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tightjeansjavi · 2 months

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The Rite of Movement | part four

“so move me, baby”

A/N: so like the little slut that I am…I was kicking my feet and giggling at my desk yesterday while writing this 🤭 I surprise myself with just how filthy I can get, woo doggy! Please read the warnings and if this isn’t your cup of tea, just scroll on by baby love! No harm 💗 thank you to my bug @strang3lov3 for the moodboard!! I love u so much & a big thank you to @itsokbbygrl for betaing 🥺

~word count: 6.4k~

Summary: you meet Tommy Miller for the first time, and he takes you for a spin ;)

Pairing | pornstar!joel x pornstar!tommy x pornstar!female reader

Warnings: smut, fluff, established relationship, Joel is in his 40’s, reader is in her 30’s, mentions of alcohol and smoking, consent, unprotected piv, fingering, pussy play, f!masturbation, semi-public sex, reader and Tommy fuck and Joel’s into it, amateur porn video in the back of Tommy’s truck, language, filthy talk, praise kink, daddy kink, over stimulation/fucked out, light degradation (by Tommy but in a sexy non-offensive way), dumbification kink (endearing), readers nickname is baby love, reader has no physical descriptions, reader, Joel, and Tommy, are sexually liberated individuals, NSFW, +18 minors dni! Please let me know if I missed anything!

playlist🎧 series masterlist

“Joel…” you trailed off, picking at a loose thread on your denim skirt absentmindedly. “What if your brother doesn’t like me?” You questioned in an unsure tone.

He turned to face you, leaning over the dashboard while he rested his elbow along the steering wheel, “baby love, you ain’t got nothin’ to be worried about with my brother, okay? Think y’all are gonna get on like a house fire.” He winked in an attempt to soothe your budding nerves. “What about meetin’ him is gettin’ ya all worked up? Talk to me, darlin.’”

He gently grasped your bare knee in his big, warm, palm.

“This is going to sound so fucking stupid, Joel. But what if he finds me annoying—repulsive? I always get nervous when I’m meeting new people. I’m surprised I didn’t completely shit a brick when I first met you for instance.” You stifled a nervous laugh as you looked over at him.

He gave you that warm reassuring smile of his, dimples peeking through as he gently squeezed your knee. “Y’all are gonna get on just fine, ‘Kay? And listen, between you and me, Tommy and I—we uh—we discussed the possibility of the three of us filmin’ somethin’ together at some point. Now, there ain’t no rush for any of that, okay? Last thing I want to do is make you feel uncomfortable or pressured to get along with him.”

Your pupils dialated, thighs clenching inwards at the prospect of fucking…Tommy? Holy fuck—was this real life?

“You, and Tommy—fucking me?” You spluttered out, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. There was no denying that Tommy Miller was a real hunk, with the personality of a horny golden retriever. He was the complete opposite of Joel, but that intrigued you nonetheless.

“Only if you’d be interested in that, baby love. You don’t gotta decide right now, okay? Tonight’s all about you. If you’re feelin’ my brother, I want you to act on it only if you’re comfortable. He’s a real looker, but I’ve made sure that he’s a good Texas gentleman.” Joel reassured you as he was silently trying to gauge how you were feeling thus far based off your body language.

“And you’d be okay with him and I…?” You trailed off, meeting his gaze as you reached for his hand on your knee, interlocking your fingers through his.

“Of course I would be. I’m not gonna get weirdly jealous or possessive if you want to fuck my brother, baby love. That’s why I wanted to have this conversation with you ahead of tonight, because Tommy? He’s interested, but I told him to let you feel it out, and to not spring it on ya right away.”

He watched the subtle clench of your inner thighs, your pupils blown wide and your lips parting. He knew you were turned on by the prospect of fucking his brother, and your arousal inherently turned him on as well.

He dropped his forearm from its resting spot along the steering wheel and brought his hand to your other knee where he proceeded to coax your thighs open just a tad. You didn’t need much coaxing at all as your thighs naturally parted open, thoughts running wild.

“Look at me, baby love.” He rasped, rubbing soothing circles into the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. “Is the thought of fucking my brother turnin’ you on, darlin?’ Ya drippin’ all pretty for him already?”

“Fuck.” You breathed out, eyes rolling back into your skull. Joel had barely even touched you yet, and you were leaking like a damn faucet through the gusset of your thin panties. You could feel a droplet of your arousal drip down and create a wet patch through the fabric. Your eyes met his, lower lip harshly taken between your teeth, pupils darkened like an oncoming storm, blown wide like a doe’s.

“I never thought the possibility of fucking your brother would arise, Joel. It’s like—a fantasy coming true.” You breathed out, head lolling to the side, “I think he has such a nice fucking cock.”

Joel preened, leaning the upper half of his body further over the center console as his fingers trailed closer to your covered core. He could feel you pulsing already, the anticipation of being touched igniting a fire in your veins the closer his fingers drew nearer.

“A fantasy come true, huh? You think about my brother a lot, baby love? S’okay if you do. Got yourself all worked up now…almost creating a mess on the seat with how fuckin’ wet your pussy is gettin’, baby.”

You whined out his name, letting yourself fully succumb to your depraved thoughts of fucking Tommy. Your brain felt fried, imploded to complete mush, and yet your Joel didn’t show a lick of judgment towards your arousal. In fact, he encouraged it and therefore you had no reason to feel shameful.

“Why don’t you get me all ready for him, Joel. C’mon baby, please. Play with me a little. Play with my pussy while I think about fucking your brother’s cock, Joel.” You shamelessly shifted your hips towards his hand, chasing his touch with unabashed desire.

He checked the time on his watch, a coy smirk playing on his sinful lips as he looked over at you, “Think we can afford to be fashionably late, baby love.”

Joel and Tommy’s local watering hole was exactly how you expected it to be: not the classiest, and certainly not your first pick, but if Joel were any other man, you would have hightailed out of there. But this was your Joel, and his warm palm guiding you to a booth that was tucked away in the corner. You were grateful for the outfit that you chose to wear for the evening could grant easy access. And with the residue of your release still coated between your thighs, you felt the trepidation and anticipation of what was to happen when Tommy would inevitably show up.

The thought had you buzzing all over again as you found yourself tucked into the wall seat of the booth, Joel’s hand finding purchase around your bare thigh as he leaned in, the tip of his aquiline nose brushing against your pulse point.

“Want anythin’ to drink, baby love? Or just water for now?” He rasped low and deep, sending goosebumps rising on your skin.

“Tequila, on the rocks.” You purred out your request, gripping on the edge of the booths worn leather for dear life.

“‘Kay, baby love. One tequila on the rocks comin’ right up.” He pressed a sweet kiss to the side of your face, leaving a whiff of his cologne and musk on your skin.

You watched as he slipped out of the booth and made his way over to the bartop, sleeves rolled up revealing broad, tan, forearms. His fingers that had only just been plunged deep into your pulsing cunt twenty minutes ago, were now casually flipping through a stack of twenties.

“S’cuse me, ma’am. This seat ain’t taken, is it?”

You peered up from your phone at the sound of the stranger's all-too familiar voice. A deep Texas drawl straight out of a western film, paired with two dark espresso colored eyes, a broad nose, and a head of dark, luscious curls that fell in ringlets.

Tommy fucking Miller, and that shit eating smirk of his that sent your thighs clenching together in tandem.

Holy—I need a glass of water.

“Oh, no. It’s not taken. Please, sit down.” You gestured to the empty seat across the booth with a nervous smile.

Tommy slipped into the booth with ease and reached behind his ear and pulled out a single cigarette, twirling it between his fingers before he placed it between his lips. He reached across the booth's table, hand outstretched in your direction. “Y’must be my big brother’s baby love. M’Tommy, the hotter Miller brother. It’s a pleasure to finally meet ya.”

You blinked, registering in your brain that Tommy Miller was in fact sitting across from you and looking like a goddamn snack nonetheless.

You reached for his hand, shaking it firmly, “charmed.” You grinned.

“Damn. And she’s polite too? My brother got the whole package with ya huh, sweetheart?” He chuckled smoothly, shaking your hand a moment longer before he retracted his. “Y’don’t mind if I smoke do ya?”

“Oh, no. Of course! I don’t mind.”

He nodded, reaching into his pocket and pulled out his lighter, lighting the cigarette with ease before he leaned back against the worn leather cushion, stretching his arm to rest along the backside of the booth, long fingers stretched out—flexing.

“Where’s the son of a bitch anyway?” Tommy asked casually, the lit end of the cigarette dipping downwards between his lips.

“He’s right here.” Joel had returned with your tequila on the rocks, and two glasses of neat whiskey. He slid one over to his brother with a small nod. “And you can’t smoke in here, Tommy.” Joel reminded him as he slid into the seat next to you.

“Says who? Doreen don’t give a damn.” Tommy quipped back as he reached for his glass, tipping it in yours and Joel’s direction.

“That’s cause Doreen’s got the fattest fuckin’ crush on you and that big head of yours.” Joel scoffed against the rim of his glass taking a sip before he turned his attention towards you. “Gotcha a water as well, baby love.”

“Who the hell you callin’ a big head, huh?” Tommy wiggled his eyebrows playfully and grasped the cigarette between his two fingers, replacing it with the rim of his glass as he took a sip. “How’s y’all’s evenin’ goin’ so far? Gettin’ into any trouble?”

“Believe I called you a big head, Tommy.” Joel chuckled, letting his free arm gently drape across your shoulders, squeezing them gently as you took a sip of your tequila on the rocks, letting the liquor burn down your throat and warm your stomach. “S’goin’ pretty good. First time baby loves been here, ain’t that right?”

You didn’t register that Joel was talking to you, his voice sounding fuzzy in your ears as you took a bigger sip of your drink. “What?” You questioned softly, being brought back down to earth when you felt his warm palm gently squeeze your shoulder. The heat rose to your cheeks fast and you cleared your throat, turning your face to the side to hide how flustered you were.

“Whatcha ya gettin’ all shy on us for, sweetheart? You don’t gotta do that with us. I swear, I don’t bite, unless ya want me to.” Tommy said with a coy wink.

“She’s just a lil’ bashful is all, cause on the way here she was—”

You cut Joel off, squeezing his bicep firmly in your palm. “I’m gonna head to the bathroom really quick, okay?” You kissed his cheek sweetly, and before he could even get up from the booth, you were slipping past him when you saw an opening.

Joel and Tommy both watched as you quickly walked to the nearest bathroom before they looked back at one another. Tommy took a long drag of his cigarette when Joel spoke again,

“She’s got the hots for you, little brother. She made a goddamn mess all over my fingers on the way here cus’ she was thinkin’ about your cock.” Joel said in a hushed, low tone.

Tommy’s brows raised as he leaned over the table, resting his cigarette off to the side. “Fuck. Y’serious? Goddamn. She make a mess all over the seat too? Bet she fuckin’ did.”

“Mhmmm.” Joel hummed, leaning back against the seat. “She told me that you have a nice fuckin’ cock.” He chuckled, shaking his head to the side before he leaned forward, “Now, when she gets back here after composing herself, I want you to flirt with her a bit. Let her come to you, okay? Y’gotta play nice with her, Tommy. She’s a sweet thing, and I know y’all are gonna get along jus’ fine.”

“Good god.” Tommy said lowly, holding back a groan. “You hit the fuckin’ jackpot with that one, Joel. I’ll play nice with her, scouts honor. Y’know I’ll take extra good care of her.”

“I know you will. She jus’ couldn’t believe it when I said that you and I discussed the possibility of filmin’ a video with her. Absolutely blew her fuckin’ mind with that one. But god, she looked so pretty all flustered and turned on thinkin’ about the two of us fuckin’ her.” Joel reached for his glass, swirling the amber liquid around and took another slow sip.

“Fuck, I bet she did look goddamn gorgeous like that. You got yourself a real filthy and nice girl, Joel. A man’s fuckin’ dream, you lucky son of a bitch. Don’t think I’ve ever seen your grumpy ass smile that much in my whole life. It’s refreshin’ seein’ you grinnin’ like a sinner in church.” Tommy chuckled warmly.

Joel preened as he thought about you. “She’s really amazing, Tommy. She’s been so supportive and brave, and we’re having so much fun with it. It’s been so long since work has felt fun, you know? Who’d’ve thought fucking would get old.” He chuckled with a small grin playing on his lips and a flush rising on his cheeks. “Never really met anyone quite like her, honestly.”

“Goddamn. Who’s in here choppin’ up the fuckin’ onions, huh? Fuck. You’re in love with her, ain’t ya? That’s amazing. I’m seriously so fuckin’ happy for you, Joel.”

“Fuck.” Joel said suddenly, feeling his heart lurch in his chest. “Shit. Yeah—I think, I think I am in love with her. It’s not too soon, is it? I mean—we jus’ we get eachother. I’ve never felt more comfortable with another person before. She gets me, Tommy. The real me. She sees my heart before she sees my job, and no other woman in my life has ever seen me in that light.” He sniffles, feeling tears prick the corner of his eyes at his emotional confession.

“Yeah, you got the love bug bad, brother. Really, really, bad. But y’know what? I know you ain’t bluffin’ about this one either. You’re speakin’ from your goddamn heart. I hear it in your voice, and that’s a beautiful fuckin’ thing, Joel. Cus’ if anyone deserves love in this world, it’s you. So you keep holdin’ onto that, ‘Kay?” Tommy said earnestly and reached across the table to gently squeeze Joel’s shoulder

“Shuddup, Tommy. Or you’re really gonna make me cry.” Joel chuckled through his tears, quickly wiping at his eyes. “I’m gonna keep holdin’ onto her for as long as she’ll have me. I’m hopin’ she’s endgame for me.”

“I reckon she will be.”

After you splashed a bit of water on your face and gave yourself a detailed pep talk in the women’s bathroom, you finally mustered up the courage to face Joel and Tommy again. Joel had reassured you in the car that nothing had to happen right away. He always wanted you to be comfortable and this was something that you were still getting used to. The idea of someone caring about you that much? It used to be unfathomable .

You never realized just how good it could get until you met Joel Miller. You were hoping that he would be your endgame too.

