#*SLAMS this tome down in front of you* | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

littlejuicebox · 6 months

Text

Mermaid whiskey.

Pairing: Spawn Astarion x F!Reader/Tav Summary/Setting: 2 weeks after BG3 final battle, Elfsong Tavern / Astarion has been ignoring you and spending too much time reading for your tastes, you aim to distract him. Rating/Warnings: M+ / Smut / Light BDSM / Soft Dom Astarion vibes / Some mild in game spoilers/allusions to events / Overstimulation, Teasing, Bondage, Blindfolding etc Word Count: 4.3K Notes: Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off x Whiskey Girl

-----

Two weeks after the final battle, Astarion is lounging by the crackling fireplace on the upper level of the Elfsong Tavern, a large goblet of red wine in one hand and a book in the other.

Everyone else spent time after the battle exploring the city or downstairs drinking and celebrating their victory as they all prepared to move onto new adventures. But Astarion had chosen nearly every opportunity over the past two weeks to hang back and enjoy some much-deserved alone time. Now that the constant worries about Cazador and the overall impending doom of Baldur’s Gate were all behind him, the rogue threw himself into finding bits of individual enjoyment whenever and wherever he could. He'd fixated himself on hobbies and leisure, and reading had seemed an obvious first choice. He'd easily idle hours away, sometimes reading an entire book cover to cover in one sitting.

Often, you would sit with the elf as he read, snuggled in a blanket or cuddled up against your love, but eventually you always got the urge to get up and do something else. You'd tried on more than one occasion to interest the rogue in another activity, but Astarion remained glued to the couch for those two weeks, barely stepping away to hunt, bathe, or trance. You'd noted, with a bit of concern, that he hadn't even asked to feed on you in more than a tenday.

Tonight, you’d tried more than once to pull him down to the tavern, but the elf quickly refused, barely lifting his eyes from the pages in front of him. Astarion seemed particularly obsessed with this book; you were almost convinced he’d already finished it and had started a second reading.

Several hours passed while you socialized down at the bar and Astarion's perfect nose stayed wedged in a book before a very tipsy Karlach decided to climb the stairs and speak to the vampire. “Oi! C’mon, Astarion! Close that dusty tome and join the fun. We’ll all only be together for a few more days. Me, Lae’zel, Shadowheart, and Tav are taking shots!”

The vampire’s ears perk up and he furrows his brow at the woman, snapping his book shut in the process. “Shots? Of what, exactly?”

“Mermaid Whiskey!”

“Oh no. Oh no, no, no! Karlach! Mermaid Whiskey practically makes Tav’s clothes fall off!”

Astarion is on his feet now, the book abandoned as he rushes past the Tiefling and down the flight of stairs into the tavern. He quickly spots the silky blue bandana you use to tie your hair up at camp strewn upon a forgotten bar stool. Knowing it’s possibly your most prized article of clothing, the elf tucks it into his back pocket. Scarlet eyes perform a hurried scan of the room and the vampire bristles when you’re nowhere to be found.

The others are still at the bar, where Lae’zel just challenged a bartender to an arm-wrestling competition. The women warriors are cheering Lae’zel on as she’s locked in a stalemate with the man.

“Shadowheart, have you seen Tav?”

Shadowheart barely acknowledges the vampire, too engrossed in the show. “What do you mean? She’s right—“ Her gaze flicks to the abandoned stool as Lae’zel successfully slams the worker’s hand onto the sticky bar, causing the campmates and some other patrons to erupt into cheers. “She was right there a moment ago.”

Astarion runs a stressed hand through his curled hair, inspecting the room for any sign of you. Soon enough, he spots a familiar pair of shoes and hurries to them, eyes already searching for the next clue. A discarded earring floating in a glass of half-drunk whiskey is sat on the bottom step of the stairs. That hadn’t been there when he descended down them, had it?

The vampire’s gaze trails up the stairwell and his suspicions are confirmed. Your navy-blue dress is draped across the back of an armchair he can barely see from his low vantage point.

‘She must’ve snuck around when I was talking to Shadowheart.’

The rogue dashes up the stairs to find you reclined on a chaise lounge, body flushed from the whiskey coursing through your veins. You are strewn suggestively across the chaise, clothed in only your laced undergarments and thigh high stockings. The alluring vision caused Astarion's heart to leap into his throat.

“Darling, what on earth do you think you’re you doing? You’re barely clothed in the middle of the tavern. This isn’t the wilds anymore.”

You’re lying on your side when Astarion finds you, and you pout in his direction as he scolds you, waving a dismissive hand. You roll onto your stomach, bending your knees and crossing your legs. You’re pleased to see the vampire's gaze drag down your body, pausing at the curve of your bottom, before flitting back to your face. Astarion licks his lips as he looks at you, the first sign that your little plan is working. You’ve finally gotten his attention after trying to steal him away from that damned book he was so enamored with all night.

“I know my love, but I’m just so unbelievably hot right now. You wouldn’t believe how hot I feel.”

Astarion quickly crosses the few feet between you two, placing a cool, concerned hand on your flushed cheek. “How many shots did you take?”

“Oh, just two. Maybe three? I kept losing the stupid ‘never have I ever game’ because everyone made all their questions about vampires.” You pout at your lover again before turning your head to press your lips against his thumb, lingering there intentionally, your wide eyes still focused on the rogue.

Astarion was no fool. With your mouth holding his thumb in that suggestive manner, he soon realized what you were doing. You adored the vampire with your entire heart, but on your drunken nights, you knew how to be a perfectly tempting, needy little brat. “And why, my sweet, did you keep playing the game if it was so clearly rigged against you?”

You groan, moving to a sitting position, while your hands toy with the laces of your bodice. “Because…” You sharply tug at the flouncy strings and Astarion’s hand catches yours in a tight grip, moments before you’re about to expose your breasts in the center of the lounge. “You’ve barely paid attention to me the past two weeks… and I was lonely and bored and wanted to have fun.”

“Darling, I know what you’re doing... I thought we agreed that tonight you’d go to the bar, and I would stay up here.” Astarion murmurs, nimble fingers toying with the strings of your bodice. He tries to resist the temptation to look down at your cleavage and fails; you see his eyes roll up in annoyance at himself and his inability to fight off his baser instincts in your presence. Inside you’re practically giddy that you’re winning the charade, but you keep the pout plastered to your face.

“We didn’t agree to anything, my Star. You didn't give me a choice.” You huff, pointedly brushing your hair away from your neck to reveal the little pinprick scars made by your lover. The rogue's eyes trail to the marks and he licks his lips again, suddenly quite aware of how long it’s been since he’s sunk his fangs into your flesh.

Gods you were frustrating. Astarion both loathed and loved that you could play him like a lyre; you knew him so well that you understood exactly what would make him tick. Every. Single. Time.

The vampire shakes his head, trying to rattle the fantasies out of his brain and not allow you the upper hand. You were being ridiculous; if you’d wanted attention, you should’ve just asked instead of acting out. Trying to turn the conversation, Astarion asks, “What is it you even like about whiskey? It’s vile.”

You sigh and roll your eyes before sliding off the chaise and sauntering away from the elf. For a moment you think he’s going to let you leave, but then he’s trailing after you like a lost puppy and you know you've got him hooked.

“Excuse me? You’re just going to walk away? Conversation over?”

You shrug and sigh again, stopping just in front of the door to your bedchamber. You turn to face the rogue, leaning back against the door and crossing your arms. Astarion’s eyes are narrowed as he stares at you with some level of frustration and incredulity at your antics.

“If you must know, I suppose I like a bit of edge… and a bit of pain with my pleasure.” Your voice is coy, eyebrow raised, and you're fully leaning into the innuendo of your statement. “And you like that I like it... don’t you?”

Astarion chuckles at this, a smirk ghosting his lips. “You are a wicked little thing, aren’t you? Using my own games and my own tactics against me now?”

You’re wearing a mischievous grin as the rouge saunters forward, closing the distance between your bodies. He firmly grasps your chin in his hand, scarlet eyes studying your face. Just as his lips brush against yours, and you're thinking you've won this little game, you murmur, “I guess the apprentice has become the master.”

Astarion pauses and draws back for a moment, the darkening of his gaze and his raised eyebrow causing you to shudder where you stand as he grips a bit tighter on your chin. “Oh darling. You’re cute. But now I think I have to teach you a lesson and remind you who the master truly is here.”

And then his lips are on yours, fangs clashing roughly into teeth. He feels for the knob behind you and turns it, forcing you both into the room before unceremoniously slamming the door closed. Your mouths are melded together as the vampire effortlessly guides you to the bed and shoves you into the mattress. Quick, pale hands tug at the strings of your bodice and your breasts are released from their confines, spilling out in front of the vampire’s eager gaze as he drags the undergarment off your arms and throws it aside.

Then Astarion grabs something from his back pocket — your blue bandana — and dangles it in front of you with a mock-condescending pout on his lips. All you can think about in that moment is how you want to take that pout into your own lips and bite.

“Darling, you left this downstairs and I had to retrieve it. I think I may need to teach you to take care of your belongings. You only have two of these, my love, and I know you would be so desperate to find them if they were permanently lost, wouldn’t you?”

You nod as you reach for your bandana, but Astarion is faster and pulls it away just in time, smirking at you all the while. “Come to think of it… where is your other bandana, my sweet?”

"It's in here." You murmur, lips already swollen from the rough kiss he'd pulled you into. You turn to the nightstand and withdraw your second bandana, an identical twin to the first. Astarion quickly takes it from your hand and grins mischievously, pressing a soft kiss to your lips as the silken fabric glides from your fingers.

“Good girl. Now, give me your hands.”

You oblige and the rogue deftly binds your wrists together with an expertly tied knot. He tugs at the bindings, testing their strength. Astarion lifts your hands to his lips and presses a kiss to the back of one before taking the second bandana and folding it into a long strip. Your eyes are fixated on his lithe fingers. Then he presses forward, face mere inches from yours. His eyes are dark and intense, but glimmering with adoration all the same, in a way that floods you with the overwhelming sensation of excitement and safety all in one.

“You’ll let me know if it’s too much, won't you, my love?”

