#it was like squeezing affairs from a stone

[moocha-muses]

“I’m - I’m not proposing, you’re the one that’s supposed to propose-”

“Deal.”

“I just . . . uggggh.”

“Okay, like, let’s say hypothetically I wanted to spend more time with one person, specifically. Instead of us both going out with different sims every night. Like. Let’s say I just wanted to cuddle on the sofa and write new songs and really focus on our music What if I wanted to do that. With you.”

[lucyrose191]

BROKEN DECISIONS| T.WOLFF

Pairing; Divorced!Toto Wolff x fem!engineer!Schumacher!reader

Summary; The news of Toto Wolff divorcing from Susie has just hit the media and you, Michael Schumacher’s eldest daughter and George Russel’s race engineer, are beyond shocked, even more so as your relationship with your boss begins to evolve.

Warnings; angst, light smut, heartbreak, pregnancy trope.

F1 Master List , Part 2

The paddock was overwhelmed with media reporters and cameras, way more than usual for a race weekend, the Mercedes garage was surrounded by people as well as the entrance to the track, all waiting for one man, Toto Wolff.

You had been more than taken back by the joint statements released this morning which both effectively said the same thing.

mercedesamgf1: Team Principle Toto Wolff announces divorce from wife Susie Wolff, both will continue to co-parent son Jack Wolff and will continue to work together happily, they wish nothing but the best for each other in the future and wish for the privacy and support they need during this time.

SusieStoddart: Toto and I have mutually decided to part ways and divorce after 12 years of marriage, both of us will continue to co-parent our son, Jack and will continue working together in the future. I wish nothing but the best to him for the future, please respect our privacy during this time and I hope you guys will continue to support us both from this point on, even on our separate paths. Thank you.

It all seemed so sudden to you, nothing has seemed out of place whenever they were in the garage together but you suppose that’s how the saying you never know what’s going on behind closed doors goes.

You squeezed your way through the crowd, ignoring all of the questions fired your way and the cameras and microphones that were shoved in your face, it wasn’t your job to be making comments about a relationship that had nothing to do with you and it was entirely unprofessional.

Huffing out a breath as you finally crossed the threshold of the garage, you straightened out your clothes and bag before making your way over to your desk that you sat at whenever George was out on the track.

Bono was already in his chair and looked up when he heard you pull your hair out, taking note of your flustered state. "I take it you’ve seen the news."

"It’s everywhere! It’d be a miracle if I hadn’t seen it," you huffed. Looking around, you noticed how flustered everyone else seemed to be whilst trying to do their jobs, you didn’t blame them because right now no one knew what mood the boss was going to be in when he arrived, if he arrived.

"Is he even coming today? I certainly wouldn’t." You asked.

Bono shrugged, "you know what he’s like, that man would be here even if his leg was falling off, he’ll be here and god help him when he is."

"Yeah, true. Am I blind though or did anyone else not see this coming because they were both at the factory two weeks ago and everything seemed fine to me."

Bono turned away from his monitor and completely turned to you, huddling closer. "I didn’t suspect anything either but they’re really good as keeping work life and private life separated. Have you seen some of the rumours though?"

You snorted and nodded your head, "I’ve seen the ones about Toto having an affair which is ridiculous, that man does not have the time to be hiding an entire relationship."

Bono laughed at your choice of words but abruptly stopped as he stared behind you causing you to look at him in confusion before turning around, pausing at the sight of your boss walking in with a face of stone.

"Ahh shit," you muttered, hearing a small hum of agreement coming from Bono.

Then you saw him heading into your direction.

"Double shit," You heard Bono mumble causing you to bite your lip, trying to prevent yourself from smiling.

"Y/N. Bono. Good Morning," Toto nodded his head in greeting.

You smiled up at him, "Morning, boss, feeling positive about today?"

Bono sighed from behind you which caused you to internally wince at your own words, now realising that might not have been a good question to ask.

"Yeah," Toto looked between the pair of you suspiciously. "Are you?"

"Very," you tried to sound convincing, "I’m sure George is going to drive like it’s his last race and if not then I’ll boot him up the arse."

Toto looked at you amused, "I believe you."

After he walked away you turned to Bono with a pained look on your face meanwhile he was trying not to fall into laughter. "What the fuck is wrong with me?"

He laughed straight in your face as you sighed at yourself. "How an I supposed to talk to him normally when all I want to say to his face is ‘hey, heard about your divorce, that sucks and now everyone thinks you can’t keep a wife’."

"Yeah don’t say that," Bono grimaced at your words.

Everything was real now, it had been real for a while but now the news was out for everyone to gossip about.

Things hadn’t been right for a long time between him and Susie and whilst there hadn’t been any constant arguing or disloyalty between the two of them, there hadn’t been much else either.

You’d have thought working within the same industry would have built an understanding between them about their schedules and commitments and it had in the beginning but as formula one became more popular, their lives had only gotten busier to the point they hardly saw each other and even when they did it was only to ensure Jack was getting enough quality time with both of his parents, it was as though they had been coparenting with each other whilst they weren’t even split.

A year ago they had accepted the inevitable fate of their marriage and had been figuring out the logistics of their divorce but just like they had kept their struggles silenced, they had kept the news of their parting silent too.

But it had been over a year now and quite frankly the fake shows they were putting on were getting exhausting, they were both moving on and pretending to still be a happily married couple wasn’t doing well in helping them in the process.

Toto had found a particular thing that hadn’t allowed him to dwell in the sadness of his private life. Something, or someone, that didn’t even know how much they were helping him.

You.

Everyday you showed up to work with a smile on your face, eternally grateful for everything life had offered you. You had achieved your dreams of working within formula one, it might not have been on the track driving at record breaking speeds like your father but you had one of the most important roles in the team and you enjoyed it.

Even today as he walked through the doors trying to ignore all of the sad, pathetic looks people were giving him and the onslaught of invasive questions people were attacking him with and even if they weren’t verbally shooting words his way, he could see the unasked questions in everyone’s eyes, you greeted him like you did every other day and whilst he knew you were aware of the news, nothing in your face showed the slightest bit of curiosity towards the end of his marriage and he couldn’t express how refreshing that was and how much he needed it.

Slowly, he found himself looking forward to the days ahead where he could bump into you and witness the smile on your face as he tried to ignore the way your energy made his heart feel funny and when Mick signed as the team’s reserve driver he would use the fact that he was ‘mentoring’ your little brother as an excuse to see you, knowing that naturally he would be around you more.

You jumped up from your seat in excitement as you saw both Mercedes cars pass the checkered flag securing second and third place behind Max, obviously.

"George you fucking beautiful human bring!" You shouted through the radio before turning to look for Toto, hoping that these results would have put a smile on his face only to find that he was already looking at you intensely, not even acknowledging the pats he was getting on his back by team members.

He winked at you? And sent you what seemed to be a grateful smile before turning away to celebrate with those around him. You were thankful he did so and didn’t see the pink hue you could feel spreading through your cheeks.

A sudden weight on your back didn’t allow you to dwell on it. Mick had launched himself at you in his exhilaration causing you to quickly latch onto his legs so you both didn’t go tumbling, you laughed and spun the pair of you around before putting him down so you could all go outside and gather in the pits to watch the podium.

You always went out of your way to be a kind person but the moment your team was standing under the podium all manners went out of the way and you barged your way to the front of the barriers to watch, mumbling half-hearted apologies, you knew no one would take your behaviour the wrong way as you’ve known them for so long.

Looking up, you were happy to see the smiles on Lewis and George’s faces, tough seasons can really take a told on the mental health of the drivers and it can be easy to lose motivation, especially when you were part of a team that was so used to winning but they looked as happy as ever now and it made all of the hard work that everyone had put in worth it.

Two hands clamped down on your shoulders startling you, followed by the feeling of a firm chest being pressed up against your back. You looked up and saw Toto but he wasn’t looking at you, he kept his gaze up on the podium and the happiness on his face hadn’t subsided so you didn’t question it and turned back to the celebrations.

His behaviour was really confusing you and you wanted to talk to him about it but decided to push it away for another day.

His behaviour hasn’t been limited to that day alone.

The entire season has been filled with soft touches from him, from a small brush of his hand against your back as he walked past or light touches of your hips to guide you to the side when you were in his walk way.

Let’s not forget about the way he started to look at you. Toto’s stare was always intense but now you couldn’t ignore the soft shine his eyes held as he looked at you.

You hoped you weren’t reading too much into things otherwise that would be embarrassing but you couldn’t stop noticing the little things he would do and what was even worse was the way these things were effecting you.

These touches would leave your skin feeling tingly and your head fuzzy to the point your mind just turned blank and now whenever he was so much as in the same room as you, your mind became hyper-fixated on his presence to the point it felt like you were compelled to constantly glance in his direction.

You had worked for him for nearly eight years and not once had you even considered looking at him in any other way other than as your boss and a friend.

You acknowledged that he was handsome and had the charisma to match but you had never been attracted to him up until now, how was this year any different to the last seven?

Hands slamming down into your desk startled you from your thoughts, you looked up wide eyed at the grinning face of your younger brother causing you to grumble in annoyance and throw the pen that was sitting on your desk at him.

"What’s wrong with your face?" Mick easily dodged your attack and asked.

"What do you mean?" You asked.

"My big sister always has a smile on her face and for the last twenty minutes you’ve been sat there staring at nothing with a frown on your face."

"Nothing," you muttered, turning back to your laptop screen that had long since shut off.

"Right," Mick replied sarcastically, "Come on, tell me what’s wrong."

You pursed your lips as you debated telling him or not. "You promise not to tell anyone?"

Mick’s face lost its teasing look as he realised you were actually troubled. "Of course." He replied sincerely.

You hesitated for a moment longer before asking "have you noticed that Toto has been acting strange lately?"

Mick looked at you surprised for a moment before smirking and nodded, "you mean the fact that the entire season he’s been staring at you like you’re the finest piece of meat he’s ever seen?" He asked teasingly.

"I wouldn’t have worded it that way but yeah," you responded.

"Then yes, I’m surprised it took you this long to acknowledge it."

You shook your head, "I noticed it at the beginning of the season but I thought I was imagining it and now I can’t stop noticing the fact that he-"

"Fancies the hell out of you?" Mick finished, a shit eating grin on his face.

You groaned and placed your head against your desk. "This is wrong, he’s my boss!"

"Tell me about it, he’s mine too and he fancies my sister!"

"Stop saying he fancies me!" You told him resulting in him just laughing at you. "Seriously Mick, what am I supposed to do?"

Mick sighed and looked at you seriously, "Do you like him?"

"I dont know," you replied honestly, "before this season I wouldn’t have even looked at him as anything but my boss and a friend but now he keeps looking at me and taking any opportunity to touch me and it’s confusing me."

Mick pulled an uncomfortable face at your words but gave you some advice. "Then do nothing until you know for sure."

You nodded and he smiled before walking around your desk and wrapping you in a tight hug which was more like a headlock but it was a hug nonetheless.

"Smile! We’re in Abu Dhabi and we’re partying tonight," he fake cheered as he walked away causing you to laugh at his behaviour.

And that’s exactly what you did. It had been a tough season for Mercedes, the team hadn’t nearly performed as well as they were used to but through a lot of hard work the season had ended on a high note and and no one was going to dwell on this years difficulties tonight.

You were definitely allowing yourself some freedom tonight to drink away and forget about the confusing thoughts that had been swimming around in your head all season.

The club was dark except for the colourful flashing lights that were roaming the entirety of the room that the FIA had rented out for all of the f1 teams celebrating tonight. You were already feeling more relaxed from the three drinks you hadn’t wasted time on consuming and had dragged poor Bono, who had zero rhythm, to the dance floor.

The man looked traumatised as he simply stood there awkwardly with you holding onto his hands, swaying his arms to try and encourage him to dance and have a bit of fun.

You kept him there for an hour before eventually taking pity on him and letting him go, you walked over to the bar to get another drink, not seeing the person approaching you until he was right beside you.

"You look lovely."

You turned to your right in surprise, Toto was mimicking your stance, leaning his side against the bar as he looked into yours eyes. "Thank you," you replied, a little shocked at his words.

"I see you were having fun with Bono," he commented absentmindedly.

You laughed, "Me? Yes. I don’t think he was having as much fun as I was."

"He’s not much of a dancer," Toto smirked.

"Oh, I know. He can’t move to save his life but it doesn’t mean he shouldn’t try."

The bartender placed your drink in front of you and you took a sip after giving him a thanks. "Have you been having fun?" You asked.

Toto tapped his fingers against the bar top and signed. "As much as I can after the shit season we’ve had."

"We’ll be better next year," you replied confidently.

He simply nodded in response, dragging his gaze down your body and back up again.

The feeling of his eyes trailing you left a burning heat on your skin and an unfamiliar fluttering in your stomach.

"I like this dress," he told you, nodding at the tight fabric that clung to your figure.

"I got it yesterday," you knew he didn’t care but for some reason you felt inclined to share that information with him, fighting the urge to look away and hide a smile.

"You picked wisely," he immediately responded and this time you didn’t fight the smile, his smooth responses settling within you exactly how he wanted.

"I’m glad you like it," your voice was quiet in the midst of the loud music and voices but it didn’t prevent him from hearing you words.

The way he smirked down at you made you feel much smaller than you were, the idea of how his stature and strength would help with the power he held over you made you burn with need and the want to find out for yourself.

You huffed out a breath.

You needed another drink.

You threw your head back into the pillows and gasped as Toto thrusted into you, pulsating pleasure rushing through your body with every movement.

You didn’t know how you got to this point, the night was a haze of drinking, close dancing and longing looks but the one memory that stood out was the warmth of Toto’s hands against your hips, after that everything blurred up until this moment.

Your arm wrapped around the back of his neck, your hand burying itself into his hair as you tried to ground yourself but you were hopeless within the haze of his kisses against your throat and hands holding your thighs spread for him.

"Toto!"

His breath was heavy against your skin. "You feel so good, schatz." The guttural groan he released sent you feral, you tightened your grip on him and pulled him closer so your chests pressed against each other.

Your vision went white as Toto just grazed that sweet spot inside you with one particularly hard thrust before he angled his hips in a way that with each bruising snap of his hips he made, the tip of his cock would brush against you just right.

As you felt yourself approaching your release, your back arched and the air remained trapped in your lungs, your grip tightened on Toto’s hair causing him to groan into your neck while your other hand shot up behind you and grabbed onto the headboard.

Just as you were at the precipice of your release, Toto reached down and circled your clit with his fingers providing the last bit of stimulation needed for you to let go and dive into a river of overwhelming pleasure.

The sight of your face completely blissed out made Toto’s cock harden more inside of you, he continued to thrust and work you through your orgasm whilst chasing his own, chasing his release as he felt his body fill with an indescribable need to continue rutting into you.

The groan of relief he let out followed by a warmth in your core brought you back to reality, Toto allowed his body to collapse onto your own and simply lay there as he caught his breath and recovered from his own orgasm.

Your hand continued to run through his hair, grounding his mind to reality and encouraging him back from his high.

Moments later, Toto removed himself from you and curled up behind you, wrapped an arm across your stomach and pulled you into his chest.

Both still feeling the haze of the alcohol in your systems, no words needed to be spoken between the pair of you as you both succumbed to much needed sleep.

You woke up feeling as though your brain was swelling beyond the capacity of your skull and dehydrated to the point you felt like you could drink about forty litres of water.

Every part of your body ached as you moved beneath the covers, flashes of last night flickered through your mind causing you to groan at the reminder of your drink choices.

You were definitely regretting it now.

A particular memory caused you to pause and look beneath the sheets, grimacing as you realised you were naked.

Then you froze, Toto.

Your head shot to the side and instead of laying your eyes upon your boss’ 6ft5 frame you were greeted by an empty half of the bed with only crumpled white sheets.

Your heart dropped as you looked around the room, there was no indication that anyone else had been here but the ache between your legs made it very clear that last night did in fact happen.

He had left.

After an entire season of fighting with your feelings and the way he made you feel, you had given in to him only for him to leave.

You felt sick and dirty and disgusting and used.

You pulled yourself into the shower and tried to to push down the need to cry but you were filled with an overwhelming sense of betrayal and couldn’t stop the rogue fear that fell down your cheek.

Waiting to board the plane back to England, you looked down at your phone, you had a feeling Toto was already there by now and you had messaged him ages ago but no response.

Had you been crazy believing that he could have feelings for you?

You were so mad at yourself for being as affected as you were by his actions, it felt like someone had your heart in their fist and found amusement in squeezing it, filling you with the need to just let go and allow your emotions to flow freely.

You didn’t need to be back at the factory until after Christmas so you went straight home and unpacked your bag before repacking to go and spend your time off in Switzerland with your family, Toto still hadn’t responded and you were positive he was just ignoring you now and you didn’t try to get a response.

You’d deal with that after Christmas.

Normally you’d wait a week or two after the season ended to go back home but you really had no reason to stay, you’d changed your mind on attending the FIA awards which had confused Mick when you told him but he could tell something was wrong and chose not to pry.

You seriously didn’t think the year could get worse, you were so wrong.

The last three weeks in Switzerland had been hell to put it lightly, Christmas was just around the corner but it was hard to be excited when you had caught the sickness bug, the amount of time you spent in bed throwing up was disgusting at this point and the coddling of your family wasn’t helping.

You knew they loved you but you wish they’d just leave you alone to wallow in misery.

Toto was still a lingering thought in the back of your mind and it was only adding to how rubbish you felt but you hadn’t made any other attempt to get in touch, he hadn’t tried either so you knew where you stood with him and that was enough.

New years had passed and you were now back in England to go back to work, you had never dreaded going to work in all the years you’d worked for Mercedes so the unsettling feeling in your stomach was new.

But that could also just be nausea.

You still hadn’t completely recovered from your sickness over the holidays, you were no longer bed bound but the urge to throw up and the loss of appetite was still there, the loss of weight was visible in the sickly paleness of your face so you had booked a doctors appointment for the upcoming Friday.

Your stomach churned as you walked through the doors of the Mercedes headquarters, as the daughter of Michael Schumacher you got a lot more attention in the building as you would’ve if you were just a race engineer so the nods from almost everyone as you walked in weren’t strange to you but the sympathetic looks were.

You hoped it was just because you looked as if you hadn’t seen sun for the past ten years.

Deciding to stop by hospitality on the way to your office for a bottle of water, you paused in the doorway at the sight of Toto and didn’t hesitate to turn right back around before your mind even processed his presence.

You got a few funny looks by the people in there but you truly didn’t care.

It stayed like that for the rest of the week, whenever you found yourself in the same room as your boss there was no time wasted before you left even if there were still things needed to be done in that room, you didn’t even try to be subtle about it either.

As soon as he entered the room you immediately took your leave, it was rude but you couldn’t find it within yourself to care and you doubted he cared either.

You had taken the day off work today to attend your doctor’s appointment so thankfully you didn’t need to waste your efforts avoiding him.

"Symptoms are nausea, sickness and weight loss," The doctor listed and you nodded in clarification.

She looked at you knowingly, "When did your last cycle finish?" She asked.

You pulled a face and leaned your head back in thought, it was probably before Vegas, but that was….. your face grew even paler than it already was.

"November," you whispered, your body filling with complete and utter horror.

The doctor’s face grew sympathetic at your reaction, "and you’ve had unprotected sexual intercourse since then?" She asked though your face gave her the answer.

You were at a loss for words so you resulted in nodding; the idea of you being pregnant only made you feel more sick.

"Okay," she replied softly, "We’ll have you take a test to confirm."

You didn’t even register the next ten minutes, lost in your own mind as an emptiness settled within you, your chest ached with pain at the idea that your whole life could be changed in just a few short minutes.

"Miss Schumacher, are you okay?" The doctor asked worriedly.

You snapped back to reality and nodded numbly.

"The test came back positive, Y/N, so I’ll refer you to a midwife and during this time you should think about what you want to do, okay?"

How you didn’t crash on the way home was a miracle because you definitely weren’t concentrating, you carried your body straight to the bathroom and looked in the mirror, you looked like hell.

Just the sight caused your eyes to well up and this time you didn’t fight the emotions, you welcomed the tears and allowed the pain to consume you, the pain of realising just how alone you were in this moment.

You slid down against the bathroom door and curled yourself into a ball, buried your face into your knees and sobbed until you no longer could.

The weight in your chest was still present as you walked into work the following Monday but you no longer had any tears to spare, you had made up your mind about what your future would consist of and today would mark the beginning of it.

Knocking on the door to Toto’s office, you waited for confirmation to enter and he clearly hadn’t anticipated you on the other side from the look of surprise on his face but you didn’t mention it and closed the door behind you.

"We need to talk," you wasted no time in pleasantries and sat down in the seat opposite him.

"Is there a problem with the car?" He asked, his formal tone cut through you like a knife but you refused to show the effect it had.

You wouldn’t have thought the pair of you were friends just two months ago.

"There’s nothing wrong with the car," you told him.

"What do we need to talk about then?" He asked.

He was royally pissing you off with the way he was pretending to be ignorant. "We need to talk about what happened between us-"

"This is unprofessional," he interrupted and you scoffed in disbelief.

"Unprofessional?" You laughed in his face. "Do you know what else in unprofessional? Sleeping with your employee."

His face dropped at the bluntness of your words, "look, you shouldn’t be bringing private matters into the workplace."

"How else am I supposed to bring them up? Over text message where I never get a response?" You looked at him incredulously. "This is important-"

"I don’t want to hear it, Y/N," he cut you off harshly. "What happened between us shouldn’t have happened, it was a moment of weakness and it will never happen again."

You looked at him stone faced before nodding, "fine." You got up from your seat and left without another word, not bothering closing his door.

You didn’t go to your office, instead you went to HR.

Walking past the different offices you went straight for the head of HR. "Chloe?" You knocked on the door quietly, opening it once you received a response.

She smiled at you in greeting, "Y/N, can I help you with something?"

You nodded softly and sat down on the sofa she had against the wall. "How many holidays do I have?"

She looked at you suspiciously, "All of them, you didn’t put one in for Friday so that went unpaid."

"Okay," you muttered under your breath, "I want to cash them all in, starting from tomorrow."

"What?" She looked at you shocked. "Are you sure? If there’s something going on we can figure out a better solution for you."

You smiled and shook your head, "Uhm no I’m sure, I want to use them all and then after that I’ll be taking early maternity leave."

Chloe’s eyes widened in shock. "Wow, okay, congratulations."

"Thanks, I want to spend my pregnancy in Switzerland so you won’t see me around."

You could see that she had questions but didn’t ask them and you appreciated it, "I understand, I’m happy for you Y/N, I’ll get it all sorted for you."

"Great," you stood up and headed towards the door.

"Y/N?" You turned around, Chloe looked at you sincerely, "Give me a call if you need someone to talk to, yeah?"

You probably wouldn’t but you nodded and left.

To say Toto was surprised when he found out they were down their usual race engineer for the season was an understatement.

It was completely unexpected and he wasn’t the only one who wasn’t happy about it, George was not at all in agreement to having a new voice in his ear.

It wasn’t even for a couple races either, it was for the entire season.

No one in the team had any information on what had happened except two people, Mick and Chloe.

No one could ask Mick because he had left to do the world endurance championship and when Toto had went to ask Chloe all he got was a shrug and words that sounded as though they’d been read from the companies handbook.

"It’s against an employee’s confidentiality rights to discuss the matters with you, even if you are the boss, all I can tell you is she’ll be back at work next year."

Meanwhile, in Switzerland you were slowly but surely feeling much better.

You were putting the situation between you and Toto behind you, you were recovering and as you did, your bump grew and the sight made you smile.

The horror and fear you felt when you found out about your pregnancy had dissipated weeks ago, leaving you filled with excitement and love for the journey you had ahead of you.

With your mother and sister around you, the loneliness you felt had evaporated as well.

You were doing good and felt amazing and that’s all that mattered right now.

[babysukiii]

the rooms are all on fire (every time that you walk in)

// melissa has a thing for her new neighbor, but she refuses to let it go too far because of the age difference. though, the redhead might realize how deep her feelings go once it’s too late. //

warnings: insecure!melissa, reader is so painfully in love with melissa it’s hilarious, melissa is an idiot who can’t handle emotions, pining, mutual pining, jealous!reader, jealous!melissa, brief gary x melissa (they go on one date), reader is in her twenties.

melissa knows right away that she doesn’t like you. you’re too young, too loud, too perky, too nice. you had moved in across the hall from her a couple months ago, and had knocked on her door the same day you moved in. you had this big smile on your face, along with this large tupperware of brownies. though, in your defense it had not been a good day for melissa. her ex husband had just revealed he had an affair while they were still married, and even though she no longer loved joe, it still hurt.

“who the hell are you?” she asks, as soon as she swings the door open. your smile doesn’t even falter, and it’s the most annoying thing melissa has ever seen. “i’m y/n! i just moved into the apartment across the hall. i just wanted to introduce myself and give you these.” your western accent indicated you were far from home, and the positive energy radiating off of you only seemed to put melissa in a worse mood than she already was. you hand her the tupperware of brownies, and she scowls.