After taking one last glance into the mirror you left the bathroom with a new confident stride as you approached the booth. Joel greeted you with a warm and reassuring smile, and when he went to get up, you gently placed your hand against his chest, easing him back down onto the leather seat before you slid in beside him.

Tommy gently nudged your ankle with the toe of his boot, testing the waters with you and heeding Joel’s words to let you come to him.

“Y’feelin’ alright, sweetheart? Can we getcha anythin?” Tommy asked softly, brown eyes looking warm and inviting across the way.

“I’m okay.” You reassured him with a small smile. “It was just—getting really hot in here.” You said with a light laugh to ease the tension.

“Tends to happen when you’re feelin’ flustered.” Tommy added as he leaned in over the table. “Y’know, sweetheart,” he started, “S’okay if I call ya that?”

You nodded, reaching for your glass and took a quick sip.

“I watched one of your films the other day, and I gotta tell ya, you have some real talent. Not jus’ sayin’ that either. I mean it. You’re gorgeous, and I jus’ wanna let you know that there’s no pressure or anythin’ alright? We don’t even gotta do anythin’ tonight if you ain’t feelin’ up for it.”

Joel leaned in close to you then, warm whiskey coated breath kissing your skin as his arm gently wrapped around you, giving you a squeeze.

“Wouldn’t believe how good that pussy is, brother. Like nothin’ else you’ve ever had. Never wanna have another, truly.” He preened, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

Your thighs clamped together immediately and you could feel the corners of Joel’s lips upturn into a small grin.

“Don’t doubt that for a second, Joel.” Tommy nodded and ashed his cigarette along the rim of his empty glass. “Sweetheart, you’re such a natural, babygirl. And I have no doubt in my mind that you’re gonna become a star.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks from both Joel and Tommy’s words and if you were already on your way to hell, well—you just bought yourself a first class ticket!

“You really think I’m gonna be a star, Tommy?” You leaned forward against the table to match his energy, feeling yourself gravitating in his direction.

“Absolutely.” He nodded. “Now, Joel here wants me to take care of ya for a little. Y’okay with that, sweetheart? He’s gonna sit here nice n’comfy if you wanna—”

You were already up from the booth, reaching for Tommy’s hand in a haste and pulling him down the aisle and towards the door of the bar.

Tommy stumbled after you, his palm warm in your grasp as he followed you to the door. But being the gentleman that he was, he held the door open for you, letting you walk past first before he followed suit. “Where do you wanna go, babygirl?” He rasped against your ear, broad arm swooping around your waist, pulling you flush against his side.

“Your truck.” you said confidently, slipping your hand into the back pocket of his dark washed jeans.

“Fuck. You wanna make a mess all over my seats too, babygirl?” He reached for his keys, twirling them around his fingers.

Goddammit, Joel. You thought.

“Did he tell you that?” You squeaked out, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

“He sure as fuck did, sweetheart. He also told me that you think I have a nice fuckin’ cock.” he chuckled, guiding you towards the direction of his parked pickup truck.

“Well, you do have a nice fucking cock, Tommy. And while your brother was playing with me earlier, all I could think about was you and your cock fucking me.” You lowered your voice when an unsuspecting couple walked past the two of you.

“Mmm. I knew that you were a little freak under all those nerves, babygirl. Gonna take real good care of you, okay?” He pressed a kiss to the side of your head, letting his hand curve around your hip. He was thankfully parked in a secluded spot in the lot where people would really have to pay attention to even see the debauchery that would soon be taking place.

He unlocked the back door for you, but before you could climb in, he gently pressed you back against it. “Before I fuck your brains out, I jus’ wanted to let you know that even though you’re consentin’ now, you can change your mind, okay? It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve gone with blue balls, babygirl. I want you to enjoy yourself and if you end up not wantin’ to continue, jus’ let me know, ‘Kay?” His words were genuine like Joel’s, and as much as you appreciated them, you were going to lose your mind any second now.

“Tommy, respectfully, thank you. Disrespectfully, I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to last without your cock stuffed inside of me.” You breathed out, letting your hand drop from the side of his truck and palm him through the tight confines of his jeans. “Please, fuck me.”

That’s all it took for Tommy to surge forward, his hands coming to rest on either side of your head as his lips met yours in a bruising kiss that was all tongue and teeth, very different from Joel’s style but you fucking loved it already and wasted no time to wind your arms around his neck, carding your fingers through his thick curls, giving them a good firm tug as he reached around you to pull the door latch open.

He bit down teasingly on your lower lip, tugging it out before chasing the kiss once more. “Get that sweet ass of yours in the backseat, babygirl” he mumbled against your lips and quickly pulled the door open.

Your lips detached from his for a moment only for you to climb into the backseat, falling onto your back as you blindly reached for the hem of your shirt and yanked it over your head.

Tommy was between your legs in seconds after the door slammed shut behind him. His hands grasped at your thighs, spreading them open and positioning your calves to rest over his shoulders. He had a direct view of your covered cunt, a fresh new wet patch blooming through the fabric that sent him grinning like a devil.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart. You that wet already? Those little panties of yours are practically ruined, babygirl.” He tsked under his breath as he situated himself as best as he could on his elbows. “Can you show her to me, baby? Show me that pretty pussy.” He nipped at your exposed inner thigh, dragging the stubble along his jaw against your skin while keeping his eyes locked on yours.

“I almost thought about touching myself in the bathroom when I was in there.” You let out a soft sigh as you dragged your hand down over your bare stomach and underneath the hem of your skirt. You looped your thumb around the outside of your panties, pulling them to the side revealing your puffy, soaked cunt to Tommy’s lustful gaze.

“You shoulda, babygirl. Little slut like you probably needs it all the time, huh? Fingers, a cock stuffed in you, a mouth on that pussy?” He chuckled with a grin. “Spread her open for me, sweetheart. Wanna see all of her before I fuckin’ ruin you.”

You let out a soft whimper from his words just as a droplet of arousal dripped down from your opening and slid down between your cheeks. You used your middle and forefinger to delicately spread yourself open, playing with your arousal that began to coat your fingers, and you couldn’t help but slip one finger in before slowly pulling it back out.

“Is she wet enough for you, Tommy? Maybe you need to give her a taste. See how wet she is for yourself.” You encouraged him with a subtle grin.

“Mmm. Try daddy, babygirl. Think you can call me that? You’ve got such a pretty pussy. My god. She’s already making a goddamn mess all over the seat. Go on and play with yourself for me, sweetheart. I wanna watch.”

“Oh, fuck. How did I already know that you were into the daddy kink?” You giggled softly while your fingers began to play with yourself in a teasing motion. You lightly played with your clit, letting out a soft moan as you dragged your fingers lower, teasing your entrance before slipping two fingers in. “Oh, fuck, daddy.” You moaned, watching him with hooded eyes as he began to palm himself through his jeans.

“That’s it. Good fuckin’ girl. Such a good little slut playin’ with her pussy for daddy. Gettin’ her all nice and ready for daddy’s cock.” He preened and reached for his belt buckle, undoing it so he would have a bit of relief. “You okay if daddy takes a video of this? That way you can watch it later and remember just how good I took care of you, babygirl.”

You nodded enthusiastically as you began to shallowly pump your fingers, curling them inwards before slipping them back out. “Of course you can take a video, daddy. It’ll be your souvenir.” You shot him a playful wink.

“Fuck. You’re really a naughty little slut, babygirl. Touching yourself in daddy’s truck. Gonna have to get it detailed after I’m done with you.” He snickered and reached for his phone and pulled it out of his pocket. He typed in his password quickly before opening the camera app. “Smile for the camera, babygirl.” He angled his phone towards your face and you responded with a cheesy grin, fingers working over your clit to keep yourself stimulated.

“Daddy’s here with his newest slut and her pretty pussy that’s going to be stuffed to the fuckin’ brim with daddy’s cock soon.” He brought his phone down between your thighs getting a good view of your fingers playing with yourself. “Drippin’ all over daddy’s fuckin’ seats like the naughty little slut that she is.”

“So fuckin’ wet for you, daddy.” You moaned, holding steady eye contact between Tommy’s phone and his face. “Show me your cock, please. I want to see it.”

“Ask and you shall receive, babygirl.” He shot you a wink and popped open the button of his jeans followed by his zipper. He pushed his jeans down over his hips along with his boxers. Your eyes went wide for a moment when his cock sprang free and slapped up against his taut stomach.

Tommy’s cock may have not been as thick as Joel’s, but it was longer, and curved at just the right angle.

“Get on all fours for me, baby girl.” He requested while he wrapped his fist around his cock, giving it a few languid strokes from base to tip. You couldn’t help but watch as he spit over the bulbous head, rubbing in his saliva for extra lubricant as you worked your skirt and panties off, tossing them into the front seat before you flipped over onto your stomach, situating yourself on your hands and knees.

“Well, if that ain’t a sight made in fuckin’ heaven.” He whistled and grabbed a handful of your left ass-cheek, kneading the soft flesh between his fingers before he gave it a good smack, watching it recoil back as you lurched forward, looking over your shoulder at him. Your pupils were blown wide, lower lip harshly taken between your teeth as you rocked your hips back towards him.

“Please fuck me, daddy.” You arched your back, wiggling your ass in a tantalizing motion just as he brought his hand down over your right cheek in a swift motion eliciting a surprised yelp to slip past your lips.

“You want daddy’s cock that bad, huh? Such a desperate little slut wantin’ to be stuffed full of daddy’s cock.” He slapped your left cheek then before he let his hand drift upwards against your spine, and to your shoulder blades. He gently pressed you further against the seat so that your back was arched even more.

"gonna stretch you out, gonna be ruined for anyone else." He growled against the shell of your ear. “You’re gonna be daddy’s favorite fuckin’ slut when he’s finished with you, babygirl.”

And then you felt the head of his cock press against the seam of your dripping cunt, teasing your folds and bumping against your neglected clit. “Look at you already creamin’ all over daddy’s cock. Barely even inside of you yet, sweetheart.”

You lurched forward when you felt him begin to press you open inch by inch till he was bottomed out with his hips pressed firmly against your ass. Your mouth fell open in an ‘o’ shape as he set an immediate punching rhythm that knocked the air from your lungs.

“Oh—oh fuck!” You moaned, listening to the lewd sounds of skin on skin slapping together. The squelch of your pussy and his heavy, guttural grunts as he pounded his hips into your ass over and over again.

“God, you're such a slut, babygirl. Daddy’s perfect little slut. You give it this good to all the boys, huh? God, your pussy is huggin’ me so goddamn tight.” He groaned out, almost forgetting that he had his phone in his hand still as his forehead came to rest upon your upper back. He slowed his thrusts down momentarily so you could catch your breath and he could check in on you.

“You good, babygirl?”

“Mhmm. Never better.”

He ground his hips against your ass, rolling them forward so you could feel all of him inside of you. Just when you had a moment to catch your breath, he picked the pace up once more and tossed his phone to the side so he could wrap both arms around you, yanking you back against his chest.

"such a whore, babygirl. Workin’ your way through our whole family, aren't you?" He whispered against the shell of your ear, biting down on it with his teeth as he fucked up into you at a new angle.

One hand groped one of your breasts while the other rested along the base of your neck. He was careful to not apply any pressure and get too caught up in the moment. He could feel your pussy fluttering around him, squeezing him like a vice with each pull and drag of his cock. Your eyes were shut in bliss, unabashed moans slipping past your lips as the coil in your belly was pulled tight.

The windows in Tommy’s truck had significantly begun to fog up from the steam that your activities were producing. And despite the discreet location that Tommy was parked in, you couldn’t help the rush you felt when you thought of the possibility of someone—or even Joel catching you and Tommy in this position.

Would he join right in? Fuck—

“Daddy—don’t stop, please!” You cried out, feeling that coil being pulled even tighter as your thighs began to tremble, and tears flooded your eyes: tears of overwhelming pleasure.

“That’s it, babygirl. Such a good fuckin’ cockslut for daddy. Good fuckin’ girl. You gonna come all over daddy’s cock? C’mon! Wanna see you fuckin’ coat me, sweetheart. Come all over my fuckin’ cock.” He snapped his hips forwards then, feeling his own release begin to catch up to him, but you always came first. Tommy would never let you, or any of his girls, not come before him.

He dropped one of his hands from your breasts to thum at your already sensitive clit to push you right on over the edge as you cried out his name, pulsing around his cock and seeing stars dancing behind your closed eyelids.

“There you go, babygirl. There you fuckin’ go.” His tone was much softer now as he slowly slipped out of you, his cock gleaming in your release. He gently flipped you over onto your back, cradling your face delicately in his big hands.

You had a cockdumb look on your face. Completely blissed out and in a whole other world. Your thighs fell open, as your own release drooled down the the seam of your fucked out hole and onto the interior leather seats. In this relaxed position, your pussy let out a squelching sound of air being released, causing you and Tommy to both laugh.

“Fucked her pretty good, didn’t I?” He chuckled to himself and pressed a kiss to your sweaty forehead. “You okay if I take a little look at her, babygirl? I wanna see the mess you made.”

“Mhmmm.” You hummed, lashes fluttering shut as you stretched your arms behind your head in a languid, relaxed movement.

Tommy reached for his discarded phone bringing it back down right over your still pulsing cunt as his fingers gently spread you open, sliding through the milky residue of your release.

“Fuck. So pretty, babygirl. You have such a pretty pussy.” He leaned down and pressed a light kiss to your clit, getting just a little taste before he pulled himself back up. “Definitely gonna have to get my truck detailed after this, sweetheart.” He ended the video, falling back against the seat beside you to catch his own breath.

You let out another soft, cock dumb giggle, peeking one eye open to look over at him. “You really think my pussy is that pretty, Tommy?” You dropped one of your hands to lazily rest along your stomach before dipping it between your thighs, missing that stimulated post-orgasm feeling already.

“Baby, she’s so fucking pretty. Like seriously I could happily watch you play with her for hours and easily get off to it.” He tilted his head to the side to look over at you, grin playing on his lips. “How are you feelin’?”

“Mmm. Joel loves to watch me play with myself too. Guess it’s just a Miller brother thing, huh?” You winked with a giggle. “I feel fucking amazing, Tommy.” Cock dumb and satisfied, you thought.