“Y-yes.” You whisper, almost breathlessly and wholly impatient for what is coming next. Your body still burns with desire and Mermaid Whiskey. The last thing you see is Astarion’s eyes before the second bandana shrouds you in darkness.

Cool hands guide you to lay back onto the mattress and soon enough long, nimble fingers languidly trace their way down your body. You feel Astarion’s hands ghost over your arms, down your collarbone, and then trail circles around your breasts where he gives both nipples a gentle, teasing tug before moving on. His fingers brush your abdomen, around the curve of your hips, down the tops of your thighs, and finally to your calves. Then his lips press to your foot, and he works at pressing feather light kisses up your leg.

He continues kissing up your right leg for what seems like forever, fingers still moving tantalizingly along your calf and thigh. By the time the vampire makes his way back up to the top of your thigh, you are wiggling and keening in anticipation. He hovers over your still-clothed mound for a few beats before shifting slightly and returning to kissing down your left leg. You whine in disappointment, your bound hands straining against the fabric as you try to grip your lover. A dark chuckle is all you get in response as Astarion continues to kiss your opposing thigh, nibbling here and there, at a rate that seems somehow even slower than the first leg he worshipped.

By the time he’s placing a kiss to the top of your left foot, you’re writhing wholeheartedly, pressing your thighs together in an attempt to give yourself more stimulation. You don’t dare use your bound hands, knowing the punishment would be further binding and teasing. Astarion unhurriedly runs his hands up your legs once again, stopping to draw leisurely circles at the apex of your thighs before tracing one chilled finger along the waistband of your underwear.

“A-Astarion!” You choke out with another whine, just as the vampire runs that same finger down your still-clothed slit, feeling the wetness now soaking through the fabric from his torments.

Your lover chuckles in dark delight. “I’ve barely even touched you, my needy little love, and yet here you are, positively soaked. Your lesson is far from over, darling.”

There is a moment of silence apart from soft rustling; you cannot see anything, but your ears pick up the sound of Astarion’s buckle coming undone. And then you feel his weight on top of you. You can tell he’s still wearing his briefs as he presses his groin against your sex, legs straddling either side of your hips. Suddenly you feel a sharp pinch on both your nipples. Your back arches in response to the sensation while a pleading groan shoots from your mouth.

“Mm… I think you quite like that, don’t you?”

“Y-yes!” Is all you can reply as you feel Astarion's cold hands kneading the flesh of your breasts before he resumes pinching the swollen buds.

You try to buck your hips, but the bastard knows what he’s doing, and he’s got you pinned perfectly beneath him in a way that renders you all but helpless. Your bound hands search for Astarion’s body, and you barely graze against his abdominals before the vampire rips your hands away with a little tut, laying nearly all his body weight atop you as he raises your hands up over your head. You can feel his breath against your ear before he takes the lobe in his mouth and nibbles. Gods the torture was becoming unbearable. You buck again, another frustrated whine escaping your lips.

“Shhh now, darling. Shame we don’t have a third bandana or you would be gagged. We are quite impatient today, aren’t we?”

You whimper as he continues the abuse to your ear before trailing his tongue down to your neck. “My little whiskey girl…” His lips hover over that familiar little spot on your neck, his breath tickling your skin. Your pulse jumps to greet your lover. “May I?”

You barely nod, “Yes. Please.”

Astarion groans at your response, thrusting his hips forward to press his rock-hard bulge into your folds. You feel a sharp, icy sting in your neck before your body gives way to the delectable ripples of pleasure. The vampire laps from you lazily, rutting against your mound, the still-clothed underside of his cock sawing torturously between the folds of your still-clothed but now dripping slit. He continues suckling, not really drinking for sustenance but more for his own pleasure, his hardening member abusing your swollen clit. You’re keening again, and one of his hands moves to tease your nipple while the other gets lost in your hair, holding you in place as he takes his lazy laps.

“A-Astarion. Astarion! Please, I’m gonna—“

But before you can finish, you feel the wave of pleasure crashing over you and your legs are trembling as you find your release. The elf groans again as you orgasm, now suckling and rutting with more fervor as the taste of your ecstasy courses through your veins. When the crescendo wanes and you’re left panting, Astarion retracts his fangs from your neck with a pleased little hum.

Suddenly the bandana is pulled from your eyes, and you blink, adjusting to the light. The vampire is still straddling you, an arrogant smirk plastered across his face as he wipes the final rivet of blood from his mouth and licks it off his thumb. “Satisfied, darling? Have I paid enough attention to you now?”

You groan and buck your hips again, your drenched undergarments barely rubbing against the rogue’s stiff cock. “No!” You shriek as your bound hands pound back into the mattress.

Astarion’s lips are on yours anew, swallowing your protests as he delves his tongue into your eager mouth. You taste the iron of your own blood and groan, writhing against him and desperately pulling at your bindings. When the rogue pulls back he chuckles before easily delving two fingers inside your ruined undergarments, curling his fingers to barely strum against your swollen clit. You try to arch to meet his digits with a desperate, pleading moan, but the weight of him on your legs keeps you pinned, and you cry out.

“Please, please, please.” You whine in a soft chant coming from your lips, still using all of your strength to barely buck your hips. Your hands are twisting desperately in their bindings. “Please, please, please.”

“Such a needy little thing, aren’t you, my love?” He coos, continuing to barely tease your throbbing clit with expert fingers. “What is it that you want?”

“You know what I want!” You hiss through gritted teeth, your frustration bubbling over as the rogue torments that sensitive nub between your legs.

“Hmm… perhaps I do. But you need to ask for the things that you want, my sweet. The parasite is gone and I’m no mind reader.”

“Please put your cock inside me! Please.”

“Hmm... there we are. That’s my good girl. Now, was that really so hard, little love?"

Before you can answer, Astarion’s mouth is enveloping yours as he works to quickly remove his own undergarments. The feeling of his barren member on your mound renews your desperation and you keen into your lover's mouth, causing him to smirk into the kiss. He quickly maneuvers his knee to the inside of your thigh, hitching his own leg up to spread you wide, granting him full access to your sex. Deft fingers slide the thin, arousal-soaked cloth of your underwear aside and then you feel the head of his cock pressed just against your entrance.

“Who do you belong to, my love?” The vampire asks when he pulls away from the kiss, scarlet eyes peering into yours. He’s rocking his hips just slightly, the tip of his member barely teasing in and out of your desperate pussy. He brings his hand to the side of your face, stroking his thumb along your cheek.

“You, Astarion.” You whisper, so entranced by the look in his eyes and the feeling of his cock pressing into you that you can barely think or breath. You try to thrust down to meet your lover's miniscule ministrations, but his other hand has your hip pinned in place.

“Give me your hands again.”

You oblige, and the rogue quickly undoes your fastenings, gently pressing his lips into the angry red marks around your wrists. He takes one of your hands and interlaces your fingers in his. Astarion pins one hand back above your head, but allows you the freedom of the other hand, which you bring to the side of his neck.

Then the vampire kisses you once more. As his lips press into yours, his cock slides into your eagerly awaiting cunt. Every ripple of Astarion's thick shaft makes your body sing in delight, and you're groaning into the elf's mouth as he begins to make fervent love to you, hips snapping with vigor as he sheaths and unsheathes himself in a steady rhythm.

“You are… entirely infuriating… and vexing, sometimes. Do you know that, little love?” He purrs between his lips enveloping yours, tongue exploring your mouth. The vampire plunges into you with steady determination, slowly picking up his tempo.

You’re breathless, rolling your hips to meet the rogue’s. Your eyes are shut as you smirk at his comment. “I know.. I just think you’re so sexy when you’re frustrated.” You respond between panting breaths, and that earns you a rough thrust that hits your cervix and knocks the air from your lungs as you moan in surprise.

Astarion’s hand that isn’t intertwined with yours comes under your chin and takes a firm hold, pressing just enough on your windpipe to create the delicious feeling of breathlessness without actually preventing you from breathing. Your eyes snap open from the sensation.

“You. Are. A. Naughty. Girl.” He hisses, eyes boring into your own, face mere inches from yours, and each word punctuated by another forceful snap of his hips. You moan at the feeling of his length slamming into your cervix. By this time, he’s panting and the flush on his ears is rising, and you know he’s close to his own release. One of Astarion's fingers is lingering dangerously close to your mouth as he clutches your neck; you take the digit between your lips and begin to suck.

As the vampire sees your tongue snake around his finger, he’s done for. All resolve is gone, and your lover fucks into you with reckless abandon as you moan around his hand. The grip on your neck tightens as he starts to emit his own cries of pleasure, and your hand wraps tightly onto his neck in response, nails digging into cold flesh.

“Do you see what you do to me?” He asks through gritted teeth as his thrusts become sloppy. You’re seeing stars, and the friction of his pelvis paired with the intense throbbing of your abused pussy is sending you towards a second climax. As your body reaches its crescendo, you release Astarion’s finger from between your lips and cry out in a mixture of pleasure and pain. The rogue hears your beautiful cry and feels the pulsing of your sex, which finally pushes him over the edge as he spills into you, cock twitching with every new stream of seed.

His mouth is on yours before you finish your strangled cry of release, and Astarion’s works to kiss you down from your incredible high. The vampire releases your neck, and the passionate force of his lips slowly ebbs into a gentle, lazy kiss. Eventually, with both of your bodies fully spent, the rogue rolls onto his side, sliding himself from you and spilling the evidence of your love making across the silky sheets.

Astarion rolls from the bed, and you whine, but he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear as he promises he will be right back. He slips his trousers on and exits the room for a minute, only to return with the book he seemed obsessed with. Part of you is annoyed when the rogue settles back into bed, opening his arm so you can nestle yourself in the crook.

You give him a little pout. “Do you not love me more than you love these books? I’m beginning to worry I’ve coupled myself to another Gale. I was sure that tonight would distract you and I would have you all to myself.”

Astarion chuckles, shaking his head slightly before turning to kiss you on the forehead. “My sweet, surely you know the depths of my love for you far surpass the pages of a book. And you are always distracting... even when I am thinking of something else, I am also thinking of you.”

He shuts the book and taps his hand on the cover, lithe fingers moving to trace the embossed words of the title. “I apologize if I’ve been consumed and you’ve felt neglected, my darling. This book is just… intriguing.”

You turn your head and for the first time, read the title: ‘The Creation of Dhampirs: A Guide.”