“we don’t really introduce ourselves to neighbors ‘round here. your lucky you didn’t knock on 402’s door. he’s a creep.” she mutters as she takes the tub of sweets. “oh. thanks for the warning.” you joke, and you tilt your head to side, “i never got your name.” you add and she snorts. “cause i never gave it, kid.” she responds curtly before shutting the door right in your face.

that was your first impression of melissa. it was enough to make any sane person steer clear of her… but you weren’t necessarily a sane woman. you were usually up before eleven every morning to go on a run or do a small workout. one morning you wake up extra early, and catch the redhead in the elevator. you don’t appear to notice the way her eyes roam up your tight leggings, and small zipped up sweater that clung to your body. “good morning, neighbor.” you greet her, and she keeps this stone cold expression etched onto her features.

“morning.” she flatly responds, clearly uninterested. “did you like the brownies?” you inquire curiously, as the elevator door closes behind you. “i’m not a fan of chocolate. i prefer pumpkin or apple.” she bluntly replies, and you don’t let her attitude discourage you. in fact, you visibly pep up at the newly found information. “i love pumpkin cinnamon rolls. next time i make some, i’ll bring some over for you.” you say, as the elevator door opens. “i’ll see ya around, neighbor! have a good day.” you call out as you rush towards the exit of the building. melissa rolls her eyes as the elevator doors close, and she continues her way to the parking garage.

your perkiness in the mornings was something melissa couldn’t adjust to. she didn’t want to. as soon as you realized the redhead was in the elevator every morning at 7:20, you were there as well. it was borderline obsessive in the redheads opinion, and she couldn’t stand that dopey grin on your face whenever you’d see her. it was like clockwork. she’d get in the elevator, click on the floor for the parking garage, and you’d squeeze in before the doors closed. she was beginning to consider taking the stairs.

she wasn’t sure how you knew when she was home, but on friday evening, she was in the middle of making dinner when a knock on the door caused her to knock over an open bottle of water. “shit! fuck— i’m comin’!” she yells out frustratedly as she makes her way to the front door. when she opens it, there you are with that stupid smile on your face. this time you’re holding a plate with a large slice of sweet bread on it, with icing slathered on top. it was saran wrapped cutely on the white plate.

“pumpkin cinnamon bread, with cream cheese icing.” your voice is light, and you’re gazing up at her with these big innocent eyes; just begging for her approval. there’s hopefulness laced into your orbs, and not even melissa has the heart to turn this away. “pumpkin in april… thanks kid.” she mutters, and if she thought your smile was big before… it seems to illuminate with her backhanded compliment. maybe it was the fact that one of her favorite students made her a painting in art class, and she was feeling particularly mushy today.

“you like pasta?” she asks you blandly, still sounding indifferent about your sudden intrusion on her dinner making. you nod eagerly, “yup! i haven’t had it in ages though… i don’t know any good italian spots around here, and i can’t cook to save my life.” you confess sheepishly, and she nods as she turns around and disappears into the apartment. she leaves her door wide open, and you stand there, clearly confused. “well, what ‘re you waiting for? come in, dinners almost ready.” she commands, causing your eyes to widen in shock.

“unless you got somewhere else to be tonight?” she asks, looking over her shoulder to see how shocked you look. you shake your head quickly, “nope! it was just gonna be me and the takeout guy tonight.” you half joke, as you walk in, shutting the door behind you. you go quiet as you stand behind the counter, and melissa wipes up the water she had spilled earlier. she turns her head to see you glancing around the room, clearly nervous. it’s the quietest she’s ever heard you. “what? place not what you expected?” she asks, and your eyes lock with hers.

“i just… i didn’t think i’d get to see the inside of your place before i got to know your name.” you admit, and melissa can feel an uncontrollable smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “my names melissa.” she confesses, and your eyes go all soft at the revelation. “melissa… huh. that’s a pretty name. it suits you.” you blurt aloud, and she turns away to check on the pasta, hiding the blush that coats her cheeks.

melissa learns quite a bit about you after that. you’re twenty-four, you had lived in the west coast all your life, and you spent your teenage years stuck taking care of your grandma and siblings. the more melissa discovers about you, the harder it is for her to hate you. your kindness isn’t fake or falsified like most of the people around here; you speak every word with genuineness and sincerity. a routine seems to progress between the two of you; every friday evening you knock on her door with some new platter of sweets, and melissa proceeds to invite you in for dinner.

every friday turns into every other day, and before she knows it, you two are having dinner together every night. the redhead went from hating you, to enjoying your presence more than anyone else’s. at first, melissa assumed she simply enjoyed your company because she was lonely. but after a few months of you, she quickly realized what the little flutter in her belly meant whenever she’d see you. melissa’s head would grow fuzzy whenever you complimented her, and she turned into a blushing mess. not to mention how she couldn’t necessarily hide how happy she was to see you now.

she’d pick out a bottle of wine, and makes different recipes she thinks you’d like. she finds herself humming along to old italian songs as she cooks, waiting for the gentle knocks on her door.

tonight you brought her new york cheesecake with raspberry filling on top. you greet her as you push past her, placing the cake onto her counter. “i know, cheesecake is so bad for our health, but i had a terrible day.” you tell her, and you begin to ramble about how awful your boss is. though, all melissa can do is take in how absolutely beautiful you are. the way your hair falls, and moves as you talk with the emotions you wear on your face. when you don’t get a response from melissa for awhile, you look over and see her leaning against the door, staring at you with a peculiar expression.

“what? what’s wrong?” you question, she offers you a gentle shake of her head. “you’re really beautiful, you know that?” she blurts out, her entire demeanor changing as soon as she realizes what she just said. her eyes go wide as she stands up straight, instead of looking appalled or surprised, the blood rises to your face. a shy grin plasters itself onto your face, as you push your hair behind your ears before gazing at her like some shy schoolgirl. “you’re calling me beautiful? have you seen yourself?” you ask her, and that’s the moment that seems to solidify it for melissa.

the way her heartbeat picks up as the words leave your lips, and something in the pit of her stomach bursts, as if a million cocoons hatched into butterflies inside of her. she began to feel something she hasn’t felt since before she married joe. she couldn’t believe some western twenty something year old kid was making her feel this way.

you appear to be able to read melissa like an open book. she doesn’t have to tell you how she’s feeling for you to know. you’re the only person who’s ever been able to figure her out, and it’s scary. melissa also wasn’t an idiot. she could tell judging by the gleam of adoration in your eyes, you were growing quite the crush on her. sometimes she wonders why. you’re in your twenties, you’re hot, and you know how to bake a mean banana cream pie… melissa also sees how the doorman and a variety of other men ogle you in the mornings. you could have anyone you want, yet you spend your evenings eating melissa’s various italian recipes.

however, the redhead is very closed off. especially romantically. after joe, she’s dated around but nobody’s ever gotten a second date. she hasn’t been so intimate with someone in so long, even before her divorce, the marriage was falling apart. dinner every night was not an option for her and joe; he always came home late, and by the time he arrived his plate of leftovers were in the microwave. even when he’d be home while she was cooking, he’d eat in the living room in front of the tv. you were so enthralled by melissa, sometimes you could hardly focus on the food with how much attention you paid her.

she tries to hide the way she revels in your attention, and how the glimmer in your eyes directed towards her causes those stupid butterflies inside of her to repopulate. “you do not actually have random baseball bats around your apartment…” you trail off one evening, as you’re both sitting on melissa’s comfortable couch. there’s a glass of wine in each of your hands; you’re both on your second glass, and you’re sure it’s the expensive wine melissa keeps locked away. it makes you feel special when she puts so much thought into the dinners you two share. they mean something to you, and you’re positive they mean something to her as well.

“i do. they’re hidden around.” she explains, taking a sip of her wine. you let out a genuine giggle; your wide eyed gaze is pouring right into her, nobody’s ever looked at her with such reverence. something then flickers in her eyes as she remembers something; “speaking of… i’ve been meaning to give you one. ya look like you can’t swing for shit, but it’s better than ya having nothing to defend yourself with.” melissa rambles as she stands up, disappearing into her bedroom. your brows knit together in slight confusion as you wait for her to return.

when she does, she has a medium sized wooden bat. it was dark wood and looked brand new. “wait, you were serious?” you ask, letting out a breathless little chuckle. “you live on a questionable part of town, by yourself, y/n. you barely even forget to lock your door when you come over.” she scolds, sounding undoubtedly upset by the fact. your baffled features quickly morph into a soft expression, “you worried about me, lissa?” you tauntingly ask, and she lets out this vexed huff, waving the wooden bat closer to you.

“just take the damn thing and keep it by your bed.” she commands, while you gladly accept the strange but thoughtful gift. “it’ll make you feel safer.” she adds, her neck burning as you stare at her with a vulnerable look on your face. “okay. but i’ll have you know i’ve never felt safer than knowing my tough, kick ass neighbor is right across the hall.” you assure her, and something inside of melissa is slipping; whether it’s her resolve or the walls she so desperately tries to keep up. “thanks for worrying about me though. i worry about you too.” you clarify, and melissa would normally scoff at a comment like that.

she’d shake her head and demand for you to know she can take care of herself… but she can’t. as you stare into her eyes with the sole intent of wanting her to understand how much she means to you, melissa finds herself taking a seat beside you again, deciding to let the comment slide. maybe she enjoyed knowing someone as sweet as you cared about her. it’s been so long since anyone’s cared for her in this way; it was sort of foreign to her by now. yet it was also comforting.

though melissa often found herself thinking about what things would be like when you finally met somebody. if you’d opt to spending your evenings with your new girlfriend or boyfriend… if you’d look at them with the same gaze you’d look at her with. some evenings she’d catch herself staring at you, and she’d think of being in the shoes of some younger woman… someone who can give you the start at life that you need. you’re in your early twenties, and there’s no way you’d ever want someone old and used up like melissa.

so naturally, the night you invite melissa to your place for dinner instead of just heading to hers… she feels an odd bundle of nerves knotting up in her stomach. she changes after work; which is something she never does. she puts on that sundress she likes to wear when she’s feeling good about herself. as soon as you open the door, your eyes nearly bug out of your head. you have a grease stain on your cheek, she assumes it’s some kind of cooking oil. the apron you’re wearing is hiding the tight top and jeans you’re wearing underneath, but melissa thinks you’ve never looked more cute.

“you’re early! i— i’m still making dinner, please sit down.” you urge her, and melissa offers you that soft smile that seems to only be reserved for you these days. she looks around your place; taking in the pictures on the walls, and the flatscreen that’s too big in melissa’s opinion. she barely watches tv, and when she does it’s in bed on her phone. “yeah, i left a little early because ava hired some of the teachers some new assistants.” she tells you, and you cock a brow, flashing her an amused grin. “an assistant? how do you like that?” you question curiously, knowing how difficult it was for the redhead to warm up to new people.

she snorts, “the kids fine. she’s a little younger than you. can’t understand a word she says but the kids like her.” she murmurs, shrugging, before she looks over at you. you’re stirring whatever’s in the pot, and she quirks a brow. “you actually might like her.” melissa’s comment rolls off your back easily, you don’t seem to notice the difference in her tone. you laugh lightly, “i doubt that. i’ve never gotten along with girls that well. guys either.” you confess, and melissa snorts. “oh yeah, sure, the girl who makes conversation with the mailman doesn’t have any friends. who do you think you’re lying to here, kid?” she questions, and you frown, rolling your eyes. “i’m not a kid. and just because i know how to make conversation with people, doesn’t mean i have a lot of friends.” your voice is light, and lacks any sort of defense or malice.

melissa sort of envies how easy it is for you to talk about things. “i mean, even in high school i had like three friends. they all still live back home, and we talk from time to time but it’s not like we can just hang out every weekend, you know?” you begin to ramble as you stir the searing food in the pan. “you’re the only person who i hang out with, and i’m lucky you even wanna hang out with me.” you add half jokingly, and you turn to see an inscrutable expression etched onto the older woman’s face.

“anyone would wanna hang out with you… i mean one day you’re gonna find someone who can’t stay away from you.” melissa says in an abnormally gentle way, there’s a hint of sadness in her voice and you cock a brow at the redhead. “does it count if i’ve already found someone i can’t stay away from? i’m literally making beef stroganoff for her, and i almost burned down the kitchen twice just to impress her.” you admit, and on cue whatever is in the pan begins smoking.

melissa’s eyes widen as a blush coats her beautiful face. she rushes over to your side, “jesus, y/n! why didn’t you tell me you wanted beef stroganoff? i could make this in my sleep!” she begins to shoo you away, and you frown, shaking your head stubbornly. “because you always make dinner; i wanted to cook for you.” your fervent voice causes melissa’s heart to lurch in her chest. “i don’t just cook for just anybody, yanno’? i cook for you because i like ya, and don’t know how else to show it. i’m not all sweet like you.” she clarifies, and your heartbeat quickens as her words sink in.

she’s trying her hardest to avoid your eyes, and you can’t help the uncontrollable blush on your cheeks. “you like me?” you ask her, and she rolls her eyes. “like it wasn’t obvious when i cooked mac n cheese as a main dish. seriously, kid, your taste buds are strange.” she mutters, and you bite your lip, trying to contain the grin on your face. “yeah, well, as strange as my palette is, you like me.” you taunt her, and notice the way her focused stirring falters ever so slightly. she scoffs, forcing an exasperated expression on her face.

“don’t make me take it back.” she murmurs, and you can’t seem to stop grinning at her like an idiot.

the seasons change and so do things between you and melissa. it isn’t a significant enough change for you to mention it, but it is enough for you to feel the difference. melissa is so soft, and carefree around you now. before she was so tough and prickly; she’s still a bit prickly but you don’t mind getting poked in order to see her true self every now and then. you two appear to be doing this slow dance around the obvious feelings you have for one another.

melissa is way more reluctant than you are. she hates the way her mind works, but it’s not like she can control it. usually how cute and thoughtful you are washes away any doubts she has about herself, except for one day she runs out parsley, and has to run to the store. of course you offer to come along with her, pulling at the sleeves of your sweater and excitedly trotting by her side.

“you sure you don’t need anything else from here? you’re running out of juice.” you remind her and she mentally scolds herself. “you’re right! thanks hun.” she sweetly thanks you, making your face hot as she reaches for the orange juice. you both make your way to the checkout line, and you aimlessly look around at the chocolates. “y/n! hey!” a familiar voice causes you and melissa to turn around. you eyebrows rises slightly as you run into a woman who you went on a few dates with when you first moved here.

“tracy! hey!” you greet her, and she hugs you before you can even think. melissa is watching the interaction like a hawk, and as soon as the raven haired girl hugs you, there’s a burning sensation of pure rage deep rooted in her belly. her eyes narrow as “tracy” pulls away from you, and looks at you as if she wants to ravish you in the supermarket. “you never called me again! i had a lot of fun mini-golfing with you.” she says, and you sheepishly rub the back of your neck, clearly racking your brain for a flimsy excuse.

that’s when realization hits melissa; you dated this woman! the thought alone nearly makes her scoff. this was your type? mid-twenties, soft skin, hippie wannabe? “i just got really busy adjusting to living here and all that… but how are you?” you try to steer the subject away from the awkward final date you hated. it wasn’t fun for you; you had to force yourself to be some cool girl you clearly weren’t. “i’m good! how are you? what are you up to tonight?” she asks hopefully, and you smile.

“i’m good as well. this is melissa, we’re here picking up some parsley for dinner tonight.” you introduce the redhead, and tracy’s demeanor immediately shifts as she assumes the older woman is your girlfriend. “oh. hi, i’m tracy.” she introduces herself to the grade school teacher, holding out her hand for the second grade teacher to shake. melissa only nods curtly in in tracy’s direction, “hey.” she flatly responds. and you notice the tension in the air right away. “well, it was nice seeing you again, tracy.” you say suggestively, and tracy nods.

“yeah, you too. you should call me sometime.” she squeezes your arm before she leaves, and melissa looks as though she wants to murder you with her eyes. “next.” the checkout clerk calls out, snapping the redhead out of her thoughts. she places the orange juice and parsley down much harder than she intended; it even causes the middle-aged man to jump slightly. “rough day?” he questions with a goofy grin, trying to lighten the mood. melissa shoots daggers at him with her eyes, causing his smile to fall as he clears his throat.

he scans the items quickly, “that’ll be $8.97.” he states; not a single slick remark left in him. melissa inserts her card, finishing the transaction without another word. she storms out of the supermarket with you in tow, trying to catch up to her as you follow her to her car. when you’re both strapped in, the car starts and the ride is quiet for the first minute and a half. you hate awkward silences, especially with her. “i honestly forgot i even tried dating when i first moved here.” you pipe up.

“well maybe now you can give her a call, since you’re no longer busy and adjusting.” she mocks your lame excuse from a few minutes ago, and you frown. “i didn’t— the reason i didn’t call her back wasn’t because i was adjusting—“ you try to explain yourself, but melissa cuts you off. “you don’t have to explain yourself to me. we’re friends, i don’t care who you go on lousy dates with.” her voice is harsh, and it’s a tone you recognize all too well. it’s the same one she uses when she used to have her walls up high, refusing to let you get even a glimpse into her mind.

she doesn’t allow you to tell her it was solely because you didn’t want to call tracy again. the dates were terrible; the entire time you were just pretending to be someone you’re not. you only forced yourself to go because you had been living here for a month, and hadn’t made a single friend. melissa stubbornly cooks dinner, and the conversation through the night is short. you aren’t used to it, and it hurts. but you convince yourself tomorrow she’ll be ready to talk about it.

but the next morning, melissa must’ve left for work earlier than usual because you don’t see her in the elevator. you text her to have a good day, but never get a response. throughout the day you can’t help but think about her, and you wonder why she became so closed off after finding out about your meaningless dates with tracy. you understood she might’ve been a little jealous; sometimes you got jealous whenever she spoke about joe. but she seemed so genuinely upset, all you wanted to do was figure out what was going through her head.

you decide to make her some pumpkin carrot cake before heading to her apartment for dinner. it’s nearly six when you’re finished, and you place it in a tupperware nicely for her. you’re practicing in your head what you want to say to her tonight, and how you should assess the situation. by the time you knock on her door you have a simple smile on your face, and the door swings open, the sight nearly causing your eyes to bug out of their sockets.

melissa was wearing a tight black dress that hugged her body perfectly, and enhanced every single curve. the exposed cleavage caused you to force your eyes on hers in order not to sneak a longer peak. your hopeful smile falls a bit when you notice the hard expression on her face. before she can even ask you anything, you begin blabbering like you usually do. “look, i know you said we’re just friends, but there’s more to us than just that… we both know it. we may not have ever talked about it or what it means, but i haven’t dated anyone since this started…” you ramble, and melissa’s eyes soften for a split second, her hard facade slipping as a wave of panic washes over her.

“y/n—“ she tries, but the voice behind her is interrupting, causing your heart to fall right into your stomach. “everything okay, red?” a deep, unfamiliar voice asks, causing you to freeze. melissa suddenly has this unrecognizable expression of regret on her face. “y-yeah everything’s fine, gar.” she says back, “gary? as in the vending machine guy who’s been flirting with you all year, gary?” you ask in disbelief, and a slight bit of anger is mixed into your voice. she had been so upset about you going on a few dates with tracy before you two were even friends, and now she was here having a romantic dinner with gary. you could even smell the type of food she made him.

“he’s been asking me all year, and i decided since it’s been awhile since i’ve been on a date, i should get back out there.” melissa says the words she’s practiced saying to you in her head. she knew you’d come over today, you always do. she knew you’d see her with gary, and maybe she wanted that. she wanted you to feel how she felt when she saw you and tracy. though as you stare up at her with this kicked puppy-dog expression, she knows you aren’t feeling what she was feeling yesterday. you’re just straight up hurt and it’s written all over your face.

you glance down at the stupid dessert you spent all afternoon perfecting. “well, this is for you, because i wanted to apologize for upsetting you. i can see now you weren’t upset at all.” you have to force yourself to speak, and you surprisingly hold it together as you shove the tupperware in melissa’s hands. you turn to walk back into your apartment, and a wave of regret flashes over the redhead. melissa reaches out for you, “y/n, wait—“ a firm but soft hand wraps around your wrist, but you pull it away from her as you spin around and flash her a dejected look. the sight breaks her heart in two.

“it’s fine. you were right; we’re friends. you don’t have to explain yourself to me. i don’t care who you go on dates with.” you throw the words back in her face, and there’s a flicker of emotions on her face but you turn away and disappear into your apartment. melissa stands there staring at your door; she looks down at the cake in her hands and she hates how tight her chest gets. it’s like her heart might pop in her chest. she doesn’t feel the way she thought she would, and suddenly she mentally curses herself for thinking it’d feel good to hurt you.

melissa is off her game at work the next day. she texts you, and for the first time since you two became friends, you’re the one who doesn’t reply. the redhead realizes she made a mistake. instead of talking about her insecurities or how hurt she was when she saw you and tracy, she ended up jumping the gun and going out with the safest option. gary.

in truth she did like gary; maybe not enough to want to date him, but she found him moderately attractive. she also thought he was pretty funny, and he appears to like her a lot. though none of that was anything compared to what she felt for you. melissa could not stop thinking about you and that hurt face of yours all day. she even decides to cook your favorite food for dinner.

but when six-thirty rolls around, and you still haven’t knocked on her door, there’s a sinking sensation in her stomach. melissa huffs as she looks at the dinner she prepared, and thought of it going to waste angered her. or maybe it was the thought of you just standing her up, even though it’s not like she personally invited you tonight. maybe you think she’s with gary again.

usually melissa is very stubborn, and she would never consider going across the hall and begging you… but she can’t get you out of her damn head. so she takes her ass straight to your door, not even bothering to close hers. she knocks on your door vigorously, not stopping once until the door swings open to reveal you. your hair is damp, and you’re in an old oversized tee shirt; the printing was faded but the hem reached just below your thighs. melissa had to refrain herself from gazing down at your smooth legs.

“i cooked dinner and you’re ready for bed, what gives?” she questions, hating how she sounds like a petulant child. you look a bit surprised to see her, “don’t you have a date with gary and his mustache?” you ask a bit bitterly, and melissa scowls. “it was just dinner, y/n.” the redhead says, and you gaze up into her eyes. “dinner like we have?” you ask, and she huffs in response. “that’s different and you know it! you said it yourself yesterday, there’s more to us than just that.” she reminds you.

“i was clearly wrong.” you sound abnormally stubborn, and melissa sighs in frustration. “i’m not going to see gary again, kid. so just come on over and sit down for dinner.” she commands, and you shake your head defiantly.

“no.” you retort, and she raises a brow, obviously shocked by the disobedience. “no?” she asks you in the warning tone she uses whenever one of her students is testing her. “that’s right, i’m saying no. ever since this started, i’ve always done what you say. i go at your pace, i wake up earlier just to see you, i don’t bake anything with chocolate because you hate chocolate. did you know it’s my favorite? i do whatever you ask to satisfy you. i put my feelings to the side, just to make sure yours are valid. all for my efforts to be outweighed by a guy who restocks the gushers in the vending machine.” you stress, sounding reasonably upset.

“why did you even get so upset about tracy the other day if you were planning on going out with gary? i don’t understand you.” you add, and the dam melissa built to keep her emotions in abruptly bursts. “exactly! you don’t understand me! you’re this young kid who has her whole life to look forward to. this is just a passing moment in your life; this apartment, this city, our dinners, me.” her voice lowers, “you got your whole life ahead of ya, you shouldn’t waste it tryin’ ta’ understand me. you should be dating girls like tracy who are equipped with all sorts of emotions, and able to give you what you need.” she adds, and you frown as she pours her heart out to you. she appears to be full of regret, and vulnerability.

“and what exactly do i need, lissa?” you can’t help but ask, and she runs her fingers through her soft red locks. “you need someone who’ll take care of ya, and show ya how much they care about you. you need someone who isn’t old and afraid of what everyone else thinks. maybe someone who wouldn’t completely embarrass the shit out of ya whenever you decide to take them back to your hometown…” she trails off, now she’s avoiding your eyes and the abnormal, unconfident demeanor causes you to frown. you practically worship the ground melissa walks on; even if she didn’t know it, you were completely enamored by her. it frustrates you to know she doesn’t put herself on a similar pedestal.

“you are the most beautiful woman i’ve ever laid eyes on. when i met you, i felt this instant pull that i had never felt before. god, i don’t think i’ve ever seen anyone as pretty as you, and it makes me so mad that you don’t think of yourself that way. i love you, you know? everything about you; the crinkles by your eyes whenever you smile, the way you curse when you’re angry, your southern philly accent… that irritated frown on your face whenever you’re upset.” you begin to get lost in your words, the space between you both getting smaller and unnoticed. her heart palpitates as you rave on and on about her with this genuine expression of stringent affection.

“you have all these amazing qualities, and you sell yourself short. you’re the best freakin’ cook in the world; the best and sexiest teacher in the world; you’re tough as nails; you have this energy that follows you, it’s fierce and warm. just like you. and as for your age, it’s hard for me too…” the last comment makes her eyes harden, and you’re quick to add, “… but it’s not because i think you’re old, mel. it’s because sometimes i feel like you don’t think of me as your equal. you just think of me as this young kid who’s a burden. but i know who i am, and what i want. i keep a memory of everything you do in the back of my head, and the space in my mind you take up is only getting bigger and bigger. you’re it for me, i’m positive, because how can i see anyone else when you’re engraved in my mind and heart?” you ask her, pouring your whole heart out to her.

your eyes widen when you see the tears threatening to fall from her delicate green eyes. “that’s— that’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me… you— that was more romantic than the vows at my wedding…” melissa’s voice cracks and she tries to put on that stony facade, but it doesn’t work. your words seemed to have broken one of the steel walls she puts up; it’s crumbled into millions of pieces and left her exposed in front of you. her eyes are unguarded and her expression is fragile. she feels so small.

