#prefer shadow of rock

[cloudinal]

Day 1 - Fated Meeting

[rouge-the-bat]

honestly i think deep voices tend to be my fave, no matter the gender. they just sound so soothing and nice, makes me wanna be hugged 🥰

[swordgrace]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒.

༆ jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader.

SYNOPSIS: as lady-in-waiting to rhaenyra targaryen, you find that her eldest son, jacaerys, is the only true friend and comfort you have amidst a brewing war that threatens to tear the realm apart.

note: jacaerys is nineteen, reader is eighteen.

༆ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄.

༆ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄.

{ FORMAT: one shot — requested.

{ WORD COUNT: 11.5K (this is a long one, not sorry!)

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), friends to lovers, inexperience from both reader & jace, loss of virginity (mutual), first time sexual experiences, sexual tension, p in v sex (unprotected), missionary position, lots of kissing and sweeter antics, slight risk of getting caught, oral sex (fem!receiving), handjob, fingering, hair pulling kink, brief overstimulation, tiddy sucking, this whole thing is soft & sweet smut, nothing disgusting here, jacaerys is the epitome of a perfect lover :))

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: I am lowkey transitioning into becoming a Jace girl, I absolutely love him and I’m really enjoying where his character is going! This was a request from an anon user who wanted something freeform! I hope you all enjoy it, thanks so much for all of the recent love & support for my work! It makes me so happy! ❤️

𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐊𝐒, harkened in from the gentle roll of the tides. Saltwater and dampened rock filled your nostrils, aided by the fluttering breeze as it danced across the obsidian cliffs of Dragonstone.

The castle stood the testament of time, a monolith to the rule of the Targaryens. It loomed overhead, less frightening in the lighter hours, blanketed by glittering rays of sunlight. A cloudless day — good for sailing, you thought, as vessels ushered in goods to the shoddy harbor below.

Beneath the vibrancy of a cloudless sky, you could see the shadow of a dragon soaring overhead — the Princess Rhaenys, from the horned shape above. You cupped your hand around your eyes, squinting to see, constantly mesmerized by such creatures.

In your fantastical dreams, you flew upon the back of a dragon, letting the wind scrape across your visage, feeling the weight of something so powerful beneath you. Of course, you were neither Targaryen nor Velaryon — possessing a dragon wouldn’t be in the cards for you, and perhaps that was a good thing.

As much as you enjoyed the beauty of Dragonstone, you much preferred the outdoors. The weather was splendid, and you took small victories wherever possible. With war on the horizon between your Queen Rhaenyra and her usurper brother, any chance at happiness was worth chasing after and holding onto, while you could.

House Celtigar had bent the knee to Rhaenyra, and your father sat at her council. You were made to be a lady-in-waiting, much your initial disdain. The station you held would’ve been considered a great honor to most young women, but you were inclined to be out in the ocean or on the back of a horse.

Now, you found enjoyment in it, wherever you could.

Oceanic air filled your lungs in a singular inhale, tinged with a saltwater sting. You stood near one of the many stone terraces lining the lengthy walkway to the castle’s entrance, accompanied by Joffrey. The boy had become your greatest joy amidst the brewing chaos, and you were rather grateful for it.

“Would you like to see the ocean, little Prince?” You held the boy’s hand, stooping down to wrap your arms beneath him, standing him up along the cobbled bannister. Joffrey’s laughter could brighten a whole room, and it did — it certainly lifted your spirits.

“When will I be able to ride a dragon?” He questioned, pointing towards the shape of Meleys in the sky. Joffrey was rather inquisitive — a sharp mind, one that would become a great leader someday.

You were unsure of how to answer such a question. Tyraxes was young and still small, just like Joffrey. “Whenever you grow up,” You hummed, a smile playing at either corner of your mouth. “You must be as tall as your brother, first.”

Joffrey toyed with the wooden dragon clutched between his hands, gaze falling toward the ground. “Luke wasn’t much taller.” He mumbled, and it nearly crushed your heart completely to hear the confusion and despair in a child’s voice.

Youth knew more than most, and in the mind of a child, something heinous could appear innocent, or something tragic was beyond their comprehension. Joffrey knew that Luke was gone — he wasn’t coming back. Silence drifted between the both of you, and you found it difficult to change the subject from Lucerys to something lighthearted.

“I miss him.” Joffrey’s sweet voice rang out like the pealing of bells, crystal-clear and downtrodden. You turned him around within your grasp, keeping your hands slotted underneath his arms to ground him. His eyes swam with unshed tears, prompting you to bring him into your embrace.

“It’s alright, my Prince. He’s still here,” You whispered, hugging the boy as tightly as you could. It was enough to rip at your heartstrings, tear you asunder as melancholy began to eat you alive. The fate of Lucerys was a tragic one — unfair and unwarranted, and now, a catalyst for destruction between kin. “We will remember him.”

From afar, Jacaerys observed you and his brother, standing along the ramparts with a palm atop the pommel of his shortsword. The emotional turmoil he continued to feel in regards to Lucerys happened to swell the moment he saw Joffrey clinging onto you — and he knew.

Wisps of a tempered breeze stirred his curled tresses, drifting across his regalia as it caught against his cloak. After the death of his brother, he had come out to the ramparts nearly every night, to sob and to curse the world, to pray to any God that would listen — return Lucerys, bring him home. He had lost count, and in turn, lost a bit of faith.

Remaining optimistic in the face of unavoidable danger was a difficult thing — fear had gripped him once, but no longer. He knew that the only time a man could be brave was in situations like these, where terror stared him in the face and dared him to submit.

Many still referred to him as a mere boy, with little experience and no real understanding of the world and its cruelty. Jacaerys had shed the raiment of boyhood the night he flew blindly into the darkness in the name of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.

With the man born, he knew that whatever would come next, he was prepared to face such challenges head-on. Brazenness was not in his nature, but he had learned to adopt stoicism when it mattered most. It was easy to shed the facade around his family, and around you.

His friendship with you was a calm within the storm, a lull in the tempestuous hurricane you were all trapped within. You now had as much stake in this game as he did — your father served on Rhaenyra’s council with Celtigar bannerman pledging to fight in the war to come, and you served as his mother’s lady-in-waiting.

Your blossoming bond was a great comfort, and the tender way in which you cared for Joffrey was a wonderful thing. You had a soft heart — a good heart, and that was something rare to come by. The two of you were both of a similar feather, and the admiration he held for you only seemed to grow stronger each day.

The word friendship often tormented him, on days where you wore beautiful gowns and stood beside his mother, or whenever you smiled. It tormented him when you held Joffrey within your arms and protected him just as fiercely as Rhaenyra would.

Honor demanded that he simply remain just that — a friend, but Jacaerys found himself smitten with you in a way that transcended propriety. To cross that line, especially with you, invited the disdain of his mother and the ire of your father, amongst other things.

Betrothal would be upon him soon enough, likely with a young maiden from the Vale or the Reach to secure an alliance, but it left a sour taste within his mouth. He had little desire to be with anyone else when you were right there.

Jacaerys steeled himself, abandoning his whimsical line of thinking in regards to you. It was a fool’s errand, and he couldn’t afford to be a fool. He stepped closer, the crunch of stone resonating underneath his boots as he approached you and Joffrey.

“My Lady,” Jacaerys’s tone was amiable, like the comforting lick of a warm hearth. His gaze flickered toward Joffrey, bemused with his brother’s antics as you balanced him along the bannister. “What are you doing up there?” He asked, playful in the presence of his little brother.

“Flying,” Joffrey’s head lifted from your shoulder, eyes sparkling with mischief. You happened to carry him in such a way that he called it flying — and he was asking you to do it again. “Flying!”

With a giggle, you picked the boy up, swinging him up enough to let him get some air. His melancholy turned to jovial laughter as you soared him over to Jacaerys, who was more than happy to pick him up. Joffrey clung to Jace, hugging his brother with all of his strength.

“You are getting too big to fly,” Jace mused, holding Joffrey in one arm as he motioned for you to accompany him. His tousled curls and amicable smile sent your heart fluttering as it had many times before. It wasn’t subtle, your liking of Jacaerys, but you understood the nature of your affections. “Big enough for Tyraxes, soon.”

Jacaerys was perfect, with all of the hallmarks of what a true King should be. He was gentle and eloquent, honed with a blade, learned — and above all, he was kind. The rage that plagued him now was justified, and it pained you to see him become coiled with anger, but you understood why.

As Joffrey regaled the two of you with tales of childlike wonder, soaring his toy dragon around Jace’s head, Jacaerys seemed inclined to converse with you regardless. “I always know where to look, whenever I need to see you.” He mused, walking alongside you as you made your way up the ramparts.

“Is that so?” You chuckled, head canting to one side. “What did you need to see me for, your Grace?” It was a force of habit — he was the heir to the Iron Throne, after all. Jacaerys regarded you with a brief laugh, knowing that formalities were often abandoned whenever the two of you were together.

“Do I need a reason?” Jacaerys mused, voice light and inviting. The crash of the tide upon the beach provided a rather serene ambience, accompanied by the calling of gulls as they circled the bay.

You shook your head, skirts gathered in one hand as you narrowly avoided an upturned plate of stone. “Of course not,” You hesitated, gaze sparkling as your nose wrinkled in mild amusement. “Jacaerys.” You ensured to exaggerate his name, allowing for your conversation to become personal.

At the end of the ramparts, a flock of crimson-clad handmaidens awaited your return. It was likely that they were waiting for you to hand Joffrey over, much to your dismay. The black-headed boy looked to you as you neared the end of your walk.

“I don’t want to go,” He protested, reaching for you as you stepped forward, taking a hold of his hand. “When can we fly again?” Joffrey asked, lower lip jutting out in a rather innocuous pout. He leaned forward, partially out of Jace’s grasp to give you a hug.

“Tomorrow, my Prince. I will let you fly as much as you’d like.” You assured him, reciprocating his hug with one of your own, with all of the warmth one could muster. It was motherly in-nature, and you watched as Jacaerys planted him onto solid ground.

Joffrey took the outstretched hand of a handmaiden, glancing back at you and Jacaerys before they disappeared behind the castle’s massive gates. It always hurt you to leave him, but you knew that tomorrow would come swiftly. A begrudging sigh escaped you before you looked at Jacaerys, countenance somber.

Jace knew what you were about to say — something about Lucerys. The gaping wound left within his heart was barely healed, still oozing with pain, but he was making every effort to mend it. You helped — your resolute reassurance and shoulder to lean on, but sometimes, it wasn’t enough.

Instead, you reached for Jace’s forearm, giving it a brief squeeze of comfort. Whatever sentiments he held, you seemed to echo it, leaving it all unspoken. You and Jacaerys had already spoken about it all at-length — sometimes, he had little desire to tear himself open again.

His head hung low, heap of dark curls billowing in the wind. Jacaerys’s jaw tightened for a brief moment, and he imagined plunging his sword into Aemond Targaryen’s other eye — and then it passed, just as quickly as it had appeared.

A forlorn silence settled between the both of you, one that was born out of mutual understanding and empathy. Jace went quiet often, and you were content to sit in it for as long as he pleased. Instead, you stepped toward the bannister, palms planting themselves atop the stone as you gazed out toward the land surrounding Dragonstone.

“You are good with him,” Jacaerys broke the silence, deliberately stepping towards you as he stood by your side. Joffrey and his half-brothers, Aegon and Viserys, were all he had left. He would die for them if he had to. “He talks about you often.”

An exuberant smile crept onto your features, one of a sweet fondness in regards to Joffrey. “He is a sweet boy — very sharp-witted, though. I would imagine he will grow to be very wise.” You replied, idly tracing your fingers around some of the rocks socketed into the bannister.

“I remember the day he was born,” Jacaerys recalled, remembering the day that his mother, pale skin glistening with sweat, had wobbled into the drawing room, a newborn Joffrey in her arms. “It was a beautiful day, and Ser Harwin was there, and Ser Laenor …” He trailed off, recalling the way that Lucerys had begged to hold his younger brother.

The topic of both Laenor and Harwin were bitter ones — both men playing the role of father. Jacaerys loved them both, as any son would. Another gust of saltwater mist brushed along the ramparts, dusting your cheeks with wisps of moist air.

Wordlessly, you reached for Jace’s arm, looping yours around him as you let him lean against you for support. As much as Jacaerys insisted that he would recover and move on, you ensured him that grieving took time — it came in many shapes and forms.

Jace’s smile was wistful and threadbare, made sorrowful by memories of Lucerys. He didn’t want to sully the moment with his melancholy, holding his head high as he glanced toward you. You were not looking, but it allowed him a moment of appreciation and admiration.

Your beauty was unparalleled, your features delicate and smile like the warmth of a summer sunshine. The way in which you carried yourself was of a kindly disposition, made to be nurturing and helpful instead of imposing. Admittedly, you took his breath away — the feeling was a constant one.

Sunlight sparkled across your countenance, gaze soothing and full of empathy. The way in which you grasped his arm, kept yourself tucked away within his side, it invoked feelings of protectiveness — and newfound affection.

A dragon’s shrill cry reverberated throughout the skies, prompting Jacaerys to immediately look ahead. It was the familiar shriek of Vermax, his bonded dragon, who had grown exponentially. He was larger than Moondancer, with olive-colored scales and orange fins, eyes the color of a burnished gold.

“Māzigon, Vermax!” Jacaerys called, gaining the attention of his dragon as it began to approach, causing your heart to gallop within your chest. He looked at you with a hint of amusement, head canting to one side. “Would you like to see him?” Jace inquired, moving along the wall.

As majestic as dragons were, the wonder within your eyes had quickly shifted to wariness as it landed along the ramparts, rocks scraping underneath its talons. Vermax was much larger when in close proximity than he was flying overhead. “He is wonderful, Jace. Though, it is best if I keep my distance. He might not like me.”

Jacaerys laughed, amber-brown eyes sparkling with mirth. “Might not like you?” He mused, knowing that such a thought was outlandish. If he liked you, then Vermax most certainly would. A dragon could always pick apart friend from foe, and you were as far from an enemy as one could be.

“Yes, what — Jacaerys, that is a perfectly reasonable thing to say,” You countered, flustered by Jace’s reaction to your skepticism. His smile was cheery and heartfelt as he stared at you, and then offered his hand. “I do not think that this is a good idea.” A soft utterance emerged from under your breath.

“Trust me.” His tone softened exponentially, shifting from playful to gentle, reassuring. You hesitated before taking a hold of his hand, and Jacaerys nearly brushed his thumb across your knuckles out of sheer instinct. Whatever thoughts he had, he pushed them to the far recesses of his mind.

You trusted Jacaerys more than most, prompting you to nod as he ushered you closer to Vermax. His grasp was tender, as to not frighten you, which only made your heart flutter with affection. The dragon bristled and made a series of noises, some more serpentine than others.

Vermax lowered his head, pushing closer towards his rider as the dragon bowed to Jacaerys. You were close enough to feel the waves of heat wafting from his breath, close enough to outstretch your arm and feel his scales beneath your palm.

The scent of brimstone and dragonscale lingered upon Vermax, like a crackling fire and smoke. You watched with bated breath as Jace’s palm moved to Vermax’s snout, digits tracing along the olive-hued scales, and down toward his jaw. “Sagon iēdrosa,” Jace murmured, stepping closer to his dragon. “Sȳz.”

High Valyrian was an exquisite language, a beautiful symphony from an ancient era. Jacaerys had become proficient in such a tongue, and the way he spoke it had you mesmerized. With a gentle smile, he still held your hand, gesturing toward Vermax.

“What are you saying to him?” You inquired, losing some of your fear. It gradually waned the closer Jacaerys had inched you toward the dragon, who showed no ill will towards you at all. Instead, Vermax’s burnished hues glimmered with intrigue — you were a familiar scent, emblazoned upon Jace, but not a familiar face.

“I told him to be still for you,” Jacaerys replied, fingers flexing around your own as he carefully guided you toward Vermax’s neck, where the scales began to flare and thicken. Olive turned to emerald in some places, verdant shades clashing together. “Place your hand here.”

Your breath hitched within your throat as Jace became in close proximity to you, closer than he’d been before. His grasp was a tender one, placing your palm atop the dragon’s throat. Warmth crept along the length of your spine, filling your belly with an eruption of butterflies.

You made the mistake of glancing at Jacaerys for the briefest moment, able to spot the rosy flush of color within his visage and the gleam within his stare. As soon as you’d made contact, he happened to glance away, making a soft noise as it stirred within his throat.

Vermax chortled, the dragon’s attention fixated upon you as you brushed your fingers across his scales. Jace had dropped your hand, realizing the sliver of space between you both as he stepped aside, content to observe you with his dragon.

It was your enchanting laughter that lifted his spirits, the gentle way in which you stroked across Vermax’s neck and shoulder. “He is beautiful,” You hummed, countenance bright with a joyous radiance as you looked at Jacaerys once more. The gap between you had grown, much to your dismay. “How do you say that in High Valyrian?”

Jace hesitated, lips parting just slightly. His heart nearly skipped a beat when you smiled at him, expectant and awaiting his answer. He became so easily distracted in your presence, and it was somewhat vexing to behold. “Gevie,” He replied, briefly clearing his throat. “Gevie means beautiful, in High Valyrian.”

With a soft hum, you looked to Vermax, your grin toothy and amused. “Gevie, Vermax.” You spoke clearly, but the dragon did not seem to understand what you said — it wasn’t a command. Instead, he let out a series of reptilian noises, nostrils flaring with snort, almost like that of a horse.

Vermax’s lack of reaction made you frown, but Jacaerys appeared amused by it, at least. “Gevie isn’t a command,” He mused, head canting to one side. “Your High Valyrian needs improvement.” His tone was jocular, teasing — it made your heart stir within your chest.

“Fortunately, I have the perfect teacher standing before me.” You countered with a giggle, noticing the way in which a shade of pink settled into his features. Jacaerys was beautiful and handsome, but his flustered behavior only made him more perfect to you.

The dragon shook its head, seeking the embrace of his rider before he began to take flight. A massive gust of wind from the flap of his wings nearly knocked you down, causing you to crouch and grip the stone of the ramparts.

Jacaerys smiled, watching as Vermax ascended, taking to the skies above Dragonstone once more. You watched with a semblance of awe, slowly rising to your feet as the dragon became a mere specter amidst the cloudless sky. He did not stray too far, circling around with the likes of Moondancer and Syrax.

“Someday, I will take you flying with me,” Jace suggested, nose wrinkling slightly at your bewildered expression. “I would keep you safe.” He reassured you before words could emerge from your mouth, his chuckle amicable as he led you back toward the gates of Dragonstone.

“I trust you, but flying?” To see the world from such great heights sounded wonderful, but you feared the fall — and you feared the unknown of it all even more. “That might take more convincing than this did.” You mused, walking alongside him as the gates became closer.

A huff escaped him, hand dropping from the pommel of his shortsword to his side, a symbol of letting his guard down. A comfortable silence settled between the both of you, occasionally accompanied by a brief bout of laughter or tender smiles.

As the gates loomed over the both of you, Jacaerys hesitated, deliberating on what to say next. There were so many things he wanted to say to you — where did he begin? The nerves of first affection grabbed hold of him, but he remained resistant, wanting nothing more than to tell you how much you meant to him.

“Perhaps an exchange is in-order,” Jacaerys began, shifting his weight from one foot to the next. “You come flying with me, and I will teach you High Valyrian.” He mused, smothering his grin at your expression. You were clearly wary and unimpressed.

“Danger for something that I could learn in the comfort of a book? I think not, your Grace.” With a grin of your own, Jace happened to snicker, his visage invoking an unspoken challenge, albeit playful. “If I am ever feeling bold and spontaneous, I will inform you as soon as possible.”

Jacaerys hummed, head ducking for just a moment before he met your gaze again, doting and overflowing with a subtle warmth. “Thank you for this,” He began, tone heartfelt and genuine. “I would not know what to do if it weren’t for your company and comfort. I’ve found it difficult to remain jovial as of late, but it’s rather effortless in your presence.”

His genial compliments made your stomach turn with excitement, and you could soar away. Jacaerys would be an excellent ruler, should he take the Iron Throne — such grace, compassion, and gallantry were true hallmarks of what would make a good King. You felt the familiar, smitten flush dance along your skin.

“Of course, Jace — you never have to ask for it,” Your fingers twisted into the silk of your gown, an outlet for your growing nerves. “You’ve no idea how much your company means to me. We will get through this together, that much I know.” With a brief nod, you felt his stare grow in intensity.

Before he could bear his heart to you on a whim, the gates opened, revealing several Targaryen bannermen and Kingsguard. It was sudden and somewhat jarring, placing the two of you back within reality — in a realm on the brink of war.

“I should return to your mother, I fear I’ve neglected my duties enough today,” You murmured, offering Jace a kindly smile before dropping to curtsy. He seemed starstruck, as if caught within the depths of his own thoughts. “Good afternoon, your Grace.”

Formalities reappeared again, much to his disdain. He loved it when you called him Jace or Jacaerys, or your Grace whenever you teased him. To hear it used in the context of nobility made him feel distant, but he understood. You possessed a strong sense of propriety.

“My Lady.” Jace replied, watching as you took your leave to rejoin the other handmaidens and guardsmen. Jacaerys cursed himself for not making the most of the moment, but he knew that he could make his own opportunity, forge it if it never came about.

He intended to do just that.

𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐊 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋, with braziers dancing across the obsidian interior. Stars sparkled above a clear night sky, dragons dancing above. It was almost like something from a fairytale or a painting, mesmerizing to behold as you gazed up at the scaling ceiling of your bedchambers.

Your quarters were small and homely, befitting of your status as lady-in-waiting. Rhaenyra had ensured that your lodgings and that of your father were enough — more than suitable, really. The feathered mattress you slept upon was made for royalty, you thought.

The constant flicker of candlelight provided a source of warmth as you rolled over within your bed, blankets hauled up beneath your chin. It was too early to fall asleep, too late to do anything of substance.

A knock at your door gave you pause, brows furrowing together as you retrieved your robe, lacing it around the sheer gossamer of your nightgown. Bare feet traveled across the cold stone, until you reached the metal hoop slotted atop mahogany.

With a pull, you opened the door, surprised to find Jacaerys, who had abandoned his traditional Targaryen regalia, hands occupied with a stack of various tomes and scrolls. His mop of dark curls framed his face, and even he seemed just as bewildered as you were.

“Jacaerys,” His nightly visits were rather uncommon — in fact, this was only the second time he’d come, the first following Lucerys’s passing. You swallowed the growing lump within your throat, stepping aside to allow him inside of your chambers. “Is everything alright?”

Jace placed the stack of books atop the table that sat amongst small lounge chairs, ensuring to clear his throat before he spoke. “Of course,” He replied, gesturing toward your newfound reading material. “I’ve brought you scripts to learn High Valyrian.”

You blinked, touched by such a thoughtful gesture. You smoothed your palms across your robe, stepping forward to inspect the books, many of which appeared ancient and weathered. “You didn’t have to,” You replied, head canting to one side. “Many of these seem important. Are you sure that no one will miss these?”

A brief chuckle escaped him before he shook his head. “The Maesters might, but they’ve read them a hundred times over, I’m certain of it. You will find more use.” He replied, retreating toward the threshold of your chambers. Jacaerys wanted to keep his visit brief — visiting a young woman’s quarters in the dead of night was not exactly an intelligent move.

“You’re leaving so soon?” Your inquiry held a twinge of disappointment, hoping that he would stay and converse with you, at the very least. “Jacaerys, I assure you that no one will admonish you if you stay for a few minutes longer.” The softness of your voice enticed him, and he very nearly confessed then and there.

The weight of growing sentiments felt as if they would swallow him whole if he did not speak them into fruition. With the threat of a looming war and the potential for oblivion, Jacaerys was unsure of what gave him pause. The fear of rejection, perhaps? That wasn’t it.

It took a moment for you to adjust, and when you did, you noted his own attire — a billowy tunic and dark trousers that happened to make him appear softer in the candlelight. The sharp black and crimson of his house’s colors made him intimidating and poised, but no longer.

You saw Jacaerys himself, doe-eyed and magnificent.

“I fear what will happen if I stay,” Jacaerys confessed, squaring himself with the door. If he continued to linger in your chambers without restraint or without additional eyes, he knew what would happen — he did not want to sully your honor. “I won’t.”

“Jacaerys,” You whispered, brows furrowing together to form a look of confusion and startlement. Out of concern, you stepped closer, abandoning the scripts of High Valyrian now scattered across your table. “What’s wrong? I don’t understand.”

The inner war he waged within seemed to reflect upon his countenance, as Jacaerys exhaled — it was laced with stress, a heaviness that you struggled to understand. He seemed flustered, not wanting to meet your amiable gaze. “It is best if I leave it alone.” He replied, taking a hold of your hands. “I would not tarnish your honor.”

That is what he meant.

Something boiled over inside of you, the butterflies and blossoming affection turning into a tidal wave that threatened to swallow you whole. As Jace held your hands, he seemed desperate to convey such a message — whatever he wanted, he could not have.

A brief exhale escaped you before you steeled yourself, thumbs brushing across his knuckles, over the veins of his hands. “You wouldn’t tarnish it,” You whispered, stomach churning with molten heat. “I know that you wouldn’t, Jace. I trust you the most.”

Jacaerys felt the stirring within his chest, the first inkling of arousal settling into his very bones. It was somewhat foreign — a new feeling, but exciting and exhilarating. “I would never hurt you,” He insisted, and you believed him wholeheartedly. “What I feel for you, I do not wish to feel this way with anyone else.”

If you could’ve collapsed then and there, you would’ve — you thought it would happen, with the way your knees rattled together beneath your nightgown. The beating of your heart accelerated into a violent crescendo, and then you felt the rush — the love you had for him, desire, admiration, neediness.

A tenuous silence drifted between you both, the tension thick enough to be sliced with a blade. Jacaerys had inched closer without thinking, able to peer down into your eyes, swirling with affection and bewilderment. “If I told you I felt the same?” Your voice barely rose above a whisper.

Deliberately, Jacaerys released one of your hands, allowing his palm to fully envelop your face, the pad of his thumb caressing your cheekbone. “I would never difile your virtue, or take it for granted. You must tell me if this is something you want.” He insisted, jaw tightening as he anxiously awaited your answer.

You knew that he wouldn’t — Jacaerys Velaryon was the most honorable man you knew, one that would never lay a finger upon you unless you consented. You couldn’t imagine a return to friendship if you happened to reject him — you didn’t want to reject him, either.

“I do,” A shudder ran down your spine, bringing a wave of thrill and anticipation with it. “I want this — and I want you, Jacaerys, if you’ll have me.” Part of you became nervous, knowing that you had never bedded a man before, but you pushed the thought aside.

“A hundred times over.” Jace uttered, dipping down to press his lips against yours. The kiss was incredibly sweet and delicate, something brief to test the waters as the two of you began to explore uncharted territory. Your hands reached for his chest, flat atop his sternum.

Allowing the kiss to linger, you tilted your head just slightly, enough to permit a sensual progression. He kissed you so sweetly, treated you as if you were precious, something to be worshiped. When he inevitably pulled away, you felt a twinge of nervousness.

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” Your confession was a strenuous one, and you hoped that he wouldn’t be disappointed by your lack of experience. Most men already had a plethora by the time betrothals and first love emerged. “Is that alright?”

“Of course,” Jacaerys reassured you with a gentle squeeze, brows furrowing together with insistence. He hesitated, somewhat sheepish to admit the very same, but he knew you wouldn’t admonish him for it. “I haven’t either, if that’s alright.” He mused, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile.

A sweet bout of laughter escaped you before you nodded several times over, unable to keep from withholding your happiness. “I suppose that this will be quite the learning experience.” You felt his thumb stroke along your jaw, his lips molding themselves to yours in another kiss.

Passion and tension began to mount, a continuous climb of affection, prepared to turn into something fiery. Jacaerys worried that he would disappoint you, or perhaps feel clumsy and awkward, but those were mere insecurities — he knew that you wouldn’t hold it against him.

One of his hands dropped, finding the pliant curve of your hip as he sank his digits into you, able to haul you closer, until there was no space left between the two of you. Kissing felt effortless with Jace, despite your inexperience — he was gentle and deliberate, ensuring that he took his time with you above all else.

Your fingers wandered from his chest to his broad shoulders, finding the curls of hair at the nape of his neck. Jacaerys exhaled, a shiver rolling down his spine as you began to gently tug at his tresses. He canted his head slightly, enough to deepen the kiss and hold you close.

It was Jace who slowly broke the kiss, but just enough to speak, warm breath fanning across your face. “May I take you to bed?” He murmured, tracing across the silky plane of your jaw. His excitement began to grow, heart hammering within his chest.

In such close quarters to one another, you noticed the faint dusting of freckles along the bridge of his nose, spreading just underneath his eyes. You pressed a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “You may.” Eagerness replaced any nervousness you were experiencing, then and there.

Jacaerys found your hand, twining his digits with your own as the two of you inched toward your bed. It was plush, lined with furs and enough blankets to warm the Seven Kingdoms. He stood at the precipice of a cliff, preparing to dive headfirst — and it felt incredible.

He watched with bated breath, rapturous and enamored as your digits settled along the many ties of your outer robes. You began the sluggish process of untethering each one until the garment loosened, enough for you to shrug it aside and drape it over the chest at the foot of your bed.

