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sashi-ya · 1 year

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𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

⭒ pairing: dr. trafalgar law x f! reader. R 18+ ⭒ requested by @anniee-ya ⭒ inspired on the song: 𝄞 moonlight by Kali Uchis 𝄞 ⭒ tw: explicit. oral. vag. alcohol. fingering. cream pie. public. I made the manga edit mixing Law's face with a panel from Team Medical Dragon manga | wc: 0.9k

Strong dark circles, and a tired façade. His shoulders so tight, not even your skilful hands could ease the tension.

“What happened?” you ask, murmuring by his ear as he takes the white coat off. “As always, a hell of a shift (Name-ya)” Law sighs, cracking his neck. His tattooed hands grab yours, pulling them towards his chest. They sink into the blue scrubs he wear, sliding through his collarbones.

The bumps of his sternum, the muscles of his pecs reacting to your soft touch. Law is the type of man where words aren’t needed, and you, are the type of woman to understand what he needs with just the signs of his body.

“Yeah, baby, it's been a hell of a day… but I know a place we can escape”

You caress his lower lip with your thumb; while Law reacts with a smirk, because he knows exactly where you wanna go…

He could have picked the car, but, he chose the bike. Fresh air on your faces, it was something he needed.

With your arms wrapped around his waist, and your cheek resting on his back, he drives you both to the beach.

A beautiful spring night, that’s almost a summer one. Moonlight shining on the coast, with its silver glowing strings over the crashing waves.

The lonely path to a secret place you only both know. With still some traces of the footprints that once were yours.

His hand pulling from yours, running and giggling. The sound of some cans of cheap alcohol and perhaps something else that feels a little bit illegal. Like those teenager days, once again finding shelter with each other, from those days where life gets too heavy.

The dry and bitter taste of those cans run through your throats, burning everything inside you. Your tongues meet, mixing the taste of the alcohol and your own, in sweet kisses.

Little moans slip in between those seconds in which you two take time to breathe. You feel dizzy, Law feels his head is in the clouds.

“Take this off, (Name)-ya” he whispers, kissing your neck as he tries to lift your shirt.

The little abandoned cabin that once seemed to be a beach house still has some spare humid cushions and the lantern of your phones are the only source of light besides the moonlight.

Your skin getting bumpy, as the soft breeze kisses your naked shoulders. Law does the same, kneeling on the ground, kissing your belly with butterfly pecks and with his hands resting on the small of your back.

“I am already feeling better, (Name)-ya” he whispers, licking the line down your belly bottom to the hem of your jeans. He unbuttons it with great expertise, sliding them down to discover your thighs.

Oh, your legs. The place where Law would love to perish, his favourite deathbed.

The little spot of wetness covering your panties, growing bigger the more Law bites the inner side of your thighs.

“God, you are like a drug to me… look yourself into the mirror… don’t you see a doll?” he sighs, pulling down your lingerie to uncover your now dripping sex and moving you to the side so that your profile could reflect on a piece of and old mirror.

You take a look at the most beautiful piece of erotic art ever depicted and is to have such a devoted man about to devour your whole entirety.

His inked fingers spread your labia, like the professional he is. The tip of his tongue, receives the little drop of the elixir he would like to indulge in forever. The warmth of his breathe reaches your sex, making you tremble.

“La-w, you- you were the one stressed out…” you stutter, as his whole tongue reach your core and his golden eyes fix in yours.

He slowly blinks, and you could even sense the smirk he holds as he buries his mouth into your femininity.

Throwing your head back, you wrap your fingers on his spiky hair. Pulling more and more as he goes harder with his tongue, sucking everything out of you.

And just by the peak of pleasure, he stops. “Come here…” he orders, helping you out completely from your clothes and walking you outside where your skin receives the shine of the moon like a holy silver mantle.

Law grabs your wrists and in a swift quick motion he turns you around and pins you against the decaying walls of the cabin.

His chin on your shoulder, whispering from behind for you to get ready to be fucked until you drop.

“Be a good girl to me, help me destress… yes, (Name)-ya?” he whispers into your mouth while grabbing your trembling chin in between his fingertips to face him from the side.

You nod, with eyes semi closed and enjoying the sound of his jeans’ zipper going down.

Freed his sex, it gets absolutely smashed against your dripping core. Alone, and as hard as it is, it slides right in ripping a moan out of your mouth.

The surgeon’s hand passes to your neck, and while he impales you he squeezes your carotids to the point of almost shutting the bloodstream from your heart to your brain. Leaving you stupidly on the verge of climax.

High, high you go. He goes as high as you, with your cheek pressed against the wall and your breasts now squeezed in between his fingers.

“Come, sweet one” he commands, giving you the last thrust that has never been violent but rather deep and slow… so slow that could be enough to break your spirit and mind. You obey, bathing his shaft with your orgasmic explosion. A splashing sound that reverberates into your ears as he keeps slamming himself to finally finish, under a beautiful moonlight, so deep inside of you.

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i-am-kat-hi · 4 months

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Random Headcanon's for a DRDT x Medieval times AU I made up

Teruko- Princess, Xander’s little sister Xander- Prince, heir to the throne David- Head Bodyguard for Prince Xander, very close with the Prince. Ace- Falconer, A person who hunts small game using a trained falcon or other bird of prey. Arei- Bowler, A person who played Bowl as a form of entertainment Charles- Alchemist, A person who attempts to turn base metals into gold and find the elixir of life through experimental chemistry. Hu- Harper, A person who plays the harp, a stringed musical instrument. Whit- Prostitute, A person who engages in sexual activity for payment. Closest thing to a matchmaker in medieval times 😭 J- Calligrapher, A person who writes in a decorative or stylized manner. Arturo- Sawbones, A person who performs amputations and other surgical procedures, especially on soldiers during a battle. Veronika- Witch, A witch. Nico- Freibauer, A person who grows food or raises animals at a fixed location on farmland that they own. Rose- Artisan, A person who produces handmade items with traditional methods. Levi- Tailor, A person who makes clothing Min- Scholar, A person who keeps historical records. Eden- Clockmaker, Yeah her usual talent.

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astoryfullofwoe · 9 months

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worship // greek lovers

i play your body like a lyre

and savour the sweet songs you sing;

my fingers know every string by heart,

i’m fluent in your vocal poetry.

i would start and end wars

for your ambrosia lips

and the way they trail down my figure—

your mouth more devastating

than any of Eros’ arrows.

we make such beautiful music together.

modern greek lovers; Sappho must be proud.

caress me like you’re

making love to Aphrodite;

i’m all soft curves and pink skin,

dripping sea foam, ready for your touch.

gently work the oyster shell open,

and polish the pearl ‘til it shines.

trace my flower petals with your tongue,

drink the nectar forged only for you.

bite me like you’re

fucking Dionysus;

claw me open, hear me cry out—

you know i like it rough.

curl around me like ivy,

scratch down my back and feel it arch.

sip on my wine, suck on the cork;

watch how i put on a show for you.

embrace me like you’re

bedding Hera;

spread yourself wide, peacock-style,

give yourself up to me in offering.

brush heavenly kisses down my neck,

you know i’m your queen—

your hands gripped in my hair, my crown,

your face of carved marble, my throne.

make my mortal body tremble

on our altar of honey-sweet elixir

and damp, discarded bedsheets;

climb Mount Olympus, make a religion out of me.

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ravenelyx · 1 year

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WIP list

Sebastian Sallow

More Than a Friend (angst, perceived unrequited love, emotional infidelity, fluff, sexual tension, eventual smut, drunken kissing - adding this only to avoid spoilers) - ON-GOING

"Are you going to stay? We're having so much fun!" Sebastian struggled to turn around in her arms, and maybe he should have just stayed where he was, for his own sake if not for his heart's. The girl's smile widened once she realised she could lay her dizzy head on his shoulder, and she slid even closer into his arms. Burning leads to melting. And that's exactly what Sebastian's body did, once he was sure hers would catch him. "You're warm," came her voice, muffled in his chest, his own head hung low against hers in a gentle embrace. A smile pulled at his lips when her scent filled his lungs, and he tightened his arms ever-so-slightly around her smaller frame. "Are you cold?" he quietly asked, brushing his lips against the conch of her ear and making her giggle. "Not anymore."