“you can’t just say things like that!” she snaps, her voice higher than usual. you shake your head, “why not? you deserve to hear more good things about yourself, and i can go on all night.” you sheepishly admit, and melissa’s eyes soften when they meet yours. “you really feel that way about me? even though i’m probably older than your mom?” she half jokes, but the self-doubt is leaking through her tone. “you are definitely way hotter than my mother.” you mutter, and melissa gasps but can’t manage to fight to the grin that’s tugging at her lips.

“gee kid, you feel all of that for me and have never even tried ta’ kiss me? what gives?” you can hear the genuine curiosity behind the playful question, and your cheeks turn an embarrassing shade of pink. “i didn’t… i didn’t think you wanted me. i mean, yesterday when i saw you with hulk hogan—“ she cuts in, “gary.” she corrects and you scowl cutely, “whatever. when i saw you with him it kind of reminded me you’re a woman who needs someone to take care of you and i… i’m just a kid.” you look down at your sock covered feet, and before you can even think about anything else, melissa is cupping your face and making you face her.

her lips are on yours in an instant, and the butterflies in your belly begin to repopulate one by one. she pulls away before you can think twice, “you’re not just a kid to me. you’re a good person, y/n. i’m sorry i was so immature about everything.” she sounds ashamed, but the sincerity in her voice makes your heart speed up. your cheeks burn and maybe the kiss sweetened you up a bit. “it’s okay, lissa. i understand… next time just talk to me.” you assure her and she smirks. “or i can just kiss ya again and see where that gets me.” she half jokes, making you grin.

“or that too.”

[superbat-love]

Clark tried to resist the urge to fidget, fully aware of the murmurs and suspicious glances from the mafia men surrounding him as he waited outside the lounge. He reminded himself that he could handle this. His objective was fairly straightforward: gain Mario Falcone's trust, find evidence linking him to the Gazzo family in Metropolis, and expose their crimes.

All he had to do was listen in on conversations, maybe snoop around a bit. After all, he was strong and bulletproof—what could possibly go wrong?

Thankfully, his awkward wait came to an end when a stunning woman in a bodycon dress stepped out from the private lounge.

"Mr. Falcone will see you now, Mr. Kennedy," she said.

Clark stood and followed her inside.

The lounge was as garish as he had expected. Red velvet drapes hung from the walls, gold gargoyles leered from the ceiling, and black stone coffee tables sat amid curved leather sofas. The room exuded an air of wealth and power, albeit in an overly ostentatious way.

In the center of the room sat the mob boss, Mario Falcone, with one arm casually draped over the back of a sofa. He was angled toward the man beside him, their closeness suggesting a more intimate relationship.

"Mr. Falcone, Mr. Kennedy is here," the woman announced. Both men looked up, and Clark felt his forced smile freeze in place.

"Ah, Kennedy! Right on time," Falcone greeted with a broad grin. "This is my lover, Bruce Wayne. He’s the one you'll be protecting."

Bruce Wayne, Gotham's notorious playboy, gave Clark a slow once-over, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. Though this was their first encounter, Clark had heard plenty of rumors about Bruce’s scandalous reputation—his affairs and escapades were well-known, even in Metropolis.

Bruce stood and sauntered over, circling Clark like a shark sizing up its prey. Clark nearly jumped when Bruce’s hand squeezed his bicep, trailing slowly down his arm. Bruce finally stopped in front of him, his gaze briefly dipping before meeting Clark’s eyes.

"Nice gun," Bruce murmured. Despite the casual tone, his piercing blue eyes gleamed with sharp intelligence, as though he could see right through Clark.

“I-I’m not carrying one. I was patted down before I came in,” Clark replied quickly. “But don’t worry, I can protect you even without a weapon. I’m... uh, pretty good with my hands.”

Bruce’s grin widened. “I bet you are, Mr. Kennedy,” he purred.

"What do you think, love?" Falcone asked, leering at Bruce.

Bruce draped an arm around Clark’s shoulder. "Oh, I like him already! The last bodyguard you got me was such a bore. At least this one’s easy on the eyes."

Falcone’s smile stiffened, and he regarded Clark through narrowed eyes. Clark swallowed hard. He had been confident about gathering the evidence and getting out, but now, he wasn’t so sure.

[rubycruzin4abruzin]

Forbidden Crown - VII

Summary: You and Kit prepare for your escape, everything seems to fall apart at your engagement party, and your mother reveals a shocking truth…

Pairing: kit tanthalos x princess!reader

Contains: kissing, angst, reader prepares a murder, some boob touching, non-explicit mention of vomiting, medieval partying, drinking, drunk behavior

Word Count: 6.4k

A/N: hope this one knocks your socks off

“Strike once. Through the heart.” Kit instructed, handing you a sword before stepping back.

You stood over the training dummy lying on the stone floor of the armory, the tip of your sword hesitating over its straw chest. The dummy was made to mimic a human form, and while its thatched figure was less than realistic, the very idea that it could one day be Kit filled you with a deep sense of dread. “I… I c-cannot…”

She frowned, crossing her arms. “You promised me…”

“Suppose I don’t intend to keep my promise?”

“Then we can’t go.”

Your face crumpled in defeat as your shoulders slumped, the sword dropping to your side. Kit softened her stance, placing a hand on your shaking shoulder. “Don’t… don’t think of it as me, alright? Because it won’t be. It’ll be… a walking infection, with an ashen face and lifeless eyes. Nothing but an ensorcelled servant to the Wyrm.”

She repositioned the sword in your hands, helping you hold it properly before stepping back again. “Protect yourself, Princess.”

You took a deep breath, squeezing your eyes shut before plunging the sword straight through the dummy’s heart. Straw flew up at the impact, drifting around you and making you sneeze. You dropped the sword with a loud clatter, body trembling as you stumbled back into the armory wall. Tears began to spill down your cheeks, and Kit was quick to comfort you.

“It’s alright,” she wrapped her arms around your shoulders and kissed the top of your head. “You did perfectly.”

You spoke between ragged breaths. “I don’t… ever… want to have… to do that… again…”

Kit’s thumb wiped your tear-stained face. “Perhaps you won’t have to,” she said, though her words rang hollow, and deep down you sensed she didn’t believe them either.

The fortnight that followed was filled with planning, mapping, and gathering for your escape. Kit regularly pilfered smaller weapons from the armory, stashing them at the bottom of storage chests, beneath her bed, or anywhere she knew a chambermaid would overlook. You were tasked with securing food—a much more difficult endeavor, as stealing from the kitchen without arousing suspicion from the staff proved quite challenging.

It was Kit who had the brilliant idea to procure the help of the kitchen maid. However, the one she called ‘Muffin Girl’ held you both in little favor—Kit due to her relentless teasing, and you for more… obvious reasons. The only one she did seem to favor was her paramour, Airk, so it wasn’t long before he was enlisted as an oblivious pawn in your scheme.

“Remind me why I’m sneaking you extra provisions?” Airk inquired one evening, delivering a basket of bread and fruit preserves to your chamber.

You accepted graciously. “I’d simply like to… fill out my bridal gown a bit more,” you lied.

Airk’s brow furrowed in disbelief. “You mean to say you eat all of this? Each night? By yourself?”

You shrugged innocently. “Kit intends to fill hers out as well.”

He remained puzzled, but a quick mutter about ‘a secret matter of womanhood’ had him bidding you goodnight and taking his leave. It wasn’t a lie, per se—you and Kit were both women with a secret, after all.

As the days passed, your diligent efforts began to bear fruit and your journey was well underway. Of course, your meticulous scheming was not without consequence. Sex became nonexistent, as you both were so preoccupied with getting your affairs in order that it was the furthest thing from your mind. That's not to say either of you wouldn’t benefit from some physical release—coordinating an escape could be vexing—but there was a time and place for everything, and you two would have ample opportunity for such matters once you reached Nockmaar.

Eventually, all packing, planning, and preparations were complete, and right in the hour of necessity, as your parents had arranged an engagement party just two nights before the weddings.

You stood in your chamber, gazing at your reflection in the mirror, clad in the golden ball gown your mother insisted upon. It was a fine dress—you would surely be the envy of every maiden at the party—but it had been awhile since you’d worn a gown of such opulence, and truthfully, it was not to your taste. Your everyday dresses were simpler—looser, allowing a wider range of movement—and never so ostentatious.

“Gold,” your mother had emphasized when she presented the gown earlier that day. “It signifies wealth, luxury, nobility.”

It was difficult to fathom why your mother had been so insistent upon a color denoting status. Azarenth might have been a smaller realm than Tir Asleen, or even Galladoorn, but it was a kingdom nonetheless, and you a princess. Perhaps your mother was overcompensating, simply seeking to appear at equal stature with the other kingdoms.

Suddenly, the sound of a doorknob turning jolted you from your reverie. You smoothed your dress one last time before leaving the mirror to find your mother in the doorway, donning a rust-red gown.

You should have known; your mother wouldn’t knock, nor have any regard for your privacy.

“The guests will be arriving shortly, you’re needed in the ballroom,” she proclaimed.

String music from the consort echoed through the lofty ceilings of Tir Asleen’s grand ballroom. Long tables encircled the dancing area, with place markers clearly labeled for each guest. You were stationed at the front of the hall, joining your parents, the Tanthalos’, and the Hastur’s in greeting the guests as they arrived.

“Thank you for coming. “A pleasure to meet you.” “It’s an honor,” each phrase rolled from your lips, spoken with the practiced formality of routine. Despite your efforts, your wooden smile couldn’t reach your eyes, and a glance at Kit showed she wore a similar mask of indifference.

Kit had worn a dress. You shouldn’t have been surprised; it wasn’t as if Sorsha would have allowed her daughter to wear breeches to one of the most important events of the year. But you had never seen Kit in a dress before, at least not that you could remember, and it certainly was a sight to behold. The fabric hugged her figure in a manner foreign to her usual tunics, and its v-shaped neckline dipped low enough to reveal a bit of cleavage—a stark reminder of the recent lack of intimacy. A metal asymmetrical corset enveloped her waist, complementing the silver motif that adorned the rich green fabric.

Green. The color associated with Galldoorn, and also known to symbolize fertility. You could vomit.

Once the concourse was seated, the feast began. At the high table, you watched as servants poured wine and served roasted meats to the guests. Among them was the one Kit had dubbed ‘Muffin Girl,’ her long blonde hair secured with a linen coif. She kept her head bowed among the other cupbearers—ashamed to be working at her forbidden lover’s engagement party—but occasionally cast furtive glances at the high table, her gaze lingering on Airk.

“Muffin Girl has her sights set upon your betrothed,” Kit whispered from beside you. “Are you prepared to duel for his hand?”

You snorted, quickly concealing your amusement behind your goblet. “Have you spoken to your intended yet?”

“I have,” she replied, her lips curling in amusement. “I even curtsied. Like a real lady. And he sort of… grunted… and shuffled his feet. Like a real… winner.”

“So he’s a mouse,” you said, turning to look at Graydon, who sat with his father at the other end of the table. The way he choked on his wine, sputtering it down the front of his doublet, spoke volumes; much like your father, he was a royal only by blood. Otherwise, he was a meek, reticent man—undoubtedly lacking the ability to keep up with a headstrong woman such as Kit.

As you and Kit exchanged giggles and gossip throughout the meal, Sorsha rose, tapping her silverware against her goblet and commanding the room's attention. “For many moons,” she began. “Tir Asleen has maintained civility with both Azarenth and Galladoorn. Three kingdoms, joined together, but ruling separately… until now.”

Kit slipped her hand under the table and rested it upon your upper thigh. You shivered at the unexpected contact, quickly ensuring no one saw before returning your attention to Sorsha.

“In two days time,” she continued. “My son and daughter shall wed the Princess of Azarenth and the Prince of Galladoorn, respectively. At last, our three kingdoms shall be united—strengthening us and ensuring a harmonious future.” She raised her goblet. “To the brides and grooms; may they rule wisely, and justly, and foster unity and strength within our kingdoms!”

The crowd raised their glasses, clinking them together amongst cries of “To the realm” and “Hear, hear!” You turned towards Kit, studying her expression for any sign of guilt at forsaking her kingdom, but her lips were curled in a celebratory smile as she tapped her glass against yours.

You stood to the side like a hawk perched in the rafters, watching as Graydon awkwardly led Kit around the dance floor. He was a dreadful dancer, unable to meet Kit’s eye as he watched his own feet stumble over here. As humorous as the display was, your gaze focused solely on the hand he rested at Kit’s waist. You shouldn’t have been jealous, you had no reason to be; Kit barely tolerated this poor-excuse for a prince. Yet, the way he was able to hold her close, to take her hand in public without hesitation, ignited a burning envy within you.

The goblet in your hand was nearly empty, and the song had just begun. Visiting the wine table for a refill sounded tempting, but your gaze refused to stray from Kit. You told yourself you were protecting her, simply ensuring Graydon’s fingers refrained from wandering, though you knew it was senseless; Kit could take care of herself, and she would if she deemed it necessary.

Brief visions of Kit drawing her sword at the mere twitch of Graydon’s thumb crossed your mind, and you couldn’t suppress the snort that escaped.

Your amusement caught Kit’s attention, and she turned from Graydon momentarily to face you. Her eyes softened with pity; Kit had been your companion for fifteen years, and as much as you tried to hide it, she could recognize how bothered you were watching her dance with Graydon.

“I’m sorry,” she mouthed. Her face shone with concern before crumpling into another wince as her partner stepped on her toes once again.

“In need of company, Princess?”

You spun around to find Airk facing you, his lips curled in a sympathetic smile. Airk had always been handsome—a trait perhaps the reason he was so popular with the ladies—and tonight was no exception. His usually loose brown curls had been slicked back, highlighting his sharp features and piercing green eyes. A doublet the color of coffee beans decorated his torso—understated, much less ornate than Graydon’s grandiose gettup, but Airk didn’t need magnificence. Unlike Graydon, who would likely disappear into the walls of the castle if it weren’t for his crown and jewels, Airk stood forth without assistance. He was simply… Airk, prince of Tir Asleen—all the young women pined for his affections, and you were the one to marry him.

Perhaps if things were different, if you were different, you would be the happiest maiden in all the land.

”You appear lonesome,” Airk spoke again. “And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were completely disinterested in this entire ordeal.”

You smirked, taking the last sip from your goblet. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re referring to, there's nowhere I’d rather be.”

He chuckled, offering his hand. “Care to dance?”

You accepted his invitation, grateful for the distraction, and let him lead you to the floor. Kit caught your eye as you made your way, her face scanning yours for any sign of trivial revenge, but your warm smile reassured her and she turned back to her partner.

Airk kept his hand in yours, but moved his other to sit at your waist, while yours rested on his shoulder. Neither of you were very interested in dancing properly, so you simply swayed to the tune of the consort’s playing. As you enjoyed the silent comfort of Airk’s company, you caught sight of your mother across the room, standing with your father and Queen Sorsha. You began to realize why she had insisted you wear such a fanciful gown; the brick-red of her own garment seemed dull in comparison to Sorsha’s deep crimson one. If it wasn’t for the splendor of your golden attire, Azarenth would appear poor in comparison.

While you pondered the monotony of your mother’s attire, Airk suddenly moved closer, mere inches from your face. Your breath hitched, shoulders tensed. He wasn’t, no, he wouldn’t…

He smirked. “Surely you didn’t think I was going to kiss you, did you?” He whispered in your ear with a chuckle. “I know where I stand.”

You sighed, relieved. He wouldn’t. “Of course.”

“I was simply going to ask if our parents were watching,” he whispered again.

You peered over his shoulder, locking eyes with your mother. She wore a beam of approval you hadn’t seen since you inadvertently agreed to marry Airk as a child. It pained you, somewhat, that smile. From her viewpoint, her daughter was dancing intimately with her betrothed while he whispered sweet nothings in her ear. It was all she’d ever wanted. And it was a lie.

“At last, I’m the daughter she’s always wanted.” You muttered solemnly. Airk’s mouth formed a straight line of sympathy, squeezing your hand in an attempt at comfort. “You should see their faces.”

Airk spun you around so he could see for himself, and as he did you met eyes with the blond servant tagged as ‘Muffin Girl,’ clearing tables with the rest of the staff. Her glare wasn’t as cold or threatening as it usually was towards you; instead she just appeared… sad, defeated even. You couldn’t help but feel pity towards her; you knew how it felt to watch your lover dance with another, to be promised to another.

”They do seem quite pleased,” he commented.

“Unlike your mistress,” you spun him back around, shrinking under the weight of her unbearable stares.

He glanced over at her, a momentarily flickering of longing in his eyes before turning back to you. “Is your paramour present this evening?” He asked, scanning the hall. “Wherever he may be?”

You forced a smile, fighting back the urge to correct his pronoun misuse. “Closer than you might think.”

Before Airk had the chance for further inquiries, the music ceased, signaling the end of the dance. You broke away from each other, joining in polite applause with the rest of the partygoers. He bowed, bidding you adieu before exiting the floor—perhaps in search of closure from his forbidden lover.

The dancing area was nearly empty when the consort began to play a new song—still slow, but far less somber than before. Sounds of a vielle’s plucked strings filled your ears, giving the emerging melody an almost romantic air. Your eyes met Kit’s—who had also been abandoned by her partner on the far side of the room—and you exchanged glances full of unattainable longing.

In the center of the floor stood two women, close companions from a nearby village, caressing each other with cheeks rosy from the flush of wine, their laughter louder than the music as they swayed. They drew little notice, these ladies, dancing together in their tipsy states; they appeared as merely two friends, carousing as their husbands were elsewhere.

Husbands. Surely they had arrived with their respective spouses. No one would question a married woman dancing chaste with her female companion.

Your gaze returned to Kit, and an unspoken understanding passed between you. Slowly, you moved towards each other, each step forward echoing within you like a heartbeat. Your breath caught as you finally stood face to face, skin mere inches apart, the closest you had been, had been allowed to be, all night. She didn’t speak. She had no need. Her hands moved to sit at your waist, while your arms floated up and draped around her neck.

In every story, all the romance novels you’ve read, this was the moment when the world around you was meant to melt away, only leaving you and Kit together in its sanctum. But as hard as you tried, as much as you longed to lose yourself in the arms of your beloved, you were acutely aware of your surroundings. Whispers from the concourse seemed to drown out the music, filling you with a pertinent dread. It was one thing for the two commoners to dance together at a party, but you and Kit were royals—yet to be wed—and your closeness perhaps breached propriety more than the women you sought to emulate.

“Are you well?” Kit whispered, sensing your trepidation.

All you could do was nod, mind still absent. The arms you had wrapped around her neck trembled as you buried your face in her shoulder, desperate to block out the world.

Kit chuckled. “I’m not complaining, but you needn’t hold me so tightly, Princess. You have no reason to be so envious of Prince Graydon.”

You pulled back, mouth agape, but giggled upon catching the glint of mischief in Kit’s eye. “I most certainly am not.”

“You most certainly were,” she countered. “Enough so you engaged in dancing with my brother to enact your revenge.”

“I was simply dancing with my betrothed,” you retorted with a grin. “Just as you were.”

“Please,” she scoffed. “I saw you, watching me from afar. Envy practically radiated off your body, green as my array this evening.”

“You forget yourself, Tanthalos,” you laughed, smacking her shoulder.

And in that moment—the moment where Kit held you close, her nose scrunching and eyes sparkling as she laughed with you, where you had momentarily forgotten your environs and allowed yourself to be silly with the person you loved, the one who loved you—that was the moment the world around you finally seemed to melt away, leaving only you and Kit together in this melodic bubble. Even so, you could feel your mother’s eyes boring into you from across the room, but for once, you could cast all cares and worries of her judgment aside. She had gotten what she wanted; you had danced with Airk. It was your turn to indulge.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Kit said, drawing you from your thoughts.

You gave her a small smile. “You have nothing to make up for.”

“I do,” she argued. “And I will.” Her thumb stroked the plush of your sides as she leaned in closer to whisper. “And if it weren’t obvious, you are a much better dance partner than Graydon could ever be. I haven’t checked yet, but I’m sure my poor toes are as bruised as they feel.”

You winced in sympathy, but then chuckled along with her until the song came to an end. Applause filled the hall once more, you and Kit joining in after breaking away from each other. With an exchange of curtsy’s, and a final squeeze of your hand, Kit turned and exited the dance floor, vanishing within the crowd like the last note of the consort’s melody.

As the night wore on, bottles of wine seemed to disappear from the tables, replaced only by the staggering and raucous laughter from the party guests. Servants bustled about, clearing empty bottles and mopping spills, while the retinue danced to lively music.

You were no exception to the tipsy merrymakers, the apples of your cheeks tinted pink from the mixture of claret and revelry. Strands of hair had strayed from your once-neat pinup, clinging to your forehead and the sides of your face through beads of sweat. You took another sip from your goblet as you swayed out of sync, comforted by your boozy blur and the warmth in your belly.

Kit had faded from view long ago—not that you were particularly concerned. The gathering was quite large; she could have easily merged with the throng. Although it was unlikely, given that Kit—much like her brother—was difficult to lose in a crowd, it was still a possibility. Moreover, it seemed Graydon had little taste for festivity, choosing instead to hover in the shadows or remain close to his father, as if he were a lost youth amidst a horde of strangers.

As long as Graydon didn’t wish to be seen, Kit had no need to be seen.

The night was certainly alive with the company in high spirits, but for all the sport it provided, you were beginning to grow weary. Finishing your drink, you sought solace near a window at the far end of the hall, partially concealed by heavy velvet drapes. You leaned back, catching your breath while allowing the cool glass to temper your heated skin.

As you began to relax, your breath evening out, a disembodied hand emerged from behind the curtains, seizing your arm and pulling you out of sight. A sharp gasp escaped your lips, but another hand quickly covered your mouth, stifling your cries of protest. The dense curtains eclipsed any light, and fear coursed through your veins as the shadowy figure loomed over you, overpowering your struggles…

“Shh… shh… My lady, it’s me.”

The familiarity of the whispered voice immediately calmed your nerves. You blinked, allowing your eyes to adjust to the darkness until Kit’s sweet face came into view.

“Kit, what are you…”

“I promised I’d make it up t’ you, didn’t I?”

Even in the dim light, the flush of her cheeks was evident. Her hair, once elegantly arranged, now hung about her head in a tangled mess. Each word she spoke reeked of fruit and spirits, her sentences punctuated by giggles and hiccups. Kit was thoroughly inebriated, perhaps even more so than you.

“Yes, but, I…”

Before you could finish, her mouth was on yours. She kissed you sloppily, her hands lazily gripping at your waist to pull you closer. Her lips, the heat of her breath tasted flammable, almost, yet still so intoxicating. You wanted so badly to give into her, to melt under her burning flame, but you pulled away.

“Kit…” you breathed. “Not here…”

“Why?” She groaned. “S’ been so long.”

Your eyes flickered down to her chest once again, gulping at the sight of her bare décolletage. She had a point—a dangerously tempting point—but her invitation posed too great a risk.

“If someone from the party were to find us…”

She dismissed your concern with a wave of her hand. “They’re all b’scotted. Utterly foxed. ‘S fine.”

“Kit,” you giggled. “You’re quite muddled yourself.”

“You’re one t’ speak,” she snorted. Her hands tangled in your hair, destroying what was left of your pinup as she stumbled. You had to laugh, despite yourself; although your soused stupor was much more relaxed than Kit’s, it was far from negligible.

“Alright,” you held onto her hands. “Perhaps we should retire for bed.”

“Fin’ly…”

“Kit,” you blocked her advance, despite every inch of your body screaming to give in. She groaned again, and you sighed, struggling against thoughts of what those groans might sound like under different circumstances…

No. “Surely they’ll notice our absence.”

“Graydon ‘s busy in the corner,” she slurred. “Airk ‘s gone ‘s well. We won't be missed.”

You frowned, knowing just how right she was; with your suitors missing, no one would be searching for the two of you. Beyond that, every moment spent with her in this pocket of darkness only made you want her more—to feel her on you, her mouth against your skin, her hands roaming your body. It truly had been too long, and the sight of her in that bedeviled dress did nothing to soothe your desires.

Almost as if she could sense your thoughts, as if she had planned on interrupting them, Kit pressed her lips to yours once more. This time, you didn’t resist and allowed yourself to burn under the heat of her body. You could never tire of her taste, her touch, her feeling; you could get drunk off her alone, even without the vine’s blood plaguing her breath.

The world seemed to spin faster with your oxygen now compromised, but Kit remained your anchor. You reached for her shoulders to steady yourself, but your hands inadvertently fell at her breasts. A soft whimper escaped her throat, almost inaudible over the roar of the party, but still resonant in your ears. Your fingers slid down her skin, dipping lower, lower, until they grazed the edge of that plunging neckline that had tortured you all night. She only spurred you forward, seizing your hips and pressing them against hers as your touch ventured beyond the fabric of her dress, fingertips exploring the delicate flesh that lay beneath it.

God, she was soft. How was she always so soft?