He preened at your response, resting his arms along the backseats as he let out a relaxed sigh. “Good, baby. I’m real happy to hear that. Means that I did my job right. And what can I say? Joel and I are big pussy lovers.” He chuckled and reached for his phone, texting Joel that they would be back shortly, and attached the video as well.

“Yeah, you guys sure are.”

After about twenty minutes, Tommy had to physically help you to sit up and redress. Your entire body felt like jello and you were still positively fucked out. He helped you out of the backseat, keeping his arm wrapped around you for support as he guided you back inside to the booth.

“Easy now, babygirl. Back into my brother’s lap you go. You just cuddle up with him now, ‘kay? Pussy took a real poundin’, let her rest.” Tommy cooed softly against your ear as Joel gently eased you into his lap, letting you bury your face into his neck and lazily wrap your arms around him.

“Mhmmm.” You mumbled against his neck, face scrunching up as you breathed in his natural aroma while he pressed a kiss to the side of your head, rubbing soothing circles into your back underneath your shirt.

"Did such a good job, baby love. Tommy showed me how sweet you were to him, let him feel how soft and warm you are, hmm? My good girl. Here, baby, I got you water. Need you to take a sip, you worked hard out there." Joel murmured softly to you.

“It was so much fun. Tommy was so good to me, baby. He thinks I have such a pretty pussy.” You softly giggled and blindly reached for the glass of water, pulling your face out from where it was pressed against his neck to guzzle the liquid down before cuddling right back up against him.

“I’m happy to hear that, baby love. I knew y’all were gonna hit it off. M’so proud of my girl. And yes, baby. You do have a pretty pussy. Rest now, ‘kay?”

You were out like a light then all curled up in his lap like a koala without a care in the world.

“Whatcha do to her, huh? Got my baby all cock drunk, Tommy.” Joel asked softly, reaching for his fresh glass of whiskey and took a small sip, careful to not disturb you.

Tommy was back across the booth, a new cigarette between his lips and his arms crossed behind his head in a relaxed position.

“Took ‘er for a real good spin.” He grinned, tapping his fingers along the worn, frayed leather. “Gonna have to get the truck fuckin’ detailed though.”

“That so? She make it all messy?” Joel asked.

“Fuck. Yeah, she made it real messy alright. Had her drippin’ all down the seats.”

Joel grinned at this, glancing down at your sleeping form in pure adoration and pride. “Mmm. I believe it. She’s always fuckin’ drippin.’ Doesn’t matter what time of the day it is, my baby love is always soakin.’”

“That right? Pretty slutty cunt like hers always ready to have a big cock in her, huh?” Tommy stifled a chuckle as he sank further against the seat.

You thought you were just having a wet dream, until your hand found Joel’s and discreetly tucked it between your thighs, pressing the pads of his fingers against your ruined cunt that was pulsing once more. Little needy breaths slipped past your parted lips when he gently began to play with you, understanding that you were silently asking him to make you come one more time. You kissed along his neck, open mouthed with little nibbles here and there as you came in his lap, falling back into a relaxed state.

“Okay, think I gotta get my baby love home and in bed. She’s gonna sleep so good tonight.” Joel softly announced as he nudged you gently.

“Oh, I reckon she will be. You take good care of her, Joel. And text me when y’all are home safe, ‘kay?” Tommy nodded in Joel’s direction.

“You know I will, Tommy. I’ll text ya when we’re home.” He gave his brother a little nod and helped you out of the booth and towards the door. Once you were outside, the fresh air seemed to help you wake up a little more as you leaned all your weight into his side.

“You’re so beautiful, baby love. I’m so thankful for you, y’know that? You did so fuckin’ good. I’m so proud of you, so fuckin’ proud of my girl. Let’s get you home, okay? You’re gonna sleep so good tonight.”

“I love you, Joel Miller.” You murmured into his shoulder, one arm draped around his middle for support. You may have been cock dumb, and completely fucked out, but you words were true. You loved Joel, and he deserved to hear it.

“I love you too, baby love. My beautiful, beautiful girl.”

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fever-fluff · 5 months

Text

Part I - Quick as a Fox

word count: 2.3k (not proof read)

will contain spoilers for the ACOTAR series

“What could Rhysand possibly need that would be out here, Shadowsinger.” Lucien’s voice was thick with disdain, swatting another branch from the thick brush they walked through.

“Scared of getting you breeches a little dirty, Lucien? Doesn’t seem like you do well in the dirt.” Azriel’s sneer was no better, and the innuendo about Elain did not fly past Lucien so easily.

“Believe me, its not the first time I’ve gotten it on my knees, maybe you’d like to hear all about my time in the garden last week-” Lucien was quick to block the fist aiming for his gut, but it threw him off balance all the same, soft ground beneath him not much to grip.

Azriel came at him again, “Shut your filthy mouth, Vanserra.” Lucien just laughed at the male’s brazen behaviour towards the female he’d tried to snatch for himself. It had been months now since the last solstice, and the catastrophe of the necklace had caused a rift between Azriel and Elain that Lucien had, without regret, used to his advantage. Elain was mated to him, and he’d agreed to Rhys’ wish of not inciting a blood rite over the shadowsingers obvious display of disrespect.

He had not pushed Elain in the slightest with his affections, but he had made it clear they were there. And after finding a bitterness under all that façade of sweet, Lucien had coaxed it out. It turned out she had more in common with Nesta than they’d all first thought, and he relished in the fire when she let it out.

The two tumbled as they fought, both to engrossed in getting another blow to the others face when they stumbled down a concealed ridge. They had separated just as the reached the bottom, and went to got at it again until Lucien noticed what they’d fallen into.

“Mother above”

Azriel looked to what was behind him, sucking in a breath and the grove of statues they’d landed in. “What the damned is this place?” walking around, the two noticed now that they were not statues, but petrified bodies of fae of all kinds. Lucien stopped in front of a certain one, loosing a shudder as he recognised the face in front of him. “I can’t be…”

Azriel joined his side, analysing the kneeling figure in from of him. The arms were twisted as if two fae had hold of her while the magic took effect. A sneer crossed her features, and he felt a shiver as he though of what it might have looked like in flesh. There was pure hatred in those eyes, and the snarl of her lips was something that he’d only seen on the most animalistic of his kind. Though she looked to be high fae, with pointed sharp ears, her demeanour was something he’d place in a wild beast.

“We need to free her.” “Are you mad?!” Lucien had already turned and began sifting through his sack, pulling viles as he went. “Lucien, who the Hel is she?!” he started mixing different liquids together, the mixture turning all different shades of different colours too quick for Azriel to catch.

“Someone who may be able to help.” “Hah…?”

Before Azriel could stop him, Lucien poured the new potion on to the top of the statue, and waited as it took effect. It was a simple reversal but depending on the depth of the initial fae's magic when she had been petrified, the time to undo the curse was debatable.

So they sat a respectable distance apart, and watched the statue like hawks. The sun had started to dip in the sky by the time they noticed the stone slowly shift, and a pale complexion took its place. Her chest began to slowly rise and fall, and a flutter of her eyelids became stronger as the hours passed on.

The moon had taken its place in the sky, and both males had drifted off into the land of the unconscious until they heard harsh coughing. The statue, now skin, moved achingly while the faes body returned to normal. Lucien cautiously moved towards her with a canister of water, “Fox, its alright, we’re not here to harm you...” The slap of the canister from Lucien’s hand was quick and strong, too strong for someone who had atrophied for mother only knows how long now. What was even more miraculous was the speed she moved towards the brush to their right, finding a small stream to gulp out of heavily. Azriel made to move on her, but Lucien held his hand up as a signal to wait, “don’t spook her, unless you don’t like having limbs anymore.”

Once she’d had her fill, she turned her eyes to the two of them, and he could have sworn they flickered between a serpent’s slits to the fae oval. As she spoke, her voice cracked from years of disuse, but he could hear the power she could wield it with, “I suggest you both start talking before you have no more tongues to do so.”

Azriel’s responding growl was low, truth-teller now grasped in his hand as he etched closer to her, “you shouldn’t make threats you can’t follow through on, bitch. In your state, this is going to go only one way. With your throat at my bla-”

Too fast. Way too fast for someone only after waking from such a long prison did the woman lunge for Azriel, snapping at his wrist with both hands and knocking the knife from his hand. He didn’t have time to reach for another as her body morphed, twisting into muscle and scales, wrapping round his body and wings and tightening instantly. She’d wrapped the latter half of her body round him like a snake, leaving her upper body in the fae state and sneered when he choked for air as she squeezed, “what was that? Sorry, I cant hear you over your own spit.”

“Fox, let him go, please.” Lucien had backed up, hands in surrender. Her gaze moved to him, and the recognition that lanced through her eyes did nothing to ease the grip she had on Azriel’s body. “I never thought I’d see a child of autumn beg for the life of an Illyrian.”

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know. But the High Lord of Night won’t take it well if you kill his spymaster on my watch.” Finally, she eased herself off, and Aziel gasped for the precious air he’d missed. She’d put a reasonable amount of distance between them all, still on guard with how the serpentine part of her body coiled like a spring. Once he’d finally reached his feet again, she started looking for answers, “How long have I been asleep? How do you know who I am?”

“If my brother’s words are something to go off of, half a century, maybe more.” Lucien flashed her that goddamned smile, “I’m Lucien, Beron’s youngest son.”

That didn’t seem to placate her like he’d hoped, and Lucien wasn’t quick enough to move away from her attack. Talons retched from her fingernails, and she had him in her grip before he even had a chance to realise. “I suggest you keep his name out of your mouth, child, before I really do rip out your tongue.”

“He’s telling the truth, he’s a Vanserra.” Azriel wouldn’t make it in time to stop her if she made for his neck. She snorted, “And what makes you think I would believe a word that comes out of your mouth, Shadowsinger.” Shit, she’d caught on to his shadows. He pulled them back from the two, holding up his hands in the fashion Lucien had before. “You know who I am?”

“Everyone knows the little toy the High Lord of Night uses in his arsenal of weapons, though congrats on the promotion. Spymaster seems fitting for your type of… constitution.”

She’s turned her attention back to the redhead lying beneath her, “If you are telling the truth, my lord won’t be too happy if I slit this lovely, tanned neck of yours. So, I suggest you both stay where you are until I am far enough away to not turn back and change my mind.”

“wha-”

She was gone before the two could blink.

“What in gods damned was that, Lucien?!” Azriel’s anger was far beyond livid. But the autumn male simply stood, rubbing at his neck, still feeling the ghost of her claws on his skin.

“Her name’s fox. She’s been missing since before the war. One of the most dangerous fae Beron ever had under his control. He used to tell me stories of her, to scare me into going to bed.”

“And you didn’t think waking her would be a bad idea, considering she has no clue who you are?!” Lucien winced under his tone, “I thought she’d smell that we were related, nothing gets past her senses. But I suppose I really didn’t think…”

“Rhysand is gonna be pissed, you realise this?” Azriel started to pace. If they really had released something like that with no safeguards, nothing to stop her from returning to Autumn, they could be in for a lot more trouble with Beron than they first expected.

“Yea, I know.” The two made to go back to Velaris, winnowing silently.

Quick. Quick as a fox. You need to be fast, faster than anything that might catch you. His voice rang in your ears as you sprinted through the thicket, four paws pushing silently off the ground at each lurch of your body. Come on, fox. I know you’re faster than that. The hounds are going to rip you to shreds if they catch you, I wont hold them back. Gods, you needed to run. If you were still in the grove, that meant you were only one court away from Autumn, the winter court.

Sure enough, a border of ice and snow came into view, and the fur you wore changed from the fire red of his hair to the white of winter. They’d never feel you breach the border; animals came and went as seasons changed, even in the eternal courts. And your winter body would blend you into one of them long enough for you to pass through unnoticed. You’d run, run as fast as you could until you reached him.

Five hundred years you haven’t been watching from the shadows. Watching and waiting. You knew the day they took you he wouldn’t look for you. You had failed him, had gotten caught. You are my fox, quick and sly. But if you get caught in a snare, there will be nothing I can do to stop the hunters from claiming their game.

Hours had passed until you reached the land of Autumn, and your body returned to the red that you never forgot in your imprisonment. It was all you could remember of him, that and his cruel disposition. You had forgotten his eyes, but never the feeling as they landed on you with cold contempt.

You made for the cabin on the base of the mountains. You knew he’d keep it warded. And all you had to do was cross the threshold and he’d come for you.

Being encased in that stone should have turned you mad, but the hot anger you had been laced with for the change had kept you burning with sanity. You would be no good to him if you’d freed yourself and come back with no wits. So it had burned, for year upon year, until the red head idiot decided he knew who you were and released you.

He hadn’t smelt like Beron, you’d checked. Lady of Autumn, sure, but Beron was no where in his blood. You wondered what happened there.

The cabin was in sight when you felt your legs give out. Shifting back, you wobbled on fae legs to the front of the porch. But you couldn’t sit. If he came and couldn’t remember you, you’d have to make fast work at fleeing before he decided you were a threat to his oasis.

It didn’t take long for the beating of hooves and the pounding of paws to reach your ears. Light flickered in the distance, one lone torch among the forest of orange and yellow.

Standing steady, you raised your head as the face you’d forgotten became clear. Gods, now that it was in front of you again, you realised it had never left you. It haunted your dreams, your nightmares, and every waking moment you sat kneeling in that grove. You'd only forgotten that it was real, and not a figment of your trapped mind.

Nothing was said as the hounds came charging, ready to tear whatever decided to breach their master’s property. But the wave of scent you let wash over you had them stopping in their tracks. Now unsure of whether you were truly the threat they were first ordered to rid.

“State your business, before I am no longer lenient with my dogs’ lag.” He voice sounded harder than you could think to remember. You hated it, wondering what he'd done in the time you were gone to sound like that. But you bowed deep, knee hitting the wood beneath you in reverence, “my lord.”

You didn’t dare lift your head, couldn’t bear it if you looked up and saw nothing of recognition in his eyes. But the sharp inhale, small enough that only you would ever hear it, loosed the fear filling your chest. “Fox?” you smiled.

“It’s been a long time, Eris.”