Oh.

Your brow furrows as you turn to look at Astarion, and you see a wistful, faraway look in his eyes. This look was different from his unfortunately familiar one that he displayed during flashbacks and night terrors… this one contained hope.

“Are you imagining your future, Astarion?” You ask, sitting up just enough to place a kiss on your lover’s cheek and brush a few wayward curls back into place. “If you are, then I’d better be there by your side.”

The rogue snaps out of his reverie and turns to look at you again, his expression laced with love. He extends his long arm backwards, dropping the tome on the nightstand before placing his hand on your face. Astarion’s thumb strokes your cheek and he sighs happily before whispering, “Yes, you’d better be.”

1K notes · View notes

underdark-dreams · 7 months

Text

A gift fic for @catsharky featuring their beautiful bard Tav, Ember! Fueled by catsharky's mind and by the amazing art of Ember & blushy Rolan trapped in a closet 😳

Pent Up

"How long has it been?" As the new Master of Ramazith's Tower, Rolan finds himself short on personal time. Then he finds himself trapped up against the bard.

Tags: Trapped in a Closet, Tails, Touch-Starved, Explicit Sexual Content

Word Count: 4,383 [Read on AO3]

For all its wonders, Ramazith’s Tower offered a staggering lack of privacy.

Perhaps few wizards had families; Rolan couldn’t think of another good reason why such a palace would have only one decent bedroom within its walls.

It hadn’t seemed like a hindrance the first days Cal and Lia moved in. They’d managed to find their alone time on the road from Elturel where privacy was nonexistent, hadn’t they?

After four weeks of Cal’s snoring and Lia’s constant tossing and turning in their beds beside his, Rolan felt like a bowstring ready to snap. Between the shared quarters and all of the newly inherited duties of managing Sorcerous Sundries, let alone cataloging the Tower itself, Rolan found himself…well. Out of time for his own needs.

More bluntly, if Rolan didn’t get himself off in the next tenday, he feared he might actually burn down a wing of his brand new library from sheer sexual frustration. The thought didn’t even embarrass him at this point—that’s how absolutely desperate he’d grown.

And of course the dreams weren’t helping.

That made Rolan’s focus falter for a moment, and the books he was levitating to the floor above slammed into their shelf with far too much force. He cursed under his breath and concentrated fresh on the next stack of tomes beside him.

Of all the people for his subconscious to latch onto, why, why did it have to be Ember? He respected her and valued her friendship more than just about anyone’s. He looked forward to every moment he got to spend in her company, in fact.

Yet lately, Rolan’s sleeping mind conjured up scenarios where he took her in every position on every surface imaginable.

Pressed into silky sheets—bent in half over his desk—on her hands and knees on the carpet, the wood floor, his own bed, Ember’s fists gripping the bedding beneath her as he—

“Hope you’ve got a good spot to hide up here!”

Rolan heard the jingle of bells behind him before he’d even turned from his work. Her voice sent a pang of mortification through him, as if she too might have glimpsed those images flashing through his mind’s eye.

Ember was dashing toward him from the Tower portal, still dressed in one of her stage costumes. She was barefoot save for a ring of little bells around each ankle, and her tail swung wildly behind her for balance as she ran into the room.

“What in the hells—” Rolan began, this time failing the final gesture of his spell. The tomes that he was carefully guiding upward lurched and crashed against the polished wood, toppling back down several floors. Rolan ducked aside just in time as they landed with a sharp thump at his feet.

“Explain,” he demanded curtly, knowing whatever story the bard had would be outlandish.

“That Aradin, remember?” Ember pulled up in front of him, clutching a stitch in her side. “Stupid bounty hunter? His crew’s downstairs. They seem very put out that he’s dead,” she added, letting out a breathless laugh.

Rolan failed to see the humor. “You mean you led them here? From wherever you were doing your—”

He tried and failed to find the right word, instead waving a hand around her figure. Ember’s attire revealed a strip of bare skin from her neck to her navel, and that sight had scattered Rolan’s thoughts around his skull like marbles.

“The Elfsong,” Ember supplied, not acknowledging his sudden fluster. “They didn’t recognize my stage disguise, but I overheard them planning to come here and shake you down for what’s owed them. You’re welcome for the head start,” she added, propping a fist on her hip.

Rolan tried to ignore the attitude as he bent to pick up his damaged books in a huff. “They do know Lorroakan’s dead too, correct? Whatever contract they had with him was never any of my business.”

Ember spread her arms wide in impatience. “I know that, Rolan, but they’re fucking idiots!”

“Let’s just call Aylin to stomp them to death,” Rolan muttered savagely, not altogether joking.

Rolan had fended off Aradin’s rude threats for his entire apprenticeship, and now that he was Master of the Tower himself, he was in no mood for more of that lot barging in and demanding things. After watching the aasimar dispatch Lorroakan, Rolan suspected that Dame Aylin would share the feeling.

“Nice idea,” Ember allowed, “but unless you’d like blood on your new carpets, I suggest we make ourselves scarce. Like now. You know you’ve still got a portal down there practically labeled ‘Real Nightsong Hunters This Way’?”

This brought Rolan up short with a curse; Ember had a terribly good point there. He could kick himself for not having the sense to fix that glaring security risk before now.

Considering the slew of Gazette articles speculating wildly about how Ramazith’s Tower had fallen into his hands, perhaps it was wise not to add any other deaths to his first month as Master.

When he straightened, Ember was already casting around the cavernous interior for a suitable hiding spot. “There,” she pointed up suddenly.

Apparently done trying to urge him on with words, Ember’s fingers clasped over his, and the next thing Rolan knew she was dragging him bodily up the staircase. The books under his arm tumbled again to the floor.

Through his surprise, Rolan felt something wet between their palms. He glanced to find that her hand was spattered with blood.

“Did they hurt you?” Suddenly furious, Rolan nearly stumbled on a stair behind her. A handful of defensive spells sprang white-hot into his mind.

“Oh, no—” Ember dismissed the idea. “It’s not mine.”

That only raised more questions, but there was no chance to form them as she yanked him onto the open landing. When Ember made a beeline toward the narrow door between two ornate shelves, Rolan tried to object. “That’s only a—”

Ember threw the door open and practically shoved him inside.

“—closet,” Rolan finished deadpan, even as the bard jostled in behind him, swinging the door to its latch behind her. The space was comically small with two people.

Or it would have been comical with someone else.

Instead, Rolan found himself suddenly pressed up far closer to Ember than he ever had been outside his own mind. Standing chest-to-chest, he was painfully aware of every spot where their limbs brushed together—especially when her hand accidentally swung against the robes at his thigh.

It finally made her pick up on the tension radiating around him. Ember cleared her throat, although her eyes were sparkling with amusement. “Unless you’ve got a better idea?”

“No,” was all Rolan had time to say before the whirling sound of the portal below traveled up to their ears. The two of them froze still. Ember's eyes on his face went wide, as if it might help her hear behind her better.

Over Ember’s shoulder, Rolan could only see a thin vertical sliver of the lower dais through the crack in the closet door, but it was just enough.

Into the room shuffled two men, one dark and one fair. Rolan indeed thought he recognized them from Aradin’s crew back at the Grove. They moved warily across the central floor with hands near their weapons, as if expecting an ambush. When the blonde-haired man turned slightly, Rolan glimpsed two fresh streaks of blood running from his nostrils.

Almost as if someone with quick reflexes had jammed the heel of their hand against his nose in a defensive move, bloodying their palm in the process.

“I see,” Rolan whispered, partly to himself. “Any chance you instigated this whole thing?”

“He deserved it,” Ember whispered back with vehemence. “He called you a—”

Their eyes met for a second, and just as Rolan’s heart began to pound at how close her face was, she glanced away.

“Let’s just say he had Aradin’s vocabulary,” Ember finished.

So she had bloodied a man’s nose to defend his honor? He should find it absurd, but at this moment, all Rolan could think was how pretty Ember looked with her jaw set in righteous indignation like that.

“I’m flattered,” Rolan told her, only half-joking. He glanced back through the crack in the door, partly to distract himself from her again.

The two thugs had quickly given up any pretense of stealth in favor of searching the premises. Their unguarded footsteps were enough to track them, and after a short verbal exchange those heavy treads spread out to explore the floor below—far from Rolan and Ember’s hiding place.

“What if they steal something?” Ember whispered suddenly.

Of all Rolan’s concerns right now, that was by far the least pressing. “The stuff they’re looking for is all down in the vault. But I’d love to see them try, this place has enough defensive enchantments to flatten a troll, some my own magic. They’ll get knocked out if they so much as crack open a book. Though I doubt they can read,” Rolan added.

That made Ember laugh, a breathy and quiet sound—Rolan felt it against his cheek and hoped she wouldn’t notice the way he swallowed hard at the sensation.

With the two intruders blundering about so loudly, it suddenly seemed like an unnecessary risk to keep the door cracked open to watch them. In one move Rolan reached around Ember’s arm for the doorknob, pulled it shut, and muttered a quick incantation. The lock glowed blue-white with a series of clicks, now magically secured from the inside.

It was a slight change, but it somehow made the cramped space feel far more intimate. The light streaming under the door was just enough for him to make out Ember’s face a mere foot from his own.

Shelves packed with broken baubles of unidentified usefulness lined the walls around them, muffling the sound in the small space, everything but their breathing. Ember was close enough that Rolan felt her every exhale tickle his cheek.

“Now I guess we wait,” she said.

Rolan nodded, then remembered she might not be able to see. “I suppose. Hopefully those idiots lose interest fast.”

“What about Cal and Lia?”

“They’re both at Alfira’s,” Rolan answered. Worry ran through him for a moment, but they wouldn’t be back for at least an hour. By any luck Aradin’s old crew would be long gone by then. Good gods, please. Rolan didn’t think he’d survive an hour in a confined space with Ember’s body brushing up against him without doing something immensely embarrassing.

There was another muffled pause as they both shifted on their feet. One of Ember’s bells gave a tiny jingle.

“So…what’s new with you?” Ember’s quiet voice shook with mirth. This whole situation was apparently all good fun for her.