Her breath quickened, the hot air tickling the skin around your mouth. You took it as an incentive to lose yourself further and further in the arms of your lover, drowning in her warm embrace and the taste of Falernian wine that still lingered on her tongue. She was all-consuming, and the way she gripped at your sides told you she felt the same way about you.

You were both so absorbed in each other, so immersed in the private world you had created, that neither of you noticed the blinding scourge of light that intruded upon it.

Followed by a shrill scream.

That you did notice.

Pulling back, you ignored Kit’s whines of protest and squinted at the disruptive brightness. There, in front of you, was none other than Muffin Girl, clutching the velvet drapes and wearing a look of terror. Behind her stood an equally-stunned Airk, and you swore, for but a fleeting moment before they separated, their hands were intertwined.

You were frozen in place; her scream had alerted the party’s multitude. All eyes fell unto you as the music ceased, the hall became as still as the private chapel during prayers. Your gaze surveyed the room, taking in the varied facial expressions of your party guests—shocked, horrified, disgusted, perhaps even some lascivious interest from a few less-than-respectable individuals. Sorsha’s visage was different, however—still aghast, but not directed towards you, rather slightly lower, and that’s when you felt Kit tugging at your wrists.

Realization hit you like the strike of a battering ram; you had yet to remove your hold on Kit’s breast. Queen Sorsha of Tir Asleen, your hostess, your future mother-in-law, had just happened upon you with your hand down her daughter’s dress.

Immediately, you stepped back and let your hands fall to your sides, yours and Kit’s faces flushed and fear-stricken as you desperately tried to smooth yourselves out. But when you looked up for the final time, catching sight of your own mother’s face, you knew then and there you had reached far beyond the point of no return. You expected her to yell, to scream as Muffin Girl had, or to react with the fury of a siege engine, but she did not. She merely composed herself, turned on her heel, and walked briskly out of the hall. Your father trailed after her, and you knew you were expected to follow as well.

The rest of the party wasn’t far behind. Never before in Tir Asleen had a gathering disbanded so quickly.

Your mother didn’t bother to escort you to your guest chamber, nor even to her own. The first private place outside the ballroom happened to be the solar, so that’s where you ended up. You hadn’t been in the solar before, but it left much to be desired; tall wooden walls matched the floor, nearly barren save for a lone table in the center with benches on either side.

It was ironic, almost, that they called this room the “solar;” it was practically as frigid as your mothers demeanor.

She paced about, waiting for your father to shut the door behind you before dropping her pretense. “Do you loathe me?” She asked, taking you by surprise. “Do you? I can’t fathom what I’ve done. My own daughter, to hold such malice…”

“Mother…”

“I chose a fine young man for you to wed,” she interrupted. “I even granted you fifteen years to grow accustomed to him. I thought it would be cruel, then, to force my daughter into marriage with a stranger, but I now see that would have been best.”

“Mother…”

“After all I’ve done for you, after everything your father and I have done for you,” she turned towards him, seeking his support, but he merely shrunk under her piercing gaze. “Is this how you repay us? Such grievous betrayal…”

A storm of conflicting emotions roiled within you—anger, guilt, fear—but none of them were for your mother. “It is not about you!” You shouted, catching her off guard. She did nothing but stare back; mouth agape; never before had you raised your voice to her. “It was never about you.”

Her mouth opened and closed a few times, as if she was choking on her next words, before her eyes narrowed. “I never held her in good favor, I’ve always been wary of her influence on you.”

“Pardon?”

“That wretched friend of yours, she has corrupted you. Brought you to the ways of this unnatural lifestyle…”

“It was not her doing,” you snapped. “And we are not friends!”

“How are you not ashamed to speak such words?” She exclaimed, her face twisted with a frenzied fury you were unfamiliar with. “How are you not as abashed as I am? My daughter. Princess of Azarenth. Consorting with her betrothed’s sister, and at her own engagement party no less!”

You hung your head, not ashamed of your love for Kit, but at having been discovered. She noticed your change in bearing and sighed, casting her eyes to your father as she wrestled with her thoughts. “Perhaps… perhaps Airk could still agree to marry you. You were quite wine-sodded tonight, yes? As was Kit? If we offered that as an excuse, and an apology, of course…”

“I do not intend to wed Airk, Mother,” you confessed, your gaze still lowered.

That made her freeze. A tense silence hung in the air before your father’s voice broke it, his tone cautious and uncertain. “Princess… do you mean to say… you intend to wed Kit?”

“Of course not,” you replied; though the idea was compelling, you knew it wasn’t feasible. “I do not intend to stay here at all. And neither does Kit.”

Your parents' faces twisted in confusion, and your pulse quickened as the weight of your words settled over them. As you stared back at them silently, defiantly, their expressions slowly shifted to terror, despair, and… fear?

“Darling…” your mother hesitated, her eyes wide with panic. She displayed a vulnerability you had never seen before in your usually imperturbable mother, and it filled you with unease. “You must stay and marry Prince Airk. We need our alliance with Tir Asleen!”

“Why?” You demanded. “There are many kingdoms with which we could ally, some where I wouldn’t need to marry at all! What could Tir Asleen provide that is such a necessity?”

As your mother stammered, desperate to find the right words, she turned to your father for help, but alas, he tucked his head like a turtle retreating back into its shell. She sighed. “Princess… Azarenth is penniless.”

“Pardon?” You exclaimed, shocked. “Penniless?”

She nodded. “As a poet without a patron. Fifteen years ago, Queen Sorsha agreed to offer financial aid in return for your engagement to her heir.”

You looked to your father for any sign of jest, but his eyes softened only with pity. “Without your betrothal, our union will be severed, and our people will surely starve.”

The world seemed to crash down upon you as everything suddenly made sense—your parents’ insistence on abiding with Airk, how they always seemed to sycophantize with him and Sorsha, the size of Azarenth and how it lacked resources compared to Tir Asleen, how you always seemed to visit the twins and rarely the other way around, your mother’s dress, and how she was so importunate about your appearance, insisting that you look as wealthy as possible.

Your head swam, feeling as if the floor were slipping from underneath you. You pushed past your parents and collapsed onto one of the wooden benches. “Impoverished…” you whispered to yourself, contemplating where your priorities truly lay—your loyalty to your people, or your loyalty to Kit…

It didn’t take long for the Tir Asleen ballroom to clear, but if inquired, Sorsha would swear she spent years of her life stationed near the doorway, cheeks afire as she bid farewell to each scattering guest. The King of Galladoorn barely paid her any mind as he stormed off to his guest chamber, Graydon in tow, both visages aglow for varying reasons.

While his mother busied herself with mending the falloutl, Airk moved his sister to a nearby table, handing her a goblet of water to dilute the alcohol in her stomach. Kit groaned as she sipped from the goblet. Her head pounded; even while seated the room still seemed to spin. She lazily tugged at her corset, its constriction suddenly becoming too much for her to bear.

Airk sighed, reaching back to relieve his twin of the restricting garment. “I must say, I’m intrigued to see how you plan to explain this,” he whispered as he gently undid the laces. “I haven’t seen Mother so enraged since she caught me reading the lewd literature as a lad.”

Though the corset was loosened, Kit still felt her stomach clench as she glanced at her mother. Sorsha’s calmness, though eerie, was intensified by her flushed face, as crimson as her gown. As soon as the last guest departed and Sorsha closed the ballroom doors, the atmosphere shifted to one of unease. Airk noticed immediately, and busied himself with clearing tables, determined to stay out of his mother’s line of fire. Kit gulped as her mother approached, the dread forcing her mind out of its drunken haze.

“I’m not sure why I’m surprised,” Sorsha began, her expression stoic. “Twenty-one years I’ve endured your antics. I once thought it was mere childish theatrics, that you’d surely mature beyond it, but it seems I was mistaken.”

Kit also remained expressionless as she continued to sip from her goblet. She was used to being scolded, berated by her mother, to the point that it had lost its sting long ago.

Sorsha, however, was far from finished. “I just never imagined my own daughter would go as far as to make a mockery of her own kingdom, and for what? To thwart a betrothal? To evade your royal responsibilities?”

Her voice grew louder with each sentence. Kit groaned, clutching the side of her still-throbbing skull.

Sorsha knelt to her daughter’s level until Kit could feel her breath warming her face. “Goblet’s ache? You should give thanks to the gods above for your intoxication tonight,” she continued. “Without wine’s influence, the inquisition would surely have your head after your misdeed this evening!”

Kit’s earlier dread settled like a pit in her stomach at her mother’s words. Sorsha was right; in her lustful, wine-soaked stupor, she had risked not only a scandal, but possibly your lives as well.

Nausea bubbled inside her; she clutched her stomach, desperately fighting back the bile that threatened to rise. Airk quickly noticed his sister’s disposition, and rushed over after grabbing a maid’s bucket off a nearby table.

Sorsha scoffed at her son’s compassion, watching in disbelief as he held Kit’s head over the bucket. “Honestly Kit, did you ever stop to consider how your brother might feel about all this? If I were him, I’d leave you to wallow in your own excretion.”

Upon being mentioned, Airk’s head lifted to look at his mother. As betrayed as he knew he should have felt, as shocked as he was to learn his intended’s paramour turn out to be his own sister, he couldn’t deny, he had been keeping his own secrets. And if Kit’s was so harshly exposed against her will, perhaps alluding to his own could alleviate her burden. “I care little, mother…”

His words grabbed Sorsha’s attention, drawing it away from Kit momentarily. “How can you not?”

“I don't love the princess,” he admitted. “And she doesn't love me.”

Sorsha merely waved off his confession as if she were flicking away dust. “Marriage isn’t about love, Airk! Few engagements begin with love, you learn to love!”

“I have been in the princess’s company for fifteen years,” he argued, beginning to raise his voice before using her own choices against her. “I have not grown to love her, and you and father’s union was not arranged!”

“I married a reckless man because I was ‘in love’ with him, and look where that got me! I ruled a kingdom alone while raising two children, and he’s dead in a ditch somewhere in Nockmaar!”

“That’s where I shall be, too,” Kit interjected.

The raspy sound of her voice took Airk and Sorsha by surprise. They slowly turned to face her. “Kit…” Sorsha began. “What do you mean, that’s where you shall be?”

Kit glanced up from her bucket, her eyes red and watery. “Nockmaar,” she gurgled. “The princess… we’re not staying…”

Both Airk and Sorsha’s jaws dropped in horror at Kit’s remark. Airk was the first to speak. “Kit, you’re not serious…”

“Nockmaar?!” Sorsha cried. “B-but your father… and the Wyrm…”

“Safer than here…” Kit muttered, dropping her face back towards the bucket.

It was Sorsha’s turn for her head to spin; visions of the dire fates that might befall her daughter danced in her head—nightmarish scenarios her mother had long foreseen. She could practically taste her own heartbeat; she knew her daughter better than most, and recognized her obstinacy derived from her father. When Kit had her mind set on something, there was no stopping her, regardless of the peril; Kit would willingly risk everything—even her own life—if it meant being with her beloved.

Without another word, Sorsha turned on her heel and exited the ballroom, leaving her twins behind as the doors shut behind her.

Tag List: @chloepricesgirl @canmargesimpson @yourelliewillms @valenftcrush @camilleee222 @prettygirlfemme @slaytillieswooo @lovinglynny @joanvisitsrome @athenalive @mih11 @j-pacifica @everybodyhatesari @vii-ofswords @sofi4v13 @detmarmalade @at1nyzen @ikyk-leeknow @ingigisworld @willowthegremlin

[bits-and-babs]

✦ 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 ✦

– KINKTOBER DAY 10: ROLEPLAY

captain john price x reader | smut, 18+ | 1.0k words

summary: rocked by the deployment of your husband, you strike up an unlikely supportive relationship with a captain at his base...

cw: f!reader. cheating, consistent references to the reader's husband, star-crossed lovers vibes, fingering (?), supportive and mild dirty talk, p in v sex mention.

⇽ KINKTOBER MLIST | DAY 11: BREEDING KINK ⇾

You don’t mean to rely on Captain Price so much during your husband’s deployment. Complete mischance. As though you’d tripped and fell into his office– However, it also feels inescapable. 

Written in the stars that you would happen to find him that day. 

Tear stricken, burdened with the grief of struggling to maintain a healthy lifestyle since your husband flew out to Urzikstan. The weeks without contact, persistent distress without certainty that he was alive– it was all unbearable. 

When Price had found you practically prostrating yourself before the barracks in a desperate attempt to petition for some news about your husband’s condition, you were certain he’d throw you off the grounds. When he’d taken you into his arms, informing you he wasn’t at liberty to divulge such sensitive information, you’d been thankful for the kindness he’d offered. Compassionate eyes tracing your face as he gently wiped your tears away with combat-marred palms, John had eased the ache that had been burdening you since deployment day. 

You try to convince yourself it isn’t often… But in truth you find yourself visiting every day.

Find the length of time he holds your hands to comfort you extend far past what was reasonable. He laces your fingers together, warming the outside of your wedding band, and squeezing gently in a silent acknowledgement of your loneliness… Even if it was beginning to feel a whole lot less isolating with him. 

Find yourself touching him more. You reach to fix his collar when you leave, playfully reminding him that he needed to keep his uniform straight. Picking fluff from his shoulder, straightening that ridiculous hat he always wore. Any excuse to find a way to hold him, to feel that warmth.

Soon, you find yourself relying on him to fill the void of the bed that your husband's deployment had left behind. Inevitable. Those comforting eyes, the ever present physical comfort John offered you– It felt natural to want to feel that beneath bed sheets, to feel the warmth of his kisses elsewhere than your lips. It’s constant, night after night. Soon he stops knocking on the door and lets himself in, stops asking where to find a glass to give you some water. It’s familiar, domestic even. It’s guilt-inducing. 

The scratch of John’s beard between your thighs feels like penance for this cardinal sin. You assumed the scratches you’d gouged into his back had the same effect when he stood in the shower following your trysts. A painful reminder of your husband in Urzikstan, unwitting to his wife’s disloyalty. Her desperation. 

Truthfully, you wish the shame was enough to stop, to call off this affair and refocus your affections. It wasn’t. 

“John,” You whimper as he presses his thumb into your spit soaked clit, pressing slow, messy kisses to the bare skin of your hip. He’s deliberate, circling the swollen nerves with the pinpoint precision bestowed upon an expert marksman. When your hips stutter upwards, seeking more friction, you feel the enamel of his teeth against your hip bone, a small smile pulling on his lips. 

“Yes, Love?” His answer is drawn out, voice husky, and it makes the walls of your pussy clench desperately. When you glance to him, his sapphire irises remain trained on the looseness of your jaw, the shapes your lips make when he drags his thumbprint jussst right–

“Oh my god,” you breathe, squeezing your eyes shut when he presses another tender, almost loving kiss to your stomach, his beard scraping your skin. Like flint striking stone, sparks skitter along your nerves, fizzling across synapses. “Fuck fu– don’t stop–”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” John’s tongue traces over the dip of your public bone, barely missing your clit and nearly reducing you to tears with how you want to kiss him– to tell him how hopelessly you love him. It’s twisted and fucked up and utterly deplorable but, oh, you love him. The tingling bliss at your clit pinpoints, and your eyes squeeze closed, your eyebrows pulling in, “Yeah, is that it? Come on, Love, That’s it. That’s it.” 

He tightens the circles he’s drawing on your throbbing clit, moving his thumb faster to close in on his target and relishing in the writhing of your body, the heaviness of your breathing and the tightness of your fingers in his cropped hair. You rock your hips to match his, your own pace stuttering as your arousal arcs violently.

Your walls squeeze around nothing, the tightly drawn circles rubbing against your clit practically snapping you in half with the force of your orgasm. It spiders through your limbs, prickling heat forcing your back from the mattress with a wail of John’s name. He kisses at your skin throughout the devastating flood of hormones, murmuring gentle encouragement. 

“That’s it, Love. So good for me.” 

You can’t deny it anymore, can’t refute the indisputable. You love him– utterly adore the man that practically lays himself at your feet in order to brighten your day. Given the bemused expressions his team would give him when you exited his office, you’d guessed such effort was abnormal for him. Reserved only for you– even if he knew you could never offer him the same unconditional affection. 

Glancing to your rings, wedding band and diamond engagement ring strewn haphazardly across the bedside table, the threat of tears prickles your eyes. 

“Hey,” you hear John mumble softly, his beard scraping your skin as he pressed gentle, loving kisses against your cheekbone, “Where’re you going? Need you here with me, Love.”

Closing your eyes for just a moment, you rid your mind of your husband. Shove the memory of him into a box in the far corner of your mind as you cradle the face of the man you love, offering him a gentle smile when you look into the sapphire of his irises. 

“I’m here,” you murmur. 

“Good,” he mumbles back, the edges of his eyes crinkling when you let out a soft gap, the head of his cock gently pushing inside of your slick pussy. 

cod mwii/kinktober taglist:

@mockerycrow @bubuslutty @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @levi-llama @thebiscuitsheep @maelstrom007 @alexxavicry @bug-sy-boy @glennrheesworld @kittenfrostt @luvfromkat @blingblong55 @whore4dilfs @wolfyland07 @doggydale @dog55teeth @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @whore-for-anime @i-love-ghost @cyberpr1m3 @mockerycrow @bubuslutty @lundenloves @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @babychoi03 @infectedkura @allekat1988 @whore-for-anime @soupbinsoup @passi0np1t @mockerycrow @cyberpr1m3 @i-love-ghost @allekat1988 @infectedkura @babychoi03 @freakquenci @maviee @yunggoblin @sleepystaarr @watyousayin @soupbinsoup @passi0np1t @damn-dean-blog @pheonyxmoon @magicalreviewphantom @limegreenbabx @johfaam0 @iaur @justsayk

@bloodmoon-bites @wiltedwonderland @doggydale @limegreenbabx @namelesshumanperson @ninahhh-brahh @km-ffluv @decaffeinateddinosauronearth @domaniquessidehoe2 @arrozyfrijoles23 @amisouki @sleepysheepsstuff @chunguk @lundenloves @marylovesdilfs @ninahhh-brahh @namelesshumanperson @limegreenbabx @doggydale @wiltedwonderland @justsayk @pennachilles @harrypotter-loveboat @skeleton-island

@mortallyuniquepeach @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @crybaby-blue-blog @heart-atttack @pansa-1-san @maviee @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @s-u-t @ghostslynx @solidly-indulgent @glitterypirateduck @gummyfang @bii-aan-ckaa @konigsblog @crissteetee

[justporo]

A Night of Song and Laughter (Part 2)

In which there happens to be some smut... which I didn't plan for in this part but Astarion is goddammn wicked and does what he wants (you go bby) - that includes making Tav squirm while being pinned against a random wall. You can also read this and more parts on AO3 already!

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Astarion/Fem!Tav (You)

These gifs are not mine btw... It's from here!

You were almost at the destination. Before the last turn and before the tavern came into view, you stopped just at the corner and softly tugged at Astarion’s arm. He turned to you and looked at you askingly: “What is it, my love? Weren’t you so keen to get here quickly.”

You bite your lip. Astarion’s gaze immediately drops to your lips. “Listen, you know, I just told you how I hung out very often at this place with my old crew. So uhm, it might be possible we run into them tonight.” You felt yourself getting nervous – you weren’t exactly sure how you felt of your plan all of a sudden. The vampire angled his head slightly to one side. “Soo?”, he drawled slowly and lifted an eyebrow.

“You know, it might be… weird”, you said and rolled your shoulders slightly. “You mean weird, because you just disappeared one day and now you just appear again with this stunningly beautiful man at your side, your incredibly smart and loving and cunning and witty soulmate”, Astarion started. You rolled your eyes at him but couldn’t help at how your cheeks probably flushed when he called the two of you soulmates. “Yes, kind of the weird, I meant”, you interrupted quickly before the pale elf could continue his self-praise. “I mean most of them would be cool about it, it’s not like we don’t all have our secrets or that some didn't disappear for some time, but…”, you bit your lip again.

Astarion pressed a kiss on your lips: “But what, darling? Don’t you think after all we’ve been through, we can’t get through meeting your old friends that might be a bit upset at you for being gone? And bringing a new acquaintance to the party?” “It’s just – if they’re here, Eodin is probably with them. And we kinda had a th- I mean he had a thing for me and we kinda also – you know – slept with each other a few times and… But I’ve never really been with him, like romantically – at least from my side, it was just sex and… like you said, you and I, we are soulmates… and the sex wasn’t even that goo…”, you started to blurt out.

Astarion’s eyebrows rose at this new revelation but his signature smirk quickly reappeared: “So, what you are telling me, is, that we might run into your old affair who – from what I think I caught from your rambling – might still be romantically interested in you.” While speaking, Astarion put his arms around you and pulled you closer. One of his hands moved up to your neck, fingers softly tangling in your hair, the other hand moving to your butt, clad in leather pants, and squeezing. “And who wasn’t even worth a mention so far because – as you just explained – it was just sex and at that even so unremarkable you probably didn’t even remember until just now.” You melted into his touch, his ruby eyes sparkled hungrily as he moved you back step for step until he had you with your back to the wall at the corner you stopped. He pinned your body against the stones and moved his right thigh between your legs to make you immobile. His one hand that was caressing your ass moved to lift your leg to wrap around his hips. His other hand curled into your hair and dragged your head back the slightest bit. You couldn’t help to let out a moan as his sudden change in demeanor. Your lips opened and you could feel how melting hot lava started to fill your core, your nipples, which pressed against his chest under your linen shirt, peaking. Astarion’s face was directly above you. He licked his lips slowly and smiled hungrily at you with an open mouth. You could clearly see his fangs shimmering in the light of the street lanterns. He groped your ass again, receiving another moan from you.

“I bet”, he continued and breathed out heavily. He was just as affected by this as you were – but he was in charge. “I bet, he couldn’t even get you as worked up in one whole night as I can in mere seconds, fully clothed and on the open street, my love.” He enunciated every single word but especially the last two. “Let alone make you come”, he drawled and grinned once more, his fangs being on full display. Then he kissed you – his mouth taking yours eagerly and making the heat inside you grow even hotter, manifesting itself in a pulsing sensation between your legs. His fingers in your hair sent shivers down your spine. You were like wax in his hands, gifting yourself to him willingly.

His sheer confidence and sudden possessiveness turned you on massively. And it was true – there never had been anyone like him. Not in the bedroom, but neither in your heart. No one compared to him.

“I don’t think being on the open street is the setback in this scenario, Astarion”, you whispered breathlessly, when he broke the kiss. The vampire threw his head back and laughed hoarsely. “Look at you, you’re full of surprises, aren’t you? Who would have thought you might be prone to some public fun?”, he whispered moving close to your pointy ear, his lips almost touching your skin. He shifted his right leg he still had between your legs to pin you against the wall which made you involuntarily grind against his thigh clad in black leather pants. You inhaled sharply at the sudden jolt of delicious friction. A thought about if he actually would dare to take you right there on the spot raced through your mind. But frankly, at the moment you couldn’t care less.

Astarion moved his lips from your ear to your neck while dragging your head back by your hair even more to gain better access to your throat. He could see your pulse drumming with excitement and arousal. The vein at your throat pulsating promisingly. He’d been rock hard since he had you pinned to the wall but this heightened his arousal even more, making his already painful erection twitch. The tought of having you, the thought of you trusting him so much, the thought of all you already gifted him and the thought that you were his – forever - he'd never felt like this before.

His eyes shone like gemstones while he stared at the display of your racing heartbeat. If he wanted to bite you, you’d let him. You’d not only gotten used to it but you’ve also both come to enjoy it as part of your nightly trysts from time to time. You’d had to admit a little pain had driven your pleasure to newly known heights.

Astarion savored the view of your delectable neck once more before he lifted his head and his eyes went back to yours. He licked his lips again and said: “As much as I’d love to devour you right here and now, my love –“, he moved to grab your other leg and lift you in his arms while your legs already moved to tangle around his hips “- It would ruin our primary plans for the night and I wouldn’t want you to give up on them.” He turned around and set you down on the floor again. You were shortly startled and also didn’t trust yourself to already stand on your own again after his quick demonstration of his talents.

“Also”, he continued, putting one finger under his chin in thinker pose “colour me more than intrigued now to get to know your former acquaintances”. He emphasized some of the words mockingly. “You know, to find out what the ‘competition‘“ – dramatically air-quoted the word “could possibly have on me.” He grinned another mockingly not very friendly grin that showed his canines prominently. Then he laughed and pulled you against him again, kissing you deeply again. But this kiss was not about sexual prowess, just showing you how deeply he felt for you. “Come on, darling”, he said in a deep and affectionate tone after the kiss while leaning his forehead against yours “lead the way.”

[evereverest2]

Little Monster - Terzomega

2.8k words ~ smut

Terzo asks Omega for another night together. Omega can’t stand his guts.

[warning: terzo is struggling and omega has no sympathy. this fic is pretty angsty and dark, so don’t read if you’re expecting comfort]

i decided to post this one.. i just couldn’t stop thinking about it.

[parts:] next

—

Omega stood idly in the back of the cathedral, listening to Secondo’s sermon. While was not obliged to be there, he liked the atmosphere of being in mass. Human-watching. Studying how they interacted with one another and the worship. Feeling their moods shift from listening to praying. If he just focused on one person praying, he could almost know their thoughts completely based on how their emotions shifted. Sad, hopeful, angered, desperate. He found the art of studying humans an interesting one, such complicated yet simple creatures.