Even with the veil of sheer, silky fabric, Jacaerys quietly admired your physique, shapely and beautiful in every way imaginable. “You are perfect,” Jace uttered, hands coming to settle around your hips, searching for any sign of hesitation on your end. “Beautiful.” He exhaled, feeling you coax him in for another kiss.

Through the slip of silk and gossamer, Jacaerys deftly felt his way along your body, taking his time savoring you. Every curve and dip, every little detail he committed to memory, lost within a sea of you. Your kiss became passionate, and he was more than happy to reciprocate, the intensity burning between you both.

Jace felt your fingers tease the hem of his tunic, enough to elicit a subtle gasp from him. The sensation of your flesh against his caused goosebumps to spread from where your digits brushed against his waist. He released you for a moment, long enough for him to assist you in removing his nightshirt.

A pang of admiration struck at your stomach, breath hitching within your throat. He was pretty — well-muscled for a young man, with sunkissed skin, smatterings of freckles along his shoulders. Jacaerys felt your lips press against the hollow of his throat, warmth fanning out from the simple contact.

“I want to take care of you, if you’ll let me.” Jace murmured, insistent on pleasuring you above all else. He knew very little of what ensued between a woman and a man within the confines of their bedchambers outside of the simple act itself, but it was easy to imagine.

Your lips parted, heat sinking into your bones as you reached for his curled tresses, digits slipping through his soft, dark locks. “Yes”, Your voice was barely above a whisper as you coaxed him in for another kiss, one charged with arousal and desire. “I want you, Jace.”

The heady, wanton way in which you spoke his name caused him to shiver, bare chest pressed snugly against your own. Even the veil of silken fabric could not hide your supple frame from him, the peaks of your breasts soft and pliant.

His kiss was so gentle — it was charged with lust despite its tame nature, not that you minded. You felt his hands fall to your hips, melding into your curves before he began to gather the fabric within his hands. Jacaerys looked to you before continuing, and you gave him a nod to signal your approval.

Silky gossamer slowly crawled up the length of your legs as Jace gathered your gown, sliding it upward. You couldn’t fight against the onslaught of molten heat that churned violently within your stomach, shamelessly pooling between your legs.

Jacaerys hesitated, likely thinking of what to do next. He had been educated on what consummation was, the act of making an heir — but there was more to it, more of you to explore. Curiosity consumed him as he placed his palm atop the bare skin of your thigh, using the other to ease you down onto your bed.

He sat beside you, leg to leg as he continued to push your nightgown up toward your hips, skirts gathering around the middle of your thighs. “May I?” Jace’s voice seemed to grow husky with arousal, desire burning its way through his veins.

Instead, you gingerly took a hold of his hand, guiding it underneath your gown as you parted your legs enough to allow him unhindered access. He caressed you wherever he could, shuddering when you held the trail of your nightgown in one hand to push it up around your hips.

You nearly squeaked when his palm brushed along your inner thigh, lips parting with a sharp exhale. Jace moved closer, as close as he could as his mouth graced your neck, digits inching toward the slick heat between your legs. When he found it, you let out a simpering whine, reaching for his forearm.

A hushed moan escaped you as two digits trailed across your cunt, exploratory and feather-light. Your hips canted forward into the sensation, desiring more — and Jace obliged, pushing both fingers inward until they slipped past your folds.

“Jace,” You whispered, eyes fluttering shut as he continued to pepper strings of sweet kisses along your neck, gown sagging enough to let him kiss your shoulder. “Do not stop, please.” That breathy plea exuded some power over him, and he was enthralled, prepared to do whatever you asked of him.

“Is that alright?” Jacaerys asked, digits becoming a touch more vigorous as he stroked at your slit, surprised at how wet you were. If it were a common thing, he would know what to expect in the future. His thumb grazed your clit, and you gasped.

With a soft hum of approval, you nodded, shifting your legs apart just a little more. “Y—Yes,” Absentmindedly, your fingers slipped from the taut muscle of his forearm to his hand, the one wedged underneath your gown. “I — Like this.” You instructed him to touch you how you had touched yourself.

Jacaerys watched through a half-lidded stare, beyond entranced with you. You were beautiful — so painfully ethereal that it made him want to kneel before you, a goddess made to be worshiped. You adjusted his fingers, ensuring that his thumb pressed against your clit with continuous pressure.

Despite his nonexistent experience, he was doing wonders for you — he was attentive and willing to learn your body as you saw fit. He was so handsome, lips curling into an affectionate smile before he kissed your jaw, digits continuing from where they’d left off.

Your palm fell across his thigh, nails beginning to dig themselves into the muscle there as he touched your clit, digits tracing around the rest of your cunt. The candlelight highlighted his features in such perfect detail, the illumination slight.

Reverence seeped into each action, every stroke of his fingers evoking a string of whimpers from you. He was passionate and careful, willing to learn your body better than you. He continued to caress your clit, the sensation sending jolts of electricity throughout your body.

His name became your prayer, devolving into desperate moans and whispered pleas as you rocked your hips into the sensation of his hand. “Jacaerys,” You sighed with passion, feeling the stirring within your stomach. Arousal consumed every part of you, just as it did him. “Jace.”

The dark-haired Prince let out a soft groan into the hollow of your throat, wanting you more than anything, and the hand you had perched atop his thigh did little to ease the fever. He kissed your neck again, scarlet-faced and beyond eager, whispering sweet nothings in High Valyrian against your skin.

Excitement and the heat of the moment seemed to get to you, as you used one hand to sloppily unlace the leather ties of his trousers. You wanted to touch him too, let him feel exactly how you felt — how he made you feel.

Jace shivered, not objecting, but he wanted to focus on you above all else. “What about you?” He asked, feeling his cock twitch with want. The ache he had for you was almost painful, threatening to tear him apart if he couldn’t find relief.

“Together,” You suggested, turning enough to crawl into his lap, much to his delight. Jacaerys held you steady, lips clamoring together in a messy flurry of tongue and adoration. It was the anticipation of youth — the desire and sentiments overrode everything else, made duty disappear. “You are perfect.”

His brief smile made all of your worry dissipate, fading into mere background noise. Your hands returned to the leather ties of his breeches once more, sluggishly loosening them. Jace steeled himself, a fire burning within his belly as you reached down.

A low, satisfied groan tore past his lips when your hand gently wrapped around his cock, searching his visage for any sign of discomfort. There was none — only desire, lust festering within his gaze. He resumed touching you, digits circling your clit once more.

Within your delicate grasp, his length hardened, your palm finding a careful rhythm. Your hips twitched, rolling into the sensation of his hand. It was heavenly — the way in which he handled you was gallant and gentle. Arousal continued to gather between your thighs, a new and sticky feeling.

Intermingled gasps and groans filled the air, the both of you clinging to one another. Jacaerys leaned forward, mouth seeking yours, the kiss hot and gentle. Between your careful, uncertain strokes along his length and his digits teasing your cunt, the both of you were lost within the throes of passion.

He slipped his other hand underneath your nightgown, with enough leverage to remove it, if he so desired. Jacaerys broke the kiss long enough to ask, chest heaving with heavier breaths. “May I?” He whispered, voice husky and hoarse with lust.

You nodded, maneuvering your arms over your head as your nightgown slipped to the floor, leaving you bare before Jacaerys. The saltwater breeze which fluttered through your quarters left you shivering, both from the brief chill and anticipation.

The awestruck way in which he stared at you left you hot, body feverish beneath his tempered gaze. He kissed your collarbone, eyes warm and affectionate. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” He stated, nearly breathless. His heart was yours — every fiber of his being devoted itself to you.

Smitten beneath his sweetly-spoken compliments, you trailed your fingers throughout his soft curls. The other slyly descended to reach for his cock again, but Jacaerys seemed to place your hand aside. You seemed confused, head canting to one side. “Do you not like it?”

His bemused chuckle filled your chambers, amiable and as warm as a cozy hearth. “Of course I like it,” Jacaerys murmured, kissing along your jaw and neck, holding you as close as he could. “I’d like to focus on you. There’s something that I wanted to try, if you’ll allow it.”

Surprised, you seemed open to whatever he wanted to try. “Anything you want, you will have. It’s yours.” You expected him to put you on your knees or turn you on your stomach. Instead, he coaxed you down onto your back, getting you to lay down as he crawled between your parted legs.

His mouth pressed a string of affectionate kisses along your shoulder and collarbone, beginning to dip lower toward the perky swell of your breasts. You squirmed slightly, uncertain of where this would lead to. You trusted Jace to follow his own instinct.

Your back arched when his mouth graced your breast, pressing kisses all around the pliant flesh. A moan escaped you, signaling your pleasure as he wrapped his lips around one of your nipples, gingerly suckling on the pebbled bud.

“Jace,” You squeaked, one hand flying to his mountain of dark curls, pushing your fingers through. He touched you in a way that evoked a sense of yearning, as if you were the only woman in the realm. His hand kneaded into your chest, a shiver coursing through him whenever you moaned his name. “Please.”

Heat simmered through him, a wave of desire that only seemed to grow in intensity, demanding to be extinguished. Your flesh tasted saccharine upon his tongue, but there was something else he wanted to taste. As he kissed your chest, he released his lips from your breast, continuing his descent.

He kissed you everywhere, reverence seeping into each brush of his mouth as he traversed your body. Jacaerys pressed his lips against your stomach, and then to your hips, palms sliding against your thighs.

A sharp exhale escaped you as he peppered a string of kisses along the inside of your thigh, showering you in little pecks of affection before he flattened himself entirely. You swallowed the lump within your throat; the sight of Jace’s face wedged in between your legs made you shiver, arousal following suit.

Everything was gentle, even the way in which his veined hands gripped the pliant flesh of your thighs to let them rest against his shoulders. He hesitated, allowing you a moment to adjust and steel yourself before he dipped forward, tongue raking hot embers across your cunt.

The singular, experimental stroke of his tongue caused you to shiver, hands curling into fists. If you could melt away into your furs, you would’ve, feeling his mouth press kisses against your core. “Jace,” You whined, attempting to hold still and cease your squirming. “Don’t stop.”

It was all the encouragement he truly needed, digits soothingly caressing along your thighs as he began to lap at your cunt, adopting a pace that was a little less sluggish. He nearly groaned when he felt your hand grasp at his curled tresses, sinking in toward the base of his skull.

In the nighttime gloom of Dragonstone, you found warmth and comfort in one another — affections intensified, and whatever bond you had before was now redefined entirely. Jacaerys loved you, he had never been more sure of himself until now, dutifully bringing about your pleasure.

A myriad of soft whimpers and whines escaped you, hand gingerly tugging on Jace’s hair as he buried his mouth in the apex of your thighs. His tongue vigorously lapped and traced over your core, savoring your taste, committing it to memory. Bathed in moonlight, Jace appeared more ethereal than ever, the muscles flexing within his back.

With slow, eager laps of his tongue, Jacaerys made sure to savor you, letting it flick across your clit. The short, dizzying gasp that tore past your mouth spurred him on, as he pressed another string of kisses against your slit. The continued sensation of your digits carding through his curls made him sigh with elation.

He brought you closer, heart leaping into his throat when you began to writhe beneath him, hips tilting forward into each stroke of his mouth. “You’re perfect,” Jacaerys whispered, ensuring that you could hear it. Soft utterances of High Valyrian were etched into the flesh of your thigh. “Perfect.”

Blossoming beneath his sweet compliments, your fingers curled against his scalp, unable to lay still as Jace resumed his previous ministrations. The warmth of his tongue left you with a blistering want, stomach churning with a wave of arousal.

As he lapped at your clit again, you whimpered, moaning his name as if to keep his attention there. Jacaerys’s tender expression also bore a great deal of concentration, dark eyes flickering toward you. “There?” He uttered, hoping that you would guide him to where he needed to be.

Your head bobbed up and down against the furs, flesh beginning to glisten with the first inklings of perspiration. Everything felt feverishly hot, as if you would be turned to ash where you sat. Jacaerys was attentive and loving, following your breathy plea as he pursed his lips around the pearl of your cunt.

Jace shivered at the sounds you made, enticed by each whimper and moan, every twitch of your body. He suckled on the sensitive bundle of nerves, alternating between that and greedy, vigorous laps of his tongue. He let himself be lost within bliss, arousal mounting from pleasuring you.

You reached for his hand, fingers interlocking atop the swell of your hip as he continued to lap at your aching core. He squeezed your hand as a sign of reassurance, buried deep within your sweet cunt, something that he wanted to have again and again.

He was at your mercy, the heir to the Iron Throne, the Prince of Dragonstone — and you hadn’t the slightest clue. Jace’s brow creased in concentration as he focused on what spots made you squirm the most, continuing to dutifully lap at your clit until your knees trembled.

“Jace,” A needy moan left you, reverberating within the obsidian confines of your chambers. Arousal rushed through you, molten heat oozing from between your thighs, a nectar as sweet as honey. “I—I think I’m close.” You groaned, unsure if it was just the throes of ecstasy or reality.

Nevertheless, you were on the verge of reaching your peak, and you didn’t want him to stop. Instead, you urged his head forward, fingers laced within his dark curls, right at the nape of his neck. Jacaerys groaned in delight, thoroughly enjoying the way you continued to coax him inward — he happily devoured every drop.

With another barrage of his tongue assaulting your cunt, you whimpered, turning malleable within Jace’s hands. He knew that you were on the verge, and so he pursed his lips around your clit once more, and that was more than enough.

His name emerged from your lips like a reverent prayer, the only name that you knew in that moment. Your release was hot, like a rush of fire that didn’t simmer immediately. The residual sensation lingered, and Jace helped you through it.

Your thighs twitched, absentmindedly attempting to clench together, but Jace held you apart, soothing you with kisses along your thighs. The blissful, contented expression that soon followed was a beautiful one — Jace was shocked to know that he could do that to you, bring you to ruin.

His gallant smile gave you pause as you studied the rosy flush within his features, the glistening sheen of your arousal upon his lips. Jacaerys seemed entirely unphased, basking in your aftermath all the same, his curls tousled and disheveled.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Your tone was sheepish, realizing how much you’d tugged at his hair. If it were you, a tender-headed maiden, you would’ve been batting his hand away. Jace’s bemused chuckle caused you to duck your head.

Jace disarmed you with a charming, doting smile and a simple look of those earthen-brown eyes of his, and shook his head. “You could never hurt me,” He replied, his attempt at gentle flirtation. “I worry more for you.” His confession was soft-spoken.

The act of consummation was not intended to be a comfortable one — for a woman, at least. Jacaerys knew to broach this with care, to make sure that you were well enough before all else. He inched forward from between your thighs, resting his head atop your stomach.

He allowed you a moment of composure, feeling your digits trace the lines of his countenance, stroke at his tresses. Jace pressed a string of kisses all around your body, wherever his lips could reach. The moment was incredibly tender, lingering with the tension of a blossoming ardor.

Through the comfortable haze of silence, you cleared your throat, staring down at Jacaerys with what only could be described at a look of complete and utter adoration. He was so kind, so noble and gentle, yet with the fervor of the dragon’s blood, a desire to do good. You felt so fortunate, even moreso when he smiled at you, pressing a kiss to your hip.

“I want you, Jacaerys,” You whispered, watching as Jace began to sit up, letting your legs trap him on either side. “More than I’ve ever wanted anyone else.” It was the hitch within his throat that made you shiver, heart hammering beneath your breast as you began to confess your feelings — it was inevitable.

Jace reveled at the sight of you, naked and glimmering within the moonlit dusk, candlelight bathing your physique in shades of flickering orange. His descent was slow as he covered you with his body, lips parting to allow a shaky exhale before he kissed your brow. “You have my heart,” He uttered, forehead resting against yours. “Everything I am, is yours.”

Your palms moved to cup either side of his face, thumbs caressing along his cheekbones before you smiled, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I am yours.” You assured, your commitment resolute before the Gods — before Jacaerys Velaryon.

It was a poignant moment, one that seemed intermingled with the seriousness of your words, yet still tinged with the youthful excitement of a first love. He kissed you, slow and amorous, full of an unrestrained affection that no longer seemed weighed-down by unspoken sentiments.

“Are you certain that this is what you want?” Jace asked, his voice a soft caress through your haze of kisses. He would not fault you if you wanted to stop now — and he would if you wished it of him. As much as he desired you, he valued your virtue above his own.

“Yes,” You replied, your palms gliding from his soft visage to the taut muscle of his shoulders, lacing your fingers around the back of his neck. “Are you certain, too? I worry that you might regret lying with me.”

Jacaerys shook his head, brows furrowing together to reflect a semblance of disbelief. He reached down to caress your cheek, making sure that you understood every word. “Nothing in the world would ever make me regret this,” He murmured. “I’ve never been more certain about anything before.”

A brief stirring of adoration fluttered within your chest, and you knew that you wanted no one else ever again. You pulled yourself off of the mattress enough to kiss him, sinking into the sweet bliss of the moment as he reciprocated. His mouth moved in-tandem with yours, eyes beginning to flutter shut.

His hands planted themselves into the feathered pillow on either side of your head, but it didn’t last long. Jacaerys leaned back, maneuvering out of the leather of his trousers, flush against you once they were removed. You were so soft, like an ocean of silk beneath him.

He felt one of your legs hitch around his hips, bodies together beneath the furs. The chill of your chambers dissipated, replaced by the warmth of your skin. You kept your hands poised against his shoulders, dancing across the smattering of freckles there as you continued to kiss him, as if each one would be your last.

The hardened swell of his cock pressed against your lower stomach, and you could feel his breath grow heavier between kisses. He was perfect — flawless, so handsome that it made you ache with want.

Jace kissed you again and again, feeling the soft peaks of your breasts brush against his chest. He adjusted his weight, shifted his hips as he pressed the head of his length against your slick cunt. He was somewhat nervous — perhaps not as much as you, but anxious enough. He made sure to be careful, feeling your legs nudge themselves apart.

A look of mutual preparedness passed between you both, between your doe-eyed gaze of anticipation and Jace’s mounting look of want, there was little room left for uncertainty. He sat up enough to position himself against your aching core, his cock splitting past your folds before it prodded at your entrance.

You steeled yourself, and Jace made sure to be slow, afraid of hurting you enough to cause true discomfort. As he tilted forward, his length filled you, sheathing himself inside of you, inch by inch. Admittedly, it wasn’t a good feeling — not initially, anyway.

A sharp exhale escaped you as he bottomed out, staying still atop you as he allowed you time to grow accustomed to him. Waves of complete and utter bliss rolled through him, his own pleasure nearly overwhelming. You were tight, maidenhead intact for the next few moments until he began to move.

“Are you alright?” Jace whispered around the shell of your ear, pressing against you once more as he reassuringly kissed along the side of your face. He felt despicable for causing you any amount of pain, but you seemed to dismiss his concern.

“I am,” You placated him with a smile, coaxing him in for a kiss. It was best if you didn’t think about it — and with time, it would feel better. Everything was awkward and clumsy, the follies of youth, but as Jace began to move, a fire began to burn within your belly. “Jace.” You sighed, keeping your leg around his hips.

A soft groan resonated beside your ear as Jace adopted a sluggish rhythm, not wanting to intensify things so quickly. Your eyes fluttered shut, body content to bend to his thrusts, grow accustomed to the act itself. He reciprocated your kiss, black curls falling in front of his temples.

Bliss soon replaced discomfort, the more you allowed yourself to adjust. You shifted your legs further apart, one hand falling toward his bicep, the other remaining tangled at the nape of his neck. The sounds of your lovemaking soon filled your chambers, with your foreheads pressed together.

Your name fell from his tongue in a needy groan, and it made you shiver, body reacting with a barrage of gooseflesh along your spine. Perspiration grew upon his brow as he maintained his pace, digits curling into the furs on either side of you.

The sound of your pleasured moans made him feel better, a sign that you were no longer riddled with soreness and irritation. Jace pressed a trail of hot, messy kisses along your face, reaching to the sweet spot beneath your jaw. He kept himself anchored there, feeling your hand squeeze at his bicep.

“Jace!” You squeaked, flushed at the growing lewdness of the noises — the squelching, the passionate groans and heavy breathing. He was perfect, cock filling you in a way that left you completely satisfied. Jace felt your hand fall away from his bicep, reaching for his own, interlocked hands falling back against the cushions.

He shuddered, reveling in the way your cunt tightened around him, the sensation of your hand within his hair, hands joined at your side. Jace’s pace began to quicken, but only somewhat, enough to really feel the myriad of pleasure take hold.

You yearned for him in every way imaginable; your body ached with each movement, every thrust as he leisurely moved in and out of you. His cock pulsated with a dull throbbing, enough to fill his belly with a raging fire. He kissed you again, lips traversing wherever they saw fit, peppering every inch of your sweet skin.

Time seemed to move agonizingly slow in your presence — Jacaerys wouldn’t want it any other way. If he could capture this moment, he would’ve. Every moment was graced by a warm intimacy that sank into his very bones, his adoration for you furthered with each roll of his hips, sheathing himself inside of you.

His soft lips graced your collarbone, continuing to make love to you in the only way he knew how. It was passionate and gentle, in a way reserved for the deepest of lovers. Jace grunted when your hips involuntarily rolled upward to grind against him, lips parting as he squeezed your hand.

At last, he lifted his head, your eyes locking together. Your countenance was exceptionally beautiful, especially when painted with the shade of desire, and it had him aching with want. His jaw tensed when you brushed dark curls away from his eyes, palm lingering long enough to pull him down for a kiss.

His cock continued to hit your cunt with a tame fervor, filling you completely, testing your limits as he neared his peak. Jacaerys knew that there would be more moments like these in the future — his energy was waning, and perhaps, the unfamiliarity of it all contributed to this.

Your name spilled from his tongue, throat echoing with a soft groan as his pace became slightly erratic. It was difficult to control himself amidst chasing after his release, but he maintained what little composure he had, gritting his teeth together as he thrust into you again.

Pleasure contorted into ecstasy, becoming an unstoppable wave that was quick to take hold of him. Concentration intermingled with bliss were etched into his features, face pressing against yours, nearly breathless as you kissed him again.

With a groan, Jacaerys rocked forward again, spilling himself inside of you. In hindsight, it was both brazen and feckless, done in the heat of the moment, but he cared little of it for the time being. His cock throbbed, thrusting into you again a time or two before he stilled completely.

Heavy pants resonated between you both as you caught your breath, flush against one another in the aftermath. You pressed a kiss against Jace’s cheek, trailing your fingers throughout his hair. He was quick to kiss you, gathering his composure before he pulled himself out of you.

A rush of sticky warmth slathered the inside of your thighs, leaving behind a feeling of slight discomfort. Jace gathered a cloth for you to clean yourself with, returning to lay beside you as he rucked the furs up around your bodies. The air was colder at nightfall, injected with a saltwater mist.

“I apologize if I hurt you,” Jacaerys uttered, dark brows furrowing together as you wriggled closer, resting your head atop his bare chest. Your arm draped over him, allowing yourself to be close, a feeling that he wanted more than anything else. “It was not my intention.” He kissed the top of your head.

“You didn’t,” You replied, tracing soft patterns against his skin, angling your head up enough to kiss him. Jace cupped your jaw, leaning in to deepen the tender entanglement, lost within the bliss of your lips. “You would never hurt me.”

Jacaerys was fiercely protective over you, that much was true — even from himself. He kept an arm wrapped around you, cradling you at his side as he gazed into your eyes. He could see you, then — his beloved wife, the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Perhaps it was too early to tell, but he knew.

As the both of you settled in together, your maidenhead now lost, you couldn’t help but smile. Jacaerys had made your first experience more than anyone ever could — you hoped that it would stay that way forever. “Does your offer of teaching High Valyrian still stand?” You mused.

A huff of amusement left Jacaerys as he turned his head enough to look at you, a smile playing at either corner of his mouth. “I thought you wanted those dusty old books.” Admittedly, his offering of those damned texts is what started this in the first place — he had to be grateful.

“I knew that you would be kind enough to bring them to me,” You confessed, nose wrinkling in amusement. “An excuse to see you.” The look on Jace’s face was one of theatrical shock, and you erupted into a fit of laughter when he squeezed your hip.

“You might grow tired of me, if I am to teach you High Valyrian.” Jacaerys mused, his smile one of complete and utter warmth. Anyone would know that his love for you was obvious — there wasn’t any subtlety about it.

You shook your head, comfortably sinking against him, your upper body lounging atop him. “I could never grow tired of you, Jacaerys Velaryon.” You exhaled, exhaustion beginning to grip you. It was bound to happen eventually, given the abnormally late hour.

Jace was thankful that you weren’t looking — his face was dusted with a rather obvious layer of pink, and yet, the feeling was beyond satisfying. The two of you allowed the silence to sink through, accompanied by the sound of the encroaching tide as it broke upon the jagged rock and cliff sides surrounding Dragonstone.

“Will you stay?” You asked, hoping that he would be agreeable to it. It was a risky proposition, but Jace knew that he couldn’t leave you after this — he didn’t want to, either. No one would come clamoring about within his chambers at first light.

“Of course,” He murmured, lips twitching into a sweet smile. “Though, I should go at the first light of dawn.” Jace’s tone was one of clear disappointment, but it was best to keep suspicions low. You knew that he had duties that transcended you — he was the Prince of Dragonstone, the heir — and you were not betrothed.

A sense of understanding settled onto your features, but you still wanted him by your side — you wished that you could wake up next to him. “I hope that dawn never comes, then.” You whispered, taking his hand within yours as you pressed a kiss against his palm, knowing that there would be many more dawns to come with him at your side.

copyright @ swordgrace; please do not translate, steal, or copy my works and post them onto other platforms or claim as your own.

[galacticgraffiti]

✿⋅ Oh, to be Alone with You ⋅✿

NSFW ⋆ 18+ ⋆ Minors DNI

Rating: Explicit Wordcount: 2.6k Descriptors: I try my best to write inclusively. Reader uses she/her pronouns and is mentioned in her physicality but not described in detail. If anything escaped me, please let me know! Sorry I couldn't make this more gender neutral, but since this fic is a gift to @naariel I thought I'd use her pronouns. Warnings: dirty daydreams, yearning, lusting after someone, male masturbation, dirty talk, fantasy of PiV sex within the daydream, bath sex, this is written from Halsin's POV

⋆⋅ Inspired by this insane artwork by @naariel ⋅⋆

Author's note: I've been pondering, rotating and marinating this artwork in my mind for WEEKS. It haunts me in the best possible way and I am so happy Naariel gave me permission to reference her art! If you are not already following her, you definitely should - her skill and talent are infinite.

Masterlist ⋆ If you prefer AO3

───── ⋆⋅✿⋅⋆ ─────

Oh, to be Alone with You

Halsin sighs when he finally sits down, long limbs sprawling on the too-small chair that can barely contain him.

Chairs. What superfluous oddities, where a big tree stump might have sufficed. If one has to make them at all, why not at least make them comfortable? Why not sit in the meadows, why not find a place to lay where the sun has warmed a rock that has been washed and polished by the rain? But no, the rules of the city demand he be contained within four walls instead of roaming free, they demand he bathe in a wooden tub instead of out in the wilds, they demand he wear clothes and be polite to people even as they trample the Oak Father’s creations beneath their boots without even stopping to look and enjoy nature’s gifts.

Halsin shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose to stave off the oncoming headache. It has been a long day and he is so tired. A long week. A long few weeks, if he is being honest with himself. In all these centuries, times have been- well-  rough, to say the least. But whatever haunts the Sword Coast now… it’s different. Bigger than the invasions of Goblins across the land, bigger than the Shadow druids, bigger even than the Shadow Curse that has occupied Halsin’s every waking hour for nigh on one hundred years.

At least, Thaniel and Oliver have been reunited, some life returning to the lands as it always should have been. A victory, chased for so long, tasting sweet only for a moment before the stale urgency of the matter at hand had seeped back into Halsin’s mind: Mindflayers infecting innocents, magic-infused tadpoles, an Elder Brain… There are too many battles to be fought, and not one of them to be won.

Halsin presses his lips together and tries to banish the dark thoughts from his mind. There are some good things that have come out of this: They have not lost a fight yet, and his newfound companions are… stimulating, to say the least. Fighting alongside them has been a joy and a privilege - watching their blades sear, their magic erupt, their arrows pierce their targets as the bear Halsin rips through flesh and bone. The fighting is necessary, and his companions are more skilled than he could have ever wished for. This day may have been hard, but it was successful nonetheless, and now he is here, freshly bathed and ready to find some rest for the night. If only it could be under the stars, far outside the city walls, he would almost call himself happy. Instead, he must bed down alone, encased by  too many walls and a too-small bed frame.

Halsin misses the smell of grass that has not been trampled by hundreds of boot-clad feet, he misses the feeling of bark against his fur, he misses his wildshape and trodding through calm forests instead of bloodied battlefields. He misses air that is crisp and clean and doesn't smell of artificially molten metals. He misses the Grove, he misses Thaniel and he misses the woods. The city has been forsaken by Silvanus, and even if this place is a small oasis of nature, it is not the same as being out among the Oak Father’s creations.

He cracks his neck, his hair tickling his collarbones. Halsin curses quietly to himself, pushing a curl behind his ear. He needs to cut his hair - it’s getting too long. And he needs to braid it again, his plaits are all out of sorts. It might be a hassle to do it without a mirror- but maybe he could ask-

No.