Homely (insecurities, body issues, body worship, smut)

"I know, right?" said Bulstrode. "D'you reckon she'd give me a chance?" Avery snickered. "Not if I ask her first!" That did it for Sebastian. His eyes widened, his heart thumping in his chest as he heard the boys talk about asking her out. They thought she was pretty. They liked her. His lips trembled as he looked down at his body again, his quivering hands once more coming to touch his stomach. He felt even more ridiculous about having thought he might have a chance — he wasn't handsome, he wasn't sculpted, he wasn't enough.

Quid Pro Quo (crack fic, body swap, fluff, sexual tension, suggestive)

From the very first time she had set foot into that school, rare were the instances she had been certain of anything. With the exception of one. She would never drink a concoction made by Garreth Weasley. A few apples from a sketchy house hidden in a corner in Hogsmeade? Perfectly edible, if not a bit chalky. A glass of Firewhiskey lying around in a Scriptorium that hasn't been opened for thousands of years? Only a little sour. A soupçon of whatever Garreth had conceived while watching Poppy Sweeting accidentally drop a string of her hair that caught up in her hands into her cauldron while adding Newt spleens to her Everlasting Elixir? She would get a stomach pump for less.

Love is not quantifiable, and therefore not finite (fluff, angst if you squint, falling in love/friends to lovers)

The girl sighed, dejected. She had always had a good relationship with the librarian, given her thirst for knowledge and love for reading. It wasn't rare for the woman to let her stay just a little more than necessary, or allow her to borrow more books than it was practice — but now it seemed Madam Scribner had forgotten about the real Anne just like everyone else, and all that was left was the newly-cured Ann Sallow, who only deserves pity and commiseration.

Arranged Heartbreak (angst, hurt/comfort, courting) - COMPLETED

"You're special, you know that? Thank you, Sebastian. Only..." She pulled away to look at him. "Don't even think about doing something drastic should it ever come to that point, like marrying me or something. Your freedom is yours." "M-marry you?" he stuttered, the idea slowly forming in his mind at her words. Could that… Would that be a solution? "I didn't even think about it... why would... Is... is that what you want? I don't want... I just want to do what makes you happy." She smiled reassuringly. "I don't want that, Sebastian. I want to do things the... wizarding way, if so to speak." She sighed. "I want to keep being your friend, to know you properly, to maybe… fall in love."

Best Served Cold (cheating, angst, emotional manipulation and abuse, psychological harassment, smut, dub/con)

"Give me one reason to get over this." She said coldly, staring down at him. "I…" His voice broke. Because the truth was: he didn't have any. He wasn't worthy of another chance, he didn't deserve it. But he was a selfish bastard. And he needed her. He only realised it too late. "I just…" He looked at her, eyes wide and glistening with unspilled feelings. And then, his judgement was gone. "I'll do anything you want." He declared, clearly not weighing his words properly. Because that was a dangerous thing to say. Especially to her. And he should have known better after all these years.

Sonnet XI (smut, semi-public, pwp analogue)

"Advanced Transfiguration." He read the title of the book she was holding with a smug smile. "I would say 'impressive', but you certainly don't deserve that type of credit." "What are you staring at?" She sighed, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at his presence. "The book in your hands," he replied. "I don't expect someone like yourself to understand, but that is a complicated and extremely difficult field of study with applications beyond most wizards' comprehension." Now she couldn't stop herself. And her eye sockets hurt. "And tell me," she said sarcastically, "what exactly, in your opinion, is so difficult about this book to someone like me?" "It takes years to develop the precision and subtlety of touch required for Transfiguration. Your simple mind can't comprehend the complexity of the spellcrafts required." He shrugged. "You know, just because you use a lot of words, it doesn't mean your speech makes any sense."

Taglist is open <3

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wispstalk · 4 months

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8. rules

prompt from this list paired with a character suggestion from @druidx - this one features Baurus.

Baurus, at times, misses the Imperial City. The bustle of it, mostly, the swirling motion of commerce, the cacophony of the bells and half-a-hundred languages tossed around like cargo at the waterfront, and sometimes even the smell. He expected the hermetic rhythms of life in Cloud Ruler to chafe at him; braced himself for it on the trek north.

He could not predict the extent to which he took the amenities of city life for granted. Namely, the abundance of healers. Cheerful apothecaries with their tailor-made remedies, gentle hands at the temple coaxing wounds to seal.

For such things now they must rely on the Hero of Kvatch. Martin Septim, former priest, is a healer, but he has too important a role to play to be bothered with such trifles. Tanis Irathi is competent, but he is also a tyrant. A fortnight ago, the Grandmaster assembled them all to review reports on the Mythic Dawn’s movements. Baurus might have coughed a few times as Jauffre spoke, only to dislodge an itch in his throat. Afterward, Irathi — pacing the barracks like a captain dressing down his crew on the foredeck — forbade the Blades from catching disease.

He foists upon them bitter preventative tonics and sneers when they grimace at the taste. He sees someone sucking a cut and demands they sit for a healing, all the while relaying tales of rotten battlefield wounds that make even stalwart Captain Steffan go green around the gills. He nudges aside whoever’s on cooking duty to upend a mortar full of foul-tasting roots into a perfectly good soup, to make it more “fortifying.”

Irathi takes a scorched-earth approach with any malady. Baurus must admit it’s effective, and not entirely irrational. The Hero and his apprentice are the only residents of the temple with true freedom of movement — they cannot afford to fall ill, even for a short time. Baurus, too, would like to think that any miasma creeping up the barren mountain slopes would quail before his stern resolve.

—

Baurus is on cooking duty, crisping up fat little brook trout for breakfast. This is not the White-Gold Tower, there are no cooks or scullions here.

The heir pads in and mumbles out a greeting. He looks drawn, the pouches under his eyes darker than usual. He ladles up some tea from the pot boiling over the fire. Muffles a wet racking cough in his sleeve. Spills half the tea in his convulsion, curses. “Please, your Grace, let me.” Martin ignores him, mops up the mess, shuffles out.

He feels like a tattle-tale, but one look at Jauffre’s face tells him that the Grandmaster shares his concern. This cough could be the first sign of ruin to come, like the untimely reddening of the skies before an Oblivion gate bursts up from the soil. The end of the world precipitated by a cold. They are not healers, and thus find it easy to spin every little sneeze into a deadly portent.

And worse, Irathi and Coradri are due back in a week’s time. If he returns to discover the Blades keeping watch over a bedridden man, they will never hear the end of it.

Jena helps him locate Irathi’s cache of elixirs, jumbled at the bottom of a kitchen cupboard. “They’re not labeled,” Baurus says with dismay, examining the murky contents of a glass bottle. When he shakes it, some ominous dark sediment swirls and clings to the glass.

“He only just learned how to write. Look, they’ve all got cords with different knots, maybe that’s the trick.”

Jena is sharp like that, noticing things even her fellow Blades miss. There does seem to be a system to the neat and pleasing sailing knots tied around the neck of each bottle. “We don’t have time to decipher some secret string language. And I’m not drinking out of random bottles to see what’s what. I might poison myself and then what use will I be?”

“He’s a healer. I don’t think he makes poisons, even to sell.”

“What does he always say?” Baurus prompts, and they recite together: “A fine line between medicine and poison.”

—

When the Hero and his apprentice are not around, Baurus takes up the mantle of errand-boy. Bruma is only three miles away as the crow flies, but as the man creeps upon the treacherous ground, it’s a good two hours of hiking. One way. Too far to sprint back if something happens. Tree cover down on the shanks of the mountain, obscuring the view. It makes him uneasy, being outside the range of a useful patrol, but even Jauffre agrees this needs doing.

The apothecary is owned by an old Nord woman, tiny and withered as a winter apple, whose eyes sparkle out of her spectacularly folded face. She grills him on the symptoms as she pulls jars down from her shelves.

Witbane fever cooking the heir’s brains, collywobbles leaving him too feeble to hold his reed pen, fluid settling in his lungs to drown him in his sleep, parasites sapping the strength from his limbs. Death death death. “A wet cough,” he says.