“Enjoying yourself, Omega ghoul?”

Omega shut his eyes in annoyance. He should have sensed him coming.

“Can I help you, cardinal?”

Terzo stood by his side facing forward, but tilted his head at him. “You tease when you call me that. I missed you.” His voice dripped with the alcohol he abused. He smelled sweetly of wine.

“Not now.”

Terzo looked out at the congregation, avidly engaged with Secondo. “No one is looking, carissimo.”

“No.”

In all senses of the word, Omega hated Terzo. He wanted power but avoided responsibility. He was sloppy, useless, and did not have a strong loyalty to the Ministry. He often heard him spreading rumors among the siblings about his slightly older brother, Secondo. Talking to him was a chore in itself, though Omega was obliged to humor him.

“Secondo talks as loud as a garbage truck. They will not hear us, mostriciatto.”

“No.”

Omega suddenly felt his hand on his ass. He disciplined himself to stay still. Even staring straight ahead, he could see Terzo’s mischievous smirk in his mind’s eye. He gave him a decent squeeze.

Though Omega wished to kill him most days, they had been engaged in a secret, sexual tryst that Terzo often liked to invoke. That was what led Terzo to drag his sorry ass out of his quarters to beg Omega for attention.

“Let go,” he growled through grit fangs.

“Make me.”

“You’ll regret this.”

“Will I? Are you threatening your cardinal, mostriciatto?” Terzo teased.

Omega boiled with anger. “It’s not a threat if I do it.”

Terzo slyly moved his hand into his pocket, just barely able to feel the outline of Omega’s dick with the tip of his finger.

Omega seethed.

Terzo said, “Why do you not just come with me? Must you stay here?”

Omega was as silent as stone.

“Do not be like that, you are like a kitty who did not get his food.”

He was committed to his silence. Terzo tried to get his attention again, but Omega elected to walk away. He came towards the other side of the pews, partway to the front of the church where there were witnesses, and Terzo just stared at him from the back of the room. After a few minutes, he disappeared out the door.

Omega blew out a slow breath. Terzo was nasty when he was drunk, which was always.

What they had was circumstantial at best; a cardinal who took too much of a liking to a ghoul, finally convincing him one day to sleep with him. Like a dog fed scraps, he kept coming back with his needy eyes, begging for more. Omega saw little harm in indulging himself, especially when he could take out his anger and abhorrence of the cardinal on him. That was, as long as their affair could be concealed.

After mass, instead of mindlessly following Secondo around for the rest of the night, Omega surrendered to his lust and found himself standing outside the cardinal’s quarters, still in his uniform and mask. He knocked softly, looking carefully down the hallways, before stepping inside.

Terzo was on the ground in front of his couch, his head propped up on the side like he had slid off it. He wore a black suit, his dress shirt unbuttoned halfway, one sleeve rolled up, and his belt undone. He nursed a glass of red wine. Lying next to him was a spilled bottle.

“Omega ghoul,” Terzo murmured, staring at the glass in his hand. “My wine is on the floor.”

Omega, unphased by his intoxication, crossed the room and squatted over him. He grabbed Terzo’s throat, which made him look up.

“Clean it, then.”

His command was clear. The pathetic cardinal swallowed, and Omega roughly let go. Terzo took a drink, set his glass on the ground, and began licking the wine off the floor. Omega grabbed his head, pushing his nose into the hardwood. Terzo released a weak whimper, breathing harshly against the floor.

“Mostriciatto…”

Omega pulled him up by the hair, tilting his head to the side to look at him. He waited expectantly, watching stray red drops run down his cheek.

“You will not kiss me if I keep drinking the floor.”

“I don’t want to kiss you.”

He dropped his head roughly back to the ground. He whimpered.

“Keep cleaning,” Omega grunted.

Terzo’s pink tongue flicked from his lips again.

Terzo irritated Omega. Scum made better company than the drunk bastard skulking around the halls of the ministry. His intoxication made him hard for Omega to read, which annoyed him more that he could not glean his intentions. All he knew was he was oft horny, always drinking, and indignant of his position as cardinal—but only because he said as much.

Terzo started panting. Omega noticed he was shallowly grinding against the floor, clearly desperate for friction. Omega changed his position to kneeling next to him and used his other hand to slam his ass down, gripping tightly and keeping his hips still. His fingers dug into the fabric as hard as they could. Terzo groaned. He tried to thrust himself upwards, but Omega’s grip was strong, and tightened on his hair. He heard him gasp.

“Omega— Please— Let me go—“ Terzo gasped.

Reluctantly he did, realizing Terzo was choking. He rolled on his back and coughed harshly. The outline of his dick was clearly visible in his pants. Even while he gasped for air, he stared at Omega pleadingly. When he had settled, his hand subtly reached down to play with his own bulge.

Omega did nothing, just watched. Terzo got bolder, unbuttoning his pants, pulling them down just below his hips. Before he could reach the prize, though, Omega hoisted him up, carried him to the bed, and threw him on the mattress.

Terzo rolled to his stomach, steadying himself on his knees so that his ass was raised in the air, his pants falling around his thighs. His hand slipped between his legs, his fingers pressing against his asshole. He looked at Omega, his head lying against the bed, with hazy and needy eyes.

He was desperate.

Omega growled, “If you wanted to jerk off by yourself, you shouldn’t have teased me.”

Omega pushed him over, forcing him on his back. He yanked down his own pants and climbed over him. He dangled his dick over Terzo’s face, holding himself over him in what was almost a push-up. Terzo knew what to do, taking it in his mouth obediently. Omega rolled his hips and started fucking his mouth.

Terzo took it well. His hands exploded Omega’s lower half, his fingers slipping around his balls, thighs, and ass. The extra stimulation added to his grunts and moans.

Even as his chest rose more shallowly, as his fingers gripped more tightly, Omega did not let up. The human’s warm, wet mouth was doing wonders to satiate the risen passion burning within him. He knew Terzo had seduced him for his own desires, his need to be treated like shit. Strangers could not mistreat him as well as the hellish fury who he knew already hated him. It was a wonder why Omega bothered to keep coming at all. Perhaps he loved to torture Terzo. It was more vindicating than glaring at him behind the mask silently.

Terzo gripped his thighs, breathing harshly, clearly wanting relief. But Omega was close and he did not want to let up. His throat was a perfect and tight hole for his cock, even if it was choking him. Listening to Terzo struggling to breathe was getting Omega off even more. The more he gasped, the tighter he was.

How he despised him. Enough to cum down his already constricted throat.

Omega lifted himself up with a grunt, standing next to the bed and pulling his pants up. Meanwhile Terzo was doubled over spitting up cum on his bedsheets. He gagged as spit dripped from his mouth, retching like he was close to vomiting. Omega was indifferent.

It took a decent few minutes for Terzo to pull himself together. He laid on his bed, pants still down, his dick now soft from choking for so long. When he could breathe again, he whispered in a raspy voice, “Mostriciatto, will you give me my wine?”

Omega shook his head. Terzo crawled out of bed towards the couch where he had set his wine glass on the floor. He sat against the couch and took a long drink. When it was empty, Omega watched as he crawled to his coffee table to open another bottle, ass out and dick wagging. Not from a lack of shame, but a lack of awareness. He was wasted.

Omega was disgusted. This was the lowest that humanity had to offer. Terzo looked so pathetic he felt, for once, pity.

“Omega ghoul,” he slurred, crawling to again sit against the couch on the ground and pouring wine in his glass. “Will you touch me now?”

His dick noticeably twitched, growing to a half-on. Omega silently shook his head.

“Please.” He looked up at him, his arm swaying in the air before he took a drink. Omega denied him again, turning towards the door.

A sob. Omega stopped. Where before he had felt little through the veil of wine, now there was a surge of misery emanating from Terzo, so strong it strangled his heart. He turned to look at him again.

“You do not like me?” Terzo wailed. “Am I not handsome enough? Do I not choke down your dick? Mostriciatto, you think I am bad in bed, si? No! I am good, I am sexy!”

There was an anguish that ran much deeper than the superficialities he cried about, a pain that Omega had never sensed in him before. It went beyond his intoxication. It was something he hid. He could feel it twisting around every neuron, lurking behind his thoughts. It was impossible— how did he hide this from a quintessence ghoul?

Terzo continued to break down. He took another drink and began pumping his dick, which was not even hard. “I don’t need you for fun, ghoul! I am il maschio, I can do my own!”

He visibly was not into it, gripping onto himself without rise. He continued crying into his wine glass, and though he obviously could not get himself up, he continued to try.

Omega could not stand it any longer. He turned to leave again.

“Wait!”

Terzo scrambled behind him, his glass audibly clattering to the floor. As Omega reached the door, Terzo threw his body against him.

“Don’t leave, caramissio, don’t leave…”

Terzo’s snot and tears soaked into his shirt, to his annoyance.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Do not leave me.”

The sadness flooding from him was overwhelming, unfortunately triggering his sympathy for him. It must have been lonely to be Terzo. Omega knew the only attention he got was when he was spreading rumors and lies, that otherwise he went unnoticed in Secondo’s shadow. Omega was all he had— and Omega hated him.

He tentatively wrapped his arms around Terzo, who readily clung on to him in return, weeping against his chest. Omega gingerly rubbed his back and allowed him to cry.

After a few minutes, he seemed to calm down. Terzo pulled back slightly, looking up at him, his black eyes and lips smeared to all hell. He suddenly grabbed Omega by the crotch.

Omega’s eyebrows knit together in irritation. “Terzo…”

“Please, I want you, mostrichiatto. Just once tonight, fuck me up the ass.”

Omega felt the loathing return to him. Terzo was just a whore, in the end. But he would oblige, because he felt sorry for the pathetic cardinal.

“Fine.”

Omega lifted his slight frame and brought him back to the bed. Again, Terzo was quick to raise his ass in the air, his asshole puckering at Omega greedily.

Omega once again lowered his pants, gave himself a few strokes, knelt behind him, and shoved inside without prep or lube. Terzo groaned painfully, burying his head in his covers. Omega mercifully paused for his benefit, even reaching beneath him to start yanking on his cock.

Terzo tightened and relaxed around him, moaning. He bit his finger, body relaxing with pleasure. When he began pushing his hips back for friction, Omega began thrusting.

Terzo took up the task of stroking himself off so Omega could grip his love handles as he moved. He whined and panted, peeking at Omega over his shoulder. Even with his bizarre eyes, he looked desperately cute. Omega, feeling aggressive as a result, yanked Terzo’s shirt down around his shoulders and raked his claws down his back, just to see his skin turn red and bleed. Terzo moaned at the contact, his head disappearing into the bed again.

Omega grabbed him by the hair and yanked him upwards so that his back was pressed against his stomach. Holding him around the waist with one hand, touching his chest with the other, thrusting all the while. Omega slid his fingers against his nipples, rubbing and pinching them as Terzo whimpered. Terzo kept jerking off all the meanwhile, steeped in his sexual bliss, likely overstimulating himself just to make his mind go blank.

“Carissimo…”

Omega pushed him down again harshly, the bed bouncing with the force. He planted his elbows on either side of his shoulders and thrust quickly into his tight ass, which would clench with every change of movement. Terzo grabbed his wrist with one hand and let the other return to stroking after he had used it to catch himself.

“Carissimo…” Terzo moaned again. Omega did not like his pet names, said to him as if they were more than they were. He voiced his distaste with a bite to his shoulder, deep enough to draw blood. Terzo screamed in pain. He followed it up with harder thrusts, clapping against his body, almost making him lose the balance in his knees. So strong were his thrusts that Terzo started shouting his moans.

He felt Terzo’s arms quickening and could physically feel his orgasm build up in him. Omega focused, feeling the tense string of his arousal threatening to snap. When his mind had found it, he gripped it tightly, stopping him from his release.

It took the drunken Terzo awhile to realize. He was desperately yelling, mumbling incomprehensibly in Italian. He wanted to finish. Omega could feel it take over every cell in Terzo’s body. He wanted the release. He wanted to think of nothing but the floods of chemicals in his mind.

But he didn’t let him.

“You’ll cum when I’m finished,” Omega grunted between thrusts.

Terzo had neither the words nor the capacity to deny him.

Omega had his way with the little man, biting him once more just to hear his pain. The cardinal was a bitch, but he was his bitch. No matter the strange surge of pain and misery Omega had felt from him, no matter his need to be drunk at almost all times, no matter the way he clung to Omega and begged for his companionship. Terzo was nothing. Omega was just using him; That was all they were. Terzo liked it this way. He liked to be hurt by him.

Right?

Omega came again with another vicious bite, and mercifully released his mind hold on Terzo. Terzo jolted with him, and they came together, dripping in synchrony, sighing as one. Again, Omega was quick to stand and pull up his pants, ready to leave at the first opportunity, even if his legs felt more weak than before. He adjusted his mask, his shirt, righting himself until it looked as if nothing has happened at all.

“Omega ghoul…” Terzo said softly, having collapsed on his stomach. “…Will you stay?”

His back and shoulders looked as if he had survived an encounter with a lion. Perhaps he had.

“No.”

He was steely, silent. Terzo was quiet for a moment.

“May I have my wine?”

Omega, haven given up, grabbed the bottle near the couch and handed it to him. Terzo sat up to drink, his eyelids heavy as he gazed at him.

“Please…?” he murmured slowly.

Omega shook his head. He had already stayed longer than he wanted. Holding Terzo all night was too far for what they were.

Nothing. They were nothing.

He took a swig, shaking his head. “Mostriciatto, you asshole.”

Omega took that as his cue to leave, and this time, Terzo did not stop him. He heard the bottle thunk to the ground as he left. Terzo had passed out. Omega did not turn back.

[parts:] next

buy me a kofi <3

[haztory]

[Rain, for good luck.]

⤷ johnny "soap" mactavish x f!reader; wedding fluff (w.c 1.5k)

a.n: i cannot stop thinking about a wedding with johnny. here you go

It’s a simple affair, probably at your own insistence, probably in theme considering the equally simple proposal. A presentation of a ring on an early Tuesday morning in your kitchen, your hair messy, sleep still on your breath as you brew two cups of coffee for you and him. He’s on his knee, then. Smiling wide in his sleep shorts, more sure of this than he could have ever been sure of anything. 

The notice of marriage is sent to the registrar that week, a date for your elopement picked for six months later. 

You’re able to squeeze a booking for a country estate beside a lake and it's perfect. Only immediate family and a few of your closest friends are in attendance, the same for Johnny. Your friends bunking in rooms together with his friends, your families closer than they have ever been before, laughter filling the estate as they all come to celebrate the weekend of your wedding. The smile never ceases from Johnny’s face and despite the chaos that comes with the whirlwind decision to get married (and the endless teasing accusations of a hidden pregnancy, of which you vehemently deny and he seems to smugly not deny), Johnny has never looked more content. 

The day of is an exciting blur, beautiful nonetheless. Cloudy, but the sun beams brightly behind them as a slow breeze sways through the estate. You awake in your bridal suite alone until you’re quickly joined by the number of women who flit and bounce through your room in elation. Your bridal party fusses over your makeup, adjusting pieces of your hair lightly to fit the style you want, crying tears of joy all the while. Your dress lays elegantly pressed in its protective sleeve on the neatly made bed, your shoes sitting beside it. 

It’s a snapshot of a moment, delight tangible and permeating. It breathes through the room, light and airy, the anticipation of it—of marrying him— an addictive high that you inhale with deep breaths and hold steady within the locket of your heart. Your dress sits, almost beckoning you into its awaiting caress; Into the future that waits for you in the love and embrace of the man who could hardly delay until dawn broke before asking you to be his forever. You reach for it, letting the long awaited hold consume you—it’s a sweet and dreamy becoming. The softness of the built love enveloping you in the tendrils of its blossoming, and your mother remarks with a teary smile that you are glowing.

You’re walking down the aisle an hour later. Johnny stands at the end, dressed in the ceremonial regimental uniform, and the smile—the same smile that’s been plastered on his face the whole weekend since you arrived at the estate, the same smile that greets you every morning and night—falters in place when his eyes land on yours. It turns watery, and the breath that he takes upon seeing you is heavy. He’s quick to wipe his eyes with his thumb, but you see it even from the distance. 

You’re married soon thereafter. Pledges exchanged, vows uttered sacredly to one another as only those who matter look on you. Even then, it feels like it’s just you two; You and Johnny standing beside the lake as nature sings her blessing into the union, and grants permission for man to kiss his bride. And you’ve kissed Johnny before, many times before, and yet, this one is different. It stills earth and life to this moment; all that could be transforming holy within the second, transcending beyond this plane of existence and into the next. A formidable, stilling, precious moment. 

You become his, he becomes yours. Forever. 

Even when a light drizzle of rain falls upon you in the seal of the kiss, the sky turning a darkening gray in a split second, nothing tramples the becoming. As rain falls harder and your guests run back into the stone house with screeches of shock and surprise on their tongues, you and Johnny fall into a suspended laugh. 

“We should go with them.” You tell your husband—husband— as your veil sticks to you like second skin now from the wet and the point in your heels begins to sink into the mud of the grass. 

“Let’s stay out here.” He tells you, one arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer to him, the other hand cupping the side of your face. Droplets drip down his nose in the downpour, but the grin grows even wider as he leans forward for another kiss, “I wan’ tae enjoy my wife.”

Shared kisses turn feverish in a slow burn, Johnny pulling more and more from the depths of you as his hold tightens and you both stand alone to bask in the luck of your joy. Eternity could be spent out here, and you suppose maybe that’s what marriage is all about. Only when you are called inside by your respective families—”Get oot o’ the rain, ye eejit lovebirds!” His sister had yelled— do you return to the realm of mortals, of simple reality. 

Singing, and dancing, and speeches, drinks spilled and stomachs clenching in on themselves as full bellied laughter turns to painful wheezing. Johnny’s sisters crowd around you, blubbering at how grateful that their bawbag of a brother caught someone like ye, your parents charmed evermore as Johnny sits beside them and talks their ears off about the the history of this particular part of the country, and you catch from the corner of your eye two shared friends of yours finally making their move on one another. Caught in the wistfulness of romance, they lean close to one another and you make a mental note to tell Johnny that he now owes you ten foot massages.

The reception is the gateway to the rest of your life—and it's wonderful.

The party goes well into the night and when you return to your bridal suite, Johnny is in tow. Your heels are held in his hand and his suit jacket is draped over your shoulders. Giggles peter out into tired sighs and he flops onto your bed with little reservation when you open the door. 

“We should consummate.” He mutters to the ceiling, eyes closed as you unlace his dress shoes and tug them off. He heaves a great breath of relief when they’re off of his feet, “Lemme make a real woman out o’ ye.”

“How romantic.” You laugh, tossing his shoes to the side before falling on top of him, nuzzling your own tired head into the crook of his neck, inhaling the faded scent of his cologne and the warmth of his own musk. His hand caresses your back, following a familiar pattern of tracing onto your spine. “Think I was already a real woman before you met me, though.”

“Aye, ‘s probably why I liked ye so much.”

You hum amusedly and sweet silence befalls the two of you. Slow breaths of honeyed happiness that dips into the steady cadence of welcome sleep. You’re halfway to dozing off entirely when he pats you gently, whispering about a bath. He takes the lead, unzipping your dress and laying it with considerable care on the bed before drawing yourself and him into the shower. He washes you both as you lean against him, the warm spray and the soothing strokes of his hands on your neck, your shoulders, your back, lull you deeper into him, deeper into the embrace of sleep.

You awake the next morning to the filtered light of gentle sunlight in your eyes. It’s hard to fight the stickiness of slumber, especially since you know that you have nothing pressing on the agenda for today—but in the stretch of your body against the sheets warmed with rest, your foot touches that of another; And you realize, you haven’t woken up alone this time. 

Your husband—husband!—sleeps soundly beside you; His hair is pulled in tufts that you know he’ll soon shave back to his signature mohawk come deployment time, deep breaths exhale from his slightly open mouth, the sheets tangled between his legs as one rests in the cool air of the room and the other lies next to yours underneath the duvet. 

It’s quiet in the estate, hardly anyone awake or moving just yet as you sit up in your bed, surveying the state of the room in the glow of a peaceful morning. Johnny’s suit is crumpled by the bathroom floor, your bouquet and other gifted flowers decorate the surfaces around the suite, and your dress lays worn and loved at the foot of the bed, white chiffon spilling over his exposed foot and onto the footbed. 

This is the rest of your life. An eventful night; a romantic sight. Youthful longing and late-night fantasies suddenly forgotten worries as they are fulfilled in this moment alone.

You fall back into the bed, attaching yourself into Johnny’s side and breathing him in. 

“Still need to make an honest woman o’ ye, Mrs. MacTavish.” A glance upward reveals that his eyes are still closed. You fix yourself into him deeper, wrapping your arm around his bare chest as you lay your head against him. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you in tighter. 

“‘m counting on it, Mr. MacTavish.”

He smiles and you both return to the homecoming of sleep as rain begins to tap gently on the windows of your life together.

(Rain, for good luck.) 

[pastshadows]

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 14: Peril

Summary: After a year of blissful cohabitation, Astarion disappears without a trace, leaving behind a heartfelt letter explaining his departure. Determined to find him, you traverse Faerûn in search of your lost love, only to realize that some absences are meant to be permanent.

Returning to Waterdeep, you find solace in the company of Gale as you come to terms with Astarion's absence. But just as you begin to heal, Astarion reappears, begging for a second chance at love.

The question looms: can you forgive his abandonment and trust him once more? As you grapple with your emotions and trauma, a sinister force lurks in the shadows, targeting you for unknown reasons.

With danger closing in, you must navigate the treacherous waters of trust, love, and betrayal to uncover the truth behind the mysterious entity's motives. Will you be able to reunite with Astarion while facing the demons of your past? Can you unravel the secrets that threaten your very existence?

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 6.3K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.]

Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [Implied/attempted sexual assault: Chapter 7]. Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions. Panic attacks. Anxiety.

Time itself moves sluggishly as the spawn descend upon the petrified, screaming miscreants that share your cell. Your heartbeat thuds in your chest, fighting your ribs like striking bolts of lightning. You steel yourself against the rising panic, wrapping yourself in unflappable poise and watch for your opening.

As soon as the wave of spawn crashes and parts, you squeeze Hecat’s hand to signal her it’s time to move and bound through the gap. The corridor is a catastrophe, the stones painted in fresh crimson, bodies of guards ripped open, with their raw innards spilling out like gruesome garlands wreathing the walls. Hecat pales at the sight, dry heaving, but you’ve long become acquainted with such nightmarish affairs.

You tug Hecat along behind you, bare feet smacking the stone with such force it sends jolts of pain charging up your legs as your bones shudder with the impact of every step. That is nothing compared to the acute, explosive pain stabbing your chest with every inhalation.

Hecat stops, acquiring a shield and sword from a fallen guard. The blood makes the stone slick, and every step must be taken carefully. You cannot afford to fall. A stumble will almost surely mean death. Spawn that have finished their meals are starting to take notice. Hecat deflects them with her shield, stabbing with her sword when she has an opening and keeping you safely behind her.

The passageways are labyrinthine, confused tangles of convoluted twists and turns that sometimes double back or arrive at dead ends unexpectedly. Tears are creeping out of the corners of your eyes, dallying down your grimy, red cheeks from the agony radiating from your ribs with every expansion of your lungs. Panic starts to crumble the blanket of calm, surging through you as you frantically dart through the shadowy, disorienting hallways. The angry army of thudding footfalls of the spawn in pursuit echoes through the corridors.

Bounding up a dim stairway, the hilt of a dagger peeks out from between the joints of armour, nestled into the corpse of a guard. You yank it out with a quick tug, but time is not on your side this night. A spawn grasps your ankle, its clawed fingers sinking into your flesh and jerks you off your feet. Your head bounces off the stone slab stair, peppering your vision with black sparks of dazing pain. The only thing you can see through your muddled sight is those glowing eyes. You lash out with the dagger and sink it deeply into the socket. As soon as you’re released, Hecat is already towing you back to your feet, pulling you up the stairs and into the next room.

The milky eyes and pallor of bloodless bodies greet you. The undead in this part of the prison seem to roam, unsure of their orders, but as soon as the thudding of your heart is heard, their heads snap in your direction. They swarm around you like enraged bees. Despite Hecat’s exhaustion, she is unwavering. Her sword slashes through the air, shield deflecting the snapping fangs and shredding claws.

You feel the pangs of irritation at your uselessness. Your magic, once your greatest weapon, is now a prison in its own right. The vampires press in closer, surrounding you like a pack of ravenous wolves, their movements orchestrated by an unseen hand, but they don’t move to attack further as they corral you.

“What are they doing?” Hecat pants with wild eyes, frantically searching for an escape.

“I don’t know.”

A red aura shifts around the spawn, the same one Cazador used to control Astarion’s sibling during their midnight visit to your camp. They part for a tall, pallid figure that appears seemingly from the shadows.

“Nice to see you again, Sorceress,” it speaks. You recognize that voice, and your heart arrests in your chest, sinking into your stomach.

Aldous.

Your mind reels, trying to make sense of what you’re seeing. No. He is dead. You watched the life be abducted from his eyes yourself. Yet, he stands before you, pale as death with glowing crimson eyes. His face splits into that repellent smile, and his cackling resounds off the walls.