Shaking his head as if to will the thought away, he slumps into the discomfort of the chair a little more.

No, he shouldn't ask her anything. Nothing that would involve her hands on him, at least. Certainly not her fingers buried in his hair, tugging softly, her voice gently commanding that he tilt his head a different way. He can’t ask for that. It would only lead to him asking for more:

More of her hands on him, more of her skin against his, more than innocent touches and whispered goodnights across the campfire. He would ask for everything: To bury himself inside her until the world fades away, to devour her until she is slick with sweat from the pleasure he brings her. To be the keeper of her heart, just as he yearns for her to be the keeper of his.

Halsin can feel the familiar tightness in his back as the golden shimmer of his wildshape travels up to his shoulder blades. One thought of her, and already the bear stirs.

He remembers everything that happened today, even as he tries so hard to think of something else:

He remembers the way she smells, of sweet berries, blood and leather. He remembers her looking up at him, as her fingers clutch her weapon tightly. He remembers the fire in her eyes after the slaughter, the glow in her cheeks when she turned around to look at him and found only the bear. He remembers how she smiled at him, even after all that violence, a smile like the sinking sun, bloodied and red, but more beautiful than he could ever have dreamed up.

And as the day progressed: Her arm bumping into his, her head tilting up when she asked him a question and wanted to read his expression. How her hands slipped around him to reach for some food at the campfire earlier when they rested. Her sweet breath on his face and a mumbled excuse when she walked into him, still drowsy with sleep. And all Halsin wanted to do was pull her into his lap and bury his nose in the crook of her neck and forget about the world, forget about everyone watching, and have her, right then, in that moment. Have her all to himself, make her his very own. To feel her around him, to show her the depth of his affection, the desperation of his desire, the magnitude of his commitment.

All he wanted in that moment - all he still wants - is to touch her, to feel her in ways that he cannot ask for because he is scared she will not want the same thing he does. Halsin wants to lick the sweat off her skin, he wants to be buried between her thighs whenever they can steal away, even for a few minutes, he wants her taste on his tongue when he fights, and to wrap himself around her when they sleep.

The force of his own thoughts makes Halsin shudder, glowing desire stirring deep in his belly.

Her tongue in his mouth, his hands on her skin: How soft she would be against him. How wonderful to hear her voice break when she cries out for him, how she would taste if he could lick her off his fingers, the honey of her thighs, the salt of her sweat. He would give anything to know the expression on her face when she is lost to mindless bliss- he would give everything to know that he is the cause of it.

A low moan escapes his throat then, and Halsin presses his lips together when his mind returns from memory and sweet imagination to this house in the midst of a bustling city. This is not nature, where he can do what pleases him when it pleases him. No, the city - ‘civilisation’ as they call it - comes with rules, expectations, limitations.

He is in someone else’s home, exhausted from the day, the blood barely washed off his skin. And yet, all he can think about is… her. All he can feel is the constriction of his clothing, the confinement of leather where he longs to be touched. He wants to shed like the bear sheds his fur after the winter, he wants to feel free again.

Halsin hums, breathing deeply, willing away the golden sparks of his wildshape that dance along his fingertips. He listens intently, fingers dancing across his thighs, drumming an impatient rhythm.

Nothing in the house stirs. Maybe they are all gone still, running their errands, finding bath houses, visiting old friends and merchants they used to know before they return here for a long night’s rest. Maybe Halsin can have a small pocket of time to himself. Time to dream himself away, to give in to the desire he has harboured for so long.

Maybe… he could use this opportunity to release some of that tension that has settled deep in his belly. Refocus his attention. Maybe it’ll be for the best- not to think of her constantly anymore, not of her smell, or the colour of her eyes, of the way her fingers linger on his for a moment too long whenever they touch, or how much he wished they could have bathed together when he sank into the tub earlier that night.

The city has many downsides, but baths are one of the few things to enjoy. Hot springs are wonderful, but few and far between. Nature provides: The bear does not mind the coldness of a stream in the woods, or the iciness of a mountain lake. But there is nothing like a steaming bath to help prevent the sore ache that settles in his bones after a fight.

If only it was acceptable to ask her if she would join him. If only it had been her hands washing dirt and grime and blood from his skin, brushing his hair, kneading tired muscles, her hands much smaller than his, but strong and determined. Loving.

Halsin lets his head fall back, spine cracking as he settles in the small, uncomfortable chair, spreading his legs to cup his hardening cock. He closes his eyes and tries to imagine it…

She glistens in the dim light, thin streams of water trickling down her skin when she emerges from the bath, her lashes stuck together as she beams at him.

“Mhh, we should have done this ages ago!”

“I could not agree more, my heart.” Halsin loves seeing her like this. She looks happy, like she has not a care in the world.

She crawls up into his lap, settling on him, her thighs bracketing his. Her hands run across his chest, lathering him in soap that smells of lavender and thyme. Halsin’s heart is beating in his throat when she leans in to kiss his collarbone, her lips soft, her hair smelling of smoke and flowers as it always does.

Desire surges inside him, crackling like lightning in his veins, and he sends the bear away, far away. This is a moment he wants for himself: Skin against skin, tongues exploring, hands intertwined. This is no place for fangs and claws, not tonight. Halsin unlaces his trousers with steady fingers, though even those few seconds seem unbearable to him. When his hand finally wraps around his cock, he breathes a sigh of relief, only to feel dissatisfied moments after. He wants her hands, her eyes on him, her voice dripping with lust. For now, his imagination will have to do.

He dreams himself back to the bath, thinking of all he could have had, if he had only had the courage to ask.

Her skin is burning hot against his, her fingers leave a flaming trail wherever she touches him.

“Is this alright, my love?” Her voice is full of concern and affection, as it always is when she asks about his comfort and well-being.

“More than alright.” Halsin’s breaths grow shaky when she moves her hips, shallowly grinding down against him. “Gods, I want to-”

“Mhhm?” There is a curious twinkle in her eye. “What is it you want? Tell me. I’m sure I could make your dreams come true.”

Halsin shifts when the wooden backing of the chair digs into his back as he bucks his hips, fucking into his hand that is wrapped around his cock - a poor substitution for what - for who - he really wants.

A growl rings out in the empty room when he closes his eyes and imagines her again.

Her thighs look so lovely, spread wide so he can fit between them. She smells of the bath salts and of herself, and her voice talks to him through the thick fog of his desire.

“I know what you want, don’t I, bear? I’ll take such good care of you if you let me. I’ll make sure you don’t even have to ask for it. I’ll let you taste me, whenever you want- wherever you want. I’ll help you focus- you can focus on me, can’t you? There you go…”

Halsin is panting, his hand moving faster.

She feels good, so good when she sinks down on him, wet with arousal and so willing to take him.

“You, little flower, are the jewel of nature’s creation,” he mumbles. “You are all I could ever want and more. I want to taste you on my tongue, always- for there to never be a day where I won’t know the way you drip for me- for you to never go a day without being satisfied, without feeling loved and cared for. Your happiness is all I want- your ecstasy all I desire. Let me take care of you.”

She moans, her head falling back as she starts to roll her hips, taking him deeper and deeper with each stroke.

“I’ll take care of you as you do of me,” she whispers. “I’ll make sure to provide for you all you could ever need or want. You give and give, let me give you everything I am in return. Be selfish, bear. Take what you want, swallow me whole, devour me without worrying whether it’s too much. I want you to. Mark me- make me yours. Tell the whole world I belong to you, whichever way you desire.”

Her movements are desperate now, her words only sighs and moans, breathless as she buries her head against his shoulder. Halsin inhales the scent of her hair, sinks into her words as the fog of lust that has settled on his brain grows thicker and heavier, until there is not a thought left on his mind but her.

“Halsin-” Gods, his name sounds so sweet off her tongue. “Halsin, I want you to fill me. Please- please, I want to feel full with you, today and every day you’ll fucking let me. I want to fight knowing you are still dripping down my thighs, I want to kiss you under the stars and know I’ll never be without you again.”

The curses that are falling from his lips are ungodly, but Halsin does not care. He is desperate now, mouth open as he calls her name and thinks of the words he wishes he could hear her say.

“Come for me, bear. Come inside me, lay claim to me as only you ever could- f-fuck- make me yours- please- Halsin, I’m yours, I’m yours and yours and yours, as long as you’ll have me- forever if you want to-”

With a cry of her name on his lips, Halsin gives in to pleasure and lets himself be overtaken by a wave of bliss. His thighs tremble as he spills over his hand, sticky warmth dripping from his fingers. He does not open his eyes. Not yet. He wants to stay in the fantasy just a moment longer.

“Halsin, I-”

His eyes open, blood rushing to his cheeks as he returns to the real world and finds her standing in the doorway.

I'm going fucking feral. Running into the woods hoping to find him there, who's with me -

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[wannabehockeygf]

messier - luke hughes

part of the think later fic series

"You're the only one, Who can boil my blood, And make that shit cut, 'Cause you know that I'm always yours, I'm so in love."

*** request: "can we get Luke Hughes and messier pleaseee some angst then smut" summary: visiting your boyfriend's childhood home didn't go was well as you hoped... word count: 5.8k pairing: luke hughes x fem!reader warnings: 18+ NSFW! fingering (f receiving), sex in a semi-public place (in a car) but other than that nothing, pretty tame smut.

notes:

hi guys i'm back sorry my brain has been rotting this entire weekend

this is pretty tame, gentle smut because I've written so much rough stuff recently I needed a detox.

requesters. i love ya'll but we need to make a habit of giving me some sort of guideline besides genre. i suck so much ass at making tropes.

my first luke fic lol

also yes, I’m well aware that Jim and Ellen nor Quinn would ever be mean but this is pretty much the only idea I head

not proof read!!!

***

You hate road trips.

The endless stretch of highway, the stiff leather seats clinging to your skin, and the way time seems to crawl backward. It’s not even the scenery—darkness had swallowed the landscape hours ago, leaving you in this metal box on wheels with nothing but the hum of the engine and the occasional flash of headlights. You’d always preferred flying. Short, direct, and quick. But no, Luke insisted. “It’ll be good for us,” he’d said, like this visit to Toronto to his childhood home was some sort of bonding exercise rather than a trial by fire.

Well, the way there had been fine. More than fine, actually. Jack came along for the ride, filling the hours with nonstop chatter. You didn’t have to think or drive, just laugh at his dumb jokes and let the miles blur together. It was almost fun.

But now? Now, it’s just you and Luke. Jack had opted to fly back to Jersey, and the silence in the car felt suffocating. The weight of the weekend pressed against your chest like a rock you couldn’t shake off. It all went wrong the moment you stepped foot in their house. Their eyes, the judgment—thinly veiled but thick enough to cut through. His mom’s smile never quite reached her eyes, his dad’s questions too sharp, like they were trying to pry something out of you. And Quinn... you don’t even want to think about how Luke’s older brother barely looked at you, as if you didn’t exist.

Gold digger.

They didn’t say it, but you felt it in every sideways glance, every half-hearted attempt at conversation. It stung. You shift uncomfortably in the passenger seat, staring out the window at nothing but blackness.

“You’re too quiet,” Luke says, his voice breaking the silence, but it doesn’t soothe you like it usually does.

“Hmm,” you respond, noncommittal.

He sighs, shifting in his seat. “You’re thinking about it again, aren’t you?”

“Thinking about what exactly, Luke?” You snap, before you can stop yourself. The tension’s been building, and now it’s spilling over. “How your parents probably think I’m only with you because of who you are?”

The headlights illuminate the curve of his jaw as he clenches it. “They don’t think that.”

“They do, though!” You turn toward him now, your voice rising with each word. “It was written all over their faces. I’m not good enough for you, right? Why would I be?”

The passing headlights flash across Luke’s face in rhythmic intervals, casting sharp shadows across his jawline, making him look as frustrated as you feel. You hate that his jaw is clenched like that, hate that even now, in the middle of an argument, he looks perfect, unbothered, like this isn’t tearing at him the way it’s tearing at you.

Luke grips the steering wheel a little tighter, his knuckles whitening under the strain. “They don’t think that,” he repeats, like if he says it enough, it’ll become the truth. His voice is steady, but you hear the edge in it, the frustration that’s been simmering beneath the surface since you left his parents’ house. He always gets like this when you bring it up—as if acknowledging the problem will somehow make it worse.

But it’s already bad. “Luke, please.” You shift in your seat, your hands gesturing helplessly in the small space between you. “They didn’t have to say it out loud. I could feel it.” Your voice is shaky, betraying the vulnerability you’ve been trying to keep locked away since Friday. “Your mom looked at me like I was some kind of—” you search for the right word, something that encapsulates the disappointment that had been practically dripping from her, “—charity case.”

You hear his deep exhale, the frustration in it. He’s always been calm, steady, the kind of guy who doesn’t let things get to him. It’s one of the things you loved about him—his ability to stay grounded when everything around him seemed to be spinning out of control. But right now? Right now, it’s infuriating. How can he be so calm when you’re falling apart?

He runs a hand through his hair, the action a little too deliberate, like he’s trying to stay composed. “You’re reading into it too much,” he says, glancing over at you briefly, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the dashboard. “My mom’s just... cautious. It doesn’t mean she doesn’t like you.”

A bitter laugh escapes your lips before you can stop it. “Cautious?” The word tastes sour in your mouth. “She practically grilled me about every job I’ve ever had like she was waiting for me to slip up and admit I’ve been freeloading my entire life.”

Luke presses his lips together, the muscle in his jaw ticking again. He doesn’t answer right away, and that silence stretches between you, pulling tight like a thread about to snap. His eyes stay on the road, but you can tell he’s thinking about what to say, about how to avoid turning this into a full-blown argument. He’s good at that—at diffusing things before they can blow up. Normally, you’d appreciate it. But right now, you need him to blow up with you, to feel what you’re feeling.

“Look,” he starts, his voice low and careful, “I get that it wasn’t... easy, okay? But you don’t know my mom like I do. She’s protective, that’s all.”

“Protective?” You scoff, louder than you meant to, the word coming out jagged. “Protective of you from what? Me?” The accusation hangs in the air, sharp and undeniable. You don’t need to hear his answer to know it’s true. You’ve known it from the moment she gave you that polite smile at the door, the kind of smile that doesn’t reach the eyes, the kind of smile that says, I’m being nice, but I don’t trust you. You’ve seen it before, just never aimed at you. “She doesn’t trust me, Luke.”

He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly like he’s trying to keep his own frustration in check. “It’s not that she doesn’t trust you,” he mutters, but even he sounds unsure now. “She’s just... adjusting. Give her time.”

You let out a huff of disbelief, shaking your head. The dark road ahead feels endless, like you’re driving in circles, like this conversation is just looping back to the same point over and over again. “Adjusting to what?” Your voice cracks, and you hate that it does because it makes you sound more vulnerable than you want to be right now. “To the fact that I’m not some high-society debutante with a trust fund? Or is it just that I’m not good enough for their golden boy? Don’t pretend your dad didn’t do the same shit, and Quinn? Barely fucking looked at me.” Luke rubs his temple with one hand, the other still gripping the wheel. “Quinn’s just quiet, you know that. He didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Right,” you mutter, bitterness slipping into your tone. “I’m sure it’s not because he thinks I’m not good enough for you. It’s not like literally everyone else was thinking the same thing.”

“They weren’t!” Luke insists, his voice rising, frustration creeping in now. His grip on the wheel tightens, and for a second, you think he’s going to snap. You almost want him to, to raise his voice, to match the energy that’s been building inside you all night. But instead, he just sighs again, that same exhausted sound that feels like nails on a chalkboard. “Stop it,” he says quietly, his voice firm but tired. “Stop worrying about what they think. It doesn’t matter.”

But it does. It matters so much it’s consuming you. You turn to stare out the window again, the landscape outside a blur of darkness. The silence in the car is deafening now, the kind that fills every crevice and drowns out the hum of the engine. You can’t stand it anymore.

“Easy for you to say,” you mutter under your breath, half-hoping he doesn’t hear you, half-hoping he does. “You’re their son. They’ll always love you, no matter what. But me? I’m just some girl they think is using you for your money or your status or... whatever.” Your hands are trembling, but you clasp them together in your lap, trying to steady yourself.

Luke’s jaw clenches again, and this time when he speaks, there’s an edge to his voice that wasn’t there before. “You’re not ‘just some girl,’” he bites out, finally letting some of that frustration slip through. “And they don’t think that.”

“How do you know?” You turn to him, your voice rising again, the words spilling out faster than you can control them. “How do you know what they think? You weren’t the one sitting there, being interrogated like you’re on trial!”

His eyes flick over to you, narrowed and sharp. “I know my family, okay? You don’t. You’ve met them what—twice? Three times?”

Your chest tightens at that. You’ve never felt more like an outsider than you do right now, like you’re intruding on something sacred, something you don’t have the right to understand. It makes you feel small, insignificant, like you’ll never truly belong. And maybe you won’t. Maybe they’ll always see you as the girl who’s not quite good enough for their perfect son.

“Yeah, well, maybe that’s the problem,” you snap, your voice cracking again. “Maybe I don’t know them because they don’t want to know me.”

The words hang in the air between you, and for a moment, you think you might’ve gone too far. But then Luke exhales sharply, shaking his head like he can’t believe you’re having this argument. His fingers drum against the steering wheel, and when he finally speaks, his voice is low, almost tired. “You’re impossible sometimes, you know that?”

Your fingers twitch in your lap, itching to do something—anything. You could reach for the radio, but that feels like a betrayal, a cowardly way of cutting through the tension without addressing it. You steal a glance at Luke, but his gaze is trained on the road, jaw set, eyes forward. His hand grips the steering wheel tighter than necessary, knuckles pale, and the leather creaks under the pressure.

You can’t take it anymore.

“Impossible?” you repeat, your voice cutting through the still air like a knife. The words echo back at you, sharp and unforgiving, and suddenly, there’s no holding back the flood. “You think I’m the one being impossible?”

He doesn’t respond right away, just lets out a long, heavy sigh. It’s the kind of sigh that says, here we go again, and it makes your blood boil. Like you’re the problem. Like your feelings are the inconvenience here, something to be tolerated rather than understood.

You don’t let the silence linger this time. “God, you always do this,” you mutter, shaking your head as you stare out the window, watching the dark blur of trees rush past. “Every time I bring this up, you act like I’m crazy. Like I’m just imagining it all.” You pause for a breath, but it comes out shaky. “Do you think I want to feel like this?”

Luke shifts in his seat, and for a second, you think he’s about to say something, but all he does is keep drumming his fingers impatiently on the wheel. It’s almost worse than if he’d argued back. At least then you’d know he cared enough to fight with you.

The silence stretches, suffocating, until finally, his voice cuts through it, low and strained. “I just don’t know why you let it get to you like this.”

“Let it?” The disbelief in your voice is almost tangible, hanging heavy in the air between you. “As if I have a choice? As if I can just flip a switch and suddenly not care that your family thinks I’m some... leech or gold digger or—” You break off, your breath hitching slightly, the words too bitter to finish.

Luke’s eyes flick to you for the briefest second before returning to the road, his jaw clenching again. “You’re overthinking it.”

It’s the casual dismissal, the sheer indifference, that makes something inside you snap. “I’m not overthinking it!” you nearly shout, the words bursting out of you before you can reel them back in. Your heart pounds in your chest, the frustration bubbling up until you can feel it in every nerve, every muscle, making you fidget and shift in your seat like you’re too restless to stay still.

Luke slams his hand against the steering wheel, not hard enough to scare you, but enough to make a point. He lets out a frustrated puff of air, and he mutters something under his breath—something you can’t quite catch but know isn’t good. His frustration mirrors your own, though his is quieter, more controlled. His eyes stay locked on the road as he speaks, his voice cold. “Why do you care so much about what they think? Why does it have to matter?”

You stare at him, incredulous. Why does it have to matter? Is he serious? The words swirl in your head, disbelief mixing with anger, making it hard to think straight. How could he not see it? How could he not understand?

“I care because they’re your family!” you snap, the words flying out of your mouth before you can stop them. “I care because no matter how much you tell me it doesn’t matter, I know it does. You love them, Luke. You value their opinion, even if you won’t admit it. So yeah, I care about what they think of me.”

His grip on the steering wheel tightens, his fingers turning white again. His silence now feels like a challenge, like he’s daring you to keep going, to keep pushing. You almost want to—almost want to see just how far you can push him before he finally snaps.

And then, just as you’re about to spit out something else, something that will no doubt escalate this even further, Luke suddenly jerks the steering wheel to the right. The car swerves slightly as he takes an exit ramp, the tires squealing against the asphalt. You lurch forward in your seat, your heart pounding in your chest as the sudden movement jolts you out of your anger for a split second.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice rising with panic and confusion as you glance around, realizing that you’re nowhere near home. The highway disappears behind you, replaced by a narrow, deserted road lined with thick trees on either side.

Luke doesn’t answer immediately, his jaw still clenched, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. The tension in the car is palpable, hanging heavy between you like a storm cloud about to burst. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he pulls off to the side of the road, the car coming to a stop in a small clearing, illuminated only by the faint glow of the headlights.

The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the soft ticking of the engine as it cools down. For a moment, neither of you moves. The weight of everything hangs in the air, pressing down on your chest like a stone.

Luke turns off the engine and leans back in his seat, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I just—” He pauses, exhaling sharply, and finally turns to look at you. His eyes are dark, intense, and there’s something simmering just beneath the surface, something raw. “I needed to get off the damn highway. We weren’t getting anywhere.”

The double meaning in his words isn’t lost on you. It wasn’t just the road he was frustrated with—it was the entire situation. The argument. You. And that realization sends a shiver down your spine.

You sit there, staring at him, unsure of what to say. Your heart is still racing, your hands trembling slightly in your lap. But the anger you felt before is starting to ebb away, replaced by something else—something quieter, but no less intense.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching for him, your fingers grazing his arm lightly, tentatively. He glances down at your hand, then back up at you, his eyes softening just a fraction.

“Come here,” he says quietly, his voice low and rough around the edges. It’s not a demand, but it’s not a suggestion either. There’s a weight to his words, a pull that you can’t resist.

Without thinking, you unbuckle your seatbelt and move toward him, your body shifting awkwardly in the cramped space. Luke’s hands are on you before you even reach the back seat, his fingers gripping your waist as he pulls you into the space between the seats. The leather squeaks beneath you as you settle into the back, the air between you charged with an energy you can’t quite define—part frustration, part need.

He moves over the console to join you, and in the dim light, the shadows carve out every sharp line of his face, highlighting the tension that’s still etched there. But now, there’s something else in his eyes, something that makes your breath catch.

“I hate that you think that,” Luke murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as he leans in, his forehead resting against yours. His breath is warm against your skin, mingling with yours in the small space. “I hate that you think you’re not good enough.” His hand slips around to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulls you closer.

You pull back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze, and the softness in his eyes almost makes you forget why you’re upset in the first place. But then the worry, the doubts, creep back in, unbidden. "I just—" you start, your voice thick with frustration. "I can't stop thinking about how they see me. It's like... no matter what I do, it’s never enough."

Luke's expression tightens again, a flicker of impatience crossing his face. He pulls away just enough to lean back against the seat, running a hand through his hair. "Why do you keep doing this to yourself?" His voice is laced with exasperation, but there’s something else there too—concern, maybe. "They don’t matter. We matter. Isn’t that enough?"

You want to believe him, you really do. But it’s like every word he says just sinks deeper into the pit of your stomach, twisting. "You say that, but... God, Luke, it’s not that simple. You don’t get it because you’re not the one constantly under their microscope." The words spill out before you can stop them, your frustration bubbling up again.

Luke shakes his head, a small, humorless laugh escaping him as he tightens his grip on the steering wheel. "No, you’re right," he mutters, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. "I don’t get it. But you know what I do get?" He pauses, and for a second, you think he’s going to stop there, but he pushes on, his voice lower now, almost a growl. "I get that I’m sitting here, telling you that none of it matters. And you’re sitting there, acting like it’s the end of the world."

You open your mouth to respond, but the words die on your lips as he leans in closer, his hand sliding up your thigh. "What I don’t get," he continues, his voice softening but still carrying that edge, "Is why you can’t just trust me when I say you’re enough."

Your breath hitches as his fingers trace slow, deliberate circles against your leg, the tension in the car shifting from the argument to something else entirely. You try to stay focused, try to keep your mind on the conversation, but his touch is distracting, making it hard to think straight.

"I... I do trust you," you stammer, your voice unsteady, "but it’s not that easy. You don’t just stop worrying because someone tells you to."

Luke raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Oh, really?" he murmurs, his hand moving higher, his eyes locking onto yours. "Maybe I just haven’t been convincing enough."

His words send a jolt through you, heat pooling in your stomach, and suddenly, the argument feels like a distant memory, something less important than the way he’s looking at you now, like he’s daring you to keep pushing him. And maybe you would have, if his hand wasn’t already slipping under your shirt, his fingers warm against your skin, making it impossible to think about anything else.

You let out a shaky breath, your body leaning into his touch despite your mind screaming at you to stay focused. "Luke..." you start, but the rest of the sentence dies in your throat as he leans in, his lips ghosting over your ear.

"Stop worrying," he whispers, his voice rough and filled with that dark intensity you can never quite resist. His hand slides higher, sending sparks up your spine. "Let me show you how much I don’t care about anything but you."

Luke's fingers drift up, warm and deliberate, as if mapping out every inch of your skin beneath his touch. Your breath hitches, caught somewhere between the tension that lingers from the argument and the undeniable heat of his closeness. It's a mix of frustration and need, your thoughts spiraling as the sensation of his hand grounds you and unravels you all at once.

But there’s still that nagging voice in the back of your head, reminding you why you’re here in the first place, why your heart had been racing with something other than desire just moments ago. “This isn’t fair,” you whisper, half to yourself, half to Luke, as you shift in the seat, his hand momentarily slipping from your thigh.

He pauses, his forehead still resting lightly against yours, and you can feel the heat of his breath fan across your cheek. “What isn’t fair?” His voice is low, but there’s an edge to it, the kind that tells you he knows exactly what you mean but wants to hear you say it anyway.

You sigh, the sound barely audible in the dark, cramped space of the car. “I’m still upset with you.”

Luke lets out a soft chuckle, but there’s no real humor in it. “You’ve made that pretty clear,” he mutters, his lips brushing the side of your neck now, almost absentmindedly, as if he’s more focused on you than on the argument itself.

Your heart skips a beat, torn between wanting to push him away and pull him closer. “No, I mean it. You can’t just—” The words falter on your tongue as his hand moves again, more insistent now, tugging you toward him.

You can feel the tension in his muscles, the subtle shift in the way he holds you, as if he’s trying to balance the frustration with the desire that simmers beneath it all. “I know you’re upset,” he murmurs against your skin, his lips brushing a soft kiss just below your jawline. “But I’m not letting you spiral over this anymore.”

A shiver runs down your spine at the firmness in his voice, but the frustration bubbles up again, tangled with everything else you’re feeling. “You don’t get to decide that for me,” you snap, though the bite in your tone is softened by the way your body instinctively leans into him.

Luke pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours in the dim light. “I’m not trying to control how you feel,” he says, his voice steady, though you can see the tension still lingering in the set of his jaw. “But I am trying to remind you that what they think doesn’t matter as much as you think it does.”

You stare at him, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, torn between the desire to argue and the warmth of his hand now resting on your waist, the weight of his presence calming you even as it sets your heart racing.

“Maybe not to you,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper as you meet his gaze. “But it matters to me, Luke. And that’s not something you can just... fix.”

For a moment, the space between you is filled with nothing but the sound of your breathing, the tension palpable. Then, slowly, Luke shifts, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. “I know,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, the sharp edges of frustration dulled. “I know it matters to you. But can you trust me enough to let me show you that it doesn’t change anything between us?”

You hesitate, the weight of his words settling over you like a warm blanket, and for the first time since the argument started, the tightness in your chest loosens just a little. “I want to,” you admit, your voice barely audible in the stillness of the car. “But it’s hard.”

Luke leans in, his lips barely grazing yours, and the softness in his touch makes your heart stutter. “Then let me make it easier,” he whispers, and the kiss that follows is slow, gentle, as if he’s trying to reassure you through the warmth of his mouth against yours.

Your fingers find their way to his hair, tangling in the strands as the kiss deepens, the heat between you simmering quietly, like embers waiting to be fanned into a flame. Every movement is deliberate, slow, as if the argument has faded into the background, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of each other.

Luke’s hands are careful, guiding you down against the leather seats as he follows, his weight settling over you in a way that’s both grounding and exhilarating. There’s no rush, no frantic movement—just the quiet urgency of two people who know exactly what they want but are taking their time getting there.

The quiet inside the car feels louder now, broken only by the soft rustle of clothes and the barely audible hitch in your breathing as Luke’s hand glides up your side. His touch lingers just below your ribs, fingers tracing a slow, teasing path that leaves a trail of warmth in its wake. Your skin hums under his fingertips, every inch of you tuned to the way he moves—so careful, so focused, as though he's trying to soothe the lingering frustrations with each touch.

You shift beneath him, the leather seat creaking ever so slightly, and your breath catches when his knee nudges between your legs. He hesitates for just a second, his gaze meeting yours in the dim light, searching your face as if asking for permission. The look in his eyes sends a shiver through you—not just lust but something deeper, a quiet reassurance that everything is okay now, even if things had been tense before.