#pro eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris x reader #eris vanserra angst #eris vanserra #autumn court #acotar fandom #acomaf #a court of thorns and roses #azriel acotar #lucien vanserra #beron vanserra #high lord eris #high lord of autumn

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tadpolesonalgae · 11 months

Text

Demon!Azriel x Reader: Teeth and Talons

Summary: you’re accused of witchcraft and sacrificed to the shadow creatures, only to be saved by their ruler who’s suspiciously in sudden need of a bride…

Warnings: demon!Azriel, drinking blood (more vampiric), mentions of cannibalism, sexual tension, rituals, monsterform! azriel?, biting

A/N: I do want to make a small note that @azrielscrown ’s Prince of Hell series made me want to write my own demon!Azriel fic!

-Part 2- -Part 3-

Visual Prompt here!

You’re a trembling mess, cold sweat slicking your body with sallow skin, temperature fluctuation from sizzling to so cold you feel you’ll seldom be capable of movement once the fit has passed. You know what the priests will say. Possession. They’ll say you’re being inhabited by a shadow creature, tie you to the bed and mist sacred water across you until your body shatters.

The fever isn’t subsiding, and you’re not the first to succumb to the strange plague sweeping through the citadel. Just one of many poor, unfortunate souls. You’ve heard they’ve taken to burning the bodies. Some not completely void of life before they’re set alight.

Is this really the end? It swept in so abruptly, seizing you firmly as it ravages you internally. You can only hope death will come silently.

————————

When you wake, your rags are soaked with sweat, a dark pool having formed beneath you, yet you are no longer being sieged by heat. Your brow is clear of sweat, your limbs no longer being wracked with tremors.

You’re struck by the peculiarity of the miracle. Nobody else has survived. Surely if the plague wasn’t fatal word of mouth would have carried the news to the emperor by now. Not as if he would know what to do. Not as he if was actually ruling.

Maybe some god had taken pity on you.

You should make an offering to Thesan.

————————

The following morning you were arrested. Witchcraft, they said.

Not miracle-worker. That was reserved for men.

The stories had willingly flown in. A woman without husband, living by herself, suddenly recovering from an absolutely fatal plague? Corruption. A pact made with the Lord of the underground. The king of Hel.

Devil worshipper.

Witch.

Whore.

The last you knew had nothing to do with the allegations and everything to do with your sex. It didn’t make the sting and less painful.

————————

You’re thrown to your knees at the foot of the dais, the boy-king sat atop the throne, lounging in a bored fashion. He only perked up when he was brought ‘visitors’, or rather, people for him to inflict punishment.

Candle-wic, he cries, clapping his hands in puerile manner, his young mouth lifting into a gleeful smile as he points at you. How a child could so joyfully sentence someone to being doused in scalding tarmac only to be then set aflame, you could hardly fathom, yet here the boy-king sat, dictating your fate with a flick of his youthful hand.

His advisor advises him. Something less flamboyant. More discreet.

It’s the first time you’re setting eyes upon the emperor’s advisor and you’re not at all surprised to see the old man with already fading hair and wrinkles that swallow his eyes beneath flaps of loose skin. But that’s what you catch on. Eyes black as the devil’s, black like you’ve never seen black. Dark as pitch.

They’re alarmingly void, more than anyone’s have any right to be…and lacking in definition. Just one solid layer glazing across the obsidian coloured surface. Depthless.

He suggests leaving you for the devil you sold your heart to in order to revive a remedy. There’s no use in proclaiming your piety, their minds are set. You’re a threat to their power, an unseen obstacle and must be dealt with accordingly.

————————

And that’s how you find yourself in the centre of The Blood Rite. The private ceremony is reserved for great warriors to prove their worth. Though apparently, it serves as a discreet method of elimination for unwanted - innocent or not - citizens.

The earth is damp beneath your knees, the bones sinking into the mud. Your wrists are bound painfully - a courtesy that would not be extended to a warrior. The ties are designed to hinder, to make an already inevitably gruesome death all the more horrid by removing any ridiculously self-indulgent notions of escape.

Your breath fogs as you exhale harshly, the night air freezing your lungs with every breath. How long had you been kneeling here, waiting patiently for your end? Because it’s coming for you. There’s no point of struggling. Movement would only catalyse the inevitable. Maybe if you remained still, calmed your heart and removed any sort of thrum from your body the unknown entity would leave you be.

Wishful thinking.

The night air presses in on you, goosebumps pebbling up your forearms, hackles rising at your back. There’s a presence to the forest you’ve been dumped in, a cloying madness that lies between the trees, stalking every silent breath of damp air.

A twig snaps to your right, tension rippling up your body, neck flushing with heat as terror seeps from your being. Your eyes dart around the forrest in a frenzied dance.

A shadow flickers in your peripheral vision, darting behind a tree. Pulses thrum through you, beating your blood melody loud and clear. How long would your death last? Would you unnecessarily suspended in those agonising moments that should be limited to mere seconds? Or would the dark beasts draw out your torture, playing with the shreds of your skin with carnal delight.

Something rustles to your left, like a hurried shuffle through leaves, only made to taunt and confuse. Made to misdirect.

Then something pounces on you, sharp claws biting into your shoulders as you’re slammed backwards into the ground. Maybe it would be quick, but not painless. A beast wreathed in shadow, four paws with talons the length of your forearm and rows of razor sharp teeth that glitter with wet saliva beneath the silver moonlight. It has an elongated snout, a flat nose sliding over the protrusion, skin around it’s eyes peeled back to be permanently bulging.

It shoves it’s snout against the spoonful of your abdomen, sizing up how big a bite to take. You pray, silver lining your eyes as your body trembles, petrified to the spot. You can easily imagine entrails decorating it’s teeth like the wreathing in temples. Your stomach lurches.

Then it releases an ear splitting scream, agony slicing down your ears as it howls to the sky. Hot, dark liquid splatters onto your torso, followed by a wet ripping sound. Its blood - you assume that’s the liquid - smells of damp clothes left in a pile beneath the sun: stagnant. Admittedly, not the worst scent.

The large creature goes lax, slumping forward, toppling on top of you. You’re crushed by the weight that slugs into you, knocking the breath from your lungs as you careen backward.

The beast is nudged aside by a large protrusion of shadow, flipping the creature onto its back, allowing you to see the viscera spilling from its soft, round belly. A cold sweat slicks your skin, hairs standing on end as inherent dread twists you round it’s sharp talons.

The humanoid shadow steps forward and you’re frozen in place, hardly able to even shift a muscle as it prowls closer. Until it’s stood in front of you. Fight or flight kicks in, everything kickstarting inside of you as you scramble to your feet, finding safe purchase on the forest floor.

You back up, paralysed with fear as you watch the creature, shadows flickering at its silhouette. Before you really have a chance to move, or even do anything, the shadows swarm forward and you feel rough hands gripping your upper arms.

The last thought you have is how abnormally elongated the creatures talons are, like those on a phœnix.

————————

Your mind can barely comprehend the information. Words turning to mush in your brain, thoughts slowing to a sluggish squelch as you sit across from the dæmon. Azriel.

Azræl? You had asked, trying to pronounce the word on your tongue, but the syllables simply bumbled together. He’d shaken his head, Azriel, he’d repeated. You’d kept you silence, deciding the chance of spelling it out in your mouth to his liking was low enough to class as a risk. Instead you’d swallowed and nodded. He’d looked as though he’d push, but his eyes flicked to the bowl in front of you, ordering you to eat.

All he’d told you was he was in need of a human bride. Not why. Or what your role was. Nothing. So you went on with nothing, deciding to follow his command to eat, despite the protests from your stomach.

You look down only to see there’s no cutlery. Your lips part silently in question, flicking about the table as he watches you from the opposite end, marking your actions. His gaze makes you squirm in your seat, discomfort pressing down on you.

Eventually you swallow, lifting your gaze to his nervously. That was another thing, his eyes: Eyes black as the devil’s, black like you’ve never seen black. Dark as pitch.

“May I have a knife and fork?” You request, voice hoarse and scratchy. His eyes bore into you, piercing your soul as they filter through your pupils. You swallow again, throat feeling dry. The table has a single jug - no glasses. The water is crystal clear, mist condensing over the glass, no doubt refreshingly cool. Your parched throat is desperate for reprieve, yet he gives you none.

You’re in Hel, he’d told you. That was becoming clear.

You try sitting in silence with him, but he keeps staring at you with those wild, pitch black eyes, pupils that swallow his irises - if dæmons have irises.

“You’re not going to inquire why I selected you?” He breaks the silence, his deep voice rolling across to you, encompassing your sentences.

“I’m not so conceited as to believe you intentionally chose me,” you reply, steeling your spine as your eyes flick to his. “You are clearly a creature of self-serving narcissism.” Is it wise to say that to a dæmon that technically saved your life? Either way, you hope he doesn’t hold that over you. Dæmons can be…unkind when it comes to their debts.

“Creature over beast?” He responds. Despite the casual tone he’s using, his sharp gaze reminds you it’s anything but. “Are you a beast?” You settle on.

“That’s for you to decide for yourself.”

You bite off some of the fluffy bread, “so there’s no definitive answer?”

He cocks his head, amusement sparking in his obsidian gaze. The movement makes you pause. You have close to zero idea what his intentions are.

You swallow. “You’re not going to eat anything?” You nod to his end of the table, void of any eating instruments. What do dæmons eat, anyway? Do they eat?

A slow smile lifts the edges of his mouth, the tips of glittering canines protruding beneath his lips. There’s nothing remotely kind about it.

Discomfort coils in your lower belly. You’re no longer hungry. Moving slowly, you quietly push the plate away a little, lowering your hands to your lap as you shift in the chair. Something gleams in his eyes and you wonder if he derives pleasure from the buildup of tension before a kill. Immediately, you regret the thought.

“I think I’m full,” you announce, softly, hoping you’ll be allowed to leave the chamber. “Not curious about my eating habits?” He drawls. You know you probably don’t want to hear the answer, but he’s not really giving you a choice. All you can hope for is that it won’t upend the contents of your stomach.

“It didn’t seem as though you were keen on answering,” you reply, watching your hands fiddle in your lap.

He hums, and you prepare yourself. But silence follows.

When you lift your gaze to see what he’s doing, he’s gone, seat empty. It’s unnerving being in his presence, but at least you have a vague sense of where he is. Now you feel as if he’s watching from every corner. You shift in your seat, heart pounding.

A hand wraps beneath beneath your jaw and you flinch, jumping in your seat. He pulls your head to the side, lips grazing the sensitive skin of your neck as your fingers turn white with how hard they’re biting into the wood of the chair arm. Your jaw tightens as you feel the menacing scrape of canines tracing your throat, every muscle in your body turning rigid as you shrink into the chair.

“How obedient,” he drawls, the muffled murmur making your hair stand on end. “I bet I could sink my teeth into you and you wouldn’t move a muscle.” Your breathing turns shallow as you try to limit your movement. “Isn’t that right, bride?” His razor sharp teeth scrape a little too close, a hot stinging sensation prickling your neck. You try to lean away from him but his grip tightens.

“You eat humans?” The tremble in your voice is prominent, and you’re surprised you don’t stutter with the fear that’s thrumming along with your heartbeat. “Among other things,” he drawls, inhaling your scent as you try not to move. Your breath catches as he opens his mouth over your throat, a whimper working it’s was from your own as terror climbs higher. A quiet squeak leaves you as his tongue swipes out, hot and wet, dragging over your skin as he tastes you.

“I can imagine how your skin would come apart beneath my teeth.” Another scrape, followed by that sting. He huffs a dark laugh onto your neck, “does that terrify you, bride?” White spots swim in your vision, dark blotches accompanying them as he squeezes on your throat.

Then he’s pulled back, the spot on your neck feeling cold and empty now his mouth is no longer latched onto you.

“Come, it’s time to retire.”

————————

I can imagine how your skin would come apart beneath my teeth.

The more you replay the words, the stronger the thrill they send spilling inside of you. You have to remind yourself it would be painful. Unpleasantly so. It wouldn’t the be sting he’d given you over the meal, it would be a frenzied shredding. Ripping and tearing as you’re pulled apart beneath his teeth and talons.

If he becomes bored of you, or you fail to meet any expectation of his, would he be free to replace you? Your brow furrows. Are you dead? Surely nothing alive can exist in the underworld. It’s a home for the damned.

Are you damned?

An adrenaline-fuelled smile cracks your lips. Maybe he’s your damnation.

What a silly thought.

At least the bed looks comfy. It’s circular - you hadn’t known they could be circular - and has a distinct lacking of pillows and blankets that you would have expected to decorate the mattress. Maybe that’s just another difference between your kinds.

“You don’t like it.” Displeasure drips from his words as you jump. He’s a very quiet predator. Automatically, you retreat a few steps, finding him directly in front of you when you turn to face his voice. He follows like a dance partner, hand gripping your jaw as he looks down at you, face blank. “Ungrateful,” he taunts, softly.

“I’m curious about the bedding,” you stammer, hauling yourself together. “The nest is fashioned after your own,” he replies, eyes remaining on yours as he pulls you closer, “you did not seem to value them in your own den.”

Heat flushes your cheeks, eyes snapping away from his, “they’re expensive.”

“Steal, then.” You bite back your reply, that if you were caught, you’d suffer a less than favourable death. His brow twitches, “swallow your tongue and be surprised when you choke,” he mutters.

“What?”

He releases your jaw, stalking away, leaving you dazed and confused.

————————

He prowls through your thoughts that night, every scene you dreamt up tainted by a dark shadow lurking just out of sight. The presence grows more sinister as the imagery drags on, growing stronger with every second. He brings a flare of heat with him, every touch of shadow sending flame to lick between your thighs until the dreamscape shifts.

You’re lying on the circular mattress, darkness shrouding the surrounding room, lit only by candles. The milky wax melts to the floor, moving in circles until it forms a tight ring around the mattress. Then, the streams start looking toward your bed, rolling beneath you to inevitably join.

It’s an altar.

Your heart pounds as you look up, that dark presence returning, lurking at the end of the mattress. His pitch black irises take up the whole of his eyes, leaving the ball smothered in darkness. There’s no doubt he looking at you. Shadowy sinew runs beneath his skin, and you follow the lines with your eyes.

