Targaryen stalks the room carrying the same storm breaking outside. He makes a striking figure, ominous; the lighting pours on his long silver hair making them look like moon rays.

A dreamy picture, were it not for the conqueror's crown on his head and the sapphire in plain sight.

It is the first time you see him without the eyepatch, the first time anyone has seen him without it. They said he wore it so as not to frighten the ladies, but the one-eyed Prince is done hiding. And if fear is all he can muster, so be it. It serves him well for what will come.

He halts before the Iron Throne and takes a good look at the little gathering. You can’t help but trail your eyes on his lean and tall figure, wearing a dark green doublet made of velvet. But it’s the sapphire that catches your eye, and the long scar marring his marbled face.

You remember that one. You remember it shamefully clear while disappearing along with his head beneath your gown.

“My lords” he starts lacing his hands behind his back “As you may know, my brother is in no condition to rule. Thus, according to the law, in case of physical or mental incapacity of the sovereign, the younger brother must bear the weight of the crown.”

There is a shy, almost uneasy passing of glances between those present, but Aemond ignores them altogether. “I will not style myself as King. You will address me as Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm."

Silence falls upon the huge Hall until a loud thunder seem to awaken one of the lords who hurriedly bends his knee before the Prince. "My Prince, I renew my absolute loyalty to you and your—“

"Get up, my Lord, I did not summon you to hear you pledge your loyalty.” He says in a bored tone, darting his eye at the man “Rest assured, if I had any doubt about it, Vhagar would be feasting on your corpse as we speak.”

Silence falls once more and Aemond revels in it. He can smell fear, just like the creature he rides. “But you did raise an interesting subject.” he tilts his head and looks at Lord Peake, your husband, with a benevolent expression stretching on his face. “Lord Peake, if I asked you to pledge your loyalty to me and my family, would you do it?”

You dare not to raise your head, keeping your eyes glued to the ground, but you can sense your husband’s uneasiness, the sound close to one being insulted as he addresses the Prince. “Prince Aemond, my loyalty to your Grandsire and the Dowager Queen has never wavered and it never shall.”

The Prince nods slowly, seemingly pleased by the answer, and keeps his gaze down for a few moments before casting a sharp glance at you. You can’t see it but you can feel it.

“That is very noble of you, Lord Peake. But I can’t help but wonder, is your lady wife of the same mind as you?”

Lord Peake looks puzzled, shifting the weight on his feet “My Prince, my wife is—”

“No.” Aemond cuts him off, darting a single look at the Lord before returning on you “Let her speak.”

With a deep breath, you look up, shrinking under his violet eye and the sapphire ominously glinting of his own light. “My prince, I am saddened that your Grace would think I’m nothing but loyal to your brother, the one and only heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Every day, I pray the Gods to heal him from his burns and give him strength to—”

“Hush.” He says, raising a hand to stop you. “That’s enough.”

You shut your mouth nervously, tensing all the more as he looks at you, unblinking, for a long moment before his lips stretch into a slow, cunning smirk.

“You know, I spoke to your distant cousin once, Lord…something Tyrell. He said something very interesting to me.”

You keep a blank face even when dread starts to run down your spine. Despite the distant kinship, there’s always been bad blood between Tarlys and Tyrells. 

“He said to be very careful with Tarly women. Pretty vapid things, he said, hiding a viper’s bite.”

“I am neither my prince.” you state calmly “I’m just a woman like any other, serving my husband, my house, my King.”

“Hmm.” He ponders, the smile lingering still. Then, he picks something form his pocket and asks “What is this then?”

Despite the darkness, you could recognize that seal with eyes closed. And that seal, now, in this room, clutched by Prince Aemond’s fingers, is a death sentence.

“This is not the seal of House Peake.” he rightly says.

You look down, mustering your courage, and say “No, your Grace. That is just a silly token of love between two sisters. I use it to send ravens to my sister in Oldtown.”

“I see. And why do you hide it?”

“I do not, your Grace.”

“Lying to the King may cost your head, my Lady. You’d do well to remember that.”

“Wife…” your husband takes your arm, searches your face with an anxious stare “What is going on?”

“The White cloaks found it.” The Prince informs him “when I made them search your rooms.” He looks back at you and raises an eyebrow “For a token you’re supposed to be so fond of, I may suggest placing it somewhere else than the bottom of an old trunk.”

“Am I on trial for sending letters to my sister?”

“Yes. Considering the circumstances under which these ravens were sent. Ladies give letters to their maids, they do not go personally to the rookery, more so in the hour of the bat.”

Courage leaves you like a gust of wind. You thought you had been clever, careful. Why would anyone take notice of a court lady simply taking a walk in the early hours? And even if they had, they would have dismissed the thought at the first distraction. But not him.

“You think I would not notice? I may be half blind but I can assure you, my lady, I see everything.”  He throws the seal on the ground and resumes his soldier-like posture, standing tall and domineering with his arms laced back. “What did you tell your sister? Knowledge about our war plans? Are you secretly siding with the Blacks? I’d advise you to choose your words carefully. From them depends whether you’ll see the next dawn or not.”

Your shoulders slump a little, like a doomed creature sticking its head in the noose.

“My father asked me to spy on my husband to gather knowledge about the green army at Rook’s Rest. But I did not send any raven. I stopped since—"

“Since what? Do continue, my lady, I think your Lord husband is keen to know why his wife stopped playing him like a fool.” He leans his head forward, like someone desperately willing to hear a big secret, but your tongue is a dead thing in your mouth.

“No?” he inquires as silence stretches “Fine, I’ll tell you. You see, Lord Peake, recently your Lady wife seemed to have developed a sudden interest in the library.” the prince says with a little grin “I’m aware of this because I am myself an avid reader. In fact, your lady wife and I have been keeping each other company lately. A rather…intimate company.”

Some of the ladies start to whisper at your back, and you know what kind of words they’re labeling you.

“Wife.” Your husband calls, and this time his voice is steel “What is the meaning of this?”

You open and close your mouth, unsure whether it is worse to tell your husband how you’ve played him or to confess your sin.

“Come, don't deny it now.” the Prince goads you “All the hours you've spent, all those late nights did bear fruit, did they not? You've betrayed your house and the Crown, yet what sweetness it was to have gotten a taste, I'm sure your husband would agree.”

Lord Peaks looks utterly bewildered, shifting his gaze between you and the Prince like a dead fish.

“Oh, so he hasn't after all.” Aemond laughs “A pity, for your treacherous essence reeks of the most bittersweet nectar. Tart, but delicious.”

Your husband’s face is whiter than a sheet for a moment, followed by a red veil of anger and shame. The latter is in plain sight in the way you keep your head down; the Gods have stopped pointing their finger at you and left you in the claws of a much crueler creature. Namely, your own desire.

 “Search her.” Aemond orders returning to a stern face “And search her thoroughly.”

“My prince?” asks one of the guards.

“Women can be sneaky with all those veils and layers. Lose the corset.”

The cloaks look at him puzzled, just as you and your husband and anyone else in the room, but the guards know better than to disobey the King. 

One of them goes to stand behind you and starts pulling the laces of your dress, another is busying himself with lowering your sleeves.

Your eyes bore to the ground with the purest humiliation as your chest gradually grows exposed. You could raise your hands to hide your breast, but you have nothing to hide, not anymore.

You know it and Aemond knows too. He’s not doing this because he thinks you’re hiding something. He’s doing so for his own pleasure—to see you bare, to finally make you come out of your den and stop hiding from him. 

You dare not look at him but you can feel his eye lingering on you, on your body; you can sense the ghost of a delighted smirk on that wicked mouth. 

He takes an unreasonably long time before he gives a short nod to the guards, at last satisfied with your public humiliation. What drives your husband to move is not regard for you, but for his own dignity. What are women if not property of men? And however ruined you are now, Lord Peake will not have talk of his wife standing with her breasts out in the Throne Room.

But just as he leans down to you, the Prince speaks “You may go, Lord Peake. All of you.”

The Lord stalls, looking lost at his Prince.

“You can wait outside. She stays.” Aemond commands.

His eye is boring into you as he walks down the few steps with leisure, lingering on the sole of his boot before resting it on the ground. “She needs to learn the price of her disobedience.”

Your husband hesitates, looks at you with lingering disdain and a veil of fear that keeps his eyes wide open, but he can only bow his head.

When you’re left alone the Prince, save for the guards on the four sides of the hall, you dare to look up and see his eye blazing, a cunning edge to it.

He starts circling around you, and what’s left of your dignity makes your hands fly up to cover your chest.

“You said you stopped writing to your sister. And you stopped coming to the library.” he starts with a collected and calm voice. “Why?”

“You know why.” you mutter.

“You better drop this condescending tone if you want to leave this room with your head on your shoulders.”

“Apologies, my Prince. I did not mean to offend you. But I dim you wise enough to understand why I thought it was best to keep my distance from you.”

He stops his circling for a moment “Enlighten me.” and then he’s pacing again.

You swallow, smelling ashes and smoke on his trail. “It was a sin.”

“Hmm. Which one?” He asks somewhere behind you. Out the corner of your eye, you see him slightly leaning towards you, silver rolling past his shoulder as he cocks his head to one side “Your betrayal or the fact that you let me feast on your cunt like a common whore?”

You swallow again. Shame is still coiling in your belly, but there’s also something else on hearing those words coming from his mouth, recalling that night. This man has just humiliated you in front of the court and yet you crave for him to get closer.

“Both.”

“Both?”

“I did not want to.” You say and it’s true. And this, this is the last chance you might have to avoid the pike, or worse, Vhagar’s fangs. “My father forced me.” You say turning your head left and right as he resumes his pacing behind you “I don’t know which kind of deal he has struck with Prince Daemon but I swear it, my Prince, I said nothing about Rook’s Rest, I—“

The word dies on your tongue along with your breath as you feel the coldness of a sharp blade against your throat.

“I should slit your throat here and now.” He whispers dangerously, you can hear his teeth gritting. His arm is pressing on your chest, keeping you locked against him. “What else Lord Tarly ordered you in all his great wisdom? Mh? To seduce me? To play me like a fool, like you played my brother and your husband to gather knowledge about our armies and report it to my uncle and his whore?”

“No, I—" you try to say, but he presses the blade firmer and you choke a gasp, unconsciously grabbing his arm.

“You will speak when I say so.” He seethes, pulling your arm back with his other hand, painfully twisting your bone until a moan of pain escapes your mouth.

It awakens something inside him, something savage that makes him collide his body against yours “Hmm.” He coos darkly in your ear “This brings me back to that night.”

He swiftly twirls the dagger, sheathing the Valyrian steel, but his hand is quick to resume his caging, sliding on your half-covered breast, looking down your shoulders at your bare chest.

His fingers are cold as they slowly travel up, but they lick flames on your skin, making your nipples harden. “Do you remember, little snake? I do.” he runs the tip of his finger on the hard sensitive skin and you whimper softly “It was hard to forget the sounds you made.” He speaks to your neck, his breath scorching “I could hear them when I fucked my hand at night. You made me sin so many times. Was that part of the plan too? Did your father force you to moan my name while you peaked on my tongue?”

“Please…” you sob quietly, feeling fire nestling in your belly at the sound of his voice and the feeling of his bulge against your lower back.

“Do you moan like that when your husband fucks you? Mh?”

He wants an answer, and he pinches one of your nipples when you don’t please him.

“No…”

“No? I thought so.”

Your body reacts on his own, clenching for how his voice in your ear pools like liquid fire below your stomach. You can see his delighted smirk out of the corner of your eye. “You better speak now, little one. Not even the Gods can save you from the spike. Why would they? They turn their backs on traitors and sinners. And you dared to sin with a Kinslayer. You have only me to beg for mercy.”

“You don’t want to kill me.” You choke when his hand laces around your throat.

He would’ve done it already. He might still do it, but his pressing hardness on your back tells you otherwise.

“No. I have a better use for you.” he says squeezing your neck “I will make an example out of your treacherous mouth. They will look at you and be reminded of the mercy of my crown.”

He steps back and you have little time to catch your breath as he sits on the Iron Throne with the confidence of a God on his perch. The candles mix with lightnings, making the blue of the sapphire and the obsidian of the crown shimmer in a disturbing way.

He rests his arms along the forged swords, his long legs almost sprawled out on the ground. “Come and pledge your loyalty, my lady.”

Your heart hammers in your throat as you swallow. This is a game of life or death, but not now. Your two times have merged into a perpetual dizziness and you’re sinking into the claws of your desire like quicksand.

“No.” he admonishes with a voice like honey when you dare a step closer “On your knees. Like the sinner you are.”

You sink to the ground and his eye goes down with you, smirking with something savage flashing on his face. “Go ahead.” He says spreading his legs around you. “Take your blessing.”

You raise your hands slowly, close to his belt but when you start unbuckling it you find there’s no tremor in your fingers. And he’s too quick to notice. “You wanted this, do you?” he asks “Did you close your eyes and pretend to suck my cock instead of your husband’s?”

The buckles clink together as you finish the unbuckling but he suddenly leans over you, gripping your cheeks with a hold of iron.

“Answer me.”

“Yes.” You quickly, shamefully say.

The left edge of his mouth pulls up tiredly, omnisciently. “How? Like this?” In a blink his long fingers breach your mouth, hitting the back of your throat until you choke on them. He pulls them back just slightly, grazing your tongue, and he looks at you with a lustful blaze in his eye.

“Suck.” he orders, and you oblige, keeping your eyes on him as your mouth close around his two fingers, sucking gently and twirling your tongue around the skin.

“Hmm.” He croons with pleasure, leaving your mouth abruptly to lean back against the throne, sliding a little on the ancient seat to push his crotch before you. He makes haste of pulling his cock out, giving it a few tugs while he keeps looking at you, at the longing darkening your eyes and wetting your gowns.

You take hold of his hard hot length, all veiny and leaking from the tip and it’s only natural for you to close your lips around it. You have obscenely dreamed of this.

He lets out a loud gasp, gripping the throne with his hands as your head goes down, taking him all in. It hits the back of your throat with a lewd choking sound; you breathe through your nose, resuming your holy punishment once you have adjusted to length and girth, sucking hard and fast.

"Greedy little thing.” He praises with his eye growing heavy with pleasure “Easy. Easy, now.” he goads you to slow down, and you do, looking up to see him watching you closely, his lips parted, his breath slow and puffed.

“Fuck—” he curses, titling his head back but keeping his eye fixed on you. “See? This is the only good use for your cheating mouth. And you look so pretty.”

The ache between your legs is unbearable, you’re swollen and wet, you can feel your undergown dampening.

“Are you soaked for me, hmm? I bet you’re dripping all over the Conqueror’s swords.”

You have no way to answer as you keep bobbing your head up and down, a sinner worshipping her own sin.

“Open your mouth—wide” he orders and you do, drooling all over him as he starts to thrust harshly in your mouth.

“Yes. Like this, yes—fuck” He pumps in and out, bucking his hips, hitting your throat on and on while he moans helplessly and loudly, as only a King on his throne can.

“Hollow your cheeks.” And when you do it, something snaps inside him. He grabs your hair, pulling at the roots painfully while he keeps fucking your mouth frantically, choking your breath. But you don’t mind. This could be your last day, your last hour breathing. The snake is sucking at your bones and you welcome the poison.

“Enough.” he croaks when he was starting to breathe too fast, too close to the end. “Get up.”

Your knees ache as you pull yourself up but he’s so quick in lifting up your skirts and grabbing your waist to make you turn and sit on his lap, facing the Throne Room. The Guards are exactly where they’re supposed to be, blind and deaf to what they can perfectly see and hear.

“Let me give you my blessing, now.” Aemond says spreading your legs on the throne, making you wince as you feel his hot fingertips on your wet aching folds. “You’re soaked.” he states proudly, smiling with victory next to your ear.

He draws lazy circles on your bundle, sliding down your dripping lips, slowly, too slowly. You buck your hips against his hand and his chuckle travels up and down inside you, rattling your bones like thunder.

“Please…” you cry when his fingers brush your swollen lips once more.

“I should summon back your husband. So he’d see how his pretty wife begs to be fucked by her Prince like a whore. Shall I?”

You grab his hand, pressing it to your core and he dips a finger inside, spilling a loud moan from you that makes him bite your ear as he feels your hot walls clenching around him.

“Fine. We shall let him hear it.”

He brings his soaked fingers to your mouth, sticking them inside to make you taste yourself, and then he takes your wrist, trapping it on your stomach with his hand. He easily slides his cock inside you, moaning along with you into the haunting silence of the hall. His thrusts are deep and quick, desire has consumed him too, for too long. The sounds of flesh slapping against flesh are only barely muffled by your frantic gasps. Your eyes are closed in a painful bliss, his hot labored breath dampens your neck as he fills you to the hilt.

Your throat is sore with lack of air as you turn your head and he slams his mouth against yours, filling your mouth with his scorching tongue, biting your lip and sucking until it’s swollen. All of this while relentlessly rutting into you, giving you violent bursts of pleasure that make your moans high-pitched and loud, so loud that everyone outside these walls can hear them. Your husband will hear them, the guards are definitely doing so.

“Fucking Gods, you feel so good” He pants in your mouth “You really wanted this. Your cunt is squeezing my cock like a vice. That husband of yours never fucked you this good, did he?”

“Gods—” you whine, squeezing your eyes shut but he grabs your chin with his free hand, forcing you to turn your head. “The Gods cannot hear you now. They’re deaf to the pleas of sinners.” with his free hand he clutches your bundle and he starts to torture you, drawing fast circles, while his length keeps rutting harshly. “Lucky for you I’m more merciful than the Gods.”

The tension in your belly is unbearable, it makes you cry obscenely and the sound only pushes him to go harder, faster.

“Please—I—I can’t—Gods—”

“You can’t what? Mh?” he nothing but growls, thrusting once more and then again. “This is your retribution.” He says baring his teeth “You failed your family for this. You lied and cheated. Now fucking—take—it” his last words punctuated with three deeper thrusts that make you whimper and roll your eyes back.

It doesn’t take much longer for you to reach your peak, letting out a long moan matched with sloppy shakes of your body against his. But he doesn’t stop, chasing his own pleasure as you whimper and sob with overstimulation. His hand keeps moving on your apex, all sticky with your pleasure and you grip his arm, trying to stop him. “Please—I can’t take it anymore—please my Prince—"

“You can and you will.” He promises “Give me one more. Come on, little traitor, just one more.”  

You’re not late in granting his wish, trembling all over him and curling your toes with spasms in your muscles.

He groans loudly beneath you, teeth clamping down your shoulder and he stills completely, coming inside you with a choked sound of relief vibrating from his throat.

You whimper softly, feeling him pulsing inside you, but he grabs your waist and forces you to stand up. You waver on your weak feet, his hand is around your arm but only to firmly push you away from him. Falling on the ground, you look up to see him fixing his breeches, hair all disheveled and a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“Guards.” He says hoarsely, catching his breath, and two white cloaks stand at attention, their faces blank, pretending to be oblivious to what they have just witnessed. “Take her to my chambers and have the maid give her moon tea.”

Then he looks down at you, his face is wild and yet viciously focused. “We’re going to find a way to send your husband back to Starpike.” He says grazing your lips with his long fingers. “You’re not leaving my chambers anytime soon. In the time being,” his hand grips your mouth harshly, his voice eerily calm “You will write to Oldtown in your own hand, and ask my uncle to send me the head of Samantha Tarly.”

You widen your eyes with terror and he smiles, sweet and poisonous. “And remember, little snake. If I find you near the rookery at odd hours again, I will cut your throat in your sleep. Such a waste it would be. I’d rather have you choking on my cock than your own blood.”

He leaves without another word and you’re left on the ground. You can’t beg mercy to the Gods now, you will have to beg for his and his alone.

thank you so much for reading!! 💕

#a snake in the bosom #liv(in la vida loca) #aemond targaryen x reader #dark aemond #dark aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen fanfic #house of the dragon #hotd fic #aemond fic #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond smut #dark aemond smut #dark aemond targaryen #aemond x wife reader

[tteokdoroki]

OCTOBER 8TH. HADES

“my sweet, deluded little minion. aren't we forgetting one teensy-weensy but ever-so-crucial tiny little detail? i own you.”

♱ — keigo takami + hate sex.

♱ — synopsis; as a naive little girl in love you make a deal that gets you stuck with the unrelenting god of the underworld, and no matter how sweet he may fuck you…you’ll spend all of eternity hating him if you have to.

♱ —length; 5.4K

♱ — warnings; please read for your own safety! mdni, smut 18+, heavy smut, mentions of death, restraints, marking, branding, creampies, thigh riding, impact play, nipple play, multiple orgasms, possesive sex, hate sex, unprotected sex, fem!reader, hades!hawks. not beta read !

♱ — notes; screee happy sinister saturday !! tonight i bring you hawks beloved besmooched as disney's hades!! i hope you guys enjoy this as much as i did writing it. !! mwah !! - m.list ₊ kinktober m.list ₊ taglist 𓆩♡𓆪

pity. 

you should not have pity for the weak because you are weak, yourself. 

you’re weak because you’re too kind; you hate to see a dying soul twisting through those who end up in the land of the undead, shackled to their fate of never returning where the living are. you feel their desperation, hear it in the woeful cries of lost lives as they make their trip down a stream of decay— to be damned for almost all of eternity and like them, you’re desperate too. the underworld is a place to be hated, you think, tying you down to the stench of death and you’re so desperate to feel the sun on your skin once more…to taste the juice of a ripened fruit and feel the warm breeze against your skin while you brush through locks of silvering hair. 

you miss the air in your lungs, you miss breathing him in like he was oxygen.

touya, was there name of the man you missed most about the world up above— his lips often tasted of sour grapes, his skin was rough from scratches and scrapes too but soft whenever you held a his hand. you thought that he adored you— touya would worship you like the gods had put your portrait in the stars up above and you’d do the same…spending your free time counting the flecks in cerulean eyes while soft white hair flows in the warm wind. he was brave, you knew that, a warrior who was strong and had promised you his hand once he returned from the battles his father had called him upon. 

you were promised, you were happy and more in love than you thought possible— until the day touya tells you that he loves you with his dying breath, a sickness sweeping over topaz fem eyes, and you know he’d take your heart to the underworld too.

“you still thinkin’ about him, doll?” 

the warmth of your day dreams slip away as the chill of his voice fills the stone cold lair. you dare to let your fingertips drift through the river of souls below the wall you lean against. “‘m not in the mood, hades.” the god of the underworld, keigo takami is a nuisance if you’d ever known one. a pain in your ass full of feathered flames— bright blue in all of their glory, they’re colder than most would expect, unbecoming of the colour that sprout’s from the king of the undead’s back. 

“hawks. keigo, baby. c’mon little bird…” his voice is tight with humour, surprisingly playful for someone doomed to be surrounded by lifelessness for all of eternity. all of the underworld is dreary and damp, worn arching mountains made of old bones, skulls and teeth— rocks as sharp as swords that end lives with the sickly green stream of whining dead mortals. you can’t breathe down here…there’s no space for you to escape nor breathe around him and you hate it. “oh sugarplum…don’t play sourpuss! we’re all friends here!” the blonde god that burns cold flames picks your dainty fingers from the acidic pool of death. 

he grinds your gears, and you have nowhere else to go. the thought of being stuck with a man who rules over ruined lives— infuriating you to no end. “i am not—“ you seethe, shoulders raised like a hissing cat or something akin to the three headed dog that guards this place. “your friend. far from it, hades.” the look on your face is far from impressed, discourteous with your lips turned into a nasty sneer and a sweltering spark to your usually pretty docile eyes. 

it’s such a shame, how ill behaved you are after everything the man has done for you. “it’s hawks, honey.” the man reminds you, and in a flash he’s on you in all the ways you despise. his slimey grip of death squeezes your cheeks, dragging you up to his mighty height with your face in the palm of his burning hand. hades…hawks, he’s mean when he’s unhappy— the flames that form the wings of a fallen angel flicker a brilliant red and the temperature of them skyrockets. “‘n this is no way to act after all i’ve done for you cupcake.” despite the fury that radiates from the god…he coos gently. 

“if i remember correctly… i’m the one who saved your little prick of a boyfriend… aren’t I?” even through all of the robes keigo wears, you can still feel the molten heat of his skin against yours as he pulls you in close— though you dangle from his hold, you’re practically chest to chest. you scramble to get away, but the god only digs his thumb further into your cheek. “we had a deal. your soul for his life.” with his free hand, he creates an apparition, tufts of smoke dancing to form people…one showing touya who bends at the knee to take the other’s hand— this one being you. 

at first, the two characters seem happy, and an emotion akin to fondness settles in your bones— but not before touya’s little smoke figure trails away from yours to follow another woman “s’not my fault he left you. don’t take it out on me, doll,” hawks drawls, snapping his fingers to make the apparition disappear, your heart rattled in its place after reliving the scene and you force your gaze away with a grunt directed at the god. “now, since you’re being oh so disrespectful, we’ll add…give or take, another five years to your sentence with me instead of taking away seven. how’s that sound?” 