Your fingers move up to his neck, pulling him closer as you press your lips against his, the kiss soft at first, but it doesn’t stay that way. Luke responds immediately, his lips parting slightly as his hand finds its way under your shirt, the warmth of his palm against your bare skin sending a surge of heat through you. The kiss deepens, and you can feel the frustration melting away, replaced by a slow, simmering need.

His hand trails down your stomach, stopping just above your waistband. The anticipation alone has your heart pounding, and you bite your lip to stifle a soft whimper. Luke pulls back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours as his thumb traces lazy circles on your hip. "You okay?" he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, not trusting your voice, and he smiles—soft, almost teasing—before kissing you again, this time slower, more deliberate. His fingers tug gently at the hem of your pants, and you can’t help the way your hips lift instinctively, silently asking for more. The need between you is palpable now, the air thick with it, but there’s no rush. Every touch, every kiss, feels like it's drawn out, like you're both savoring the moment.

Luke’s hand slides lower, slipping beneath the fabric, and you bite back a gasp as his fingers find you, moving with the same careful intensity that he always has. Your back arches slightly, and you have to bite your lip to keep quiet, every nerve in your body tuned to the sensation of his touch. You feel the tension building again, but this time it’s the kind that makes your breath catch for an entirely different reason.

Luke's fingers press deeper, deliberate and slow, like he’s savoring every second of your reaction. The touch sends a ripple of heat through you, unraveling all the tension that had been coiling tight from the argument. Your skin feels electric, each stroke of his fingers igniting something raw and instinctive inside you. The leather beneath you squeaks softly as your back arches, the weight of him grounding you even as your body craves more. Every nerve feels alive, responding to him in a way that makes it hard to remember why you were upset in the first place.

Your breath stutters as his lips graze your ear, his breath warm and uneven against your skin. A quiet moan escapes before you can stop it, the sound slipping out despite your effort to keep quiet. Luke smirks against your neck, the curve of his lips brushing your pulse in a way that makes you shiver, the heat between you intensifying. You can feel his restraint, the way his hands move with purpose but not haste, as if he’s determined to make this last, to take his time with every single touch.

His fingers move more deliberately now, sliding deeper, and your body reacts instantly, a sharp gasp caught in your throat. You bite down on your lip, trying to stifle the sound, but the pleasure building between your thighs is impossible to ignore. Luke’s free hand grips your hip, holding you steady as your hips start to move on their own, seeking more of that delicious pressure.

The air in the car feels suffocating in the best way, filled with the sounds of your shared breathing and the faint rustle of clothes. You catch the briefest glance of his face in the dim light, his jaw clenched, eyes dark and intent on you, as though he’s barely holding himself back. It sends a wave of heat crashing over you, and you can’t help the way your legs wrap around him, pulling him closer, wanting him—no, needing him—deeper. His thumb brushes against a spot that makes your vision blur, and a sharp, involuntary whimper escapes, too loud for the quiet space.

“Shh,” Luke breathes out, his voice a low rasp that barely conceals the strain in it. “We gotta be quiet, baby.”

But there’s nothing quiet about the way he touches you, the way his body presses against yours, every slow, deliberate movement setting you ablaze. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, and you press your forehead against his shoulder, your fingers digging into his back as you try to focus on something—anything—other than the wave of pleasure threatening to spill over.

You can feel the heat of his breath against your neck as his lips brush your skin, soft kisses that trail down your collarbone. It’s slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring every inch of you. But there’s something teasing in it too, something that makes your breath hitch as his hand continues its agonizingly slow rhythm between your legs. The frustration builds alongside the pleasure, the need to cry out so overwhelming that you have to bury your face in his shoulder to muffle the sounds escaping from your throat.

The pressure builds, winding tighter and tighter, and you’re barely holding it together when Luke’s lips find your ear again. “You’re doing so good,” he whispers, the words barely audible but sending a fresh wave of heat down your spine. His voice is ragged, strained, like he’s barely managing to keep himself in check. “So damn good for me, baby.”

The praise hits you like a punch to the gut, your entire body tensing beneath him. Your thighs squeeze around him involuntarily, your hips lifting again in response to the slow, torturous rhythm he’s set. You can’t help the way your body reacts, chasing that high even as you try desperately to stay quiet.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling him closer as your lips find his, muffling the moan that finally breaks free when his thumb presses just right. The kiss is messy, frantic, but it does little to hide the soft, breathless gasps escaping from both of you now. His hand moves faster, more insistent, and you can feel the tension in his body mirroring your own as the space between you narrows further.

Luke’s breath hitches as you tug him even closer, your lips parting to let out another soft, desperate moan that’s swallowed by his mouth. His fingers curl inside you, and you’re done for, every nerve sparking with heat. You break away from the kiss, your forehead pressed to his as you gasp for air, trying to keep your voice down but failing as the pleasure builds.

“Luke…” you gasp, his name barely a whisper, more breath than sound, but it’s enough to make him groan, low and rough, as he pushes himself harder against you, his lips brushing yours in another heated, sloppy kiss.

Your body trembles with the effort to keep quiet, and he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. His touch becomes more insistent, more confident, and you can feel him smirk against your lips as he leans in, his breath warm and ragged against your skin.

“You gonna come for me?” he whispers, his voice low, rough with need. His thumb circles just right, and you’re nodding before you can even think, your body already teetering on the edge. “Come on, baby,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your neck. “I wanna feel it.”

And you do—hard, your body shuddering as you clamp your mouth shut, burying your face in his shoulder to muffle the sounds that threaten to spill out. Your fingers dig into his back as the pleasure washes over you, hot and overwhelming, your entire body trembling in his arms as he holds you steady, his fingers never stopping.

You ride out the waves, your breath coming in shallow gasps as your legs tighten around him, your body still humming with the aftershocks. Luke slows his movements, his hand gently pulling away as he leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.

For a moment, everything is still, the car quiet except for the sound of your uneven breathing. Then Luke shifts, his forehead resting against yours as he looks down at you, his expression soft but still dark with desire.

“I love you, okay?” he whispers, his voice rough, but there’s a softness to it that makes your heart flutter. “We’ll get through this.”

You nod, still catching your breath, and he smiles, his lips brushing yours in a soft, tender kiss that feels like a promise—like he’s not done with you yet.

[am-i-interrupting]

I absolutely love ur work and have an idea that u can use if u want to!!! It's about how Alastor, Lucifer, Rosie, Velvette, Vox, (maybe Carmilla if u want to), and whichever characters u would prefer would react to a fem or gn (whichever u prefer) reader who is has cat-like features and is in heat. tysm!!!!! 💖💖💖💖

Alastor

Well, aren’t you just precious?

He will tease you.

Expect to be let, between the ears, on the ears, your chin, your spine, your tail.

He will be tugging on your tail.

He’s either touching you and doesn’t let you touch him back or you’re allowed to touch him and he won’t touch you.

He loves to watch rut against his thigh or better his boot, mewling with your tail curled around his hand.

When you’re obviously in pain though, he will bring out his shadows and fuck you with them.

Expect degradation.

“So desperate, aren’t you, kitten? And I’m the only one who can satisfy you—“ cue laugh track— “how pathetic.”

Husk

Be prepared to be held down and marked.

Whichever one of you starts the breeding first will quickly cause the other to as well.

He has to mark what’s his.

Just pushes you against the wall randomly one day and rubs his cheek against yours.

That’s your cue to take things somewhere much more private.

That first orgasm happens before the clothes are even off. He just can’t keep his paws off you.

Mating press (obviously)

His arms beneath your legs, holding your hands in his, his wings surrounding you to prevent anyone else from seeing you in your locked, empty room.

Afterwards, locked together, he’s just rubbing his face all over you. His hands go to the base of your tail and he’s just petting there.

Lucifer

You’re gonna have to give this man a warning beforehand or he’s going to be absolutely overwhelmed.

“Shhhh, shhh, baby, it’s okay. You’re okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

Oral King!

When his dick is not recovering, he is giving you oral.

Just licking, lapping, and sucking like the kitten you are.

Constant petting and reassurance.

If you mention anything about kids, he is going to come immediately.

Sorry, did you. . . did you not expect it to end so fast? That’s your fault.

Rosie

Let this woman peg someone!

Strap on! Put her in a strap on! She’d be so hot.

She’d take such good care of you.

Constant pets, a bit of tail pulling, just worshiping you.

“You’re doing so good, kitten. We’re gonna make such pretty babes.”

Let’s you scent mark her.

She might direct you to her breasts.

If you suck on them, she’s shiver and praise you, petting between your ears the entire time.

Vaggie

She would have done research beforehand.

Your not just scent marking her, she’s doing it back to the best of her abilities.

Whether she’s sinking down on or rocking into you, she’s got her hand on your ears or tail.

If your tail curls around her wrist, she’s gently holding it the entire time.

She’s just whispering sweet nothings to you.

Whatever you need to hear, she’s saying it.

At the end of it all, expect her to clean you up.

A bath where you just lay on her. Her drying and brushing your fur.

You can lean on her as much as you want, she’ll be there to support you.

Velvette

Absolutely thrilled by how needy for her you are.

She might not let you scent mark her depending on how demanding you are. You have to earn the right to claim her.

She’s pulling on your tail, hard. It kind of hurts.

She’s teasing you relentlessly, both physically and mentally.

Barely there touches.

“Aw, you came just from that? How fucking pathetic is that? I didn’t really touch you.”

Vox

Recording this as blackmail for later.

Well, not blackmail more so, proof that he can dom you so well.

Your fur might be just a little bit singed at the end of it. Just like a tiny bit.

He’s electric, what can he say?

He is petting you and praising you.

A constant hand moving through your fur.

He’s not letting you out of his reach.

He’ll sit back and let you scent mark him as much as you want.

He’s putting his hand over and stroking your scent glands so carefully.

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll give you just what you need.”

[cinhomi]

Can you write about a female reader giving Han a blowjob under a desk and then ALMOST getting caught by changbin? (Make han spit in her mouth too😍) I’ve read something like this before and I can’t find it anymore so can you write it? 😭 I will literally love you forever if u write this😭💕

I debated with myself for a few days about writing this or not because I actually don't take requests but... you asked nicely and the idea is hot, so I'll elaborate a bit, yeah? (spoiler: I got carried away) maybe try to pone it differently next time!! 🩷 you could start with "imagine giving Han a blowjob under a desk and..." nonetheless, thank you for thinking of me when asking for this delicious scenario, I had a lot of fun!! now you have to love me forever :)

He can't stop thinking about it... from the way creamy toothpaste was all around your lips this morning, how they delicately rested on your mug to sip your preferred beverage for breakfast, how they pronounced his name and pursed to kiss him when he left to work... Jisung does try to wrap a hand around his cock when he's finally alone but he specifically needs your mouth to do it today.

And it was so frustrating having people continuously asking him if he was alright all morning, with his face flushed, sweating, adjusting his clothes every two seconds, and the day goes on and he can't stop the patting and tugging between his legs as if to shoo away his rock hard erection.

So he just... calls you, in the end. He doesn't know what else to do. And he kind of fools you into thinking that he's his not so uncommon soft and pleading kind of needy self, making you feel guilty for not being there with him, taking care of the little problem that poor clueless you caused, so you decide to help. There's nothing more important than your sweet boyfriend, right? It's just that when you get there and knock on the door of his studio he rushes to forcefully grab your arm to pull you onto him, while he shuts the door with a hard slam. Where is the cutie you left behind the phone few minutes before?

Jisung reaches your hand and directs it to his crotch, making you feel him, guiding you in a up-and-down motion as he hisses and buries his face in the crook of your neck.

"Where the fuck were you?" he whispers near your ear, hot breath making your skin rise with goosebumps, light grazing of his teeth accompanying his smooth tongue, cause of the gasp coming from you. He starts to move against your hand, grinding on it as you squeeze a little bit, fingers playing around there and tugging at his waistband.

"Sorry baby... I'm here to help now," you kiss his cheek and stop yourself from moaning when he returns his sharp gaze to you. "What do you need?" you ask him in a whisper.

"On your knees." and you start to go down, but he stops you and takes your chin to guide your head dowards the desk, "Under there, baby. Go under there."

It's a little tight and uncomfy at first, but when you adjust your knees on the fluffy carpet and he spreads his legs once sitted you magically fit perfectly. Jisung has his sweats lowered just enough for his hard, leaky lenght to be exposed, and your mouth waters at the sight, just like always. His breath is heavy and his eyes can't stay open for too long because your pretty face with the shadow of his cock across it could make him cum on the spot.

Jisung carefully spreads precum on his tip trying to not jump from how sensitive he is. For as much as he's excited, it's not enough to reach the base yet, so he detaches from the back of the expensive work chair and spits on himself, saliva lingering on his plump bottom lip, making it shine like when he wears gloss. You whimper. He notices.

He spits again, it lands on his dark bush and it slides down slowly. You shift in place to close your thighs as much as you can, afraid of your wetness seeping through your panties. Jisung notices that too. The gears in his head start to move... and his thought sounds just right. His light touch makes you lean against his hand as he delicately tucks some stray hair behind your ears, before slowly gripping the ones on your nape to pull you a bit closer, mere centimeters away from where he wanted you for hours.

With the other hand he makes his thumb travel over your lips, parting them until he's holding your jaw open, and without a warning his spit lands inside your mouth, making you flinch from the surprise. When you look at him again his tongue is still lolled out and he's smiling. Oh, you're clenching. And it just comes so natural to swallow it, the action making him hiss and throw his head back while he chuckles, "I'm so glad that you're as disgusting as me."

That's how you spend a good amount of time taking his saliva in your mouth, patienty waiting for him to gather some to give to you, being scolded because you let it slide from the corners of your mouth, having to collect some more because Jisung smears it all over your face. He did spurt a bit while watching you like this, doing something so gross... but he called you for a reason after all, no?

And god, the way the shiny trasparent fluid overflows and drips on the floor when you take his cock, some going down him too staining his sweats, he has to hold the armrests to gather enough strenght to not immediately cum and possibly appear like a poor virgin boy. Who needs lube when you can spit into your girlfriend's mouth? This is his new obsession, this might be the best blowjob of his life.

Your hands grip his clothed thighs, holding the fabric of his pants as you try to take him whole, nose nuzzling against his wet hair as you feel the tip hitting the back of your throat. He loves the way you squeeze around him when you choke, Jisung fucking loves how you swirl your tongue, how you hold him up and leave long licks from his balls to his frenulum where you pay sweet attention. Little things that his hand can't do.

"God you're so fucking perfect baby," he wipes some tears from your eyes before one hand gently closes around your throat and the other leaves little pats at the top of your head, "keep going like that, yeah..."

The sound of his notification makes him groan in annoyance. Jisung leaves you without his touch and you whine around him lacking the opportunity to pout, vibrations making him moan, but he still hushes you while he tries to adjust to the brightness of the screen.

His eyes winden. A hand is back on top of your head and if you're happy at first, you get confused a second after when you feel him push you away.

"Babe we gotta stop, Bin is coming here."

But you don't move. He tries to make you, but you look up at him with your big beautiful eyes and you feel him twitch.

"He's down the fucking isle- for- for fuck's sake move from- here!" he tries to keep his voice in a whisper but it cracks with a moan when you start sucking him harder. He's close, he's so fucking close. The idea of getting caught by one of his best friends is making you dizzy... so risky and wrong and embarassing but oh if it's tempting, letting Changbin see how you're so pretty for Jisung and take all of him even if you gag and your knees burn... and he thinks the same. His belly starts to contract and his breath is frantic and panicked. What if Changbin enters now? What if he sees him about to cum on the chair everyone uses? Jisung's cheeks become so hot and red and he can imagine his head exploding before he feels your smooth fingers trace his abs with featherlight touches, then taking all of him once again.

He lets out a strangled moan, knuckles whitening from how hard he's holding the backrest above his head, thick white cum all down your throat and you start to swallow even before him finishing his release.

The doorknob clicks. His cock is still inside your mouth but he's quick to reach for the jacket near him and place it on his lap, moving a bit closer to the desk to cover you too.

"Ji? Are you alright?" Changbin's voice isn't as loud as always, probably worried about his friend that was grumpy and easily irritable all day, and obviously physically unwell.

Jisung is still coming down from his high and it doesn't help that you keep on licking him clean, making him jolt and soak in sweat.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm alright Bin, 's all good." he tries to ressure him to make him leave faster.

"You're... so red Ji, and you're sweating and panting, I don't think you're alright..." he approaches, and Jisung adjusts the jacket before an idea comes to mind.

"Can you do me a favor?" he asks, Changbin immediately listening and ready to help his friend, "Can you go ask if I can leave early? And maybe ask for a fever thermometer too, I might have a flu, to be honest."

Changbin nods, finally satisfied with his sincerity. If only he knew the real reason why he's like this...

"You have to stop being a workaholic Ji, I say it because I care!"

"Bin just... I know. Thank you. Can you please go now?"

"And y/n? Where did she go?"

Oh, shit.

"She went to the bathroom."

There's a bit of tension that fills the air for a few seconds, while you try to stay as silent as possible, not really resisting the urge to kiss Jisung's tip.

"Oh, okay. Hope I'll be able to say goodbye later, haven't seen her in a while." and with that Changbin exits the room without a suspect.

You two make sure he's far enaugh before you come out of the crampled space and he adjusts his pants to let you sit on his lap. Laughter spontaneously comes from both of you and he hugs you tight, your chest flat on his. Jisung kisses you and he can still feel a bit of saltiness in your mouth, but he doesn't care.

"It was,"

"So hot." he finishes. "Risky. We never did something so risky..." his hands wander until they find the soft curves of your ass and rest there. You nod and clutch your arms around his neck and get comfy, as close as possible.

"Thank you, I really needed this baby." another tender kiss is set on your forehead now, while he caresses your back, "But I guess I'll have to punish you at home, hm? Bin could have seen us, and you didn't listen to me. Bad girl, bad bad girl..." dirty smile spreading on his lips, plans of what he wants to do to you playing in his head nonstop like a creative flow.

[thecampjuicebox]

Was wondering if you could do one with Halsin or Astarion (or Gale👀) where Tav/reader has never let him finish inside them before and it’s something he reallyyyy wants to do so he spends a long time getting Tav all worked up (maybe even days saying he’s too busy to do anything right now) and then keeps bringing them to the edge before telling them what he wants and saying he’ll let Tav finish if they beg for him to finish inside of them

AHHHHHH OKAY WAIT all three would work so perfectly but I feel like this is especially Halsin coded so ding ding ding, he's the winner today. This is going to be a little out of order canonically because I have a very specific time period in mind for this to go down. HERE WE GO!

Just as nature intended.

Pairing: Tav (f) x Halsin (m)

POV: 2nd person (Reader is Tav)

Rating: 18+, Minors DNI

Warings: SMUT, edging, piv sex, breeding kink, fluff, oral (f receiving), lots of scratching (with some blood), finishing inside, game spoilers

Camp is especially quiet tonight. Gentle waves lap at the short rock ledge, sea mist floating through the air and invading your nostrils with the salty scent. You sigh and relax your tired bones into the cracked stone. The barely audible crackle of the campfire lulls your shot nerves and you rub your temples, the tadpole wriggling just behind your eyes. To put put it plainly, you're exhausted. The shadow curse has really taken it out of you and your group today, evident by the lack of usual banter and comradery that camp often bustles with at the end of each rough day. Instead, everyone has retired to their tents immediately after dinner. You tap your fingers against the rock in a random pattern, doing anything to distract you from the pounding headache in your skull. Carefully pushing yourself from the ground, you move to retrieve your bedroll, preparing to settle in for the night. Whether or not sleep finds you is up to the tadpole at this point.

An idea works it's way into your thoughts and you pause your busy hands for a moment. You know a perfect way to relieve the thundering between your ears. Your lover, Halsin. His large hands and incredible sex drive often offer you solace when nothing else will. Even if he declines your offer for sex tonight, you're perfectly happy to curl up in his arms and search for sleep that way, although you'd much prefer the former option. You plop your bedroll down next to the fire and start towards where he's set up, the familiar scent of oak and basil wafting in your direction from the narrow opening in his tent and you salivate.

"Is that you, my heart?"

His words trickle like honey into your ears and your core burns like the fires of Avernus. You reach a trembling hand out and move the right tent flap to the side, ducking into his spacious living quarters. Halsin is sat cross legged on his bedroll, careful hands whittling a comically small piece of wood, the shape of a duck barely visible past his large fingers. He looks so handsome. Caramel hair tied back in a messy half up, half down bun. Pale green eyes carefully scan the small piece of wood that his knife works at, chipping away little chunks here and there. You giggle quietly to yourself, chewing on the middle knuckle of your index finger to stifle the noise, taking care to not startle him while he works. His attention shifts to you and he immediately sets his work down, muscular arms spreading wide to welcome you into his warm embrace. You oblige and slink into his arms. Your face instinctively nuzzles into the crook of his neck, inhaling his musk. He tightens his grip on you with one arm, using the other to adjust your seating position until you're straddling his muscular thighs. You grin, testing the waters of tonight's potential plans, nipping gently at the side of his neck. He groans, both hands reaching down to grasp your plush ass. "Hmph.."

"Hello, my love."

You lift your head to bite the pointy tip of Halsin's ear, earning a grunt into your perked up ears. A sweet sigh escapes his lungs.

"Not tonight.. My mind is elsewhere. I'm afraid I cannot please you the way you and I both desire. I'm sorry.."

Your lips flatten into a frown and you nod. "Alright." Kicking yourself for even thinking now was a good time, you carefully move to his side, throbbing temple resting against his firm bicep. His eyes soften at your quickness to pull away.

"What's wrong?"

You groan and mumble a soft "headache", closing your eyes to soothe the new light sensitivity. Halsin nods and leans to blow out the candles lit in a row next to him, arms snaking around you, guiding you onto your side with him. He runs his fingers through your soft hair and gently scrunches the hair in random spots on your scalp to relieve pressure. You sigh contently, allowing your lids to flutter.

...

It's been about a week of begging Halsin for release, being disappointingly turned down every time and your core aches from the moment you wake up, to the moment you lie your head on your bedroll at night. It's very unlike him to turn away moments of pleasure with you, especially after he confessed his feelings during the Teifling party. He was very open with his intentions and it made your head spin. He took you that very night. Large hands grabbing and prodding and begging for you, touching every inch of your willing body. Sex with Halsin is euphoric, to be blunt. Otherworldly. With Halsin's age and experience taken into consideration, it's no wonder. His words still ring in your ears every day.

"I have lived a very long time. I have taken many lovers. My heart does not stir lightly. But it does now. I want more than to fight at your side, or sit around the campfire with you. I want to lay with you under the stars and feel your skin against mine."

You lie in your bedroll, the thin veil of sleep still shrouding your tired eyes, but you're trapped in a dream. It's early morning, the rest of the camp still quiet, little snores breaking the dewy silence. Astarion tip toes past you, watching your body writhe in your sleep, clearly dreaming of something dangerous. He smirks and nudges you with his foot. You sit up in a panic, chest heaving, sweat beading up on your forehead and you shoot a look of surprise at Astarion. The vampire crosses his arms over his chest.

"Dreaming of me again, pet?"

"Oh, fuck off. You wish."

You scoff, shooing the man away with the back of your hand, both of your hands coming up to smooth your sweaty hair back and you groan. You quickly pull your nightgown over your knees, shielding yourself from the vampire's prying gaze. Astarion saunters off with a giggle. The small commotion stirs Halsin from his tent and he waves a soft "G'morning" to Astarion, the vampire returning the gesture with a similar wave. You squeeze your thighs together, noticing a very familiar warmth between them. Fuck. You're soaked, night garments basically ruined from the rather intense dream you had. Reaching down, you swipe the slick from your inner thigh and lift your hand up to inspect, the clear substance stretching into thin ropes between your fingers. You grin, not at all noticing your lover standing behind you now, pupils blown wide. He huffs and your bones nearly eject from the skin and muscles that hold them inside. "Sh-Shit." Halsin reaches down and grabs your arm, hoisting you up from your bedroll effortlessly.

"My tent. Immediately."

His tone is deep and hoarse with arousal. You obey and follow the elf to his tent, yelping when he throws you to the bedroll like a ragdoll. You love when he's rough with you. Primal need aches in your belly. You spread your legs for him while he clumsily fumbles with the clasps on the tent flaps. Eventually giving up, he turns to you, mouth salivating at the sight of you so open for him. So ready. He shakes his head, palming at his already erect cock through his leggings.

"Undress for me."

You nod, making a show of sliding your nightgown up and over your head, tossing it beside you, your absolutely soaked underwear coming next. You hook your thumbs into the soiled fabric and tug downwards, painfully slow. The elf grunts in approval, eyebrows knitting together. Once the fabric is at your knees, you slide one leg out, the other flicking the underwear into the air and towards Halsin. He catches them and quickly presses them to his nose, inhaling deeply. You beckon him closer with a slow curl of your index finger, a lust filled grin thinning your otherwise full lips. The air in the tent is warm, the scent of your heat getting Halsin absolutely drunk. He stumbles forward, collapsing overtop of you, large frame pressing you into his bedroll as he aggressively grinds his throbbing cock into your naked mound, desperate for any kind of friction. You wrap your arms and legs around him tightly, closing the gap.

"Halsin p-please.."

His grinding halts, body sliding down yours. You whine at the loss of friction and grab for his hair, shoulders, ears, whatever you can get your hands on to pull him back to you, desperate to feel him against you again. He nuzzles his nose into your soaked cunt, breathing you in, hands sliding to your inner thighs to firmly press them apart to anchor you in place. Your hips buck upwards into the tip of his nose, finding a moment of friction against your deprived clit. He exhales heavy against your slit, his hot breath coasting over your wet skin. Wiggling desperately beneath him, your hands fly down to his hair and he chuckles.

"Oak Father preserve me.. You'll be my undoing."

A quick flick of the tip of his tongue ignites a flame in your core that you cannot control, fire burning hotter and hotter up your spine. Grasping fingers tug and yank at his caramel locks and he grunts against your cunt, the vibrations only assisting in your molten hot pleasure. You burn as hot as Karlach's engine heart. Your climax builds and you yell into the early morning air, teetering on the very edge of absolute bliss. Then the feeling stops. Halsin pulls away, smirking up at you. You kick your legs in frustration and push your hips up towards his face, clit searching for his tongue.

"No, please! PLEASE!"

Your fire dulls to embers and you whine down at your lover, head lifted just enough to meet his eyes. He waits there. Breathing slowly. Each huff of air fans out over your begging cunt. Your eyes well up with tears at the lack of touch. Halsin hushes you sweetly, lips wrapping themselves around your clit once more. He laps at you in slow, painfully slow motions, his head bobbing slightly with the movements of his tongue. The aching builds again and you flex your stomach muscles, walls clenching tightly around the emptiness. The agonizing emptiness. Your sharp nails dig into his shoulders and he groans loudly into your folds. Teeth scrape over your clit, your hips bucking upwards quickly in response and you cry out. "Gods!" Halsin grins and moves his hands under your ass, pushing you up roughly against his tongue as we works you to the edge once more, listening for your change in moans before he pulls away again. You sob. Tears stream freely down your cheeks, back arching up off of the bedroll beneath you and you babble incoherently.

He repeats this process until you're absolutely broken, begging, screaming for him to give you what you so desperately crave. Release. You're positive your other companions are awake now, eating breakfast around the fire to the sounds of Halsin destroying you. The thought definitely arouses you further. He stands over your writhing body and kicks off his leggings, angry and erect cock springing forward. A thin rope of precum drips onto your thigh and you mewl. He bends over to grab your hips, hoisting you into the air. You wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders, nails digging into the same spot on his shoulder before. Halsin hisses. You grin and try to sneakily lower yourself onto his cock, Halsin catching on quickly. He tuts.

"Patience. I want to savor you for as long as I can."

His lips crash to yours, tongue begging for entrance, the subtle taste of your cunt lingering in his mouth. You accept his advance, wrestling your needy tongue with his, a mesh of wet sounds filling the tent. Without warning, he lowers you onto his cock. You moan loudly into his mouth and he follows suit at the grip your cunt has on him. He breaks the kiss to mumble under his breath.

"By the nine hells, you're tight. This is going to be harder than I thought."

Your hands move down his back, nails dragging behind them, slicing long bloody marks into his tan flesh. He throws his head back, bottoming out inside of you before lifting you all the way off of him once more, tip popping out of you with an audible squelch. You keen at the emptiness. Slick drips down beneath you, creating a puddle on the bedroll. Halsin slides in again, then out, then in, teasing your insides. You growl in frustration.

"Fuck me, gods damn it!"

Tears sting in your eyes from the way he's toying with you. You can't take it anymore. Your entire body burns. Aches. Needs.

"I will, my heart. And I'm going to fill you to the brim once I'm done. Only then, can you cum."

Your breath catches in your throat. Halsin had asked to cum inside of you before. And you declined every single time. The idea of potentially carrying a child terrified you. He often reminded you of the resident cleric in your camp, had the need for her become necessary. Now.. Now you're intrigued. You quirk an eyebrow at him and nod slowly, teeth catching your bottom lip. You chew the skin there nervously before settling on a decision. You craved Halsin. Needed every inch of him inside of you. You agree.