He’s naked. Completely without clothing.

Gorgeous. Crafted. Divine.

He’s different from earlier. The blotted out eyes and sinew aside, his canines are more pronounced, fur dusts his abdomen, thickening as you follow down. The same black veins pulse along his cock that’s hard and swollen. Begging to rut into something.

You’re desperate for water, throat parched as you tear your gaze away, dragging it over the rest of him. Scars lacerate his torso, decorating the corded muscle of his arms. Sharp talons split from the skin of his fingertips, curved and razor sharp. As long as your forearm, you would guess, if not longer.

You suck in a breath, raising your gaze to his blacked out eyes. He’s hungry. Ravenous. All of it piercing into you as you shift in the nest, trying to slowly shuffle backward. You catch sight of yourself as you’re doing so, clothed only in a white robe that’s barely concealing your breasts. The lace reaches just past your elbows before it cuts of, and the rest of the silky fabric does nothing to conceal your heat from him. He has the perfect view of you: your thighs are parted though you’re trying to squeeze them together, nipples peaking through the sheer silk.

But he doesn’t move. He just stands there, watching. Waiting.

He’s waiting on you. Waiting for you to come to him.

Heat spools between you thighs as a sinful curve tips the edges of his mouth, like he’s hearing your thoughts and giving you the confirmation you need. You’re not sure what will happen if you don’t adhere to whatever ritual he’s caught you in.

But you know you’re in a dream. You’re asleep; safe. He can’t hurt you here. It means nothing.

Maybe that’s why you shift onto your hands and knees when he beckons you toward him with the pull of his middle and index finger, crawling toward him, eyes trained on one another. It’s like you’re enraptured by him, everything around the male fading to negative space as he encompasses your conscious. He’s everything.

You stop when you reach him, tucking your legs beneath you as you kneel before him, hands in your lap. How obedient. His mouth splits open in a murderous grin, baring his sharp canines as he takes in your submissive form. Small.

How he’ll enjoy defiling you.

————————

You wake with a gasp, skin damp but clothed. You pant, fingers gripping the mattress as you haul down lungfuls of air.

“Bad dream?”

You scream, jerking away from the voice, scrambling backward but a hand wraps around your ankle. He pulls you toward him, making you scream harder, kicking as your night robe rides up until the silk is pooling at your waist.

He snarls at the noise, lifting from his stomach, muscle flexing with the movement, as he climbs on top of you. His hand covers your mouth, silencing you as he straddles your middle. The male sleeps naked. You silently thank his shadows for sparing you the humiliation of a shameful flush decorating you cheeks should you have seen him again, in such a short span.

Silver lines your eyes as those same shadows tie your wrists down.

Terror sets in and you open your mouth, biting down hard on his hand. He doesn’t even flinch. Only cocks his head in what seems like confusion, pulling his hand away to examine it. You still, not knowing what to do. You don’t want to provoke him any further. “You bit me,” he states, eyes flicking to yours, back to normal.

Then a dark laugh rumbles from his chest as one hand grips your jaw, the other thumbing your upper lip away from your teeth, “how adorable.” The pad of the digit runs beneath the blunt edge of your canine, pressing against the enamelled bone, “what were you expecting to do with these?”

You tremble beneath him, the true power imbalance dawning on you. His teeth broke your skin by grazing it, while he’s pressing against your own canine without so much of an ounce of pain showing.

I can imagine how your skin would come apart beneath my teeth.

Before you can manage anything he’s pressing his face into the crook of your neck, scenting you. He pulls back, nostrils flaring.

“You’re in heat.”

“I’m not an animal,” you breathe, a hot flare of indignation flushing your skin. Despite the denial, warmth envelops your body, settling deeper in the pit of your belly. “It just happens sometimes,” you hiss, hot embarrassment flushing your cheeks. “It’s not something I can help.”

“I can.”

“No.”

He tilts his head, lips curving into a malevolent grin, “you’re aroused. That’s what a husband is for.” Your breath hitches at his implication. “You aren’t my husband.”

“Not yet. But you’re still mine.”

“I am not.” His thumb brushes against the soft skin of your neck and you flinch, feeling the sting his canines left. “Maybe to you. But you’re surrounded by my kind. They’ll understand my mark.” Your eyes widen, “you can’t do that,” you breathe, “you can’t just lay claim to any human you want.”

He leans closer and you press back into the bed, “what’s stopping me?” The words brush over your mouth and you shiver.

You’re aware of the shadows thrumming around the bed, how his powerful arms are caging you in, but it’s taken you a while to realise there’s something hard poking into your middle. You squirm beneath him, trying to wriggle out of his dominating hold. “I said: what’s stopping me?” He growls, hand fisting in your hair as he yanks you upward, his mouth grazing leisurely along the lifeline in your throat.

A whimper claws its way up your throat and he laughs at the sound, canines searching for their earlier mark. “That’s right,” he purrs, lapping once over the scratches before he lines his teeth up, preparing to bite down, “nothing.” His fangs sink into your skin and you don’t even have enough breath to scream.

His shadows loosen and your hands instantly fly to his hair, nails raking over his scalp. He doesn’t let up and you grasp onto him desperately, clawing for something to grip, to tie yourself to for some form of safety. You go lightheaded as he feeds.

The myths you’ve heard about their drinking habits are false. In the tales they don’t leave a drop behind, needing every ounce to sustain themselves. For Azriel, it’s a display of decadence. He doesn’t need every drop. He’s drinking you up for his own enjoyment. You aren’t a necessity, or even a luxury; you’re a gluttonous indulgence.

Blood trails hot paths down your neck, sloping over your collar bone, trailing between your breasts as the liquid flows down your body. It spills over your back, saturating the bed with sanguine flavour. Then he pulls back, licking over the bite mark to heal it. You receive a metallic zap, and you’re sealed. Fresh as ever.

He looks down at you, soaking in your look of shock as he releases your hair, a blood-red slash instead of a grin. It drips from his lips, weighted droplets splashing on your chest, staining the silk night clothes. “My side is fulfilled,” he drawls. Your vision swims, fingers releasing their grasp on his soft hair, brushing over his shoulders before falling at your middle.

You manage a few shaky pants before he’s lowering his mouth, a surprised whimper being stolen from your lips as he settles over you. The blood mixes with his taste, tongue sliding over yours as his canines inadvertently slice up the inside of your lips. You lie there, passive, still very much in shock.

With the little strength you have left, you bite down on his tongue. Blood - not yours, this time - fills your mouth, gushing from the wound you’ve made. His eyes snap open angrily, hands brutally digging into your shoulders as he shoves away from you. Fury dances in his charcoal eyes before it’s smothered.

“If I’m going to choke on anyone’s tongue,” you hiss, words dripping with venom, “it’ll be yours. Not mine.”

Taglist: @myheartfollower

#demon! Azriel #acotar #dark! Azriel #Azriel smut #acotar au #azriel acotar #shadowsinger #Teeth and Talons

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echo-bleu · 10 months

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Noldor hair headcanons (1/4)

With AO3 down, it seems like a good time for some good old tumblr bullet-point pseudo-fic (I'll post it on AO3 eventually).

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | On AO3

Note: Inspiration for some parts of this came from @mynameisjessejk's wonderful Otter Mayhem series which you should go read when it's possible again.

The Noldor wear their hair in elaborate braids.

Hairstyle is a status thing, so noble Noldor have the most complex styles. They’re meant to show off craft, so there’s a lot of jewellery and gemstones involved, and the nobles’ hairstyles purposefully can’t be self-braided.

But touching hair is a very intimate thing and it’s never done by servants, always by family (spouse, siblings, parents or children). It’s a show of love and respect, if someone has a particularly complex hairstyle it’s supposed to mean that they’re well-loved.

Now Finwë as the king must have the most complex hairstyle of all. Míriel was of course very good at it, she’d weave and sew beads into his hair every morning, making each hairstyle a work of art.

When she fades, Fëanor is still really young, and he has to learn real quick to do his father’s hair, which he of course takes as a challenge. He starts making all of Finwë’s hair jewellery himself, he experiments with dozens of braiding styles. In the early months/years of their grief Finwë finds a lot of comfort in having his hair braided and they’ll both spend entire days beside Míriel’s body, with Fëanor braiding his father’s hair over and over.

Then Indis comes along, and hair braiding is traditionally the spouse’s work. It’s very hard for Fëanor not to feel like he’s been replaced (and not just his mother), especially since Indis has zero interest in it and Finwë’s hairstyles grow markedly simpler. Which is also not great for his reputation.

Nerdanel and Fëanor, once they marry, are extremely competitive and keep trying to outdo each other’s braids. It’s highly entertaining to outsiders, especially since it’s the only remnant of the Crown Prince’s more playful side. When little Maitimo comes out with red hair like Nerdanel’s, Fëanor bitches about having to make even more copper jewellery (he’s secretly overjoyed because he loves Nerdanel’s hair).

Fëanor is also careful to always have better braids than his half brothers, though Findis starts braiding Fingolfin and Finarfin’s hair as soon as she’s old enough, and she’s pretty good at it, unlike Indis.

Anairë’s hair texture is very different from anyone Fingolfin knows. He’s never been that into hair before, but he learns to do her braids with his tongue poking out. Once she figures out what to do with straight hair, she braids his into brand new styles that Fëanor is terribly jealous of.

Fingon has extremely thick kinky hair that takes a ridiculously long time to braid, and he’s very proud of it, thank you very much.

Thankfully for Fingolfin and Anairë, none of their other children have hair quite as thick.

Eärwen is Teleri and keeps her hair mostly loose. She wants none of that nonsense, especially not gems in her hair, come on. If she puts anything in her hair it’s gonna be pearls. She’ll do Finarfin’s hair if he really insists on it but if he wants the children to follow Noldor rites so much, he’ll have to take care of it himself. (He’s pretty good at it, actually.)

Maedhros and Fingon start doing each other’s hair in secret before Fëanor’s exile.

Celegorm switches from Noldor style to hunting braids when he joins Oromë’s hunt. They’re more practical and involve a lot less metal.

People have whole legends about how great it must be to braid Artanis’s hair, but it’s actually really fine and fragile and a nightmare. She insists that the only one who can do it right is Finrod. He tries to foist that chore on others a lot.

Aredhel and Curufin bond over hating to have their hair touched (sensory issues). Eventually they start doing each other’s hair because they know what to avoid.

Fëanor asking Galadriel for her hair is an Actual Taboo given that they’re not close (by the time Gimli asks, Galadriel has adopted Sindarin hair practices, but it’s also a fuck-you to Fëanor that she accepts).

At Losgar, (lightly-toasted) Amrod has part of his hair burned off. He is, after that, the very first elf to sport a side-cut, as hair won’t grow back over the scars. He never let anyone but his twin do his hair again.

Crossing the Helcaraxë, Fingolfin’s people try to keep up with tradition, but hair-braiding is hard when your fingers are constantly frozen stiff.

Still, Fingon insists on doing his father’s hair every day, even when he nearly loses fingers to frostbite.

He refuses to let anyone do the same for him, though, and he’s the first to start braiding his own hair. That’s when he starts braiding in golden ribbons, because they’re easier to do than beads, and frozen metal can burn skin.

Gradually they move away from long flowing braids and start making up crown-braid styles that protect their ears. As they progress, braiding becomes less and less about status and more and more practical.

Turgon and Elenwë (who adopted the Noldor style upon marrying) still keep to the tradition and braid each other’s hair and Idril’s right up until Elenwë dies. After that Turgon doesn’t let anyone touch his hair again until Gondolin (and then only Idril).

Finrod and Galadriel do each other’s hair. Galadriel’s fine, brittle hair suffers a lot in the cold, and for a long time she’s afraid that it will never go back to its former glory. It does eventually, but it takes decades.

In Beleriand, Maglor’s main contribution as King Regent is the invention of Mourning Braids (and also a slightly unhealthy number of laments).

Let’s be honest, he’s wearing them more for Maedhros than for Fëanor or Finwë, even though Maedhros is demonstrably still alive.

(No one thinks that will last.)

(Maglor can’t go save his brother and the guilt is staggering.)

(For some reason, Curufin is the one who does Maglor’s impossibly complex Kingly Mourning Braids.)

Then Helcaraxë Team arrives with their frozen fingers and their crown braids and It’s A Mess, Actually.

The Sun has just risen and Fingon’s golden ribbons are really blinding, no one can even look at him.

Listen, they haven’t had proper light in about forty years, they’re really light-sensitive now.

Everyone argues, Fingon makes at least two attempts to sneak out to Thangorodrim but he’s caught because he’s just way too shiny.

Third time’s the charm.

The only reason Maedhros doesn’t see him before he hears him is that he’s even more light-sensitive and just keeps his eyes closed. Also he’s tired. So very tired.

In Angband, Sauron took great pleasure in hacking Maedhros’s hair off and messing with it. When he’s rescued, what has regrown is a tangled, discoloured mess and they have to cut it all off.

Fingon stays with Maedhros a lot throughout his (physical) recovery, which in my mind takes at least the 55 years between his rescue and Dagor Aglareb, and he braids Maedhros’s hair every day, even at the start when it’s barely past his ear. Eventually Maedhros stops fighting and crying when someone touches his hair.

Mostly.

Fingon does tone down the golden ribbons eventually. Mostly because he runs out of Valinorian gold and has to do with Beleriand gold, which just isn’t the same.

To be continued.

#silmarillion #silm fic #tolkien #the silmarillion #feanor #maedhros #maglor #fingon #turgon #idril #echo's fanfiction #noldor hair headcanons

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brabblesblog · 4 months

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Ch 9: The king hath brought me into his chambers: we will remember thy love more than wine.

Astarion has ascended, and she has stayed with him. Life in the Crimson Palace isn’t as idyllic as it seems. Is there a chance for their relationship to go back to how it was? Or is it too late for the Ascendant and his consort?

This series is about Ban, my Tav, and the Vampire Ascendant. Will be angst and smut, with sprinkles of fluff.