He returns to the temple, armed with sachets and clinking bottles and a list of instructions. The apothecary’s handwriting is tiny and wavering. This happens as one ages; the mind starts to go and the limbs cease to obey and the act of putting words to paper demands a shrinking focus. Uriel’s penmanship was like that. Martin’s, from what Baurus has spied, is a cramped but fluid scrawl.

The heir is in the great hall when Baurus arrives, a blanket around his shoulders, painstakingly throwing kindling in a basket. Baurus rushes to his side. “Please, Your Grace…”

“I’m perfectly capable of building my own fire,” the heir snaps, “and stop calling me that.”

“Of course, but—”

“For gods’ sake, it’s just a cough, I haven’t lost a limb or something. And I’ll be back to the Xarxes in a day or two.”

Baurus is no healer but he knows all the folksy maxims. Starve a fever, feed a cold. Lots of liquid. And lots of rest. For instance, no lugging of heavy loads. No reading of accursed, dream-haunting books. No enduring of icy quarters, because you’re loathe to use up firewood that must be hauled up on the backs of mules, and you cannot reconcile the spendthrift habits of your rural past with your future as an Emperor.

“That’s not—” Baurus splutters. “Martin, just give me the damned basket.”

The words leave his mouth before he can stop them. He drops into a hasty bow, words of apology bubbling up in his throat, but the heir only blinks at him in bemusement. “Fine,” he says, and hands it over.

The Emperor’s quarters are indeed frigid, the bed unmade, blankets tossed in fitful sleep. The Xarxes sits unopened on the nightstand and Baurus moves it to the desk, gingerly and discreetly.

He props his blade across his lap to shave tinder from the wood, a base use that would send the swordmaster who trained him into a conniption. Sparks the nest of shavings in the hearth, feeds it sticks, gets it roaring. Hangs a little pot to boil water. The heir, watching this laborious process, threatens to intervene with a simple fire spell. Baurus is no mage but knows the mental strain of casting will only impede rest. He positions himself before the hearth to box Martin out.

The tea steeps. Baurus ladles it out and hands it over and nods at the Martin’s murmured thanks. Then he pulls a stool up by the bedside to supervise recovery. He is captain of the Blades, personally promoted by the previous Emperor. Bodyguard, guard of the body. If duty calls for him to play nursemaid, then nursemaid he will be.

Martin arches an eyebrow. “So this is how it’s going to be, eh?”

“This is how it’s going to be.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Tanis,” Martin gripes, but smiles a private smile behind his cup.

#tes oblivion #martin septim #baurus #ray writes #prompt fill

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imaginmatrix · 8 months

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Prompt: Moonlight

I have no clue where the short that this one word prompt inspired came from, but I hope you enjoy

Percy’s mother used to say there was magic in the light of the moon. She said the silver rays could carry any number of impossible things from the stars to the earth; strange beings and mysterious items and concepts like fate and destiny would ride those gossamer bands like a tidal wave to shift the mundane to wondrous.

And then, of course, Percy got older and learned that the moon merely reflected the light of the sun, and was little more than a barren rock doomed to encircle the earth however gravity dictated until the day an asteroid collided a bit too hard and freed it to the lonely emptiness of space. He wasn’t necessarily a practical guy who dismissed fairytales and children’s stories, but he was a cynic, and his mother’s stories lost much of their shine in the wake of losing her.

She used to joke she might choose to become the moon when she died, so she could watch Percy grow and live even after her story was over. But they both assumed they’d have more time before that happened.

These days, the moon was just a rock, the stars just burning balls of gas, and magic was a lie of his childhood.

“Those things kill, you know.”

Percy’s dark brows raised, his face turning to the blonde girl who criticized his life choices before even having the decency to introduce herself. The roof party behind them was abuzz with life; string lights gave a hazy glow to the young adults lounging on sofas and sipping bottles of some sort of craft beer that tasted like shit but all the hipsters pretended was a divine elixir of craftsmanship.

He was on the outskirts, leaning on the stone wall of the roof, puffing smoke from his cig into the dark and staring at city lights.

And now she was too.

He huffed a laugh through his nose, shaking his head and tugging the cigarette from between his lips, “Pretty sure that’s common knowledge at this point.”

“And yet here you are, turning your lungs to raisins anyway.”

Percy was both annoyed and intrigued, almost impressed at her audacity. He didn’t care much for being scolded; he was an adult. He could make whatever bad decisions he wanted.

But this girl was direct. Plenty of people hated cigarettes, but most would wrinkle their nose and move away, or cough dramatically to make a point without words, or mutter to their friends about the disgusting habit. Not the girl beside him. She walked right up and pointed out the obvious, said what most wouldn’t dare say to a stranger.

Percy could admire that.

“Well?” The girl asked expectantly, as if Percy was supposed to answer a question that was never actually voiced.

“Well what?” He stubbed out the cigarette, leaning away from the girl to toss what was left into the bin nearby.

“Why do you smoke.” She said, as if it were obvious.

Percy shrugged, “I don’t know.”

But he did know.

His mother never smoked a day in her life. Yet cancer made its home in her lungs anyway. So maybe it was to spite the universe for that, or maybe it was to dare it to take him out the same way. Maybe it was just self flagellation for being here when she wasn’t. There was nothing to blame himself for, nothing he could have done to stop her from getting sick, but some sort of guilt gnawed through his chest anyway.

So he dampened that guilt by putting chemicals in his body.

Or maybe he was just an idiot who smoked because he tried it once and got hooked, like every other person who relied on the stuff to get through the day.

“Well you should stop.”

Another incredulous laugh rasped from Percy’s throat, “Never heard that one before.” He finally turned to face the girl properly.

And then something that was neither smoke nor guilt filled his chest.

She was pretty, but Percy had seen pretty before. This was different. This was…

Intense.

There was something in her expression that felt a thousand years old; she was clearly around his age, but her gaze had seen the rise and fall of empires, revolutions, tragedies, and everything that filled the eons between.

But she was just a girl, and Percy was a bad poet, and he swallowed a sudden bitter taste in his mouth as he found words to combat the way she seemed to see right through him.

“Do you usually berate people you’ve just met, or am I special?”

She looked thoughtful, “A bit of both.”

“Yeah?” Percy wished he wasn’t a smoker, just so it would be easier to catch his breath around this girl, “What makes me special, then?”

“You’re in my spot.” She turned back to the city, those eyes shifting from his face and her profile caught the light in a near halo. The sensation of her focus leaving him had Percy desperate to hold it again.

“So you live here?” He leaned beside her, back to the wall so he could better see the slope of her nose and the curve of her lips.

A nod, “It’s my roommate’s party.”

Now an answering brow raise, “I thought it was a housewarming thing?”

“It is.”

“So wouldn’t this technically be your party too?”

Another shrug, but the continued conversation saw that her head turned back to him and Percy felt himself drown in the impossible gravity of her attention once more. “I’m not really a party person.”

“Me neither.” At her pointed look that said ‘but you’re at this one?’ he clarified, “I was dragged along.”

This answer was satisfactory, “You’re Percy then.”

Hearing his name from the lips of a stranger, particularly this stranger, was startling. “Yeah, how’d you know?”

“Because you’re the only person here I don’t recognize, and Charles said you were coming.”

“Right.” A beat. “And you’re…?”

“Annabeth.”

It wasn’t a name Percy had ever heard before, but as soon as she said it, it became one he knew he’d never forget.

Annabeth’s gaze turned out and up again. A silence settled over them.

Percy was frantically searching for something to say, a question, a statement, anything to keep the conversation going, when Annabeth spoke again; “You can’t see the stars.”

It took a moment for his brain to catch up, “…What?”

“Light pollution.” Annabeth nodded to the city, “It hides the stars.”

Percy glanced up, the sky dark and empty while something old and primal tugged at his gut and whispered that it shouldn’t be. “You can see a fair amount in Montauk.”

“I’ve never been.”

“I’ll take you some time.” It slipped out before Percy could consider the fact that inviting a girl he just met to drive outside the city with him to look at stars was weird, but to his relief she smiled.