“fuck you, hades.” turning your head, you spit directly between the god’s eyes, fuelled by your own hurtful rage.

your elevated, living pulse does nothing but serve to piss off the king of the underworld more— his blonde set of locks nearly exploding off of the top his head as he combusts into red hot flames once more. “still so bitter over a man who can’t love you like i do, huh?” keigo says your name, low and raspy, and you can’t remember the last time he’d uttered those syllables. it frightens you, after all you are a mortal in the grip of a man who takes lives for a living, but you’d never let him know that. “that’s almost pathetic.”

that hurts to hear, like a knife twisting in your fragile human gut… and so, kicking your feet, still high above the ground and suspended in the large god’s grip— you throw yourself about and claw at his temperate hand cupping your face harshly. “you do not love me, you wouldn’t know what that meant even if it kicked you in the face!” you yell, biting down on keigo’s hands in a futile attempt. “you’re just obsessed with me and would much rather me be a soulless corpse to keep you better company!” 

“you better watch your tone with me, little bird—“

“you’re vile. you’re disgusting— a fool if you think i could ever see the bright side of being stuck here with you,” you ramble in response, and foolishly so. “i hate you hades, i hate you. did you know that? i want to repeat it for you. i hate yo—“ 

your words are never finished, for a resounding strike echoes throughout the cave like atmosphere on the underworld and you already feel the invisible bruising form under your skin, falling to the floor to cup your wound.

no matter how many times you had tested the god of death, he had never hit you like this before.

and you’ve never looked into his golden irises , never seen them so clearly or seen his pupils like black slits— leaving the amber colour to take over, reminding you of the surface sun. hawks looks almost predatory, hungry red flames for wings willing to swallow and burn everything in their path, including you. 

“repeat yourself. what did you say?” keigo commands easily.

you gulp. “t-that i…”

“that you, what?” your name again, and you tremble. 

“that i hate you,” you breathe. “i hate you.” 

he seems to snap at this. 

hawks smiles, teeth as sharp as razors set on display. “another five years into your sentence, pretty.” with a snap of his talon clawed fingers, the god has fragments of grey smog binding your wrist together, slipping over your nose and mouth to shut you the hell up. “‘m disappointed, yanno. i do care so much for you, i’m so attentive… but this has happened far too long to go unnoticed, little bird.” 

the world around you rushes with air as you’re hauls into the god’s thick arms, you kick and scream muffled through the smoke in your mouth— watching as keigo conjures up a throne made of thorns, pain and bones, taking a comfortable seat into it despite the lost loved ones it might be made up of. “here we go again, darling.” the blonde sighs, not caring if you batter his back on the way down to taking his seat— dragging you into position to sit over the swell of his right thigh. “s’always the same old shit with you. so naughty.” keigo peers up at you through eyes like a bird of prey…watching, knowing the exact effect he has on you. 

hyper aware of how much control he has over you, right down to your soul. 

you squirm away and keigo let’s go of the smoke, letting you tilt your head back but still rooted in the god’s lap. “i hate you.” breathing deep, you try to ignore your body flushing with heat and the urge to buck down against keigo’s surprisingly muscular thigh. 

“behave yourself. sit still,” hades coos, his touch cascades up your body, slipping under your bodice and sending warmth down each of the neurons like a flickering flame until he reaches the swell of your breasts— thumbing over your pebbled nipples in an attempt to pull a whine from between your resistant lips. it’s so cute to watch you try and fail, pretend like your hips aren’t aching to slide back and forth, drag your clit back and forth…back and forth over the man like a desperate bitch in heat, like you don’t want to put your hands in the brightness of his fire and watch yourself burn with lust. you’re no good at acting, pretending you wouldn’t slut yourself out for him, the one who owns you for all of eternity. 

with a click of his fingers, all the power in the world between them pulls up the skirts of your robes, like wisps of a web until the fabric sits at your hips. “h-hate you… s’much,” you repeat though the venom to your voice is lost, shaky and falling into a pathetic moan instead as the god traces the fat at your hips, searing fingers sliding down to your fleshy ass before peeling you away from his thigh— amused at the stickiness that ties you to him. “f-fuck.” 

“yeah sweetheart? you hate me this much?” the amusement is evident in his voice too, a slender digit sliding out from the curve of your ass to touch at your oozing wetness. “oh…i don’t know, doesn’t seem like you don’t like me. you can’t spend forever hatin’ me either; not when i get you like this.” the finger spreads apart your swelling folds, and hawks shifts until his knee is able to bump your clit. “lover boy ever make ya this wet?” you despise the way the god talks down on you, as if you’re just a slave to his cock and thighs and whatever he can give you…dopamine and lust hormones flooding your cute little mortal brain and making you pliant for him. 

the beginnings of your arousal seeps warmly through the robes laying wrinkled against the fiery blonde’s thigh, sweet folds leaving a stain that betrays you in every way possible. touya could never… not like this, you’re soaked and you’ve barely been touched. only just, by feather light grazes against the supple fat at your waist. it’s the taunting pillowy cushion to hawks’ words too, they’re what’s gotten you so worked up— not too mean or too harsh, just enough to make you feel like you’re beneath him. 

with your nails digging to hades’ arm, you cry out his name at a volume barely above a whisper— bottom lip wobbling and face crumbling just like your resolve because it hurts so good not to use him to get off, the shame only adding fuel to the fire in your lower belly. “s-shut up,” you struggle to get out, to mean what you say as your needy hole clenches against the blistering skin of a god. “you don’t make me feel shit…y-you could never be h-him—oh,” keigo flexes his thigh beneath your unloyal pussy, tongue darting out to wet his lips in hunger as your words taper off into a sinful little sigh at your pretty eyes roll back into your skull. “oh…oh fuck you.” 

“watch your mouth.” hades all but snarls, a cruel smirk beginning its horizon on his slightly chapped lips now that you’re finally playing his game, your hips falling into their own rhythm over his thigh—speeding up in their straddled dance over him. again, his hands explore all what your body has to offer and this time you let him, throwing your head back when hawks rips the fabric of your skirt to get a better view of your naked rosy cunt and how beads of glistening arousal pearl between perfect pussy lips. “don’t need to be your shitty little human to make you feel good, sweetheart. i know i’m better than him,” he makes a sick point of reminding you so, leaning back into his throne with a hazy look settling into the embers of his golden eyes, those of which are trained on the way your folds encapsulate his thigh as you get yourself off on him. “i’m your god, you’ll only ever feel the pinnacle of pleasure with me.”

you loath that this much is true, of all the times hawks has punished you for resenting him— talking back and being ungrateful, you’ve never cum as hard with anyone else as much as you have with him. when his flaming hands swallow your thighs, burn their hand prints into them until you can smell the scent of singeing flesh tangled with death, decay and your saccharine pussy you feel like you’re dying. you must be, with the waves of euphoria you’re drowning in, your lungs ache from the near screams of delight that rattle around in your throat with every grind against hawks— especially when he begins to bounce his thighs against your cunt that blossoms for him like a flower from the lands up above.

“you’re awful…” you say, teary eyed despite humping at keigo’s twitching thigh faster and faster with ragged breaths— giving him a front row seat to you losing your mind, to your slit drooling so delicately against him despite how roughly your body moves. his clawed hand reaches the back of your bodice, tearing it into two as if it were nothing and letting the fabric fall away from your bouncing chest.

his mouth is on your breasts within an instant, the heated pink tongue of the god rolling over your darkened areolas and rock hard nipples, standing on end from the cool death chilled air, before the sharpened edge of his teeth sink into your soft mounds. “only just now realising that, honey? when i’m literally the king of death?” hawks let’s go of you with a slick pop, his cheeks flushed red and lips in a state to match— cock and thigh twitching at the little simper you let out from the painful sting of his teeth biting at your skin. your state is no better than his, brows creased adorably in the centre of your forehead, mouth open in a raw ‘o’ shape and your eyes screwed shut while your skin shines with perspiration. a diamond in the rough. 

“fuck, you look so fucking good,” the god of the underworld curses, glowing yellow eyes torn between watching your face contort in lechery and your mound, gliding smoothly over his paled yet golden skin— leaving a trail of slick in her wake. “oh fucking hell,” he beefs, from deep within his chest licentiously, the words caught in his throat when you start to bounce up and down in the god’s lap by your own accord. “that’s right, ride it. ride my thigh like you fucking hate me.” he leers, goading you into lifting your hips and slamming your clit back down on his shaky thigh, eyes a dark and molten gold rolling back at the sight. 

you don’t have the energy to curse him out again, whimpering and mewling like a fallen angel as you reach out to grab keigo’s shoulder in order to steady yourself. your body is wracked with the shakes and trembles even as your nails dig into his shoulder blades, one hand on his hip, using him as leverage to ride him, throwing yourself down on him as the lewd pap of your sticky pussy fills the sex and death tainted air. hawks’ mouth is back on you, biting and marking your neck, licking a nasty trail from your collarbones and back to the swell of your breasts to suckle on them— only serving to make your cunt fish every time it’s lifted from his thigh, ruining his dark robes with slick and making his wings burn brighter like the ball of lust growing between you.

hawks plants his feet firmly on the floor, his hands smoothing over your ass so he can roughly pull your cheeks apart, slamming you back down on his quivering leg every time it juts up to meet your pretty, syrupy cunt. you squeak, the hood of your clit pulled back, blood rushing right too it carrying sex crazed hormones that make your whole body tingle. “oh, just look at your fucking pussy. so, wet. so nasty.” he laughs like the sight of you staining his leg, humping it like a bitch is ludicrous. “you sure you hate me?” you do, gods you fucking do but you can barely talk with the delight pain that sparks at your ass cheeks as keigo marks them with burns again. branding you with the hades name— making you property of the underworld. 

“how can you hate me when you belong to me?” he bleats sweet and soft despite how rough hades is with you, scattering your pretty body with scalding burn marks. “when i make you feel so good that you can’t even remember your own pathetic little mortal name?” he says it then, when he’s growling and smacking a blazing hand down against your bruising ass, making you cry out and howl and drag your nails down his skin. keigo did you a favour, saving your weak and loving soul above all else after your lover had cast you aside— he protected you, nurtured you and all you could do was look at him like he ruined the world for you. so in turn, every time you would act up like this, keigo would fuck you until you were literally an inch from losing your life, reminding you that you bound to him for all of eternity, no matter what you did. 

“you’re mine. remember?” he coos to you when your head starts to loll and you’re hiccuping so hard you can’t even think to breathe right. “my little queen of the underworld.” 

slumping forward, you don’t slow the roll of your hips, the gentle glide of your slippery cunt along hades’ blazing thigh and instead you shake your head, weakly, miserably to the point where he just finds your denial cute. “‘m not…i-i,” you gargle, words incoherent against the molten core of keigo’s chest. “i fucking hate you—uhuh, yeah…i do.” you moan.

like most humans, you’re fucking pitiful but your voice adorned with lust is enticing to a god who hears nothing but deathly wails all day. “keep tellin’ yourself that; baby but look at how you fall apart on my lap. uhuh…yeah?” keigo flashes you his pearly whites through his condescending smirk and tone, using you so bristfully that every time he pushes you back and forth over his thigh you go as far back as to grind your puffy clit against his knee. “that felt good, huh? yeah i know…you’re all mine.” 

you fucking hate him, and that voice of his and how he plays you for a fucking fool. 

you hate how his possession over you makes you needy, makes you melt and how you eagerly nod your head, sore and bruised by flames all over as you push it into keigo’s neck— the knot in your tummy nice and tight, so good that it hurts. “‘m close… don’t stop. please, o-oh fuck!” you cry, coated in your own essence as it splatters every time you slam your pretty pussy down on hawks, clenching around nothing, your sweet words soothing the ache in his rigid dick. “j-just like that. f-fuck! keigo!” 

the way you drawl out the syllables of his name makes a primal urge stir in the god— he circles your hips on him, let’s his calloused finger tips burn their mark against your hips and your thighs and your ass, knowing that the torment gets you off, makes your creamy cunt wetter. “you gonna cum for me? make a mess in my lap? paint your god with your pretty juices?” he teases, short for breath leaning up with a fond smile until your lips are just barely apart. he wonders how you’ll look when you cum this time; if your sweaty swollen lips with hungrily accept his, if you’ll cry with your eyes closed or look him in his own— your sparkling bambi eyes swirling with hatred and dread like they always do. “c’mon…come on. give it to me, sweetheart, lemme feel you come undone.” 

hot fingers, the ones that branded you push into your clit— pinching it as hades writes his signature against your throbbing pussy, moaning with you when you jolt. “yeah, you like that?” he growls, voice hoarse and your body betrays you once more, head nodding into his neck. “mhm, you’re gonna cum like this for me aren’t you? you’re gonna fucking cum for the god you hate. that’s it…oh gods, that’s fuckin’ it, doll.” 

“i-i’m! oh gods, keigo—!” you squeal as the knot of lust within you unravels all at once, your core gushing with release as hades makes you dive head first into a blinding orgasm. you violently shake and your thighs lock around his hand that works you through your high and releases the pressure in your pussy, sweet streams of clear arousal soaking his lap and dripping down your thighs. hawks can’t bring himself to stop, doesn’t know where to look as he draws tighter circles on your little nub, drawing out your orgasm for his own amusement, addicted to how your skin shines with your release. “s-stop! please… s’too much!” you squeak.

the world spins harder on its axis and you barely have time to register hawks flipping your positions, folding you with your back to the throne and legs thrown over the bend of his burly arms. he can’t wait any fucking longer, feeling as if his cock might explode without being inside of you, watching you cum like that having sent him into a throbbing frenzy. you haven’t even calmed down yet, still limp from your orgasm when keigo pushes his length through your seeping, glistening folds, red cockhead catching on the hood of your clit in desperation, poking at your fluttering hole, ready to fuck into you while he lets his dick slap along the length of you. 

“j-just because you’ve made me cum…doesn’t mean i like you, nor trust you.” you pant in denial, trying and failing to open your pretty eyes to the underworld. “it doesn’t mean anything.” 

but keigo, he’s too far gone to care at this point. he could care less if you hate him, if you adore him, worship him or fear him. the only thing on his mind right now is sinking his yearning, pulsating shaft into your slick, slit while you’re still coming down from heaven and back to him in the world below. “don’t give a fuck,” he says, a hankering feeling to fuck you now clouding his mind. “i don’t need your trust little bird, i already know your body fucking loves me.” 

he won’t last long and neither will you, you’re already only just hanging on by a thread. “i-i don’t,” you slur, spit on the pad of tongue feeling heavy, you still haven’t recovered from your orgasm, squeezing down on every inch that keigo pushes into you— even though you’re wet beyond belief, your pink little hole can’t help but resist him, as if your body is finally denying him after everything he put you through on his thigh. “n-no…no no!” you cry out, a mess of dry lips and crystal tears, lifting your ass from the seat of the throne to try and coax hawks back into you. “please…need it, y-your cock…p-please!”

“see look, you’re being so nice now… is that all it takes? play with your precious pussy a little bit and you stop pretending to hate me?” keigo laughs huskily, dragging a thumb over his seedy tip as his fat length sits on your tummy— before shoving the soiled digit against your clit, pressing it into your pleasure nub so loosen you up a bit to take him. “this pussy doesn’t hate me, does she? oh no…she belongs to me.” 

you shudder at his words despite the heat of his flames, and you’re not even given a second to respond or prepare before his ribbed and red hot cock is shoved into your unused hole, his practised hands lifting you higher from the throne to accommodate for all of his size. “oh…oh god, k-keigo,” you coo like a little angel, your gaze losing its focus while the king of death folds you in half against his royal seat, the forked and purpling veins decorating his shaft pressing up against new pulse points, pinging them with ecstasy the further he presses into you. 

hawks bends over your shaky frame, golden and carved abs pressed against the backs of your thighs, the god smothering you with his body once he reaches the hilt, your knees digging blissfully into your shoulders, his cock already nestled against your g-spot from the pure size of him and you feel so full, like keigo is everywhere around you, a pleasant pain thrumming as your squishy insides stretch over his cold. he’s in your guts, your senses, your heart though it’s blackened with hatred for him. 

you’re dizzy and your eyes droop, mind void of thought and you don’t have the effort to hate him anymore— not when he makes you feel like this. “nuh-uh, wake up sweetheart, want you to look at me as i fuck ya, kay?” keigo whispers to you sweetly, his blazen hand smacking down on your face, pulling the dirtiest moan you’ve ever heard from between your lips. “that’s it, wake up f’me. listen to this cunt call my name,” he laments tapping your cheek once more and grins at the branded hand print before golden eyes lock themselves  away— taking away your sunshine from up above. you listen intently, the lewd squelch of your insides bouncing of stacks of bones and towers of skeletons, at a volume much higher than the cries of the undead. “my messy messy girl, so messy you might as well admit that you’re in love with me.” 

while that couldn’t have been further from the truth, you submit to the god who makes you a slave to his cock— slowly withdrawing from your snug walls, pulling out of your sticky selfish cunt. “ain’t it damned shame that lover boy took you for granted?” he growls with a voice tinged with possession. “such a shame that you’re sentenced to slutting yourself out on this cock for the rest of your days…oh fuck, you’re tight.” hips surging forwards, hawks sets a steady pace to rocking his dick into you, blunt cockhead pushing and pulling against sensitive spots that makes you see the stars in the night sky again. and maybe you do consider yourself lucky, without touya fucking you over, you wouldn’t be prisoner to the best dick you’ve ever had. 

you hate him, but hades is so, so good—teeth and tongue latching back onto your bouncing breasts as the heat from his flames spreads through you like a wildfire in a forest and the only thing capable putting it out is his precum sloshing in creamy, loose white against your gummy, syrupy walls. “m-my fucking god!” you manage through stuttered breathes, keening into the swipes of keigo’s tongue across your breasts that he’s burned, as if his saliva will soothe you. he ploughs into you at a god speed pace, skin slapping on skin as his balls slam into the curve of your ass and harmonise with your high pitched wails. 

“that’s right, baby.” he sounds so elated, moaning happily around your swollen nipples, moving to pant happily into your ear, pressing further and further into you until keigo is hardly pulling away from bullying your g-spot, your juices splashing about the places, running down the length of your slit and your ass to pool underneath you on the marble throne. “i’m yours and you’re fuckin’ mine, for the rest of forever…don’t, ah shit, care what you say. hate me all y’fuckin’ want.” 

hawks fucks you like he hates your guts, looking over you, throwing your legs over his shoulder and using his weight to canter into your abused cunt, rocking his throne with a dull thump to each of thrusts. he frees you from the grip that leaves burn marks across your body, to briefly run his hand through sweaty blonde locks, both of you are slick with perspiration, breathing ragged and you’re definitely too fucked out to even see at this point. the sun is keigo; despite the dreary underworld you live in, and the tears blur your vision too much for you to tell this isn’t the land of the living. 

“‘m g’na cum,” you tell hades eagerly, feeling like you’re alive the more he fills you up— sexes slotted together like a match made in heaven when you really feel like he’s your own personal hell. “gonna cum so fucking hard.” the pleasure is suffocating, deathly, but you don’t care, crying from every hole possible, locking down on keigo’s ravaging dick when he slaps your entrance to keep you awake— you jolt, sore from every joint and whine out pathetically. 

“can feel you cummin’ on me again, better give it all t’me little bird— want your fuckin’ mind, your body, your soul.” he sinks his teeth into the junction at your neck one last time, adding another delightfully painful mark to the rest that litter your body. he does it all to numb your pain of touya leaving you, fills you up with love which you mistake for hate because how can a merciless god who takes lives for fun be capable of loving you. it’s not long before your body does as he says, following keigo’s lead, tumbling down the highway to hell as the bright light of his flames flashes before your very eyes, your release staining his abdomen where it’s smooshed up against your clit.

“oh shit, fuck that’s it,” he’s right behind you too, abs rippling while the mighty god of death trembles above you and pours thick white from his angry red tip straight into your bruised womb, lewd clapping noises filling the air as he rocks into you through the last of your highs. keigo makes a pretty mess of you; creaming your insides as his last mark of possession over you. “my pretty little bird, mine eternally.” 

he hopes you’ll forget touya, that you’ll forgive him just this once— stop hating him for once. 

but with your foreheads pressed together, bodies limp and uncomfortable against the throne hawks— hades, has conjured up you quickly come to your senses with closed eyes and lost breath. 

“i hate you, hades.” you grunt, shame burning at you now instead of him, instead of lust. “get off me.” 

#𓆩♱𓆪. 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑'𝟐𝟐 #hawks x reader #hawks smut #hawks x you #hawks imagine #hawks fanfic #hawks fic #keigo takami x reader #keigo takami smut #takami keigo smut #tteokdoroki #takami keigo x reader #mha smut #bnha smut #bnha x reader #hawks thirst #keigo takami imagines #keigo takami x you #takami keigo x you #hawks scenarios #tw: impact play #tw: flashing #tw: branding

[ilikethisacompletelynormalamount]

Andrew Scott, Vogue: April 2024.

by Zing Tsjeng, Photos by Annie Leibovitz

Ripley, in other words, is the hero of the tale. “That’s why he fascinates so many,” says Scott. “There’s been so many iterations of him. I think it’s because people root for him.” Actors like Alain Delon and Dennis Hopper have tried the role; Matt Damon played him as an obsequious, lower-class naïf; John Malkovich, as a slimy, camp killer. Scott’s Ripley is different; a watchful loner escaping rodent-infested poverty, more at home among art than he is around people. Musician and actor Johnny Flynn plays his first victim—the monied Dickie Greenleaf—and Dakota Fanning is Dickie’s suspicious ex-girlfriend. “I find Tom quite vulnerable,” Scott tells me. “I don’t think he’s necessarily lonely, but I certainly think he’s solitary…. He seems to me by his nature that he just can’t fit in. He’s trying to survive.”

In Ripley, Zaillian extracts maximum Hitchcockian dread from every creaky footstep. But most sinister of all is Scott’s face, which exhibits a sharklike steeliness throughout. It’s a performance that exudes queasy force. Is Ripley a scammer, a psychopath, or both? “There’s so many things lurking beneath him that I’ve been very reluctant to diagnose him with anything. I never thought of him as a sociopath or murderous,” Scott declares. “It’s up to everybody else to characterize him or call him whatever they want.”

As we weave through tourists near the Tower of London, barely anybody notices Scott, save for a faint glimmer of recognition among mainly young women. He seems to draw reassurance from it. “I don’t like to think about it too much, if I’m honest,” he muses of fame. “I find it a little bit, er, frightening.” He is known but not blockbuster-recognizable, although he is in the upcoming Back in Action with Cameron Diaz and Jamie Foxx. What stunts did he do? “I can’t give that away, I’m afraid, or somebody from Netflix will come and shoot me in the head.”

What’s been on Scott’s mind the most hasn’t been acting at all, in fact, but art. As a 17-year-old, he was offered his first movie role on the same day he was given a scholarship to study painting. He chose acting, but has recently been thinking about Oliver Burkeman’s philosophical self-help tract from 2021, Four Thousand Weeks, which makes the case for focusing on the five things you truly want to accomplish. “For me at the moment, it’s like, What do you want to do? What do you want to say?”

He scrolls through his phone to show me his work. There’s a watercolor of a couple arguing in a restaurant in rich reds and greens, line drawings of friends and people on the beach, and two self-portraits. “It’s a bit weird,” he acknowledges of his depiction of himself, all bulbous forehead and Pan-like tufts of hair. His brisk, nervy lines are reminiscent of Egon Schiele or Francis Bacon, who turns out to be one of his favorite painters. “Well, God, I’ll take that,” he mutters at the comparison. He would like someday to go to art school. “I don’t ever regret it,” he says of acting. “But I suppose you just get to a stage where you think, What else? That’s one of the big painful things in life for me, where you can’t quite live all the lives.” As he gets older, he feels the tug toward revisiting old working relationships, including with Waller-Bridge: “We’ve definitely got things cooking,” he smiles. “I’d love to work with her again. She’s just a singular, wonderful person.” For her part, Waller-Bridge says: “I’d love to see him do a fully unhinged slapstick comedy character. Someone who is outraged at everything, all of the time.”

As we round the pavement and the Tate Modern looms back into sight, he recalls a poster he received in 2017—a monstrously large graphic that detailed every week in a human life span. “It’s your entire life if you live to 80—you have to fill in all the bits that you’ve already lived,” he remembers in awe, “a visually terrifying gift.” What did he do with it? “I didn’t hold on to it for too long.” Easy come, easy go: We finally finish our loop around the Thames and, as Scott disappears back into the throng, anonymous just the way he likes it, it occurs to me that the actor has many lives to live yet. ■

#andrew scott #ripley #vanya #all of us strangers #julianne moore #phoebe waller bridge #annie leibovitz #vogue

[thebadboyfanclub]

A Risk Taker (Daemon x Reader)

This is my first time writing something like this which was challenging but very entertaining, also I left a little detail that I really hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think by commenting. Enjoy!

“And right over here we have the iron throne, historians reported that it was created by hot steel and its rightful place was in what we now know as London, over here we have-“

(Y/n) stood dumbfounded at the sight of the throne in a result she tuned out what the woman was saying or explaining. She was in amazement at it, it was entirely made of swords, she came to wonder who came up with the idea of such a thing, who was the first to sit upon it, and who was the last. So many questions raced through her brain as she instinctively took a few steps to approach it.

(Y/n) was always interested in what historians call “the time of dragons” Some say it is just silly little stories or just tales of the church that wished to demonize the time before Christ.

“Miss you can’t touch that”

Before the security guard could stop her (y/n)s fingers grazed over the arm of the chair, goosebumps went over her entire body before she gripped it firmly and then everything went black.