“That one.” He points at you, “She is to be taken alive. The Tiefling matters not.”

“What the fuck,” Hecat breathes.

“I’ll be seeing you soon, Sorceress,” Aldous laughs, hysterical and bone-chilling. “And your fanged friend. I cannot wait to drain you dry in front of him.”

A harrowing scream tears from your throat, a melody of rage and sorrow as Aldous disappears in a burst of red, drawn home by his unknown master. Grabbing Hecat’s hand, you eye a door and dash toward it with renewed vigour. The vampire’s claws and fangs pierce your skin as you burst through the legion. You stab and slash with reckless abandon, sinking the dagger into anything that attempts to halt you.

Hecat and you stumble into the room and try to close the door on writhing arms and legs. Hecat lashes out with her sword, severing limbs from bodies obstructing it until it slams shut and locks.

“Help me!” Hecat yells as she throws a table over. You help barricade the door with whatever is available.

“They want you?” Hecat snaps, levelling the sword at you, “Who the fuck are you, dragon girl, and why the fuck do they want you alive?”

You’re doubled over, hands on your thighs, trying to inhale as much air as your lungs can possibly take, but the splitting pain in your side hampers your ability to catch your breath.

“I don’t know,” you retort venomously, eyeing the sword and Tiefling.

“That one knows you,” she hisses, shifting her stance and getting ready to strike. “Who the fuck is he?”

“A dead man,” you sigh, pushing your hair from your eyes. “I killed him. Apparently, it didn’t stick.”

“You’re a murderer?!” She gasps, bringing the steel blade to your neck.

“Yes,” you growl, unbothered by the threat.

Hecat laughs, withdrawing her blade, “I would not have thought you possible of such a heinous crime.” She winks, “I like you even more now.”

You cannot help but choke out a pained laugh, but it’s more of a groan than anything. You look around. Waxy moonlight floods the room from a small window. It’s the first window you’ve seen, but bars in a crisscross pattern make escape impossible, and the wood door is starting to splinter and crack under the barrage rattling it on its hinges.

A sudden shift in the atmosphere makes your skin prickle as the dam of suppression is released, and the Weave returns to you in an overwhelming deluge. You don’t have time to wonder why or how, and you don’t much care. The Weave causes the air to crackle, abuzz with powerful energy, and you fill yourself with it. You grip the iron and allow the potency of your draconic fire to spill out of you with a daunting laugh you cannot stifle. The bars heat, whine and wail, glowing white-hot and oozing, and Hecat thrusts her sword into the gooey mess of molten metal to clear your path.

The moon hangs high in the sky, casting an eerie glow upon the building, and the air is brisk as you clamber onto the roof. You cast Shatter, crumbling the stone around the window to block the pursuing spawn.

“That’s some potent magic you have there,” Hecat grins. “I’ve never seen anyone melt metal with their hands before.”

Her words of praise float over you as you eye the raging war of the courtyard below. Some guards remain alive, fighting another horde of spawn descending on the grounds. From the height, you can see beyond the solid walls surrounding the compound, and your feet move unconsciously, eyes skipping over the landscape - searching, searching, searching…

There.

“We could jump,” Hecat says hesitantly, peering over the edge.

“No,” you bark with a smile. “We fly. Follow me.”

You cast Fly, taking her hand and soar into the air. Hecat yelps at the suddenness of your movement and clings to you. You cannot quite reach your target before your feet hit the soft, muddied terrain. Spawn trample the ground, careening toward you like a blight on the land. Hecat stands in front of you, but you are muzzled no longer.

“Detono!” You howl, and the wave of crackling energy bowls the spawn over.

You cast Fireball and rain blazing death, warping the fire into flames that burn blue, bending it to your will. Your fingers dance in the moonlight, under stars that envy how bright you burn. Hecat stands at the ready, prepared and reinvigorated, but with unfathomable rage, you don’t miss. With every step, every twitch of your fingers, every syllable that brushes off your tongue, you are violence, you are slaughter, you are death incarnate.

It feels magnificent. Exhilarating. You are so wonderfully, splendidly fucking alive.

Whatever spawn remain have begun to retreat, much to your displeasure, disappearing in puffs of red mist, back to whatever hole they crawled out of.

“Kamena!” Strong arms wrap around you, lifting you off the ground, and pressing you tightly to firm, sculpted muscles. You would do anything to stay in this embrace but the pain in your ribs forces a pained cry from your lips, and Astarion jerks away from you.

Hecat screams, charging forward with her blade levelled at Astarion before you have time to explain. Astarion dodges swiftly and has one blade to Hecat’s throat and the other pressed firmly to her stomach before you can blink.

“Astarion, don’t,” you wheeze, shaking your head. “She helped me escape. Hecat, this is my friend.”

“Friend?” Hecat barks as Astarion releases her with a skeptical frown, and she reels back. “You failed to mention that your friend is also a fucking vampire.”

“Astarion is a person,” you growl. Without the adrenaline rocketing through your veins, your injuries and weariness have begun to take their toll on your body, and you stumble.

Astarion catches you, “You’re injured?”

“Her ribs are broken, I think,” Hecat replies for you. “The guards did not treat her well.”

“Shadowheart!” Astarion bellows and slightly lifts the hem of your shirt, revealing the edges of mottled blue, black and yellowing bruise expanding up your side. “Good Gods, my love.”

“I’m fine.” You bring Astarion’s eyes to yours, gazing into the scarlet sea you have longed to swim in. It almost makes it past you, but your brows furrow, “Did you just call for Shadowheart?”

A hand lays on your shoulder, and blue magic laves away the cutting pain in your side, “This was supposed to be a nice, boring vacation,” Shadowheart tuts, nose rising into the air with a snort. “I should have known better than to think you might be able to keep yourself out of trouble.”

“Shadowheart!” You pivot, wrapping your arms around her. “Gods. I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” She drawls, returning the hug gently.

“Where is the wizard?” Astarion asks, “We should get her home. She smells terrible.”

Shadowheart chuckles with Astarion as you frown at them. “She really does. If I can smell her, I can’t imagine how bad she smells to you, vampire.”

“Be glad you can’t,” Astarion wrinkles his nose at you but sweeps you off your feet and into his arms, kissing your forehead.

“Take her home,” Shadowheart instructs. “I’ll wait for Gale.”

The conversation between them starts to sound far away as lethargy drags at your mind.

“What do we do about this one?” Astarion gestures to Hecat.

“Leave her with me,” Shadowheart concludes with a tinge of threat. “She can bring me up to speed on exactly what in the Hells is going on around here while we wait for Gale.”

“She helped me,” you murmur. “Be nice, Shadowheart.”

Shadowheart smirks, “Aren’t I always nice?”

“Wake up.”

“No,” you grumble, forcing your eyes open.

“Yes.” Astarion purrs with cold breath on the shell of your ear that sends delightful shivers down your spine. “You are not crawling into our bed smelling like a flophouse latrine.”

You giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your body tightly to him. He tries to tug you away half-heartedly between his grunting protests, but there’s no real force behind his playful pulling.

“Now, you smell, too!” You chime as he sets you back on your feet and starts drawing a bath.

“Naughty girl,” Astarion smirks, chuckling.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the gilded mirror. Your hair is matted and dingy with grime. Filth streaks your face, dulling your complexion. Your shirt, once a pale blue, has been rendered brown, stained with dirt and blood that’s both new and long dried.

Movement behind you catches your eyes, whisking them away from your reflection. Bottles of oils float through the air, appearing to move on their own as Astarion pours oils into the water, and notes of lavender, sandalwood, and vanilla arise with the steam. This is something you’ve never gotten used to. Objects seemingly floating, as if picked up by a breeze and carried aloft of their own free will.

“Odd, isn’t it?” Astarion says, moving your hair and bringing you back from your contemplations.

“What?”

“No reflection.” Astarion’s cool fingers curl into the hem of your shirt, and you lift your arms, allowing him to peel the disgusting garment from your body, “Objects moving on their own, a ghost underdressing you.”

“A little,” you admit. “I just don’t understand how you always look so fucking perfect all the time.”

“Oh,” he giggles, turning you around, hooking his fingers in your waistband, and crouching. “Do go on.”

You put your hands on his shoulders, leaning some of your weight into him while he strips you, lifting one leg at a time, “I missed you."

“I missed you, too. Very much.” He says, taking your hand in his, “Come. Into the bath with you before it gets cold, and you chastise me.”

Climbing into the steaming water is like climbing into a sun-soaked dream. How very odd is it you can forget how your skin feels when it’s clean. As you slough off the dirt, blood and filth, the pads of your fingers do not recognize the buttery softness of your skin without the grainy texture.

“Tilt your head back,” Astarion instructs. He pours hot water over your head, fingers gently detangling your matted hair, lathering it with soap.

The bruise extending up your side is still faintly visible, staining your skin in hues of blue and yellow, and your fingers skate up, poking and prodding.

“What happened in there?” Astarion brushes the backs of his fingers gently down the marbled skin.

“The guards had a bone to pick with me,” you shrug, trying to cover the solemnity of the conversation with a pleasant smile. “I don’t wish to talk about it right now, Astarion.”

“Kamena…” Astarion sighs with a sullen shake of his head.

You press your fingers gently under his chin, bringing his eyes to yours. Gods. When he looks at you, it is not a glance. It is a song, a message, a constellation of promises wrapped in scarlet, and you never want to look away.

“I’m not running, Astarion.” You assure him, “I will tell you all about it, but tonight, can we just be us?”

Astarion smiles, nodding his understanding, “Of course.”

“Thank you.”

Astarion’s fingers massage your scalp as he washes the soap from your hair, rinsing it until the water finally runs clear.

“Do we have wine?” You ask on a whim.

“Gale does,” Astarion grins momentarily, but his lips press into a thin line. “Is this celebratory drinking or “it’s better to forget” drinking?”

You wince at the question. You know it’s not exactly the healthiest way to deal with your problems. You are tempted to lie to him but force the truth from your lips, “A little of both?”

“I can live with that, I suppose,” Astarion nods, helping you stand and wrapping a plush towel around you, patting you dry. You smile as he dotes on you, “I know where the wizard hides the good stuff. I will go raid his cellar.”

Slipping into one of Astarion’s shirts, you light the fire with naught but a thought. It feels good to have your magic back after being deprived of it for so long. You grip the Weave, pulling the mystical essence from your blood and bones, and it feels like taking a deep breath after you didn’t realize you were holding it. Fire spurts out of your palm, and you fashion it into a ring, forcing the flames to move unnaturally as they chase each other around in a never-ending loop.

You lift the flaming ring above your head, hovering between your palms like a fiery halo, and force it to expand and contract simply because you can.

“Did no one ever teach you it’s dangerous to play with fire, Sorceress?”

“Perhaps for the untrained, Rogue,” you smirk, snap your fingers, and the halo bursts like a firework, pinpricks of fire whirling around you.

You let the fire ebb and die out slowly, relinquishing your magic with a sorrowful sigh. The Weave fills you with life, comfort and peace. Without it, you’re thrust back into a stark reality. Astarion hands you a glass, and you grab the bottle and wink as you drink deeply. The wine is a crisp white wine, buttery with hints of vanilla. It sparkles on your tongue and fizzes down your throat, and you cannot help but close your eyes at the pleasure of it all after drinking brown-tinged water for a week.

“Shall we sit, or would you prefer to keep standing in the middle of the room?”

“Gods,” you smirk, handing the bottle to Astarion and trotting over to the bed. You flop onto it gracelessly. “Let’s drink in bed! I’ve been sleeping on stone for a week, and this is lovely, but it’s missing something.”

“And what’s that, my dear?” Astarion cocks his head handsomely with a boyish smile that tells you he knows exactly what you think it’s missing.

“You!”

“In that case,” Astarion giggles and removes his shirt. He thrusts the wine bottle into your hands. Your fingers fumble to catch it, senses entirely possessed by him, “We might as well get comfortable, yes?”

“Yes,” you breathe, swallowing thickly.

Astarion saunters around the bed, discarding pieces of clothing along the way. He makes it look casual, unpremeditated, but it’s maddeningly slow.

“You’re a tease,” you mutter under your breath, sipping the wine and slipping out of your shirt.

“I am not!” He chuckles, “You’re just exceptionally impatient. Good things come to do who wait, sweetheart.”

“Do they?” You quirk a brow at him, “I’m not so sure about that. Do you have proof of this notion?”

“I waited two hundred years for you.” Astarion purrs as the bed dips under his weight, and he presses his body against your back, wrapping his arms around you.

“I love you,” you murmur, craning your head to look at him, slipping your fingers into his hair.

“I love you, too. I should not have let the wizard talk to me into leaving you in there so long. I—“

“Not tonight, Astarion.” It sounds like a whimpering plea, “Please."

“Right. Apologies,” he rasps, lips against your neck.

“Have you been eating?”

“Always so worried about me,” his lips twitch into a smile. “I’m fine.”

Perhaps he is fine, but you are most certainly not. Suddenly, you’re impacted with a deep-seated need to feel that intimacy, that descent through the branches of his veins. You want to bleed into him, your soul and his, intertwined as one. The intensity of the emotion catches you off guard.

Are you chasing the bloodless daze that his feedings provide? Are you hoping it will lay a shroud over the dread sinking your stomach? Is this another way to run?

Maybe.

But you are so good at running.

“Would you like a nibble?” You bite your lower lip, trying to keep the hint of anticipation from your voice.

Astarion jerks his head up, pushing your shoulder until you’re lying on your back and looking up at him with an arched brow. He regards you thoughtfully, “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea tonight.”

“Why?”

Astarion rifles his fingers through his hair, “You are well aware of the effect you have on me when I feed on you. I cannot promise that once your blood dawns on my tongue, your skin under my fingertips, I won’t lose myself in the need to make every inch of you mine.”

You wrap an arm around Astarion’s neck carefully, kissing along his jaw. You whisper in his ear, “So make me yours.”

Astarion shudders amorously as you ghost your lips over the ridge of his ear to the tapered tip. He grabs your waist with a low, rumbling growl, pulling you into his lap to straddle him. His desire for you pressed firmly against your already slick sex. Astarion looks deeply into your eyes, holding you still as if trying to figure out if you’re in your right mind.

You’re trying to figure out the same thing.

He catches your lips in his, gentle at first but with progressively more ferocity. He groans into your mouth. It radiates down your spine, stealing your breath, and a chill rushes through you, settling in your core. Your heart flutters with desire, the increasing drumbeat of it making its way between your thighs.

Astarion’s hand grips your hips, undulating them, his cock sliding between your folds, brushing up against your swollen flesh. You have been so fundamentally deprived of his affection that every touch sends shivers over your skin, every slide of his tongue against yours makes you want to sigh, and every groan steals the air from your lungs.

His fingers tease the peaks of your nipples, and you throw your head back and gasp. Astarion kisses up the column of your throat, his free hand cradling the back of your head, fingers twisted in your hair.

There’s but a moment of clarity. You are running headfirst, barrelling into anything that might hope to make you numb - him, pleasure, alcohol, bloodlessness.

Astarion’s fingers glide between your lips and sweep over your sensitive pearl, and coherence is lost in a white-hot rush of pleasure. You melt, draping your arms over him and biting his shoulder to hush your cries. His lips trace along your neck, and you roll your head to the side. His fangs sink into your flesh, and he growls, deeply and lofty, his chest rumbling against yours as if thunder was rolling through it. Your essence trickles through his veins like a gentle rain as he draws in methodical sips, savouring every drop.

Your hips buck as he continues his ministrations. You yearn to feel that decedent stretch of your walls as they envelop his cock, and he knows it. Astarion encourages you to lift your hips, pressing the swollen, blunt head of his cock to your entrance, and you sink down his length as he rubs against all your ridges so exquisitely that it makes your vision blur.

You don’t even notice his fangs retreat from your neck as his lips mould to yours to dampen your unadulterated breathy moans. You close your eyes and fade in and out as your head spins around with pleasure so intense you cannot think straight. The woozy fog of blood loss only adds to your dwindling reason and logic. With every pump of his hips and every roll of yours, you are walking on the fine edge of paradise.

But there’s something not quite right in his movements. They are tactical, methodical, and too perfect. You drive your eyes open, blinking away that haze of ecstasy. When you look into Astarion’s eyes, he’s not looking back at you. He’s looking past you as if through you, but his body knows this dance well enough, and he continues to go through the motions even when he’s a million miles away.

You go rigid, halting all movement in a split second, and your heart seizes, bound by the flash freeze in your chest. It jolts him back to himself, and he blinks rapidly, almost confused.

“Astarion,” you purr, concealing the hurt in your voice. Why didn’t he tell you? Why didn’t he say something as he promised he would? “Let's stop.”

“No,” he protests, shaking his head. “I’m fine.”

“It’s okay, my love.” You cradle his cheek, trying very hard not to move a muscle until he tells you, “Tell me when I can move.”

“I’m sorry,” he looks away from you, brows downturned, rubbing his eyes. “I want this. You. I was there, and then I just… wasn’t. I don’t know what happened.”

“Healing is messy. Isn’t it?”

“You are a gift,” Astarion folds his arms around you, hugging you close to him, and you try to hug him back, but it’s admittedly awkward when he’s still inside you, and you’re trying your best to keep yourself still. He laughs, “You can move, Kamena. I’m not uncomfortable.”

“You’re still inside me,” you retort, almost as if to alert him to this fact.

“Yes, that’s considerably obvious, but thank you for pointing it out,” he chuckles as you relax slightly. “Do you think we could stay like this? Just for a little bit? I find it… strangely helpful.”

This is new. Not unwelcome, but definitely new, “You want to sit here with your cock inside me, and what, chat?”

“Precisely!” He chimes happily, leaning back with a grin, “I’m so glad you understand, darling. Hells. Do I have some stories for you! Do you know how hard it is to break into the government buildings here? They are locked up tighter than a patriar’s purse, but I do love a good challenge.”

You can’t help but burst laughing at his carefree attitude, the way he’s still rock hard inside you, talking about committing crimes as if you were sitting at a table sharing stories over dinner and drinks. This is not typically how you remember him reacting, but this… this is progress, and you will take it.

You groan, “Why were you breaking into the civil buildings, Astarion?”

“How do you think Gale knew where to find and nullify the device suppressing magic at the prison?” Astarion drawls, pleased with himself. “That man is terrible at stealth. Even worse than you. He complained about his knees the entire time! Gods. I am centuries older than him, and you don’t see me bellyaching.”

“How utterly annoying! I’m surprised you didn’t kill him,” you giggle at how he smirks with a wily glint in his crimson eyes. He definitely considered it. “In that case, you’re going to have to take me on a date where we break into this government building that gave you a hard time. This is something I must see.”

“You cheeky little minx,” he laughs. “I would love nothing more.”

The murmur of voices, clinking of cutlery on the tableware, and smell of what is surely Gale’s cooking drift down the hallway as you approach. Astarion follows closely behind, his hand at the small of your back. He has not stopped touching you in some fashion since you returned, as if he’s worried that you might disappear.

You stop dead in your tracks when you see the back of Hecat’s head, sitting at the table, shovelling whatever gruel Gale provided into her mouth and nodding as he recounts tales of your grand adventure in the Underdark. It takes substantial effort not to tell Gale to shut his trap. He does realize that you met this person in prison, right?

Shadowheart sees you first, leaping from her chair and dashing over, sweeping you into a tight hug, “Gods. You smell much better,” she giggles when you groan and squeeze her hard enough to expel some air from her lungs, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you nod, but you haven’t been able to take your gaze, etched with skepticism off Hecat.

Shadowheart whispers, “She had nowhere else to go. Gale invited her.”

You snort, “Of course he did.”

“I’ve been watching her closely,” Shadowheart sniffs. “And I will continue to do so.”

You suppose the woman was instrumental in your escape, and perhaps, for now, you should give her the benefit of the doubt.

“Sit,” Astarion instructs, pulling a chair out for you. “I will get you some food.”

You arch a brow at him and give him an almost imperceptible shake of your head. Although anything will be better than the stale bread and dried meat the prison served, whatever Gale has fashioned resembles wet dog food, and your stomach, as hungry as it is, flops in your belly.

Astarion kisses your temple, “Trust me.”

You sit, and Astarion gathers fresh fruit from the fridge, cutting it up in deft, precise movements. He glares at the knife spitefully, assessing the edge and rolling his eyes. You would giggle, knowing he’s judging Gale for the state of his knives, if you were not so flabbergasted that Astarion is preparing your food.

Hecat’s voice breaks you from your astoundment, “You clean up nicely! I almost forgot what colour your hair was under all that crud.”

She, too, looks substantially different without dirt smudged on her face, “I could say the same about you,” you retort a little too sourly.

Hecat smiles, not catching the venom in your voice, “Your friends are very nice.”

“Yes,” you give Gale a sideways glance, and he looks bashful. “Gale is very generous and trusting.”

Gale’s face flushes red, and he clears his throat, putting a finger in the collar of his robe, and pulling it away from his neck like the garment is restricting his breath.

Astarion places a bowl of perfectly diced fruit before you. He sits, dragging his chair close to yours so he can keep a hand resting on your thigh. You don’t miss the way Shadowheart glares at him with unspoken bitterness.

“Dear Shadowheart already gave me quite the berating,” he shimmies his shoulders as if he enjoyed it.

He actually might have.

“Not enough of one if you ask me.” Shadowheart scoffs, her eyes narrowed and blazing with acidity.

Hecat arches a brow, confused at what is going on, and you’re not about to lay out your life story for some stranger you met in prison, so you push the conversation forward.

“Aldous is a vampire,” you say far too casually and are met with looks of shock and silence.

Gale and Shadowheart eye Astarion.

Astarion scoffs, rolling his eyes, “Oh, don’t look at me like that. It wasn’t my bloody doing. I am a mere spawn. I do not have the power to turn anyone. Gods,” he shakes his head. “I don’t believe it possible. I disposed of him. Thoroughly.”

“Did you destroy his body?” You ask. Gale almost chokes on his tea at the indifference in your voice.

Astarion nods, “Entirely. There was nothing left.”

“Is that the man who was after you?” Hecat asks, but her eyes are not on you.

They are moored to Astarion, like a shipwreck lying on the ocean floor, irretrievably bound. Astarion doesn’t seem to notice as he typically does not, but these dew-eyed ogles always make jealously flare to life. You place your hand on Astarion, stop yourself from growling “mine,” and instead, settle on scowling.

Astarion is alerted to your discontentment by the heat radiated from your palm. He makes a show of kissing each of your fingers, slow and lingering, trying very hard not to snicker. He finds your jealousy endearing but equally foolish, and perhaps it is.

Hecat does not seem to care or notice. It drives you mad, so you crawl into his lap, placing yourself between him and her gawking orange eyes. You can hear Shadowheart chuckling under her breath. She knows your protectiveness of Astarion all too well.

Astarion remains casual about it as if it’s not unusual for you to sit in his lap during breakfast. He grabs the bowl of fruit you have yet to finish and shoves it into your hands, “Eat.”

You grumble curses under your breath only he can hear, at him and his bossiness, at Hecat, and shovel fruit into your mouth.

Astarion chuckles, kissing your cheek, and purrs reassuringly, “I only have eyes for you, thiramin.”

You know this, but it’s not his eyes you’re concerned about.

A knock on the door breaks you from your brewing hostility, and you nearly answer it as a reflex, but he holds you and shakes his head, “No. Not this time.”

“I’ll get it,” Shadowheart chimes.

Gale accompanies Shadowheart. All three of you are holding the Weave, ready to cast at a moment’s notice. There is an undertone of mumbling, and Astarion’s face transforms into a formidable scowl. His grip on you tightens, and he brandishes a dagger.

“Blackwell,” he growls.

Flames immediately jump to life across your skin, licking up your forearms and through your hair. Hecat is on her feet, her fists balled, stirred by your unease.

Gale returns, looking contrite, wracking his hand over his face, “I’m sorry, my friend, but we must hear him out.”

Astarion is the first to answer, his voice rough and grated in warning, “Absolutely fucking not! I don’t care what information he has or what he has to say, Gale. If you let him into this house, I will kill him. I promise you that. You would not want to get blood all over these lovely floors. Would you?”

“Information?” You ask, placing a hand on Astarion’s as he grips the dagger so tightly his fist shakes.

“Don’t be an idiot, Kamena,” Astarion snarls.

“My son,” you hear Mr. Blackwell’s voice as he sidles up behind Gale as if using him as a shield. Shadowheart has a tight clutch on his shoulder, bristling with fury, “I’ve made a grave mistake. I know I have no right to ask, but I don’t know where else to turn. I... I need your help.”

“Help?” You seethe, fingernails digging into the table to keep yourself from burning him where he stands, shoulders slumped, wringing his hat in his hands. “You want our help?! That’s laughable.”

“You killed him.” Mr. Blackwell mewls, “Didn’t you?”

You do not answer. No one does. Instead, you level him with a glower sharp enough to cut through mountains.

It is answer enough.

“I made a deal,” he continues. “No one would listen to me. No one cared. I was out of options, and then I was approached by a woman while I was at a tavern. She told me she could bring him back. She told me there was a spell that would return him to me. She said the only payment she would ask was that he would be in her service. I... I did not ask questions. I did not know what she was!”