“I’d like that.” Annabeth fixed him with her gaze once more. And once more it was crushing, and Percy was close enough now to make out the color of her eyes.

Some people might have called them gray, but a word so colorless and boring couldn’t come close to what they were. Silver was the closest, Percy decided. Silver and seeing every little hope, fear, desire, and secret Percy had buried deep down, as if he was laid bare without clothes or even a physical form to hide in.

Percy cleared his throat, “At least you can still see the moon.”

Annabeth didn’t look back to the sky when she said “Not tonight. It’s a new moon.”

Could have fooled Percy, the silver glow of Annabeth’s irises a fine replacement. Even better, as she carried two moons in her eyes, rather than just the one that hung in the sky.

“Ah. Well. Tomorrow then.”

“Mmm.”

Silence again. God. The silence hurt— not a sharp pain, but a dull ache, like the moment between comfort and burning when one held their breath for too long.

And he’d known the girl for less than ten minutes.

But in that time, he had decided to quit smoking, take her to see the stars in Montauk, and let her occupy every corner of his mind for as long as she deigned to stay for.

The numbness that plagued every waking moment for the past 3 years ebbed.

“Do you—“

“I think—“

They spoke at the same time. Annabeth laughed breathlessly, complimenting Percy’s own nervous chuckle.

“You first.” Percy said.

“No, no, you go.”

“I insist.”

Annabeth scrunched up her nose, making freckles Percy hadn’t noticed sharpen. “I think,” she started again, “that I’d like to go inside.”

Percy’s heart sunk, “Oh, uh, yeah, it’s kind of cold.”

Annabeth didn’t move, instead staring at him in a way that had him squirming, thinking there was something he should be doing that he wasn’t.

“…Are we going in, then?”

Percy jolted at the realization that he was invited. “Y-yeah!” He shoved his hands into his pockets, pushing off the wall.

Annabeth rolled her eyes, tucking a curly lock behind her ear as they walked back to the exit. Percy wondered what it would be like to do that, to reach out and brush errant locks from her face.

They stopped at the door to the stairs, and for the first time since they’d met, Annabeth seemed hesitant.

“I don’t… do this often.”

Percy furrowed his brow, “Do what?”

“Invite guys I just met to my bedroom.”

Oh.

His brain short circuited— inside meant inside, bedroom meant bedroom, she’d said inside, she’d meant bedroom, and he…

Holy shit.

Percy licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry and throat working to form a sound, any sound.

“R-right. Yeah. Yeah yeah yeah, me neither— I mean I have, but I don’t usually, it’s not like, a common thing, it’s not a normal weekend occurrence, I don’t go around picking up girls for one night stands and if I did I wouldn’t like, uh, leave it as a one night stand, I mean at least not these days—“ He bit his tongue to make himself shut up, because dear god that was way too much in response to a simple statement.

He’d made poor choices right after his mom died. Percy had never been one for casual: not casual sex, nor casual dating. He wasn’t that guy. He didn’t generally feel attraction unless he knew someone first, gotten to know them, fall in love with them.

But after his only family had died, he grew desperate to feel anything. Even self-loathing.

This… wasn’t that.

Maybe it was the fact that this girl, Annabeth, had no qualms about shaming him for a bad habit. Maybe he was just cold. Maybe it was the loneliness of a party he couldn’t find the strength to be a part of, to try and put on a smile and make friends and drink shitty beer and pretend everything was fine.

Maybe it was the moonlight in Annabeth’s eyes.

Whatever the reason, Percy couldn’t help but want this. Not in the self-destructive way of his past that left him feeling cold and empty. It was something different, it was…

He wasn’t sure.

Annabeth was smiling though, thankfully amused by his rambling rather than weirded out, and she reached a hand to lace their fingers together. “I’ll show you my record collection.” Her eyes drifted up and down Percy’s body in the least subtle way possible. “You look like a guy who likes music.”

Percy’s chuckle was strained, but his shoulders relaxed, “I’ve been known to sometimes enjoy sounds, yeah.”

Annabeth’s laugh made his skin tingle.

Her hand was warm and soft and fit perfectly against his calloused one.

Her eyes shone like the moon his mother loved so much did; they reflected the light in a way that Percy swore defied physics, holding all the things his mother promised moonlight would. Adventure. Magic. Mystery.

A promise of something more.

And as Annabeth blushed and ducked her head when Percy held the door open for her

as she led him down the concrete stairwell to a new apartment and room with lights so warm and comforting, they put those on the roof to shame

as they sat on the floor and looked at records and picked out their favorite songs

as Moon River played on the turntable and Percy met those eyes that held not just the moon, but the stars and sun and planets and entire galaxies

as he reached for her, tucking those blonde curls behind her ear like he’d been itching to, watching her lashes flutter and her breath catch and her cheeks flush with color and her eyes drop to his lips and back up

as they both leaned in

Percy thought that maybe, just maybe

his mom was right about the moon.

#morgan murmurs #writing #prompt #knowall7k #fanfiction #I have no idea where this came from what the heck #pjo #Percabeth #pjo fanfic #Percabeth fanfic #Percy Jackson #Annabeth Chase

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inkcorperated-blog · 2 years

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bullet-prooflove · 2 months

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3 Times Sabatino Thought About Proposing and the 1 Time He Did - Part Two: Sassy - Vostanik Sabatino x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @words-and-seeds @novamariestark @thiashazzywriting @whateversomethingbruh @trublu2u @stelacole

3 Times Sabatino Thought About Proposing and the 1 Time He Did:

Part One: Adjustment Period - Nik decides it's time to propose.

Sabatino’s going to propose tonight.

He’s ready, he thinks you’re ready.

You’ve been happier since he quit the CIA. He thought the transition period would be a little more awkward, that you’d fight over stuff like emptying the dishwasher, but you don’t. That’s all-petty shit compared to what the two of you have been through.

You’d been ecstatic when he suggested dinner at Elixir, it’s been on your radar since you saw the reviews in the LA Times a couple of months ago. It had been impossible to get a reservation, until Fatima had pulled some strings. She’d made arrangements with the manager for some private time on the rooftop terrace, they’re going to set up some champagne, add a few touches to make it special. Sabatino owes that woman big time.

It feels like the stars have aligned, because everything is going perfectly. The weather is balmy, the sky is clear. Somehow the two of you are both home at a reasonable hour which almost never happens in your line of work, giving you plenty of time to get ready.

He’s pulled out his best suit for the occasion, it’s blue with tailored fit, he wears a crisp white shirt underneath. He doesn’t get much opportunity to wear a suit anymore now that he’s with the US Marshalls, he’s missed it. He catches a glance of himself in the mirror in the living room, smoothing his palm over his hair once more. He’s feeling good about tonight, he looks good. His hand drifts to his left interior pocket, checking for the ring. It’s the millionth time he’s done this in the past hour, and it still resides in the same place.

When you step out of the bedroom, he thinks he could just marry you there and then. You’re wearing a black, off the shoulder dress that clings to your form like it was made for you. You’ve always been beautiful but this, this is next level.

“You’re stunning,” He tells you, the edges of his mouth twitching up into a smile. His hands come to rest on your hips, his thumbs chasing over the line of your panties through the fabric as his lips brush over the curve of your jaw. “So gorgeous, I’m not sure we’re gonna make it out of the house.”

You laugh as your fingers lace at the back of his neck. The scent of your perfume floods him, it’s new something a little darker, a little sexier. You really are pulling out all the stops tonight.

“Wait until you see what I’m wearing underneath.” You whisper, your breath ghosting in his ear. It sends a thrill chasing through his nerve endings. It’s an exhilarating feeling to be desired by you and he treasures that sensation.

“How about a sneak peek?” He asks you, his voice husky before he holds up his fingers to indicate the measurement. “Just a little one.”

“Nik…”

He fucking loves the way you say his name, when you get back home, he’s going to spend the entire night making you say it.

When the doorbell rings he wants to ignore it but then there’s the knocking. The rapid, incessive raps that he knows can only belong to one person.

No, he pleads, not tonight.

Any other time, just not tonight.

As soon as you open the door, he knows his night is over.