“A witch! Protect the king! Disarm her”

“What?”

Before she could react or comprehend what was going on around her someone forced her hands behind her back earning a grunt from her.

“Ouch you asshole let me go”

“How dare you command anything you Bitch let go! I swear to god if I fucking bruise”

“Ser Criston, the lady is clearly in distress and pain, I believe it is best if you release her”

“Yeah that, manners much?”

Daemon had to refrain from laughing at her odd way of phrasing her thoughts. Everyone was on edge at someone that just simply appeared in front of the king and the iron throne just from thin air, her clothing was something no one had ever seen and her face was painted, Daemon carefully walked up the stairs who was rubbing her wrists to relieve herself from the discomfort.

“It is alright my lady, I am Prince Daemon of house Targaryen and you are?”

(Y/n) looked around the room, everyone was dressed in posh clothing that was decorating the museum hours ago and the man that was standing in front of her was the same person that she saw from the portrait when she walked in, also he resembled a lot the actor that played prince Philip at “the crown”.

“I… am (y/n) of house…. (Y/l/n) I guess”

“There is no such thing as house (y/l/n) she is lying, we must throw her in the dungeons”

“I fucking dare you”

“You will do no such thing Ser Criston, the lady isn’t dangerous, she is just as puzzled as we are, do you remember anything before this my lady?”

“I was visiting the Museum of Old England, I believe you guys call it Westeros”

“What was the year?”

“2023”

“So you mean to tell us all this just turns to…”

“History, books and movies”

“What are movies?”

“How do I explain, there is a machine that captures a scene like this for example and then it plays for an audience, like theatre but not really”

“The girl is in hysteria and probably lying, we cannot believe her words and prophecies stand true”

(Y/n) turned her head to eye the man that was talking, a man in his mid-40s she guessed that was dressed in all green and had a little pin with a golden hand, her eyes lit up at the realization of who this man was, and her mind could not comprehend what was going on yet she desperately wanted to prove herself she was being honest, probably because her life was at risk.

“Otto Hightower”

“How do you know my name?”

“Oh I know a lot about you, you served the king, and has the king already married your daughter Alicent? Or is Aemma still alive?”

Silence fell over everyone, and looks of concern were being exchanged amongst the people, the lady that spoke knew everything about everyone, there was no way she could create the clothing she was wearing or whatever was on her face, could it be that she was actually from the future?

Frantically (y/n) started to search in her pockets for anything until she thankfully found her phone, she held it up in triumph before she pressed the button to open her screen

“There, see! I have pictures of the stuff that you use! Here is a portrait of one of my favorites from your family, Rhaenyra”

“Me?”

(Y/n)s eyes laid upon the young Targaryen, god the casting of her movie did such a great job the actress looked like the girl that was standing in front of her. (Y/n) smiled brightly at the princess before she took an awkward bow to the princess making her stumble on her way up.

“Princess Rhaenyra, an Oh my gosh pleasure to meet you, huge fan by the way, have you married Laenor yet?”

“We are betrothed”

“Well that is surely something ummm, excuse my weird stance but I feel like I will piss on myself from anxiety”

“Mayhaps it would be best if the princess escorted the young lady to one of the chambers, and found something more appropriate for her to wear”

Daemon chimed in, to save the poor lady from embarrassing herself or worst passing out in front of them. (Y/n) who grew self-conscious of her looks rubbed the material of her jeans as she looked down at her outfit, it was pretty stylish for a museum who would have known to dress appropriately for teleporting?

“These are my nice jeans”

“Ladies wear this?”

“Yes Otto they do, ladies also have rights which is a concept you would surely hate”

(Y/n) could feel her heart beat fast at the realization that all eyes are on her, she was someone that no one could vouch for, a girl that just stood there with no background, no title, they could behead her before the sun goes down and then what? Is death the way to go back? Or would she just die and leave everything behind?

She turned to the king to approach him once again, she swallowed the lump in her throat whilst she kneeled in a sign of respect, the instinct of survival had started to make her entire body shake at the fear of the unknown, she must come out of this unharmed.

“King Viserys, I am as shocked as you are still I ask for just some time, I can show you that I speak in all transparency, I can help you, use my knowledge to your advantage until I find a way to go home”

-

(Y/n) had become King Visery's closest advisor they were a good handful of times that Viserys specifically summoned her, he was always infatuated with dreamers so to have a woman with such power was his biggest asset.

Otto was naturally displeased and somewhat furious at her demeanor, her entire personality was just baffling to him, (y/n) interrupted him whenever he tried to offer his piece of mind to the king, (y/n) had taken away the power he had worked tirelessly to create.

(Y/n) was now lady (y/n), alongside Rhaenyra had to earn a seat at the small council which of course Queen Alicent had as well, (y/n) would of course try to stir Viserys in the right direction however a dilemma stuck in her consciousness like a thorn, she was well aware of how this would go, the dance of dragons, the war that will kick off in a few years, the hatred that was brewing between the greens and blacks, the burden fell on her chest like a pile of bricks, if she were to twist the future would the entire world become something different? Or would she save a thousand lives?

They were times that (y/n) could not have foreseen an event, Rhaenyras tragic wedding feast for example did not quite describe the death of a man, even if it did (y/n) could not have prevented it from occurring mind the fact that she was rather busy, Daemon had asked to have a minute… alone with Lady (y/n).

Daemon was always intrigued by her presence, her sharp tongue, and her reluctance to step back when it comes to an argument, she had the fire of a dragon in her, to Daemon it was evidently clear specifically when she was bare, she had confidence, experience, shameless passion, her touch did not tremble nor did she question herself, she took the reigns from him and showed him how they do it in her time.

“Lady (y/n) can I ask you a question?”

“Of course my prince”

“Father says you know the future, will I get a dragon?”

(Y/n) froze, on the morrow of Laenas funeral what would be the odds for meek Aemond to ask such a question? Today is the grim day that Aemond would lose his eye in a squabble between him and his nephews.

All color drained from (y/n)s face although she desperately attempted to keep her composure in front of an impatient Aemond who was looking up at her with eyes full of hope, all he ever wanted was to fit in, to have what everyone else had, though the cost he must pay was a rather painful one. (Y/n) reached to caress the young prince’s soft cheek and create a circle with her thumb on his soft skin.

“You will, my prince, speaking of such how would you like for us to go for a walk later? I would love to speak to you about it”

“Thank you, lady (y/n), I will be waiting for you”

“Promise me you will wait before you go anywhere”

“I promise”

“Pinky swear?”

“What?”

“It’s a tradition from my childhood, just hook your pinky to mine, like so”

Aemonds pinky intertwined with (y/n)s who was smiling brightly at him, she could not let the poor boy lose his eye over a dumb argument between children, all of the families fought but when you add dragons into the mix it can get messy extremely quick.

“May I ask what is this odd choice of a handshake about?”

“Well Otto it is something from my home, know there is where women can show cleavage and their legs and fathers do not marry their daughters to men that are twice their age”

“Yes you have been rather descriptive of the shameful customs your people hold”

“I know, a woman having an orgasm must be such a baffling concept to you or is it the fact that some of us do not wish to have children and there are actually safe ways of protecting us from conceiving that disgusts you?”

“Hold your tongue in front of the prince”

“You do not command me and you do not scare me, Otto, so I suggest you back off and let me be”

“Lady (y/n), may I have a moment alone with you?”

Daemon interrupted the conversation that was getting quite heated, to be discussing with such temper in public was something that was out of character for Otto but there was just something about her that pushed him beyond himself, to vocally express the urge of sexual desires and taunt it so freely, Parading her flesh like a succubus, no Otto refused to give in.

“Of course, my prince, remember our promise sweetling”

She whispered to Aemond before she raffled his head and winked at him playfully, all of the playfulness was gone when she diverted her eyes to Otto, a frown swiftly appeared as she eyed him from head to toe with utter disgust.

“Asshole”

She hissed making Prince Daemon choke on his laugh from being taken by surprise by her choice of words. (Y/n) walked with Daemon side by side but in utter silence, she just silently followed him waiting for Daemon to let her know what he wished to say in private.

She did as such until they reached the shore, her patience had run thin and her shoes were filled with sand, she just plopped down and took off the shoes to properly feel the sand and enjoyed the sensation of direct contact with nature.

“What is it Daemon, spit it out”

“I thought you would be gone by now”

“So did I but I have yet to figure out the way to go home”

“Perhaps you are not supposed to go home”

“Daemon we have discussed this”

“I left because you send me away, even then I send for you, asked for you and you denied me”

“I had a reason and you were married”

“You send me away”

“Are we going to reminisce about what I did the night we fucked at Laenas funeral?”

Daemon came to a halt at her question. Nobody was more embarrassed by his neediness than him, Daemon was a good-looking man and a prince, he never had any trouble with a lady he yearned for, except (y/n).

After the exceptional time they had together he could still vividly describe how she patted him on the shoulder and told him that she should walk into the feast first so they don’t look suspicious, the coldness in her voice after such a steamy affair left him with countless questions.

Daemon sat next to her and just stared at the horizon, he wanted to hug her, tell her how much he missed her, confess to her exactly the amount of letters he had to send asking about her, (y/n) made him feel weak.

“I wanted to come, I often yearned to relive our moment but I cannot offer what you are craving. I could leave at any time just like a came”

“I have always been a risk taker”

“Your end goal is marriage Daemon, I understand that my age here means I am an old maid but where I grew up I am young, I do not wish to be wed nor have children and you do”

“I have children”

“And I am sure you love them and you love being a father because that is who you are, I am simply not”

“Isn’t this lovely, you have me all figured out”

Daemon spitted with sadness dripping at every word, he could not say that she did not have a point, still, at the end of the day he wanted her, he wanted to burn himself alive in her fire just to feel her warmth.

Daemon got up to leave when he was forced to stop by someone holding him by the wrist, once he looked back to find (y/n) on her feet and had latched her fingers on his wrist.

“Daemon don’t be like this”

“Well, what do you suggest then?”

(Y/n) did not know what to say for the first time in forever, she acted on instinct when she hugged him, her head went on his chest and his heartbeat was picking up at the beat that caused a smile to decorate her lips. Daemon hesitated though he gave in and pulled her tightly.

“This is not fair, you are playing dirty”

“I never had you for a man that is afraid to get in the mud”

They both giggled and (y/n) lifted her head to take a proper look at the prince who was smiling down at her. His index finger and thumb found their way to her chin, after all these years she had frozen in time, still as breathtaking and agitating as he left her.

Daemon was taking too long for her liking so she took initiative and collided her lips to his while being on her toes which did not last long since Daemon was always quick on his feet and pulled her up for her to wrap her legs around his torso, both of them moaned in each other's mouths from the anticipation, Daemon could feel the harsh licks of her fire surrounding him an experience that was so sweet yet deadly.

Daemon made the mistake of laying her on her back which only resorted in (y/n) putting her entire weight on her legs to flip him over in an instant, she never really liked allowing someone to lay on top of her.

Their movements were messy and rushed, and both of them could not contain themselves, they wanted to see one another naked, feel their skin bare as they caressed one another, her moans were animalistic, and the way she moved was like a conqueror that raced into a battle, Daemon was left defenseless and became a mere puppet to her game of sex, he did not complain of course this was what he loved about her, this was (y/n)s favorite part of sex, the feeling of it, the urge of it, the realization that you want someone’s body, that it’s yours for the taking.

Daemon gripped her hips so harshly that he left marks behind, secretly he thought that he was being greedy by being the only one to experience such a show, (y/n) at her natural habitat, what a foolish fantasy, to have an audience in their beddings, he shoved that idea at the very back of his head when it dawned on him that other men would see her naked, would listen to her moans, they would know her magic.

Daemon was utterly unaware that his fantasy was becoming reality at this very moment, both of them blinded by passion to the point that none of them looked around, they focused on each other's eyes, the eyes that whispered everything that was left unsaid between them.

Once their connection came to its very peak (y/n) left her body to lay on top of his as she desperately worked to catch her breath, it was then that a man dressed in green decided to leave the scenery, a man that had spied on them and had frozen to his spot at the sight that had unfolded in front of him had come out of his trance to scatter away before he gets discovered.

“Was it worth waiting all these years?”

“Definitely”

(Y/n) placed another kiss on Daemon's lips at his answer, his strong body was the best bed after such an intense workout, her legs had already started to shake and she imagined this is what it felt like riding a dragon for hours on end.

The world is funny because when (y/n) went to vocalize her thought she heard a dragon approaching, once she fixed her focus on the sky she could see the humungous dragon that was heading back to land, its size was frightening, she could not remember which one was it, it wasn’t syrax and not Vermax, who could be riding at the such hour?

“Someone claimed Vhagar”

“Oh no, oh shit, fuck no”

Requests are open!

#daemon targaryen imagine #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon x oc #daemon targaryen fic #daemon targaryen headcanon #daemon x y/n #daemon targaryen x y/n #daemon targeryan #daemon targaryen x you #daemon prince #daemon targaryen fanfiction #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x you #hotd daemon #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon x reader #daemon au #hotd fanfic #hotd #hotd fic #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon x reader #hotd season 1 #daemon targaryen

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

Your Astarion works have got me in a choke hold, I swear- and I'm feeling angsty right now 😅

So there's that dialogue in game, where Astarion tells you that he was locked in a coffin for a year and just- imagine ascended astarion punishing Tav in a similar fashion, and it's only after he frees her/them that he realizes what he did.

Tav meanwhile, is understandably an inconsolable mess and starving and has no idea what to do.

Okay so anon this request literally had a mind of its own and decided it would be great to just do the ascension scene but for tav cuz Astarion fucked up lol

rated M

Warnings, spoiler about Szarr family line, cult cult this is not good, trauma

1k words of PAIN

"Astarion! No, please! Please, don't do this! I'm sorry!"

Astarion has not stopped staring at the portrait of you hanging in the grand hall, The Hero of Baldur’s Gate. That painter you saved gifted you this as payment for saving him twice.

His eyes fall to your sweet closed smile, your beautiful handsome face captured in this frame.

"You promised!"

He promised he was nothing like Cazador… He isn't anything like Cazador, Astarion loves you. Oh, he loves you more than you can comprehend. However, he has to be fair even with his beloved.

His hand makes a fist as he tries to make excuse upon excuse for punishing you the same way that twisted bastard punished him. This… This is the lowest form of punishment he could give you. You had to be punished!

He releases his hand when feels blood, opening his palm to see the blood seeping out from the cuts.

Astarion eyes closed, you must be starving by now. In ten days he will release you. Just a few more hours. Then he will have you in his arms.

A thrall runs up to him, bowing, "My lord!" Panicking and out of breath.

"What is it?" He can't brood in peace.

"The– The coffin," Astarion raised an eyebrow, "It's missing, my lord."

"..." He turns calmly towards the thrall, "Gone?" He grabbed the fragile human by the neck, "I gave you one job to watch over a single coffin and it suddenly is gone!?" Astarion's fangs bared and eyes glowing with murderous intensity, "I should skin you alive!"

"My deepest apologies, my lord! I was caught off guard by–" Words choked out as Astarion's grip nearly asphyxiated the life out of them, "A vampire came from nowhere! She–"

"She?" Astarion dropped the thrall, "Explain quickly."

You were there locked away in the attic all alone with nothing but the creaking of old wood and the scurry of rats to fill the silent void. The darkness, Gods, you tried to picture anything in the darkness or sleep it away with dreams but all you had were nightmares. You cried, pleaded, but with no answer not even a ‘no’ in response. There was nothing, isolation, emptiness, a small space that felt like it was closing in, to the point of swallowing you whole.

Astarion told you for ten days you will be sealed away. This is the lowest form of punishment he could give you after what you did.

He lied to you and broke his promise, you should've known better but you are a naive fool.

Then the coffin opened, your arms covering your face as you had not seen the light in a while.

"Come on!" A little girl's voice.

You burst out of the coffin like a scared creature on all fours, your claws red with your own blood from scratching, but the warding seal had locked you away. Breathing hard, you barely can see before her young voice centers you.

“Easy there,” She reaches out to touch you but stops unsure if you want to be touched, “You’re not trapped anymore.”

Incognita the reason for your punishment: you stepped between Astarion and his murderous judgment to kill every last Szarr. Including one who disowned her family.

She is innocent! You showed proof and defended her.

"What—How are you here!? No, better yet you shouldn't be here!" Panicking as the girl waves it off.

"I wasn't going to let that asshole hurt you!" She helps you out of the coffin, "Here, drink this. Then follow me." Handing you a healing potion bottle but the liquid is clearly not a potion but blood. "I'll explain everything along the way."

The niece of Cazador Szarr found you as she has been watching within the walls of the Crimson Palace the new owner and thralls with spawns alike walking about.

Her uncle is dead and a new master has claimed his home.

She hates Astarion, though doesn't fault him completely for how he is. Cazador knew well how to make monsters.

"Thank you." You say as Incognita guides you through the deeper sections of the crypt. Your mind on the monster you love-- loved… Should no longer love.

Astarion, what has happened to him?! He swore never to hurt you the way Cazador has hurt him, broken him, yet the proof is the coffin with his magic to seal it.

A broken seal… He is going to know someone let you out.

Once outside the Crimson Palace, she takes you to the sewers. There is a hideout she found abandoned and has been using for some time. She explains that found a way to get out of the city and that she wants you to join her.

"He doesn't deserve you!" Defending her case once inside the hideout, "You aren't like the others, are you?" She has seen it. Astarion is cruel to you yet loving to you, it is confusing and all types of wrong in her eyes.

"To love is to be changed as they say." You are not sure you could explain to her why you stay, though it is not by choice these days.

"... Isn't that supposed to be in a good way?"

You laugh dryly, "Yeah. It is supposed to be." When you look at her you can't see why Astarion wanted her dead, sure you know why but she is nothing like her family members. Her diaries told as much. She tried to rename herself, tried to be better than them. The girl fights with her nature. A child vampire is not looked upon kindly and most vampires see them as wild creatures who need to be fed too much.

You protected her because it was the right thing to do.

"We can run away." She offers.

You smile, "You can run. He will track us both down if I run with you." You grab a piece of paper from the many on the wall, "Find the Devil's Fee, tell them I sent you. Tell them you will only speak to Hope. She can help you."

"What about you? You can't go back there." Confused as you remove a simple necklace off of your neck and put it on her, "(Name), what are you—"

"This is an amber with the blood of Lathander inside. May his blessing find its way to you."

The girl touches the warm amber and then looks up at you, "Is this a goodbye." You nod at her statement, "Find a cure. Live a proper life."

Astarion would and could rip the city apart to find you. If the search had not ended with a messenger bird delivering a letter with your handwriting and a location, Astarion might have started doing so. Instead, he moves swiftly to meet you.

Meet you in the ruins of the temple of Bhaal, there are bodies everywhere of what seems to be cultists who were trying to restore the temple. Runes everywhere, blood magic, glow whispering the abyssal language.

All of them speak in half nonsensical rhymes, but all with a theme about a prodigal child.

The temple smells fresh with death and blood, the symbol of the skull long gone and now a statue of a bat with ruby eyes is crafted into the stone.

"Never again will they control me." Your voice echoes, there you stand in the pool of blood.

The blood smells sweet, sickly, and wrong.

"Astarion," Your back facing him, "Thank you." You gaze up at the statue, "There is only one way to stop evil in this world." A conversation when he suggested controlling the cult of the Absolute rather than destroying it, "To control everything. To rip freedom from them." The room glows, the power raw, and has him dropping to his knees, "You showed me the powerful do not protect the weak. They enslave them! Forcing us to crawl, beg, and suffer!"

You summon forth your gift, the beast consuming your body and morphing you into a bat-like creature.

"I will never live in fear of anything, especially of you!"

#anon ask #reader insert #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion x vampire spawn!tav #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion x mc #astarion x reader

[lavendersartistry]

Devil Nightmares

Space Riders AU - @onyxonline Eve Ewe, Bolt - @lavendersartistry

(CW/TW: nightmares, panic attack)

This is an angst/comfort fic for onyxonline's Space Riders AU! This is mainly centered my OCs Eve Ewe and Bolt! Please check Oynx out, their work is super cool!

Although the skies of the galaxies were forever a sunset to nightfall, it was no later than 9 in the planet of the Lilim.

Its princess, Eve, resigned to her chambers in the west palace, the planet's natural flora greeting her as she entered the room. She took a moment to touch the lotuses in the lily pond close to her balcony, enjoying their fresh and sweet scent.

She looked out to the windows and glanced at the stars and the faraway planets. She took a moment to remember how she and her sister tried counting how many planets there were and how many would soon come to their world in the following years. Now, that time had stopped.

Now, Eve would become a queen and her sister to be general their planet's military.

Eve quickly shook the thought and began to settle for the night. Her favorite book was at the edge of the other side, the portraits of her parents and grandmother looking back at how she had grown. She couldn't help but smile at how proud they could be while they watch over her with their goddess.

With a quick, soft clap of her hands, her lights dimmed as she hurried into bed. Then, to dream.

...........

The unnerving void of nothingness felt like eyes were on Eve that watched her every move. She felt cold, yet she couldn't shiver nor try to exhale the coldness.

Red smoke clouded her view and it felt potent to her senses to even try to breathe in, so she kept her mouth closed. Eve kept walking on, to at least find a exit to this strange place.

Then.

A hand. Then another. Then more. All, so many, grabbed at her as whispers echoed in her ears.

"Join him." "He will bring us salvation." "He is our God."

And Eve ran. Ran far away from whatever was trying to lead her astray. She couldn't look back, not when she could feel those creatures, those voices, right behind her.

It felt like a loop, a never-ending hall to nowhere, no escape. Eve was starting to feel hopeless, like there was no one to come for her. She was vulnerable, easy to take and to indoctrinate. She couldn't even bear to look as the voices captured her and a long, lanky hand reached out for her as the sufferable red smoke corrupted her mind and her soul.

...........

Eve never thought she could scream so loudly. She was in brink of sweat as tears rolled down her face and her hands shook violently.

Her chamber doors opened immediately as the dark wolf critter, her guard Bolt, looked at her with concern.

"Princess? You screamed. Are you-"

Bolt took a moment to realize how she was clutching onto her evening blouse tightly and her breathing rapid. He rushed to her side and kneeled.

"Can you hold my hands?"

Eve turned to him and quickly grabbed his hands as she looked down to her lap.

Bolt didn't clutch her hands nor fully held them. He knew she needed room as he did what he could to get her back calm. He spoke softly, never looking away.

"Good, princesa. Now breathe with me."

The dark wolf critter demonstrated first as his paws rubbed her hands to soothe her shakiness a little. Eve listened to him and started to take deep breaths, the shakiness in her voice slowly soothing away.

"Good, good. Now, tell me what do you see."

Eve's eyes glanced around her chambers before opening her mouth to speak despite her screaming earlier created a painful sensation to her throat.

"I... I see the lotuses.."

"What else do you see?"

"I see you.."

Bolt nodded softly as he sat up and guided her to the lily pond, his eyes on her. The two sat down at the edge, the lotuses gliding in the water.

He kept his eyes on the princess and held her close, his paw and her hand intertwined. With a small exhale, he softly sang a old song.

Seas invite in the evening sun,

To light the somber abyss.

Clouds dance up with the heavens stars,

Chanting an air of joyous bliss.

Water fades back from blue to jade,

Guiding young rainbows high.

Flowers bloom in to reds and whites,

Quenching our hearts as they run dry.

Angels chained,

By a beast locked in slumber.

Sin washed away,

By the swift flow of time.

I may know the answers,

Journey over snow and sand.

What twist of fate has brought us,

To tread upon this land?

Bolt looked down at Eve, noticing how she had gotten calmer after his song. He rest his chin on top of her head as his paws gently went through her hair.

Whatever her dream was, whatever had frightened her like this, was now a priority to discover.

The dark wolf critter looked down at her with a soft, small smile.

"Don't worry, my princess. Nothing will happen to you or our home as long as I am here and our friends."

#pineapple drink | writing #Space Riders AU - onyxonline au #smiling critters #smiling critters au #eve ewe - space riders au #bolt - space riders au #the prototype - space riders au #the voices/followers of the prototype - space riders au #smiling critters - space riders au #aggressively sips tea in angst #woe angst be upon ye #but also comfort #so the dream may have been a vision #who knows #anyways go check out onyx #their au is awesome

[hyuwunjinie]

Blood in the Snow (pt.1)

Characters: Hyunjin x afab reader (ft other skz members)

Genre/warnings: Royalty AU, Arranged Marriage to Lovers, Romance, Smut, Angst & Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual pining, Toxic Parents, Misogyny (Period accurate)

Explicit sexual content. This work portrays elements/themes that may be triggering, proceed with caution. Minors DNI.

Word count: 1,157

Summary: You thought you were engaged for eternity, destined to live your princess' dreams in a grand castle. But the moment you close your eyes, all you can see is the blood in the snow.

—

Today the weather was absolutely wonderful, yet you were anxiously clutching the ruffles of your dress. Your mother sitting next to you had been trying her best to reassure you, to no avail, and your behavior earned you a light tap on the back of your right hand as she clicked her tongue. 

“y/n, I know you are impatient, but please, try to keep your dress in one piece, alright?”

Impatient wasn’t quite the right word. You were terrified. The carriage you were in was meant to bring you straight to the Great North to meet your betrothed, a Lord much higher in status than you were. You were already missing the golden fields of amber wheat that ruffled near your home’s stables.