“You godsdamned idiot,” you hiss, clenching your teeth so hard the nerves trill. “You made a deal with a vampire?”

“Nobles,” Hecat scoffs with a disgusted twist of her lips. “All wealth, zero intelligence.”

“I didn’t know!” Mr. Blackwell cries, slipping to the floor into a puddle of sorrow. “She said he would return to me the next night, and he did, but he was not the same. His mother let him in. She was so happy to see him she did not notice or care. She hugged him. He… He bit her! I could not get him to stop. He looks like you,” Mr. Blackwell says sullenly, nodding toward Astarion. “Red eyes, pale as a sheet.”

“I am sure he does,” Astarion beams a fanged, threatening grin at him, making Mr. Blackwell squeak like a mouse caught in a trap.

Questions are whirling through your mind. Why would a Vampire Lord take notice of you? Why would they waste resources – spawn, scrolls or otherwise? Why bother having you imprisoned, beaten, and weakened? There is always a purpose to their madness, but what could you have that they want?

“What could a Vampire Lord possibly want with you?” Gale echos your thoughts, fingers on his chin. “And why bring Aldous back? How did they bring him back?”

“Aldous is easy. Most likely a scroll of True Resurrection. I imagine they turned him because they knew his thirst for revenge would make him easy to manipulate. Vengeance is a powerful motivator.” Your brows furrow, tapping the table with your finger rapidly, “What I don’t understand is what use they would have for any of us. I can’t think of a single relic in our possession that would do a Vampire Lord any good.”

Hecat looks between all of you with a puzzled look. She knows too much now, adding yet another complication.

“Astarion,” Shadowheart prompts him, “You’re the resident expert on vampires. Care to speculate as to why they would go through all this trouble?”

Astarion’s brows furrow and he shrugs, “I don’t have the slightest clue. Vampires are territorial beasts, but I do not think they would go to such lengths when they could have simply attacked me while I was hunting if their concern was territory.”

You give the worn noble on the floor a once over, and you feel nothing but hatred for the pathetically snivelling man. Should you feel merciful? Gods. When did you become so callous? “Did Aldous say anything else?”

“He muttered things here and there.” Mr. Blackwell sighs letting his head drop into his hands, “Something about ruins being the key and a contract, but none of it made any sense. He seemed like he was in a haze, drunk-like.”

Ruins being a key and a contract? It's not much to go on at this point, but you suppose, it’s a start.

“Whoever this Vampire Lord is,” Shadowheart crosses her arms, “They will know exactly who we are. They will not underestimate us.”

“Indeed,” Gale agrees with a curt nod. “We must take precautions, prepare and plan for the worst.”

“Who the fuck are you people?” Hecat asks, slack-jawed and wide-eyed.

“Adventurers,” you trample over Gale who is about to spill your entire story, looking him in the eyes with a warning. His mouth snaps shut. “Nothing more.”

It seems your adventure in Waterdeep is just beginning.  

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I'm forever thankful for the support. I love reading your comments ❤️

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

AO3: Crossposted

If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Small Notes:

Shadowheart ❤️

I'm dying to hear all your theories on why a Vampire Lord has taken an interest! 😁

Are we trusting Hecat?

Fucking Aldous 🤬 Hopefully we get the chance to kill him... again.

[cambion-companion]

hi!! could we maybe pretty please get a drabble of aemond and female!reader taking a bath together and her taking care of his beautiful hair? just aemond being so in love and letting himself be vulnerable around his lover 🥹 (ive just envisioned him letting out his iconic 'mhm' as he's having his scalp massaged and squealed out loud he's too much for meee) thank you have a nice day!!!

HAHA just a day in the life ya know! ;) Thank you for all the wonderful prompts, my lovely Anons. I hope you like what I have concocted here.

Word Count: 1919

Masterlist here

Aemond x f!reader | soft smut | fluff | comforting him after a long day

Rain pattered on the stone walkway as you strode down the outdoor corridor, the sound of clashing swords evidence your husband still trained in the courtyard below.  You drew your long woolen cloak tighter about your shivering shoulders, descending the steps already sprinkled with large raindrops.  Aemond had been out here sparring with one of the poor beleaguered soldiers, the dark-haired man looking like he was about to fall on his face from exhaustion.

Looking over Aemond’s shoulder at your hurried approach, he left his guard open wide and grunted as the Targaryen prince took full advantage, his sword colliding heavily against the man’s torso.  

Aemond turned to see what had drawn his opponent’s attention, his hair slipping on the leather tunic he wore. “Classic mistake, Adian, allowing a beautiful woman to distract you.”

“She is quite a lovely sight indeed.”  Adian’s brown eyes roved your form, causing your lip to curl with distaste.

Aemond smacked the flat of his blade against Adian’s cheek, not gently, causing the boy to yelp and stumble back. “Furthermore, she is my wife; I will warn you just this once to avert your attentions elsewhere.”

Adian bowed to Aemond, and to you, not making eye contact as he retreated to the weapon’s table.  Aemond discarded his own blunted sword before approaching you, swiftly taking you in his strong arms and placing a possessive kiss to your mouth.  You tasted the sweet rainwater on his lips, pulling away to tug at his hand so that he followed you to the shelter of the Keep.

You led him all the way up to your shared bedroom, the spacious area lit from the warm glow of the large fireplace.  

“I had the fire stoked, and a hot bath drawn for you.  Oh!”  You crossed to the nearby table as Aemond began removing his wet clothes. “I also had some hot mead and venison pie brought up from the kitchens.”

The large clawed wooden bathtub sat in the center of the room, steam emitting tantalizingly from its still water.  

Aemond was fully unclothed now, his sapphire eye glittering from the light of the fire. He wrapped his arms around you, kissing your head before reaching behind you to grab a meat pie.  He had draped his sodden shirt and pants, along with his leather eyepatch, to dry by the fire.  He walked over to dip a finger into the water of the bath, humming in appreciation.  Your eyes trailed along the taut muscles of his back, admiring his backside while biting your lip.

Aemond took the last bite of the venison pastry, licking the crumbs from his fingers. “You are the sole reason I do not catch cold after these endless days of training, my love.”  

He slipped into the bathtub, groaning as the hot water enveloped his cold skin.  You carried a goblet of hot drink to him. “It’s absolutely freezing outside; I don’t know why you insist on sparring so long.”

“It helps take my mind off affairs of court, which you know vex me greatly.” Aemond sipped the mead gratefully, raising a hand to squeeze your wrist with his now-warm fingers.

You unclasped your cloak, laying it to dry next to Aemond’s clothes.  He watched you from the tub with interest.  You returned his gaze, your eyes drinking in how regal he looked reclining against the wood at his back, the ends of his silver hair swirling with the movement of the water, his hand holding the pewter goblet over the side of the bathtub.  The firelight played against his skin, accentuating the lines of his muscles, his sharp jawline, the way his curved mouth smirked as he watched you examine him.

“Take off your clothes.”

The violet of his one eye was overtaken by the dilation of his pupil as he looked you over.  “Join me.”

Under his lustful scrutiny, you began pulling at the laces of your dress, until it fell in a pool at your feet.  Stepping out of the heavy fabric, you undid the buttons of your shift slowly, teasing the man before you.  Aemond raised his goblet to his lips again, not once taking his eye off you.

You raised the thin underdress over your head, pulling off your undergarment and stockings as well until you stood bare before him.  

“Hmm.”  Aemond made an admiring noise in the back of his throat, his eye roving your body.

The cool night air prickled at your skin, causing gooseflesh to erupt along your legs and arms, your nipples pebbling as you made haste to enter the warm water with your husband. The tub was big enough for you to sit across from him, your legs entangling with his own as you sank with a relieved sigh into the hot bath.  Little waves lapped at your collarbone as you scooted a little toward Aemond, taking his long hair in your hands and pulling it over his shoulders so you could begin disentangling it with deft fingers.

You felt his hands roam along your waist, up to your breasts where he palmed and squeezed, rolling your pert nipples in between thumb and forefinger.  “Gods you feel so good, so warm and soft.”  He placed a sweet kiss to your forehead as you continued your work on his thick hair, once satisfied moving to caress his scalp.

Aemond, despite himself, yawned, his eyelids growing heavy from your administrations.  Your hands flitted down to his shoulders where you massaged the tense muscles there with gentle pressure.  

“Come closer, Y/N.”  You felt Aemond’s arms wrap around you, pulling you onto his lap, the water splashing over the lip of the tub from your sudden movements.

Your legs curled around his torso, straddling him you felt his obvious arousal nudging against you.  “Hmm.” Aemond brushed his lips against yours, his hand cupping the nape of your neck. “I want to fuck you, right here in this bath.”

“Aemond…” You voice trailed off as you felt him line himself against your entrance, slowly sinking the tip of his cock into your heated core.  You let out a gasp of pleasure, arching your head back as you sunk your weight onto him, until he was fully inside.  Aemond took full advantage, sucking bruising kisses to your exposed throat, guiding your hips up and down upon his cock.

The waves you were creating spilled over the edge of the tub, the sound of splashing water accompanying your increasing moans.  

“You should know by now,”  Aemond leaned further into you, nuzzling into your chest, “I always get what I want.”

Your hands caught in his hair as he took your nipple into his mouth, swirling his warm tongue around it, paying the same attention to the other side.  You kept rocking against him, feeling your walls tighten as your pleasure mounted.

As Aemond continued to suckle at your breast, you placed sloppy kisses to his forehead, leaning your head against him, your lips parted as you felt your orgasm approaching.  “Aemond I…I’m going to-” He bucked up into you suddenly, the contact causing your vision to go white.  

Crying out his name, your pussy clenched around him, the intensity of your climax eliciting a groan of ecstasy from your husband as he followed you over the edge, spilling his seed deep within you.  Aemond pumped his cock into you a few more times, wanting to savor the heat of your wetness a little longer as the both of you rode out the high of your love making.

He raised his head, kissing your lips gently, carding his fingers through your hair. “I will put a child in you, my wife.  The idea of your belly growing round, carrying our little dragon…” He trailed off, unable to find the right words, instead conveying his emotion in the way his lips suddenly moved against yours, his tongue dipping into your mouth to taste you.

You remained tangled together like this until the water had cooled significantly.  Using clean water in the buckets beside the tub, you washed each other off, lathering goatmilk soap that smelt of lavender against your pruned skin and disheveled hair.

The logs in the fireplace popped and sparked, as the two of you, now clothed in woolen nightclothes, lay facing each other on the soft mattress.  You had pulled a heavy comforter over the top of you both, laying on your back as Aemond propped himself up on an elbow to look into your face.  Words were of little use in moments such as these, the tender loving looks speaking more than you could convey aloud.

You rubbed your hand absentmindedly low on your abdomen, the words he’d spoken earlier echoing in your mind.  Aemond, noticing your movements, leaned to press a kiss to your forehead.  His eye had taken on a distant look, as though his mind was far afield in contemplation.  

“In my own desires to become a father, I’ve been thinking about my own of late.”  Aemond broke the comfortable silence, his voice low and soft. “I do not wish to be the kind of father he is to me.”

Your hand stilled upon your belly as your eyes flicked up to meet his own. “What kind of father will you be?”

His hand came to rest upon your body, stroking long fingers upon where your womb lay. “Not like Viserys.  He has never paid me, or my siblings, any attention save to berate or threaten us.  I will not make my child to feel like they are a burden, or unwanted.  Because I do…I do want a child, son or daughter it matters not.”

“No words I can say will right the way you’ve been treated by your kin, Aemond.”  You raised your other hand to trace along his jawline. “My heart aches for your pain, my love.  You deserve so much more than what you’ve been given.”

Aemond turned his face into your light touch, kissing the tips of your fingers. “He has affection for Rhaenyra only, the daughter he named heir instead of his firstborn son.  Even though Aegon has no place wearing the crown of his namesake.”

“It should be you.”  

Aemond sucked in a sharp breath at your words, his hand gripping yours. “I will not lie; it has been on my mind. Tis I, after all, the only son who performs the duties expected of the firstborn.”

“You are learned in the history of your family, you care, Aemond.  That is what sets you apart.”

“And yet I do not exist in the eyes of my own father, I never have.  My half-sister receives all his protection, wisdom and praise.  Even when she sires illegitimate children and puts them forth as heirs to the Targaryen throne…”  Aemond stopped himself from continuing, trying to reign in his heating temper.

You soothed him with a kiss to his neck. “You love your family; you take pride in who you are.  It is natural for you to feel this way…but perhaps with our own small family you can find some measure of comfort, my dragon.”

Aemond kissed you then, molding his lips to yours in a loving embrace, taking his time to drink you in, his breath mingling with yours as you sighed into him.  

He leaned back, pulling you into his arms, running his fingers through your drying hair as you rested your head upon his chest.  The crackling of the flaming logs, the beating of his heart, the rise and fall of his chest, all combined together in their own intimate lullaby.  Your eyes grew heavy, feeling his touch still upon your hair as you lost yourself to a dreamless sleep.

[criminalamnesia]

Could I request a harwin x Targaryen reader? Like she’s the twin or sister of Rhaenyra and is somewhat sickly/quiet and never got out much until Aegon’s name day, so harwin sees her and its love at first sight?? I’m just dying for harwin fluff

I love this request! You guys honestly have the best ideas. I hope this alright!

Don’t Be A Stranger

warnings: targaryen!f!reader, reader is Rhaenyra’s twin, mentions of illness, not proofread

summary: you’re finally allowed out of the keep for Aegon’s name day hunt.

author’s note: let me know if you guys want a Harwin’s POV of this 👀

You had been a prisoner of the red keep since your birth. Perhaps it was some cruel stroke of fate- some god laughing from high above as he cursed your family with another ill-fated child.

'At least you lived,' Rhaenyra told you once, holding your hand with the lightest of touches- scared you would break if even one breath touched your fragile skin.

Was this living? It couldn't be.

Day in and day out, confined to your bed. Your quarters. Perhaps the corridor, if you felt up to it. You were a prisoner, yes. A prisoner in your sickly body, in your frail bones and pale skin.

You longed to see the world. You dove headfirst into history- the seven kingdoms, Old Valryia, lords and ladies of the realm- anything and everything you could get your hands on to imagine a world outside of that damned bed.

It was enough, until it wasn't. You begged Rhaenyra to sneak you out. Begged her to help you live. She refused.

The realm knew your elder twin as 'The Realm's Delight'. They knew you as 'The Ghost Princess'. You thought the name was suitable, even if your sister and your father and anyone who dared to get close tried to comfort you about it.

There was nothing to comfort. You had tired of comforting. You wanted to get out and see something other than the stone walls of the keep before you lost your mind along with your health.

And so, you formulated a plan.

You had seen Alicent a few times throughout your years. She had seemed kind, until she had wronged Rhaenyra- but there was not much you could do about that.

However you felt about Alicent, you could not deny that you were grateful for her actions at this moment.

"Aegon's name day is coming up," Rhaenyra told you one day, sitting in her usual spot on the side of your bed. Her thumb traced little circles onto the back of your hand. "There's to be a big hunt in honor of it. Bit ridiculous, if you ask me."

You snorted, knowing very well that your and Rhaenyra's name day was also a famously extravagant affair- even if you could not join the festivities.

"When's the hunt?" You asked her.

"A fortnight. Preparations have begun now, of course. The keep is quite mad at the moment. Be glad you do not have to experience it."

You frowned slightly at her statement, glancing towards the lone window in your room.

"Apologies, sister, I did not mean-"

"It's alright, Rhaenyra. I understood." You turned back to look at her, nodding your head in reassurance. She gave your hand a light squeeze.

Although she was still annoyingly cautious around you, Rhaenyra had realized that over the years, you would not break at the slightest touch. So, she had stopped fretting over the smallest of brushes of skin. Mostly. You'd take what you could get.

"The Maester says I'm doing much better," you commented, watching your twin's face as you spoke. "Perhaps I will be allowed to join everyone for the occasion."

Rhaenyra's eyebrows rose in surprise, pulling her hand from yours. "I do not know if that is a good idea. We're to ride to the Godswood, and it can be quite a bumpy journey-"

"I am not glass, Rhaenyra. I will not break at the slightest jostle."

"I know, I just worry-"

"You and everyone else," you huffed, cutting her off. She frowned, eyebrows furrowing as she looked at you.

"Is this something you really want to do? These hunts are famously boring. You will be forced to sit and listen to the ladies of the court complain and throw insults disguised as compliments at one another."

"I want nothing more," you smiled, to which Rhaenyra shook her head.

"Please, sister. Tell me truthfully."

"Yes. I long to leave these walls, even if my first breath outside is my last."

"That was quite dramatic," Rhaenyra spoke after a moment. "You should be a poet."

"I've pondered that thought," you told her, to which she laughed.

The two of you fell silent, Rhaenyra looking at you with a conflicted expression. You could not tell what she was thinking, and you were almost positive she was going to tell you that it was too risky.

But then she said, “I’ll speak to father.”

Your eyebrows lifted, eyes lighting up in glee and excitement. “You will?”

Your sister nodded her head, lips spreading into a small smile at your glee. “Of course. I cannot guarantee what he will say, but I will fight for you.”

“Thank you, Rhaenyra. I am in your debt,” you told her, reaching forward to grasp one of her hands. She looked down at your fingers as they intertwined.

“Nonsense. I am simply doing what you would do for me should the roles be reversed.” Rhaenyra said, and you hummed.

She gave your hand a light squeeze before pulling her’s from your grasp, leaning forward to give you a kiss on your forehead.

“I will go speak to father now. I’m to see him about a few matters anyhow. I will et you know as soon as I can.”

You nodded as you watched her stand. “Thank you, sister.”

She nodded before turning and leaving. When the door shut behind her, you closed your eyes tightly and prayed to whatever god was listening that your father would say yes.

—

Viserys had said no.

Rhaenyra had argued with him for an hour over the matter after she left you, but he had not budged. He could not bear to lose another child, he said. Rhaenyra had scoffed.

She had not told you of your father’s words. As a matter of fact, she did not return to your quarters at all after seeing your father. She didn’t return the next day, either. Or the next.

You had been confused, but you knew what Rhaenyra’s absence had to have meant. Viserys had said no, and she was too busy preparing for the hunt to tell you the news. She probably didn’t want to, anyways. She had always hated seeing you upset.

A week after Rhaenyra had said she would speak to Viserys on the matter, she returned with a grand smile. She practically burst into your quarters, the wooden door slamming into the stone wall it attached to.

“He said yes!” She cried, rushing to your bedside. “Apologies for being absent, I was quite taken with preparations and arguing with our father–” she spoke fast, the words fighting to leave her tongue. “But he finally acquiesced. You are to join us on the hunt, as long as the maesters say you are fit to do so.”

“Oh, thank you Rhaenyra!” You squealed, leaning forward to throw your arms around her in an embrace. Slightly shocked, it took Rhaenyra a few seconds to hug you back.

“Of course. I look forward to having you by my side. I will not have to field the questions of the ladies by my lonesome,” she grinned at you as she pulled back, and you laughed.

“I cannot wait to be pestered with questions.”

“Oh, dear sister,” Rhaenyra sighed with an air of knowing, tucking a strand of your silver hair behind your ear. “You will regret saying that.”

—

After Rhaenyra had shared the news with you, you had been the happiest you had ever been. The servants who tended to you noticed– and they were glad to see such an upbeat mood from you.

The maesters had quickly cleared you for travel, much to your delight. They would come along for the journey at the King’s request, but you did not mind. At least you were being allowed to leave.

Like Rhaenyra said, the keep was quite mad with preparation, especially so close to the date of departure. Numerous servants entered and exited your quarters throughout the days, showing you dresses and packing needed belongings into chests to bring along. You quite liked all the attention. It was a nice change of pace.

When the day came to leave, you were practically bouncing in your bed. Servants came in to help you from your bed, dressing you in a pretty but simple leather dress with black embroidery. You were beaming the entire time.

Rhaenyra came in shortly after, wearing an almost exact copy of your own attire. The embroidery of her ensemble was red, however. She smiled at you, taking you in.

“You look amazing. How are you feeling?” She asked, coming to your side to help you walk.

“I’m fine,” you waved her hand away as you moved for the door. You wobbled slightly, but stayed afoot. Rhaenyra watched you silently before joining you once more, giving you your independence, but ready to help should you need it.

The pair of you made your way slowly out of your room and down the corridor, towards the direction of the courtyard. You passed numerous servants and guards who looked surprised to see you out and about, and you gave each and every one of them a small nod.

When you reached the courtyard, more stares found you. You ignored them as you made your way towards the coach, Rhaenyra following close behind.

“Do you need help to get up?” Your sister asked. You shook your head as you began to climb the steps to the coach. You made it up with only a small wobble, ducking inside to take a seat on one of the cushioned benches. Rhaenyra entered behind you, taking the seat next to you. She smiled widely.

“I’m so glad you’re coming with us. This is going to be more bearable now.” She told you, to which you laughed.

“That’s a sound I haven’t heard in a while,” Viserys’ voice chimed as he ducked inside the coach to join you. Alicent followed behind, Aegon babbling in her arms.

You smiled at your father, grateful he had said yes. He took a seat across from you and Rhaenyra, joy obvious in his expression as he gazed upon his two daughters.

“You two look lovely. It’s good to see you together, smiling.”

“All because of your generosity, dear husband,” Alicent chimed in, settling in beside Viserys.

“I would not say that–” he began, but you swiftly interrupted.

“Yes, thank you father. I appreciate your decision.”

He looked from Alicent to you, nodding his head. “Of course.”

The coach fell silent save for little Aegon’s babbling, and although it was slightly awkward, you would not have traded the moment for the world.

Moments later, the coach began its journey, and you could barely contain your excitement. Viserys and Alicent were speaking about something, but you paid them no mind as you glued your eyes to the small window in the side of the coach.

As Rhaenyra had said weeks ago, the journey was a bit bumpy. You could feel your family watching you intently throughout the ride, but you paid them no mind. You were fine, and even if you weren’t, there was nothing that was going to stop you from going through with this.

When you finally made it to the campsite, you were ecstatic. You could hear all the clamor outside, and it excited you. Rhaenyra looked at you with an amused expression, teasing you, but you ignored her.

The coach rolled to a stop and you sprang from your seat.

“Just wait, dear sister,” she spoke into your ear as she moved to stand beside you. “Father and the Queen will go first. Then you and I.”

You nodded, wishing Viserys and Alicent would put some more haste into their movements. The door to the coach swung open as a servant laid a step stool before it. Viserys gave you a smile as he passed, working his way to the ground with a small huff. Alicent followed, Aegon in her grasp. She was much more graceful.

Rhaenyra moved next, glancing at you from over her shoulder. “Ready?”

You nodded, and she turned her back to you as she hopped down from the coach. You stepped out after her, and it was like the entire camp stopped.

Eyes were all on you stepped onto the grass. Rhaenyra stood beside you, one of her hands grabbing yours protectively.

“Alright?” She asked you quietly, and you nodded.

Your eyes scanned your surroundings, taking everything in. People slowly started to resume their tasks as the shock of seeing you wore off. Perhaps the news of your incoming presence had not been widely known.

Rhaenyra tugged lightly at your hand as she made to move, and you raised a foot to follow her, but then your eyes met his.

A man, across the field, was staring at you. Not hungrily. Not in disgust. In something you couldn’t quite place.

He was tall with a large build and a dazzling smile. He was smiling at you, you realized. You looked him up and down, noting his curly hair; his unshaven face; his attire. A house sigil you suddenly could not recall adorned his tunic.

“Rhaenyra,” you called to her, not taking your eyes from the man. “Who is that?”

Rhaenyra turned to follow your gaze, lips breaking into a wide grin as she saw the man you were fascinated with.

“Ser Harwin Strong, of House Strong. I am surprised you did not recognize the sigil, sister.” She was teasing you, you realized.

“No, I did. I just…” you trailed off, still looking in his direction. He nodded to you from, and you felt your cheeks heat as you finally ripped your gaze from his.

“Should I expect to be attending your wedding at the end of this hunt?” Rhaenyra continued and you rolled your eyes before moving in the direction your father and Alicent had gone.

“Nonsense. I do not even know him.” You told her as she fell into step beside you.

“But you would like to, would you not?” Your sister poked your side lightly. You swatted her hand away with no force.

You said nothing more, and Rhaenyra took your silence as an end to the conversation.

—

Rhaenyra had been right.

The ladies of the court were boring.

You were situated in a plush chair (brought specially for you) beside Rhaenyra as the pair of you listened to gossip and subtle criticisms.

You had thought the ladies would jump at the chance to pester you with questions, but it was almost as if you weren’t even there. They paid you little mind, opting to pester Rhaenyra instead. Perhaps it was because they were afraid that if they even acknowledged you, you would break.

“Ladies,” a man spoke up as he moved to join the group. You looked up to see another member of house Strong, judging by the sigil on his tunic. Not Harwin– perhaps a cousin? A brother? Judging by the image of Harwin still plastered in your mind, they looked similar. They had to be related.

“Mind if I join?” He asked, soft spoken. The ladies nodded, going back to their gossips as the man made his way to an empty chair.

“Larys Strong,” Rhaenyra leaned over to whisper in your ear as if reading your mind. “Harwin’s brother.”

You looked at the man curiously, now obviously seeing the resemblance. Larys met your gaze with a small smile.