Your younger sister Sassy stands on the doorstep with a Louis Vuitton overnight bag slung over her shoulder and mascara running down her cheeks. Your sister is an adult version of a Valley Girl, selfish and over the top. It’s going to be one of those nights he can tell.

The thing about Sassy, she’s a hot mess. She hasn’t met a wellness craze or a man who earns more than six figures she doesn’t like. She switches careers more than she hops fiancés, which by his reckoning must be coming up to double figures soon. The other thing is she’s also the only family you have in this world so when she’s in ‘crisis’ you drop everything.

Sabatino sighs before stripping off his suit jacket and folding it over the back of the couch. He undoes the cuffs of his shirt before rolling his sleeves up towards his elbows. He knows you’re not making that reservation; he also knows you skipped lunch in anticipation of tonight, so he busies himself in the kitchen. He makes linguini alfredo while he listens with half an ear to Sassy as she tells a story he’s heard a thousand times before.

She was engaged to Anton, who caught her in an intimate embrace with Tobias, now he’s broken off the engagement and she’s realised he was the only man she ever loved. She’d said the exact same thing about David and Juan before him. He gives it a week until she finds some other rich, young thing to torture.

It’s when you disappear into the bedroom to get changed out of your dress that something in his chest just sinks. He glances at the clock and sighs because that special moment he’d planned, it’s passed. Dinner and a rooftop proposal at Elixir was a one-time thing and now it’s been wasted.

“You’re usually a lot more vocal.” Sassy says as she picks up the half empty bottle of red wine and tops up her glass.

It’s the good wine of course, the one you usually buy for special occasions. She’d taken it out of the wine rack the second she’d step foot in the kitchen, helping herself.

“You don’t want my input.” He warns her as he takes two plates out of the cupboard and sets them down on the counter.

“That’s never stopped you before.” She points out before gesturing at the space between his brows. “You’re in a mood, you have that little crease you always get when you’re trying to bite your tongue.”

Despite the fact Sassy is a complete disaster in every aspect of her life, she’s emotionally intelligent. She reads body language like a pro, it’s the reason she’s managed to ensnare so many affluent men.

“We had plans tonight.” He says, tilting his head up to meet her gaze. “And as usual you bulldoze your way in here with your melodrama and theatrics. You don’t care about this guy, just like the fact you won’t care about the next one. You just like being the centre of attention and when you’re not getting it from them, you come running back here to get it to your sister. It’s the same thing everytime.”

“Oh Vostanik.” She tuts, his full name rolling off her lips harshly. “You haven’t been around long enough to judge the relationship I have with my sister.”

“Almost five years.” He informs her, his mouth setting into a grim line. “That’s how long I’ve been with Alana.”

“You were barely in her life for four of them.” She reminds him, swilling the wine glass in her hand. “She’s the girl you fucked when you came to LA, I’m sure you had one in every port, you private security guys always do.”

Private security was the cover story you both used to explain his absence in your life. He was away in foreign countries ‘consulting’. Sassy thought he’d been living it up with sheiks in Dubai instead of evading capture in Iran. She’s accused him before of fucking his way through continents. He’s denied it of course, but when that woman gets something in her head there’s no telling her otherwise.

“You do know the only reason she’s with you is out of obligation.” She tells him as she takes a sip from the wine glass. “My sister is extremely loyal, and I think if you hadn’t taken that bullet for her in Afghanistan then we wouldn’t even be here. She’d be happily married to a man who deserves her, instead of stagnating in a relationship that’s going nowhere.”

It's a slap in the face, one that hits him hard because he’s always had this doubt, this tiny insecurity that the reason you’re with him is because you feel indebted to him on some level. Sassy’s picked up on that, he realises. That’s what your sister does. She finds the weak spot and she pushes it and pushes it until it gives.

Every single part of him wants to kick her out, to tell her he’s sick of all the drama, that she needs to grow the fuck up and take a long, hard look at her life choices. The only reason he doesn’t is because the only person it’ll be hurting is you and he would do anything to prevent that.

You step out of the bedroom just as he snatches up his jacket from the coat hooks. You’ve changed into one of his old band t-shirts and leggings, a pair of his socks are pulled up over the calves. His heart warms at the sight of you because no matter what Sassy says, it’s these moments that mean the world to him.

“I’ve made dinner.” He tells you, tipping your chin up so you can look into his eyes. He hopes you see the love there, that he’s not running from you right now but from the situation because he knows if he sticks around, he’s going to say something he regrets. “I’m gonna go out for a while, catch up with Deeks, give the two of you a little space.”

He sees the slight furrow in your brow, you know that something’s happened, but he can’t bring himself to explain it, not with Sassy still sitting there watching the exchange over the rim of her wine glass.

“I love you.” He says as his lips brushing over yours tenderly. He’s not ashamed to say it or to show it. He doesn’t give a shit if Sassy believes him or not, all that matters is that you do. You smile as he pulls away and he knows he has nothing to worry about, that Sassy’s just yanking his chain the same way as always. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

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#ncis la #sabatino x reader #erik palladino #sabatino x you #sabatino #ncis los angeles #Vostanik Sabatino #Vostanik Sabatino x reader #Vostanik Sabatino x you #nik sabatino #nik sabatino x you #nik sabatino x reader

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neofeliis · 7 months

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Death's Eyes

Pairing: F!DurgexAstarion

Summary: Death walked side by side with Astarion every day as a vampire spawn, it was only a matter of time before he met the child of murder. In the worlds both of them are confined to, it's not unlikely the two would find each other more than once in the underbelly of the city. What was unlikely, was just how far those coincidental meetings would go.

Note: I have NOT been able to get this out of my head. I love a good "We knew each other before and then SURPRISE amnesia" trope. Enjoy!

Read on Ao3 here

----

Blood covered every inch of the young tiefling the first time he saw her. The first fingers of dawn crawled across the damp cobbles of the city streets, placing an impenetrable line between him and the dizzying elixir that was like to go to waste. All the sense in the world told him it was past time to retreat back to the palace for the day, but harsh as the lower city could be it was not every day something this brutal made it to the light of day.

By all accounts, she looked like a child, standing stock still outside a house somehow quieter than death. With a sight like this, someone somewhere should have been fussing over whatever scene she had stepped out of. Most of all the youngling, who should have been screaming, sobbing. Afraid of whatever had dressed her in crimson.

But not a sound escaped the girl, and not a single tear fell from her wide, unfocused eyes. Shock, he mused, pushing his luck with every second he remained on the spot. That was the logical conclusion, yet something in the scene scratched at his mind. Something, other. Her hands did not shake, her tail did not writhe. Everything he knew of tieflings told him their tails were oversized mood rings, and hers hung limp on the stones behind her.

Astarion was perilously close to losing all darkness when her eyes flicked up, meeting his like she had known exactly where to look. The cold that twinged just beneath his skin and prickled his flesh rooted him to the spot a moment longer than he should dare. Hunger. Ravenous, greedy hunger festered there.

Those eyes, dark enough to not betray their color, would not soon leave the elf’s memories. Not an ounce of panic worked its way onto her features, and he wondered if she was looking right through him. Instead her mouth moved to speak into the fading dark, but the sound barely carried over the breeze that swept between them. What she had actually said would flit in and out of his memories in the weeks to come as he recalled the scent that assaulted him with that wind, but he was never quite sure if he heard her right.

“Father says I'm not allowed to like them..I liked them.”

The smell of bloodbath visited Astarion a few more times over the years, but he would not seek it out again as he had that one night. The pressure to bring back warm bodies for his master had only increased, and he’d had his share of stealing children. He needed living souls, and if he knew what was good for him he would steer clear of the stink of death.

Still, he kept an ear out for the rumors that followed. A string of sporadic murders uncharacteristically brutal in nature kept the underbelly of the city on edge. The more there were, the more color the rumors took on. A serial killer, a demon, a Bhaalist insurgence.

He did everything in his power to not roll his eyes listening to his latest target, a half elf woman, prattle on about her own theories. She was shifty, unable to hold his stare, and his charms along with the alcohol were not working as easily as they usually did. Whatever this is, is making my job a lot more difficult, he thought bitterly, trying to school his glare into something cool and indifferent.