You didn’t want to admit it, but you couldn’t call this place home anymore, really. Home was now wherever you were headed to, or it shall become home sooner or later, you tried to reassure yourself. You didn’t even know when you could come back, of if you’ll ever get the opportunity to. This realisation was breaking your heart, but the adrenaline rushing through your veins was keeping you from becoming too emotional. 

Your back was already hurting, and you wished you were horseriding instead of having to sit in a stupid carriage in a stupid ruffled dress. In your opinion, you looked like a porcelain doll. And this was not a compliment ; an overdone makeup with your skin way too fair and your cheeks way too pink, a dress that looked like it came straight from a six years old closet, and a painful hairstyle which took one hour to put in place. 

“Mom, I’m just stressed, okay? I am not looking forward to this anymore.” You admitted with bitterness.

“Oh Honey, don’t say this, please. You are gorgeous, there’s no way they won’t like you. give me your hands, they must be tense.”

You always admired your mother’s way to dodge a difficult subject by redirecting people’s attention on another, but this time you silently cursed the gods you were the victim of her stratagem. With a sigh, you gave your hands to your mother who dedicated herself to slowly massage them. Looking out the small window of the carriage, you contemplated the slow change of the scenery, the golden leaves of the south trees slowly giving up their spots for their green cousins. Reminiscing the past, you let yourself drift to sleep under the careful gaze of your mother.

—

“Mom, where does he live ?” You asked, your small frame holding onto her hand in front of the newest portrait in the hall. You were four or six years old, at most. 

“Way up north, sweetie.” Your mother answered, her voice calm and collected. Cold but warm, she gave you a reassuring press on your palm. 

“... Why can’t he come play here ?” You let out with a pout, puzzled at how distances worked still and scratching your brain to understand your mother’s words. 

“It’s too far. it would take him hours to reach this place.” She chuckled, mellowed by your cute face and visible dilemma. 

“That’s not fair. I want to play.” You were eyeing the portrait now. 

A youthful boy was sitting next to two adults. Their faces seemed warm and inviting, a welcoming sight for the viewer. But you learned fast enough that your focus should be on the other kid. He had short black hair, full lips and almond eyes. Dressed in expensive clothing, he sported a navy blue vest with shorts and dress shoes. 

Your mother sighed, a thoughtful gaze etched on her face. 

“Life is rarely fair, y/n.” Her sudden grave tone made you look up, and she met your gaze halfway. “See, this boy ? His name is Hwang Hyunjin. One day, you will be his wife. Like your mama and papa.” Silent tears rolled down her cheeks, contrasting with her small smile. “And you will have a happy, wonderful life with him.”

“...Mama, why are you crying ?” Confused, you could feel your own tears prickling your eyes, but you didn’t even know why you felt this way. 

Now at your level, your mother gently put back a strand of your hair behind your ear and embraced you closely. 

“... It’s nothing, sweetie. Mama is a little tired, alright ?” She sobbed in your shoulder. 

You remember it snowed, that day. 

—

“Y/n ! look !!” You were woken up in a rush by your mother who was gently rubbing your upper arm to get your attention. 

Barely processing your environment, you focused your brain on your mother who was pointing intently at the carriage window.

You followed her hand, and all you could see was white. Snow, you realised. Snow as far as you could see. It was the first time you witnessed a wintery landscape. In the south, it did snow some times, but it never stayed on ground, melting right away upon its contact. 

The light reflected so prettily upon the white mantle outside that you let out an audible gasp, mesmerized by this new sight. getting closer to the window, you could see your breath, and you shuddered, suddenly aware of the sudden drop of temperature you were experiencing. You were hurting still, but you suddenly felt glad to be inside the somewhat warm haven of the carriage. 

Reaching for the bag in front of your seat, your mother pulled up an ivory chawl that she put tightly around you. 

“I knitted this one myself, you know ?” She chuckled proudly.

“Wait, really ? I thought you hated knitting, mother.” You stared in disbelief at the skilled handiwork of the chawl and its flowery details. You slowly discerned patterns of sunflowers and lilies. You recognised the sunflowers to be you, as it was your favorite flower, and it didn’t took you long to remember lilies were Hyunjin’s favorites.

“Oh, I do, don’t get me wrong. But I wanted to surprise you. I was meant to give this to you after the wedding, but I suppose now is as good as ever, right?” She looked at you, gaze thoughtful and unreadable. You stared at each other for a second, before you finally broke the eye contact. 

“Thank you, mother. It’s a wonderful gift. I will treasure it greatly.” You stared at the mixed patterns of sunflowers and lilies. “I will use it a lot with these temperatures, I’m sure.” Reaching out for a hug, you suddenly felt as if something changed, in that instant. A realisation that, after the wedding, your parents will return to your- their home. You won’t see your mother every morning anymore, waiting for you at breakfast with eggs and toast and fresh orange juice. You won’t be able to go flower picking together anymore. You squeezed her more tightly. 

“...I will miss you, mother.”

“I will miss you too, y/n.”

In silence, you held onto these words for what seemed an eternity. 

#kpop writing #hyunjin #stray kids writing #stray kids x reader #hyunjin x reader #stray kids #stray kids smut #hyunjin smut #stray kids au #stray kids imagine #stray kids scenario #stray kids fic #stray kids series #hyunjin au #hyunjin imagine #hyunjin scenario #hyunjin fic #fic: blood in the snow

[smoooothoperator]

Beautiful Stranger

10: Ready Or Not

Driver! Lando Norris x OC (Lily Barton)

Summer love, strangers to friends to lovers, Greece and Greek mythology references

Words: 2.7k

warnings: Lily's pov, handritten and falshbacks in italics

Masterlist

Official playlist

previous part | next part

a/n: hello guys!! I'm warning you, the next chapter will be the last one of the story! (not including the epilogue, obviously). I hope all of you like this chapter even if for me seems boring, love you all❤️

Every type of feedback is very welcomed

She was broken.

The moment she heard the knocks on her front door she knew he was leaving. Leaving forever.

No matter how much pain he gave her, no matter if he lied to her. She fell in love with the person that shared those days with her. She should forgive him, right? Give him a second chance and let him explain.

But how? How can she do that? Why is it so hard to control her emotions? 

Logan, or Lando, whoever he is, lied to her. It's not funny when someone lies to you. But when that person knows everything about you, all your fears and deepest secrets, the trust is gone so quickly.

And that's what happened to her. She trusted him enough to let him sleep on her bed, to let him take showers in her bathroom, to have a bath with her. Enough trust to give herself to him.

And now she's standing in the middle of her apartment, with cushions and blankets on the floor, balls of paper ripped off of her sketchbook with portraits of him. 

"How could you?" she mumbled, looking at the first draw she ever made of him. Those eyes staring back at her, this time with a mocking gaze. "Why…"

She spent that day in her bedroom, under the blankets trying to find some comfort and emotional support. 

But the pictures on her phone weren't helping at all. All the memories coming back while watching them, those weren't helping at all.

"Oh my God!" she exclaimed excitedly, walking closer to one of the pillars of the ruins. "We are in Delfos!"

She was looking around, like a kid in a candy store, and he took pictures of her. He took pictures of her smile and how her eyes were bright while looking at all those ruins.

"I only see broken things" he joked, making her slap his arm softly.

"Just imagine it" she said, pointing around. "It just gives me shivers thinking about it"

"You are so cute" he chuckled, kissing her temple. "Come on, take a picture with me"

She sighed, locking her phone and leaving it on the other side of the bed. 

She took a deep breath, feeling how the wave of sobs started again. Her brain was punishing her for trusting someone like him, making her remember all the moments she had with him, all the moments she started to fall harder and harder for him.

Logan was a liar and she loved him. 

Lily tried to love before. To fall in love with her fiance, or even like him. That man was good with her, he didn't deserve to be left alone in that church, without a wife and with all their family laughing at him.

"Liliane, would you like to go out for dinner with me?" Adrian asked her, walking inside her apartment. "Come on, get ready"

"Adrian… I really don't want to go outside" she sighed l, closing her book and leaving it on the coffee table. 

"Then I'll make you something and we'll have dinner here" he nodded. "I saw you have a nice wine around, maybe I can make something and we can open it"

She took a deep breath, looking at the man. How can someone like him accept what his parents did? He's 26 years old and she's 23, how can someone accept something like that just to make their parents happy? What type of parents are them? 

"Alright" she nodded. "What are you going to make?"

"Well… I heard that you love Greece" he said. "And casually one of my coworkers' customer is the owner of one of the most famous Greek restaurants in London"

"The Andromeda?" she gasped. "No way, that's one of my favorite restaurants in London!"

"I know, that's why I asked if I could have the recipe of their most famous dish" he said, showing her the screen of his phone.

"That's… that's awesome, Adrian" she smiled softly, visibly touched by the gesture he had with her. 

"So yeah, continue reading whatever you were reading while I cook our dinner" he nodded.

Adrian was a handsome man, someone that has all the girls of the company behind him. But she wasn't jealous. She didn't see him that way, she couldn't see herself being in love with him even if she tried.

She blames the karma for everything that is happening to her. If only she tried to be how her parents wanted her to be, or accept her destiny and marry a man she couldn't love.. if she didn't abandon her family, none of this would be happening.

She was heartbroken, knowing that she was having an inner fight, wanting to get up from her bed and go talk with him or just ignore him until he leaves the next day.

The first half hour was easy. She only had to close her eyes and take deep breaths, ignore the noise of her surroundings and focus on her heartbeat. 

But again, memories with his face on it came back.

"Lily!" he giggled, getting out of the water of the sea and running towards her.

"Don't you dare! No! Logan!" she exclaimed, knowing that he was going to hug her with his body wet from the water. "Stop it!"

"Come on, let's cool down a little" he chuckled. "You are too hot. And I'm not saying it because you are hot and sexy. If I out an egg on your thigh I bet it would fry"

"You are exaggerating" she laughed, rolling her eyes.

"Come to the water with me, come on" he asked her, kissing her shoulder. "It's really nice"

"I was tanning, Logan" she sighed, sitting on the towel.

"And you can continue that later" he smiled. "Come on, are you the same Lily that the same day you had your ankle bandaged, needed to be in the water and fell to the floor of the bathroom? Or the one that literally dragged me out of my apartment to take you to the beach?"

"Oh, and you loved doing that" she smiled, pecking his lips. "Didn't you?"

"Of course I did" he chuckled. "And I loved every minute of that and what came next"

She felt tears again, making her close her eyes hard and gasp while opening them again and sit on the bed.

She heard that love comes with pain, but never imagined it could be that painful.

She doesn't know when she fell asleep, thinking it wasn't possible after what happened, but the knocks on the front door were the reason she woke up.

She heard him. His voice was sad, it didn't sound the same as the previous days. 

Lily wanted to open the door, to ask him to stay and never leave. But it was for the best, for both of them. She wanted to tell him so many things, ask him so many things… but her body wasn't helping at all, staying still on the door of her bedroom.

She saw the paper slipping through the door, making her breath get stuck in her throat and her heartbeat increase. She was battling her own body to walk towards the door, wanting to see him one last time. But her body wasn't cooperating.

Maybe she has to forget him. Maybe it's a sign her own body is sending her. Her brain and heart were having an argument, her angel and demon were fighting on her shoulders.

"Why would you want to go to him? He lied to you! He deserves your hate and your silence" her mind and demon groaned.

"You love him, Lily. And he just said he loves you. Everyone deserves a second chance" her heart and angel argued back.

"No" she frowned, looking at the paper. She wants to pick it up, to read it. Maybe it has the answers she's been searching for.

"He hurt you, Lily" her demon said. "Burn that thing. Rip it off. He doesn't deserve your pardon"

Her body was working. Her legs were taking her to the door, letting her grab the paper. It was like her body was being controlled by cords, she was a ragdoll.

"Please, Aphrodite" she mumbled.

She believes in love. She always wanted to find someone who loves her no matter what. Someone who would give her everything she needed and deserved. 

And he, Logan, gave her everything.

Ignoring the paper, she opened the door hoping to find him there, waiting for her.

But there was no one waiting. 

"Fuck" she mumbled, looking down and closing the door.

The paper remained untouched and ignored for days. All her answers were there, and still, she didn't want to read them. Every time she walked out of her apartment she stepped on that letter. 

"Kalimera, Lily" Nora smiled weakly at her. "How are you feeling?"

She looked at the woman in front of her, watching her sad smile directed to her. She knows what happened.

"Good" she lied. 

"Lily…"

"No, really. I'm good" she nodded. "I’m really good”

“How many times will you repeat that you are good? Are you doing that to convince yourself?” Nora sighed, placing her hand on her shoulder and squeezing it softly. “You don’t have to lie to me, kid”

“I just…” she sighed, feeling how her shoulders got heavier. “He lied to me, Nora… he made me fall in love and believe his lie from the start. You know me. You know that I don’t like lies…”

“Was it really a harmful lie?” the woman asked, grabbing the chair next to her and sitting on it. “You know why he did that?”

“It doesn’t matter. He lied” she mumbled.

“It does matter. He’s famous. You know how that life is, you know how it is being the daughter of someone that has an important name” she said. “You came here to escape, just like him”

“But that’s not a reason to lie! To tell me that he’s a person he’s clearly not”

“You are being selfish here, Liliane” Nora said, making her flinch when she heard her birth name. “You came to this town escaping from your life, making everyone believe that you are someone you are not. Tell me this, kid. Do you keep that ring you came with? Do you still have the money your parents gave you?”

“Nora…”

“No. This is my time to talk” the old woman interrupted her. “You came to Parga the same day of your wedding. You came to this town with things from your previous life and locked them in a wardrobe. You know you can’t hide from f¡your past forever, Liliane”

“Stop calling me that name…” she mumbled.

“It’s your name. Can’t you see? You came here and did the same thing he did! You changed your name and made everyone believe your lies” she frowned. “That guy loves you. That guy came here all days asking how to make your favorite dishes, which places he should take you. That guy called to check if there weren’t any paparazzi around because he didn’t wanted to expose you two because he knew that sooner or later someone would find him”

“I didn’t ask him to do any of that!”

“Exactly! He did that because he loved you! He loves you! Did you read the letter? Did you read the emails?”

“W-what emails?” she frowned.

“I gave him your email address”

“Nora!”

“Lily, please. I want you to be happy, he made you happy” Nora sighed holding her hands. “Just give him a chance”

Lily sighed, getting up and getting ready to work, trying to get distracted and not look at her phone.

If he sent her emails, why not send her a text? Oh, right… because they never exchanged their numbers.

Summer finished. And then autumn came. 

She read his letter a month later, having to grab it after receiving a package with his name on it. 

The moment she opened the box, his perfume invaded the apartment, knowing that he sprayed it on the clothes inside of it.

She sighed, grabbing the baby blue hoodie and hugging it. It definitely smells like him.

"Idiot" she whispered, breathing the scent of the material. 

A card caught her attention, making her sigh when she recognized his handwriting.

My amazing Lily,

I hope you like this hoodie. I read that the cold in Greece comes late, but I know that you like to wear hoodies no matter the weather outside. 

I hope next time we meet you wear this hoodie. 

I miss you.

I love you.

Yours,

Lando.

She sighed, tracing the handwriting with her fingertips. She remembers how he used to write on her notebooks, trying to copy the words she wrote in Greek.

She imagined how he looked while writing this letter, how he could be biting his lip, how he could shrug his nose.

The day she received the box, she read his letter and emails, making her wonder how he's doing, how is his life without her.

She wanted to answer, write to him and call him. But there was something stopping her. 

What was it? Fear? Maybe… Anger? No. 

Pain. The knife of betrayal was still buried on her chest and everytime she read about him, it slipped deeper and deeper. 

Maybe his life is better without her. Maybe she was only a summer fling for him. Maybe he doesn't need her anymore.

That's what she thought while opening her email app, not finding news about him. 

Maybe… maybe he forgot about her.

He went from writing all weeks to write only once a month. Even if he said that he loves her, she feels alone, not loved anymore.

Maybe she should write to him. Maybe she should ask why he doesn't write to her anymore. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe…

Maybe she deserves this, all the torture and the pain. Because Nora was right: she's a liar too.

What she considered her home was now a torture room, making all the memories of them come back to her. The town she loved was now the stage where ghosts of them danced in synchrony, making her remember that he's no longer with her.

Everytime she walked through that street she could remember the first time he saw him, making her feel goosebumps on the ankle she injured.

Everytime she went to that private beach she could remember all the times they nearly kissed, how he confessed that he was dying to kiss her, searching for orange shells and talking about nothing. Now she looks around trying to find those shells as a way of having him close to her again.

This place holds too many memories of him, of someone that is no longer hers.

Maybe she has to leave and find a new home, a new place, and start from zero. Be herself, Liliane Barton. 

She called him immature. But how wrong was she, when the immature here was herself, living on a lie she created even if she escaped from one. She never wanted to be what her parents asked her to be. She thought that she could be like those women from the tales her babysitter read to her when she was a kid. She thought she could be brave and strong, a fighter everyone could respect.

But to be fair, she's still being a little girl that wants to escape from the real world.

"Mature, you idiot" she groaned looking at herself in the mirror. 

She tried to find somewhere to go. Somewhere to settle down and act like the adult she is. A home, a job… whatever she needed.

"What if he comes back?" Nora asked her with a sad smile, grabbing the keys of the apartment. "What if he's searching you?"

"Will he?" she smiled weakly. "Do you really think he will come? I don't think so… he stopped writing, Nora. Even if I wrote to him once he never replied. I'm the past…"

"Oh, Lily…"

"Liliane" she corrected her. "I learned my lesson. No more lies"

"I'm proud of you, little girl" she smiled, hugging her. "But… I'm sure he will come"

"Then if he does that you know what to do" she whispered, hugging the woman that was like a mother to her one last time, pulling away and grabbing her suitcase.

When she came for the first time to that town, dressed with a summer dress and her hair styled as a bride, she was a scared girl.

But now, dressed with a red hoodie and the name of the eSports team of someone she still loves on it, she feels free.

This time she's free.

taglist

@lestappenloverr @racinggirl @roni-midnights @livster8 @kakorrhaphiphobia @starkeyellow @celestialpierre @ophcelia @msliz @lorarri @ironmaiden1313 @imsorare @mycenterfold @im-an-overthinker @soosheee @karmabyfernando @landoyesrizz @sticksdoesart @beatricemiruna @nonameishere @flwr-stella

#f1 #f1 imagines #f1 imagine #f1 fanfics #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 x y/n #f1 x oc #f1 x you #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 drabble #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fic #formula 1 fanfic #lando norris #lando norris x oc #lando norris blurb #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine

[novamariestark]

Uncovered

Summary: When your potential targets get apprehended abroad, you and Alden have to take their place and things take an interesting turn

Warnings: 🔞 piv (unprotected), fingering, oral (f receiving), undercover couple, age gap, pet name (daddy), and most likely poorly written smut 😂🔞 [it's 2am rn so prob some errors but I really wanted to post it. Will edit later today 😂]

Word count: 2426

Fandom: NCIS

Pairing: Alden Parker x reader

You were cursed. You were sure of it. You couldn’t believe what was happening. And you were sure Nick and Jess had something to do with it.

Since your two potential targets were being detained at Athens International Airport, your chances of catching your killer were now slim to none. It was by chance you came across this couple, finding flight information in the killer’s suspected hideout. You decided that you would tail them from the airport and stakeout their house but now that plan is useless.

When all hope seemed to be lost, Nick said a string of words that are dangerous coming out of his mouth, “I have an idea,”

And it was dangerous. For him. Because after this op was over, you were going to murder him.

That idea? You and Parker, who also was subject of your pining for the past seven months, had to go undercover as that couple. Why? Because Nick insisted that you two were perfect, because you were young and Alden was “old” as he said, earning a subtle glare from him. That was bad enough. But at the very last moment, Nick decided to give you a little extra insight to this couple. They were very sexually active.

So not only did you have to pretend to be a married couple but apparently you had to pretend to be an incredibly horny married couple.

Slow and painful, Nick. You’re death with be slow and painful.

Of course, you wouldn’t have a problem “pretending” to be horny when your fake husband looked like he was like a portrait come to life, every line and angle of his face meticulously crafted to mesmerize you.

And to make things worse. It was believed that the killer had some high-tech shit. Things that helped him hear and see things going on in his targets places.

You weren’t looking forward to the fact that you were going to be so close to the man who you were head over heels for but still so far. This was going to be torture and you knew it the second you walked through the front door of your new house.

In the car on the way there, you discussed how you were going to communicate whilst in the house, deciding on either text or paper.

It was awkward the moment that front door closed. Hopefully the killer would chalk it off as jet-lag but neither you nor Alden knew what to do. Neither of you wanted to push the boundaries despite the fact that at some point you were going to have to and it wasn’t like you could have an in depth conversation about it. It was something you wanted to discuss in the car, but you just couldn't bring yourself to.

Your phone buzzed, you reached into your pocket and the screen immediately lit up with Alden’s name.

‘You sure you’re up for this?’

You typed a quick reply, ‘Don’t have much of a choice,’

You gave him a quick nod before walking into the kitchen to make some coffee, “You want some coffee, babe?” you called to him, suddenly a pair of arms wrapped around your waist and a pair of lip latched themselves onto your neck and in an instant, you were turned on.

“Coffee can wait, sweetheart,” he told you as his lips moved to your shoulder, his crotch slight grinding over your ass. You couldn’t lie. You wished this was real, but it wasn’t. He was just pretending. His hands trailed further up to cup your breasts, you arched your back, pressing your ass further into his crotch. God how much you wanted it to be real.

One hand moved to grip your thigh. From any other angle, it’d look like his hand was exactly where you wanted it. But it wasn’t. But you still had to pretend it was.

You weren’t the only getting turned on. The sounds you were making although, he thought you were faking them, were so beautiful to him. He wanted to hear that sound on repeat, just constantly. And more importantly, he wanted to be the reason for those pretty little sounds.

All too soon it came to an end. Although, it may have been a blessing in disguise. You were just being tortured of what could be. This continued for the next few days. You were beginning to think that the killer wasn’t there but still. You were also hoping that whilst you were dealing with this torture, the team was actually making some kind of breakthrough so this could end. But no. nothing.

Over those few days, the shows you two put on got hotter and longer. It was literally too much for you to handle and you were literally aching. Desperate for any kind of release.

You were set for another round later that night in your shared bedroom but you couldn’t. the moment he wrapped his arms around you and you felt him start to grind against you, you pushed him away. He was confused. Did he hurt you?

“What? You okay?” he whispered, his fingers gently dance on your shoulder but every touch set your skin on fire. You shrugged his hand off and you felt it fall to the bed behind you.

“I can’t,” you cried softly, “It’s too much,”

“What’s too much, sweetheart?”

“This, I-I can’t,”

“It’ll be over soon,” he sighed. You wiped your tears. You could hear sadness in his voice, as though he thought that you were disgusted to be in bed with him. To be near him. You turned over to face him, he gave you a sad smile when he saw your face. You shuffled closer to him. You had no idea where the confidence was coming from. You couldn’t believe what came out of your mouth.

“Please touch me,”

He was confused, you had literally just pushed him away, but soon realisation hit him. You wanted him to touch you for real. Not pretend like you had been doing this entire time. He reached his hand out but hesitated, “Are you sure?”

You nodded, “Please,” you begged again, it came out as a cry as the ache became increasingly aggressive.

He let his fingers run through your hair and down your neck. You skin felt so soft under his rough fingertips, he ran them down your arm and onto your breast. You moaned, your back arching to push them closer to him. He gently squeezed your nipple over the thin fabric of your vest, feeling the hard nub of flesh between his fingers. He moved his hand to your other breast, cupping it in his palm and massaging it softly.

You whimpered as he continued to tease your sensitive nipples. It was a though your veins were on fire, every touch sending a wave of pleasure through your body. He had barely touched you, yet you felt as though you were already on the edge.

His hand slid down your clothed stomach and down to you tiny shorts, which had been driving him insane, especially since you didn’t wear underwear underneath them so he could see the perfect outline of your ass and your pussy. Not that you knew that. You hadn’t even thought about it.

You could feel yourself getting wetter as his fingers just slip though the waistband of her shorts, and she felt her skin heat up in anticipation. You wanted him to keep going, to explore further down your body. But he stopped, teasing the flesh just beneath it. You squeezed your thighs together, wanting, needing any kind of friction. You grabbed his forearm, your eyes pleading with him not to tease you. He got the message.

“Okay, baby. Lie back,” you did as you were told, you rolled onto your back, his hand still tucked in your waistband. Your legs automatically spread apart. His hands began to slide further down until he felt the wetness on your lips. You gasped as his fingers touch your clit. His fingers begin to circle the swollen bud, slowly. You moaned and lifted your hips, pushing yourself further into his hand.

The moment he slid his finger inside of you, your body reacted to his touch. The walls of your tightness began to clench around him, as if inviting him in further. His fingers moved slowly in and out, teasing you in a way that made you crave his touch even more. He curled his finger inside you, moving it slowly in and out. He slipped another finger inside you, curling them together. You cried out, bucking your hips into his hand again. His fingers began to move faster, sliding in and out of you with perfect precision.