Rolan found himself enjoying it for his own reasons, but not any he remotely wanted to admit. The slashing neckline in Ember’s shirt offered a very generous view of her chest from this angle, and it took most of his concentration not to stare. He shifted again in an effort to put more space between them—with little success.

“Nothing but the usual,” he told her, grasping at the distraction. “Organizing Lorroakan’s hoard of magical artifacts, putting the library in proper order. Preparing the Tower’s defenses for the army marching down on the city any day now.”

“Sounds stressful.” Ember frowned at him a bit. “Don’t you take any time for yourself? Have a little fun?”

“When exactly would I have a chance to do that,” Rolan laughed mirthlessly.

And that was precisely the problem, wasn’t it?

As though Rolan’s subconscious hadn’t taken over after enough inaction on his part. As though exactly four nights ago he hadn’t experienced a dream shockingly similar to their current scenario, one where dream-Ember had instead dropped to her knees with lovely lips parted to take him.

As though Rolan hadn’t jolted awake at midnight, sweaty and tangled in his bedsheets, hard cock in his own grip—

That alarming line of thought was interrupted when one of Aradin’s men called to the other. This time, the voice came from just a few meters outside the door.

Both of them froze at the sound. Rolan’s mind was actually distracted by the threat of a confrontation, though only for a moment.

Whether from nerves or something else, Ember’s frame shifted in closer against his. He thought he could almost feel the heavy beat of her heart through the muffled and dim space.

The motion notched their bodies together in a new way. With his next smallest of movements, Rolan felt one of her thighs nudging in between his legs.

No—no no no, not now—

Yet blood was already rushing south of his waist in a primal reaction to the contact. Rolan clamped down with all his mental training, willing his body not to do anything so humiliating while she was trapped up against him like this with potential danger just outside. He conjured up thoughts of death, and pain, and anything that might distract his touch-starved body from the destination it was already barrelling towards headlong. His tail tip flicked eagerly behind him, and he coiled it around his calf to hide his tell.

But she was so firm and warm against his groin, and despite his best efforts, Rolan felt himself stiffening against her under his robes.

Ember’s eyebrows rose silently. Rolan felt the hottest blush blooming all over his face in response.

“Ignore that,” Rolan whispered curtly. Looking at any part of her only made his face burn even more, but it was hard to find anywhere else to look in their close quarters.

Ember bit and released her lower lip. “That’s going to be hard,” she whispered back.

Her choice of words made him wish the floorboards would open up and swallow him. Gods, this was humiliating.

“Do you always get this excited from the thrill of danger?” Ember continued in a teasing whisper.

“Now’s not the time,” Rolan hissed at her, trying to ignore the way she had angled herself slightly against his side.

“Or maybe it’s the close quarters—”

“Hush—” Rolan was genuinely trying to listen, unsure whether the intruder had moved away or was close enough to hear their whispered exchange. He was in no state to concentrate on spellcasting at the moment.

As he strained his ears, one of his arms nervously bumped against Ember and actually grazed the soft curve of her breast. Her breath hitched against his ear.

Fucking hells. Rolan thought every bit of him could melt on the spot—all but the length between his legs, which was now hard as a rock against the side of Ember’s hip. Rolan tried to shrink back further against the shelving behind him, but there was nowhere left to go.

Ember certainly made no move to give him space. “Didn’t know you had it in you,” she whispered coyly. “Honestly, I’m flattered.”

“This isn’t because—” Of you, Rolan wanted to tell her. But that seemed rather insulting, not to mention a bald-faced lie. He let out a shaky breath. “I’ve…not had much time to myself lately, that’s all.”

“Oh,” she replied. Rolan could practically feel Ember’s eyes on the side of his face. “Oh.”

A pause followed in which Rolan stared up at the dark closet ceiling and wished to disappear. Outside, there was a more distant crash and a yelp—one of the idiots triggering an arcane trap, no doubt. He felt a twinge of satisfaction. They were the whole reason he was stuck in this predicament.

“How long has it been?”

Rolan glanced down at Ember, whose face was tilted toward him sincerely.

“A few weeks,” he mumbled, then looked away again. “Almost four.”

“Damn,” Ember whispered.

“Yes,” Rolan said stiffly, continuing to avoid her gaze as prickling heat climbed up his neck. “So if we could just—wait here quietly.”

Ember let out a low, thoughtful hum. Something about the sound made Rolan’s palms sweat where they hung at his sides.

“How quiet can you be?” She asked him.

It took Rolan several moments to catch her meaning. He blinked at her in shock, certain she must be trying to tease him again. “What do you—”

“Because we’re alone right now,” she interrupted. She spread her palms to each side, as far as the cramped walls allowed. “And you've got nowhere else to be at the moment, right?”

She was so close Rolan’s eyes had to flick back and forth between hers. “That’s insane,” Rolan said hoarsely.

“Is it?” Ember sounded quite serious, though she kept her tone to a whisper. “Listen, Rolan, you’re not subtle. I’ve noticed, everyone who cares about you has. You’ve been impatient, and snippy, and Lia said you keep forgetting projects in the middle to start new ones.”

“When did you talk to—”

She didn’t slow for his question, and Rolan felt her hand actually curl up over his shoulder. His skin glowed with heat under her touch.

“For your own sanity, you need to get off,” Ember finished.

“I’m not going to—while you’re standing right here,” Rolan choked out. His mouth refused to repeat the phrase.

Ember was so close that he actually saw the color travel up her cheeks. “Rolan, seriously…you’ve been staring down my shirt every ten seconds. And you’re practically impaling me with that thing in your pants.”

All Rolan could do was squeeze his eyes shut with a small groan of humiliation. “I’m sorry.”

“You don't need to be sorry,” she told him, and with his eyes closed, he heard a new note in her voice. “I’m telling you I can help.”

As she spoke, a soft hand closed across Rolan’s mouth.

His eyes flew open in shock to find hers. Ember’s luminous blue-gold gaze looked at him from under her lashes, sending a wave of heat rippling and licking across the skin under his robes.

With heart pounding in his chest, Rolan connected the dots. She could help. She could keep him quiet.

As his breath panted faster under her hand, Ember tilted her body slightly against his. Before he could think, she moved her free arm as if to reach between his legs.

Rolan shook his head frantically. If she touched him there, this would all be over. Not to mention…some small part of his mind admitted…he wanted to feel Ember’s hands there for the first time under different circumstances. Some night when he could take his time with her on even footing.

She had withdrawn her hand immediately at his indication, resting it gently around on his back instead. It was almost a sweet gesture—until she used the leverage of her pressed palm to roll her hips very slightly over his trapped thigh.

The small motion slid his hardness against her side through layers of clothing, and the simple friction made him throb. Rolan moaned at the back of his throat and felt the vibration stopped up by her hand. His tail had uncurled from his leg to shudder and flick in excitement again, nearly knocking something glass off the shelf behind him. Desperate to keep quiet, Rolan wound his tail up Ember’s leg with the tip brushing against her thigh.

She bit one side of her lip in response. At that sight, had her fingers not been clasped firmly over his mouth, Rolan would have closed the distance to kiss her.

While he panted and wished, Ember’s hand trailed down the back of his robes with no particular goal in mind. But when her fingers met with bare skin at the base of his tail, Rolan jerked involuntarily as a strangled groan rose from his chest.

The fingers of her other hand clenched tighter over his mouth. Ember stared at him, eyes wide with surprise and something like delight.

The last working bit of Rolan’s brain recalled her upbringing among non-Tieflings. Was it possible—could she not realize what a very sensitive area that was?

She appeared to be getting the picture either way. Without moving her hand from his lips, she curled four fingers ever so lightly to cup around the base of his tail.

“Wait,” Rolan managed to gasp out against Ember’s hand, and she slid it down to his chin. His length throbbed painfully against his trousers, pressing obscenely into her thigh, yet she made no move to adjust positions.

But Ember did hesitate as she watched him. “Does that hurt?”

“No, hells—” Rolan shook his head in a daze. “Far…far from it.”

Ember looked over his face with almost curiosity, and then her lovely fingers squeezed slightly around him.

“Wait!” Rolan repeated, and his tone shot up to a quiet whine. He was past trying to control his reactions, trembling and heated with weeks of pent-up desperation, but it felt vital to salvage what shreds of his dignity remained before she tipped him over the edge. And she had him very, very close.

“This isn't how I wanted—with you—but it’s been a gods damned month between everything, and Cal and Lia—and I’m master of the Tower now, and there’s the Absolute—”

Whether or not Rolan’s whispered and disjointed rambling made any sense, Ember had the grace to watch him from under her lashes until he sputtered out. In the next moment, she uttered the sultriest thing he’d ever heard.

“Honestly, Rolan, I just want to watch you come all over your robes.”

With that, her grip tugged firmly at the spot where his tail met his ass.

If not for her other hand clamping over his mouth again in the same motion, Rolan would have let out the most humiliating whimper of pure relief. Instead the noise was a muffled strangle of sound as his body gave her exactly what she wanted.

With a full-body shudder, Rolan twitched and spilled inside his trousers. His fingers clutched and dug at Ember’s hips with a mind of their own, pulling her forward shamelessly, allowing him to finally grind against her thigh in earnest as he came.

The wave of long-awaited release shot all the way up his spine with an intensity that made his knees buckle. Ember pressed his hips back against the shelves with her own just enough to catch him, sending the precarious tinkle of metal and glass around the small space—but her hand pumped a few more times over his tail to tease every last wave of pleasure from between his legs.

Rolan’s limbs trembled and shook from the force of the most satisfying climax he’d had in years. As white stars behind his eyelids popped and cleared, hot, sticky spend pooled in the fabric between his legs…then rapidly turned cold and mortifying. All Rolan could do was hang his head over Ember’s shoulder and pant against her hand.

At this moment, he’d give half his tower to know a good Banishment hex.

But if Ember was put off by his loss of control, she certainly didn't show it. Instead she let out a sound like a satisfied purr; she finally released his twitching, oversensitive tail to wrap both arms around his neck.

Rolan felt drunk in his afterglow, too spent to do anything but loop his arms around Ember’s waist and bury his flushed face into her shoulder. He realized through the haze that he'd heard the portal activate a while ago, though it hadn't registered then. They'd been alone in the tower for some time.

“Feel better?” Ember asked, her cheek resting against his shoulder.