“--but so many of them are families,” she continued, having barely stopped since he made the mistake of asking what she thought. “I heard from my brother, who heard from his friend Cyllo that many of them were people who were known to take in strays off the street. That this was what they got for bein’ bleedin’ hearts. But my brother says he bets it's some baby-faced halfling from the Bhaalist underground pretending to be a street urchin.”

Astarion could only stare, and she took his silence as an invitation to keep talking.

He went home empty handed that night, and took lashings in excess for it.

It would be some time before he saw the tiefling girl again. She was somewhere in her teens, by his best estimate, when he found those eyes once more in the dark. Prowling these alleys was second nature, and anyone with sense knew not to be caught alone in the way she was, sitting without a visible concern against the wall. Nearly everything about her had changed enough to make recognition near impossible for someone whose only job was to pile innumerable bodies in the palace foyer. But the eyes had it; that was all Astarion needed to see to remember the red child outside the quiet, dark home all those years ago.

Blood ran in swathes over her arms, like paint strokes he thought, coating her hands entirely. A few splashes kissed on her face, but the rest of her was notably cleaner than the first time. It seemed she had grown out of the wide-eyed shock that held her in her youth, and it had instead morphed into mirthless exhaustion, and something familiar he couldn't place. She looked as though sleep had not found her in weeks. Hunger? Maybe? Or was it mania?

This time, the moon hung high and bright in the night sky, and dawn was a long ways off. This time, he could take her, if he wanted. The shadows sat darker on nights like these, and the elf settled into the comfort of cover as his hungry stare found its way again to her fresh accessories. What design of misfortune is yours to be such close friends already with bloodshed, little one?

Again, her eyes found his with sharp precision. His muscles locked, only because he was certain he’d been hidden entirely. He glared, cursing his own carelessness, and considered again making her his target for the evening. For several long, twisting moments, hunger clouded his thoughts. The blood was right there, blood he could accidentally have for himself before bringing her home. An absentminded cleaning of his fingers after touching her hands. Master need not ever know, it could be something just for him.

Astarion took a single step forward, and without the tiefling moving a muscle, a deep sense of foreboding fell over him like ice water. In an instant the murderous hunger vacated his body and with a single curl of her lip seemed to wrap itself around her instead. Like a loyal pet. His mind shifted to acute, cold clarity and he blanched a step. When recalling why he went after different prey that night, he would remember the shadows around her shifting as though alive, and swearing he heard a goading voice speaking somewhere near her.

Forcing down the rats never seemed to get easier. Once, after a year of starvation, he was convinced they would taste divine, but the disappointment for that came and went quickly. The best he could manage were fresh caught on the streets when Cazador was merciful enough to rescind his “you only eat what I give you” rule for a night or two. When it came down to the carcasses that were provided, and the one he could catch himself, the difference was marginal. But all he had in life was what he could eke out in the margins.

Blood and viscera dripped from his chin, his body hunched like a feral creature over the drained animal in his hands, when the smell of death not of his making crept into the filthy alley. Death was no stranger, not on these streets, but this blend felt far more familiar than it should.

The hair on the back of Astarion’s neck prickled, and a snarl rumbled reflexively in his throat. Someone was coming, and by the sounds of it, keeping quiet was a natural skill. Not good enough to hide entirely from him, but better than the common folk.

Woe be upon anyone who interrupted him here when desperate hunger burned the back of his throat. It was never enough, they were never enough. Rats were sewer water, never filling, never curbing the burn, the ache. Nothing, nothing ever soothed the ache.

He waited for the steps to come just a bit closer before he whirled, spitting mad, with a dagger at the ready in his fist. If he sliced them violently enough, maybe he could cover his face, his lips…

The hooded figure did not blanch, and made no move to draw a weapon. Instead they paused at the crossing of the alleyways several feet away, clearly moving in their own direction before the snarling of a wild animal halted them. An inconvenience.

Long horns curved out through cut holes in their hood, and a lithe tail swished once as the hooded figure turned slowly. Astarion’s blood cooled as their eyes met his, and though he could see no other features of their face, the eyes of murder were indisputable. Thrice now, Astarion had found death in this unknown tiefling, even if tonight no blood stained her person; the stink of it still followed her. A constant companion, it seemed.

There was a moment where she stared at him, then slowly tilted her head in recognition. In the following seconds she moved faster than he could predict and in a blur of dark cloth she was upon him. The rogue found his bearings in the final split second, just as his back impacted the wall with a grunt. When stillness fell again, both had respective knives to their throats.

Astarion, here, found himself the closest he had yet been to the eyes of murder. He was more than familiar with the city’s worst, sitting under the thumb of one. There are those who adopt power, who learn to be cruel, how to take a life. But never in his life had he seen what looked like, felt like, innate nature.

With a hiss he tightened his grip on his dagger, and in perfect rhythm both pressed just a fraction more against flesh, just shy of drawing blood. He was certain he was the image of indignant frustration, but in her eyes there was the quickest flash of unrestrained glee. Then every second after that passed bloodlessly, he saw it. Hunger.

Astarion blinked as though staring into a mirror for the first time. Never enough, never ending, the constant ache of starvation. The burn, the need. Roiling in her stare like a wild beast that thinned the air between them. With a twitch of her lips, she pushed the tiniest bit closer into his unyielding grip, and a thin red line bloomed where it made contact with her flesh. A single, warm drip ran down her skin, settling and pooling into the hollow of her neck.

The panic rose faster than he could control it off of his face, and there was nothing that could be done about his traitorous eyes fixing on the forbidden sustenance. Too close, it’s too close, he thought, his mouth going painfully dry.

The tiefling’s face was not that of someone looking at their only natural predator. Instead, she looked expectant, waiting for him to take his chance. In that moment, he realized that she knew what he was. But as much as he wanted it, as close at it was, as easy as it would have been to do something about her idiotic bluff, his master’s command rang like a death bell though every fiber of his being, and he remained frozen.

The woman gave him one final dip of her chin, a final dare, with nothing in response. Then, it was gone, and a mask of cool disinterest settled onto her hood-darkened face.

“Disappointing,” she said casually, eyes fixated on the blade edge poised against his flesh. It was the first time Astarion had heard her voice clearly, and could barely see the angled lines of her adult face under the hood. “What a pretty corpse you’d be, were you not a slave to another,” she continued, a voice of smooth velvet, “Someday, when you become your own blood-artist, I will kill you. Fortunately for you I'm indebted to another tonight, so our dance will have to wait.”

Before he could retort, before he could move to defend himself, the shadows around her whirled, and she and her dagger were gone. When he fled the alley, he left behind his bloodied dagger, finding himself in need of a new one entirely.

Astarion would not see death in the form of the tiefling woman again in the streets of Baldur’s Gate, and the whispers of slaughter and murder-plots would grow ever quieter. He wondered now and again if she had met her own end, but something in his heart told him she was far from done with this world. That, and the scent of walking bloodshed that never quite seemed to stop following him.

A plan, he needed a plan. In an unknown land, beneath the warmth of the sun, with a splitting headache from the creature within. He needed to come up with something fast. But plans came easy to Astarion, and it seemed that for once in his life he was in a position to follow them through however he wanted. The rules had changed. The sun warmed his skin, his will felt like his own.

When footsteps and two talking figures began to make their way up the path, the plan quickly took shape. A quick lie, a turned back, and like breathing his knife found its way to the unsuspecting tiefling’s throat. The threats to their companion rolled off his tongue like the master he was, feeling fully in control of the situation. This was his path to information, to finding out just what had happened on that ship, and perhaps securing some gullible help towards whatever laid before him now. It was a seamless plan in what would be a long line of easy manipulations to get him where he needed to be.

Until he looked back at his squirming hostage–a female tiefling–and met their eyes.

Wide, bewildered, and unmistakably familiar. The smell of death wasn’t just the nautiloid, it was the woman in his grasp. Dulled, but there if he really focused.

She sensed his surprise, the falter in his grip, and took her chance to roll away from him to safety. In this moment, he let her.