You whined as he removed his fingers, you turned to say something to him, but he pushed himself off the mattress and climbed between your legs. He gripped your shorts with both hands, “Now these are just in the way,” he said, before he slid them off your legs and threw them God knows where. Without giving you time to apprehend what was happening, his tongue replaced his fingers. His tongue worked its magic, bringing sensations of pleasure to every corner of you. He licked and sucked and nibbled until you felt yourself trembling from sheer pleasure. His tongue suddenly felt thicker, almost licking inside of your curves, pushing, teasing and seeking out the secret places.

Your body shook with pleasure as you let out a loud, guttural moan. Everything felt so good as his tongue, fingers, and mouth moved in sync. His soft lips sucking and licking your most sensitive areas. You felt so close, and then he slid two fingers back inside of you, curling them in just the right way, sending a million different sensations coursing through your body. Your hips began to thrust harder and faster against his face as he picked up the pace and you felt yourself nearing your climax. Your breathing becoming more and more ragged, and you could feel your walls tightening around his fingers pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You griped his hair tightly as you came and your body shuddered in pleasure, your orgasm crashing over you with a total force unlike anything you had ever experienced before.

He removed his fingers from you your juices flowing down them and brought them to his lips, his tongue darted out to taste you on his fingertips, “Hmm, delicious baby,” you moaned at the sight. He chucked and leant down, his face hovered above yours. He placed a gentle kiss on your lips. You could taste yourself on his lips and it only turned you on even more, “you feeling better baby?” he asked. You shook your head, “No? Does baby need more?” he asked, his thumb grazed your bottom lip, you took it into your mouth as you nodded.

“Please fuck me,” you begged. He did not need to be told twice. He stood up from the bed and began to strip. You didn’t tear your eyes away, instead you watched intently as more skin was revealed. You didn’t realise you were biting your lip until the taste of metal hit your tongue.

He was now completely naked, his cock standing proudly erect. He climbed back onto the bed and in between her legs. He rubbed his cock along your pussy lips, teasing you. You whimpered and tried to push yourself towards him, but he held you still.

“Please,” you pleaded. He ignored you and continued to move his cock up and down your slit, coating himself in your juices. He looked down at you, watching you writhe beneath him.

He placed the tip of his cock against your entrance. You opened your mouth to plead again but he silenced you, placing his hand over your mouth. He pushed his cock into you, inch by inch. You screamed into his palm as he stretched you. He paused when he was halfway in, letting you adjust to his size. When you stopped screaming, he thrusted his entire length into you.

You cried out, your nails digging into his shoulder. He pulled his cock almost all the way out before slamming it back into you. You threw your head back, a symphony of moans falling from your lips. Alden buried his head in your neck, wanting to be even closer to you.

“Fuck, daddy. Feels so good,” you moaned, your brain was mush and you couldn’t think straight. Alden immediately stopped his movements. You swore you felt all color drain from your face, “I’m so-“

“What did you just call me?” he asked. You wanted to crawl under a rock and die. Why did you say that? Was he completely grossed out? Your thoughts are cut off when you feel him bite your collarbone, “Say it again, baby,”

“Feels so good, daddy,” you giggled, he groaned and lifted his head from your neck. He sat up, his cock leaving you for a moment, you whine at the sudden emptiness.

“Turn over,” he ordered, you did as you were told. You flipped onto your stomach with your ass in the air, your pussy ready and dripping for him.

He smiled, sliding his cock into you. He grabbed your hips, his fingertips digging into the flesh. He slammed himself into you, the sudden intrusion made you lurch forward, your face hitting the pillow below you. He moved faster, each thrust deeper, harder, quicker. You felt your whole body shudder uncontrollably as he drove into you again and again. You curled your toes and cried out, your screams muffled by the pillow.

“Fuck, daddy. So close,”

“I know you are, baby,” he said as he pounded you harder, his balls slapping against your slit, increasing the pleasure. He felt you were about to cum, he was right there with you, “Cum for me, baby,”

And you did, it hit you like a brick wall. With one last thrust a string of curses along with your name fell from his lips as he exploded, spilling his seed inside you. He fell to the bed next to you, pulling you tightly into his chest.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your eyes heavy as sleep called to you. You curled yourself onto his chest, his arms protectively around you.

He kissed your forehead, “When this is over baby, I’m taking you to dinner,”

You fell asleep with a smile on your face. This undercover op wasn’t that bad after all. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll let Nick live.

#alden parker x reader #female reader #reader insert #alden parker #alden parker imagine #ncis x reader #ncis

[enderpearlll]

How would Yandere!Bob Valesb feel about a Yandere!Y/N who was just as obsessed with him as he is with them, where they'd do their best to always obey and please him. Heck they would even cut themselves for him, so he could taste their blood whenever he wished. And if anyone ever tried to "rescue" them from Bob, they'd straight up try to murder their would be savior.

Yandere!Bob Velseb with a s/o that’s as fucked up as him.

These requests were practically the same thing so I combined em. These are DARK so please proceed with caution lmao.

Gender-Neutral reader.

TW/CW: Yandere content, yandere!reader, blood and injury warning, sadism/masochism, physical abuse, cannibalism, vivid descriptions of murder/violence, etc…

• Now, Bob would be over the moon if he had a s/o that was more than willing to let him do anything to them, especially if they loved what he did. You feed into his obsession more than it needs, and it only makes it worse in the long run pain wise.

• And when he says willing, he means WILLING. Like you would do anything for him if he asked, and you were simply, in his own words, his missing piece. Bob never thought that he’d find someone so eager to let him do whatever, whether it be marking you up as much as he wants or even helping him dismember a body! He’s head over heels for you.

• Bob had tasted blood before, and after awhile he starts to get sick of the taste. But yours, oh boy, it drove him wild. It was like drinking a sweet wine, going smooth down his throat like nectar. God, he loved it. So when he needs his fill, you’re happy to maim your perfect skin to let him have as much as he wants.

• Speaking of skin, Bob thinks that the scars that he leaves on you are stunning. Like painting a grotesque portrait, your skin is littered with tens of scars. Bite marks, cuts, scratches, carvings… He drools of the thought of painting your skin with the tip of his knife. He’s more than happy to let you do the same, and you both even have matching hearts carved into your body. Romantic to you both, extremely disturbing to everyone else.

• Well, that’s only if Bob lets you see anyone else. He keeps you safe in his old house, which was abandoned after he was arrested. You don’t care about former friends and family, stuck to his side like a thorn. Bob isn’t complaining, but he thought that you would at least struggle a LITTLE when he kidnapped you. Nope! You were genuinely ecstatic. You don’t even bring up any family members or friends, you’re completely dedicated to him.

• The only thing you didn’t want to do at first was eat human meat, but eventually Bob managed to convince you to try it. It’s not like you knew, anyways. But you loved it, and Bob just keeps incorporating it more and more into your meals and when he finally told you (to see if he can get a reaction out of you, of course) you were mad.

• But that was only because he didn’t make supper that day. You treated it like a normal thing because he did it. (Now that genuinely shocked him, he at least expected a fleck of fear in your eyes.) Congratulations, you’re hooked on human meat.

• Now, since you barely flinch when Bob does anything out of the norm, he’ll actively try to get a reaction out of you. Bob sees it as a challenge to get you to scream or at least flinch. He’ll pull his knife out on you, nick your skin with his butchering tools, tie you up and leave you in the dark, threaten the lives of your family, but you don’t give a flying fuck. You’ll giggle and laugh at his frustration, unwilling to give him what he wants. It’s a very invigorating and dangerous game you two play, and the stakes keep getting higher and higher.

• He remembers one night where he had left to go get supper, leaving you alone. (Bob knows damn well you won’t leave him anyways.) He returned to the door askew, with you struggling against the grip of a stranger who was begging you to get out of there. Bob was ready to intervene but you had taken a lamp and whacked it against the side of their head. It was a brutal blow, knocking them straight to the ground as blood pooled from their head. You beat their face until it was a bloody pulp, their blood dripping from your face and hands.

• You simply turned around to face Bob, who was watching the whole time, and smiled brightly and ran over to hug him. Throwing what remained of the lamp behind you, you leapt into his arms. “Got us supper!” Bob felt his heart pound out of his chest when you kissed him, blood smearing across his lips. Now that’s one way to make him swoon.

• Now, the perfect song to describe this pair is The Masochism Tango. You’re both willing to slaughter anyone in your way for each other, but yet you enjoy causing harm and pain for the other. If anyone else dared to do anything to you, Bob would butcher them and dispose of their worthless flesh. And you’re more than happy to do the same. A terrifying ‘romance’ that seemed utterly catastrophic to most.

#yandere headcanons #yandere blog #yandere fic #yandere x reader #yandere bob velseb #yandere spooky month #yandere writing #yandere x you #spooky month #spooky month x reader #yandere #bob velseb x reader #bob velseb

[itsgrimeytime]

Magnolia in May (Part Thirty) || Rick Grimes (TWD) x Greene!f!reader Regency AU

Parts 1-20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29...

Taglist: @loliakeoghan23 @curlycarley @queenie32 @mgparker @misatmosfear

rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax @mgparker

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration (in honor of Speak Now Taylor's Version): Enchanted by Taylor Swift.

Summary: Your town was small, not the smallest you knew, but anyone of high fortune was the gossip of the week. Predictably, Richard Grimes was a thing of whispers -rumors of a search for marriage among the grassy hills. You weren't one to buy into town gossip, but something about him... just seemed a little too intriguing.

TW: steamy againnnnnn (sorry) (just some good old-fashioned making out).

[[A/N: Just found this gif.... the lord's work. Oh my god. Y'all this might be about kissing again :)))), kinda sorta. Thanks for reading !!! ]]

The day of your proposal was a quite busy one, you'll admit. Not that you had a lot to do, but getting a portrait painted was no light work, you were to sit still for hours -the painter posed you rather eloquently, but still you were drawn to such aches and pains.

That is to say, you hadn't been properly alone with Mr. Grimes since the proposal. Your duties were far unfulfilled then, and then, the planning had started, and although you saw him frequently, it wasn't alone.

And Headmistress was nearly on your last nerve-

So, that brought you to your current predicament -a day of planning and Mr. Grimes had noticed such tensions and took you to walk through the hallways. You'd taken to asking about the rooms, what was in them, what they were for, if people were in there often-

"Mr. Grimes," you questioned, clearing your throat and pointing to the door on the left, "-what of that one?"

If he knew of your intentions, he didn't say anything.

"An old office," he hummed, "-only people who see it are those who clean it in the morning."

"Do they clean it any other time?"

"Because of lack of use, no," he answered you, looking at you a little puzzled -apparently he didn't know of such intentions after all.

"Well," you spoke with a little bit of a false chipper -only noticeable to those who didn't know you, "-I'd love to see it."

"Why?" he laughed, confused, "-it's just an old office, darlin'. Nothin' to see."

"I'd just love a personal tour," you teetered, still smiling but something in your eyes was far different than politeness -you wished to kiss him after all.

"Why?" he repeated, turning to completely face you.

"Must you always ask why?" you remarked, pulling him into your side and approaching the door with uttermost haste.

The doorknob was the kind that creaked when you opened it, truly showing the amount it was used. If you didn't believe him, you surely would have now.

It was floor-to-ceiling bookcases on every wall, and unlike Mr. Grimes's office, it had no windows, only books. If you were there to truly look at the room, you would've enjoyed brushing your fingers over the books, guessing what wood the desk was, and perching upon the couch.

But you weren't there for such things.

"May I ask why now?" He questioned once again, the door swinging shut behind him -you made sure of it, "-Do you find it worth such a tour, Ms. Greene?"

"It is-" you hummed, fingers brushed up on the couch -you were about a step away from him now, "-rather beautiful, I do wonder why you don't use it."

"The window allows me to see the children," he answered quickly, before pushing to more urgent matters, "-Now, may I ask what the purpose of stopping in here was? I have plenty of beautiful rooms for you to see, Ms-"

You merely turned to him, grabbed his face with your hands, and kissed him. Lips pushed together without a smidgen of hesitation, he simply followed your lead and the frustration of it all before melted on your shoulders. Until, it didn't.

He pulled back, grinning, laughing really, "You are quite cute, Ms. Greene."

It was spoken between the press of your lips, so it was rather annunciated by each word -you kissed him through such laughter, not without your own smile. ("You. Are. Quite. Cute. Ms. Green.")

You pulled back upon his words, watching him for a moment -his wide grin, he was rather cocky today, "Is it too much for a lady to just want a kiss?"

"No," he spoke, bringing a finger under your chin, "-Not at all, sweetheart, I just find it delightful you wish to kiss me so often."

"Often?" You hummed, "-I haven't kissed you in days, and you proposed to me! How is that fair?"

"It isn't," he hummed pressing one barely there to your lips, "-but such kissin' is new to me."

"How?" You questioned, genuinely, the man was so handsome, you had to avoid such urges nearly every second -especially when he remained so sweet to you.

"With, With Lori," he echoed, backing away from your lips for a moment, you nearly pulled him back-, "-we kissed for show, really. Especially later in the marriage."

"Well, you were unhappy, were you not?"

"Not originally," he posed, "-I supposed she just never really... liked it."

"Quite a loss," you remarked, without any extra thought -on instinct, if you will.

Mr. Grimes laughed, loud and boisterous, and you flushed a deep crimson at your lack of grace, "I am curious, however. What do you like about it, Ms. Greene?"

You sighed, flushing even further crimson at the implications of such a question, "Must you truly ask?"

"I must," he hummed, fingers wrapped around one of your wrists, and you felt something in your stomach twist. It was so embarrassing-

"I..." you huffed, "-It relaxes me. I... When I'm frustrated, it's so easy to forget about when I'm..."

"Kissin' me?"

You placed your hands over your eyes, the tips of your ears were certainly flushed now, and you couldn't bear to look at him. God, you certainly hated him at the moment.

He pulled your hands away from your face, a gentle pull of his hands -skin on a glove. Always so calm, so collected, "Is that all?"

Your hands now wrapped in his, you squeezed your eyes shut -still unable to look at him, "I like... I like feeling close to you. And- And I love you and... kissing helps me tell you that. Such as holding your arm, or your hand, or smiling at you, it's just... it's more special."

"Darlin'," he hummed, light and airy -you could tell he was smiling, "-look at me, will you?"

You peeked your eyes open, and were met with his own -he was quite close to whisper to you, a breath away really. Something in your face grew darker, especially with the soft gentle sort of way he was looking at you. You wished to hide again without a doubt.

"I am to be your husband," he hummed, fingers gently cradling your chin, "-it's important for me to know such things. I do wish to keep you happy after all."

You laughed.

"So, I imagine this, today, is from what?" He questioned, curiously, "The proposal? The planning?"

"Yes," you deflated, "-Headmistress is a force to be reckoned with, and I am simply exhausted from her. You must understand how just your presence helps but your..."

You fell rather quiet, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear -shyly.

"I understand, darlin'," he whispered, looming in closer to your face, "-you need a kiss, kisses, to feel better."

"Yes," you confirmed, quietly.

"What kind of husband would I be, if I don't make you feel better?"

"What kind, indeed," you hummed -offhanded, distracted.

He laughed at that, a breath away from your mouth, but you let him guide you this time. You would be patient, and gentle, like a lady was supposed to be. Perhaps, it would be more appealing to do so.

And then his lips pressed to yours and such thoughts flew out the window.

You didn't hesitate to coax out his tongue, pushing on his jaw -just as you did before. You learned how to do such a thing, you knew what his reactions were like-

He pushed you forward just a little in response, hands dipped to your shoulders, and your back pressed against the desk -a sort of cool sensation through your dress, you didn't truly mind.

Your hands settled on his shirt, his vest, pulling it forward as close as you could physically be. Closer, actually, you wished him closer.

His tongue was the first to go forward, swirling around your mouth with a slow, sort of tepid pace. He was always so careful with you, it was rather sweet. You, however, were the first to meet your tongue with his -the touch made something shoot to your toes-

He pulled back a moment, breathless and not too far, "This helpin'?"

You hummed against his lips, hands reaching out and suddenly, you decided to coat through his hair -fingers brushing through his scalp. He let out a little noise at such contact and part of you craved to hear it more, but you couldn't now.

You couldn't make him look a mess, despite how badly you wished to.

He pushed forward even further and you hissed -the desk pushed into your back, you imagined leaving a mark.

Mr. Grimes immediately pulled back, eyes darting all over your face, "What's wrong? Did I hurt you?"

"No, no," you swallowed, hands now tenderly placed on his chest -you could feel his heart pounding, "-just the desk."

"Oh," he breathed out, relieved, "-here."

And then, as if it was as easy as breathing, he picked you up and sat you on the desk -hands on your waist for a mere second.

Your head swirled.

"You alright?" He questioned, turning to meet your eyes.

"You-" you swallowed, face a breath away from his, "-You picked me up as though I was as light as a feather."

"You are," he reasoned, leaning forward as he placed his hands through your arms and onto the desk, "-Is that what you're stuck on?"

"Well, I..." you started again, eyes darting to his lips -he was so close, "-I just believe that I very much liked it."

"Oh," he laughed, pressing a few gentle kisses to your lips -laughter breaking through the seal, "-well, that's certainly good to know."

"Certainly," you relented, pulling him down for a proper kiss.

The next few days were quite busy, planning and courting and watching your sisters and listening to Headmistress, but every once in a while, he'd pull you into that old room. Kiss you once, maybe twice, and pull you back out -it made your mind a pleasant buzz instead of a stressed one.

He kissed you nearly once everyday, and you were getting quite used to it; once you spoke how important it was to you, he nearly didn't stop.

In quiet moments of courting, he kissed you. In the privacy of his garden, he kissed you. In between planning with Headmistress, he kissed you -possibly a dozen times then. Until your heart was a flutter and the worries melted away, you weren't counting. You'd never be counting, ever, you decided.

It led to one of the most fruitful weeks of your life -you happily navigating everything your life pushed at you with a smile and even getting your foot in the door with planning. Including conversing with a dress designer about one of her ideas, which you were onto a meeting with her now -sat neatly in a room within the estate with Headmistress by your side, chattering away.

Well, just before it, actually.

You weren't sure how he'd done it exactly, but Mr. Grimes had snuck you into the old room mere minutes before the woman was to be meeting you -an excuse of a walk very much settled the Headmistress.

(You weren't sure she cared what the two of you were doing, as long as you stayed engaged to him.)

"Mr. Grimes-" you hissed, as he pulled you into the room -hand intertwined with yours.

The shut of the door was the next sound you heard, as Mr. Grimes turned to you with a rather twinkly sort of smile -clear on what exactly he had taken you here for. Not that you needed any clarification.

"Mr. Grimes," you started, standing starkly where you were, "-we cannot do this now, I have a pressing matter in minutes-"

"We lost track of time on a tour," he hummed out, stepping closer to you -you naturally, on instinct, leaned into him just as well.

You smiled, despite yourself -hands finding themselves within the back of his hair, combing through, "You're rather needy now, you know that?"

"Needy," he laughed, "-I do it for you, darlin'."

"Oh, no, no, no," you echoed with a laugh, he still pressing slow gentle kisses to your mouth, "-this is a shared problem now, Mr. Grimes."

"Rick," he corrected, landing a more powerful kiss on your lips -your fingers twisted into his hair.

"Rick," you repeated, just a breath away from his face, eyes dipping low to his lips-

"Wait, no," you stepped back, hands placed neatly on his chest, "-you must admit it."

"Admit what?" He breathed, ranging closer again.

"Admit you enjoy it just as much as I do," you held firm, despite his hands placed rather eloquently on your waist -it made your head swirl.

"I do," he spoke, rather frankly, "-I very much enjoy it."

You were startled and rather silent, before weighing in -teasing, "Well, what do you like about it?"

"What do I-" He kissed you again, all gentle force -slow and timid, "-like about it?"

"Yes," you exhaled, only slightly breathless, "-I'd like to know."

He laughed again, blue eyes shining a certain type of way, "Would you?"

"Very much so," you clarified, twirling one of his curls between your fingers.

"Hmm," he hummed, fingers cradling your face with a bubbling sort of affection, "-Does that it pleases you count?"

"If it's why you like it," you confirmed -eyes dipping to his lips, it was your weakness you swore.

"I like it for plenty of reasons," he smiled, eyes dipping to your own lips, "-the feelin', I feel sometimes that your lips bring me back to Earth. Like I was lost, but upon findin' yours I'm found."

"You mean that?"

"I belong with you," he breathed out, hands rubbing along your cheeks, "-I feel such a thing after every breath, but when I kiss you-"

You fidgetted, eyes flickering along his face.

"-I feel like everything is in place. Like I've found where I am to be."

"Rick-" you sighed, something building up your throat -mist in your eyes.

Mr. Grimes immediately began wiping at your eyes with a sense of easy patience, as if he would wait on anything for you, "My darlin'."

"My Mr. Grimes," you exhaled, biting back tears -you were so happy, "-you're going to kill me with all this one day, you know?"

"Hope not," he whispered, inches from your face, "-I shall tell you every day, so your heart remembers."

"With the kisses?" You questioned -doe-eyed, eyes fluttering over his face.

"With the kisses," he laughed, pulling you in for just one more. Or maybe two. Or maybe three-

You supposed Headmistress could wait.

#rick grimes #its griming time #stuff n' thangs #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes x y/n #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x y/n fanfiction #twd #twd rick #rick grimes fanfiction #rick grimes oneshot #magnolia in may

[headfullofpresley]

i have a request if you are comfortable with it?

maybe you could write a little something about y/n, elvis and caroline having a family portrait photoshoot taken like the presleys had in 1973 by frank carroll in their hillcrest home in beverly hills!

i just know you could make something really sweet out of it your writing is so beautiful! x

𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐂𝐨𝐨𝐥

Word count: 3,3K

Warnings: Elvis being a soft dad, that's about it.

A/N: rose, i always love your requests sm and even though this took me years to post, i loved writing it! 💕

masterlist

A busy, chaotic household wasn’t strange to you or Elvis. You both liked having a lot of people around the house despite the lack of privacy at times and in some strange way, you had grown fond of grown men running around the premises and playing with your daughter.

Caroline loved it just as much- she especially took a liking to Lamar because he’d play airplane with her whenever you weren’t looking and Jerry who she simply couldn’t stay away from every time he was around. To some people it might be strange to raise a child in these circumstances, but Caroline was happy and you and Elvis gave her the love and care that she needed to grow into the independent woman she was bound to become one day.

Her life was anything but normal, but at five years old she didn’t quite seem to realise that yet. Both you and your husband wanted to keep it that way for a little longer.

 

Elvis was a good father- while he had sometimes wondered what it would be like to have a son, he loved his little girl more than anything in the world and if he could, he would bring her the moon.

But there were certain things he couldn’t do, things that he was simply terrible at. One of those things being making sure his daughter’s hair looked decent and today, it had to look better than decent. Frank Carroll was coming over in less than an hour to take the family portraits you had arranged to be taken and Caroline was currently sitting on the sink in front of him, glaring angrily at him through the mirror she was facing.

Thank God she allowed him to wash her and put on the dress you picked out for her, but doing her hair was always a hurdle. Not only because he was bad at it, but because Caroline was sensitive about her hair. She had been a little fuzzy all morning- up to the point of greatly frustrating you and leaving your daughter in her fathers’ hands, hoping she would go easier on him while you took care of everything in the living area where the photo’s would be taken.

“Ow, Daddy! You’re hurtin’ me!”

He sighed deeply, looking at the blonde through the mirror as he once more lowered the brush and grabbed some detangling spray he knew you always used on her and yourself. Spraying some on the monster knot in her blonde locks-which he certainly was not going to tell her or you about- he looked at her as he spoke.

“You know your mama is way more rough than me- you want me to call her?”

She immediately widened her eyes, shaking her head which he stopped by putting a gentle hand on top of her little head. She knew that whenever you did her hair she’d be in more pain because you did it faster and without thinking, which ended with Caroline screaming and crying most of the time. There were days where the little girl would sit still and oblige, but with the state her hair was in right now, that wasn’t going to happen.

“That’s what I thought,” Elvis chuckled, pressing a firm kiss on her cheek which she giggled at before wiping it off playfully. He laughed as he put the spray down and inhaled deeply, going back to combing the tangles out of her hair. He decided to leave the worst for last and aside from some small whimpers, Caroline had been good the entire time.

Until he was forced to face that birds nest in the middle.

Caroline’s cheeks were flushed, eyes squeezed shut as she cried so loud it made Elvis’ ears ring. If she wasn’t in actual pain right now, he might have laughed at the sight- but his little girl was truly in pain and it made his heart drop and curse you for letting him do this. He put the brush down, wrapping his arms around her tiny frame as her cries were starting to come out soundless, a sign that she was truly over it.

“I’m sorry, baby- Daddy’s sorry. It’s almost done, almost,” he whispered as he rocked her from side to side, kissing her cheek and wiping her tears away. His large hand found its home on her back, rubbing it soothingly as he told her to breathe. She inhaled shaky breaths as she turned around, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He comforted her for a little bit before he gently pushed her out of his embrace so he could look at her, thumbing away the tears that rolled down her cheeks. She was still sniffling and trembling as if the world was coming to an end.

“You wanna give it one more try? If it hurts too much, I’ll stop, okay?”