It was difficult to answer. On the one hand, he could sob from the relief. On the other, Rolan had just done the most unimpressive thing against the leg of the very woman he wanted to impress most.

But Ember hadn't pushed him away in disgust. She was even closer than before, the length of her body pressed up comfortably against his as she hugged him. If not for the cold wet stain soaking from his clothes into hers, the position would be quite nice.

Rolan cast a simple spell as his energy returned, and the fabric between them was instantly warm and dry again.

“I've felt worse,” Rolan admitted as he reluctantly drew her away. Ember had begun to feel a little too nice pressed up against him; he wasn't taking any chances on a repeat.

“Good.” Ember looked down to brush herself off a little, and Rolan wondered whether he was imagining the darker color in her cheeks.

Without another word, Ember wheeled to open the door and accidentally thumped up against the unyielding wood. “Ouch—”

“Sorry,” Rolan said hastily, releasing the arcane lock with another quick spell and a flash of light. The door swung open.

They both stumbled slightly on the way out, blinded by the daylight streaming through the highly arched windows after so long in a dark enclosed space.

Ember walked ahead first with a hand shielding her eyes. “Well, looks all right out here…they didn’t try to trash the place, at least.”

Rolan glanced at her to respond, then stopped short.

He gaped open-mouthed at the back of her. From between the seams of her costume, Ember’s tail looped up in a perky and exaggerated S-curve. The sight was utterly adorable and incredibly tantalizing all at once. It also offered a very nice view of the curves of her hips, and Rolan could only blink and swallow hard as his mind whirred through several possibilities to land on the obvious one.

Had she enjoyed that?

Apparently unaware that her tail was curling and swaying at him in a come-hither motion, Ember turned back to him with a bright, unsuspecting smile. Rolan rushed to compose his face.

“You should come to my show this week,” she told him. “It’ll be fun. Bring Cal and Lia, relax a little. You’ve gotten all pent up in here,” Ember added, waving an arm around the cavernous tower.

He would say she had no idea, but in fact, Ember now knew intimately well.

Thanks to the electrifying realization that she had some feelings of her own about the matter, Rolan was able to manage a shaky laugh.

“I might just chance it.”

#nsft #spicy #rolan x tav #rolan x oc #tav: ember #oc: ember #fuck me tails #bg3 rolan #rolan bg3 #rolan #catsharky #thank you for letting me take Ember and Rolan out to play!#underdark-dreams #bg3 smut #bg3 fanfiction

600 notes · View notes

spinderella-umbrella · 2 months

Text

@jegulus-microfic | 27-03; Birthday | 373 words

“Happy birthday Reg,”

James has followed him through the library, coming up behind him and whispering in his ear. He wasn’t sneaky, and Regulus shuddered uncomfortably at the breath on his neck.

Regulus slams the tome he was flicking through closed and replaces it into the shelf, unimpressed at both the nickname and the public familiarity. He whirls around to see James with a stupid smile on his face and his hand behind his back.

“What do you want?” Regulus snaps, raising his chin so he could peer down his nose at James.

He didn’t need to look around to see if anyone could see them. He’s led James here intentionally— but even if someone happens upon them, it will look like what it is. An altercation. Because if James has the gall to have a gift behind his back, Regulus is going to kill him.

“I got you something.” James says the dreaded words.

He feels the fire of frustration burning behind his eyes, and he’s sure if anyone other than James freakin Potter was in front of him, they’d cower.

James just pulls his hand from behind his back and holds up a leather bound journal.

“I noticed you were near the end of yours, so it’s practical, and, you would have had to get a new one anyway, and well, I liked picking it out for you.” He rambles, and Regulus surprises himself by reaching out and taking it, turning it over in his hands.

It’s nice. Really nice. The binding looks hand done, the leather work is precise and shows skill. He unwinds the tie, opening the book to feel the pages— textured hand made paper cut so precisely that there was a clean edge on the pages, just like Regulus liked.

He… loves it. Dammit.

Regulus glances up at James, who is turning red from holding his breath. Why does he even like this moron?

“Breathe, idiot.” Regulus says, rolling his eyes.

James lets out a breath and grins, and okay. That smile might have a little bit to do with it.

“Thank you.” He says quietly, genuinely, before nodding goodbye and walking away. He’ll thank him properly the next time he gets him in a broom closet.

#marauders #maraudersfanfiction #Jegulus #marauders era #regulus black #marauders fanfiction #James potter #yes I’m aware it’s James’ birthday today #but this is what came out of my tired brain sooooo

192 notes · View notes

brokebonewritings · 4 months

Text

Never Before, Never Again

Astarion x Fem! Reader

Tags/ Warnings: 18+, Angst, Abuse, Death, Mentions of Blood, Smut

Summary: It’s been six month since settling down in Baldur’s Gate with Astarion. After killing Cazador, you notice his aggressive nature taking over. How long will it take for you to be truly done with his wrath.

Word Count: 2.6K

A/N: I want to start off by apologizing but I felt so inspired after the new romance scenes in Patch 6. I also want to say that I will be writing a good ole, fluff fic with Astarion just to make up for this.

Navigation || Masterlist

You paced down the corridor of the palace you now shared with Astarion. It had been 6 months since that fateful night. The killing of Cazador had been eventful so to say and shortly after you had accepted his invitation to be his. Forever.

It wasn't the same. You started noticing it little by little. His attitude towards you had become increasingly aggressive. Feral even.

You couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that lingered in the air whenever Astarion was around. His once charming demeanor had turned into something darker. As you walked through the palace corridors, you couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding creeping up your spine.

Reaching the library, you decided to throw yourself into your research. You were a scholarly warlock, after all. And work you did. For hours you studied magic texts, and the histories behind them.

As you sat in the dimly lit library, Astarion entered the room with a predatory glint in his eyes. His movements were slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. When you turned, you tried to shake off the feeling of fear that gripped your chest as he approached you.

"Darling, is this where you've been all day?" His voice was low and dangerous, sending a shiver down your spine. "I've missed you and your delicious body."

The room turned cold as his words sank in. Something had changed in him, something dark and possessive.

You swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure in the face of his unsettling presence. "I've been busy with my studies," you replied, keeping your tone neutral despite the growing sense of dread in your heart.

The dread whenever he was around had only appeared in the most recent weeks. You tried to focus on the book in front of you, but his proximity was suffocating.

Astarion's hand suddenly shot out and slammed the book shut, causing you to jump in your seat. His grip on the tome was tight, his knuckles turning white as he leaned in close enough for you to feel his cold breath on your skin.

"Studies can wait," he whispered, his voice sending a chill down your spine. "I have other ways for us to spend our time together."

You had to play along. It was the only way to appease him. The only way you could escape.

"How is that, my love?" You say as you rise from your seat, taking his outstretched hand gently.

In a swift motion he pulls you in close to his chest. As he held you tightly against him, his grip almost bruising, you couldn't help but feel a surge of fear mingled with a strange sense of thrill.

His lips brushed against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine as he whispered, "I want to show you a new side of pleasure, my dear. A side that only I can unlock for you." His words were laced with seduction.

As he guided you out of the library and down the dimly lit corridors of the palace, you couldn't shake off the feeling of being led into the unknown.

You found yourself in a room you were very familiar with. The air was heavy with the scent of ancient magic, and as Astarion's eyes gleamed with an otherworldly light, you realized truly you were not in the presence of the man you one knew.

"Darling, did you bring me in here to ravish me?" You say as you begin to remove your silk dress.

Watching his eyes darken with hunger, his lips curled into a sinister smile. He circled around you like a predator assessing its prey, his fingertips trailing lightly along your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

He finally stops behind you and reaches around your neck to grip your jaw. His touch was both possessive and delicate, a stark contrast that sent a wave of conflicting emotions through you. As he tilted your head back to expose your vulnerable throat, you could feel the weight of his gaze burning into your skin.

Astarion's voice was a low murmur against your ear, promising whispered secrets and forbidden desires. "Oh, my sweet little morsel," he murmured, "I am going to make sure there is not a single place on your skinned that is untouched."

His mouth finds the pressure point in your neck and you moan as he gives it a gentle bite. You know he can feel you tremble beneath his hand. He trails his kisses lower until he is able to fully sink his teeth in.

You begin to gasp and writhe under his touch, the intensity of his grip and the sharp sting of his bite both arousing and terrifying. And then, as suddenly as it began, Astarion pulls away, leaving you breathless and exposed.

"Astarion!" You shout, hand covering the bite marks on your neck. "I told you to ask before doing that!"

"I do not need to ask permission! You are mine! I own you!" He grabs your arm pulling you towards him.

That did not stop the tears from beginning to drip down your cheeks. Everything he did not want to become, he was. After countless promises that he was the same rogue you had met that fateful day.

"Oh darling, do you see what you have made me do?" He whispers. "You know I don't like to shout at you."

Astarion's features softened as he saw the tears on my face, though his eyes remained distant and cold. He slowly released my arm and stepped back.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the tremors in your body. "You need to control yourself, Astarion. You are beginning to change into someone I don't know."

"Of course I am changing. I am the most powerful being in this world." He walks over to the chair by his desk. "Are you doubting me now?"

Shaking your head, you couldn't help but to submit to the question. "No, no. Of course not, love."

He motions with his finger for you to come to him and you obey. When you approach him, he motions for you to kneel before him. Once again you obey his command.

"Here is what we are going to do, pet." He begins "You are going to be a good girl, and do as I say. Understand?"

You nod. "Yes I understand."

"Such a good girl, aren't you?"

He stands and steps forward grabbing hold of your chin and bringing you in for a searing kiss. Once he was satisfied, he pushes against your cheek causing you to fall back roughly. You try to catch your breath as you sit there, staring up at him.

"Get undressed, and sit on the bed for me, darling."

You stand and finally fully undress. You sit on the edge of the bed, feeling the silk sheets beneath you. You didn't know how to react at this point.

He stepped closer until he was looming over you, his shadow engulfing you in its darkness. Then, he reached down and began to trace the outline of your body with his fingers, starting at your neck and moving down to your chest.

"Spread your legs for me," he commands, his voice low and seductive.

You hesitate for a moment, but then you find yourself doing as he says, unable to resist his authority. He takes a moment to enjoy the sight before him, his gaze lingering on each part of your body that he intends to claim.