This fic is a softer take on Ascendant!Astarion and of the changes he undergoes after the rite. Can Ban handle the change, and if a chance came, would she choose to run? And can the Ascendant win her back in time? Inspired by the concept of vampire wives and that IGN interview with Larian that discussed the ascension.

Professionally edited by @editing-by-night

With the party over, Ban and Astarion share the rest of the night together. Important conversations are had.

Read on AO3.

Masterlist.

The party had ended a little while ago. The remainder had gone by quickly, with Astarion refusing to bring her anywhere near Vel and his spawn. She had fulfilled her usual end of soirée role, standing by the door and seeing the guests out, but the Ascendant had made sure to stand by her as Vel and his retinue left. He’d become particularly protective once he’d realized his focus had faltered during their tryst and all of his summons had been returned to the ether. Thankfully, there had been no further incidents, and he’d relaxed somewhat once the doors had closed behind the last of the guests.

Writing the letter to Gale was hard. Ban frowned, quill in hand. She wanted to slam her face on the table and be done with it.

Said Ascendant was now slipping out of his suit, leaving it a crumpled mess on the floor. Ban winced a bit at the sight. She had always hated him leaving his clothes everywhere, especially when they were always ridiculously expensive.

“A letter?” He quirked an eyebrow, amused. He wasn’t really sure what she was doing, and curiosity won out. Leaning forward, he saw Gale’s name written on the top line.

His expression darkened. “Gale? Really?” He pushed on before he could stop himself. “I came inside you mere hours ago, and you’re already thinking about another man?”

Stop lashing out, you fool. You’ll ruin everything. But he couldn’t help it.

Ban sighed. “I’m actually letting him down, if you must know.” He opened his mouth to respond but she continued, wanting to get her words out before he said something that would escalate the situation. “Had you asked me nicely, I would have told you that right away.”

He stared at her for a moment longer, then his mouth snapped shut. He moved behind her instead, standing at her back. His hands gently worked on her braids, undoing them one by one, a routine he’d always maintained after every event they’d attended. It had usually been a prelude to sex, but tonight, he did it as a nonverbal gesture of apology, which was all his pride would allow.

With her hair free and loose, he gathered it up, draping the ebony locks forward, enjoying the way the silken lengths cascaded over her collarbone. He leaned down, affectionately biting the swell of her shoulder.

“Would you care to join me for a bath, pet?” he whispered into her ear.

She reached back, finding the back of his head and scratching his scalp. “Sure. If you stop calling me pet, at least in private.” Ban understood all too well the need to keep up appearances in the presence of others.

Astarion stopped mouthing at her neck. “Done.” In truth, he hadn’t considered what such nicknames implied. It had begun the moment he’d ascended, his burgeoning ego making it seem all too natural that she’d be fine with it. After all, wasn’t it cute, being someone’s pet? He didn’t think about the deeper implications of it; she didn’t want to be called that, and it was an easy request to grant. That was all there was to it.

He straightened up to undo the clasps of her dress, letting them fall over her shoulders, exposing her small, firm breasts. The sight sent a shiver of arousal through him, but he didn't act on it.

“Let’s bathe together, and then we can retire to our bed,” he said, elated that she’d decided to sleep over. She stood, letting her dress fall to the floor, but unlike him she picked it up.

Ban headed over to his pile of clothes, gathering them up as well, carrying everything to a basket she used to hold sullied clothes for the servants to wash the next day.

That done, she headed for the bathroom, where Astarion already had a bath prepared. The strong smell of lavender wafted towards her, and Astarion smirked as he lowered himself into the tub.

“Join me, lover,” he purred, adoring the sight of Ban climbing into the tub and settling in front of him.

Astarion gestured and she leaned back to let him wet her hair. Reaching for the shampoo, he dispensed some onto his palm and lathered it up, beginning to massage it in with a tenderness bordering on reverence.

“I can have you sent over to the Elfsong tomorrow with a servant to help you gather your things.”

Ban raised an eyebrow. “Who said I’m moving back?”

She leaned back into his touch, but his hands stilled mid-scrub at her words.

“I thought-“

“Only tonight. I said I’m willing to try, not that we’re already there.”

The hands in her soapy hair tightened for the briefest of moments, then loosened and resumed their ministrations, scrubbing the shampoo into her scalp.

“I suppose I misunderstood the terms of what trying meant.” The edge in his voice was back, haughty and unwavering.

She barked out a humorless laugh. “Did you think one or two good days and a good fuck was enough?”

His hands kept working as he considered this. The silence stretched, and Ban could almost hear him trying to figure out the right response. Eventually, he murmured a quick “Tilt your head back, love,” and began to rinse the shampoo out.

Finally, he answered, “I knew it wouldn’t be enough. But for a moment I had hoped it was.” A foolish thought, he was aware. “Are you worried you won’t be able to leave the palace again if you move back?”

“Yes,” she replied immediately. “I have wards against you and your summons. But against your staff? No.” Before, the belief that she was his spawn had kept her in line. But that ruse was gone.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Astarion gritted out. “I want you to do whatever it is you want.” That second bit was harder to spit out, but he needed to say it. It needed to be true, or she’d inevitably abandon him again. He finished rinsing her hair, picking up the scented soap next. Draping her hair over her shoulder, he proceeded with washing her back.

“Then why did you lie about me being a spawn?”

Shit. He wanted to move past all this. Why couldn’t they do that?

“I did say you would have a different experience than a spawn, love.” A half-truth.

“But you also never told me what I was.”

Astarion felt bile rise in his throat, a mixture of fear and anger bubbling in his chest. He finished scrubbing her back, turning her to face him, beginning on her front. As he soaped her chest he cupped a breast, then met her gaze.

There were a lot of things he could say here. That he had hinted at the truth, when he’d told her he’d given her a drop of his blood. That she’d been allowed, even encouraged, to bite him was another hint. He could say he hadn’t even been sure if the ritual had worked. He’d given her less of his blood than was usual, hoping to circumvent the danger of madness inherent to the ritual of turning her into a bride.

None of these were what she was looking for. He gathered what little courage the Ascendant had left, and opened his mouth.

“I figured you would leave me were you to find out the truth. And was I wrong? You did leave me. You left me passed out in a cup of wine, left me like I was just a used up plaything you no longer wanted.”

At his core, that was what Astarion feared most - that he was still a toy. Something to be enjoyed and then discarded once his usefulness had run out. For a time, Ban had worn down fear, and he had started believing in their love. But the moment he had ascended she had turned cold, as though she refused to accept who he had become, and wasn’t willing to try to. As if the moment he’d displeased her, she had punished him by withdrawing her affection.

Then that old fear had come roaring back, and he had needed to ensure she didn’t leave.

He looked down at the breast cradled in his palm, absently swiping a thumb over her nipple.

“Was this all I was good for? To be your sweet, kind Astarion? The Astarion who listened to your every word, who walked a step behind you? The one who needed your help, who stroked your ego, who gave you every pleasure you desired, who needed saving?”

He released her breast, returning to soaping her arm. His eyes didn’t meet hers.

“The moment I wasn’t that, the moment I was free - strong, confident - the moment I was no longer afraid, Ban, you changed.”

He remembered that invisible barrier between them in the last days of fighting the Absolute. He remembered bedding her every single night after the ascension, desperately trying to use what he knew best to regain what was slipping away, even though he hadn’t been exactly sure what it was. He’d finally been able to make love to her without being haunted by the horrors of his past, something he’d wanted so desperately for them to revel in together, yet each time, he’d felt her growing more and more distant. He had buried himself in discovering his newfound powers instead of dwelling too much on that distance - that cooling in their relationship, deciding it was a problem that was best not unearthed, perhaps it was something she would come to him with in time. After all, she was still with him, so it was fine. Everything was fine.

Ban shook her head vehemently. Of course he had misunderstood everything. “Astarion. You changed. All of a sudden you were megalomaniacal, narcissistic, and just - evil! Of course I’d pull away. You were distant. You were suddenly all haughty and there was none of the you that only I knew.”

He stopped soaping her arm. “I was finally strong, finally free! I finally had something to offer you! Don’t you understand?!” His temper got the best of him and he growled, “The rite made me this. Made me better. Stronger. Gave me the chance to claim my due. What I was owed.”

He leaned in close. “After two hundred years of torture and slavery, Ban, I think I deserved it!”

He didn’t tell her that he had also thought ascending would please her. That he could finally be a partner equal to her in strength and prowess, that he could protect her as she had him and provide her with everything she would ever need, immortality foremost amongst them. That she’d be his queen, his right hand, loved and pampered for eternity. The moment she had shown displeasure over that, he’d had to double down on the hedonism and the callousness to protect himself.

Centuries without anyone to care, to know him, to love him. Endless years of bodies and cruelty and pain, with no hope of reprieve. He’d given up hope of ever finding freedom, or happiness, or love - and then she’d come along. She’d seen him and chosen him, had claimed his withered heart, though he had nothing to offer in return. She’d thought him, simply him, to be enough. The idea of losing her, of losing that which had been bestowed upon him like a benediction was unthinkable. His mind had recoiled at the very idea, refusing to accept something so painful, and so he’d hidden himself away, behind layers of extravagance and ego, in a desperate effort not to fall apart.

“The world doesn’t owe us anything, Astarion. And I know you’ve suffered. So much more than you ever deserved.” Ban took the soap from his hand and put it away. He took a moment to wet his hair, the curls sticking to his forehead. She grabbed the shampoo, reaching for his hair, hoping he would allow it.

To her surprise he did, leaning his head forward so she could reach him.

“But just because you’ve suffered doesn’t mean you can inflict the same suffering onto others. Onto the people you would’ve made your spawn had I not put my foot down. Onto… onto me.”

Her hands scratched his scalp gently, and he was thankful that with his head lowered like this, she couldn't see his face. He cried silently, a trick he’d mastered early on in Cazador’s custody. The tears mixed with the water, lost before she could notice.

“I started avoiding you, yes. And maybe I shouldn’t have. Maybe I should have talked to you instead. I’m sorry I didn’t,” she continued, “But I was scared. I thought you weren’t you, that maybe the ritual had actually fundamentally altered you. So I did my research first, took my time. And by the time I realized it was indeed still you…”

By that time, their love had been so tainted she’d felt like her only option was to run.

She slid behind him, gently nudging him to tip his head backwards so she could rinse out his hair. He did so, his eyes closed. The water sluiced down his silvery curls and she couldn’t help but play with them, running the strands between her fingers.

“You could have talked to me, you know? This isn’t just on me,” she finally said.

“I couldn’t.” His voice threatened to crack, and he forced it to steady. Couldn’t, because he’d been terrified of being weak and alone again, the panic had strangled him before he could give voice to his fear. He’d known she was unhappy and self-preservation had taken over. To preserve his heart, he’d needed control; telling her would have relinquished that control. He would rather have lived with that farce of a relationship and suffered than risk it all on a gamble that could go sideways and leave him worse off than he’d been even in slavery.

“I couldn’t risk losing you.” He forced the words past his lips, enunciating everything slowly so that no cracks appeared in his voice. “I’d much rather just suffer. I am used to suffering. The whole of my life has been suffering.”

I’d rather suffer than be alone again. He would rather endure all her barbs, all the coldness she’d shown him, if it meant she’d be there.

“And how about my suffering? Or did that not matter to you?” She finished rinsing his hair, grabbing the soap to scrub his back. She ran her hand over the scars carefully, remembering to touch them in a way that he found acceptable. He melted into her touch, his shoulders drooping as he relaxed.

“It mattered. I knew you were miserable.” He hesitated. “I thought everything else would make up for it.” His voice finally cracked. He winced at the sound of it, but he pushed on.

“I wanted to give you the world.” His voice was small, another layer peeled from his core. “You deserve the world, but instead I made the world hell."

Ban froze, hand stilling in the middle of an infernal rune. She fought the instinct to hug him, unsure if that would be welcome right now. He was still the Ascendant, but he was also the spawn she loved. She understood now, he had always been both.

“I never wanted the riches. Not the clothes, or the jewelry, or the influence. Even the sex, as amazing as it has always been.” Other than tonight, every single time they’d had sex had been marred by something - from his initial plans of manipulating her, to all the times when she’d just lain there and gone through the motions because she’d hated who he had become. She kissed the back of his neck, a gentle press of lips that left them soapy. “I only ever wanted you, Astarion. The real you.”

The Astarion who had accompanied her in her journeys, the one who hadn’t been afraid to trust her with his heart. The one with whom she’d cuddled in that dirty tent night after night, swapping stories and enjoying each other’s company.

The Ascendant covered his face with his hands. He didn’t want her to see his tears, and even if he was silent, he knew it was pretty obvious by now that he’d started to cry.

He was so afraid. He’d always known, deep inside, that that was what she wanted. The bigger question, however, was whether he’d be able to give it. Was he brave enough to let the last layers fall at such a tentative time as this? When she could just leave again?

I’m a coward. The Ascendant knew this; he knew he would never be as brave as that spawn. This, after all, was why he loathed that version of himself - so powerless, and yet stronger than the Ascendant had ever been. He wanted to draw away from Ban, to bring the walls up, to hide behind them and peep through the windows of his defenses. To be safe.

But he owed it to her to at least try.

“If I fail, Ban-” he began, “If I stumble-“

“I’ll catch you. I’ll be here.”

Her hands roamed his back, still cleaning him, and he realized he wanted to ask her to hold him. He longed for the shelter of her embrace, the shield that protected him from the world.

A broken, stifled sound broke through the Ascendant’s lips.

“Hold me.” It was a broken whisper, he half hoped she hadn’t heard it. He hadn’t asked to be held since that fateful day when he’d condemned thousands to their end. Hadn’t felt like he deserved it, really.

But he wasn’t above asking now.

She responded immediately, gathering him in her arms and letting him settle against her, his back to her chest. He positioned himself to hide his face in the crook of her neck. He could feel her every breath, her undead skin, the slow beat of her undead heart.

The frantic pace of his own heart began to slow. He closed his eyes, the two of them utterly still for a few heartbeats, until Ban began to wash him again, allowing him time to collect himself.