Both jumped to their feet, poised in a standoff, and Astarion took this opportunity to study her face in new, vivid, sunlit detail. She had been just a few years younger when he saw her features last under the shadow of a heavy hood. The tone of her skin, the color of her hair, the curve of her horns, all of them pointed to the woman he had seen in the street, who had held a blade to his throat just like he'd done now.

The eyes. The color was the same, the way his heart seized when he saw them, the same. But the way she looked at him, the way they widened and studied him with careful assessment, that was markedly different. The darkness that had been festering there even as a child seemed to be all but gone. He recalled her final words to him the last time they crossed paths a few short years ago, but by the way she was looking at him she did not seem to remember them herself. After two brief meetings in passing, she had remembered him the night she threatened him, but here in the light of day not a shred of familiarity was there.

He wondered, initially, if it was a trick. But even when she was a child he felt that oppressive feeling of woe that surrounded her. Here, now it was quiet.

Which meant, she had no idea who he was, or that she meant to kill him.

As Astarion smiled sweetly and sketched a bow of introduction, he felt the thrill of the upper hand, of an even better plan unfolding.

The elf rarely took his eyes off of her, Tav, she had introduced herself as. Memory loss was always a convenient excuse, which she had said plainly enough when pushed in conversation. But it remained to be seen how true it was. Sooner or later, she was going to slip up. Her gaze would cast ice into his veins again and he would know on the spot that she was just as much a liar as he was.

But, he watched her be, kind. He watched her choose, actively, to help others, and then leave without so much as using their trust against them. He watched their companions, most of all the insufferably pathetic wizard, fall into reckless comfortability with her. Tav nurtured it at every turn, she held the line in battle, and came quickly to their aid. She opened their camp to an entire stranger, and an insufferable bard no less.

What game are you playing? he mused from his bedroll, watching her bed down for the night.

Astarion’s breath hitched when her eyes flicked to his, and deja vu wracked every part of his body. There you are, show it to me. Show me what a liar you are, he goaded, a small smirk curling on his lips.

But just as quickly as Tav had found his stare, she looked away, her hands fumbling with the rest of her bedding. He blinked, completely puzzled. The darkness wasn’t there, foreboding did not lie down to rest around his heart. She looked flustered, in the same way he was so very good at making his targets feel.

For a night, he fell asleep doubting that she was faking her convenient memory loss. He drifted out of consciousness with the sweet taste of I know something she doesn’t on his tongue, and how that would serve him.

And then they awoke to the corpse of the brutalized bard in the middle of their camp, and the waves of death stink rolling off of her were unmistakable. There you are, he thought with gleeful satisfaction. The body, the apprehensive party, and only Astarion knew with almost certainty who could have done it. He could have exposed her right there, outed her little game, but the temptation of watching her sweat through it was too great. Because what greater upper hand than a secret that could oust her from the only hope she had at ridding herself of her parasite?

He had to admit, he was impressed at how quickly Tav had cleaned herself when he had never known her to care before. He was even more impressed at how easily she talked herself into innocence. Good, so the secret remains ours then, he thought.

“It’s time to start talking,” he cooed at her when the others had left earshot. What good was blackmail if someone didn’t know you had it? And what was more satisfying than the look of someone who was caught in a snare? She’d gotten the upper hand on him once before, toyed with him when he was a lesser man and made sure he knew it. The look of frustration on her face that those tables had turned would be sweeter than anything he’d been afforded in recent decades.

But disappointment seemed loathe to take its claws out of Astarion. Because instead of baring her teeth like a trapped animal, genuine fear bloomed on her features. Sweat beaded on her brow and her entire posture slumped. He didn’t know if a tiefling her color could look green, but whatever shade she turned was about as close as she could get to it. Her words came out in a stammering, pathetic jumble of ‘I swear it wasn’t me,’ and ‘I don’t know what happened,’ and then finally a shred of something useful: ‘Please don’t tell the others.’

A slow, sinister grin spread on his face. It may not have been what he was hoping for, but this? This he could work with.

“Oh, darling, I wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied with a sympathetic tilt of his head, the charm coming like second nature. “Your secret is safe with me.”

#bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x dark urge #astarion x durge #durge #dark urge #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #fanfic

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allthetreksfanfics · 2 years

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hiii baby!! I'm with a f migraine, would you do an imagine with any ROP character you like comforting the reader in pain? TYSM you rock <3

Oh no, I get those too!! 🤕 Yes absolutely, here you go, I hope you like this comforting Elrond x Reader imagine 🥰❤️‍🩹 Feel better, sending you healing vibes ✨💕✨

Pairing: Elrond x Reader

Synopsis: Your romantic plans are cancelled when you get a migraine. Elrond comforts and cares for you all day and night 💜

You and Elrond had an incredibly romantic, relaxing day planned together. You were going to walk through the city’s lush gardens, have lunch by the waterfalls, browse the ancient library, dinner by candlelight with exotic dishes and Elven desserts you could never resist… Followed by a night of passionate lovemaking…

All of your plans went out the window though, when you woke up feeling just awful. Your head was splitting and you couldn’t even get out of bed. You shifted in bed, whimpering at the pain. Elrond sensed that you’d awoken, turning to face you, seeing the distress in your features… You didn’t have to explain it to him, he knew you well and had seen you like this before. His hand came to your cheek, delicately tracing your features, his gaze holding yours, full of concern and empathy…

“It’s alright, nîn meleth {my love}… Tell me what you need… I will fetch the healer, hmm?” His tone was low and soothing, and immediately you felt a weight lift from you, knowing you were in good hands, that you weren’t alone in your suffering, that he understood…

- - -

Soon, you were propped up in bed, supported by silk-covered pillows, a cool compress on your forehead. The healer gave you the same elixir that had helped last time, it tasted herbal and earthy, masked by the pleasant taste of honey. Elrond sat beside you on the edge of the bed, helping you to take sips of cool water from an ornate goblet.

“I’m so sorry…,” you breathed to him, your voice laced with guilt and disappointment… “I don’t think I can do anything today…” Tears welled in your eyes, thinking of the plans you’d had, the effort he put into arranging everything, and here you were, feeling absolutely awful, useless…

“Do not be sorry, nin lóth {my flower}… You needn’t worry about anything. All that is important right now is you getting better,” he replied, and you could see by the look in his sparkling eyes that he was sincere, unbothered by the disruption of your grand plans together. After all, to his immortal existence, holding off on plans for a day or two was hardly something to fret about.

You spent the day resting in bed, curtains closed to the sunlight outside, Elrond tending to you with more cool water, fresh fruits and light meals when you could eat… He let you sleep when you were able to, the elixir making you drowsy but helping the pain quite a bit… When you were awake and restless, he lay beside you, caressing your arms and back lightly, leaving sweet kisses on your skin, and whispering soothing words to you, some in elegant strings of Elvish you did not understand, but that soothed you nonetheless…

The sun had set and your head was finally feeling a bit better, stable at least, though you were drowsy still and felt sweaty and icky… Elrond helped you out of bed and led you to the beautiful marble bathtub, full of steaming waters, the perfect temperature, laced with soothing oils and flower petals… He helped you out of your dressing gown, letting it fall to the floor, and you stood naked before him… He couldn’t help but scan your body, so exquisite in his eyes, even when you felt unattractive, you were the most beautiful person in the world to him…

“So beautiful…,” he breathed, smiling adoringly at you, and you couldn’t help but smile back, your heart swelling at his sweet words, his loving care, the way he made you feel so special even at your worst…

Elrond helped you into the tub, and you settled into the luxurious waters… He made his way behind you, leaning over the tub, dipping his hands into the warm water and then massaging your shoulders, and you closed your eyes, your tense body finally relaxing… It was the best you’d felt all day… The heat of the water seemed to ease the sensation in your head, and Elrond’s adept fingers worked delicately into the muscles of your neck and shoulders, relieving built up tension in a way you’d never experienced, as though it was some Elven technique you could never replicate… Perhaps you would ask him about it later…

Elrond helped you to bathe, washing your hair for you, his fingertips massaging lightly into your scalp, the feeling absolutely heavenly and relaxing… You got out of the tub and were immediately enveloped in a soft towel… Then dressed in the most beautiful silk nightgown…

Night had fallen by now, and you climbed into a freshly changed and made bed, the covers rolled down for you, and Elrond helped you to sit up with some pillows… “How are you feeling, nîn meleth?”