Finally, he leans down and kisses your inner thigh, his lips barely brushing against your skin. You tremble as he slowly makes his way up, his tongue tracing a path along the delicate flesh. Each touch of his lips and tongue sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you.

As his lips reach your most intimate place, you arch your back, your breath coming in short gasps. You feel him tease you, his tongue flicking against you, driving you mad with desire.

Astarion smiles, a wicked smile, as he notices the effect he's having on you. He pulls back slightly, giving you a moment to catch your breath before he begins to devour you. His tongue plunges inside you, sending waves of pleasure through you that threaten to consume you.

You can't help but cry out in pleasure, your hands gripping the sheets beneath you as his tongue moves inside you. You are completely at his mercy, your body arching and writhing as he takes you to heights you never thought possible. Finally, he pulls back, his eyes gleaming with triumph. He leans down and kisses you, allowing you to taste yourself on his lips.

"Now," he says, his voice low and commanding, "It's time for you to learn what it means to truly be mine."

You nod, still reeling from the intensity of the experience. With one swift motion, he grabs your hips as he flips you over. You lay there a moment, listening to the ties of his pants coming undone.

He lifts you up and positions you at the edge of the bed, spreading your legs wide to reveal your vulnerability. His powerful hands grip your hips, and he begins to enter you slowly, his movements deliberate, almost intimate.

You gasp in pain, then pleasure, as the feeling of fullness envelops you, overwhelming your senses. He moves harder, faster, and you can't help but arch your back to meet his thrusts, moaning his name over and over.

He continues to dominate you, his voice a low rumble in your ear, promising you more pleasure than you ever thought possible. Your body responds, writhing beneath him, your hands clutching the sheets, your moans echoing through the dimly lit room.

"That's it, my love," he growls, his voice low and filled with lust. "Take it all."

His thrusts became more erratic, his breath ragged, and you felt his grip on your hips tighten. Astarion's eyes lock on yours, and you see the intensity of his desire reflected in them. With one final thrust, he groans your name, and you feel him spill inside you.

When you feel him slip out of you, you can't help but turn yourself around to face him. You were met with the unpleasant feeling of a sharp dagger being pressed against your chest.

"Astarion?"

"I know exactly what you are planning to do to me, Darling."

The dagger you had hidden in the pocket of your dress was the exact one that was being held against you.

"Please Astarion, it doesn't have to be like this!" You begin to cry. The man you once knew and loved had been left in that chamber.

"Oh, but it does have to be like this." He presses the dagger a little harder causing you to wince in pain. "You were the last person I expected to betray me."

"Betray you?" You choke out, swallowing the lump in your throat. "I... I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, Darling." Astarion's voice is cold and murderous, and you can see it in his eyes. "We both know that's a lie."

He steps closer, the dagger still pressed against your chest. You can feel the cold metal prick you, causing you to jolt in pain.

"Tell me," he demands, his voice barely above a whisper. "What did you plan to do to me?"

"You are becoming exactly like Cazador, Astar-"

"Don't ever mutter his name in here again!" His voice seized with venom. "I am more than he ever was! Smarter, Powerful."

His grip tightened around the dagger, its edge digging deeper into your flesh, drawing a thin line of blood. Your heart raced with fear, but you couldn't help but retort, "And yet, you still lack control."

As he raises the dagger back to plunge it into your chest, you quickly maneuver and shove him into the bed without second thought. The knife falls from his hand and slides onto the floor near your feet.

You take a moment to catch your breath and gather your thoughts. This situation has escalated far beyond what you had anticipated, and now you need to act quickly to save yourself.

Staring into Astarion's eyes, his murderous intent shining back at you. With a surge of adrenaline, you push yourself off the bed and lunge for the dagger on the floor. You manage to grab it just as he jumps to his feet, ready to pounce.

With the dagger in hand, you cautiously back away from him, trying to keep your distance. "Listen to me, Astarion," you say, trying to keep your voice steady despite the trembling in your body. "You have hurt me beyond words can explain! I have had enough!"

"I have given you everything you have ever wanted!"

"And yet you have taken everything I needed!"

Astarion's eyes narrowed at your words, and he took a step towards you, menace radiating from him. You raised the dagger in front of you, preparing to defend yourself if necessary.

"You betrayed me, Darling. You lied to me, and now you want to take my life?"

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face. "I never wanted this! I just wanted.. I just wanted you to be the person you were before, but you've become someone else. Someone I don't recognize."

"I was always this person!" He shouts, you see his hands shaking with anger. "You could not change that even if you tried."

Astarion took a deep breath, his fists clenching and unclenching. You knew he was about to do something that would change the course of both of your lives.

"I'm tired of being your spawn, Astarion."

With that, Astarion lunged at you. The dagger that was held tightly in your hand was raised as you plunged it into his heart. His eyes widen in shock, his breath catching in his throat as the cold steel and wood pierce his chest.

Blood spills from his mouth before he speaks. "I thought you loved me."

"I did love you." You sob, "But I knew for a while that you truly didn't love me."

You watch as his body convulses for a moment before going limp. You step back, staring at the lifeless form before you. The room is silent, only the sound of your ragged breathing filling the space.

Taking a deep breath, the shock of the moment is still fresh in your mind. You never thought it would come to this.

You sink to your knees beside his body, the weight of what you've done heavy on your chest. The blood is still warm as you reach down to touch it, a single tear falling onto his skin.

"I'm so sorry, Astarion," you whisper. "But I had to do it. I had to save you from yourself."

Slowly, you rise to your feet, your legs shaking with the realization of what you've done. You take in the scene before you, the remnants of your love now tainted with blood and death.

Taking a deep breath, you wipe away the blood from your hands, leaving behind a red smudge on the wall. You grab armor from the wardrobe before finally leaving the palace. When you reached the door and opened it, the cool day air felt cool against your skin.

Looking back one final time, you realize just how trapped you had been. Now free, you felt the weight of sadness as you set out on your own once again. You would never let this happen again.

Taglist: @fruityrituals @guacam011y

join my taglist!

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fanfic #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfiction writer #astarion smut

154 notes · View notes

magnoliasandarson · 1 month

Text

april 27th

In Wayne Manor there is a room unlike any of the other. It is not the Batcave, with all of its wonderful and physics-defying technology. It is not the study with its auspicious clock. It is not the library with its hundreds of rare and mysterious tomes. It is a room in the family wing, two doors down from the master bedroom.

This room is so special because it exists outside of time. In that room, it is always the morning of April 27th, just before dawn.

A small pile of dirty clothes is haphazardly tossed in a hamper next to the armoire. Drafts of half-written essays are scattered over the desk. A long-dead iPod is tucked between the pages of a lovingly annotated copy of Pride and Prejudice. A red hoodie is draped over the back of the desk chair, its pocket still holding a Batarang, a learner's permit, and a pencil.

In the center of the room, on the dusty floor, is a shattered picture frame.

If you were to look past the broken glass and the smallest blood stain, you would see a torn picture of a teenage boy standing between two men in suits. The boy was grinning like he'd won the lottery- crooked teeth on full display and blue eyes sparkling. The man on the right looks proud, also beaming at the camera with his hand clasping the boy's shoulder. The man on the left has his hands behind his back, the smallest smile pulling wrinkles into life on his face. The three looked like their lives had never been better; stood on the steps in front of a courthouse with the boy holding a freshly notarized certificate.

Perhaps that is why the frame was shattered.

Perhaps, on April 27th, in the early hours of the morning, Bruce Wayne knocked on the heavy mahogany door, regretful and wanting to make amends. But when he heard no response, he pushed the door open. Maybe when he saw the picture tossed to the ground, he panicked and dropped to his knees, slicing his fingers open on the glass in his haste to read the note that had been tossed onto the wreckage. The note crumbled in his hands as he raced out, slamming the door behind him.

The room remains untouched from that moment on, except on the 27th of April. Every year, a nightmare will rip Bruce Wayne from his fragile slumber, and he will tear through the manor in a blind panic, throwing the door open with the name Jason on his tongue.

Every year, he is greeted with the room that time forgot, and he falls apart.

#dc comics #dc universe #jason todd #robin #batman #batfam #bruce wayne #april 27 #the death of jason todd #jason peter todd #jason todd wayne #rare good dad bruce wayne post #alfred pennyworth #wayne manor #batfamily

111 notes · View notes

french-mermaid-outfit · 1 year

Text

A mathematician turns coffee into theorems but what if I told you we could turn theorems *slams ancient tome down in front of you* into coffee

384 notes · View notes

demetris-cocksleeve · 8 months

Text

(A/n: Told you it'd be up soon😅😘)

Word Count: 2,007

Summary- How do you expect Lucio to deny a treat such as yourself?

Warnings: Con Noncon, Mentions of "deflowering" (social construct but🤷‍♀️), anal, a singular slap at the beginning, fingering, unprotected sex- no creampie, let me know if i missed any

Age Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Count Lucio x Male! Reader: Corruption + Anal; Kinktober 2023

--------------------------

The palace library is filled with the steady shuffling of paper as you flip through various spell books.

Asra has been trying to teach you how to enter the Arcana Realm on your own but you just can't seem to grasp it. So here you are: sorting through book after book to try to figure it out. Sure, Asra would be more than happy to give you extra help, but you can't bring yourself to ask. Not after everything they have done for you already.

Just as you let out a sigh, about to give up for the day, the library doors slam open. You don't even have to look to know who it is. But you do, because he's the count and something about respect, yada yada yada.

You politely nod in acknowledgement even though you're trying to keep your eye from twitching in annoyance. You're already stressed between Asra's new task and the general mayhem that comes from being the count's personal magician.

Namely, the count's particular fascination with making you do measly magic tricks as though you're a court jester - it makes you regret ever accepting the Countess's offer.

"Ah! Y/n! What a wonderful surprise!" Count Lucio exclaims as he strides over to you.

As if he came to the library for any reason other than wanting to bother you.

"Count Lucio," you deadpan, continuing to flip through the pages in front of you.

He perches on the table, not bothering to move the priceless tomes and scrolls. You cringe as the papers crinkle and crunch under his weight.