“You must be the other Princess. It is nice to make your acquaintance. I certainly see the resemblance.” He gestured between you and Rhaenyra.

The ladies had stopped talking now, opting to listen to you and Larys.

You gave a kind, small laugh. “Of course. It’s a pleasure, Lord Strong.”

“Oh, I am not a lord, Princess. That title is my father’s.”

You nodded. “My apologies.”

“None needed,” he replied, eyes watching you intently. “It is quite a surprise to see you here. Many were starting to believe you were a myth.”

You cocked an eyebrow is surprise. Rhaenyra’s hand fell atop one of yours. “Is that so?” You questioned. Larys nodded.

“Yes, Princess. There were many whispers that you had died and the King would not admit it. Whispers that you were part dragon, and that is why you were not allowed out of the keep.”

“That’s enough of that,” Rhaenyra spoke, her tone firm. “We need not speak of whispers and stories. My sister is alive and well, right next to me.”

“Of course, Princess,” Larys nodded. He was still looking at you. “You and I are more alike than one would think, Princess. Both younger siblings. Both hidden away. Both a source of shame–”

“I think I should like to get some air,” you announced, standing from your chair. Rhaenyra rose to your side without a word, but you shook your head.

“Alone, please,” you whispered to her, and she reluctantly nodded as she lowered herself back into her chair.

All eyes watched you as you made your way out of the tent, into the darkening sky. The lowering sun cast a beautiful variety of colors over the horizon. Pinks and oranges and yellows you swore you had never seen before. You tilted your head back, staring up at the sky and inhaling deeply.

You did not know why Larys’ words had bothered you so much. You knew you weren’t purposefully hidden away, that you weren’t a source of shame for your family– or were you?

The House of the Dragon needed to present a strong front. A sick, weak Princess did not exactly aid in that image.

You closed your eyes, exhaustion from the day creeping into your limbs. You fought to keep it at bay. Should you show even the smallest hint of fatigue, your father would whisk you back to the keep and never set you free again.

“Princess?”

A man’s voice, deep and warm and concerned. You opened your eyes, lowering your gaze from the sky. Harwin Strong was approaching you, brows scrunched together in worry.

“Are you alright?” He questioned and you nodded.

“Of course. Just getting some air.” You watched him as he came to a stop in front of you. He was handsomer up close, you thought. Deep brown eyes and messy hair.

“I don’t believe we’ve met. Lord…?” You trailed off, knowing full well who he was thanks to Rhaenyra’s earlier words.

“Ser Harwin Strong, Princess.” He told you, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Ser Harwin, of course,” you nodded. “I just met your brother. Interesting, to say the least.”

Harwin sighed. “Apologies for him, Princess. He has… a certain way with words.”

“Mhm,” you hummed. “He certainly does. Tell me, Ser. Did you believe me to be part dragon before today?”

Harwin raised his eyebrows in confusion. “Of course not, Princess.”

“And did you think I was dead, and my family was lying about health?”

“No, Princess.” He confirmed, and you nodded.

“Even if you did, I doubt you would say so.” You gave a humorless laugh, but he shook his head.

“I would tell you the truth, Princess.”

“Even if it meant you’d hang?” You asked, and he nodded.

“Why?”

His gaze softened as he looked at you, his tongue flitting out to wet his lips as he pondered his words.

“Because you deserve the truth.”

You went quiet for a moment, averting your eyes back to the beautiful sky. Harwin’s gaze remained on you.

“Even if you were part dragon,” he spoke. “You would still be the most beautiful women I have ever seen.”

You looked back at him, a blush painting your cheeks pink as you searched for a hint of a lie in his expression. You found none.

When you didn’t say anything, he continued.

“Rhaenyra speaks of you, you know. To anyone who will listen. She’s told me of you more than once.”

“When do you speak to Rhaenyra?” You asked in surprise.

“It makes sense she would not tell you of such trivial matters,” he said. “I guard her from time to time.”

You nodded. That made sense. You knew you were guarded at all times, even if you rarely left your chambers. Of course Rhaenyra would be, too. Probably more so than you.

“Good things, I hope?” You asked, and Harwin grinned.

“Of course, Princess.”

“Good,” you smiled. “If she ever speaks bad about me, you tell me about it.”

He laughed at that, and you closed your eyes as a wave of exhaustion hit you once more.

“Princess?” Harwin’s voice was full of concern again as he reached a hand out to lightly touch your arm. “Are you alright?”

“Tired, Ser.” You inhaled deeply, trying to overcome the small feeling of nausea rising in your stomach.

“Should I fetch a maester?” Harwin asked, but you shook your head. You opened your eyes, reaching for his forearm as you slumped slightly. He supported you weight immediately, an arm wrapping around your waist to keep you upright.

“I don’t need a maester. If you would just help me to my tent, that would be appreciated.”

“Of course, Princess. Do you need me to carry you?”

“No, I can walk,” you assured him. He nodded without question as the pair of you started in the direction of your tent.

“Thank you for this, Ser Harwin.”

“Anytime, Princess.”

You walked the rest of the way in silence, thankful for the darkness filling the camp to make your walk less obvious.

When you reached your tent, Harwin helped you inside and to the comfortable cot. He placed you gently onto it, taking a step back as he waited to see if you needed anything else.

“I believe I can take it from here, Ser. Once again, I thank you for this.” You looked at him, your expression sincere.

“No thanks needed, Princess. Whatever you need, I am here.”

You have a small nod as silence fell between the pair of you. After a moment, you spoke again.

“If you don’t mind Ser… please keep this between us. My father would–”

“No worries, Princess. I will take this to the grave if I must.” He gave you a dazzling grin, and it almost pained you to send him away.

He bid you goodnight before slipping out of the tent, and you watched him go, hoping you would see him again soon.

[his-dedicated-sensei]

Anatomy.

A small musing on quiet evenings with the Emperor.

It's a simple affair to Him.

You rest there, body cushioned by velvet, head only slightly raised by the softest of cotton pillows. You don't question how He can manage this luxury with His grand ideas going on. But you rest.

His footfalls are what you know best. Each feels like thunder, yet, with the rhythmic timing of a metronome. You remember flinching when you first heard Him, in that armour of His, with all those mighty warriors by His side. You are as you were now - without fear.

His hands - ah, more His fingers - it's hard to explain. He begins to massage, just along your ankles, and shins. It does not take Him long - but He knows it intricately. The body, that is (and not just yours). You feel every moment, laying there, His hands working every muscle, every tendon. To Him, it was the simple idea of recounting anatomy in your being - how a human should be, how they were put together.

He works. It's silent, mostly, but exquisite - even your bones come to rest as you feel those hands of His move towards the knees, then to your thighs. Millennia of being with humans, you wager, is how He learned. A breath leaves your body, shaky, yet relaxed. He loves this body, you wager, for He knows it more than others. It's His favourite to diagram - yet, He'd never tell.

The Custodes paint you, sometimes. He guides them on the finer details of anatomy - your anatomy. After all, you are human, just human, brilliantly human. That's why, in these moments, away from the humans He saves daily, He turns to you.

You wager, as His fingers now graze along your hip - ah, there's another breath - you wager He does it to remind Himself. Not of what anatomy is, but why He cherishes it. Why - goodness, that's... a bit of a new spot - why He keeps fighting for our sakes.

You feel His breath, for a moment. This position, you see Him reflect a moment on your midriff, as if counting all the cells within you - all the blood running through veins and arteries - you gently shift your leg, finding the blush on your face too bright.

He looks to you. He moves back, softly, though you hear Him chuckle. Anatomy, after all, is simple to Him, in how it reacts. Perhaps, in time, He will help with other matters of anatomy - but for now, He takes your hand, and with a squeeze that could just as easily shatter stone like glass, moves his thumb along your skin, holding you like glass.

Simple matters of anatomy, where the bones in your hands can feel the bones in His. You only hope, in time, you know His anatomy just as well as He knows yours.

[yona049]

𝐒𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Part 3

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Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

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𝘿𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙡𝙖𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙧!!!

𝗜 𝗱𝗼𝗻'𝘁 𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀! 𝗧𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆 𝗶𝘀 𝗲𝘅𝗰𝗹𝘂𝘀𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝗶𝗻𝘀𝗽𝗶𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝘆 𝗗𝗖 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗶𝗰𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘀𝗲 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝘄𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝘆 𝗗𝗖! ^○^

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Warning!!

>claustrophobia

>thalassophobia

>ptsd?

>fainting

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The faint sound of beeping and typing brings Y/n back to. Her head was foggy and heart was pounding in her throat. What a horrible nightmare she remembered.

When she tries lifting her wrist to hold her head she realizes her wrists are tied down. Suddenly her heart is pounding again and she's wide awake. Bright lights shining down on her and white curtains around the bed she was bound to.

"Hey! What's happening!?"

She starts wiggling frantically and her heartbeat pounds into her head. 'No! NO! Not this!'

Tears form in her eyes and she squeezes them shut.

"I hate this! I hate this!" she cries out! A feeling of being tied down, Unable to control her own body, enclosed in a small space.

She feels a sudden gust of wind and her body is untied quickly before being pulled into a hug.

"Y/n. It's ok! You can move. Breath slowly." the voice hushes and comforts her.

"Cl-clark?" she says with a stutter and a sniffle. The familiar feeling of her co-workers' presence brings her back to her scenes. A comforting chest to hug into, not closed in but delicately squeezed with comforting pressure.

After a few seconds of breathing, the masculine body lets her go and stands back from the bed.

'Not Clark? Superman.' She realized looking at her hand still resting on the S symbol on his chest.

With the curtains fully pulled open she could see the large open cave, filled with large drip stone hanging from the ceiling and platforms structured off the walls.

She was on one of these platforms, another bed beside hers and medical equipment and medicine in white cabinets.

Confused, she looks back at the braces that once kept her bound to the bed. She looks back up at the worried hero watching her every move before she mustered up the courage to talk.

"Where -"

"-are you?" a deep voice makes her jump a little.

From the dark corner of the medical platform comes a large Batman, his black costume stood out from the white furniture.

"You were brought here after you stupidly got mixed up in Gotham's affairs, Reporter." He grabs hold of a scanning device and walks closer.

Superman's Sunshine voice puts Y/n at ease when he speaks again. "What he means to say is that, we brought you here to do a medical inspection. You were poisoned by an unknown toxin."

Batman moves the scanner up and down Y/n's body. Checking the monitors every so often.

It's only then when Y/n notices her throat was bandaged up. She moves her fingertips over the bandage before looking over at the monitors.

"I couldn't breathe. I remember drowning in tar."

"You tried clawing your throat open. That's why you were tied down when you woke up. You were a danger to yourself." Batman mentions.

"Why am I here? Isn't this place, you know, super secret?"

"I was going to take you to a hospital, but superman insisted you needed closer inspection. In the end, it was Martian who convinced him and me to look at your condition."

Superman crosses his arms over his chest and looks at batman. "Is she going to be ok?"

Finally looking up from the monitors, Batman looks at Superman as if saying they'll need to talk in private, before back at Y/n.

"It's time for new bandages, take the clothes on the bed side table and get cleaned up. The computer will navigate you to a bathroom, then back."

Y/n slides off the side of the bed and takes what looks like clothes from her closet. "It was you in my apartment!" she quips

"I had to be sure you weren't a trap set by Joker."

She presses her lips together before pressing her clothes to her chest. She steps onto the walkway following lights on the ground.

"And Reporter!" he calls, making her stop.

"Don't even think about wandering around. The computer is watching."

Almost feeling the threat crawl up her spine, she nods before hurrying off to the shower.

Once Y/n was well out of hearing range. Superman growls at Batman.

"Would it kill you to have some sympathy towards her?!"

"Yes."

Not bothering to argue with the Cardboard-faced Batman, Superman walks over to him.

"What's her analysis then?"

After pressing a few more buttons, a file on Y/n pops onto the large computer screen.

"Y/n L/n, Journalist for the Daily Planet. No spouse. Parents, deceased."

Superman scans though the file before reading out loud.

"Known Fears, Claustrophobia. Fear of confined spaces and Thalassophobia fear of large bodies of water. These could both explain her 'drowning in tar' nightmare."

"Scarecrow's Toxin. And she was laughing when you found her, Jokers Toxin." Batman points out.

"But there's a problem. My scans show another toxin, Poison ivy's venom."

~~~

Y/n stood stiff as a board while the shower water fell on her head. Another very modern bathroom with no noticeable traits except for the very expensive shampoos and Soaps.

With her hands clenched to her chest she sinks into a seated position on the shower floor.

'I'm gonna be ok, I'm gonna be ok!' she kept repeating in her head.

She kept replaying her nightmare in her head thinking everything through.

'I remember, the batman on the rooftop, the poison vile. That's what I inhaled. Why! Why did I have to be reckless again?'

She finally finishes washing her body, all the muck from the scratch marks on her neck and steps out of the shower.

"Computer?" she asks hesitantly while wrapping a towel around her body. "Can I leave a message for someone?"

"Certainly! However, it will have to be approved by Batman first. Who would you like to send it to?"

She swallows hard before clearing her throat. "Clark Kent, My co-worker?"

An approved computer noise is played. "Starting recording."

Once Y/n hears a beep she smiles a little and feels a little more at ease. Even if she wasn't really talking to Clark.

"Hey Glasses! It's Y/n. I just wanted to say I might be gone for a while! Could you please fill up that cute cat's bowl that always comes by my apartment window? Not sure when I'll be back but... Um.."

She hesitates. "I think you should ask out Louis! I always see you looking at her! If I see you again I want updates!.. -I mean, WHEN I see you again!"

The computer beeps again, cutting her off before she sighs. "Thanks computer."

'I hope Batman lets me send the message' she thought and quickly finished getting dressed.

Back in the Bat-cave, Superman helps rewrap her bandages around her neck. Tucking in the edge, his fingertips hesitate for a second before pulling back.

"How are you feeling?" He asks, seeing her distress.

She nods "I'm fine, just really tense."

"Rightfully so!'' Batman chips in. "Your bloodstream is filled with 3 toxins, it's a miracle your immune system hasn't given up yet."

Superman shoots a glare toward Batman before taking Y/n's hand and giving it a comforting squeeze.

"So the Toxin's are getting pushed out of my body?" she quips with a sparkle of hope in her voice.

"It is, but not fast enough. Your hallucinations could start again at any time, and eventually, you'll be enough of a danger to yourself to end your own life."

Superman quickly adds "BUT! As long as we are monitoring you we could try the antidotes for all the toxins."

"I tried that, but it didn't work. The toxins cancel each other's antidotes out." Batman says before an alarm goes off on the computer.

Without another word he jumps to action. Using his grappling hook to swing him and his dramatic cape into the bat jet. "Superman! We have to go. It's our lead."

Superman nods and gives y/n's hand another small comforting squeeze. "Listen Y/n, I'll be back soon. I'll make sure you get better. I promise."

Y/n feels her heart skip a beat and her cheeks redden at Superman's genuine vow. Almost like a knight saving the princess from her tower.

With that he flies beside the Bat jet and out of the cave.

Y/n couldn't help a bashful giggle bubbling from her stomach. "The handsome Superman saved me, huh? Is this how Louis feels every time?"

Her moment of joy is short lived when she quickly yanks her hand off the metal railing she was leaning against.

"Ow!" she whines as a sizzling burn dissolves off her palm.

"What is this?" her chest filled with fear once again watching the railing melt slowly from her acidic red hand print.

"Is that.. My blood?"

[quinloki]

Birthday Request Event v2024

Gift Details ♥ Reader Style: afab Character: Sabo Vibe: NSFW Consensual AU: Vampire AU Prompt: Bath/Shower/Hot spring (Writer's Choice) Gift Giver: @possiblyelven

Summary: Your lover is a vampire, and the contrary bastard has a mirror-lined shower.

Content Notes: mirror sex, vampire has no reflection, dirty talk from Sabo like he was born to do it, vampire strength, compulsion, mdni

This birthday party is 18+, consensual unless explicitly stated otherwise, and BYOB

You stood in the shower, unsure of where to look. The walls were mirrored, of all the terrible things, and even the stone work at your feet seemed to give you away. Even with water cascading over you, warm enough to be comfortable, cool enough not to steam the reflective mirrors, you could see entirely too well.

You felt him step up behind you before his hands were against your skin, lips pressing quavering and barely restrained kisses into the back of your neck and along your shoulders. The mirrors didn’t give him away like they did you, but the water made his golden curls cling to his face and neck.

“I… don’t know where to look.” You sigh as his hands move along your hips.

“Close your eyes, then.” He offers, before turning you to face him. His smile is devious and kind at the same time, clear blue eyes putting you at ease. “Or keep them on me. I will behold your beauty in mirrors wise enough to reflect only the most deserving, and you can honor me by keeping your eyes on me.”

He leans in, kissing you sweetly as the water flowed over you both. “Only me.”

“Only you.” You promise, eyes moving from his to his lips. “Sabo, please.”

Hands that are hot against the small of your back twitch, moving down to the curve of your ass and squeezing, eliciting a moan from you before he leans in and steals another kiss. His tongue was between your lips, hungry and thirsty, the harried space between you ensorcelled in water, making the entire affair messier than usual.

Sabo lifts you easily, the unnatural strength of his perfect for moments even as gentle as these. You seemed to float in the reflection of the mirrors, your breasts pressed against Sabo’s unseen chest. The grip of his hands in the meat of your thighs was the only indication you weren’t floating under your own power.

“Another time,” he grins, stiff cock already teasing your entrance, “and I want to put the mirror right between our legs.” He lets you sink down a little, teasing just the tip of his cock into you. “I want to watch your pussy, flushed and dripping, spread open around me.”

“Haaaa, fuh-fuck. Don’t say it like that,” you whine, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. Held like this there weren’t many places to look. Nuzzled into him gave him access to your neck, and he didn’t leave the opportunity to pass him by.

Sharp fangs, and the euphoria that always followed the sting, sink into you as he pushes deep into your pussy. Your gasp of surprise is a bright cry of pleasure at the stimulation and it’s all you have in you to hold onto him. The bite is brief, a loving lick over the small wounds as he makes you ride him easily.

The slap of skin is wet from the shower and the frantic start has you panting into his shoulder.

“So noisy already?” He coos knowingly, licking against your neck again as he thrusts up into you. “Seeing the water mingle with your pleasure and drip onto the tiles is quite the treat.”

“I’m not dripping!” You cry. He was going to kill you with embarrassment one day.

“Oh?” Sabo pulls out of you, turning you around with such ease it almost makes your head spin. Your back is against his chest, and he’s holding your thighs, keeping you spread and purposefully on display for the mirrors. “Watch, sweet flower.” He says the words in a way that brokers no descent and you watch as he pushes his twitching cock back inside you.

“Sabo, please!” You cry, heart pounding in your head as he fills you back up.

“It’s not the best angle, but you do take me so well, don’t you.” He holds you steady, pushing up into as water cascades down his back and leaves your view of yourself unobstructed. His eyes flash, and the light is the only thing that reflects off the mirrors.

“Touch yourself,” he commands and your hand is moving toward your clit before you’ve fully registered it.

“Cheater,” you gasp. Your fingers feel almost foreign against the sensitive bundle of nerves, sending thrills through you. “Stop - Ahhh-fuck - commanding me like that!”

“Ah, but you love it.” He purrs in your ear, tongue teasing the curve of it. “Look, there’s no water, and yet-.”

“Don’t say it!” You cry. Your legs are shivering and you can feel pleasure rising inside you. With the clear view from the mirrors you swear the only thing you can hear dripping on the stone tiles is your own pleasure, despite the shower running behind you.

“Please, please, I’m going to cum, Sabo, please!”

“Look at me.” The edges of a command help you look up at him, and his eyes drink in your expression. Desperate and needy, and so close. “By the stars. I just want to press you against the mirror and fuck you until you drool down the glass, too blissed out of your sweet little mind to care.”

You try to protest, but nothing except a desperate keening cry escapes your lips. Sabo picks up the pace.

“Cum.” He commands, but there’s no magic to it. There was none stopping you from it either, but the way you waited, relentlessly begging for his permission in all the ways you could think of.

Pleasure shatters your face, still tilted back so he can watch you fall apart. He could enjoy the reflection, but there was something far more decadent about seeing it so up close. Especially as your body was compelled to continue teasing your clit even as your conscious thoughts were getting lost to pleasure.

A devious grin splits Sabo’s face as he steps toward the mirrored wall, pressing your fevered skin against the cold glass. You barely gasp from the temperature difference as Sabo continues thrusting into your dripping and trembling pussy.

“Since we’re here, my sweetest flower, let's see if I can’t make my earlier idea a reality.”

[carlsdarling]

I just wanna be carls side bitch like not even beinge important to him just him using me for pleasure and some realive whenever his girlfriend isn't in the mood wich she almost never is

Sunset Affairs

Y/N and Carl having an affair behind Enid's back. Basically plot, then sex. Everyone is 18 or over.

WARNINGS: smut, nsfw, oral (female receiving), cheating

You weren't surprised when there was a knock on the door of your house around sunset and Carl was standing on the doorstep. Carl, Rick, Daryl, and Michonne had been on a road trip to a nearby hospital to scavenge equipment and medicines for the ward. This mission had consumed the entire day, and Carl appeared exhausted. Without a word, he pulled you close to him to kiss you hard right then and there. Needily, he forced his tongue into your mouth, closed the door, dropped his hat to the floor, and pressed you against the wall next to the kitchen, squeezing against you.

You freed yourself for a moment. "Did you come straight from the tour to see me, Carl?" you asked in wonder. Carl felt sweaty, obviously he hadn't showered yet.

"No, yes," he replied sullenly. "I went home for a minute, but Enid... uum, she didn't feel like it."

As so often. Mentally, you sighed. When Carl had been out all day, he was almost always horny afterwards, and almost always Enid, his girlfriend, rejected him. As usual. Sometimes you wondered what Carl even saw in Enid. While they clearly got along well and loved each other, Carl's libido and hers just didn't match.

That's why Carl always came to you then; he knew you liked to let him fuck you and enjoyed it a lot. You didn't care that he had no feelings for you, apart from your dates you didn't have much to do with each other and most of the time Carl acted indifferent towards you and ignored you. You were well aware that he was using you, but it didn't bother you - you didn't want a relationship with him either.

Carl nodded curtly in the direction of the living room and was already undoing his belt. You took a seat on the couch and watched as he quickly undressed. You yourself wore only a bathrobe, because you had just taken a bath, and now you let the bathrobe open in an inviting way. It excited you how horny Carl was; how much he craved you, needed you. You gave him what Enid wouldn't or couldn't give him. He licked his lips, his cheeks slightly flushed as he approached the couch naked, his cock so desperate, his tip glistening with precum. You threw the pillows on the floor and moved aside so Carl could lie down next to you.

As usual, foreplay turned out to be pretty short; Carl always invested just enough time and effort to get you wet enough for him to penetrate you. Today, it wasn't really working. "What's the matter?" he asked impatiently, his fingers fumbling between your legs.

"I dunno," you mumbled, "I didn't expect you to come over today. And I'm kind of tired."

Carl sighed and grimaced in annoyance, then knelt in front of the couch and gestured for you to sit on the edge and spread your legs so he could eat you out. He killed two birds with one stone - you would probably finally get wet, and Carl's saliva served as a lubricant.

You trembled as he touched your clit with his tongue, spreading your folds with his fingers so he could kiss and lick it. "Oh, Carl," you mewled, tugging at his brown hair. Little bolts of arousal ran through your body as Carl routinely continued licking and sucking. He broke off immediately when he realized you were now ready for him, stood up and told you to lie on your back.

He aligned himself with your pussy and slowly penetrated you, then instantly began with quick, short thrusts. Like every time, he gave you only casual, distracted attention while he sought his pleasure from you and let himself go, relieving all the stress by fucking you. You loved it anyway, Carl's cock was so pretty big, and he could handle it very well. And you also liked Carl's slightly dominant and ruthless attitude of just taking whatever he wanted. Carl was entitled to that - he was the one and only Carl Grimes, and he was so fucking sexy bad ass.

You moaned softly underneath him, stroking his back, hoping he wouldn't cum too fast today, as he sometimes did when he was particularly stressed out or in a bad mood. Then Carl didn't care if you had your pleasure, too; he would cum, get up, get dressed, and leave, and you had to bring yourself to orgasm.

But usually Carl made sure you were cumming, too - though you weren't so sure if he needed that reassurance for his ego or if it really was important to him. Maybe he also thought that if he left you unpleasured too often, you wouldn't have sex with him anymore. He looked at you, his eyes glazed with arousal. "Are you going to cum?" he asked with impatience and a bit of reproach. "I'm already holding myself back."

You nodded heatedly. "In a minute," you murmured, grasping his hips and showing him how you liked it. Carl obeyed and withdrew almost completely from you, playing with his tip at your entrance, then penetrating you again. This drove you to ecstasy, as always. "Oh God, Carl, yes, please," you whimpered, kissing his neck and ear as you cum.

"No hickeys," he admonished you before he began to moan heavily and to pound hard and firm. At the very last moment, he pulled out to cum on your tummy.

As usual, Carl wasted no time in cuddling, but got up, cleaned himself with a handkerchief lying around, and hurriedly got dressed. "Thank you," he said blandly, nodded at you and headed off, back to his girlfriend, while you were left with your heart beating wildly and breathless.