Caroline looked at her father through her teary lashes, her fingers pulling at her lower lip nervously. It took her a few seconds to nod- her father was like her big hero, he had never told her a lie so in her logic, he would definitely not be lying now either. Elvis smiled at her and gently pulled her hands away from her face, pressing a kiss on her lips before he turned her around again and grabbed the bottled spray, throwing it up in the air before easily catching it again. The blonde giggled through her tears at her fathers’ antics as he made a show out of it, spraying her hair and distracting her by singing a theme song of some cartoon she liked to watch.

It seemed to be working, because rather than crying while he was combing her hair, she was now singing along and talking his ear off about said cartoon. He was barely listening, but he was glad that she wasn’t in pain anymore.

You had told him what to do with her hair, but after failing at the braids he was supposed to give her over and over again, he settled on twirling two locks at the front around his fingers and clipping them back with two small butterfly clips Caroline insisted on wearing. It wasn’t any over the top hairdo or whatsoever, but Caroline seemed to be happy with it and to him, that was all that mattered.

“Good job, Daddy!” she complimented him, laughing as he lifted her off the sink and put her down, peeling some stray hairs off his royal blue jacket.

“Better than your mama?” he tried, raising an eyebrow at his daughter which she mimicked while shaking her head. Ofcourse it wasn’t better, he knew that, and Caroline wasn’t the type of girl to sugar coat anything. He playfully poked her sides before lifting her on his hip again, walking out of the bathroom. “You little rascal,”

 

“Oh, you’re just gorgeous, my little Care bear!” you exclaimed with a gasp as your daughter asked you how she looked, wiggling herself out of her fathers’ arms and into yours. She giggled excitedly as she snaked her arms around your neck, pressing her cheek against yours.

“Look, Daddy gave me butterflies!” pointing at the clips in her hair, you and Elvis laughed. You hummed and nodded, widening your eyes in excitement at her as she looked at you with the same look on her face.

“I see that, they’re adorable, baby. And what happened to the French braids I told Daddy to give you?” you asked, turning to Elvis with a grin on your face. Caroline giggled and cupped her hands over her mouth, whispering in your ear.

She wasn’t very good at whispering, so when she told you he wasn’t good at doing her hair, he heard it. Caroline let out a squeal as Elvis playfully poked her sides again before taking her out of your arms, looking at her with a feigned pout.

She smiled as she grabbed his face in her little hands. “Don’t worry, Daddy. You’re good at other things,”

“Like what, hm?”

“Reading! You always do the voices, but Mommy never does. She’s not very good at that,”

Elvis threw his head back as he let out a hearty laugh while you gasped, taking a step closer to the duo and squeezing Caroline’s feet through her shoe softly. “Go play with Jerry- I’ll call you when it’s time for the photo’s,” you told her, to which she nodded excitedly as she wiggled her way out of Elvis’ arms, who put her down just in time.

“You don’t do the voices?” Elvis smirked as he walked into the kitchen with you, taking off his jacket as you handed him a cup of coffee. You rolled your eyes with a laugh as you poured yourself a cup too, leaning against the counter.

“You can’t make a French braid?” you shot back at him as you blew into your steaming coffee, a small grin raising the corner of your mouth.

“Honey, that’s a woman’s job- ‘course I can’t,”

You raised both eyebrows at your husband, taking a small sip of your coffee as you hummed softly. He chuckled as he watched you nod to yourself before taking a step closer to him.

“You’re right,” you told him with a smile, stealing his cup of coffee out of his hand. “But so is drinking coffee in the kitchen at 11 in the morning,” you shrugged, pouring his coffee down the drain and placing the cup in the sink. Elvis gawked at you, his now empty hand still in the same position.

Oh God- he wished Caroline would just stay tiny. Because even now, she was already a lot like you and he knew the older she'd get, the more back talk he was going to get.

You knew Elvis could never really tell if you were serious in these kind of moments or not- most of the time you weren’t, but you liked to keep him on his toes. And as you were starting to laugh softly to yourself while drinking your coffee, he sighed deeply and shook his head, a chuckle rolling off his tongue.

“You’re a menace, you know that?” he told you as he stepped forward, snaking his arms around your waist to press you against his chest. You put your cup down on the counter and smiled lovingly at him, running your hands up his chest and fixing the collar of his shirt.

“I know,” you said, bringing your hand up to fix a lock of his hair behind his ear. “I learned from the best,”

“Nuh-uh. You were born this way, I know that’s a fact,” he grinned, pecking your lips. “And I also know I ain’t never doing Care’s hair anymore- not when it’s in the state it was in. She was screaming bloody murder!”

You laughed as you slapped his chest playfully. “Oh, you big old softie- she isn’t made of sugar. You should’ve seen me as a little girl, I put my mother through hell every morning and I guess I’m gettin’ my karma now. Now you know what it’s like,”

It wasn’t like every morning with Caroline was terrible, but most mornings… yeah, they were. To Elvis, Caroline was a perfect little angel that could do no wrong but you always saw yourself in her. You knew all her little tricks, because you had once used them on your own mother. Her crying those crocodile tears because she didn’t like to get her hair done wasn’t the end of the world.

“Evil, evil woman,” Elvis grinned as he shook his head, slipping his hands down to your ass to give it a playful squeeze. “I’m glad I’m not the bad cop though,”

“Oh, don’t get it twisted, baby- you just wait until she’s sixteen and starts dating, then we’ll see who’s the ‘bad cop’,”

He was just about to take a sip of your coffee which he stole from the counter as he gasped, making you laugh. You gently pushed him off of you and slipped out of his embrace, smiling at him.

“I oughta spank you for that,”

You managed to step away from him before he could grab you, laughing with him. “Tonight- now, don’t get coffee on your shirt. Frank will be here any minute!”

He rolled his eyes as he watched you sneak out of the kitchen, taking a sip of coffee as he leaned against the counter. The both of you knew there was no ‘good cop, bad cop’ in this household because Caroline loved you both just as much. Even though Elvis allowed her to get away with a little more than you did, didn’t mean he didn’t have his rules. And just because you were perhaps more strict than Elvis, it didn’t mean you didn’t like to spoil and baby her at times too. Still, Elvis did not want to think about his baby girl ever dating but now that you had planted the idea in his head, it was all he could think about.

 

“Carolineee, look here!” Frank chimed from behind the camera, wiggling his fingers at the five year old who was currently dancing around her fathers’ cane that was resting under his palm.

You should’ve known that taking professional pictures with a five year old wouldn’t be easy.

At first, she started crying because she had never seen the photographer before and needed a little time to get used to him. Then she got distracted by the Mafia that was wandering through the house, begging for Lamar to pick her up and twirl her around above his head. Now it was Elvis’ cane that suddenly seemed to be the most interesting thing in the world.

“Care, come sit,” Elvis told her, grabbing her arm and pulling her onto his lap. He didn’t mean to be as rough as he was or sound as impatient as he did, but it was enough for the blonde to glare angrily at him and crawl onto your lap instead.

Frank waited patiently as you softly and gently scolded your daughter, telling her it would all be over if she’d just sit still and do as told. Luckily her mood shifted as quick as the weather and she was giggling when Elvis tickled her sides, making her laugh out loud which made Frank take the opportunity to snap pictures.

The photographer figured the pictures would come out better if you’d just do as you always did rather than posing for the camera and Caroline seemed to prefer this as well. She gasped as you and Elvis kissed each other, hiding her eyes behind her hands before she squeezed herself in the middle and pressed a kiss on Elvis’ cheek and then on yours.

You took a few pictures with Caroline alone, which she seemed to enjoy a lot, but as soon as Elvis came back for his turn, she immediately crawled onto his lap as he sat in the chair again. You got up and stood next to Frank, laughing as you crossed your arms.

“The glasses? Are those necessary?” you questioned. You liked your husband’s fashion choices, you did, but you had hoped that maybe once he would keep the glasses off.

“Keep them on, Daddy! They’re cool!” Caroline giggled excitedly as she swung her legs back and forth while sitting on Elvis’ knee, tapping her small finger against his glasses.

Elvis grinned as he looked at you, shrugging as he rested his cane against the arm of the chair. “You heard the boss,”

Caroline smiled so bright that her little cheeks were aching and you laughed, watching your daughter and husband pose a little for the camera before Caroline once more started talking about cartoons and other random things that interested her at the moment. The moment her little hands reached out to Elvis’ glasses and pulled them off his face to put them on her own, your heart swelled. She managed to make everyone in the room burst out in laughter as she slipped off Elvis’ lap and grabbed his cane, posing with her fathers’ belongings. Elvis couldn’t stop laughing in the background, cheering her on as his eye caught yours, shooting you a wink.

 

A week later, you, Elvis and Caroline sat on the couch as Joe tore the paper off the huge picture frame that was being held upright by Vernon. You had seen all the pictures (and made sure they’d all be put in a photo book), but the one that was currently revealed was your favorite and you wanted it to have a place in your home.

Even if you would move out of Hillcrest, you’d take this picture everywhere with you and hang it up because it was simply adorable.

The three of you all wore big smiles in the picture, Caroline ofcourse sitting in her fathers’ lap. You looked like a perfect, normal family and although you were anything but, you wanted Caroline to have fond memories of her childhood and of her mother and father.

This picture would hopefully hold a special place in her heart when she’d get older- it already had in yours.

“Elvis is so cool!” Caroline squealed as she jumped from the couch and walked over to the picture, admiring it from up close. Everybody laughed, Elvis getting up to throw his daughter in the air before catching her and placing her on his hip.

“What’d you just call me?”

“Elvis!” she grinned playfully at him, already knowing what was coming as he tickled her tummy, her little hands trying to stop his bigger ones. “Elvis, Elvis, Elvis!”

“I’m your Daddy, you little rascal,” he laughed, squeezing her in his embrace before putting her down and kneeling in front of the picture. She immediately took the opportunity to plant herself on his knee, wrapping her arm around his neck. She looked at you as you kneeled down beside Elvis and smiled brightly.

“Can we hang it in my room?” she asked, making you chuckle as you kissed her forehead.

“It’s a little big, Care bear. I’ll get you a smaller one of you and Elvis, okay?” you grinned, calling him by his name on purpose. He glared at you as Caroline laughed and nodded, though was immediately distracted as Lamar came into sight and ran toward him.

You and Elvis stood up straight, you pressed against his side as he slipped his arm around your waist.

“Caroline, what’s your Daddy's name?” Lamar joked as he raised her from the ground and held her above his head. She spread her arms as she laughed, looking at her father.

“Elvis Presley!” she squealed, giggling uncontrollably as she was spun around in the air.

Elvis rolled his eyes, laughing softly as he turned to you, leaning down as he looked into your eyes.

“This is your fault,” he whispered, the corner of his mouth rising into a smirk as he guided you out of the living room and into the hallway. You knew where he was taking you, but you didn’t stop him- couldn’t stop him because you were laughing so hard. “I think now’s a good time for that spanking,”

 

Your husband didn’t spank you when he got you into your bedroom- you wouldn’t let him because your daughter was in the other room. But you did have a quick make out session that felt as if you were teenagers again, having to keep your ears perked for footsteps coming down the hall.

Only this time it weren’t the footsteps of worried parents or nosy friends, but tiny ones that belonged to your daughter. You were off of your husband before she could burst through the door and little Caroline had no idea what was going on or what her parents had been doing, simply grabbing your and Elvis’ hands to pull you out of the room and show the portrait that the boys had hung on the wall.

Every time she saw her father in that picture she would call him by his first name- neither of you had any idea why she did it, but Elvis figured as long as he was the only man on her mind, he had nothing to worry about.

At least, not for a few years.

taglist: @breadsquash @generoustreemystic @woundmetender @returntoelvis @prayerstopresley @ab4eva @marriedtopresley @steph-speaks @wonka-gifs @notstefaniepresley @ellie-24 @dollksj @webbedwebs @re3kin @wivette @eliseinmemphis @18lkpeters @rosepresley @septembersghost

#elvis #elvis presley #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis x you #elvis presley x you #elvis x y/n #elvis presley x y/n #elvis fluff #elvis presley fluff #tamwrites

[magewolf-the-artist]

Yeah so I decided to update Susan's ref sheet because oh my god it's so fucking ugly-

But yeah, I'm much more satisfied with this one because I've developed my style for drawing these fuckers a lot better and the pose radiates more personality.

Old ref: https://www.tumblr.com/magewolf-the-artist/743345425139040256/on-this-episode-of-walten-files-brainrot-heyyyyyy?source=share

Here's her bio with a couple add-ons:

Apparently she's British (Her accent is still a mystery to me but I've seen a couple people say this so ehhhh). So my headcanon is that her family immigrated to the US when she was four, so while she does have an accent, she doesn't really say any slang. Occasionally she might call someone a twit (affectionate) or a twat (derogatory), but that's about it.

At some point during her fun little maze adventure, the neck cables that held up the animatronic head snapped due to the constant pressure of Susan's broken ass neck forcing her head to loll to the side. While at the facility she found that she can use metal ties to hold the cables upright. She has to tighten them constantly though or else her vision will be forced into portrait mode

Ashley fixed the cable while she, Kevin, and Hilary were there and Susan is forever grateful to her

She probably accidently breaks it again through something stupid like bumping her head against the door frame or something and boy oh boy was she PISSED

On that topic, she tries her best to upkeep her and everyone else's bodies but there's only so much she can do with limited tools and slightly worse motor skills (imagine doing a task that requires very precise movements through winter gloves and you'll pretty much get the idea)

She refuses to repair Bon though and tells him to figure it out himself.

She's become way more snappy, short tempered, and easily frustrated after her death. Trauma, baby!

Susan kinda acts as a shoulder to vent to whenever anyone needs to talk. She can’t really offer much in response or comfort since A, she’s the type to push things away and compartmentalize, and B… well, she can’t exactly promise everything’s gonna be okay, now can she? Still, sometimes it’s nice to just talk

Some days though she just kinda… shuts down emotionally. Just kinda lays on the floor and can’t find any motivation to get up or do anything. Thinking about everything and nothing at the same time, staring blankly into space

Charles usually stays with her during these episodes and depending on the day, he either just sits with her quietly or rambles about random shit like he did when they were alive

Her sleep schedule was super fucked up when they all came to the facility because she was used to being up and around at night. It's gotten better but she still sometimes wakes up buttfuck early and has come to appreciate the serenity of the nights

Probably the most casual about her death, as opposed to Rosemary's crying and Charles desperately trying to change the subject

She walks with a very distinctive shuffle, something she picked up from her fun little maze adventure because the weird shuffle walk helped lessen the pain she put herself through and conserved energy. It used to be a lot more pronounced but it's faded slightly overtime

Usually hangs out with Charles

Is constantly exasperated by Charles' antics

To pass the time she either plays card games with Charles or organizes the tools in the maintenance closet

She tried to talk to Rosemary when they were first brought to the K-9 facility but only got silence in return. She's kinda just given up now and mostly leaves her alone

Is the most familiar with Bon's abilities and didn't even bother trying to escape the facility because she knew it was futile

Helps coach everyone but Rocket on how to move

When helping Ashley figure out to move she probably made an off-handed comment like, "if you think that's hard, imagine having to learn how to do this while being alive" and only realized Ashley had no context for that when she gave her a very confused and worried look

Hates Bon's guts and is usually annoyed/angry with him

She also hates Felix's guts, but everyone does so it's not anything special.

#the walten files #walten files #susan woodings #twf fanart #twf banny #twf susan #the walten files fanart #Domestic K-9

[spacesquidlings]

If You Need To, Darling, Lean Your Weight On Me: Succor

Summary: At Astarion's insistence, they find somewhere to stay to wait out the storm. Cold, tired, and covered in mud and rain, Aspen is still not entirely willing to let herself be tended to, not that he is having any of that.

Pairing: Astarion x Female Tav (OC Aspen)

Warnings: Suggestive comments

A request from the wonderful @spacebarbarianweird !!!!! Thank you so much for this request and your patience!!!!! <3

Table of Contents

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Much to Aspen’s surprise, there really was somewhere for them to stay in the middle of nowhere.

Astarion preened smugly as she gawked at the stout inn. A buttery golden glow spilled from the windows and the cracks around the door, plumes of grey smoke spilling from an old brick chimney. The smell of roasting meats and melting butter and herbs and onions and spices she couldn’t name wafted from the inn on the bruising wind, softening its cold sting.

Her stomach cramped, dull pain radiating through her belly. She’d been too cold and miserable to even notice how hungry she was, but as the savoury smells of whatever delicious things were being cooked found her, she felt a wave of pain wash over her. Not just from the cold, or the exhaustion, but from a hunger so deep she felt like someone had torn a hole through her body.

She whined, leaning against Astarion as they stumbled over the muddy ground, towards the start of the little cobbled path that led to the front of the inn.

“What’s wrong?” He arched one ivory brow, infuriatingly beautiful despite the downpour. 

There was mud caked to his boots, his trousers. His cloak was limp, blades of grass and fallen leaves and clumps of mud clinging to the hem. Once a beautiful, deep vermillion, it now looked midnight dark from the renewed storm. And yet despite how bedraggled he ought to look, as she no doubt did, he looked nothing less than enchanting. Ethereal.

He looked like a forest nymph stepping out from a storybook. Like a fairy princeling in a song. His eyes were star-bright, his face stained with a delicate cherry-blossom flush from the cold. The raindrops that fell on him glittered like they were made of quicksilver moonbeams, and his ivory curls, although plastered to his brow, looked like they’d been styled that way by a god.

Even his mud-splattered clothes seemed refined. Although his boots were a mess, the intricate, gold embroidery that was stitched across his shirt and his trousers still shone. They were reminiscent of flashes of sunshine, of the veins of gold that glimmered from between the darkness of the clouds.

His brows rose, the perfect picture of regal bemusement. Had she any skill in drawing she could spend the rest of her years painting portraits of fairies and gods and princes in his likeness.

He chuckled at her poorly veiled wonder, slipping an arm around her waist, tucking her against his side. It was a cumbersome way to walk, and yet she felt grateful, in spite of the ire provoked by how effortlessly beautiful he always was, even after traipsing through the wild in a constant squall. His support was welcome, comforting, kindling a small ember of warmth in the soggy, cold depths of her heart.

“See?” He murmured, his smile devilish. “I’m right here, I’ll always be right here for you.”

“Whatever they’re making in there smells so good,” she whined, her cheek falling on his shoulder. “I’m so hungry my stomach hurts.”

“My poor darling,” he crooned, half dragging her now over the slick cobblestones that snaked up towards the door. “Just a little further now, and I’ll make sure we have the best room they have to offer.”

He was a balm to her aching skin, a lullaby to her tired mind. He was a kernel of warmth flaring bright in a pile of soggy kindling, catching fire against all odds.

When they reached the door he held her closer, ushering her through in front of him. In less than a moment she went from the frigid chill of the storm to a near blistering warmth that tangled around her like a blanket.

It was so sudden she coughed, choking on the heat, on the smell of sizzling foods, of the chatter in the simple room stretching before them. Water pooled at her feet, mud trailing behind her as she stumbled forward on weak legs, doing her best not to look like a lunatic as she breathed deeply, as her skin began to tingle and burn from the sudden warmth cascading over her cold, clammy skin.

She was standing in a tavern, lit by soft candlelight that flickered across the simple wooden tables that were scattered throughout the room. It was mostly empty, with only a handful of tables further to the back occupied by a few couples, a group of adventurers playing a card game, and one tired looking family with a squalling newborn. A woman with wispy brown hair was flitting between the tables, setting down steaming bowls of stew and heaping plates of meats and potatoes and sandwiches.

Another pang of hunger cut through Aspen’s belly, and she would have keeled over had Astarion not wrapped his arm around her waist once more.

“Easy now, darling,” he murmured, brushing his lips over where her ear was hidden beneath her cloak. “You look like you’re about to fall over.”

“Maybe I’m just swooning from your touch,” she muttered, peering up at him from underneath her hood. “You’re holding me so romantically.”

“Darling.” He sounded like he was humouring her, like she was being silly and naive. “When I’m touching you romantically, you’ll know.”

“Maybe I find everything you do romantic.”

He snorted. “I’m flattered, but if you swoon here, then how will you make it to our room?”

She shrugged, tugging her hood back to give him the prettiest smile she could muster, bedraggled and sodden though she was. “Perhaps I just want to be carried. After all there is nowhere I like being more than in your arms.”

Beneath the shadows of his hood she could see how his eyes darkened, how his canines caught the golden light as his lips spread wide in a devious smile. Their sharp tips gleamed wickedly, and it made her mouth go dry as her mind stumbled over all the memories of the times he’d teased her with those teeth, and all the times he’d plunged them into her skin.

But before Astarion could respond, a clear voice rang out, grabbing their attention. The woman set a tray of dirty glasses and plates on an empty table before hurrying towards them, her brow furrowed as she took them in.

“Look at the state of you two!” She cried, planting her hands on her hips as she looked them both up and down. Upon closer look, Aspen noted the soft curve of the woman’s ears, tapering off into delicate points. “You look like you’ve been lost in this storm all night!”

Aspen gave a small nod as Astarion pulled down his hood, rivulets of water slipping down his cheeks in streams of silver, liquid moonlight gilding his features. “We thought it would clear up earlier, but-”

The half-elven woman frowned, shaking her head. “It’s storm season. We’ve had rainstorms last for weeks before.”

Aspen cringed, covering her face. She really should have done more research on weather patterns before they’d begun this little escapade. Then they could have at least packed the appropriate gear.

“Well that sounds…” Astarion trailed off, and Aspen, face still hidden behind her hands, could imagine the little wrinkle to his nose, the creases around his mouth as his lips tilted into a frown. “Deeply annoying.”

“We’re used to it around her. Plus it gives us an excuse to break out all our nicest spices to warm everyone up.”

Astarion’s responding hum sounded amused, and Aspen peaked up to see his lips quirked into a smirk.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any rooms suitable for warming up guests available, would you?” He traced his fingers over her side where his hand still rested as he spoke, leaving the faintest impression of warmth in their wake. His words were smooth and sweet as honey, his lips twisting into a smirk as he tried charming the woman. “We’ve been travelling all night and I fear my lover is in danger of falling ill.”

Too tired to level a glower at him, Aspen merely closed her eyes, annoyance sparking and vanishing just as quickly. He hummed at her lackluster response, having hoped to stoke her ire, to garner a reaction from crooning that they were lovers to this stranger.

He wasn’t wrong, but he seemed particularly fond of ‘lover’ and all its implications, and the heat that scalded her cheeks whenever the word rolled from his lips.

The woman, for her part, only giggled. Aspen opened her eyes to see the woman cross her arms, a small smile on her face as she nodded. “I’m sure we have a room that can accommodate the two of you.”

“We would be most grateful.” Astarion bobbed his head as he spoke, his tone dulcet, warm. Her teeth ached from the sweetness she heard in his words, like they had been dipped in sugar.

Or maybe she was just tired, and her fatigue was making her vulnerable to his saccharine machinations.

Not that she’d ever been particularly resilient to them in the first place.

She trailed along beside Astarion, the arm still securely wrapped around her holding her fast to his side, as the woman gestured for them to follow her. She led them towards the back of the tavern, the delicious smells of melted butter and spices and something delicious and sugary growing stronger. The air seemed heavy with the smells, and Aspen felt like she could taste each dish on her tongue, her mouth watering as her mind conjured images of platters heavy with potatoes and stew and bread and every manner of dessert.

The tavern was much larger than she’d thought at first sigh, and it took a few moments for a simple bar to come into view, stretching across the length of the far wall. Behind it was a set of old double-doors, two windows glowing with firelight on either side. Sounds she hadn’t heard at first seemed to billow out from the windows along with the smell of melting butter and frying onions. The clang of metal against metal, the crackling of wood consumed by fire, the searing of vegetables in a skillet.

It was as painful as gums after a tooth had been torn free. She could not stop poking at it, could not stop focusing her attention on the smells, the sounds, even as pain from her empty stomach cut through her as easily as a knife through warm butter.

Through it all, the woman chattered, oblivious to Aspen’s discomfort, explaining to them that her name was Thistle, that she had inherited the inn from her parents, that she was the current innkeeper and could help them with anything for however long they stayed.

“You’ll have to forgive me for chatting,” she said, gesturing to two seats at the end of the bar. She rounded one side, ducking down behind the counter, her voice muffled as she continued speaking. “It’s the off-season, so we don’t usually get many visitors, aside from some of our regulars. And it’s always so fun to speak with newcomers. To learn about all the people passing through.”

She emerged a moment later, popping up like a children’s toy, startling Aspen so thoroughly that she nearly toppled from her seat. Had Astarion not caught her, looking like he was barely holding back a mocking comment, she would have most likely fallen on her face on the worn wooden floor.

Heedless of Aspen’s near-mishap, Thistle set a massive, cracking tome on the top of the bar, flipping idly through the pages.

“Let me see…” She hummed as she began running her fingers down lines that Aspen could not quite make out. “A room for two. Any particular amenities in mind?”

“A full bathroom,” Astarion said, keeping one hand on Aspen even as she fully settled in her seat. “With hot water, naturally.”

“Naturally,” she drawled, tapping her cheek.

“We’d like a small table to take our meals.” He smirked, leaning forward to speak in a conspiratorial whisper. “My beloved is a bit shy.”

Fatigued as she was, Aspen was never so fatigued she could not spare the energy to pinch him for saying something that silly. In response he merely pried her hand from his side, bringing it to his lips and pressing kisses to her fingertips.