"I'll never understand why you choose to bury yourself in such a dark, dusty room," he absently flips a book closed as he glances at the papers with a screwed up face. "If I didn't know any better I would think you like these books more than me~"

'Guess you don't know better, then…' you think bitterly.

"Do you require my assistance with something, your Excellency?"

His lips twist into a nasty smirk, sending a chill down your spine.

"I do, actually~"

Rubbing your temples you bookmark the tome you're looking through and set it aside. "And that would be with..?"

Over the course of your time at the palace, you've come to learn that the count has little to no regard for personal space when it comes to the people he favors, -unfortunately, you're one of the most favored of his staff- so you don't think much of it as he grabs your wrist and brings your hand toward him.

That is, until he places your hand on his lap. Specifically, his notably hard crotch.

His grip tightens when you move to yank your hand back.

"Sir-"

"Ah, ah ah~ You know what happens to people who upset me~" The Count chides.

The threat behind his words makes you freeze as images flash through your mind.

Various staff members who have been executed in various ways. From public hangings to being chased down by Mercedes and Melchior.

"There's a smart boy~" Count Lucio sing-songs. "You will do as I say, when I say it. Understand?"

Your jaw is set as you numbly nod.

"Good boy… Now, strip." He commands as releases your wrist to shrug off his jacket, leaving his torso bare.

You'd be lying if you said the count wasnt insanely attractive. Or that you hadn't thought about almost this exact situation before. But reality is different from fantasies.

A slap to the face snaps you out of your thoughts. You keep your head snapped to the side as he speaks.

"I said: strip."

With no other choice, you stand, slowly peeling layer after layer off until you're standing bare before him. Keeping your eyes to the ground, you wait for his next order as embarrassed tears prick at your eyes.

"Fuck… Look at you- better than I imagined." He breathes.

The tears slip down your cheeks as the praise causes your cock to start to twitch to life.

Horror dawns on you as you realize he said 'Imagined'... That means he's thought this… That he planned it. Oh, gods…

"C'mere."

His voice brings you back. Numbly, you move your legs until you're in front of him. He yanks you to stand between his legs.

"Open your mouth." Dropping your jaw open, your hands clench into fists at your side. Why you? Why couldn't this be happening to another staff member?

You know it's an awful thought, but you can't help it.

His fingers are heavy on your tongue as he slides them in to the knuckle. "Now suck."

The count's intense gaze never leaves you as you suck and swirl your tongue around his digits. You close your eyes in shame as your cock stands at attention between you. You know it's just a primal response, but the disgrace still fills you.

Even more so when you acknowledge the small part of you that's enjoying the attention. The part of you that whispers about all the times you imagined being bent over by him and fucked until you couldn't walk; reminds you of all the times you've feverishly tugged at yourself to the thougbt of him until you were spilling into your bath water.

After his fingers are thoroughly slicked, Count Lucio pulls his hand back and slips it behind you. You jump as you feel his wet fingers slip between your ass cheeks and trace around your hole.

"Wait!" You yelp, taking a step back. Which, with the way the pressure makes his finger breach you, does anything but help the heat in your face. "What are you doing?"

The count's head tilts to the side as he leans back against his metal arm. You try not to let the way his abs tense with the movement get to you. Try.

Raising an eyebrow he says, "Well, I was going to prepare you to take my cock, but, if you'd prefer no preparation, I'm happy either way…"

His dismissive attitude has you sputtering.

"So?" He asks, "Prepped or not prepped?"

"Well- I- Um- Wh-" You can feel the heat in your chest with how embarrassed you are. You're standing in front of Vesuvia's ruler, as naked as the day you were born, being asked how you like to be fucked. Please let a hole open up beneath you and swallow you whole…

Count Lucio rolls his eyes and huffs a sigh, "Prepped it is. Now- forearms on the table." He stands from his perch.

Hesitating, you just glance between him and the table. This is actually happening…

"Now."

His tone carries the authority of the fearless commander he's known to be and it has you shuddering as you lean over a couple scrolls.

"Good boy~"

You suck in a breath at the appraisal. Your hips jerk as he starts to push his fingers into you once more.

He pushes the first finger in until what you guess is the second joint before pulling it out and joining it with another finger. The count slowly starts to scissor you open.

"This is wrong…" you whimper out and the dirty feeling washing over you. "This is so, very wrong…" Fresh tears flow from your eyes as the count ruins you.

"Oh, baby, the only thing wrong right now, is you." You can feel his warmth as he leans over you to whisper in your ear. His fingers continue to force small whines from your lips as they pump in and out of you. "This isn't right, the body isn't meant for this…"

"Wait a minute-" Count Lucio pauses with a grin. "You don't mean the situation, do you?" Your bottom lip trembles as you shake your head.

"Please, don't do this to me," you whisper as your forehead falls to the table in defeat.

"Oh~" you can hear the growing smirk in his voice.

"Oh, I'm going to ruin you, my little magician~" he growls out.

His fingers start up with a renewed vigor and he speaks.

"Gonna ruin this tight little hole. Gonna ruin you for anyone else; you're never gonna be able to even think about anyone else after I'm done with you."

All of a sudden his fingers are gone and something much bigger is pushing at your rim. When did he undo his pants?

"Please… Lucio-"

Before you can get the rest of your plea out, you're interrupted.

"Godsdamn it-" He groans. "Drop the "Count" from now on. My name sounds so good coming from your lips, baby…"

You cry out as the count starts to push in. Not out of pain, but because you're never going to be intact again. Facing the ultimate shame has you once again cursing at the Arcana for not choosing someone else to be deflowered in this way.

You're sobbing into the tabletop by the time Lucio bottoms out. You can feel his metal fingers contrasting his flesh on your opposite hip; the sharp, gold digits digging into your skin as he starts to pull out.

You're babbling various pleas and protests as he thrusts back in. Your words fall on deaf ears as he starts to pick up the pace. Your cries mix with his pleasured curses fill the otherwise empty library.

One particularly hard thrust has you screaming out in pleasure and pain as he slams into your prostate- over and over the bundle of nerves takes the hits. Over and over you clench your eyes as you jaw goes slack. The most obscene noises leave you, noises you didn't know you could make.

"Fucking hell-" Lucio hisses as he snaps his hips against yours, "Feel so fucking good; look at you sucking me in so eagerly. And to think- hah- you were so against this."

You can't bring yourself to answer. Your cheek is smushed against the wooden table as you get shoved up and down it with every thrust. The shiny surface fogs with each pant and moan that escapes you.

You can feel yourself climbing closer and closer to the edge, your balls start to tighten as the pain of neglect becomes almost too much for your leaking cock.

"Please…" You don't know what you're begging for at this point. You've already been ruined. Why not capitalize on it?

"Please, Lucio… I- I can't-'' You're still sobbing, but it's more from frustration than anything by now. The pleasure coursing through you with each stroke too much yet not enough. Not enough to make you cum.

In your desperation, you sneak your hand beneath you, damning any shame that action makes you feel, and grip the base of your cock, stroking your hand in time with Lucio's thrusts.

"Hah- Aughhh~" Your eyes roll back at the added pleasure, your hazy mind forgetting how wrong this is.

"C'mon," Lucio growls behind you. "C'mon, baby- cum for me." His grip is searing as his movements get somehow wilder. More erratic, more rough. It makes you insane.

With a final hit to your prostate, you cum with a cry. Your vision dances with black as you feel a sudden emptiness followed by something warm hitting the back of your thighs.

"Fuck…"

You don't know who says it… It could have been both of you for all you know.

"You okay, baby?" Lucio asks, taking his jacket and pulling you up, into a hug. "I wasn't too rough?"

A small smile plays at your face as you think back to the scene that just played out.

"It was perfect…" you nuzzle into his bare chest. "Thank you for indulging me, I know it's a bit weird to get turned on by that kind of stuff…"

Lucio rests his chin on your head as he speaks, "It's not weird baby boy- out of the ordinary, maybe, but it's not weird. And if I can help you indulge in even a fraction of your fantasies, then I've done my job right."

He lifts your chin up to place a kiss on your forehead, then the tip of your nose, finally landing on your lips.

Reblogs are appreciated!🛐

#count lucio x reader #count lucio x mc #count lucio smut #kinktober 2023 #the arcana smut #the arcana count lucio #the arcana #the arcana x mc #the arcana x reader

170 notes · View notes

peanutbutterandbananasandwichs · 19 days

Text

Sam clambers out of the Impala, all long gangly limbs that still don’t quite know what to do with themselves and nearly trips over his own feet in his rush to get to the door of the house, duffle slung over his shoulder and strap grasped tight between his fingers.

“What are you in such a rush for?” Dean nudges him sharply in the ribs as he hurries to catch up with him.

“Just want to get the best bedroom before you nick it jerk” Sam replies, turning to face Dean, and he can't quite keep the grin off his face.

“Sorry Sammy, oldest get’s the best bed, just the way the world works”, Sam shakes his head,

“Ok fine. Whatever.” He continues at the brisk pace through the hallway.

“Ok...you're still grinning, what gives?” Dean grabs Sam’s elbow, pulling him to a stop.

“What, so I'm not allowed to smile now?”

“No, you’re allowed, just not when you're supposed to be moping and pitching a bitch fit about moving again right about now.”

The smile slips ever so slightly from Sam’s lips and he clutches hold of his duffel strap even tighter, as if it’s something grounding. “Shut up Dean” he mumbles before pulling his elbow free and pushing open the door to the living room, with rather more force than he'd intended, and dropping himself down on the slightly moth eaten sofa, reaching into his duffle and pulling out a thick leather-bound book.

“Ah there’s the Sam we know and....”

“...Come on boys, no time for fucking about...” John appears at the doorway to the living room, clapping Dean on the shoulder as he speaks, “Dean go get the gun case from the truck.”

“Yes sir!” Dean hurries off back in the direction of the front yard. As Dean leaves, John rounds on Sam. “Not a hotel boy, get off your ass. There’s research to do. People are dying whilst you're lazing around”

Sam blows his bangs out of his face and scowls back at John. He holds up the book, lips tight as he responses tersely “sorry I didn't have it open yet. I'll be quicker next time. Sir.”

John huffs and stomps half out of the room, before calling back “I want something usable in less than an hour, not any of your usual ‘well it might be’ crap. Ok?”

Sam hangs his head slightly, “I just like to be sure.”