You thanked him for taking such good care of you, and he just beamed at you, genuinely enjoying every aspect of your relationship, even the moments where he took care of you. It was in his nature to be incredibly empathetic, compassionate, and he loved caring for others. He had an innate ability to make you feel at ease, like everything was going to be alright, and he never got upset or frustrated with you. His patience was inexhaustible. His capacity to love you, infinite.

He handed you a cup of warm tea left by the healer. “This will give you a fitful sleep. I’m sure you’ll feel better in the morning, hmm?”

You sipped the soothing liquid, which tasted of mellow citrus and something else you couldn’t quite place… Its effects were quick and potent, and you felt your eyelids growing heavy as you adjusted in bed to go to sleep… Elrond disrobed and climbed into bed next to you. He kissed you lightly, lovingly, and you kissed him back, so grateful and appreciative for him and his devoted care…

You fell asleep to his sweet caresses, a night of fitful slumber ahead, and in the morning, you would indeed feel better…

❤️

#elrond #elrond x reader #rings of power fanfiction #elrond imagine

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nymphdiariesdotcom · 10 months

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drop the x reader NEEEOWWWW 🤨🤨🤨

𝕊ℍℝ𝕀𝕃𝕃 ℂℝ𝕀𝔼𝕊 𝕆𝔽 𝔸 𝕃𝔸𝕄𝔹. (𝔽𝔼𝕃𝕀ℂ𝕀𝕋𝕐 ℂ𝕆ℝℕ𝕆ℝ 𝕏 𝔽𝔼𝕄!ℝ𝔼𝔸𝔻𝔼ℝ)

content warning(s): fingering, oral sex, and little blood.

It was dusk and the sounds of ravens cawing barely penetrated the dark trees shrouding land for miles ahead. In the midst of the pine forest laid a speck of ivory white, like a drop of milk in Pu'er tea; it spread wider and took more space than needed as it writhed and shuffled on about. Ah, a.. dress, of some sort. Motioning alongside the article of clothing were coils of dark hair accompanied by rich laughter erupting from a joyful woman. Her skin and eyes were painted with cacao and figs, only leaving the sclera, bone, and teeth blank to luminate the night sky in replacement of the stars.

"The air is so fresh.. Come, come! You must enjoy this with me, my love!" Oh, she wasn't alone? She beckoned forward a tall and faceless figure in the shadows once content in its lonesome, admiring from afar. It reluctantly abided, having only inched close enough to be seen in the sliver of light bleeding through the trees. His features were sharp and his presence stretched as high as walls of the forest itself, lulling his surroundings to a chilling quiet. What a baleful existence. It was that dreary, somber mass of substance he carried that she loved; what was more beautiful than a silent thunderstorm that screamed in pain of being unloved for too long? Tearing through endless mounds of flesh in hopes of digging deep enough for the longing that ailed him to be satiated defined his very being; and finally, he sunk his jagged teeth in a tenderness unfamiliar to him. She was no prey, but an elixir. She continued to dance, with each stride she called him closer with her arms wide and inviting.

He took her hand and lifting it above her head, as he watched her frame elegantly be spun around, like an antique ballerina figurine. She beamed, revealing the gap between her pearl teeth. There was an otherworldly beauty to how her skin practically blended in with the dark oak surrounding the two of them. Felicity immersed in it. He immersed in her. He hadn't realized it until she told him.

"Oh, Felicity honey! Y-your eyes.. they're glowing.." He blinked, shaking his head and ready to pull away. She grabbed his hand before he had gotten the chance, and gingerly placed hers on the side of his face. "Stop! They are a marvelous sight.. Don't turn away from me. I'm not afraid." She softly pleaded, caressing his cheek.

Felicity's tense shoulders began to relax. "You should be." He stated coarsely in protest, avoiding eye contact. She only smiled in response. Her thumb that idly grazed his cheek slowly made it's way down and traced the outline of his jaw, then chin, upward toward his lips. His eyes flickered to her frame and eyed her movements intently as tension began to flood their bodies, quickening their heartbeats. "You're so.. handsome." She was practically dazed. A sultry smile ghosted his lips. Lust clouded his vision and he could no longer help himself. He leaned down and whispered, "I'd look better covered in you." By the time she could process what he had meant, his hands had already begun snaking their way up her dress and fiddled with the strings of her lace panties. She finally gasped when he backed her up against a tree, feverishly leaving a trail of kisses along her neck and chest. She clung to him hopelessly and bit her lip to suppress a moan as she watched him pull the straps of her brasserie off of her shoulders, exposing more of her warm skin to the cool night breeze. Felicity stroked her nipple with his thumb in a circular motion until he was able to see the bud sticking out in arousal, then proceeded to cup her breast into his mouth, looking up to watch her face contort in pleasure, her lips parted to take labored breaths. Her clitoris pulsated against his fingertips, like a nuclear reaction. This pleased him. He pulls away to speak, breathing against her now wet and very hard nipples.

"That felt good, love?"

She couldn't speak and only mumbled incoherent speech in response. Felicity smiled triumphantly. He got his answer.

"Good. I'm not done yet." And with that he peeled off the remainder of her clothes that barely clung to her half-naked frame, pushing her up farther against the tree and spreading her legs open to reveal her vagina slick with precum. There was a twinkle of amusement in his cat-like eyes. Wrapping her legs around his shoulder he lowered himself until he was eye level with her lower region, slowly parting her folds with two fingers while he prodded and fingered. She whined desperately, but he ignored her pleas to stop teasing her. He liked playing with his food. "Darling, please. I need you so bad..!" It was music to his ears. When Felicity finally had enough, he slipped his tongue inside of her, lapping up her fluids with quick and aggressive swishing motions. Her eyes shot open and she loudly gasped.

"OH! THERE! RIGHT THERE- AH!" She gripped his head, moaning helplessly. Her clit throbbing violently against his tongue and teeth, along with the sweet sounds of his lover overwhelmed his senses causing his fangs to protrude. A guttural groan escaped his lips and before he could stop himself, he sunk his teeth into the tender flesh of her thigh, making her shriek and jerk her hips forward. Felicity's eyes widened, and just as he was going to pull away and apologize, she shoves his head deeper in between her legs and grinded her pelvis against his lips.

"More! MORE!!!" She was practically roaring in ecstasy, consumed with this feeling she couldn't quite comprehend. The bite hurt so bad, but felt so good after. It was a fleeting pain that soon was replaced with an immense rush of dopamine to the brain; dangerously addicting. Felicity faltered, but ultimately was drawn to how demanding she was. It turned him on. He did what he was told, licking the open wound and grazing his teeth on the growing bruise, sending waves of shock up her spine. He did this continuously, alternating between the bite mark and her vagina until her eyes rolled back and bucked her hips forward, releasing inside of his mouth and staining his open-collared dress shirt. They were breathless, but content. He glanced up at her once more, a large smile exposing his bloodstained fangs painting his discerning features. She looks away sheepishly, biting her lip. She had gotten quite beside herself.

"I don't.. know what got into me. I'm sorr-"

He swiftly pulls himself up and her along with him, lowering her legs to his waist as he kisses her lips so deeply, so passionately. They were greedy, grabbing parts of each other while their tongues sloshed around with no directive other than desire. They pulled away for air, leaving a long string of saliva mixed with blood.

"You taste.. so sweet." She frowned. "Oh? I know how much you don't like sweets.."

"Looks like I've developed quite the sweet tooth, haven't I?" He humored. Was he making a... joke? She laughed and leaned forward, placing a chaste kiss on his neck and resting her head on his broad chest. Goosebumps raised all along his arms as he closed his eyes and enveloped his arms around her smaller frame into a secure embrace. Their comfortable silence matched frequencies with that of the smallest animals' heartbeats, and the quiet whistles of the wind.

They silently said 'I love you.'

#ask #anon #crsent.sims #oc #felicity cornor #oc x reader

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