This is why I love her. She always knew exactly what he needed, when he needed it, even when it was something he wasn't aware of himself. He let her bathe him, focusing solely on the sensation of her hands on his body, the gentle glide of her touch soothing him. He hadn’t had this type of intimacy in far too long, and he realized he’d rather die than lose it again. He’d been thinking that a lot, lately, he realized; about the things he’d rather die than go without. Perhaps it was time to start behaving accordingly.

All too soon she was finished bathing them both, and he was wrapping a towel around his waist. Ban sat on the bed, drying her hair with a towel. Astarion walked back into the bedroom and nearly reached for his pillow and blanket to curl up on the floor again, out of habit.

But Ban’s words echoed in his mind. The floor never did wonders for your back, Astarion.

He sat beside her on the bed, searching for something to say, just to break the silence.

“That whole time you were with Gale,” he began. The fact that she’d chosen to begin writing to him immediately after their evening together had struck him as odd and made him more than a little jealous. “Did you ever consider actually being with him?”

She looked over, a little surprised by this line of inquiry. It did make sense for him to ask, she supposed. The truth was that she’d felt nervous being around Astarion again, being in the same bedroom - actually sleeping together. Writing that letter had felt like something to do, something to keep her occupied while he bathed. She hadn’t really expected him to ask her to join him - that wasn’t something they’d done often when she’d still lived with him. She didn’t see any reason to tell him that, though, since that wasn’t what he asked.

“I did consider it.” It wasn’t a lie, and he knew exactly what had transpired between her and Gale physically. “He’s-” she tried to continue, and he cut her off.

“Everything I’m not. I know.” Tamping down the urge to get angry and to push her away yet again, he took a moment to calm down. Did she really mean it, when she’d said she wanted to try? Why had she been writing a letter to him so soon after? He was aware there was probably a perfectly reasonable answer, and that he could simply ask, but the insecurity won out.

“Is that what you want? Someone like Gale.” He was relieved that it hadn’t come out angry, although his jaw was clenched.

“Didn’t I just tell you I want you?”

He wanted to protest. Sex made things complicated, made people say things they didn’t mean. He knew that better than anyone - he’d heard it all, professions of love from countless people in various stages of bliss. He’d known not to believe a word of it, known that in those moments those people did believe their own words - he’d known exactly how to twist that belief to serve his master’s agenda, too.

“If it’s true, then say it again.” Shit. That came out wrong.

She narrowed her eyes at him, meeting the challenge in his gaze. Her mouth opened for a scathing remark, but then she noticed the way he looked.

The challenge was there, but there was more. In the set of his lips, in the way his jaw was clenched - there was fear. He was bracing himself, as if he expected her to change her mind and to leave him again. Ban looked down and sure enough, his hands were fisted into the sheets. She covered his with her own.

“I want you,” she said slowly. “I want to try again.” She kept it simple - not promising too much, but also hopefully giving him what he needed to hear.

Astarion looked away from her, staring at the wall. He eventually nodded sharply. “That’s all I ask. You can finish your letter now, if you want, and I’ll have the servants send it out first thing tomorrow.”

Ban nodded, placing a quick kiss to his temple before leaving the bed. As she settled herself at the desk again, Astarion forced himself to lie down on his side of the bed, watching her work. He took the opportunity to revel in her presence, in the quiet domesticity of it all. His eyelids began to grow heavy and his body relaxed comfortably, sensations he hadn’t felt since she’d left. He let the contentment wash over him, slipping into trance, his last thoughts of her.

He didn’t see her finish her letter and slip onto the bed beside him, nuzzling into his chest. He didn’t hear the whispered “I love you,” nor feel the soft kiss against his sternum. It made a difference, though, his rest was undisturbed by nightmares or by dark thoughts for the first time in months.

When sunlight finally streamed through the bay windows, Astarion opened his eyes and reached out for Ban.

His hands met empty air.

#astarion #astarion baldurs gate #astarion x tav #baldurs gate astarion #astarion fic #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion x female oc #astarion x f!tav #astarion x female tav #ascended astarion x f!tav #ascended astarion x tav #astarion ascended #astarion bg3 #astarion romance #astarion ancunin #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic

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notemily · 11 months

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Hey since it's the Glorious Twenty-Fifth of May, here's my favorite reading order for the Discworld books, the point of which is to read everything you need to read before you read Night Watch, which is the best one:

Guards! Guards! (Cop stories, film noir, and Tolkien jokes)

Men at Arms (The City Watch diversifies, there's a gun, clowns are creepy)

Feet of Clay (Discworld version of the ethics of enslaving robots)

Jingo (War, racism, xenophobia) (But like, it's funny. There's a Paul Simon "You Can Call Me Al" joke.)

The Fifth Elephant (Dwarf politics, vampires & werewolves)

Small Gods (Religion and philosophy jokes) (This is also usually the one I recommend to people who just want ONE Discworld novel to start with)

Mort (Death takes an apprentice)

Reaper Man (Death takes a holiday, there are Consequences)

Soul Music (So many rock & roll jokes! Death's granddaughter shows up)

Hogfather (Christmas jokes, tooth fairy jokes, this is the one where the famous quote about the falling angel and the rising ape comes from)

Thief of Time (Someone breaks time)

Night Watch (...and there are Consequences)

(I basically stole this reading order from someone's website. Thank you, person with a website.)

At that point you will probably have a pretty good idea of whether or not you want to read all the other Discworld books. I highly recommend the Witches subseries, which have a reading order as well:

Equal Rites (Granny Weatherwax is sort of still cooking here, but she's recognizably herself)

Wyrd Sisters (Shakespeare jokes)

Witches Abroad (fairy tale jokes, also voodoo for some reason)

Lords and Ladies (this time it's the kind of fae you don't want to piss off)

Maskerade (Phantom of the Opera jokes)

Carpe Jugulum (Dracula/vampire jokes) (Damn, it's really too bad this was written like 7 years before Twilight came out, can you imagine)

Then there are a bunch of other books, some of which are (loosely) connected, and the Rincewind books, which IMO are the weakest link in the Discworld (although I do enjoy Interesting Times, because of the China jokes).

There were also like twelve other books published after Night Watch, and they're still great - Monstrous Regiment is probably my fave of those - but I do think Night Watch was the peak of the Discworld series. After so many relatively self-contained books and so much humor, I don't think anyone was quite expecting such a rich chapter of Vimes's story that also punches you right in the feels. It's so good, y'all.

As always, it's dangerous to go alone, so take the Annotated Pratchett File with you.

#i can't believe it's been 21 years since that book came out wtf #discworld #terry pratchett #gnu terry pratchett #night watch #the glorious 25th of may #reasonably priced love #and a hard boiled egg #my posts

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itstheendofthegoddamnworld · 10 months

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The Dragon’s Spoil (Aemond Targaryen x Rivers! Reader) Part 2

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Summary: The baseborn daughter with little knowledge of who your Lord father was, your life is caught in the midst of war. The Riverlands are the base for the Greens and the Blacks, dragons loom in the skies, and men die daily, especially within the walls of the cursed Harrenhal. It’s only when a certain one-eyed dragon comes for his retribution. The year is 130 AC and war endures.

A/N: It was good to see people liked the first part, so I’m continuing with this. If you’re not aware, this series will be around 4 parts, sort of following what happens at the end of the dance of Dragons.

I also changed the ending to the final part as initially, Vhagar was going to eat the corpses instead or burn them, but it made me think that Aemond wouldn’t do that. Despite killing pretty much all of House Strong, he will still respects their bodies to give them a respectful funeral rite similar to the cremations Targaryen family members get.

I also promise the next chapter is when it gets most spicy.

Tags: slight mention of threat, some gore at the end.

Wordcount: 1,817

The Dragon’s Ruin

It feels like an eternity when you next see the Prince.

Criston Cole has you dragged away into the kitchen of the castle, throwing a cleaner apron that is not stained in mud. “I’m sure one of the ladies has a spare gown for you to wear.”

There are no true ladies of Harrenhal, only those that were dragged to live here by the husbands if they were willing. You gritted your teeth, finding some reprieve when the Hand leaves the room, only to allow you a short moment to change.

You can’t do much apart from try and drag the mud out from the bottom of your gown, already was it stained and appropriately dirtied from days of labour around the castle. The castellan had made sure you were occupied in cleaning: especially in places that had little to no to see you.

You wipe at your brown kirtle with some water in a bucket close by, changing your previous apron with one that is just as messy as the previous one, except the stains seemed more appropriate for a cook. You tie your long black hair up in a bun, loose ringlets fall and frame around your face and fail to fall back behind your ear.

You’re appropriate when the Hand comes for you again, muttering along the lines of “the Prince wants to see you in his chambers” before you’re dragged by the arm again, through the corridors you’ve known all your life.

It’s not hard to find him: he’s in the same apartment you had previously been cleaning, its fireplace still unlit and ash messily strewn in a manner that had looked to of been discarded. He would be displeased to have his room not the cleanliness of one in the Red Keep.

The One-eyed Prince is situated in a chair by the unlit fire, idly preoccupied in waiting for you as if he had been called to see you and not the other way around. For a moment when you both enter the room, he does not look to address either, and you see in the split second how he does not seem as calm as he usually is.

His hair is thrown forward past his shoulders, long and graceful, he is caught staring with a stare of longing and unknown thoughts. It makes you wonder just what he is thinking, whether he is proud of his doings, or if war has strengthened him into becoming the man he was meant to be.

He is playing at war. You think, staring at him. Boys as green as summer, they think they’re untouchable.

“My Prince,” Criston addresses and the split moment of being with his thoughts bring him back, his eye turning just enough to see you both in his peripheral, “the bastard you called for.”

“Thank you, Cole,” Aemond speaks calmly, though one hand is squeezing his thigh with might that you think he’ll rip the fabric. “You may leave us both.”

Cole obeys like the loyal dog he is, leaving through the doors and closing them shut, leaving you with the man who killed all in a minor House, and what he could do with a girl like yourself.

You could only imagine what Perra was feeling, how she had been lucky to escape with her life. If Aemond had found out that her uncle had been working alongside the Blacks, you were certain her head would have been sent over to him in a lavish box.

She was the daughter of a knightly house. She escaped because her name was important, not yours. You think, and sadness spreads through your chest. If you had been born a lady of some house, you wouldn’t have to worry about the judgement, the hatred. It burnt in the back of your skull knowing they stared when you walked past, whispering the lies about you.

Witch. Sorcerer of Harrenhal. Killer of babes and men.

They had all been lies, though, if you had been a witch, you wished your stares could burn through a man’s skull. The part about killing babes was false when you had rarely seen children born in a place such as this. Harrenhal was not the place that would bring life but take it.

You had been warned that bastards were sterile, never able to create life. It was “to curse them for their unfaithful parents.” Though you did know some bastards could reproduce, you dared think the rumour had been true just for yourself.

Though, you feel rather relieved that you wouldn’t be able to, the constant reminder is enough to make you believe so. You wished you were the witch people called you by, just so you could curse the Prince who had waltzed in and dug up everything root and stem. House Strong could never come back and if they could, the baseborn girl that came from the line could certainly not be legitimised to restrengthen its line.

Aemond is standing from his seat when you blink out of your thoughts, staring at his lips move when you realise he is asking you something. “Who was your father, my Lady?”

My Lady. It stings when you hear that come from him, and you almost laugh at the absurdity. You were everything but a lady. Witch. Sorcerer. You think he uses it to humble you, to remind you of what you were.

“I did not know who,” you answer coolly, “many whispered it had been Ser Simon or Lord Lyonel. Some even said Harwin or the Master of Whispers himself, though I would believe they would be similar in age to me the same way a sibling or cousin would be.”

“How old are you?”

“I am three-and-twenty, my Prince.” You grit your teeth when you say his title.

“And your mother?”

A sad smile appeared on your features, hoping that he did not see it appear before you look away from him. “My mother too, was a mystery I never got to know.”

Aemond hums at your word as he slowly stalks closer towards you. “It is not right for a child not to know their parent.” He speaks causally. “The Mother above can be cruel in most ways.”

“It is the sins of the parents that bring bastards into the world, my Prince, not the Mother.” You say, and when he turns his head to you sharply, you dart away to look elsewhere.

You curse at yourself for overstepping and speaking when you shouldn’t have.

He stares you down with fascination, humming lightly in a singsong tone. “You’re familiar with the Seven, but you were never brought into the Faith?”

“A novice life would not suit me well,” you shrugged, smiling to yourself. “I simply could never remember the prayers. Harrenhal is cold but I would rather prefer these walls than those of cold and dreary Oldtown.”

Aemond chuckles at that and it takes everything not to gawk at him when you hear it. It’s soft and subtle, but it sounds surprising and oddly nice to hear come from him. “I suppose you’re right. My mother always thought I would make a great knight, fighting in tourneys.”

“I suppose we were put here for greater purposes.” You speak, trying not to look as intimidated under his purple-eyed gaze.

He stares at you, not saying much, but his eye flicks through emotions as if flicking through a book. It’s unnerving but it draws you in ever the same as a moth to flame. You’re intimidated, but you’re intrigued to know more about him, even when you feel such conflicting feelings of wanting to see him and the entirety of the Greens burn.

You find your words come easier, and you ask the crucial question that had plagued your mind since the moment he landed in the courtyard. “If you aren’t going to kill me, my Prince, why am I here?”

honestly to him before you find yourself lost in his gaze and you forget everything about hating him.

Aemond draws his hands behind his back to straighten his back and appear taller, towering over you with ease. It’s as if just staring at his features makes you feel lost in his Valyrian beauty, and you forget everything about hating him.

“I need a handmaiden and someone who is most familiar with Harrenhal. You would fit both best, am I correct?” He speaks earnestly.

“That… would be correct.”

He is close enough that you can smell the oils on him, the smell of musk that any proud warrior would wear. It's powerful and overwhelming, but it’s almost as if the way he's standing so close to you is his ploy to make you subservient to him. “My brother will only ask that the prominent line of House Strong is destroyed, not of its baseborn. After all, he had taken… to creating some of his own.”

Oh. He was far from a faithful man, and certainly fit the role of a sloth and licentious King. “My condolences to the Queen.”

Aemond hums amusedly as he traces back to his seat, “I require a fire. I expect you know how to work one?”

“Indeed, my Prince.”