"O-Okay.. Just please.."

Halsin slides in before you can finish speaking, the tip of his weeping cock slamming into your soft cervix. You cry out loudly, head falling back, jaw falling open. Your eyes cross, your fingers and toes go numb, you're floating now. Black spots speckle your vision as Halsin aggressively ruts up into you. Your walls flutter around him and he chokes on his breath, hips struggling to keep a consistent rhythm. He nears his end, and you're not far behind. He curses under his breath, grip on you impossibly tight, the indents his fingers leaving on your thighs and ass sure to bruise later. You cry his name into the air of the now steamy tent, the shuffling noises of the rest of the camp making you painfully aware of just how loud you're being. They definitely hear you. Halsin encourages your loudness, nails digging into the flesh of your ass roughly as he continues his thrusting, your entire body bouncing in his arms.

"Gods, I'm close. Beg for it. Beg for me to fill you, just as nature intended."

You pull yourself closer to him, torsos melding into one. Leaning close to his ear you let out a deliciously low moan, tongue working your way along his earlobe.

"Cum inside of me, Halsin. I want you to fill me up. Please.."

Halsin reaches a hand between the two of you, relying on your grip on him to hold you up and his fingers find your deprived clit, rubbing in furious circles. He thrusts one final time. Hot ropes of cum spew inside of you, the large elf grunting in pure ecstasy. He works your clit still, your climax very suddenly slamming into you and you scream his name. Your walls tighten around his softening cock and he slides out of you. You ride the waves, lungs burning from the lack of oxygen as you come undone. He holds you for a moment, cooing into your ear about how well you did for him, how much he loves you, how proud of you he is. You mewl and press tired kisses to his chest and shoulders, asking to be put down. He sets you on your feet and you squirm at the mixture of his cum and yours dripping down your inner thigh, legs barely able to hold you upright. You giggle.

"I need to bathe.. You've ruined me."

Halsin chuckles and pulls his leggings back on, reaching down to retrieve your nightgown and he hands it to you. You slide it on carefully, turning to catch Halsin taking another deep inhale of your underwear. You shake your head and he smirks in your direction, tucking the fabric under his pillow. "I'll be keeping these." He slides his hand into yours and leads you out of his tent, the rest of your companions snapping their attention to the two of you as they're finishing breakfast. Your face turns a deep shade of red and you lower your head in embarrassment. Yeah, they heard you. Astarion stands, moving behind Gale, placing his hands on Gale's hips and rutting playfully into his behind.

"Oh gods, Halsin! Please Halsin! I'm so close Halsin!"

Astarion mocks your loud moans, squeezing his eyes closed tightly as he pretends to cum. Gale rolls his eyes and shoves the vampire backwards, smoothing the back of his now crumpled robe down. Karlach and Shadowheart throw their heads back and laugh, Wyll shakes his head and sips his tea, blinking through the steam. You scurry out of sight of everyone, hand covering your face to somehow shield you from their taunts. Halsin slaps a hand onto Astarion's shoulder, leaning in to his ear, the smell of you still evident on his breath.

"Wishing she'd cry out for you like that, blood sucker?"

[miasmaghoul]

Considering the idea of quintessence ghouls being able to make themselves invisible. They can just sort of...shimmer out of view if they focus their power enough. Like how Swiss can melt into shadow, quintessence ghouls can bend and fold light to vanish themselves. Not an ability they make common knowledge, of course, but they all use it in different ways.

Imagine Omega, always at Terzo's side even when he can't be seen. A protector, a stalwart and silent companion devoted to keeping his beloved Papa safe from any who would dare to threaten. It makes them think that Terzo has power beyond what any Papa has had before - how else could you explain someone being thrown across a room with no more than a wave of his gloved hand? It's exhausting for Omega, requires a bit of a recovery period, but that's alright. Terzo cares for him in the aftermath every time, just as devoted to his ghoul as Omega is to his Papa. The only other person who knows of this skill is Sister Imperator, and Omega likes to keep it that way.

Imagine Aether, learning the same trick from his mentor but using it more to keep himself sane. It's not something he does frequently, he finds it incredibly draining and has too many responsibilities to make it a common occurrence. But some days the abbey is just too loud, and there's nowhere for him to go without being pestered by siblings, clergy members and anyone else who's decided they need his attention. So he just...disappears for a while. He could be sitting on the couch plain as day and no one would be the wiser. It's incredibly freeing, on the rare occasion he puts it to use. He does it even less post-retirement, most of his magickal resources poured into healing others, but once in a while he'll still indulge. Sneak off to the library for a quiet cup of tea and dissappear between the stacks for a bit. Copia, Dew and Aeon always know where to find him, though - but they don't go searching. They all know that, if Aether needs isolation, there is no reason to interrupt.

Aeon, though, is a different breed of quint.

Curious as a kitten and with more power than he knows what to do with, he frequently uses his invisibility for more nefarious purposes. Sneaks into the human wing for panty raids, scours the kitchens when he gets too high but has already hit his snack quota, even wanders into the parts of the abbey that are off-limits to everyone but the higher-ups.

His favorite thing, though, is his ability to be a nasty little freak with no one being the wiser. It makes him the worst sort of voyeur, sneaky and with no regard for privacy. He peeps on everyone, through cracked doorframes, keyholes and open windows, in plain sight but still unseen.

One day, mid-afternoon, he hears a familiar series of soft but drawn out moans. Aeon cloaks himself immediately, already chubbing up and giving himself a shameless grope. It's not like anyone can see, after all. He pads down the hall to find Rain's door halfway open, those lovely sounds pouring through the gap. It's accompanied by what can only be called a rhythmic squelching sound, and Aeon licks his lips as he peeks around the doorframe.

Where he finds Rain, knelt in front of the ornate floor-length mirror that lives by his closet, naked as the day he was summoned and flushed right down his pale chest. He moves like water, spread thighs tensing and relaxing as he rides what Aeon recognizes as one of Swiss' preferred dildos. Rain has his tail wrapped around the base, hands free to explore every inch of himself. He's beautiful always, but like this - admiring his own reflection while pinching his lovely pink nipples, elegant fingers tracing the lines of his own throat, sliding down to give his cock slow pulls that have him leaking a puddle onto the hardwood floor - Rain isn't just beautiful. He's lust itself, sin incarnate, and Aeon has to get closer.

He leans just inside the door, in a warm patch of sunlight that paints Rain in golden hues. Hard as a rock and pulsing in his boxers, Aeon presses the heel of his hand to his crotch and starts to hump. Matches the rolls of his hips to Rain's slow bounces, picturing his own cock sliding into that slick hole and biting his lip when a soft moan threatens to escape. He may be unseen, but he can certainly still be heard.

Rain's clearly been at this for a while, judging by the sweat glistening along his brow and making his luscious curls stick to the back of his neck, and soon enough he starts to bounce faster. Little punched out grunts fill the air, the slick sound of his hand and hole making Aeon's balls ache, and he feels himself drool down his chin when Rain gasps. Leans back on one hand so he can sink down fully onto that thick toy, getting it deep inside, just where he needs it. He's panting, hand flying over his cock, and Aeon has to lean harder against the wall lest his own knees give out.

With a half dozen more tugs, Rain's mouth drops open and they both watch him squirt his load all over that shiny surface. Aeon's right there with him, biting his knuckles until he tastes iron as he soaks a stain into his undies. He shivers through it, eyes crossing, cussing to himself when he watches Rain reach out to drag two fingers through the mess he made. With a soft chuckle he licks it up, sighing happily, and Aeon lets his eyes slip shut while he catches his breath.

"Want a taste?"

Aeon's eyes shoot open, jaw going tense, and in slow motion he watches the shadows in the corner by the window coalesce into something solid.

Swiss leisurely strides over to the mirror, the bulge in his jeans incredibly obvious, and takes hold of Rain's wrist. Laps up the last drops dribbling down his fingers as Rain leans in to nuzzle at his straining cock. Swiss' rusty purr kicks up as he sinks his own fingers into Rain's hair, scratching at his sweaty nape.

"Did such a good job, angelfish," Swiss lilts, Rain's tail giving a happy little swish as it unwinds from the dildo still inside him. "You just love bein' watched, huh?"

Rain hums his agreement, lazily mouthing at the thick outline of Swiss through his pants. Wraps an arm around his thigh so he can really rub his face all over it. Aeon heaves a silent sigh of relief; as much as he would love to watch Rain swallow Swiss down, he's all sticky in his shorts and getting less and less comfy as the moments pass. He straightens up, lets the debaucherous sight of the pair of them burn itself into his brain, and finally tiptoes back towards the hall.

"Leaving so soon?"

Aeon freezes, whole body flushing hot and cold at Swiss' words. It takes him a thousand years to look back over his shoulder, and he finds golden eyes sparkling with intent fixed on his invisible form. Aeon gawps at him, and Swiss grins. Rain doesn't seem bothered in the slightest, dragging his tongue up Swiss' fly.

"You're not as slick as you think, kid," Swiss chuckles, dark and with just enough of an edge to give Aeon goosebumps. Rain giggles, crooks a finger at his hidden form, and Aeon whimpers.

"Who else knows?" His voice cracks when he asks, and Swiss barks out a laugh.

"Lock the door and get over here," Swiss orders him in lieu of an answer, "but I don't want to see you until that cute little dick is nice and hard again."

Oh, he's in so much trouble.

[witchofhimring]

Under the shadow of the Crown

Synopsis: Your life as Princess Baela's lady-in-waiting is ripped apart. Queen Rhaenyra decrees that you marry her younger half brother Aemond. Terrified, you are in no position to object. Such are the lives of those in the shadow of the crown.

Pairings: Aemond x Y/n

Part of my Dynasty of Blood AU series, built of this concept.

You had never payed attention to the second sulky son of Alicent Hightower. If fact you had not even come to mainland Westeros to marry him in the first place. Of course marriage had always been in the cards. As heir to Blackhalt, your families ancestral seat just off of The Reach. A great match had always been in store for you. Lord Cregan Stark and Jeoffrey Velaryon had both been put forth. Only Lord Stark's had been seriously considered as the third born son of Queen Rhaenyra was not yet ten. It was only a pity the eldest two of her boys were to be wed. Well, Lucerys and Rhaena had not been wed at the time you arrived at Kings Landing. Crowned Prince Jaecerys had already taken Baela Targaryen to wife by then. Your role, until it was time to take up the mantel of ladyship, was to serve the royal family and cultivate whatever ties you could.

You were placed in the service of Princess Baela. She was around your age, born within the same year. Admittedly you were more than a bit intimidated. Use to being the second highest ranking lady in the room it was strange to be standing in front of the third greatest lady in the land. Not only that but Baela rode a dragon. Her beauty was intimidating as well, with thick silver hair and wide violet eyes. Her skin was dark and smooth, the scars she obtained in battle only giving highlighting her features. Normally scars could not be considered pretty, but Baela seemed to wear them as one would their jewels. Clad in black and red the princess looked almost like one of those Valyrian gods. Not that you had ever met one before. But perhaps this was how they were depicted.

The two of you would forge a friendship. A combination of personal liking and ambition. However it was with Rhaena that you first became friends with. The younger of the two, Rhaena was less assuming compared to Baela. That did not mean, as many mistakened her for, a wilting flower. She simply preferred to be more guarded and taken to court etiquette more easily. The two of you had much in common, a love of fine dresses, music, poetry and an ability to connive when the situation so called for it. When you were free of duties the two of you would hide under the Weirwood and read poetry.

Two years passed and a new year was upon everyone. A New Years ball was to be arranged and it was up to a team of ladies (including yourself) to organize who was wearing what. It was already agreed upon that Baela would be wearing a high collared red gown with rubies sewn into it. Not that she knew it yet. The rest of you would wear colours representing your houses to show a symbol of unity. "I think everyone should wear a red ribbon to symbolize the princess." Rhaena pulled out a silver box from underneath a tall tower of various items. Let it not be said this was an easy job. A new years celebration was nothing to scoff at. Especially as this one would be a pre-celebration to the marriage of Rhaena to Lucerys. Rhaenyra's second son had been off to learn what it mean to be a lord. This had been to the great distress of Rhaenyra. But she finally relented, unusually, and allowed Daemon to teach her son everything there was to know about being Prince of Dragonstone. Now that he had experience and was a man it was high time Lucerys married.

"Oh dear." Lady Cassandra stifled a laugh as she held up a pair of ludicrously high heels. Lady Cerelle of Casterly Rock paled and looked to Rhaena. She would find no security in her look as Rhaena sighed. "Let me see." You took the pair from her hand and examined them. They were exquisite in design and any woman would be thrilled to have them. Except this was Baela who would likely be as friendly as Vhargar when it came to overly constraining dresses.

Rhaena sighed and slumped in her seat. She looked up at the ceiling, exasperated. "Baela is going to kill me." You looked up at her. "Why you?" Rhaena sat up and stooped down to gather loose fabric. "Because I was the one who commissioned Panella to make the dress. And I swear I told her to make the dress to Baela's tastes. But the Queen ordered her to make it luxurious as possible." Queen Rhaenyra was well known for her expensive tastes. Just a glance at her dresses was enough for anyone to know. This had worked in your favour when the Queen gifted you a dress of pink silk and pearls. You had yet to wear it but the dress was truly magnificent. However, at this moment, was it worth it if Baela ripped your head off?

Deliverance came in the form a knock. One of Dowager Queen Alicents handmaidens entered. She first curtsied to Rhaena and then turned to you. "Lady Y/n, the Queen Dowager has requested your presence." Getting up you bid the ladies farewell before leaving. Hopefully you would be kept away long enough to avoid Baela's terror.

Lady Alicent had settled in the Hands Tower, much to the annoyance of the actual hand Ser Corlys Velaryon. The moment you entered green clouded your vision. On the steps of a dais sat the women serving Alicent. They mostly hailed from the Reach and Westerlands. Sitting on a throne like chair was Alicent. She looked older than her thirty and four years, a statue of regality and sternness. Had you done something to incur her ire? There was nothing you could think of. So you curtsied, hoping that if she was upset a show of supplication (even if it irked you) might mollify her. To your surprise she smiled, or at least it looked like a smile. This unsettled you to a degree.

"Lady Y/n, the Queen, your father and myself have chosen a husband for you." Several things went through your mind, excitement, anxiety and hope. You had been endlessly curious as to who would become your husband and the future lord consort to Blackhalt. "You will be marrying my son Prince Aemond. Everything dropped out from beneath you. Not literally, but it felt like someone had just hurled you down a dark tunnel. Out of everyone why him!? You could not say Aemond was well known to you. Only the stories and the looks he gave anyone attached to his elder sisters house. As you were a member of Baela's household his dislike over spilled into you as well.

Was this your fathers idea? Or your mother, who despite not being the ruling lady held great sway. Always you had known you'd marry, such was the duty of every lord and lady. Never had you though as you did now, that this was all some great mistake.

You curtsied to the third most powerful woman in Westeros and said how honoured you were. An honour it may be, but not one you cherished.

"Absolutely not!" If one though Baela had been angry beforehand it was nothing to her tirade over Aemond taking one of her handmaidens. "My Princess, I can still serve you, surely." You held her hand in your own. In the greatest state of anxiety Baela hardly seemed to notice. Suddenly she bounded to her feet. Cerelle leapt back in fright and Cassandra rose to her feet. Baela seized your hand and headed out the door. She strode forward with such a great fury you nearly tripped. You could hear the other two following, also having difficulty in catching up. It was only when you entered a staircase lined with red tapestries did you realize where it was Baela was taking you. Before there was even time to protest Baela waved the guards aside and burst through the door. Queen Rhaenyra lounged on a plush chair, surrounded by her three youngest sons, little Princess Visenya and four ladies. As usual she was bedecked in the finest robes imaginable. Jeoffrey came to his feet and rushed towards Baela. Despite the animosity between Baela and her good-mother she was fond of her husbands siblings. Once they broke apart Jeoffrey rushed back to his mother. Tention filled the room was two Targaryen Princesses stared each other down. Baela may not be Queen yet, but she had enough spirit to outdo almost any other. Rhaenyra may have been older, but the fire dwelling within her blood was no less furious. Despite their differences they both had something starkly similar. They were the very blood of Old Valyria.

"Princess Baela. Please take a seat." Baela simply stood there, not budging. Nervously you stood there. While Baela might get away with this you may suffer the brunt of Rhaenyra's anger. She was quick to anger and slow to forgive. So you hung your head in hopes that she might consider you unworthy of her anger. "He who bends may rise again", it was a Greyjoy saying, yet your mother mentioned it had a great deal of merit.

Lady Cassandra quietly entered, paid her respects to the Queen, then stood there. "Lady Velaryon, please take my daughter to her room." Lasfy Velaryon, a cousin of Baela, rose and took the hand of little Visenya who had only recently celebrated her third name day. With some fussing the princess was spirited away. Rhaenyra waited until her daughters little footsteps disappeared. When Rhaenyra focused her attention back onto Baela she looked as gentle as a dragon. They said the Queen was quick to anger, slow to forgive. You prayed her anger did not fall on you.

"Your impertinence is noted, Baela. Remember I am Queen so watch your tongue." The subject of Queenship had always been a tense, provocative one. When King Laenor died the crown passed to his wife. At the time Prince Jacaerys was only ten and considered too young to rule. Fearing a war over regency as had happened in the time of King Jaehaerys they had the boys mother become Queen. It was all wrapped up in a neat little bow. No boy kings and the succession going down the natural path. Or it would be so if it were not for the face Rhaenyra's sons were not Laenor's. Whispers floated down the halls that it was the former Captain of the City Guard Ser Harwin Strong who had fathered the boy. If the succession had gone down the true legitimate line then it would have passed to Laena's line. Baela was Laena's eldest child. But Rhaenyra was quick. She married Laena's widower Daemon Targaryen and married their children together.

Baela, who should have been Queen, stood in front of her stepmother who was Queen. Veryone else shrunk back. Even little Jeoffrey. "I hear you mean to marry Y/n Blackhalt to Aemond." She practically spat out the last words. All these years later Baela was still smarting over the injustice of Aemond taking Vhaegar from her sister. The feeling was mutual. Aemond had hated the Velaryon girls ever since that terrible fight on Driftmark. After the funeral of Princess Laena Aemond had stuck out and claimed Vhaegar which had once belonged to Aegon, consort of Queen Visenya. Words were said and Baela punched Aemond. A brawl ensued and Aemond lost an eye. The relationship between the families of Viserys Targaryen's first and second wives had never been smooth. Rhaenyra was left imbittered after her lady-in-waiting Alicent married her father. The two had never reconciled. Or so you heard.

"I am aware. Myself, Lady Alicent and your father have all agreed to it." Baela puffed up. "As a lady in my service Y/n is under my care and therefore I should have been informed." "My brother is a prince of the realm. Lady Y/n should feel honoured." Rhaenyra's amethyst eyes then settled on you. Oh Gods no.

"Lady Y/n, what do you say?" This was possibly the worst situation you could be placed in. Either way you would offend someone. Your best friend and future Queen, or the current Queen. Your mothers lessons went through your head. What would she do in this situation? Feigning calm, you spoke. "My opinion hardly counts. I will do what is best for the realm." You prayed this appeased both Targaryens. Rhaenyra had a look of satisfaction on her face. Baela's you could not see.

"There we have it. Is there anything else you would like to add?" It was not because Baela had been calmed that she turned and left. You could see the tension in her shoulders and knew Baela only left to stop herself from doing something truly rash. She had let go of you and both you and Cassandra were forced to race behind. All the way to her room the three of you ran. Rhaena and Cerelle were still in Baela's room. Rhaena opened her mouth but Baela spoke first. Once inside she immediately rounded on you. "So you want to marry him!" The fury in her voice made you cower. Unable to speak, it took everything in you not to cry. "You betray me in front of the Queen! You! Are you truly my friend or will you open your legs to any many who will have you!" Everyone gasped. Cassandra dropped the pearls, Rhaena clasped a hand to her mouth and Cerelle had silently fled.

You could not even cry. Your fear was so intense you remained rooted to the spot, stuck dumb. By no means were you a coward. Under any other situation you would have defended your honour. But not only was Baela your friend, but a Princess and future Queen. Baela's furious person glowered at you. Trembling, you only just begun to think of anything to say when Baela turned on her feet and stormed out.

There was no air in your lungs. Or at least that was what it felt like. Everything seemed to be falling away leaving you in a deep sea of despair. One by one you imagined everything being taken away, leaving only burned friendships and a disgraced name. Baela shot you one last disgusted before turning on her heel and leaving. With a bang the door shut.

Everything swam before you. Darkness began to rise and suddenly you were swallowed by it. Fading voiced echoed and drifted further and further away. A dull pain echoed in your head.

Then everything was black.

Pain was the first to greet you. The sun nearly blinded you and the world came into blurry focus. Every movement was slow and it ached. The bed dipped slightly as a face hovered above yours. "Y/n?" You recognized Rhaena through her voice. Then another joined your view. With vision clearing you realized it was a Septa. A cold hand pressed against your burning forehead and she spoke. "Can you see?" The words that came out of you sounded strange, like someone was yelling across the great hall. "Yes. But faintly, I think?" Wincing you held up a hand. Your vision was clearing and almost perfect again. "Sit up if you can." A hand behind your back helped you up. Propped against pillows a cup was placed by your lips. Cold water wetted your parched throat. It made a world of difference. Your senses were clearing and the remains of grogginess disappeared. Unfortunately it also brought pain into sharper focus. Reaching behind you felt a bump.

"Thank the Gods that is all. It could have been so much worse." Cerelle was nervously chewing her fingernails. You noticed that Cassandra and Baela were missing. "Cassandra was summoned by Baela. But she is very worried." Said Rhaena noticing your mood. "Does the Princess know what happened?" "I don't know. Not unless Cassandra told her." Defeated, you laid back. Still coming out of a haze your thoughts darted here and there. All this information, Baela's anger, the betrothal and Queen Rhaenyra's animosity made you want to faint all over again.

Cerelle and Rhaena said nothing else as you lay back down. The three of you stayed in that room, the sun setting. All the while you wondered if this was the right decision.

You should have been happy at the choice of husband. Aemond was young, handsome and a prince. But on the morning of your wedding all you felt was dread. During the early hours of the morning you lay awake, Rhaena snoring a few inches away. As a princess-to-be you got new rooms in the Red Keep. These ones opened out onto the garden, a combination of roses and salt lingering on every surface. You would rather have been in the old rooms. At least Baela had been your friend back then, and Aemond had not been your betrothed. You missed those days were you were just Lady Blackhalt. After the wedding you would be sent back with Aemond to Blackhalt island. Away from the place which had been your home since childhood.

Everyone but you seemed happy. Only Rhaena seemed aware of your mood. Cassandra and Cerelle were with Baela, they would no longer be with you. And Baela...who knew. They washed you within an inch of your flesh. Scrubbed till it hurt they finally pulled you out and lathered on a sweet smelling cream. Every inch of you were fussed over by an army of women. When that was done they dressed you, a whole new ordeal. For the first time you wore the Targaryen black and red. The three headed dragon was sewn onto your bodice with rubies glittering on silk strings. For a moment you forgot every worry when looking in the mirror. Every move sent sparkles dancing around you, and as princess you would always have such gowns. At least that was one comfort.

The dress became a burden when it was time for the procession through King's Landing. They placed you on a chariot for all of the smallfolk to see. They called out to you, blessing you with good fortune and many children. You smiled and waved, ignoring the heat and painful corset. Yet to have so much adoration gave you a warm feeling. You tried to focus on that. White petals were thrown into the air. Several getting caught in your hair. Finally you arrived back at the Red Keep. The remaining court which had not come with you was waiting. Helped off, you were delivered into the arms of your father. Lord Blackhalt was a stranger to his daughter. Having barely seen him in years it felt strange to have him hand you off. Baela might as well have done the honours. Speaking of Baela she was there. It hurt when she barely looked at you. And after this you would likely hardly see her again.

They were now closing in from all sides. Walking into the Great Hall you felt all their eyes on you. 'From now on I will always be watched.' You thought. You would go from lady to princess. A member of the royal family. Waiting for you at the end was the High Septon and Queen Rhaenyra, looking on in satisfaction. You hated the queen, her satisfied look making you want to throw up down the stairs. How dare she act all pleased! And then you saw your betrothed. Aemond stood inches from his sister. His black leather made you want to shrink away. 'Don't you it.' The warning spurred you on.

Aemond's hand was calloused and cold. It was a shock compared to the heat of this morning. For the first time you looked Aempnd in the face. As a body you feared him, as a man you nearly ran. And now you would spend the rest of your life with him. His purple eye was hard to read. No expression passed his face. It was worse than showing anger, at least you would know what to expect. Right now you knew nothing. In truth despite the proximity for so many years you knew nothing about him. Always it had been the words of Baela and Rhaena which painted a picture. Now on your own there was a blank canvas.

'With this kiss I pledge my love.' Empty words. His lips were cold against your own ones. Your black and white cloak was whipped off, replaced by the Targaryen sigil. No longer Lady Y/n. Y/n Blackhalt, Princess of Westeros. You felt naked, unprotected. And now your girlhood was ended.

Notes: I just want to reiterate that this is not a story in the sense I will organize it into chapters. It will be a collection of one shots based off of scenarios. If anyone wants to further discuss these characters I am happy to do so!

About the characters: Cassandra is much nicer in this version. I suspect that the reason she was so bitter in Fire and Blood was because she went from a possible heiress to House Baratheon and promised to a prince, then promised to a King. Only she ended up married to a man well below her station. Personally I think she was definitely ambitious, but is less malicious in this version due to being Lady Baratheon by right. So she certainly has less to be bitter about.

Now, about the readers wedding. Because this is a world were women inherit the reader will keep her last name. But because she is marrying into the royal family she wears their colours. So that is why she wears the Targaryen cloak.

Rhaenyra does come off as cruel in this one-shot however she will get more development. Her actions are a combination of spite against Baela and to show her place as Queen. Baela resents Rhaenyra for taking the place she thinks is hers. I will at some point write a one-shot from Baela's point of view.

The other ideas I have in mind:

-Rhaenyra and the reader talking about their dead ancestors

-Baela and Daenerys (reader's daughter) talks about queenship

-Reader's friendship with Baela and Rhaena

-"Monarchs of Westeros" (part 1) Covering every monarch of Westeros in this AU from Visenya the First to Rhaenyra the Second.

[feyascorner]

4 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. Astarion, if anything, you are sure is a liar. It’s impossible to tell what he’s truly thinking and whether his words hold an ounce of truth. You just wish you’d been an exception.

With lidded eyes locked with your own in a trance you can’t break ahold of, he sinks his teeth into her neck.

You’re at a complete loss of words, and you feel nothing but shame knowing that rather than the distaste you should feel, you feel something else.

Bitter. Not jealous, no, not quite, but really damn bitter.

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, reader is a bard

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. 7.6k words,,, but have a bit of Astarion POV somewhere in here featuring Gale!!

You’re dying again.

But rather than the usual nightmare consisting of him pinning you to the ground with his hands on your throat, he’s standing above you. In that dark alleyway a week ago, where the spawn had nearly taken your life. The ground feels muddy again, and despite there being nothing at your neck, you still can’t breathe.

And then, you’re alive again, lurching up from your mattress with sweaty skin sticking your nightwear to your body. After your eyes adjust to the bright sunlight flooding into your room through the window, you sigh.

You want to ask if he’d been real. If he’d truly been there that night, saving your life against the spawn despite his words just the other night. Despite the stomach-churning way, he looks at you.

Hope is a dangerous thing.

It doesn’t take you long to get ready. When you clamber out your door, your eyes glaze over his own, standing still as a rock just beside yours. Even though you know he’s right there, just a wooden door away, it doesn’t feel like it at all. He feels like an illusion—perhaps a ghost to haunt you for what you’d done to him. He’s been here for days now, and somehow, you feel further from him than you did when he was just a shadow of your past. Lingering. Driving you mad.

In some ways, this is worse.

Especially with the way your last interaction concluded, you’d expect yourself to feel nothing but negative turmoil for him. Yet, with the dreams haunting you every night and the endless afternoons you spend wallowing in your experiences with him in the past, it’s hard to do so.

Even more so when the terrifying force of hope grabs hold of you like a shackle to the heart.

You’re not sure if what you saw that night as an angel was really him or if you were simply hallucinating as a last-ditch attempt to console your imminent death. You hope—no, you question if he’d been the one to save you and fetch the Fist. Unfortunately, you have nobody to ask, as none of your other companions seem aware that you’d “seen” Astarion at death’s doorstep and the embarrassment that floods you intends to keep it that way.

It had to be him, surely. Why else would he have been at Elfsong Tavern that same exact day? Why else had Petras seen him the night before that, murdering that blond elf seconds after you’d been there?

Astarion, if anything, you are sure is a liar. He’s like this by nature, like an instinct resulting from the centuries spent under Cazador’s dreadful rule. It’s impossible to tell what he’s truly thinking and whether his words hold an ounce of truth. You just wish you’d been an exception.

‘Did you save me? Why?’ you want to ask desperately. You curse your past self for ending your last conversation that way. You’d hoped it would’ve at least gone a bit better.