“We would also appreciate some fresh linens, and dry clothes if you have any to spare,” he said, sparing Thistle a glance as he lowered Aspen’s hand. “And we’re not particular about any sort of view.”

“Not much to look at other than trees and rain anyways,” Thistle mused, drumming her fingers over the book. “I think I have the perfect room. Hold tight, and I’ll grab your keys.”

She ducked beneath the bar again, and Aspen had the foresight to clutch Astarion’s arm in anticipation of the jump-scare of the innkeeper bouncing up again with no warning.

He chuckled, trailing a finger over the back of her hand. “It seems like you’ve taken my words to heart.”

She frowned, although she did not loosen her hold. Her mind spun slowly, thoughts moving at a glacial pace as she struggled to figure out what he was talking about. “What?”

Another snort, the brush of his lips to her brow. “That you can rely on me to take care of you.”

“I’m just having a hard time sitting because my side is numb,” she grumbled. Her side wasn’t numb in the least, and even if it was she didn’t think that would lead to her needing to lean so heavily on Astarion.

Not that she was about to divulge those details to him.

He continued to sketch his finger over the back of her hand, his smile sly as he pressed chaste kisses to her cheek and her nose. “If you need support,” he murmured, with all the heat of a heady summer’s day. “You can sit on my lap. I’m sure I can-”

She was rescued from his teasing as Thistle popped up once more, beaming as she dangled an aging brass key before them. “Sorry, that took a minute! We’ve been doing some reorganizing and the room keys have all been moved.”

Astarion took the key before Aspen could even make one finger twitch, Thistle still chattering on, unaware of the mischief that had nearly transpired.

“You’ll be in room 29,” Thistle said. “Ninth room, second floor. There’s a set of stairs that will take you up to the guest rooms. It doesn’t have much of a view, but it’s one of our larger rooms, and it has everything you’re looking for.” She pulled a pen from one of the pockets in her apron, marking something off in the book. “And I’ll make sure to send someone up shortly with some fresh clothes. I think we should have a few things that fit the two of you until we can get your own clothes properly cleaned.”

Aspen started to protest, realizing not only were they being provided clothes, Thistle was also offering a cleaning service for them. She didn’t want to put her out, especially since they had barged in so suddenly, and the cost would certainly be exorbitant.

But Astarion cut her off before the words could even tumble from her mouth, a charming smile on his lips as he spun the key around his finger. “That all sounds wonderful, we’re much obliged.”

Thistle beamed all the brighter, shutting the heavy book with a dull thud. “It’s my pleasure. Now, would the two of you like something to eat?”

Astarion shot a glance at Aspen, his brows drawing together as he took her in. She must have looked utterly dishevelled, because he nodded sharply, covering the hand that was still clutching her arm. “If it’s not too much trouble, just something small and simple for now.”

“I’ll be right back!” And then Thistle was gone, swallowed by the golden light of the kitchens as she vanished behind the doors.

When Astarion turned to Aspen again all his mischief was gone. He looked strangely somber, his brow wrinkling in concern, his lips quirked to the side as he cupped her face, eyes searching hers.

“Darling, I don’t mean to be rude, but…” He pushed back a lock of hair that was stuck to her face, droplets of water sliding down her throat as he tucked it back behind her ear. “You look positively dreadful.”

She tried to laugh, but it sounded more like a hiccup. “Strange. I was thinking how you looked like a prince in a storybook.”

He clicked his tongue, his lips curling up in a half-smile. “You’re sweet, but I’m sure the weather has absolutely ruined my hair.”

“No,” she shook her head, reaching a hand to his curls. They were wet, and yet they seemed to shine like ivory, like fresh snow before the heat of the day turned it all to slush. “You look like you belong in a painting. Something beautiful that people would travel from all over the world to see.”

He chuckled, stroking her cheek. “Thank you, my love, flattery from you is always the sweetest.” His smile fell a moment later, his eyes still searching hers. “But gods, you’re cold. You feel like death.”

“Not dead,” she said, covering his hand with hers. “Can’t you feel my heartbeat?”

A ghost of a smile hovered on his lips for the barest of moments before falling away. “I can, but I would rather you were warm, too. Even your heartbeat is too slow.”

“Oh.” She didn’t know what to say to that, ducking her head. Surely she would be better once she ate something and changed out of her sodden clothes, wouldn’t she?

“I’m sorry.”

The apology made her head snap up; Astarion so rarely apologized that it took her by surprise to hear him utter one now.

“For what?”

His expression was as melancholy as the sky before the rain had begun, the touch of his fingertips to her skin delicate as a breeze. “I didn’t realize how poorly you were feeling. I-”

It took more effort than it should have, but Aspen managed to unclench her hand from his arm so she could cup his cheek. His eyes widened, and his sentence fell away before he could finish.

“I didn’t tell you,” she said, her words little more than a sigh. “So how could you know? You can’t read my mind.”

He frowned. “Sometimes I wish I could.”

“What? And ruin all my mysterious charm?”

A true smile arced across his lips, and he even went so far as to roll his eyes. “Darling, I’ve met open books more mysterious than you.”

She feigned a gasp. “Isn’t that what attracted you in the first place?”

He snorted. “I was more intrigued by your blatant foolishness. The last thing I would call you, my dear, is mysterious.”

“And what would you call me?” She stroked his cheek, ensnared by his eyes. The heat of the kitchens was beginning to thaw the ice from her veins, and she was starting to feel like she was alive again. Still cold, still wet, but no longer a walking corpse tossed like a leaf through the storm.

He hummed, pushing her hair back, wiping away stray drops of water with his knuckles. “I would call you a fool, I would call you utterly mad.” His eyes softened, the tenderness in his face making her knees weak, and she was very thankful that she was sitting. “And I would call you my lover, my beloved, my partner.”

“I like that a little more than utterly mad,” she said, her own lips twitching into a smile.

“I thought you might.”

Thistle returned, a paper-wrapped parcel of food in her hands. Something for the two of them, she’d promised, to bring up to their room, and if they were still hungry they could always come back down.

Astarion thanked her, and she quickly flitted away as some of the other patrons still in the tavern beckoned her over with requests for another plate of food, ale, some napkins to clean a spill.

“Shall we go?” He murmured, pressing his lips to her ear. “Unless of course, you would like me to carry you. Because I’m more than happy to oblige.”

She really did consider taking him up on that, but she feared they’d already made a big enough scene, bursting into the quiet tavern with the wind and rain lashing at their backs.

She could feel his smile against her even as she told him no, not this time. “That’s okay, darling. There will be plenty of time to hold you in my arms soon enough.”

She did, however, twine her hand with his, wanting just that little bit of touch. Needing that little bit of touch. It was a comfort, his presence beside her, and it gave her the last sliver of energy she needed to shuffle from the tavern, to climb the stairs to the second floor, to make it to the door of their room.

By the time the door had been unlocked, they’d made it into the room, and they’d lit the few candles in the room to banish the shadows, Aspen felt like she would keel over. She was still starving, but her legs were shaking, and she could hardly keep her eyes open.

Astarion quickly stripped away his cloak, balling it up and throwing it into a corner of the room before dumping his pack beside it. But Aspen could not even summon the energy she needed to do that. Instead all she could manage was slumping into the closest seat, her soaking clothes and pack weighing her down as surely as lead.

“None of that,” he chided, frowning as she wilted in the chair. “Come on, get up. You need to get out of those clothes and eat.”

She groaned, throwing her head back. “I’m tired.”

“I know, darling. But you really will get sick if you stay in those clothes much longer.”

She didn’t move, sliding down the chair. Her pack pressed into her spine, dull pain spreading from where the books and supplies she had shoved into the pack japped at her. She winced, but did not move, feeling like she might never be able to move again.

Astarion groaned, throwing his head back. “I have to do everything myself, it seems.”

Before she could process what he could possibly mean he was crouching in front of her, hands hovering over her mud-spattered boots.

“What are you doing?”

He arched a brow, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “What does it look like I’m doing, darling? If you don’t have the strength to move, then I’ll help you.” His smirk widened, bordering on smug, and his voice turned so sugary her teeth ached. “I can take care of my sweet, delicate lover.”

“You’re teasing me,” she whined. “I’m cold and tired, and you’re teasing me!”

“Really darling, you should know me better by now.” He was scolding her, but he said it so softly it could have been lyrics in a lullaby.

“Of course I’m teasing you,” he continued, his elegant fingers deftly untying the laces of her boots and sliding them from her feet. “You can’t undress without my help even when you aren’t cold.”

She considered kicking him for that. “I just get nervous. And distracted.”

He hummed, his smile sharp as he tugged off her socks. “Oh I know you get distracted, darling. And I don’t blame you, not when I’m around. But what’s your excuse this time?”

“It’s not an excuse.” She really would have kicked him had he not grasped her legs, holding them still. “I told you, I’m cold.”

He clicked his tongue, delighting in this sweet little torment as he inched his hands up to the waistband of her trousers. “Do you know what I think?”

She shivered despite her best efforts, face burning as he undid the buttons and began sliding the fabric down. It was soaking wet, and clung to her skin, and for a moment his expression shifted to annoyance as he gave them a tug.

“I think-” He grunted as he finally managed to drag them from her body, letting the trousers fall to the floor in a sopping puddle. “I think you’re just needy.”

“Needy?” Heat crawled over her cheeks, making her skin prinkle.

“Yes, n-” He ground his teeth as he tossed her pack to the side unceremoniously and started on her cloak and her tunic. The cloak came away easily, but her tunic and undershirt were pasted to her skin just as surely as her trousers had been. “Darling, I know it’s easier to wear trousers when we’re travelling, but it’s so much easier to undress you when you wear dresses.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, amused. “I do so love making it easier for you to take my clothes off.”

“Well it is the least you can do,” he said, grinning as he finally removed her tunic, tossing it to the side, the material flopping against her pack. “Especially when I try so hard to make sure you feel the most pleasure.”

Her body continued to warm, the flush in her cheeks staining her arms, her chest. Astarion’s smile grew as he caught sight of it, of the the rose-petal red spreading over her exposed skin.

He brushed his lips to her cheeks, to the column of her throat, in the valley between her breasts. His hands caressed her sides, slipped over the flare of her hips. Fire trailed in the wake of his touch, embers of warmth blooming to life beneath her skin. She felt like she was becoming spring, cold as melting ice beneath the afternoon sun, warmth slowly creeping over her, colour and wildflowers blooming where the pearlescent white of snow had once been.

“As I was saying…” He murmured, his words reverberating through the hollows of her bones. She could feel the flutter of her pulse, pressing against her skin as her blood heated with every touch of his lips, every flick of his tongue.

She hummed, tangling a hand in his hair without thought. His curls were damp, cool, but she could smell the delicate scent of his favoured soaps, his perfumes that he always applied so religiously. “What were you saying?”

With her cold, soaking clothes removed, already she was feeling better. Still though she shivered, gooseflesh racing across her bared skin, but she did not feel as heavy as she had before. And better yet, Astarion was close, his breath ghosting across her, his smile pressed against her skin.

He chuckled, fingers toying with the edges of her undergarments. “I was saying, I think that you’re desperate. For me to touch you, for me to have you.”

“And if I am?” The words came out in a breathless rush, her heartbeat erratic as it stumbled over itself in its haste. “What would you do?”

He looked up then, pupils so dilated they seemed to swallow the dark vermillion of his eyes. His smile was slow, languid. It reminded her of a predator, as his fangs slowly peaked through his widening smile.

“I think the better question would be what wouldn’t I do,” he breathed. His voice was low, heady. It reached deep in her veins, sent sparks of heat arcing in her core. “Because, my love, I would do anything if that were true.”

When she shivered again it had nothing to do with the cold. “Anything?”

He dragged her underclothes down slowly, heat blooming deep in her belly as he held her gaze, smirking so terribly smugly. “Would you like a demonstration?”

She swallowed, her mouth dry. “Perhaps.”

He hummed, lowering his lips to the inside of her thigh, his words ghosting against her skin. “I suppose I could think of something-”

But before he could say anything more he was swearing, pulling away to frown at her.

“What is it?”

“Gods, you’re just so cold,” he muttered, rubbing his hands up and down her legs. “Your skin really does feel like death.”

“I feel a little like it too,” she said. Disappointment coiled with the fatigue in her belly as she teetered on the edge of the fuzzy warmth his touch had filled her with. Her mind was starting to clear, and as it did she began to shiver, began to register the heaviness of her body once more.

Astarion hummed at her response, drumming his fingers on her hip. “I can think of a few ways I could warm you up.”

Although her heart began to race, her mind was clear enough to know how what he was implying would undoubtedly be disastrous. Desire twisted in her belly, but her fatigue was stronger, and she knew she was too weak for much of anything besides sleep.

“I don’t know if that would be such a good idea,” she admitted, begrudgingly. She would have liked to learn what exactly he thought would help warm her. “I’m so tired and stiff, I doubt I’d be able to do much.”

He chuckled. “I can think of something else that’s stiff that wouldn’t mind.”

She gaped, making a half-hearted attempt to smack him. “Astarion!”

“Yes, my darling?” He caught her hand, bringing her palm to his lips.

“You’re such a villain,” she grumbled.

He pouted, kissing her palm again. “But earlier you said I was a prince.”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

His eyes narrowed, and in one quick movement he yanked her from her chair, letting her topple into his lap.

“Astarion!”

“Hmmm?” His smirk was nothing short of shit-eating, villainous and self-satisfied and infuriating.

It was adorable too, if she were honest. But she wasn’t telling him that.

“What are you doing?” Venom was gentler than her tone, and yet he laughed, a hand snaking around her to press his palm against the small of her back.

“What does it look like?” His non-answer was infuriating, but the feeling quickly passed as he nuzzled her throat, teeth scraping over the flutter of her pulse.

“It looks like you dragged me, half-naked, into your lap.”

He snorted, taking a shuddering breath as he swiped his tongue over her pulse. “You’re completely naked, my love.”

“That’s worse!” There was no bite to her words now, the hand at her back sliding lower. Astarion had never been one to keep his hands still.

“You’re acting like I’ve never done this before, pet,” he said. His words lilted through the air, mirth making them bright. He was having far too much fun, and here she was cold and tired, completely at his mercy.

She gave a half-hearted pinch to his side. “You’re proving my point, lover.”

“That I’m your perfect storybook prince?”

She rolled her eyes. “What storybooks have you been reading?”

“Awful ones.” The suddenness of the pinch to her ass made her squeak, and she hardly heard his response, spoken low and breathy, like it was a secret he was only sharing with her.

Laughing, he smoothed his hand over the ache in her skin. “But they’re certainly much more fun.”

She could think of no proper response, still smarting from the sharp pinch, her mind trying to catch up.

He nipped at her throat, teeth pressing into her skin just shy of piercing into her veins. She felt dizzy, losing herself in such small touches from him. His body was no warmer than room temperature, and yet it was so much warmer than she was, and she felt like ice melting beneath the golden caress of the sun.

Astarion straightened, lips twisted in a smug smile. “I do so love having fun with you, my dear. And do you know what I think?”

She shuddered at the feeling of his hand tracing over her thigh. She could hardly think herself, so easily brought to incoherence by his lips, his lithe fingers. There was no way she could guess what was happening in his mind. “What are you thinking?”

His smile widened, his teeth bared for her. Sometimes she liked to press her fingers to their sharp points, enamoured by them. “That you love having fun with me.”

“If you’re trying to tease me, you’re not doing a very good job.” She did press her thumb to one of his fangs, and he nipped at her playfully, chuckling.

“Have you considered that I’m not teasing you? I’m just stating facts, love.”

She quirked a brow as she plucked at the ties of his shirt. “That I love having fun with you?”

He caught her hand, bringing it back to his lips. “Why else would you choose a villain for a prince?”

“You are teasing me!”

His teeth scraped over her palm, the reverberations of his laughter seeping into her veins, warm as spring. “Maybe.”

“Yes, you are!” She squirmed, but she was stuck, his arm wrapped securely around her waist.

Kisses fell on the heel of her hand, his lips soft and plush, sending fireflies of warmth and light flitting between her ribs, illuminating her veins, her heart, as its pulse quickened for him.

“And if I am?” He breathed, looking up at her from beneath his ivory lashes. “What would you do?”

“I would-” She didn’t know what she would do. What could she even do?

“Well? I’m waiting.”

“I…” She rolled the question around in her mind, coming up with less than nothing.

He lifted his brows. “You…?”

With a huff she leaned away, tipping her head back to peer down at him, feigning imperiousness. Pretending he wouldn’t immediately see through such a facade. “I would be very cross.”

“Oh my.” He couldn’t have sounded less bothered by her answer even if he’d tried.

“And…” She licked her lips. “I wouldn’t play with your hair. Or give you kisses goodnight.”

Her threats came off more childish than anything else, and they seemed to amuse him, his smile stretching wide.

“Well, we wouldn’t want that, now would we, pet?” He tipped his head back too, the picture of aristocratic indolence. He really did look the picture of a prince, even if he was a particularly devilish one.

She huffed. “We would not.”

Despite all her posturing, all her feigned ire, she could not hold her facade for long. Astarion laughed, soft and warm, and it was easy to get lost in the sound of it. His voice was a melody, his laughter a song. There was no ballad that could compare, no bard with a voice as sweet. To hear such warmth, such delight, spinning in the air of the room.

The sound put her at ease, and she was so busy melting into the cadence of his voice that she nearly leapt out of her skin when he stood, bringing her with him.

“What are you doing?” It was an effort to stop herself from shrieking, the shock she felt still rattling through her bones.

He tsked, shaking his head. “Behave, darling.”

“Or what?”

His brow arched high, the corners of his lips trembling like he was on the verge of laughter all over again. And when he spoke, his words were all smouldering warmth, stoking embers in her core that flared to life. “Are you sure you want to find out?”

“That’s not an answer, Astarion.”

He brought his lips to her ear, his sultry tone making her shudder. “Keep being disobedient and you’ll find out.”

She was sorely tempted to push him, having an idea of what would be in store for her if she did. But she was tired, too, and she liked when he praised her, when he was gentle and loving.

He carried her into a room half cloaked in shadow. Squinting, she could make out that it was the bathroom, not particularly luxurious, but it suited their needs. A bathtub took up nearly half of the room, a toilet and sink squeezed into the far corner, the candlelight from the main room barely reaching them.

She assumed Astarion would set her down to light the candles, but he did not, only clutching her tighter as he struggled to light the few sconces on the wall.

“My love, you can put me down you know,” she murmured.

As the candles flared to life she could make out the lines of his face, the uncharacteristic solemnity that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

He tried flashing her a grin when he caught her staring, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Perhaps I’d prefer to hold you close.”

“Astarion.” She brushed back his curls, half-dried now that they were safe from the storm. “My love, tell me what’s on your mind.”

As she trailed her hands down to his cheeks he leaned into her touch, eyes half-lidded as he watched her. “The only thing on my mind, darling, is warming you up.”

“Is that not what you were doing before?” She stroked his cheek as he sighed, turning his head to nuzzle her palm. “Teasing me to warm me up.”

She could feel his smile against her skin, could feel the sharp prick of his fangs. “I only did that because I love to tease you, my dear.”

“No other reason?”

He nipped at her hand, all pleased smiles and mischief glinting in his eyes. “It’s one of my favourite pastimes, love. There is nothing I find more enjoyable than teasing you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Now that can’t possibly be true.”

“And what else could you possibly be thinking of?” His voice reminded her of a purr, of syrupy sweetness hiding something else underneath. “That would be more pleasurable than this?”

She opened her mouth, closed it, heat rushing through her. His eyes were bright, sharp as starlight on a lake. The words would not come to her lips, her throat clogged so not even air could escape.

“Well?” He prodded, dragging his teeth over her palm again. Never hard enough to draw blood, but enough to make her skin tingle from the pressure. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

Aspen drew herself up as best as she could, peeling her hands away and crossing them over her chest. “Maybe I’m teasing you now.”

Clicking his tongue, he finally set her down. “That’s hardly fair. Here I am working so terribly hard and you have the gall to tease me.”

“And what exactly is it that you’re working so hard at?”

He pinched her waist, brow arching high. “You’re being such a brat.”

“Am not!”

He hummed, sliding his arm around her waist before she could move, drawing her close. Firelight flickered over him, limning his face in orange and gold. He looked sharper in the fluttering light, shadows rolling from him like a cloak, his eyes dark as an open wound. There was nothing but devilry in the crescent of his smile, in the creases at the corners of his eyes.

Sometimes she forgot that he was a predator, that he was dangerous. Stories and songs had been written about creatures like him, that lurked in the shadows, that stole away children and women who strayed too far from the light.

But she had leapt headfirst into his shadows, and she had found there was light there too. Softened moonlight, the quicksilver glimmer of stars. Gold and silver twining together, illuminating the tributaries of her veins, setting her heart alight with all the wondrous things she had felt since she had felt the kiss of his steel knife against her throat.

So even when he looked at her as a predator did prey, she could not find it within her to be afraid. There were no tendrils of fear, no blossoming anxieties. All she could think of was his tender smiles in the mornings, the puppy dog eyes he made when he wanted something, the petulant way he whined when things did not go his way, the mischievous little grin he wore whenever he said something that made her laugh.

It made her brave, foolishly so, and as he peered at her with such avarice she reached for him. She cupped his cheek in her palm, hovered her thumb over his lips, felt the warmth of his breath curling against her skin. She smiled, unafraid when she knew the soft, delicate core hidden behind his sharp smile.

“I love you so very much,” she said, practically the sing-song chirp of a songbird at dawn. “But I am not a brat.”

Astarion’s brow quirked, and his sharpness seemed to fade away. The candles fluttered, a phantom wind ghosting through the room, softening his features as the gold of the light washed over him once more. But soft as he looked now, even his eyes reminding her of summer-fresh cherries, his smile still remained.

“It’s a little too late to change your tune now, my dear.” He patted the hand pressed to his cheek as though he were consoling her.

“I’m not changing any tune!” Perhaps if she kept her voice sweet as sugar he would not attempt to retaliate. “I’m just saying that I love you.”

Another hum, his fingers curling loosely around her wrist. “Is that so?”

“It is.”

“And you’re saying you’re not a brat.”

“I am.”

For a moment she thought she had succeeded, for a moment she was certain he would move on to whatever else was churning in his mind, whatever reason he’d dragged her into the bathroom.

But Astarion had two hands, and she was only paying attention to one. Another pinch to her side had her squealing, yanking her hand from his face and clutching it to her chest like a wounded animal.

He tsked, leaning close until she could nearly feel his smile against her own lips. “Yet you’ve been fighting me since the moment we got to this room.”

“I wouldn’t say I’ve been fighting you…” She muttered, trailing off. He’d been teasing her mercilessly, and she figured she ought to put up at least a slight resistance.

Another click of his tongue, another pinch that had her backing away quickly. “Stop that!”

“What else am I supposed to do when you won’t do what I want?” He laughed, giving chase.

Too late Aspen realized she had nowhere to go as her back hit the rough wooden panels of the wall. “You don’t have to keep pinching me!”

She was trapped. His hands settled on her hips, fingers pressing into her skin. He sighed, watching her quietly for a moment, firelight flickering across his face. “But I do so love to see your flustered expressions when I do.”

“It’s mean.” Her retort came out smaller than she had intended, sounding childish.

It garnered nothing but soft laughter as Astarion dragged her closer to him, as he pressed his face against her throat, muffling the sounds.

“Maybe if you listened more, I wouldn’t have to be so mean.” He was still laughing, the reverberations of his voice running across her nerves, spiderwebbing across her skin in warm tingles that made her knees weaken.

The touch of his lips to her skin made her feel dizzy, senseless. She’d been trying to escape his teasing, but instead she’d only been ensnared further. She wished he was closer, wished he would discard his own sopping wet clothing, if only to feel the slow tempo of his heart, sluggishly pushing blood through his veins.

She tangled her fingers in his hair, swallowing a whine as he scraped his teeth above her fluttering pulse. “You could just not be mean ever.”

He sighed, nipping her once more before drawing back, meeting her eyes. “You’re not giving me a lot of credit, you know.”

Now it was her turn to quirk a brow. “Pardon?”

“I’m very nice. And sweet, and generous,” he preened, looking equal parts mischievous and earnest. “You’re just not giving me a reason to be nice.”

“Isn’t being your lover reason enough?” She pouted, giving him her best puppy-dog eyes.

His mouth opened, closed again. She was almost certain colour crept into his cheeks as he swallowed, looking entirely, for a moment, at a loss.

“Well yes of course, darling…” he finally said, words popping like joints loose from sockets. Gone was the charming, teasing tone as his rhythm was thrown off, his careful verbal dance reduced to the uncoordinated stumbling of a toddler.

“Of course being your lover is reason enough?” She finished the sentence for him, although that was certainly not how he would have finished it. But she had to take advantage, tongue-tied as he was. It wasn’t very often her silver-tongued lover tripped finding his words. “Reason to be nice? To not tease me so?”

She pressed her hands to his chest, slid them down until they found the clasps of his shirt. She plucked at them, not quite undoing them and freeing him from his clothes. She gave him the prettiest smile she could, leaned forward and pressed her cheek to his shoulder, looking sweet and innocent and docile. Someone he couldn’t not be kind to.

He scowled, sensing her ploy, but it was dull as a wooden sword; no real edge to cut her with. Already the lines of his annoyance were fading, softening like shadows beneath morning light. “You’re distracting me.”