“Very well,” he spoke, his face turning just enough that you see his visible eye, burning with something that makes your heart flutter and your stomach twist, “you will have my undivided protection from all the men in this castle. I swear it on my life.”

It doesn’t make you feel any better to know that, rather you think of one thing that you wish you could ask him aloud, and what about you?

You curtsy rather clumsily, forgetting your footing but playing it off as you leave his chambers, hurrying past Cole who awaits just outside. You almost bump into him as you catch him scowling down at you.

You’re blinking away your confused thoughts, muddled in a worry of feelings and mixed emotions. You hate him, and you should hate him for everything, but his looks and charm were everything that made you feel lured to him.

Standing back in the place you recalled not long before, the courtyard is a sore sight. Blood still cakes the ground, but the bodies are all replaced with a large pile of ash, some mixed with plates of metal and burnt articles of clothing.

Your stomach twists once again as you back away from the sight, turning back as your vision catches something perched on the walls above.

Thinking it was a raven at first, your heart drops when you recognise that no, they’re not birds, but the heads of every member of House Strong.

Your fists clench into your apron and you’re nearly quick to tears as you look away, remembering your job was to collect firewood for Aemond’s chambers.

Hurrying away, you think if there was any way Targaryens were immune to fire.

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #Aemond the Kinslayer #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fic #aemond targaryen x reader #strong! reader

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acourtofthought · 1 year

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🤷🤷I just see friendship 🤷🤷

"Vassa is like Jesminda!"

Jesminda had been all laughter and mischief, too wild and free to be contained by the country life that she’d been born into.

Only a few years older than me, but … young-feeling. Coltish. Fierce and untamed, despite her curse.

I think some feel "wild and free" is comparable to "fierce and untamed" but Lucien describes Jesminda as laughter and mischief, which is playful. Feyre's opinion of Vassa reads as a strong, bold warrior, untamed in a feral sort of way rather than a full of life sort of way.

A cruel smile curved Vassa’s mouth.

“We shall discuss this later,” she declared. “Along with the threat my fellow queens pose.”

Either she didn’t know or didn’t care that I was also a queen in my right. Nesta smirked. “Good luck with that.”

Vassa rolled her eyes

(Do those things sound like the way Lucien described Jesminda?)

Lucien, surprisingly, was chuckling, his shoulders loose and his head angled while he listened.

Lucien is a very compassionate friend and enjoys having fun. His reaction to Vassa is not special to Vassa and he's canonically observant and a good listener in general. Which we'd seen plenty of throughout the series. The only reason it's been missing from his character as of late is because of his current situation, having been uncomfortable in the NC, SA and chased out of Spring.

But Lucien grinned at me. “Much better.”

A cork popped, followed by the sounds of Lucien chugging the bottle’s contents and chuckling with a muttered “Brushed.”

Lucien remained sitting on the blanket and lifted the bottle of wine in salute. He took a slug from it as he sprawled on his back and gazed at the green canopy.

Lucien smirked. “Apologies, Feyre.”

A valiant effort,” Lucien said with a smirk.

“Ah.” Lucien chuckled. “Well, Tam’s not the only one who gets to perform the rite tonight. Once he makes his choice, we’re free to mingle

“I see,” I lied, not quite seeing at all. Lucien chuckled, sensing it, and I glared sidelong at him.

The look he gave me was more contemplative than any he’d given me before. “I know far too many High Fae and lesser faeries who wouldn’t have seen it that way—or bothered.” He reached for something at his side and tossed it to me. I had to fight to stay in the saddle as I fumbled for it—a jeweled hunting knife.

Lucien gave a slight nod and leaned back in his chair—to listen, to observe.

Tamlin didn’t take his eyes off me as he said to Lucien, “Get. Out.” There was enough violence in the words that neither Lucien nor I objected this time as he slipped from the room and shut the double doors behind him. I speared my power into the hall, sensing him sitting on the foot of the stairs. Listening.

And when I grew bored with studying and fighting … I learned what I could of the land from its people. Learned about the people, too.”

of all the sounds that Lucien so carefully sorted through while he kept watch. His attention slid to me at one point and lingered. I dreamed that he removed his cloak and added it over my blanket.

Lucien squeezed our linked arms as we rounded a hedge

Lucien loosed a heavy sigh and slid an arm around my waist, the other threading through my hair to cradle my head. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.” He held me, stroking soothing lines down my back. / I peered into his concerned face.

“I have an old friend at the Dawn Court. She’s skilled at tinkering—blending magic and machinery. Tamlin got her to craft it for me at great risk.” A hateful smile from Jurian. “Does your little mate have a rival?” (<- note how anytime Lucien shows respect for females someone assumes it's something more than it is?).

Not to mention, Lucien and Feyre's friendship will probably never be what it once was, what with them belonging to different courts. Whereas SJM gave Feyre her Mate in Rhys, she also gave her male friendships in Cassian and Az. Lucien has lost Tamlins friendship and Feyre's to some extent so his getting along with Vassa seems to be SJM setting up a new group of friends to carry his story forward, male and female alike. It's important for him to develop a support system with friends (i.e. Vassa and Jurian) before he develops a romantic relationship with someone.

She had teased him, taunted him—seduced him so thoroughly that he hadn’t wanted anything but her.

He’s voluntarily living with them these days, and not just as an emissary. As their friend.”

Vassa rolled her eyes, then looked to Lucien, who sank onto the sofa beside Jurian. Like the Fae male had settled similar arguments between them before. But Lucien’s attention was upon Cassian.

Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing.

I don't know about you but it doesn't sound like Vassa has convinced Lucien he doesn't want anything but her.

Also.... Vassa wants to be in the Day Court, living with the Fae? Because she's cursed during the day?

A once-proud queen—still proud, yes, but desperate to reclaim her freedom. Her human body. Her kingdom.

Both trying to lead the humans who occupied the sliver of land at the southernmost end of Prythian. Left ungoverned for so long. Too long. No king or queen remained in these lands. No memory of their name, their lineage.

“Vassa and Jurian are two sides of the same coin. Mercifully, their vision for the future of the human territories is mostly aligned.

Where are there any hints that she's interested in ruling over the Fae? That she plans on abandoning the humans?

Why are people so certain Lucien will be the one to break her curse? Do they think his abilities will trump that of Helion? Or is it possible that it's not a spell which can be broken by Feyre, Helion OR Lucien?

“Can you break my curse?” “I—I don’t know how to break those kinds of spells,” I admitted. Her face fell. I added, “But … we can try.”

I’d never seen such spell work. I’d sent my power over her, Helion too, hunting for any possible threads to unbind it. I found none. It was as if the curse was woven into her very blood.

It sounds like Lucien isn't the key to breaking Vassa's curse at all. My money's on Elain but, that's a whole different theory.

"But Lucien blushed over Vassa!"

Did he though?

“You sound like an acolyte.” Lucien blushed, glancing at Elain.

Is it not possible that Lucien is blushing because he's embarrassed that Feyre is reading into the friendly respect he has for Vassa in front of HIS MATE? Someone who canonically shows respect for females? As we've seen Lucien do time and again? (“I gathered that much after you took on Dagdan and walked away from it.” “I had the element of surprise on my side.” “No,” Lucien said quietly as I reached for a foothold in the next boulder. “That was all you.) Instead, people believe that he's blushing because he developed a crush on someone he only just met after rescuing her from her imprisonment? As they marched to war? While getting to know his Mates father? 🤔

Let's not forget Feyre blushing for Az:

A shake of the head. “You’re an artist—it was your attention to detail.” I blushed a bit at the compliment, and braced my hands on my hips. “Well? Do we jump into the skies?”

Blushing does not always indicate romance and there are other examples of this throughout the series.

The fact is, there is only one female Lucien responds to in a way he's never responded to any other female, one female he longs for regardless of being around other females (despite living with Vassa for a year). Only one who is "the most beautiful female he'd ever seen" which makes him feel guilty because he once thought the same of Jesminda, yet another female has now been given that title.

Why would someone even want Vassa to be with a male who has thought / felt the exact same things that both Rhysand and Cassian thought / felt for their mates?

#elucien #pro elucien #elain archeron #anti vassien #vassa acotar #elain and lucien #jesminda #lucien vanserra

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fullfriendnerdclutch · 1 month

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Rites: Balinese Day of Silence

A lot of my friends said that I picked the wrong date to visit Bali as during one of my day in Bali, it coincides with Day of Silence, or Nyepi as the locals said. In that particular day, everyone, including foreign tourist, will be "trapped" in their room or houses where no lights, electricity or fire are allowed. Some lax definitely given to tourist like they can cook as long as the fires or the smokes are not visible by others outside of their confinement or they can swim in the hotel pool and roam around the hotel, but well, I love to unwind myself, so I think I'll be doing just fine trapped in my room for 24 hours anyway and enjoying the practically total silence and darkness for the time. But, my friends were right about me probably getting bored and I did see that would be a problem. What I didn't mention to my friends though is the fact that I stay at this private men-only resort and I would bring my potion trunk along with me.

So, if you can excuse me, I'll participate in this particular day like a good tourist that I am by minding my own business. You see, I believe that time will flash by when I'm inside this hunk, there's just so many things to explore about this sexy Latino stud neighbor of mine in this resort, it will keep me occupied for 24 hours.

Besides, if I manage to find myself bored exploring all the nooks and crannies of this stud, I spotted this other handsome fit stud from the neighboring room. His ground floor room has direct access to this private pool so maybe I'll concoct another trusted potion of mine and chug it so I can transfer to that stud if I wanna take a dip

#male possession #magic possession #rites a loose series #male takeover

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sunofpandora · 5 months

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This a concept im exploring for a new Neteyam x reader series I’m working on called ‘Virago.’

A story about a warrior!reader X neteyam who’s been raised with a ‘I don’t need anyone but myself’ mindset.

The story follows the path of Neteyam and the reader finding sanctuary within eachother and the reader trusting neteyam to protect her even from battles that aren’t his to fight.

I love the idea of projecting some of Jake and Neytiri’s live story elements into Neteyam x Reader works.

As I’m writing this, something came to me that I think should be shared 🤷🏽‍♀️

Before anyone comes for me, I just wanna say I love Jeytiri with a passion.

Don’t get me wrong. Jake and neytiri raised this fandom. The og’s fr. I’m telling my kids and my grandkids about them. They are my favorite love story.

A man who leaves his entire planet for the woman he loves?

Ugh. We all need a Jake.

…BUT

What if In the next avatar movie Neytiri can’t find herself to forgive Jake?

Not to the point where it forms a void between them to a point of resentment, but in a general sense of starting to loose some trust in him?

The RDA returning is in no way, shape or form Jake’s fault, and neither is Neteyam’s death.

But Neytiri entrusted Jake and held him to his promises when he vowed to protect their children, and a good 70% of that movie were the kids being kidnapped, bullied, kidnapped, threatened, tied up, abducted, and just generally traumatized because of someone from Jake’s past life.

Jake sully is a character who is haunted by his own shadow.

According to the visual dictionary,

“Jake is tempered by his concerns for his family and the guilt he feels for the lives he lost all those years ago.”

Truly a tragic character in his own rite.

He can never seem to escape this shadow of who he used to be.

Quite literally being hunted down by a former enemy.

But let’s discuss Neytiri for a moment.

A woman of the forest, fierce and beautiful. Loyal to her people and her culture.

She will never truly understand every aspect of the repercussions of Jake’s actions.

Why? Because Jake has embraced the motto of ‘the family protector’

Which is a positive feat, of course.

And that he does. Jake proves himself to be a good father and protective of his children 100%.

But Neytiri looks at this side of Jake’s past life through a window.

Not a mirror.

A window of

‘Oh. The sky people are gone. My family is safe’.

And then colonel Scarface 2.0 comes back to fuck her shit up.

Jake is a good father. May that fact not be lost on us as audience.

I wish sometimes we could see into the tortured mind of Neytiri.

But we can’t. So let’s review some facts.

Where does Jake come from? Earth.

Who did he work for? The RDA.

What does the RDA do? Mine resources and fuck shit up.

Neytiri’s father, sister, ikran, son, a good portion of the fellow na’vi who were apart of the omaticaya in the first movie? Dead.

What do these things have in common?

All their lives were taken by the RDA and the humans.

I’m not usually one to quote myself, but for those of you who have read my fic ‘diaphanous’

“Trust is a fragile thing. And most protect fragile things.”

“It's a cruel joke, really. Disguising something as binding as affection, to cradle someone's heart within the palms of your hands, to build it a home out of glass and shatter it.”

Neytiri trusted Jake.

Jake says to her,

“Look I've got nothing. I got no plan. But I can protect this family, that I can do. But I know one thing. Wherever we go, this family is our fortress.”

He can protect his family….that he can do…

#avatar the way of water #jake avatar #neteyam #neteyam x reader #kiri sully #avatar fanfiction #lo’ak x reader #neytiri #neteyam x you #neteyam sully

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bytherosebushlaughing · 1 month

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one fine star away (2/?)

RATING: M

PAIRING: Swanqueen

SUMMARY

The relationship between Emma Swan and Regina Mills has been subject of much speculation since hit television series "Once Upon A Time" ended abruptly in the 80s. No one knows for certain what happened between the two actresses. Rookie journalist and writer Henry has loved "Once Upon A Time" for years, and like the rest of the world, has been dying to know the truth behind the end of his favorite show. With rumors of a cast reunion for the first time in decades circulating, Henry is thrust into the opportunity of a lifetime—a chance to write an exclusive tell-all article about Emma's time on the show and the truth about her relationship with Regina.

NOTES: Loosely based on "The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo" by Taylor Jenkins Reid.

They’d both had some great success after the shows end, becoming A-listers in their own rite, but Regina had taken a step back from the spotlight at the end of the nineties to focus more on producing and directing, following in the footsteps of her mother. Emma was still acting, but her roles seemed to have slowed in recent years.

One thing’s for certain—there was so much behind-the-scenes drama from the cast, that this reunion was bound to be interesting and revealing in many ways. While subsets of the cast had remained close over the years, all of the drama between them had certainly tarnished some relationships. And here Henry was, about to be at the center of it all.

I’m really going to have my work cut out for me.