“Perhaps we should throw him back in the Duke’s dungeon,” Lae’zel grumbles, tearing at her piece of bread as she sits on the armchair in the living space downstairs. Why she prefers such stale food is beyond you. “That istik is clearly not helping.”

“Give him time,” you mumble, thankful that at this time of morning, most of the house is still asleep. Only you or Lae’zel seem to be awake at the break of dawn. “We don’t have much of a choice anyway, given nobody else we know is a vampire spawn.”

“I’ve already given him tenfold the time I wish to give him. If it were up to me, he’d already be dead.”

“He is dead.”

She doesn’t laugh. You snort and reach to the cabinet, where instead of your usual supplies, you find a bottle. The crimson liquid at the bottom is scarce, but there’s just enough for a few more sips if you ration it right, which is what you assume he’s been doing, considering he hasn’t asked once to go hunting.

You wonder if he’s feasted on the necks of poor beautiful maidens in the city, captured by his charm and lured to an untimely end. You imagine their long, silky hair falling across their face as they bare their necks for his teeth, wincing the first few moments they sink down. But afterward, it would feel intimate—close, even—as he lets their blood sully his own. And once he finally pulls away with a piece of their lifeline, he’d grin down at them with stained lips painting them like lipstick…

Your brows furrow, but not for them. You seriously hope he just fed on goblins, or something along those lines. You’d even look past gnomes.

“T’chaki. Whatever disgusting thoughts you’re having, I suggest you stop,” Lae’zel snaps, and you blink. “And put that bottle away. You look like you want to devour it yourself.”

You do so sheepishly. “Please tell Gale to take Astarion to the forest to gather more blood. He’ll starve to death at this rate.”

“That would be ideal. Though I wouldn’t have the pleasure of putting my own sword through his chest.”

Your frown is visibly apparent, and it deepens her own. “Such a declaration shouldn’t displease you. My people believe an attempt at murder is enough to declare war. You should be trying to kill him, should you not? He is hshar’lak.”

“For the last time, I’m not going to-”

“She’s right, you know. As rare as that is,” you nearly jump at the cleric’s voice, though Lae’zel only glares. She’s leaning on the doorway, chewing on a half-eaten apple. “I won’t force him to leave, but I do hope you seriously reconsider your decision to harbor a vampire spawn. We trusted him once, and it didn’t end so well. I’d prefer avoiding making the same mistake again.”

He saved me, you want to say. The words are on the tip of your tongue before you reel them back, sealing them into your own heart. “Why are you awake so early?”

“We’re out of supplies,” she says. “I’m going to the market. Care to tag along? I wouldn’t hate the company.”

Your eyes flicker to the stairs as if expecting something, but you force yourself back to your companions and nod. “Alright.”

He was a magistrate.

At least, that’s what he remembers. His memories of the days before his heart stopped beating are fuzzy, like they’re muffled by water as he drowns in the unending 200 years of torture. Even without Cazador, even after stabbing through his corpse a dozen times, it doesn’t feel enough. It will never be enough.

He hears the front door open downstairs and finds himself lowering his book a tad to peer down outside the window his bed is pressed up against. You clamber out, stumbling over yourself as you tie your boots halfway through the door. He can hear you calling into the house through the thin glass panes. “Apples, pork loin, what else?”

“Bread and cheese!” another shout downstairs. It’s the cleric, he deems from the tone of her voice.

“Right, right,” you snort, waiting for her to catch up with you.

His eyes don’t leave you as you make your way down the street, eventually vanishing as you round a corner leading to the main marketplace of the city. And when you’re finally gone, his attention flits back to his book, rereading the page for what feels like the millionth time.

He likes reading—as much as he can, anyway—when he’s not hunting or running from the sun as if it’ll chase him down even in the shadows. He has three books. And if someone were to ask, he’d be able to recite them all by memory.

He had a fourth one, once. One you’d gifted him, but no longer does he want it. It sits under the bed, gathering dust for what he hopes to be forever.

He hasn’t spoken to you in days, and he expects nothing less. He hasn’t spoken to anyone, really, only receiving glares from Shadowheart, ignored by Lae’zel, and—well, Gale, he supposes, offers conversation, but Astarion’s the one to avoid those particular interactions. The wizard’s absence is not the only one he’s grateful for. 

Yours, for one, after how your last conversation ended, is not one he wants to risk another of. Yet, the past few days, despite never daring to approach him, he’s seen you looking from afar with the eyes of a kicked pup. But the second he comes too close, your guard is up again, your words curt, and sentences abruptly ending in his presence. Only when you think he doesn’t notice do your true feelings surface in this pathetic display. He almost pities you.

Unfortunately, in all the realms of words he’s described himself as he has never considered himself a sympathetic person.

He revels in your obsession with him. One that he will no longer reciprocate.

He glances at the empty jar of blood on the bedside table and clenches his jaw.

A hefty bit of time later, when he’s sure most have left the home, he climbs down the stairs where the first floor is still overtaken with darkness. The curtains have been put up in a clumsy manner, but they do their job efficiently enough, as he’s allowed to pace across the wooden floors and reaches for a drawer beside the sink. There’s a glass bottle of animal blood inside–it’s running dangerously low.

“You look awfully drained.”

Astarion fights the urge to groan at Gale’s voice.

“If that’s your attempt at vampiric humor, I hope you’re aware it would only have hungry spawns lunging for your neck,” he shoots back, snatching the bottle and popping it open with a swift move of his thumb and lifting it to his lips. He drinks, gulping down whatever’s left. While on any other occasion, he’d feel appalled at not even using a goblet, his hunger has been itching at him for days, now. If he didn’t know how foul Gale’s blood tasted, he might’ve even considered the damned wizard.

“I’m warning you, I taste positively terrible.” Ah, he must have been staring.

“I assure you, I’d more likely scout the city for rats before drinking another drop of your blood,” Astarion retorts back, setting down the glass bottle. “Now, please hurry and tell me what in the hells you want before I escape for those aforementioned rats.”

“Adjusting well to your life here, I presume?”

Astarion stares at him like he grew a second head.

“I was jesting.”

“You do a poor job at it.”

Gale sighs irritably. “You haven’t come downstairs in days; we’d thought you were dead already…again.”

“I’d rather not be in the presence of multiple people who appear ready to lop off my head at any moment,” Astarion snaps. “As much as I’d love decapitation for my cause of death, now is not the right time for such events.”

Neither of them laugh.

“The others…” Gale takes his time talking as if he’s searching for words that aren’t there, and it makes Astarion’s eye twitch. “You understand why they’re apprehensive about you being here. In all honesty, I am too.”

The spawn’s brows knit together, and he rolls his eyes. “Whether or not they want me here, it was their choice to keep me trapped in this bloody house. Even when I insisted I didn’t know a damned thing about what my dear siblings were up to, your leader chose to “take responsibility” for me...whatever that means. So by all means, Gale, just open the door for me, let them know I won’t be returning, and you’ll never see me again.”

Astarion expects him to yell at him, snap at him, maybe even cast a spell, but he expects him to do something with the words that spill out of his mouth like vomit. But instead, the wizard opens his mouth, shuts it again, and seems to be in thought. “I haven’t heard you talk for so long in ages. Nice to know your endlessly running mouth is still there.”

“You’re one to talk.”

He snorts, his eyes flitting to the curtains messily nailed onto the wood surrounding the windows, and Astarion can see his face fall. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to let you go, for I’ve made a promise with Tav to check in on you in place of themselves…and the others, of course. And I may be a man of many words, but I am not a man of lies.”

Astarion almost laughs at the irony. “Is that what hiding the bomb in your chest was? Honesty?”

“Oh, please,” he waves him off. “That was eons ago! And besides, I’ve got that all sorted now, so no more eating magical pairs of shoes…thank the Gods. Though the magical enhanced gems weren’t so bad-”

“Please tell me someone other than yourself will be hovering over me like a parasite.”

“I’m afraid not,” Gale smiles. “Lae’zel wouldn’t hesitate for a vampire head hanging over the fireplace, Shadowheart would most likely place a curse on you, and Tav rarely comes home at all. So, unfortunately, and also most fortunately, you are stuck with yours truly.”

Astarion groans. And though he’s about to shoot him with another quip, the front door swings open, and Shadowheart steps into the house. When she notices him standing beside the kitchen, her body visibly tenses.

“You’re supposed to stay in your room.”

“I’m also not supposed to starve to death in that room, as much as I’m sure you’d approve of that.”

Her gaze flickers to the empty bottle of blood, and immediately, her face hardens. She narrows her eyes, and Gale, as usual, steps forward. “Now, Shadowheart, let’s not get too hasty-”

“If you are ever starving to death,” she glares. “You best hope not Tav is the only person around. If you ever even ask them for their blood again, I’ll show you just how much blood you have stored up.”

Astarion scoffs, grinning. “Such a terrifying foe you are. But there truly is no need to worry so much. I don’t need their blood, and I never intend to ask them for a single drop again. Not anymore.”

Shadowheart looks only half convinced, but after a moment of contemplation, the atmosphere turns less rigid, and she sighs, stepping backward. “I really did not miss having a vampire in our home.”

He’s about to let out another condescending laugh when he hears a shift in the dirt outside the open door. Neither of the others seems to notice. “And for the record, if you ask me for blood, you’ll end up even worse.”

Right then, he watches you step into the house, arms stuffed with paper bags filled to the brim with fruits, meat, and bread, and you nearly stumble on your own legs as you try to guide yourself to the kitchen counter. “Did we really need this much for just a week?”

“Of course we did. My famed stew is not made so haphazardly, you know. It requires skills, talents, and lots and lots of patience-”

You finally set down the groceries and notice Astarion’s presence in the room. He knows you do because of the way your posture straightens, becoming more guarded. It makes the corner of his lips lift in a way that’s sure to make you uneasy. 

But when your gazes finally meet briefly, you turn away as if it doesn’t bother you in the slightest. 

His eyes widen. Did you just ignore him?

He shifts, just enough to catch your attention, but all you do is listen to Gale’s ramble about his bloody stew. He’s sure nobody on Faerun gives a damn about his soup at this very moment, and you're no exception. Yet you’re clearly preferring his words over Astarion’s glares in such a blatant display.

You are ignoring him.

“Moving on,” Shadowheart groans. “We’re going to investigate the families of the spawn victims. We’ll let you know if we find anything. Oh, and tell Lae’zel she needs to move her weapons out of the living room before I throw them into the sewers myself.”

Gale shudders. “I’ll tell her, but certainly not those exact words.”

Astarion’s eyes follow you the whole time as you wait for Shadowheart at the door, hand holding a sheet of paper which he assumes to be the list of victim families. And the entire time, you refuse to even look in his direction.

It evokes something in him. He’s not sure what, but it does. Annoyance, he supposes.

Gale finally turns to him when you and Shadowheart shut the door closed behind you. “Now you and I can get groceries for you…as long as it’s only animals, of course.”

Another hour with the wizard might drain him of what remains of his life force (which is very little considering that he’s dead), and he thinks a few hours might just be the cause of his perishing.

There are too many bodies. Too much blood that reminds you of the evil that you believed was dealt with. Their families weep, and you can do nothing but stand to the side, watching as they claw at the Fist’s uniforms, begging to know what could be done. Begging to see their loved ones again.

You feel selfish, almost. Having finally seen your own former beloved, you only allow yourself to watch from afar, afraid of getting any closer.

So you’d escaped the town square, fleeing to the roofs where you could properly assess any potential victims’ families and determine if they were even worth approaching in the emotional wreck they were in. The list of bodies nearly crumples under the crushing weight of your own hands. The silence looming across the rooftop patio is far more relaxing than the chaos below.

Well, save for the company perched beside you.

“So what’s with your lyre?” Alfira blinks. “Where is it?”

“Sold it.”

“Why? That’s such a waste!” she frowns, rubbing at a smudge on her own instrument. “It was made of such fine wood too…I do hope you didn’t undersell that beauty.”

You roll your eyes. “Maybe I should’ve sold it to you at a higher price.”

“If not your lyre…” she tilts her head, scooching her stool closer to yours. “Then what are you playing nowadays?”

“I don’t play anything.”

Her eyes widen. “You don’t play anything? What does that mean?”

“I quit, Alfira,” you sigh, finally turning to look at her. “I’m not technically a bard anymore.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! Once you’re a bard, there’s no backing out of it. It’s in your very blood,” she explains, lifting her own lyre to you. “Go on, play something. I know you have it somewhere in you.”

Your face falls at her offer, but she remains firm, urging you to go on. It’s only when you realize she has no intentions of ignoring your words that you finally take the lyre into your own hands. It feels too foreign. It’s not your own instrument, but it’s a different kind of familiarity than that. While your fingers used to itch to sing their tales, you now feel nothing, just an empty husk of what once burst with inspiration.

Still, you try, even if just for show. Your finger tugs at one of the strings, letting it snap and vibrate its hum. You try another and another, but they’re all disjointed, barely managing to hold on to one another before your brows furrow, and you drop your hand. It just doesn’t feel right.

You hold it back to her. “I told you.”

“Well,” she looks down at her lyre. “I’m sure even the greatest bards have struggled with their music from time to time. It’s just a bump in the road.”

No, you want to tell her. It’s the end of the road, and there’s nothing you could possibly do to solve it, because you’ve already tried it all.

“Here, I started a new song,” she smiles hopefully. “Maybe it might spark your own musical talents. Care to listen?”

While a part of you is hesitant, the way she excitedly clutches onto the lyre makes you relent. “Sure.”

She begins to sing, and even if it’s better than it had been when you last saw her in the grove, it’s shaky. You suppose she must always be like this when producing a new song, at least until she grows accustomed to it. Still, it fills the air with a calm melody and drowns out the sounds coming from below on the streets, which you’re grateful for.

The breeze feels nice on your skin. You let your shoulders drop, closing your eyes as you drink in the notes produced by her lyre.

“I don’t need their blood, and I never intend to ask them for a single drop. Not anymore.”

The words echo in your head. It shouldn’t hurt you, really, you didn’t intend on giving it to him anyway, but a sick part of you wishes he could’ve at least asked, and you could’ve been the one to reject him. Not the other way around.

It feels like getting rejected for a confession you never made.

You blame yourself for eavesdropping.

“So? What do you think so far?”

You barely register that her song has ended, forcing you to focus back on the bustling city below. With a clear of your throat, you nod. “It’s good, it’s just…”

Her eyes seem to glow as she leans towards you, curious to hear your next words. Why she has so much faith in your advice is beyond you. You’d helped her with her last song, but it’d just been a stroke of luck that you managed to capture the emotions she wanted to convey through its notes. It certainly did not help that you hadn’t touched an instrument in months. “...Nevermind. I’m not sure what I was trying to say there.”

Her smile drops, and she holds her lute closer to her chest, nodding. “I see. It’s a shame.”

What she’s referring to, you’re not sure.

She digs through her pocket, managing to scrape out a crumpled sheet of paper which she puts on your lap. You do your best to make out the words messily scribbled on the sheet, which you determine to be the unfinished song. While you shoot her a wary look, she pushes the paper back to you when you attempt to offer it back.

“I have faith in you. More than anyone else, for a song like this,” she smiles. “You don’t have to help me finish the song like last time. Just absorb it. At least read the lyrics for me, will you?”

You want to say no, but you end up pocketing the sheet instead.

After you say your farewells, leaving her to continue humming to herself, you regroup with Shadowheart. Your own spirit falls when judging from her expression, she’s had even less success than you.

“We’re going around in circles,” Shadowheart sighs beside you. “None of the families know anything, and as much I’d love to stay an hour at each house to console them, at this rate, we’ll die of old age before finding these spawn…are you listening?”

You blink, snapping back into attention as you turn to her. “Did you say something?”

She raises a brow at you. “And what are you so distracted for?”

Mourning something that hasn’t happened, but you don’t tell her that. “It’s nothing.”

She doesn’t appear convinced, but neither does she pry. You’ve always had a mutual understanding with her when it came to one another’s secrets—don’t push. And even when either of you want to, you stay true to your silent agreement. You’re grateful for it at times like these.

Suddenly, there’s a bump to the left of you, not enough to make you stumble, but enough to make you glance back. They’re small, and you assume they’re a halfling or dwarf, despite their shoulders seeming too narrow. However, you forget about the details when your eyes hone in on their bare feet, absent of any shoes, much less socks. Something is wrong. Very wrong. When you look back up, you barely catch the way their hand slips back into their cloak, and immediately, your own flies into your pocket, where you’re now missing your dagger.

Shit.

You break into a sprint, forced to ignore Shadowheart, who calls out for you from behind, as you try to chase the hooded figure who swerves through the crowd of people on the street. Despite the people who curse and hiss as you shove through them, you’re only barely managing to tail the small cloaked figure, and in no such world are you willing to lose that dagger under circumstances that are not your own.

It’s pathetic, you know, to hold on to such a small part of him for so long. You’re sure he’s thrown away all of your own belongings, so why hold onto the dagger he kept strapped to his chest for months, holding it near his heart? You reckon this may be a blessing brought upon the gods who pity you, and you ponder if they’re watching you now, laughing at your pathetic display of desperation.

Still, you refuse to let it go like this.

The figure turns an alley, and your feet pick up. It’s a dead end.

You screech to a halt, slipping out a smaller blade that glints in the light allowed to seep into the isolated corner, eyes narrowed. The figure stands with its back to the wall, and you gawk at the way their shoulders shake as if they’re laughing to themselves. “Give it back, thief.”

They don’t budge, only continuing to tremble, and eventually, you’ve had enough. You march toward them, yanking back their hood with your knife, readied to retaliate if they dare, but immediately, your face pales. At the same time, Shadowheart finally manages to catch up to you.

“Hells, this crowd is a disaster,” she hisses, dusting off her shoulders. Then she shoots you a frown, eyes flitting back and forth between you and the supposed thief. “Whose child is that?”

You realize she hadn’t been laughing but shaking from fear.

She’s tiny. Unnaturally frail for her age which you guess to be around 9 or 10, which you note before letting her go from the grasp you have on her cloak. And from up close, you see that her bottom lip has been gnawed raw, still red from the last time it bled. She’s grasping onto your dagger for dear life, looking up at you with wary wide eyes, and you find your face relaxing. You bend down on one knee so you’re not just staring down at her, sighing. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, really.”

Her trembling eases a bit, but her grip around your dagger tightens. In her hands, it almost looks like a sword. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you angry. I swear, I didn’t mean to.”

Shadowheart steps to stand beside you. “Please tell me this child isn’t yours?”

“No, of course not!” you snap, and she snickers. You roll your eyes and turn back to the girl. “I won’t hurt you; I swear my life on it. But I need that dagger you’re holding.”

She hesitates, her eyes desperately searching for honesty in yours.

“It’s—important to me,” you mumble sheepishly. “Please.”

You watch her glance between you and the blade in her hands multiple times, then slowly reach it out to you. You offer her a smile, sheathing it beside your hip once more. You feel whole again. “Thank you. Now, I won’t tell your parents this time, but you really can’t go around stealing people’s things–”

“Berry!” she blurts.

You blink, and she picks at her own hands. “I live with Miss Cora.”

The puzzle pieces click in place.

“You’re the one Cora has to lull to sleep.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them, and you regret them with how her cheeks puff and paint her face a light shade of pink.

“You’re one of the orphans, then, I presume,” Shadowheart crosses her arms. “Any reason why you’re lurking in the city—without shoes, might I add—and robbing people of their belongings?”

“I wasn’t trying to steal,” she insists, then meets your eyes. “I didn’t know how else to talk to you alone.”

“Alone? With me? Why?”

“I know where Roger—I mean, Miss Cora’s husband went that night,” she looks down. “I didn’t know who else to tell. I wasn’t supposed to be out…but I needed fresh air. And…And I saw…”

You hold your breath. “Where did he go?”

“It was the Blushing Mermaid,” she splutters. “He went and never came back. I-I can’t tell Miss Cora…If I do, she’ll hate me and kick me out. I can’t leave, so please, don’t tell her.”

Shadowheart leans to your ear. “That’s not possible. He couldn’t have been there.”

No, you think. You’d been there. You’d been at the Blushing Mermaid that night, and while you weren’t exactly in the best state of mind, you surely couldn’t have missed a literal murder taking place. Regardless, you shake away your lingering doubts and take her shoulders.

“We won’t,” you assure her. “For now, I need you to go back to Miss Cora. It’s not safe in the city by yourself right now.”

She wipes at the tears threatening to spill from her eyes with her arm and nods firmly, readjusting her hood and cloak so that her entire body is covered once more. You place a hand on her head.

“Thanks for telling me, Berry. I’ll find out who did this to Roger, and you’ll be the first person to know,” You manage the best smile you can at the moment. “And please, next time, just tap my shoulder.”

Her lips purse, and she flees to the Highberry residence.

“Well,” Shadowheart finally uncrosses her arms. “At least we have a lead now. It was starting to feel hopeless—though I’m not sure if this is a lead at all.”

Regardless of your own doubts, time is running out. Every night you spend with no progress is another waste of nearly a dozen lives in the city. So you shove aside your skepticism and sigh. “It can’t hurt to try.”

“What do you mean he just left?” Lae’zel seems just about ready to stab her sword through Gale’s chest, and you can’t bring yourself to blame her.

“I’m telling you, he just vanished! Into the thin air, nearly,” Gale groans in exasperation, throwing up his arms. “We were returning from the forest after his hunt, and I didn’t even look away. One second he was there, and the next-”

“He’s a rogue, you foolish wizard,” the githyanki hisses, and you cross your arms beside her, offering Gale no sympathy. “We must go search for him, drag him back, and keep him pinned to a wall with a spear.”

At this, you balk. “Well, no, we’re not going to-”

“And you,” she spins around to you. “You must stop defending the spawn over your unreciprocated feelings. Your urges to make love may remain, but his does not.”

Your face flares, and you hear Gale nearly drop the book he’d been holding. 

“I am not—”

“It’s painfully obvious to the rest of us. It’s been days since he joined us, and all of us must deal with your imploring eyes while he seems promptly set on ruining every conversation any of us have with one another,” she continues, and as such, in Lae’zel fashion, she does not hold back the sting of her words. “I am indebted to what you’ve done for me, and for that, I cannot stand aside and watch you reduce yourself to this lovesick mutt over a bloodsucking leech.”

Gale clears his throat. “Lae’zel, now I believe that’s more than enough to-”

“Seal that mouth of yours, wizard, before I rid of it for good.”

He does so immediately.

You stare at her, appalled at her words. Imploring eyes? Lovesick mutt? You don’t even want to mention the bloodsucking leech comment. All you can do is keep yourself from opening your mouth, in fear that something that sounds dangerously close to defending Astarion might escape against your will. 

A smart choice, as Lae’zel sighs, her patience wearing thin.

“You are a warrior. One of the most formidable I’ve come across,” she scowls. “Do not disappoint me this way. You do not owe him anything. That kainyank is the one who nearly took your life.”

A part of your heart cracks. You ignore the stinging in your palms as your nails dig into them, unsure what you’re even supposed to say at this point, and you fumble over your own words dying to escape your throat. Because you do owe him something. Because if your suspicions are true, you do owe him for the night you encountered the spawn, and the night before that, when you came across Petras. Being indebted to him feels like another battle in itself, and you’re not sure if you want it to be true or not. You don’t have the heart to tell her that.

So instead, you snatch your dagger from where you’d last placed it down and march for the door.

“Tav, please, don’t leave like this,” Gale reaches for your arm, but you yank it away.

“I’m going to bring him back,” you say, but it’s more of a demand. A tone you rarely use toward your own companions, but you can’t bring yourself to care at the moment.

Lae’zel hisses as you’re halfway out the door. “You are a fool to be unable to see that he does not care for you.”

He had saved you. A person who does not care about you does not bother to save you.

You clutch the dagger close to your heart, and you ignore how cold it feels in your hand.

By the time you’ve run through most places he could possibly be, you finally arrive at the Sharess’ Caress, panting as you stare up at the taunting aura of the building. You don’t know how many hours have passed since you left the house–-perhaps days, or even minutes, but every second feels like a million more than it should. You push through the door, barely managing to catch your breath, as you’re immediately greeted with the aroma of a thousand different perfumes.

The fumes make you scrunch your nose, and you’re quickly slammed into the last memory of entering this place. The woman at the front desk, the windows draped with curtains to prevent most if not all the light spilling into its halls, the music echoing from the more private rooms for personal viewing…

You hate it all.

“Ah, savior, you’re back!” a voice says, and you flinch at it. One of the drow twins, Nym, waves you toward her, but you don’t budge. “It’s been months since you last rejected my advances, hasn’t it? I suppose you couldn’t resist yourself and came back-”

“Where is he,” you spit, your voice wavering. You don’t mean to be rude to her, truly, but your patience is close to nothing, and you don’t know how much longer you can go before you have to take a rest and return to the house in shame. At the very least, you have to drag Astarion back with you.

She pauses, then motions upstairs. It seems she understands the urgency in your tone because she steps out of the way, urging you forward. So with a nod of acknowledgment, you march up the stairs towards one of the more luxurious private rooms. 

Door after door, you’re greeted with an empty room. Only when you come to the final room do you hold your breath, fist nearly shaking from merely knowing he’s on the other side. Lae’zel’s words echo in your head like an insistent tadpole, unable to force it to leave or quiet down. You opt to overrule it with the sound of the door swinging open.

There’s a woman.

Though you manage to release your breath when you see that she’s fully clothed, the collar of her shirt is pulled back, revealing her neck for the spawn who has his fangs bared inches from her skin. She doesn’t seem to notice you despite the ruckus you made entering the room, too lost in the man in front of her, but he does. His attention flickers to you and stays there, not showing an ounce of surprise as if he expected you here.

With lidded eyes locked with your own in a trance you can’t break ahold of, he sinks his teeth into her neck.

He doesn’t break eye contact as he drinks and all you can do is stare in disgust, eyes wide but your legs unwilling to unplant themselves from the wooden floors. Your sandwich from earlier threatens to hurl the other way, and your nails dig into the skin of your palms, nearly breaking the skin. You’re at a complete loss of words, and you feel nothing but shame knowing that rather than the distaste you should feel, you feel something else.

Bitter. Not jealous, no, not quite, but really damn bitter.

He tears away from her neck, blood staining his lips as you remain planted in the ground. The woman gasps, and her hands fly up to her neck. Even now, he’s only staring at you.

“Thank you, dear customer,” she rasps gratefully, despite how pale she looks. He doesn’t even acknowledge her until he wants her out.

“You can leave now.”

She looks back and forth between you and him, surely noticing how he doesn’t seem remotely fazed at how you’re glaring daggers at him and nods, scrambling to leave.

The door shuts with a loud thud.

You watch him reach to wipe at his mouth, your voice hollow and cold. “Are you done?”

“Clearly, seeing as I made her leave.”

“We agreed that you wouldn’t drink from people.”

“We agreed I wouldn’t drink from people in the house,” he corrects, pacing toward the window where the moonlight had illuminated him as he drank from the woman’s neck. “I kept my word.”

He leans against the windowsill, and you take a step toward him, still keeping a hefty distance. “She’ll report you to the Duke. My word won’t be much help if he insists to throw you in a cell.”

“This is a house of pleasure, my dear. Nothing gets out of here if you have enough gold,” he laughs, throwing his head back. “How else do you think I’ve been getting my share of blood if I hadn’t gone around murdering the innocent?”

Your teeth grit together, eyes narrowed as you scan the state he’s in. Despite appearing nearly dead just hours earlier, his skin now seems to glow against the moon, the bags under his eyes having gone missing and leaving a wide grin on his face instead. If this was a few months ago, you’d admire him, but not now. You want to punch it off.

“You don’t look happy, darling,” he fakes a frown and makes his way closer to you. You swear your heart stops for a moment when he brushes his knuckles against your cheek. “Is it that woman? Are you jealous?”

You slap his hand away.

“Gods, is this all a game to you?” you blurt in exasperation. “I’m trying to understand you, Astarion, I really am. And all you keep doing is–”

“There is nothing to understand. This is just who I am.”

“I’m not a fool. Will you, for once in your life, please drop this mask and just talk to me?”

“What in the hells makes you so sure I’m lying? I must have made quite the impression on you when we still considered ourselves allies.”

You try not to flinch at that.

“You were there that night,” you say, but it comes out like a question. “When I was attacked by the other spawn. And the night before that with that guy from the tavern. You killed him without even drinking his blood.”

At this, the tone of your conversation shifts, at least from his end. His eyes darken as you take a step back. “Who told you that?”

“Petras.”

He seems taken aback for a moment but quickly recovers. You wish you could do the same. And the laugh that escapes his throat sounds like he pities you. “My dear, I didn’t realize you were so naive.”

You blink.

“He’s deceived you, I’m afraid. Probably covering for his own arse to stay on your good side. What spawn would want to risk pissing off an adventurer capable of killing a vampire lord? In the time we were apart, I’ve done everything in my power to avoid you at all costs. You can see why, can’t you?” he gestures to the air between you. “I mean, look at us, darling. We’re no good around each other.”

It hurts more than you’d like to admit, but your stubborn streak forces you to keep going. “That night with the spawn-”

“I must say that I’m rather flattered that I was the last thing you saw at the hands of death,” he laughs, and it sends shivers down your spine. “But I’m afraid that too was a gift from death. I, myself, had no part in it.”