She batted her lashes, peering up at him with wide, doe eyes. “Distracting you from what?”

He groaned, brow twitching, yet the corners of his lips quivered, like he was fighting a losing battle against his smile. “This is one of the reasons I’m not always nice.”

She pouted, tipping her head to the side. “You don’t like this? You don’t want me to be close to you?”

Astarion’s eyes widened for the briefest of moments, and then he snorted, caressing her cheek. “You know, I think you might be the villain, love.”

“Well, I did learn from the best.”

His eyes glittered with starlight, his chest puffing out from the compliment. “I am the best, aren’t I?”

“You are.” She agreed wholeheartedly, and not just because she was trying to tease him. She adored him, cherished every part of him. “You’re the best, most important person in my life.”

Astarion smirked, clearly catching onto her ruse. Yet he did not chide her for it, instead only tapping her nose affectionately. “You really must stop distracting me, my dear. I have a task to accomplish.”

“What sort of task could be more important than me?”

He ran his hands down her sides, cushioning his chin on the top of her head. “Warming you up, darling. You’re still cold as death.”

He was right, and pressing herself against his rain-drenched clothes was not helping that. But joking with him was a welcome distraction, keeping her mind away from the painful numbness that had overtaken her feet and her hands, from the prickling tingles of ice shards melting beneath her skin.

She supposed that would be quite important. She wasn’t exactly keen on staying cold.

“What did you have in mind?” She mumbled, some of her sugary veneer melting away. She’d been able to ignore the chill clinging to her as surely as a second skin, but now it was rushing back. The burn of her hands, the throb of her skin as if it would crawl from her body at any moment.

Astarion’s arms looped around her waist, holding her close. He was only marginally warmer than her, although how she wasn’t entirely sure. But it was a comfort all the same, whatever heat he harboured leaching into her bare skin.

“I was going to draw you a bath,” he murmured, a balm that eased some of her chills, a lullaby for cold nights.

“A bath?” Perhaps the storm and her fatigue had made her simple, slow.

“Yes.” He sounded amused, delight a bright flame to gathered kindling. “We’ve been trekking through the forest all night, and no offense, darling, but you’ve looked better.”

She glared at him, scrunching up her nose until a sharp flick to her side snapped the glower from her face.

“You’re still beautiful,” he continued, smoothing his hand over where he’d flicked her side. “You’re always beautiful to me, my love. But you do look like you’ve rolled in mud.”

He smirked, plucking something from her hair and tickling it against her nose. She snatched it from his hand, glaring at a leaf, floppy and damp from the deluge they had travelled through.

She flicked the leaf to the side, letting it careen to the floor. “Fine. Point taken.”

“And,” Astarion continued, taking her chin and tilting it up, so she had no choice but to meet his eyes. “It should chase away the last of that chill.”

Caught in his grasp as surely as a fly in spider’s silk, she could do nothing but nod. His hold was firm, his eyes bright as glee danced in them. She could not wrestle herself free, not that she particularly wanted to. He was the moon, and she was the ocean’s waves, ebbing and flowing at his whim. If he thought this was a good idea, then she was not about to argue.

A pleased smile curved across his lips like sunlight peeking from behind storm-clouds. He pressed a kiss to her brow, sighing. “Good girl. Now stay there.”

In an instant he was gone, returning only to press the paper-wrapped package Thistle had given them earlier into her hand.

It was a sandwich, the bread toasted and warm, crust crumbling in her fingers as she unwrapped it. It was made of nothing more than lettuce and cheese and tomatoes and crispy meat, a yet it smelled heavenly. Her stomach ached just looking at it.

“To give you a little more strength,” was his answer to her unasked question. When she hesitated to take a bite he lifted her hands to her mouth, his tone brooking no argument. “Eat. It will take me a few minutes here to get everything ready anyways.”

She did not have to be told twice, spilling crumbs as she took ravenous bites all while Astarion busied himself with filling the tub. She watched as steam rose from the water, as he moved around the room, sniffing at the little bottles lined up on a ledge behind the tub. He grimaced, vanishing from the bathroom, the sound of bottles clicking and clothes and books being tossed to the sound coming from deeper in the rooms.

Astarion returned as she was licking crumbs and sauce from her fingers, her hunger only marginally sated. Firelight flickered silver over the bottles in his hands, and she looked up to see their own personal stash of favoured soaps and oils in hand. He added a generous amount of oils and perfumes, and quickly the room was enveloped in a floral-scented fog. She could smell rose and lavender and violets, the faintest touch of vanilla and cinnamon.

She bounced on the balls of her feet, a scrap of her energy restored, shivering even as the temperature in the bathroom rose. Astarion had moved away from her, and without him close by she felt all too vulnerable, and the cold that still clung to the air managed to find her, burrowed itself into the hollows of her bones until they were covered in frost.

It was another while before Astarion was satisfied, as he sniffed at the air, dipped his hands into the water, added something new, and repeated the process all over again.

Centuries might have passed before he finally gave a pleased nod. He turned back to her, grinning widely, proud of himself already. He held out his hand, beckoning her over. “Come here, my love.”

The room was small, and she was beside him in a moment, her fingers threading between his. He drew her closer still, until her chest was pressed to his, until her chin was perched on his shoulder.

“Astarion?” He ran his hands down her sides, dancing over the tips of her thighs before sliding up once more. He pressed his lips to the top of her head, to her cheek, to her thrumming pulse. It was sweet and strange all at once, and she giggled as she said his name, again and again, as his kisses quickened, as his hands moved with a new fervor.

The ground fell out from under her suddenly, Astarion scooping her into his arms. A gasp fell from her lips, but the only sign that he noticed at all was the curve of his lips against her throat as he kissed her again.

He lowered her slowly into the tub, warm water swaddling her like a blanket. It burned at first, but it quickly turned to a soothing ache, and then nothing but a balm that eased the pain and cold from her bones.

“What was that for?” She asked, tipping her head back to follow him as he straightened, no longer showering her in affections.

Astarion only shrugged, nimble fingers making quick work of his shirt and his trousers. “I thought it might help to warm you up.”

She arched a brow. “Really? And it has nothing to do with you wanting to do any of that?”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “I was only acting out of the goodness of my heart, my darling. You’re so cold, and  need to do everything I can to warm you up.”

“I hope that’s not the only thing you’re planning to do.” The heat from the water made her feel renewed, alive once more. And she did not want to sit in the tub alone, not when it was certainly large enough for both her and her beloved partner.

“You don’t need to fret, my love,” he crooned, discarding the last of his clothes. “I have plenty of ways I can warm you up.”

The surface of the bath rippled, gleaming pearlescence borne from the perfumes and oils that suffused the water and the air. Astarion settled behind her near soundlessly, and had it not been for the sturdiness of the legs that bracketed her sides and the gentle undulation of the water, she would have thought him a phantom. A silent spectre keeping watch.

His hands paused at her hips while he shifted, slowly inching across her belly until he had his arms wrapped fully around her, his chest flush with her back, sighing as though he was finally content.

“This is quite nice,” he mused, flicking iridescent water idly. “We should get a tub like this. I’ve grown so weary of bathing in little more than buckets.”

“And yet with all this space you’re still clinging to me,” she quipped, scooping water into her palms and watching as it slipped between her fingers. “You have all this space and you’re still stuck to my back.”

He chuckled, bringing his lips to the back of her neck. “You’re just going to have to get used to that, darling. I promised you I’d always be with you, didn’t I?”

She craned her neck around as far as she could go, just barely finding his eyes from the corners of hers. “And that means you’re always going to be practically stuck to me?”

He shrugged, smirking. “It’s hardly my fault you’re so captivating.”

Sighing, Astarion perched his chin on her shoulder, breathing his next words into her ear. “I could live a million lifetimes more, and I would still never have enough of you.”

Aspen shivered, all thoughts fleeing her mind, vanishing like deserters in battle.

Astarion did not give her a chance to concoct a proper response, or any response at all. He tapped his fingers against her skin, his arms loosening their hold. “But if you don’t want me to, I can always leave you to your own devices.”

He began to pull away, chest peeling from her back, leaving nothing but air and water and a sudden bone-deep ache that splintered her heart like cracked glass.

“I wouldn’t want to linger where I’m not wanted.” He didn’t sound particularly morose, although his face was pulled into an expression of mock misery.

Her hand snapped out before he could pull away entirely, her heart in her throat. “Wait, don’t go.”

She twisted further around, clutching at his arms. The thought of him leaving her, even if it was just to step into a different room, filled her with such abject sadness she would surely drown in the ocean of it. She was a pebble, weather-worn and smooth, caught in the force of his riptide. She did not want to be set free, lost to the waters of the sea. She wanted to dissolve entirely, wanted to flow along with his current.

Astarion’s brows shot up, but his eyes remained steady, not surprised in the least. “What’s wrong, my love?”

“I don’t want you to go,” she whined, heedless of the fact that she was almost certainly falling right into his trap.

“Is that so?” A dangerous glint came into his eyes, a sharp slice of his lips ticking up. “Are you sure? You made it seem like you didn’t want me very close at all.”

“I was only teasing.” She was already very nearly in his lap, and she wiggled closer still, much to his delight. She could tell from how his eyes lit up, how his smile grew wider, more smug. “I want you to stay.”

“Oh darling,” he ran the back of his knuckles over her cheek, caressing her gently. “You’re adorable. Even in hysterics you’re adorable.”

She sat up a little straighter, shoulders feeling a little looser. “So you’ll stay?”

He tipped his head to the side, his smirk infuriating. “Well I don’t know about that. You know you’ve hurt my feelings terribly, even if you were just teasing.”

Brows drawing together, Aspen frowned. She curled herself against his chest, looked up at him as sweetly as she could. She willed herself to be sugar, to be flavoured syrup in a sweetened drink. His fangs should ache, he should taste candy on his tongue.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, sliding her hands down his arms, twining her fingers with his. He seemed amused, letting her draw his hands to her chest, to her lips, letting her murmur her apologies against his knuckles. “I’m so so sorry, Astarion.”

His eyes narrowed, his smirk sharp enough to draw blood. “I don’t know if I believe you.”

He tugged one of his hands from her grip, taking hold of her chin. The pad of his thumb ran across her bottom lip as he hummed, a tuneless melody she couldn’t place.

“What can I do so you believe me?” She still held one of his hands, and he seemed content to let her scatter kisses on his palm, his other hand now sliding down the column of her neck.

His thumb paused over her throat, stroking little circles against her windpipe. “Say please.”

“Please, will you believe me?” She arched her neck, just a little, giving him her biggest doe eyes.

He hummed, adding more pressure as he continued to press circles into her throat. His smile said he wasn’t ready to let this go just yet. “And who are you talking to, my dear?”

“Please, Astarion?”

His grip tightened, almost imperceptibly, as he frowned. Evidently, he was displeased.

She chewed on the corner of her lip, remembering something he’d said earlier. “Please, my love?”

The arch of one of his brows and the quiver of the corners of his lips told her she was on the right track.

“Please, my sweet? My beloved, won’t you please believe me?” She would have pressed her cheek to his shoulder, would have kissed him gently, were it not for the hand at her throat. Instead, she settled for kissing his palm again, and he smiled, seeming satisfied.

“Alright, alright.” He drew both hands away, settling them on her shoulders and gently pulling her away. “I’ve had my fun, but I really did have a plan here.”

“Was it to tease me?” She tried pinching his hands, but he batted her away with a snort. “Because if so, mission accomplished.”

He rolled his eyes. “Darling, I never plan to tease you. You make it so easy, I can do it whenever I want.”

“Hey!”

His smile was far too innocent to be believed. “Now let me clean you up before you pass out.”

“I’m not going to pass out.” She felt strangely peevish, bristling at the suggestion she had a poor constitution. “I ate that sandwich and everything.”

His brows drew together, his tone strangely soothing, like he was trying to placate a child on the verge of a tantrum. “Darling, have you taken a look at yourself lately?”

“You know I haven’t.”

His lips twitched. “You’ve looked like you’re going to collapse for ages now. You’re paler than me.”

She pressed her lips into a thin line. “Well I haven’t seen the sun in what feels like years now with this storm.”

Another twitch of his lips that he had to fight to get under control. It was clear he was trying to appear serious, and he was having a very difficult time with it. “Love, I had to carry you to the bathroom. I nearly had to carry you up the stairs.”

“I could have walked by myself,” she grumbled. At his arched brow she raised her shoulders, wrinkling her nose. “You were the one who decided you wanted to carry me.”

The way his brow creased and his eyes narrowed told her how much he believed that.

“Darling.” He sounded hesitant, tired. “My love, I really was worried. I thought you were going to pass out.”

Aspen stilled, whatever fight had been in her fizzling away like cheap sparklers bought at a market stall. Brilliant and bright and gone in an instant, leaving her devoid of even enough energy to lift her arms.

She slumped against him, sighing morosely. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, my love.”

“It’s alright now,” he murmured, water trickling down her face as he stroked her hair. “You haven’t passed out yet, and even if you do, I’m here, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She closed her eyes, the feel of his fingers in her hair as good as a lullaby. “Thank goodness I don’t have to worry about drowning in this bath.”

He snorted, tugging gently at her hair as his fingers were caught in snarls and knots left there by the raging wind. “Thank goodness I’m here to have drawn this bath, so that you can get cleaned up.”

“That too.”

“Alright.” He chuckled, patting her side lightly. “Open your eyes for me, pet. I do want to clean you up before the water goes cold.”

She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut tighter.

“As adorable as you are pretending to sleep,” he crooned, a finger dragging over her cheek. “I am not above using less savoury methods of rousing you. Tired or no.”

She cracked an eye open, contemplating whether she wanted to learn exactly what unsavoury methods he had in mind.

But then she flicked her eyes up to find his, and although there was always that spark of mischief in his eyes, as surely as the stars were always glittering beyond the gold sheen of the sun, there was a tender warmth as well. The warmth of a crackling fire stoked in the midst of a winter storm, the warmth of a favoured blanket shared between two bodies, the warmth of a warm drink cradled in her palms.

She did not wish to invoke a response that would take that softness and bring it to a whetstone, filing it away until only diamond-sharpness remained. She craved his gentle moments, his kindhearted touch. Her hunger for his affection was ravenous, an empty pit in her chest that only felt sated when he looked at her like this, when he brushed his fingers over her cheeks, when he so idly toyed with her hair as she drifted off to sleep.

So Aspen sat up as best she could, letting him direct her until he was satisfied with how she sat. He asked her which of their soaps she wanted to use, humming as she picked her favourite botanical scents, running his fingers down her spine and bringing his lips to the nape of her neck to murmur praises when he liked certain smells best.

The heat of the water began to work its way between her frozen, knotted muscles as surely as Astarion’s fingers worked through the knots in her hair. He instructed her to lean back, to let him scoop the scented water into his palms and pour it over her scalp until her hair was soaked through, clinging to her cheeks and the back of her neck as she sat up again. 

She felt loose, felt like she might melt into nothing, as though her bones had simply vanished, and she needed Astarion to ease her back into a sitting position, the warm tenor of his laughter making her dizzy.

“Stay with me, darling,” he murmured, lithe fingers gathering her hair from her cheeks and brushing it back. “I need you to stay awake.”

“I’m awake,” she muttered, although it was only partially true. She felt half unconscious already, gripped by the fatigue she’d been pretending not to feel for most of the night. It was an anchor tied to her feet, dragging her beneath the rolling waves of oblivion, and there was absolutely nothing in the candle-lit bathroom that was helping her to remain awake.

For all his teasing, Astarion’s gentle ministrations were making her sleepy, would have made her sleepy even if they had not traipsed overnight in a violent storm. He had unearthed a comb from one of their packs, and he worked it through the knots in her hair, applying a sweet-smelling conditioner as he went, softly cursing the winds and the gods for letting her hair get mangled so terribly.

Such gentleness felt almost foreign to her; as a child her mother had yanked brushes through her hair when it was knotted before tying it back in braids so tight it brought tears to her eyes. As she grew older she had not shown herself any kindness either, grabbing fistfuls of her hair away from her scalp so it did not hurt quite so terribly as she pulled her brush through her knots.

And when she’d grown old enough to control how long her hair could be, she’d had it cut short, grazing just below her chin, to make it all the easier to manage. She had thought it cute, and it meant she did not have to enact violence against her hair every morning when she prepared to greet the day.

But travelling as she did now, adventuring through parts of the world she had never once thought she would visit, her hair had grown longer, and the wispy strands were prone to tangles and knots that frustrated her to no end.

Yet Astarion’s touch remained gentle, almost reverent, as he worked through the snarls in her hair, combing them away until he could run his fingers through it with ease.

It made her eyes burn, and she quickly blinked away the tears, hoping he did not notice the few that managed to slide down her cheeks, drip into the bath. To be so cherished, to be seen as someone so precious that he would take his time with something so mundane. She did not have the words, did not know anything but the ache in her chest as her heart pressed against the cage of her ribs, yearning for him, to wrap her arms around him and hold him close until she had memorized every flutter of breath, every line and wrinkle, every flex of a muscle.

When he was satisfied with her hair he brought his lips to the spot just behind her ear, his kiss reverent as that of a worshipper, devoted to their god.

“How do you feel?” He murmured the words against her skin, vibrations sending tingles over her shoulders, down her arms. His hands slid down her back, his thumbs pressing down on either side of her spine until he reached her waist and they slipped to the side, resting at the flare of her hips.

Aspen hummed, her mind a cloud of steam that smelled like spring, lost to the feeling of the pads of his fingers running down her back, of his breath curling against her ear.

His chuckle sent a shower of light fizzing in her chest, like embers thrown to the night’s sky, like the golden bubbles of champagne as they danced their secret ballet in crystal glasses.

“Are you at least still awake, darling?” His voice was practically a purr, a soft susurrus to her ear as his hands moved up her back once more. 

His thumbs pressed small circles into either side of her spine at the nape of her neck, his fingers splaying around the sides of her throat. The pads of his fingers pressed into her skin as he applied gentle pressure, delicately massaging as he brushed his lips against her ear.

“Maybe.” Her answer was a sigh as her eyelids drooped. It would be so easy to fall asleep, to lose herself in his arms and the heat leaching into her skin.

“Hmmm.” She smiled as the reverberations of his voice echoed through her, a pleasant buzz resounding in her bones. 

He brought his lips to the nape of her neck, the prick of his teeth making her gasp, eyes fluttering open wider.

He continued to hum, trailing kisses down her spine as he slid his hands over her shoulders, continuing to massage away the ice that had frozen her muscles. “There we go. Can’t have you falling asleep just yet, darling.”

The sound she made was dangerously close to a whimper, but Astarion did nothing but smile against her skin as kissed her lazily. “And why not?”

“I’m not done bathing you, for starters,” he did not pull away to respond, instead murmuring the words into her skin. She did not hear his answer so much as feel it in the movement of his lips, in the dips of his tone as his voice gave form to his words. “And you still have to eat more after this. That sandwich was hardly enough.”

The empty pangs in her belly could be entirely ignored, if she were honest. She would most certainly regret it when she awoke, but right now all she wanted to do was fade away, to let herself be swathed in her dreams.

“That can wait,” she whined, not caring how petulant she sounded. “Astarion, I’m so tired.”

His answer was an acquiescence, yet it was not permission, either. “I know,” he said, acknowledging that she was tired, that she was exhausted. “I know you are, my dear.” But he would not allow her to fall asleep, not until he was done.

After her hair came the rest of her body, and Astarion was as thorough as he had been with her hair.

Her back was first, and he alternated between tracking kisses over her and massaging her favourite soaps into her skin. He would rinse away suds only to cover her in sweetened kisses, sharp teeth pricking her flushed skin to keep her from succumbing to the temptation of oblivion that danced at the corners of her mind.

He dug his fingers into her muscles, dull pain radiating out from knots she hadn’t known she’d had, from ice that had frozen her muscles until they’d turned rigid and brittle. Her body needed warmth and movement to be coaxed back into them, but it still hurt, as though she was being slowly returned to life.

She hissed each time his clever fingers found a new ache, and he worked languorously, adoringly, smoothing his hands over the places that hurt most, gentle kisses decorating her skin as he slid his hands away. She felt like she was stone, and he was a sculptor, fashioning a masterpiece from the unyielding cold of her muscles and bones.

By the time he was satisfied with his work, hands fluttering over her sides as he gently crooned in her ear about how good she was being, finally, she felt like she had been unspooled. Perhaps she had been something whole once, but the delicate framework of her stitching had been undone beneath his hands. She had been pulled apart at the very seams, and now she waited to be knit together again, to be whole once more.

“I feel so sleepy, like I’m going to fall apart.” Her muttered whinging was met with laughter, and Astarion took great pains to gently take her chin, twisting her around to capture her lips.

“Finally, some honesty,” he groaned against her lips, smirking. “I knew you were tired.”

Aspen pried herself away from him, and although she did her best to glower at him, her body fought against her, and she ended up sinking into his arms as he watched her with amusement.

“So what if I’m tired?” She grumbled, focusing intently on the shadows flitting across the ceiling.

“I’m just delighted you’re opening up to me,” he said, voice lilting through a teasing melody. “That you feel comfortable being so honest with me, darling. That’s very important for any relationship.”

She rolled her eyes, halfheartedly splashing him. “I am honest with you.”

A click of his tongue told her how much he bought that story. “And that’s why you kept denying you were cold and tired? For hours? That’s why you kept pretending? Even now?”

“Well I-”

“And what about the time when you pretended you weren’t sick and then collapsed.” He splashed her back, floral water catching in her hair and her lashes. “Or the time when you waited hours to tell me you sprained your ankle.”

“I do tell you…” She trailed off, chewing on the corner of her lip. She felt reticent, certain that responding would only dig her grave further. “Just not always right away.”

“Mmm.” His touch was delicate as he brushed the water from her cheeks. “Well I want you to tell me right away.”

“But I don’t want to be a burden, and I don’t want to annoy you.”

A frown bloomed then, as hurricanes did over the ocean. She felt like a wildflower, wilting beneath the summer-sun strength of his withering glare. Such a look could surely shrivel ancient trees, could turn fields of lush grass and glades of bushes and flowers and shrubs to little more than ash.

“Say you’re a burden one more time,” he breathed, his smirk cold as the barren winter. “I dare you.”

Aspen shuddered, icy wind curling down her spine like ivy. The bath was still so hot her skin was flushed, but she felt a cold deep in her bones all the same.

“You don’t really make it sound enticing,” she managed, her voice a squeak as Astarion’s brows arched high. “I don’t think I want to know what the consequence will be.”

Like brutal summer heat giving way beneath the cool evening breeze, Astarion softened. His smile was no longer knife-sharp, his eyes no longer shards of ruby glass.

“A smart choice,” was his answer, cradling her face in his palms. “I would rather you tell me every thought in your mind, no matter how annoying, than say such a thing again.”

Her mouth twitched. “Are you saying I can be annoying?”

“That is not what I’m saying, you-” He pinched her cheek, rolling his eyes. “You cheeky little thing. You know that is not what I’m saying.”

“Well you’ve teased me so much,” she admitted. “I just wanted to return the favour.”

A groan. “Perhaps not when I’m trying to be terribly sweet and earnest, though?”

“You’re right,” she sighed, closing her eyes. “That was mean of me. I’m sorry, love.”

He hummed, sounding unconvinced. Their noses bumped together as he drew his face closer to hers, whispering furtively as though he were prying into a secret. “Are you sure you’re sorry?”

Aspen giggled despite herself, everything but the deep crimson of Astarion’s eyes and flickers of silver from where his curls fell into the corners of her vision.

“You don’t sound particularly sorry, darling,” he mused, laughter lacing his dulcet tones.

“I am a little,” she giggled again as she spoke, belying her words. Yet Astarion did not seem to mind, as he laughed too, soft and warm as a caress, his breath ghosting against her lips, reminding her of his kisses.

“Alright, I am choosing to believe you this time,” he teased, rolling his eyes as he pulled away. “Although you have given me no reason to trust you today.”

“I did say I was tired, didn’t I?”

He flicked water into her face, snorting as she shrieked. “You’re lucky I find you so exceedingly adorable. Now if you’re quite done, I’d like to finish up here before the water gets cold.”

“As you wish, my love.”

That earned her another splash of water in her face, although she could not figure out why. Perhaps it had something to do with her dry tone, or the smirk on her face.

She wiped away the water, and although it did little to wash away her smirk, it did soften as Astarion once more took up the little bottle of soap. He grumbled under his breath about his little liar, gently taking her arm and beginning the process all over again.

He worked slowly, diligently, digging his thumbs into her frozen skin, her blood warming like water spilling from a hot spring. Yet he did not move quite as languidly, sensing the shift in the water’s temperature already, wanting to finish up before the bath turned chilly.

Not that Aspen noticed it right away, half-asleep as he poured water over her arms, as he skillfully cleaned away the dirt and rainwater clinging to her body. Flickers of heat like stars blooming in the night sky spread through her as he pressed his lips to her skin, leaving chaste kisses that left behind tingles as he drew away.

It was all so gentle and affectionate it felt like a dream. The water began to cool enough that she noticed, but it did little to rouse her. She grew sleepier by the moment, and it would have been so easy to curl up and float away. Her eyelids were leaden, and the velvet darkness beneath them was welcome, swathing her mind in its soothing warmth as Astarion poured all his affection into each touch of his hand and his lips.

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