“But why were you there then?” you’re starting to sound desperate. You want to slap your hand over your mouth but something tells you that would be even more humiliating. “Why were you with the Duke in the morning?”

“I was captured by the Duke days before he brought me to you. He spent the time interrogating me, and in the end, I gave him nothing, as I will do with you. I only found out about your—predicament when he did, and he decided you’d fare better in gathering information I do not have.”

You would’ve preferred to die in battle than to feel the crushing feeling of your own chest. You want to curl up in a hole and never crawl out. 

“Now, is that all?” he asks, drinking in your defeat like a trophy he wished he could place on the top shelf of a glass cabinet. “Any other accusations you have to throw at me?”

Lae’zel had been right. Shadowheart had been right. All of them had been right, except for you. This was far more than you could handle, and you had been foolish to think otherwise. The hope you held onto now dwindles into a small flame that can easily be blown out by a few selective words--those of which he has full authority over.

“Have you always been this cruel?” Tears threaten to well in your eyes, but you force them back, veiling them with all the strength left in your voice. Now, you just sound angrier. “You’ve never been a good man, but you weren’t a heartless one either.” You wonder if maybe that was a lie as well. The loving words, the soft touches, the gentle eyes. That perhaps the guise you’d thought you’d seen through was not a guise at all.

“Is that what it was then?” his face falls. “Did you stop the ritual to keep a feeble man by your side?”

Feeling is not weakness, you want to scream at him, but you know it'll do no good.

“Ascension would have changed you, and it’s not for the better. You know what Raphael said. I just did what I had to for the sake of your safety.”

“Power would have made me safe. From the world, from the sun, from people like you. Now I rot away in this destroyed city with nothing to feed on but stolen cattle and rats.”

“You’re not listening to me. You would’ve lost your soul, and become like Cazador–”

His composure cracks at that. “Don’t you dare speak of that devil.”

“Don’t give me reasons to.”

The air is thick enough to slice with your dagger. With squinted eyes, he scans your face before continuing slowly.

“Darling,” despite the term of endearment, it doesn’t sound endearing at all. “You are searching for sympathy from a man who does not have any left to give.”

“You did have sympathy,” you hiss. “With Yenna, with Shadowheart, with the owlbear, with Lae’zel, Karlach, and the rest of the damn city, you did. It wasn’t obvious, but you felt for them.”

“Perhaps once. For a fleeting moment. That moment is not now.”

There’s nothing that you can say to that, really. All you can do is stare at him, eyes wide and unable to choke out words, crying, screaming, anything. But now, the dagger you carry everywhere feels twice as heavy and twice as cold. You want to search his face for any signs of deception, but you’re too afraid of what you might find, so you force your eyes to the ground.

Silence hangs in the air like a chain tightening its hold around your lifeline.

“I was fine,” you whisper, face burning. “I was getting better. I was getting over you, and you came back.”

His hands limply fall to his sides. “You are the one who refuses to let me go.”

When you don’t respond, afraid your voice will crack and give out the last of the thin thread that holds you together, he steps toward you again, now a mere feet away. All you can see, and what you’re willing to see, is his chest as he breathes out his words. “Do you hate me?”

You have no idea, truly.

“You should.”

Lifting your head, you focus on his eyelashes rather than his eyes. Doing otherwise might provoke you to do something you’ll regret. “Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Hate me.”

The pause feels like another lifetime as your heart pounds rapidly, your palms feeling too clammy, and your throat too dry. He blinks, slowly.

“Yes. More than anyone."

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[spooky-pomegranate]

Through The Door:

Captain Price x F Reader (18+) 🔥 Word Count: 2.2K

Summary: Ghost doesn't trust you and when he hears you and Captain Price fighting in his office he stops to listen. But he hears and sees more than he ever expected.

It’s been ten days of this. Ten days of watching, following, and listening. And somehow it still hadn’t been enough time. Ghost still hadn’t caught you. But he knew he would. He just had to remain patient. He’d keep watching. You’d slip up eventually. He was sure of it.

Even if you did have everyone else fooled.

In just ten days, you had already made fast friends with Johnny. The two of you were always laughing and telling one another stupid jokes and stories.

The last thing you’d carried on about was music. You preferred old-school rock and roll. The Stones, The Who, The Beatles. But you liked classical too. You made fun of Soap for his favorite genre, cheery electropop. You called it music for “love-sick teenage girls” and teased him endlessly. He called you “a walking iPod shuffle” and said you were confused about your own taste. You playfully punched Johnny in the arm before you both laughed like hyenas.

It was like you were siblings, the way you constantly bantered and bickered. It set Ghost on edge. You both were so comfortable around each other. It was so familiar, so natural… It wasn’t right.

And Gaz, he wasn’t any better. You had asked him for additional training and on most days, Ghost found you two at the shooting range long after the recruits had left for dinner. At first, your conversations were shallow. In between firing rounds of high-caliber ammunition, you asked him about his life on base and how long he’d known Soap and Price. But the conversations eventually grew longer. And they grew deeper. Gaz told you about his family, his hometown, and his childhood. You told him about how difficult it was to leave the States and move to the UK on your own.

Ghost could tell that as the days were passing and as your conversations were growing more meaningful, the two of you were starting to trust one another more. And that frustrated him. Why couldn’t Gaz see what he saw in you?

He wondered if your skills were what threw the others off.

Ghost couldn’t deny that you were better than most of the other recruits. You were a natural at the shooting range. You picked up on techniques quickly and put them into practice almost flawlessly. And even though you pretended to be intimidated by it in the beginning you were especially good with a sniper rifle. You always asked the right questions about the winds, the terrain, and any potential bullet drop. And while Ghost found that suspicious, Gaz seemed to be amazed by it. Proud even. He joked with you about how quickly you could do math in your head and how that would come in handy if you were ever posted up in a sniper’s nest someday.

“Over my dead body,” Ghost had mumbled to himself as he watched you both from the shadows.

But you weren’t perfect. When Ghost did pull himself out of the base’s dark corners and did talk with you, you were always nervous. You spoke at breakneck speeds. Your sentences mushed together, like a quickly moving mudslide, totally out of control and unpredictable. You struggled to look him in the eyes. You fidgeted, stared at your shoes, and gave him any excuse you could to get away.

 “Sorry can’t chat, Johnny wants to train in the gym.”

 “I think I just heard Gaz call my name.”

 “Gotta go. Price needs me.”

And Price… you definitely had that man wrapped around your little finger. Or at least Ghost thought you did until one night when he heard you two fighting inside the Captain’s office.

“Price, why won’t you tell me what you and Laswell are planning for the raid?”

Your words had stopped Ghost in his tracks. He glanced down the empty hall to make sure no one was around before sinking to his knees and pressing his ear to the door of Price’s office.

“Come on, love we’ve been over this,” he heard the Captain answer.

“But I can help!”

Your voice was pleading. You were practically begging Price. But why did you care so much Ghost wondered?

“I want you to focus on training. You asked me to teach you to fight remember?”

“I know… but you also promised to let me take some of the weight off your shoulders too.”

“You’re too smart, you know that.”

“Price…” you whined the Captain’s name and Ghost rolled his eyes. He imagined that on the other side of the door, you were probably looking up at Price with doe eyes. Needy and wanton. God… you probably were pouting your lips too.

He could only hope that Price would see through you.

“I want you to be as prepared as you can be before then. I can handle this, I promise ya I’m fine. We’ve got more resources and men now. It’s not like before. We aren’t alone anymore. Ya trust me don’t you?”

Good man, Ghost thought to himself. Don’t give in to her so easily. As long as Price continued to keep his cards close to his chest maybe they’d all get through this in one piece.

“But what if he’s there? What if he has my briefcase there and he’s figured out how to use it? He’ll see you coming. Price what if this is a setup?” You were doing that thing where you spoke 100 miles an hour again, your words sloshing and sliding into one another.

“Laswell’s been surveilling the area. He hasn’t been there. Your briefcase isn’t there.”

“Price but what if-”

“Shhh. It’s okay. Come here, love.”

Ghost heard the sound of a chair scrape and footsteps shuffle away from the door. He knew you were walking over to Price. He could practically see you standing in front of him in his mind.

Then you sighed.

“I’m tired, Price.” Your voice was softer. Ghost could barely hear you now. He tried to press even closer to the door. The metal was cold against his ear. “I know I asked for this… learning how to fight. But it’s harder than I thought it would be and…”

You stopped.

“Go on. Say it.”

“Your Lieutenant…”

Shit. Your voice was muffled.

Shit. He needed to hear this.

Ghost slowly reached for the door handle and carefully, he turned the knob. The door opened the smallest crack. He peered inside.

You were sitting across the room, straddled on Price’s lap. Your head was buried against his chest. The Captain’s hands rubbed against the back of your t-shirt in lazy circles.

“Ghost? What about him, sweetheart?”

At the sound of Price’s voice, you pulled your head from his chest.

“He hates me.”

Price stilled and his jaw clenched. Neither of you spoke. Ghost held his breath before looking to his left and right. Thankfully, the coast was still clear.

“He doesn’t trust you,” Price eventually said, breaking through the silence.

“That’s the same thing.”

“It’s not.”

You sighed loudly and moved to stand, but Price reached up and quickly pulled you back toward him by your hips.

“Don’t leave,” Price said, his voice low and firm. “I trust you.”

“Then why doesn’t he?”

Because I know there’s something else going on with you, Ghost thought to himself. Because I know there’s a secret you’re hiding.

“Because he doesn’t know you like I do.” Price replied, his hand moving up your spine to hold the back of your head. “He doesn’t know how smart you are. That you can build something from nothing. He doesn’t know that you’re a fighter, that you’ve been dealt a shite hand in life but you’ve always soldiered on.”

Price leaned forward and kissed you.

Ghost looked down at the floor. He should leave, he thought. He should go back to the barracks and sit behind his computer and look for dirt on you that way. It would be less awkward. He’d feel less strange.

But Ghost didn’t move. He couldn’t.

What if this was the moment you finally slipped? What if you said something? He needed to be more patient. He’d stay a little longer. If only for Gaz, for Johnny. If they got hurt because he missed something he’d never forgive himself.

He watched as Price leaned back, pulling away from your lips. A smile sprawled across his face.

“He doesn’t know how sweet you taste either, sweetheart.”

You laughed, running your own hands through Price’s short hair as the Captain dove into your neck.

“I mean it, love. If any of those boys got to taste you like I do, if they got to feel you like I do…” Price pulled back from your neck and looked you in the eye. “If they got to fuck you like I do… none of them would ever distrust you.”

“Price, that isn’t really reassuring. You’re just saying you trust me because we’ve fucked.”

Ghost’s grip tightened against the door knob. Was that what Price was saying? Was that really all you were to him? A plaything?

He opened the door another inch. He needed to see your face better. He had to know what this was between you and his Captain.

“Remember the first day I brought you here? And I took you to my room. And I showed you all my scars. Do you remember?”

Ghost watched as Price tugged on your hair. Your head tilted back toward the ceiling and the captain dove into your neck again, kissing you just below your ear.

“Yes,” you answered with heavily weighted breath.

“And do you remember how you kissed me? How you teased me before you slid your sweet little tongue into my mouth? Do you remember?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed in affirmation.

“And do you remember how good it felt when my tongue was in between your legs? How it felt when my beard brushed against your thighs.”

Ghost felt his face grow hot. The scene in front of him made him feel like an intruder, a dirty and unwelcome voyeur. He knew he should leave.

But he couldn't make himself move.

He needed the truth.

He watched as one of Price’s hands left your hair and trailed slowly down your body. His fingers moved from your collarbone. Lower. Grazing your breast. Lower. Lingering over your stomach… Lower.

“Yesssss,” you whined as Price’s hand slid underneath the waistband of your pants and disappeared from Ghost’s view.

“And do you remember how hard you made me? Just by tasting you? Tell me you remember.”

You whimpered. It was a sound Ghost had never heard from you. Sweet. High-pitched. Soft.

Price’s shoulder moved up and down. His hand still plunged between your legs.

Ghost swallowed against a lump in his throat.

“I- fuckkkk,” you bucked your hips toward Price, “I remember.”

“And tell me you remember how I fucked you. When I first pushed inside you… how was it? Do you remember was I fast, like this?”

Ghost watched as Price moved his hand quicker. In and out. His right shoulder rose. Up and down. Faster, faster, and faster.

You yelped. The noise was loud and short. Your hands left Price’s hair and dug into his shoulders. You were clawing into him desperately. Falling apart with every second, every movement.

“No… no you weren’t fast,” your voice wavered as you answered.

“Good. Good girl. You remembered. Yeah, I was slow, just like this. Wasn’t I?” Price eased his pace, slowing down the movement of his hand buried in your pants.

“Yes… just like that,” you moaned as your eyes rolled back. You were lifting your hips up and down on Price’s lap now. Matching his pace.

Ghost shifted on his knees. His hand tightened against the doorknob as he continued to watch you both from the dimly lit hall.

“Has anyone else ever made you feel like that before, sweetheart? Has anyone ever made you feel that good?” Price asked as his voice dropped lower. He was practically growling at you.

And you…your face turned pink. Your lips parted. Your eyes closed. And your breathing… it became sporadic. Each inhale became a gasp. Each exhale became more desperate than the last.

This was wrong. Ghost shouldn’t be watching this. This wasn’t his intention. He never meant to see this. His eyes fell to the ground. But still, he stayed. He listened.

“No,” you moaned.

“That’s right. And no one has ever made me feel as good as you did either. You felt so good, love. So fucking good. And you want to know why I trust you?”

Ghost eyes snapped back to the two of you. This was the answer he needed.

“Mmmm tell me...” you gasped. The Captain picked up his pace, his hand delving between your legs with greater force. God the sounds your body was making. They were so loud. “Please tell me, Price.”

“It’s because I love you, beautiful. I’m so in love with you. You’re so perfect. I trust you with my life because I love you. I want to fuck you like that all the time… because I love you. If anyone got to love you like I love you they would trust you. Forever. Always.”

Ghost heard enough. He quietly backed away and gently closed the door.

He had found a truth today. Even if it wasn’t his place to hear it.

-----------------------------------------------------

(More from this story on AO3)

[silverequation]

Silver the Hedgehog Gay Observations

Because Shadow isn’t the only one

Silver is what is called a bishounen character. he is a pretty boy with long flowing hair, eyeliner and he wears heel having rubber boots like Amy and Rouge

Silver sits gayly. this is supposed to be a rude way of sitting in Japan but it’s also exactly how gay people sit with their legs crossed

Silver stands with the exact same hip out standing pose as Rouge

Silver’s poses are generally very zesty whether he’s floating, jumping around or even knocked down

While Sonic and Shadow have hard rock theme songs Silver’s theme song is a soft dreamy techno tune about pain and love. Silver’s theme song was written about a gay love story according to its singer Bentley Jones. Bentley also supports Silver being gay or bisexual saying it would be awesome

Silver’s og  voice actor Pete Capella also supports Silver being bisexual and protecting bisexuals

In the Archie comics Silver has a female counterpart from another dimension named Gold the Tenrec. Gold is confirmed by her creator to be a bisexual with a strong female preference. Since the female version of him is a bisexual with a same gender preference it stands to reason that Silver is a bisexual with a male preference

Silver is a time based character. Going by the Time Stones and Paradox Prism time in Sonic is represented by rainbows and is therefore gay. Time is gay therefore Silver is gay for being the time character of Sonic

Silver is also one of the most popular Sonic characters among LGBT+ people and I seen many gay and transgender people identify with him, his attitude and his struggles with finding himself and doing what’s right

Silver the Hedgehog is still a gay Italian ice skater to me

[nova-amor]

𝐜𝐰 — 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐨𝐨𝐜!𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐧, 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝!𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐮𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐜𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐨𝐥𝐝, 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩, 𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐝𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐞, 𝐩-𝐢𝐧-𝐯 𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐞𝐱𝐡𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐦, 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤, 𝐞𝐭𝐜.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 — 𝟑.𝟗𝐤

the walls and floor of the nightclub shook with every resounding beat of the electronic dance music, and the air charged with the infectious electricity of the crowd. the room itself was filled with a mixed stench of alcohol, sweat, and a somehow pleasantly light aroma of earth; scents that were sure to linger on your clothes for the next few laundry cycles. 

in between the revolving glow of the strobe lights, reiner caught a glimpse or two of you dancing at the edge of the crowd, your body squished amongst the group of your friends as you swayed your hips to the music. 

the alternating purple and blue hues of the lights cast an ethereal brilliance on your features, highlighting every perfect curve and contour as you danced the night away. and, through the alternating cycle of songs, you’d cast a teasing glance over to your husband, your eyes silently beckoning him to join you on the dance floor.

but, ever the recluse, reiner maintained his spot in the shadows of the club— preferring to stay seated in the private booth your friend group had rented out in celebration of your birthday, his legs spread far apart and body relaxed into the leather cushions while he sipped on a stiff glass of pear brandy. he preferred to watch you from afar anyway, the opportunity allowing him to truly take in and appreciate your beauty. even, after ten years of marriage, reiner continued to believe that you were the prettiest woman he had ever had the privilege to meet.

like the doting husband he was, reiner adored every one of your features— from the way you had styled your hair for the evening, to the shimmer of your glittery makeup under the club lights, to the way your body always moved flawlessly to the tempo of the music. reiner knew you were the prettiest girl in the club that night, especially with how your little black dress clung to you like a second layer of skin.

and, by recognizing how attractive you were to not only him but to other people as well, reiner made sure to stay observant of the crowd. and, while doing so, reiner was able to take note of how many men shamelessly stared at you from afar, their eyes devouring every roll of your hips, every tilt of your head as you bobbed to the beat of the music. most men knew better than to approach you though, especially since you were a part of a large group and definitely because of the glistening wedding band on your ring finger.

yet, there is always that one fool— a clueless, stupid, arrogant fool.

reiner quirked an eyebrow as a man approached you from behind, watching intensely as the man didn’t hesitate to settle his hands on your waist. you recoiled from his touch, taking a large step forward to escape his wandering fingers. yet, ever the idiot that he was, be it because of alcohol or drugs or just a lack of social conscience, the man took you as a challenge— grabbing at your wrist and tugging you back into his embrace.

unfortunately, your friends were beyond drunk to notice your dilemma, too far off in their own little worlds. reiner pressed his lips together, clutching the crystal rock glass in his hands as he watched the scene unfold. he waited for your signal before stepping in; after being together for so many years, he had learned that you could defend yourself perfectly well without his aid. he’d just have to wait patiently for your signal before making himself known.

and, within a matter of seconds, you looked over at reiner— your brows raised and jaw set, annoyance obvious on your face. and, that was all he needed to pound the rest of his drink and march over to your side. the crowd around the edge scattered away like bugs under a flashlight, providing enough disruption to grab your harasser’s attention.

"what's going on?" reiner's baritone voice boomed in your ear over the blasting music, his presence casting a dominating shadow over you and the other man.

"this fucker won't leave me alone," you relayed to reiner, side-eyeing the man as he fidgeted in his spot. reiner was at least a foot taller than him; the man was far too slim and flimsy to pose any threat to his or your well-being. if reiner really wanted to, he could probably snap the man like a twig with just his pointer finger and thumb. as a matter of fact, the idea didn't seem too bad given the circumstance.

"came over here trying to sweet talk me or something," you continued, your arms wrapping loosely around reiner's waist. reiner ducked his head to hear you better, his eyes narrowing at the embarrassed man across from him. "told him i had a husband; he said he didn't care."

a wicked smirk tugged at reiner's lips as he glanced between you and the man, his irritation with the situation growing by the second. reiner placed a quick kiss on the side of your head before unraveling himself from your grasp, taking a single stride to cut the distance between the man and himself. 

"my wife said you were bothering her," reiner towered over the man, crossing his thick arms over his burly chest. the man was definitely far from posing any challenge. reiner wouldn’t be surprised if he was pissing himself right then and there. "can't take no for a fucking answer, huh?" reiner raised an eyebrow.

the man visibly gulped, trying to remain composed under reiner's daunting gaze. "i— uh, i—" the man stuttered, either too intoxicated or too mortified to answer, most likely both.

"you— uh, you what? too much of a bitch to answer?" reiner took a step closer as he mocked the man, his chest practically pressed to the man's face. he peered down at the man with a hardened gaze, a few nearby stragglers turning their heads to witness the scene unfold. "how old are you anyway? twenty-one? twenty-two? you’re definitely a fucking kid because you’re either too young or too damn stupid to realize that you shouldn’t keep trying to fuck with a woman who’s clearly not interested in a little shit like you."

the man's adam’s apple bobbed as the situation escalated; "i was just— i just wanted to show her a good time," the man rushed out his answer in a single breath, mustering up enough courage to formulate a proper sentence. "wasn't looking for trouble, i promise. you guys have a good night."

before the man could escape, reiner grabbed at the man's shoulder, giving the muscle a tight squeeze. a crooked smile painted itself across reiner's face, "woah woah woah, where the hell are you going? you wanted to show her a good time, huh?" your husband looked over his shoulder at you, an idea already formulating in his mind. you shook your head, knowing exactly what was going on in his head. it was a bad idea. definitely a bad idea.

ignoring your disapproval, reiner looked back at the man, his smile stretching into a cheshire grin. "why didn't you just say so?" the blonde said with a long drawl.

reiner’s arm was draped around your shoulders as he led you and the man down the hallway of a hotel. after finding out that the man who had been harassing you “just wanted to show [you] a good time”, reiner had been quick to offer him the chance to prove so— immediately booking a room at a nearby hotel and ordering an uber ride to transport the three of you there. it was your birthday night after all, and how cruel would it be for your husband to deny you of a “good time”?

the entire engagement had been awkwardly silent. besides the limited conversations reiner held with the uber driver and then the hotel’s front desk agents, neither you nor the man talked— staying as far away from one another as possible given the situation. 

it was borderline deranged how much reiner’s mood had changed, almost as if a light switch had been turned on that converted reiner’s usually protective, reserved persona to one that was scarily more easygoing and extroverted.

as reiner hovered the key fob over the hotel door’s lock, he glanced back at the man who was following you two around like a lost puppy— reiner’s smile widening at the sight of the faint tent appearing between the man’s legs. 

the hotel room was extravagant— featuring a private balcony, a tall dresser, a couch, an office desk & chair, a massive flat-screen tv, and a king-sized bed at the center of the room. you clenched your jaw, rolling your eyes in irritation at the obviously giddy expression on your husband’s face.

“what?” reiner pecked your forehead, briefly ignoring the other person in the room. his attention solely focused on you. “he wants to show you a good time, right? i may as well set the mood right, ja?”

you chewed on the inner lining of your cheek, nerves still wavering with worry. “reiner, i don’t think—”

“shhh, liebling,” reiner captured your lips in a passionate kiss. any lingering qualms you had disappeared at the feeling of his soft lips against yours, his beard tickling your face as he deepened the kiss. his tongue slipping into your mouth, massaging all of your doubt away. 

the man coughed in the distance, reiner breaking the kiss to give him some of the attention he sought. “are we going to start? or—?”

reiner tsked in annoyance. “sit.” he commanded, motioning for the man to sit down on the couch. and, the man did so without protest, his palms pressed to the top of his thighs as he waited for reiner’s next direction.

“so, you want to fuck my wife, ja?” reiner twisted you around to face the man, your eyes locked with the stranger as reiner pressed your back against his front. you could feel the warmth of reiner’s breath on the back of your neck before his nose nuzzled into the back of your head, burying his face into your hair. he inhaled the sweet aroma of your conditioner, allowing the scent to wash over him before peering back over to the man. 

“you said you wanted to show her a ‘good time’? you really think you could?” goosebumps rose along your skin at reiner’s delicate touch, his fingers hooking onto the thin straps of your dress to tug the fabric down. he ducked his head down to press a soft kiss to the top of your shoulder, his eyes remaining zeroed in on the visibly flustered stranger. "come on, be honest. say it. you want to fuck my wife."

the man's eyes flickered between you and reiner, a light shiver coursing through his body as he watched reiner’s hands pull your dress further down, your breasts easily spilling out from the dress’s confines due to your lack of bra. "say it." reiner instructed.

"i want to fuck your wife."

reiner's lips stretched into a cruel smile. “do you know how long it takes to learn a woman’s body?” your husband began to lecture. “do you know how long it took me to figure out what my wife liked? where she likes to be kissed? how she likes to be fucked?”

your skin flushed with embarrassment as reiner kneaded at your breasts from behind, tugging and pinching at your sensitive nipples as he rolled the perky buds between his rough fingers. you could feel heat begin to pool between your thighs, pussy lips tingling as the air thickened with the sexual tension in the room.

the man gulped, “look, dude, i didn’t mean to offend you— or, your wife— i—”

reiner pinched your nipples harder, pulling a loud yelp out from between your lips. the man flinched in response. “halt den mund!” your husband barked, silencing the man from speaking any further. the man sank back into the couch, the weight of defeat heavy on his shoulders.

“you’re lucky i’m a kind man, a good man. my beautiful wife and i are going to give you a lesson in how to please a woman,” reiner’s german accent thickened as his voice dipped into a lower octave, his hands continuing to mindlessly knead at the soft dough of your breasts. “isn’t that right, liebling? you want to help me teach the stupid boy a lesson or two?”

you nodded your head in reply, leaning further into reiner’s possessive touch. the presence of the other man in the room seemed to fade into the back of your mind, your head becoming clouded by the naughty thoughts of what reiner could possibly be playing.

this had been the first time reiner had ever allowed another person to play a part in your intimacy; if you could even call this circumstance that. and, as embarrassed and uncomfortable as you felt in this moment, you couldn’t fight the feeling of arousal that bloomed between your thighs. 

“don’t be shy, liebling,” one of reiner’s hands abandoned your tit to grasp at the hinge of your jaw, the pad of his thumb caressing your jawline. he dipped his head to nip at your ear lobe, lightly pressing his teeth into the soft cartilage before releasing. “use your words. tell the little boy you want to show him how a woman likes to get fucked.”

with your husband’s guidance, you allowed yourself to become more confident, recognizing just how much power your words held in furthering this event. 

if there was going to be anyone who was in real control of how this situation was going to play out, it was going to be you. because you knew that if you told reiner to stop playing around and just kick the man out right now, he would do it without any form of protest.

“you’re going to sit there and watch,” you told the man, recognizing the pitched tent in the man’s pants. he squirmed in his spot on the couch, beads of sweat forming on his hairline. “and, you’re going to learn how to show someone a good time.”

your cheek rubbed against the silky sheets of the bed, a string of drool seeping from the corner of your mouth and pooling into the dampened mattress beneath you. your head bobbed along with each sharp rut of reiner’s hips, his cock driving so far deep into you that you were sure you could see stars.

“mmmm, would you look at that… isn’t she just the prettiest? ” reiner purred from behind you, his hands gripping at the fat of your ass cheeks. dragging your sopping cunt back and forth along his cock, using you as if you nothing more than a simple cock sleeve. you were positive he wasn’t talking to you.

“she’s got the best pussy. so wet and warm, squeezin’ me so tight— no matter how many times i make her cream on my cock, she’s— always— milkin’— me— for— more—” reiner commented through gritted teeth, the words punctuated by each brutally restrained thrust into you.

you mewled along to his praises, arching your back deeper into the form of a crescent while raising your ass impossibly higher into the air. reiner was absolutely right— no matter how many times he made you cum, you were always left begging for more. and, he was always happy to oblige.

reiner laced his fingers around the bottom of your jaw, cupping your head gently to shift your viewpoint. your glossy eyes met the man across from you; you had learned his name at some point during this whole ordeal, yet your mind was far too clouded to recall what it was. it was something lame and forgettable, just like him.

the man squeezed at the base of his cock— his shaft veiny, slim, and far smaller than reiner’s. smaller than any other man’s you had ever seen before actually. it suited him though, it was just as feeble and pathetic.

“i still can’t believe you thought you’d get a chance to fuck my wife. what kind of a good time would you be showing her with that, hm?” reiner’s words were harsh and demeaning, the man shifting his gaze away in distress. “no no, don’t look away. you keep your eyes on her.”

and, the man did as told. whatever mortification the man felt was far less important than the pleasure he must be receiving from reiner’s cruel words, his hands continuing to boldly stroke his dick in synchronization with reiner’s pace.

reiner guided you up from your face-down position to press your back against his chest, his hand trailing down from your jaw to cup at the underside of your breast. he rolled his thumb over the puffy nipple, his cheek pressed against yours as he continued to drag his cock in and out of your gummy walls.

“you really thought you’d get the chance to touch these perfect tits? to suck and play with them?” reiner’s other hand found the purchase of your other breast, both of his large hands massaging your chest— tweaking and rubbing and squeezing your breasts in his mighty grasp. “and, you wouldn’t just stop there, right? no no, don’t lie, you wouldn’t.”

“you’d move south,” one of reiner’s hands trailed down the length of your front— ghosting over your abdomen, past your pelvis, and down to your clit. reiner rolled the tips of his fingers over the overstimulated bud, drawing loose circles and figure eights over it. 

he then slotted your clit between the space of his index and middle fingers, rubbing the messy area of your inner labia as he spread your soaking folds apart. “take note, boy— this is where the clit is; do your best to remember it. you always, always, play with a woman’s clit during sex. helps them cum faster; isn’t that right, kleine?”

you whimpered in agreement, unable to find the words to reply. reiner’s fingers spread your folds to reveal the obscene sight of reiner's cock plunging in and out of you, a white ring of cream clinging to the base of his shaft. 

your cunt was also coated with the cream; the skin of your thighs and outer labia glistening with the mixed layers of reiner's release, your releases, and your continuous drippings of arousal. the filthy squelching sound of reiner's cock diving into the warm depths of your cunt bouncing off the walls of the hotel room.

reiner shifted his fingers around to allow his middle finger to tap your clit, giving the bud a few light taps in between his alternating drawings of shapes and rubs. he smothered the little bud with attention, eliciting sweet moans and whines from your throat with each attentive touch.

"you like that, mein liebchen?" reiner purred into your ear, the overstimulation making your eyes cross and toes curl. reiner's eyes narrowed at the other man, his lips curling down in disgust at the sight of him openly fondling himself in front of you and reiner. "why don't you tell our little friend just how good you feel, hm? sei ein guter mädchen und sag ihm, wie gut ich dich fühlen lasse. wie gut ich auf dich aufpasse."

"soo good, so fuckin' good," you whimpered, your mind drifting in and out of the state of euphoria you were currently in. you could barely bring yourself to acknowledge the other man, let alone say something to him. "ya always take care of me, rein— f-fuck, always— he treats me so soo good."

reiner gave your clit a soft pinch, stretching the sweet nub a little before releasing it. "is that right, mein schatz?" you could feel his cock nudge against the sensitive spot along your gummy walls, the knot at the pit of your stomach beginning to grow with each timed thrust into your g-spot. "gonna cum again? can feel you gettin' close, your little walls latching onto me like a vice."

"doesn't she look so pretty when she's about to cum?" your thighs began to grow numb, the coil with you beginning to unravel as your head grew light. "tell her she looks pretty." reiner commanded.

you lazily caught a glimpse of the man, barely watching as he sped up the motions of his hands to match up with your upcoming release. he wanted to reach his climax at the same time as you, wanted to cum alongside you. how sweet.

"you look so pretty—" the man through spaced words, hips bucking desperately into the air as he fucked his fist. "so pretty— ah-fuck, wanna cum with you—"

"ah, he wants t' cum, liebling," reiner whispered to you, your breaths getting heavier. you were so close, just a few more thrusts and you'd be toppling over the edge for the nth time that night. "you think he deserves to cum with you?"

"i don't care," you replied. "just wanna cum, rein— need t' cum—"

reiner's hand began to move faster, rubbing your clit in harsh swiping motion as he picked up the pace, his cock kissing at the wall of your cervix. "cum then. be a good girl—" reiner hissed. and, cum— cum all over my cock while i cum inside you."

and, you did; your orgasm knocking the very air out of your lungs. the pleasure became all too much— shattering your mind into tiny fragments as reiner spilled another load of thick, white sticky ropes into you. "that's it— take my cum, liebling— take all of it— scheiße!" he swore with accompanying guttural groans.

your body went limp in reiner's arms, completely tired and spent from the hours you had endured. you had ravaged, depleted of any more pleasure. you were desperate for a glass of water, yet you couldn't even bring yourself to move.

"now, get out," reiner instructed the man. he must have come at some point while you and reiner indulged in your pleasures, the evidence of his release being the white stains on his stomach and shirt. "don't make me say it again."

the man awkwardly shuffled to compose himself, shoving his limp cock back beneath the waistband of his jeans before adjusting his shirt. he grimaced in disgust at the droplets of cum that stained his shirt, but he knew that reiner's patience was running then and he wouldn't be given the luxury to properly clean himself up.

the hotel door slammed shut behind him, the loud click of the lock echoing through the room. once you were completely alone, reiner retracted his cock from inside you— fat globs of his load dripping out of your sore entrance and making a mess on the comforter.

"let's get you all cleaned up," reiner helped you to lay down on your back, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips before walking away. he came back with a damp washcloth, thoroughly cleaning your folds and inner thighs of any bodily fluids.

"was that okay?" he asked, a faint hiss leaving his lips as he cleaned up any remnants of your releases from his sensitive shaft. "you enjoyed yourself, right?"

you could just barely nod your head, tucking the blanket over your body— it was thick enough that any spilled body fluids couldn't seep through. "i had fun, reiner," you informed him, a soft smile tugging at your lips. your husband slipped beneath the comforters next to you, his arms wrapping around your waist and tucking you close into his front. "didn't realize i had an exhibition kink until tonight."

"ah, well," reiner pressed a few kisses to your cheek, the embrace he held on you tightening. the warm, fuzzy feeling of love making your heart swell. "i'm glad i was able to show you a good time then."

german to english translations

halt den mund — shut your mouth

kleine — little one

mein schatz — my treasure

liebling — darling

mein liebchen — my love

ja — yes

sei ein guter mädchen und sag ihm, wie gut ich dich fühlen lasse. wie gut ich auf dich aufpasse — be a good girl and tell him how good i let you feel. how well i take care of you

scheiße — fuck

[happilychee]

fairy tail dragon slayer headcanons pt. 1

♡ what the first gen and second gen dragon slayers eat is pretty self-explanatory. all of their elements are... somewhat tangible. sting and rogue though? they're still figuring it out. rogue wonders if he can eat someone else's shadow, and sting immediately volunteers himself. "for science!" he says. the result is that sting almost passes out. oops. he insists they try on their friends, much to rogue's displeasure. the results are that sting is the most susceptible, then yukino, rufus, orga, and minerva is the least susceptible to magic drainage. sting insists rogue tries to eat an inanimate object's shadow, and nothing happens to it, so they decide that's the way to go.

♡ when wendy eats air, the oxygen levels thin. she has to be careful or she'll cause her allies and enemies alike to pass out. when sting eats light, the area gets darker and darker. this is great for rogue, who starts eating the shadows, and they manage to balance each other out.

♡ sting insists that different types of light taste differently. his favorite is light from golden hour, right when the sun is dipping below the horizon. moonlight will do in a pinch, but it's so diluted that it takes way more of it to recover sting's magic. he also gets sick if he eats too much moonlight.

♡ pantherlily already has transformation magic and enhanced strength, and carla learns to transform so she can help wendy fight. the other three exceeds feel... a little left out. happy learns how to fly faster and for longer (though he still complains about lucy being heavy). lector goes to porlyusica and wendy to learn some stamina regeneration spells for sting. everyone is surprised when frosch, completely on their own, manages to learn an adorable light spell that creates floating pink bubbles. rogue can consume the shadows from them without worrying about draining frosch's magic, and he spends the entire afternoon crying about it.

♡ dragon slayers are a bit like crows. their way of bonding with someone is through gifting trinkets. natsu will bring lucy, erza, and even gray pretty rocks or seashells that he's found on jobs. wendy picks up a new craft or hobby every week, so the members of fairy tail are constantly recieving handmade accessories from her (gajeel helps during the metalsmithing phase). gajeel does not buy cute things for people. he is like a dad in the fact that, when juvia mentions she wants watermelon, he buys her 20 watermelons. walking math problem fr.

♡ laxus has mixed feelings about his more draconic features and habits. he's never loved his magic because of the way he got it, and the memory of his father basically torturing him as he inserted the lacrima will stay with him forever. he tends to suppress dragon instincts more than anyone else in the group, and they all scold him for it. on a rare occasion, laxus will give in and buy something shiny (like a hairclip) for wendy. she has a little jewelry box for them that she guards fiercely.

♡ cobra considers himself more of a flying snake than a dragon. he once drew a picture that sent everyone into a laughing fit. he prefers to stick with the old oración seis crew, but the guild dragon slayers are always happy to see him when he stops by with crime sorcière.

♡ sting, because of his heightened senses and his affinity for light, prefers nighttime. the day can often be overwhelming, and overexposure to bright settings and lots of people leaves his skin buzzing. he likes to sit in the dim guild hall, leaning against the cool stone wall, as the chatter of the crowd quiets down with the setting sun.

♡ dragon slayers all have the Bite instinct. some exercise a degree of control about it, and others go crazy with it. wendy will very gently nibble on erza or mira's arm when she's in the mood, and sometimes she does it absentmindedly. natsu, on the other hand, is an absolute menace. multiple of erza's armor sets have natsu-shaped bite marks on them. he tends to go after her the most because he knows he won't hurt her with the armor. when natsu's more calmed down, he will chomp on lucy's shoulder. gajaeel copes by eating all of fairy tail's silverware (mira starts buying ceramic spoons), but when levy offers her wrist to him he can't help it.

♡ rogue is another one who doesn't really bite people. he, very rarely, nips at frosch's ears, which causes the exceed to giggle. sting is a Biter like natsu, but with slightly more decorum. he really wants to go at it but will restrain himself because most people aren't willing to be treated like a chew toy. luckily for him, gray and cana aren't most people! because they both wear pretty exposing clothing, gray and cana have no qualms about showing off sting's bite marks on their skin. sting always turns bright red when they tease him about it.

♡ laxus and cobra don't really feel the Bite instinct due to being second gen, but cobra is a little shit and bites people for the fun of it. laxus is completely unbothered when natsu clings to him like a koala and gnaws at him.

[pursuitseternal]

“All Vim and Vigor, dearest…” a soft, nsfw Vampire Rogue Astarion update for “Bites in the Night:”

Astarion x F!Reader | E | 4K wound tending sex

Summary: the aftermath of a battle, and one companion is missing. Astarion. You race to find him, pulling him the the grip of death.. true death. Your tender, loving care can restore him. After all, you have to make sure all his vim and vigor is returned to him. Entirely.

CW: Blood, near death experience, healing, wound cleaning, flirtation, awkward Karlach interrupting growing intimacy, blow jobs and mutual hand jobs and fingering, just too be sure everything is… healed.

For @genesis-6666 💌

Read here if you prefer on AO3

Find him, save him…

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The dead lay around you. Goblins. An ambush. You bend over, hands on your knees, panting to catch your breath. Your wounds are minimal, and already Shadowheart has run to find the rest of your party, healing… or reviving… when needed. She looks up from over Gale’s body, his chest finally breathing again. But her eyes look worried. You scan the area, seeing everyone staggering between the trees. Almost all, you realize as your thumping heart stills. There is one of you missing. And your stomach twirls in knots as you realize just who.

You spin your head, looking. “Where is he?” you call to her. “Where’s Astarion?”

She shakes her head. “I thought he was with you, on the high ground,” she pants. “He was up there last I saw.” Her lithe hand points into the crags of rock and mountain that line the canyon.

It had been quick, sudden, and brutal. The ambush of Goblins swallowing you up. Last you remember, he had stared at you. Excitement, surprise, the thrill of bloodlust and eagerness in his eyes, as the goblin ranks kept coming and coming down from those ridges. One last fang-flashing smirk before he ran into the shadows, skirting up to their source. Your fearless, reckless, stupid rogue.

You hurry, scrambling up the trail, swerving past the thicker pools of goblin blood, leaping over their bodies. You see them scattered all over, dagger stab wounds and slashes.

Signs that he was here.

It’s carnage that you push past. Climbing higher until you reach a plateau, empty, the end of the trail, where you expect to see your vampire, your rogue, your… your love. But there is… nothing. Not a body. No enemies. No Astarion.

Panic fills you, heart rapping in your chest, breath growing short. But you force yourself forward. You make your eyes scan the ground for any clues. His blood. Or signs of his capture. You make your lungs fill, you shout his name…

Then, you hold your breath.

A faint groan comes from the distance, somewhere near the sheer rock face that pierces the sky, from the dense shrubs that line it. You race after it, feet almost skittering as you stumble in that direction. Your hands pushing into the brambles, catching sight of pale skin. Covered in blood.

You reach for his body. His skin is cold, waxy, and tight. You find one arm and pull. He groans as you tug, you grab his second arm, freeing him from the brambles, even as your lungs ease to see his face again.

But your hope fades to agony, his face is bruised and beaten, black and blue and shadowed more than his undead charisma. His breathing is quick and shallow, his eyes nearly swollen shut from whatever beating he took up here. You finally slide him free, his clothing is torn, almost every inch of the skin you see is darkened with bruises.

His voice shakes as he tries to catch a breath, eyes forcing themselves open to look at you. “You’re here,” he manages to rasp out. “I knew you would find me. You always find me.”

“Shhh,” you run your hand through his hair, his brow damp with sweat, his eyes losing focus as his head begins to loll. “It’s going to be alright.”

“At least I got to see you once more…” his voice grates against his throat, breath growing ragged.

You hand digs into your pocket, pulling out your last vial of healing potion. You pull the cork and press it instantly to his lips. The liquid flows into those pale lips, and you can only kneel and pray it’s enough. His breath begins to ease instead of rattle, his face beginning to heal, his pallor returning, the traces of blue-black death fading.

His mouth twitches trying to talk. But you shush him softly, “I’m here, Astarion, it’s alright.”

“F-far from,” he ekes out as his eyes flutter open slightly, the swelling abating just enough for you to see both crimson eyes again.

“I’ll get you back to the others,” you look around, sizing up his lean body, running a hand through his hair before you brace behind his shoulders to get him to sit upright. He groans, limp in your arm. He can be so strong and swift, but it’s only now you also notice how lithe he is. How lean. But still, he’s too great a weight for you to bear alone.

That’s when the running of heavier feet makes your lungs fill fully and your heart leap in hope. “You found him, good for you, soldier!” Karlach trods right up next to you, barely out of breath. “Shadowheart said you would hopefully have found him, I’m to help you back where we are making camp.” Her thick tiefling arms pick him up, none too gently, and you hiss in worry to see him pulled to his feet so quickly.

“I swear, if you throw me around like that, I would puke on you if I had anything left in me…” he snipes as Karlach takes him by one arm, shaking her fiery head at his sass with a smile and waiting for you to take the other.

You snigger. He must be on the mend if he is throwing those barbs out again. But he falls silent again, head hanging low. You shoulder his body as best you can, bracing one hand on his bare chest, wishing for once he had a living heart that beat so you knew he was alive. “Stay with me,” you grunt, shoving your mouth into his long, pointed ear. “I’ll kill you if you die, you know.”

“I know… my sweet,” he manages to rasp, a slight turn of his head to throw you a feeble smirk. Karlach is definitely bearing most of him, but she doesn’t complain, not as you finally make it down the ridges and back to the main road.

“Not too much further,” Karlach heaves more of him on her shoulder, “Gale should have the tents up by now so he can rest.”

You three round a bend, the flickering of a fire and the spattered sight of tents warms your heart. You made it. Even the rose and burgundy canvas of Astarion’s tent is set to perfection. You’ll have to remember to thank Gale later, once your rogue is through the worst of it.

Into the warm dark you go, setting Astarion out on his bedroll, propping him cautiously on a stack of pillows.

“Water, clothes, and another potion,” Karlach points to the supplies placed tidily within reach. “I’ll be back, just shout if you need anything.”

And then she steps away, taking her warmth and her glowing presence back through the flaps of his tent.

You look after her, another friend you’ll have to thank.

Something hard and cold grips around your hand from where it rests on the ground. He’s clutching you, making sure he’s not alone.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before you rest it on his own stomach. “Let me get you cleaned up,” you look into his face, his eyes still shut, face still and unmoving. “Is that alright?”

“More than alright,” he speaks quietly, “the sooner you get rid of this stinking goblin blood off me, the sooner I can just savor that delicious fragrance of yours…” he hisses in pain before the last word is completely off his tongue. Your hand ghosts over the still-sprawling bruisers that run along his side. He tries so hard to be the usually suave, charismatic charmer, but something still troubles him.

Your hand hovers between the cloth and the potion, unsure what to do first. Then you hear it, a wracking cough, one that shakes his frame, bringing blood to his lips.

His blood.

You quickly uncork the second bottle, fairly shoving it in his mouth. “What did they do to you?” You barely get the question out your mouth as he sighs from swallowing the healing mix down.

“Thrashed me an inch from life… or an inch from undeath I suppose…” He forces a blithe smile, his giggle is slick with his own blood, but at least you can hear his lungs filling. More fully than before. The potion working to heal whatever internal damage he must have had.

You eye the red around his lips, pausing for a second. It was a common sight, his bloodied lips, but… never his own blood.

You wonder, for a moment, how does he taste?

You know the salt of his sweat, the bitter tang of his cum, why not? Why not see what his blood tastes of, for once…

“Gods below,” he throws you a mischievous smirk. “You’re wanting to taste my blood now, aren’t you?” You feel your surprise lifting your face, and he only sucks his teeth, shaking his head in feigned disbelief. “Tch, I don’t need a spell to read your dirty thoughts, darling…”

Your eyes dart to his conceited, smirking mouth. You hold your breath… until you close your hand around the towel and soak it in the soapy water. “Don’t be ridiculous, Astarion…” you huff, starting to bring the cloth to his face.

His hand grips the back of your neck, clutching you against his mouth for a wet and bloodied kiss. It tastes… ancient, refined and heady. Rich in a way that coats your tongue, even as his own delves in to tangle with yours. You swallow, sucking on his lips for more. He laughs, lightly, hiding a groan, “If you’re planning on more rigorous pursuits, I’d say I need bathing and tending first, darling.”

You pull away, shocked at yourself, so aroused with him only moments ago near-death. Your cheeks flush, white hot as you begin to clean him. He closes his eyes, propped up as he is on pillows. Lounging, relishing your full attention.

You wash and rinse, wash and rinse. It’s hard not to stare at his beauty, at the hard edges of his cheeks and jaw, the little lines about his eyes that crinkle when he smirks or laughs. He locks those piercing eyes on you as you dip the rag back and wring it out. He stalks every movement you make, washing his body lower and lower, inspecting his bruises as they slowly fade with the healing magic.

You finish his chest, forcing your breath to steady as you wash that rising and falling belly of his.

“Are you sure I don’t need tending any lower…?” he purrs.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Perhaps you rest first before you insist on everything checked for being in good working order, hmm?”

He rolls his eyes back in his head, a sigh of total emphatic drama. “Doctor’s orders…” he grumbles, lounging back against the throws, but not before he gives a little thrust of his hips, a clench of his belly under your hand where it rests on him still.

“Sleep, you scoundrel,” you chide, reaching to dry off his now clean skin, savoring the fresh scent in the air from the soap. You feel his body, still tense under your touch, wound tight and stiff that isn’t the result of his charming flirtation or dirty, lustful thoughts. You look at him, staring at his face, worry furrowing your brows. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes flicker over you, bright with mischief, half-lidded with flirtation. “Vampires don’t require… sleep. Not much. Not as much as… well… other things…”

You look into that beautiful face. He’s gaunt. Pale, well more than usual. Rings line his eyes, cradling that crimson glare in shadow. His lips twitch, fighting the urge to bare those glistening and pointed fangs.

“Oh, gods, now?” you breathe, heart racing.

He waves a hand dismissively, a sharp edge to his voice. Hungry. Annoyed. “Well, if you don’t want your strong, well-fed vampire to heal completely, then by all means…”

“No,” you almost leap next to his face, those smirking eyes scan over you, dilating in his hunger, fixating on the rapid pulse you know must be just throbbing under your skin for him to salivate over. But his hand grips yours, raising it to his lips. Kissing your fingers so softly, your stomach drops and your throat tightens. Slowly, he turns your hand over in his, raising your tingling inner wrist to his nose. You feel his breath, cold and quick, as he inhales your scent. Probably already savoring the scent of your blood rushing just beneath your skin.

“So then, I may?” his voice almost fails to reach your ears, you hear it more from the little tickles his breath makes across your skin, the gentle flutters of his lips over the nerves of your wrist. Like lighting in the air, his breath ripples in pinpricks on your skin.

“Yes,” you sigh, lungs burning as you hold your breath until he bites thos razor-sharp fangs into your tender flesh. Gasping, you hold your wrist to his mouth, every drop of your blood that leaves you, you can almost feel, almost sense, how it makes him stronger again. Empowered again. Hungry again for more.

It just feels so good, even as he feasts on you, as you savor that strange sensation that follows every time he feeds, that union of your bodies, your blood sating his hunger, beginning to course in his veins. A small, strangled moan escapes your lips, your eyes fixated on the way his mouth sucks on your wrist. You’ve never seen it before, never been able to watch his consuming of you, as he drinks from your neck. The little ways his tongue laps at your skin, the small bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallows you down. A different sort of pleasure denied you when he drinks in the middle of the night. Your stomach churns, your thighs burning hot as you can’t look away.

A slight, definitely insufferable smile tugs at the corner of his lip as he sets your wrist back in your lap. “Liked what you saw?” he preens, so proud as he dabs a single finger at the bloodied corner of his mouth. “Or just thankful I’m still here to have my fill of you?”

“Both,” you reply before even a second thought crosses you mind. Your sight lowers to his mouth, you can almost feel those lips on yours, the way the twitch ever so slightly, the little tweaks that lift them to show those pointed fangs you love to have catch your flesh and nip at you when he kisses….

So close, you feel him closing that distance, his breath rushing into you, filling your lungs, your soul, ice cold and tangible.

“Hope you like rabbit, Gale’s got stew nearly done for…” Karlach sticks her flaming, sparking scarlet head into your tent then she strides all the way in. Those glowing eyes go wide. You’re so close, even as you turn your head, you can hear Astarion’s laugh tickle the creases of your ear.

You go flush, and not just because he insists on still giving your cheek a lingering kiss.

“Feeling better, is he?” Karlach laughs, a bit forced. A bit uncomfortable.

“Clearly,” you huff, sliding slightly from his side. But he only leans all the closer.

His eyes rake over you. You can feel it. You can almost see it in the way Karlach sifts from foot to foot. He chuckles, low and slow, “Yes, all vim and vigor, dearest. We were just about to discuss how I was going to make it up to her for all that attentive care and healing I required to pull me back from the brink of death…”

Your eyes flicker to Karlach, who would be blushing beet red now if she weren’t already so scarlet. “Ahem,” she clears her voice and stands quickly, “that’ll be my cue. I’ll leave you two to it..:”

“No it’s okay… the stew...” you begin but she’s already gone and yelling on the other side of the tent.

“Oi, Gale, keep it warm…” a long pause follows, a deep voice muted in the distance. Then Karlach guffaws with gusto. “Yeah, they’ll be fucking for hours most likely… she might not even be hungry once he stuffs her again…” the tiefling’s boisterous laugh fades as she trods away.

Your face goes hotter than an inferno, but that only makes his cold fingers sear all the more as he caresses your cheek. A single finger lifts your chin, turning your face towards that rakish, sultry smirk. “I thought she’d never leave. Now,” he hovers his mouth right over yours, “where were we?”

“We…” you clear your throat, “we were just making sure you were healed…”

“Mmmm, I’m pretty sure you’ve inspected me thoroughly everywhere but one place, darling,” he rasps, catching your lips in a commanding, languorous kiss.

“You almost died, Astarion,” you hiss between his teeth, fighting the way your folds are burning up, the way his other hand begins to slink over the buckskin of your breeches. “Should you really risk so much exertion?” Your body is tensing, your mind remembering the way he rattled as he struggled for air on the mountain, the way his flesh was blackened and sickly. Dead, almost truely dead.

His chuckle, that low-throated giggle, pulls you out of those macabre imaginings. “Well, I'd be more than happy to simply lay back and let you do all the hard work, if that’s what your concern is…”

You give him a mocking smile, “Oh yes, I’m very certain you are only doing this for my sake, love. Making sure I feel good after pulling you back from near death to life… well to undeath…” You give a sheepish grin, relieved that your humor only adds to the mischievous glint in his crimson eyes.

“You know me, the image of selflessness. I’m doing you a favor. If you left now…” his smirk widened, deliciously, wickedly, “…you’d be thinking about it all night.” His hand weaves into the little hairs at the nape of your neck, twirling them in the way he knows drives you crazy.

“Well, I suppose I can be persuaded… just to make sure you’re all vim and vigor.” You laugh as his hand is already loosening the laces of his breeches. “But,” you place one of yours to stay him a moment. Gods, you can already feel his cock, hard and pushing his way out for pleasure. You swallow, making yourself look in his eyes. At how they swirl with his lust, glassy with his need. “But you tell me the moment it’s too much, you promise?”

“If you wanted me to just be more vocal during our couplings, you had only to ask, darling…” he purrs, forcing his fingers loose under your palm to continue unlacing.

You grab them in yours. “I mean it,” you insist, hard in tone, commanding in just three words.

“I promise, I’ll say when, my dear,” he laughs, finally freeing himself from the confines of his breeches. You look down at him, his devious pleasure of just watching you crawling between his thighs.

You give his cock a good, long lick from base to tip, his groan of approval sending shivers between your own thighs. But you force a dispassionate hum as you wrap your lips around his twitching head. “Seems in good working order,” you whisper.

“I think it needs a little more.. attentive care, darling…” he groans, very loudly as you wrap your mouth all the way around him, taking him in deeply over your tongue. You roll your eyes, unsurprised at how he gives a moan with each suck you make, each lap of your tongue running up his length.

More vocal indeed.

You bob up and down, your lover relaxing back against his pillows, fingers toying languorously through your hair. Your own hand pumps over the rest of him that just can’t fit inside your lips. He feels so good, so hard and strong and full of life. And he seems to be getting louder… his moans increasing. “So good for me, darling…” he starts to praise. “Always so attentive and eager… and…”

You pop off him, meeting that insufferable smirk and quirked brows. “You want them to know, don’t you?”

“Me? Wanting to draw some attention to our lustful pursuits?” He casts that look at you that makes every nerve in your body flame with unbridled desire for him. “I just want them to make sure you care of me is certainly thorough,” he grins, “I’m just so… thankful… it’s hard to keep it in. After all you do… so much for me, darling…”

“Be a dear and shut up,” you purr, giving one more swirl around that ridge of his tip.

“Make me,” he growls, flashing that roguish smirk down at you, licking his lips.

You pounce, flooded with relief that he is alive... that he’s filled with all that vim and vigor and irascible, irritating sass. You’re brimming with the need to feel him, for all his taunting and flirtation, all his lust and passion, you’re just… happy he is here. To kiss, to fuck, to banter with. And you do make him shut up, your lips on his, your teeth sinking playfully into his lower lip, sucking it with a tug. You keep one hand on his cock, riding it, pumping it, keeping time with the way his tongue darts in and out of your mouth. Something cold slips under your shirt, his fingers skating into the band of your breeches.

You keep your mouth fixed on his, making certain he’s far too busy for any noises you can’t muffle. But as his fingers slip between your thighs, an unbidden cry rips from your throat.

“Who’s the loud mouth now?” He chides, sucking his teeth at you, even with your lips coupled as they are. He laughs again, his fingers catching on your clit just right as he rides up and down your seam. “Don’t cease your own task at hand on my account,” he sniggers, his cold fingers lacing around his shaft, interweaving with yours.

His breath sucks in yours. His fingers playing in you, teasing so much wetness from your folds, you wish you had just taken your pants off when you had the chance. Now it was too late. Now, you’d be sticky from your own arousal, probably covered in his cum too as you leave his tent.

The thought makes your cheeks burn but not in shame. In a searing wave of desire. Your hand works up and down, catching that thick, blunt tip with your thumb in the way that makes him groan. His kisses deepen, hungry and feral, the same he’s stoked in you with the little ways his fangs catch on the inside of your lips. He’s losing that refined control he keeps. Pushed past the calculating movements as you stroke him in your fist and lick his tongue with your own.

“Gods,” he growls, his cock so hard, his fingers inside you working at a fevered pace. “You’ll come for me too, darling. My recompense for your care.”

“Yes,” you moan, his fingers diving deep into your cunt, crooking on that sweet spot he knows well.

You clench, shaking as he pummels inside you, your own hand struggling to work on his cock with how hard he is. How thick he is. But the instant you drench his fingers and fill his palm as you climax, he follows you into that messy, groaning bliss. Hot cum drips down your arm, spattered on your sleeve, on the belly of your shirt.

He’s gasping into your mouth, his lips pulled back wide in a genuine smile. His forehead presses against yours as he catches his breath, stealing your own from your lips. “Well,” he pants, “am I fully recovered?”

“All vim… and vigor…” you heave, moaning as he slips his fingers from your thighs.

“Hmm,” he hums against your lips, trapping them in his own with a slight nip. “Are you sure you’re satisfied with my performance?”

You laugh, giving a little shove against his chest. “For now,” you tease, “but it seems another round of cleaning is in order.” Your hand reaches for the rag, wiping his juices from your hand, your arm. Only to hear him sucking on his own fingers.

His brow arched wryly as you turn to watch. Those two long fingers that still drip with your cum are shoved far back in his mouth, his tongue swirling over every inch. “What?” he smirks, “why waste something so delicious…”

You shake your head, lovingly irritated at his cheekiness, but already your body is already aching for more. “Perhaps,” you clear your throat, heart pounding as you watch him sliding those already drenched fingers over his tongue. “Perhaps you do need a little more inspection, just to be sure…”

“Thought so,” he sniffs, that insufferable smirk widening to show his teeth. “Best be sure… just in case…”

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Read more “Bites in the Night:”

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Read Ascended Astarion in “The Rogue You Were:”

🩸Part 1 🩸 Part 2 🩸Part 3 🩸 Part 4🩸

Read my Drabbles

“Just a Drop…” Astarion as Tav turns

“Beg me…” A highly NSFW Ascended Astarion x reader

“Your Reward:” Ascended Astarion Dark!Fic