“An hour Sam.”

John leaves the room and Sam waits until he hears the firm slam of a bedroom door, glancing warily around, before fumbling a envelope from where its tucked securely in a split in the book’s back cover.

Sam pulls his knees up, leaning the book between his stomach and his thighs. The corners of the envelope are slightly dog eared from being stuffed into a slightly too small hiding place, Sam gingerly smooths them down, pressing the paper against the book cradled in his lap.

Thumbing over the already loose flap he slips it open and tugs the folded paper out, his fingers trembling slightly as he goes through the same ritual of smoothing out the page. Almost as if he’s avoiding having to actually look at the contents, which is dumb, he’s read it before, last night, back at Jim’s place. But still, it doesn’t feel quite real yet and maybe he read it all wrong last night, maybe he dreamed it.

There’s a loud crash from the front door and Sam nearly jumps out of his skin, hastily stuffing the letter back inside the envelope and cramming it, in direct opposition to his fastidious care of mere seconds ago, roughly back into the slot between the peeling binding and the cover, flipping to a marked page and making an effort to look sufficiently studious.

“Budge up.” Dean slouches back into the room, dropping the gun case down at the foot of the sofa. Sam curls his feet in slightly further under his body as Dean sprawls himself across well over half the sofa. Sam watches out of the corner of his eye, as he flips the gun case open with a toe and then reaches down to pull out Dad’s pistol, ready for cleaning. “Found anything?” Dean asks, leaning over to squint at the tiny, cramped font of the tome. “Damn, this is why you do the research geek boy.”

“Not yet, working on it” Sam mumbles in response, “or I was until you came crashing in.” He silently wills Dean to get the hint and go finish up in the kitchen or something, that or shift enough to let Sam wiggle out from the tiny corner of the sofa he’s been relegated to. He just wants somewhere to read the letter again in peace.

#Ok whilst I'm here just gonna post this little fic I found in my drafts that I never finished because why not #sam winchester #spn #my fic #spn fanfic #ok byeee

34 notes · View notes

deans-baby-momma · 3 months

Text

Anonymously Yours

Will a wrong number lead to love?

BOLD = wrong number's messages

Italics= Y/N's messages

A/N: Thanks to @kazsrm67 for being my beta for this story and also @chriszgirl92 who bullied me into letting her read it before it was posted, who actually found mistakes that had been overlooked. LOL

‘Hey girl! I had fun last night with you. Maybe we can do it again sometime.’

‘Wrong number.’

‘Girl, quit playing! It's me. Did you get so drunk you developed amnesia?’

‘DUDE! It's 6 am. I've been asleep all night. As I said before, wrong number!’

‘Oh come on darlin’. I know you didn't give me a fake number.’

Y/N's phone lights up her face as she reads the last message. This guy just wasn't giving up.

‘Listen Romeo. Whoever you met last night either gave you a random number or you put it in your phone wrong. Sorry but I'm not her.”

‘I can't believe this. This never happens to me. Well, I'm sorry for waking you up. Have a good day.’

Y/N slams her phone down on the mattress and closes her eyes, willing for sleep to overtake her. But it never comes. She can't stop thinking about the poor schmuck at the other end of the conversation.

She sighs as she re-opens her eyes and grabs her phone

‘I'm sorry for being such a bitch. It's early. I didn't sleep well and shouldn't have taken it out on you. I hope you find the girl who fooled you…..but seriously if she just gave you a random number, she probably wasn't all that into you.’

‘Yea. That's pretty obvious. But thanks for laying it out like that. And sorry for waking you up. Again.’

Y/N read the message and then threw the comforter off her body, sitting up and placing her feet on the cold concrete floor of her room.

That's the thing about living in an underground monster-proof shelter….it's always cold! Especially in the deeper quarters, like the bedrooms and restrooms.

But being in the business of keeping the world safe from what goes bump in the night, Y/N and the Winchester Brothers must adapt and overcome the inconvenience of living off the grid.

So, an old defunct Men of Letters safe house is Home Sweet Home for the martyrs.

After using the facilities and brushing her teeth, Y/N heads toward the kitchen area, her stomach growling for sustenance.

She and Sam had spent days researching and analyzing tomes, trying to gather lore on how to kill a Khiksaz, the newest threat to the population. So much so, that it has been close to 24 hours since she had eaten anything.

She was starving!

The delightful aroma of coffee engaged her senses as she neared the kitchen. Inhaling the caffeinated fragrance, she entered the room to get her fill.

Dean, the oldest brother, stood at the stove flipping bacon. The sizzle of the meat met her ears and she hummed in bliss.

Y/N loved Dean's cooking skills. He could turn the most mundane ingredients into a delectable, magnificent meal.

“Good morning sweetheart,” he says as turns to look at her. “Sleep well?”

Y/N sips the hot beverage, letting the liquid brew wake her more and warm her from the inside.

“I guess,” she answers as she takes a seat at the table. “No nightmares, so that's a plus I guess.”

Dean approaches the table with a plate of bacon and pancakes that were warming in the oven and sets it in front of her.

“Progress though, right?”

That's the thing about Dean and Y/N; they share a connection of both suffering from nightmares. Dean’s of Hell and Y/N’s of witnessing her family get murdered by a rugaru while on the annual family camping trip.

The only thing that saved Y/N from the monster who stole her family was the fact that she had stepped out of the tent and wandered into the woods to find a spot to relieve her full bladder. She had watched from her hiding place behind a big oak as the giant beast tore her mother, her father and little brother to shreds. The guttural screams still haunted her all these years later!

“Yea, I guess so,” she admitted. “But I also feel like if I don’t dream about them, it means I’m forgetting them.”

“I know sweetheart,” Dean says from his side of the table as he pours a generous amount of molasses on his hotcakes. “But I’ve told you before. Just because you don’t dream about them doesn’t mean they’re not still in your thoughts; doesn’t mean you don’t love them or miss them anymore.”

“Yeah,” Y/N answers forlornly. “I know you’re right.”

She takes a bite of her own breakfast and moans obscenely at the burst of flavor.

“So how was your night?” she asks, knowing Dean had left to search for a hook-up to take his mind off the monotony of research. “Did you find some willing girl to get your rocks off?”

That’s another thing about Dean and Y/N’s relationship-friendship; they were crass and blunt with one another. They were like two peas in a pod. And it all started when Dean came to Y/N for advice on what exactly women want in a hook-up.

FLASHBACK

“Y/N,” Dean says as he sits at the table where she had been scouring an old journal she’d found in the library. “You’re a female, right?”

The question catches Y/N off guard and she laughs. “Yes, Dean. Unless I’ve been cursed in the last 5 minutes, I am a female. I have a vagina and boobs.”

“Smart ass,” Dean says with a smile. “Can I ask you something though? Something that only another female might understand.”

“Sure, Dean. What is it?”

“What do women look for in a hook-up?”

“I’m going to be blatantly honest with you here,” she says and continues once Dean nods. “Plain and simple. To get off. Someone who knows what to do with what the good lord gave him. We don’t really care about size but if you don’t know how to use what you got, we have to do It ourselves. And while that gets the job done, it's not as fun. As the saying goes, ‘It's not topside of the boat; it's the motion of the ocean’.

“So, Mr. Winchester,” Y/N smirks as she places her elbows on the table and rests her chin on her palms. “Do you know how to use what you got?”

She smiles as she notices the blush creeping up his neck. Who knew Dean Winchester could get flustered so easily?

Y/N would be lying if she said she'd never noticed how handsome Dean Winchester is. She has eyes with perfect vision, she can see the sex appeal. But she swore to herself that she would never be the fly caught in his web.

Dean Winchester was a player and a philanderer. He didn't do romantic relationships. Something else they had in common.

Y/N found out very early in her adult life that her choice of profession didn't lead to having a partner who understood the need, the commitment to keeping others safe from attacks of the paranormal.

So, much like the oldest Winchester, she sought out one-night stands, a love-em-and-leave-em situation was what worked best.

“Awww is Dean-o embarrassed? Well, tell me this then. Canoe, yacht or cruise ship?”

Dean flips her off and pushes up out of his chair and rushes off down the hallway, Y/N's laughter following him.

END FLASHBACK

After breakfast was finished, with Sam popping in after his early morning run to mix up a smoothie Y/N and the Winchesters gathered in the library to research more about the Khiksaz.

About an hour and one less brother later, Y/N's phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulls it out and notices it's the same number from earlier with another text.

‘You single? There's not some big burly man out for my head for waking you up this morning is there?

‘No worries Romeo. Single as a Pringle over here.’

‘That's good. You seem nice.’

Y/N couldn't help but laugh at that. This morning she had been bitchy and quite frankly rude to this stranger and he just called her nice.

Sam looked up from the book he was reading, an eyebrow raised in question.

“Sorry. Just read something funny on my phone.”

As soon as Sam was once again studying what he was reading, Y/N began texting her new friend.

‘Is that your way of asking to be friends?’

‘What if it is? What would your answer be?’

Y/N left him on Read as she contemplated his question. Would it be so horrible to befriend this guy? She knows nothing about him and he knows nothing about her. It could remain anonymous and be something to get her through the boring task of research.

‘It stays anonymous. You don't ask my name and I don't ask yours. We'll keep it casual unless one of us has a bad day. Then we'll help the other out. No pictures, no voice messages, no videos. Capichè?’

‘You sure do drive a hard bargain RG. But okay.’

‘RG?’

‘Yea. Regina George….you know the bitchy bitch from Mean Girls.’

‘Are you seriously calling me a bitch this early in the friendship?!’

��NO!!! God no! You said it yourself this morning. You apologized for being a bitch. Sorry. I'll come up with another name for you.’

‘Oh. Haha. You got me. Okay, Regina or RG is fine.’

‘Good because I already gave you that moniker in my phone.’

The rest of the afternoon consisted of researching this new species of monster and texting Romeo, as he was now labeled in her phone.

Dean was once again absent from the library after he had brought in some sandwiches he had whipped up.

As evening approaches, Sam and Y/N were still poring over the lore and taking notes. Dean walks Into the library with a whistle on his lips and his keys twirling around his finger.

“See ya later nerd,” he calls out as he heads up the stairs.

“Wrap it before you tap it,” Y/N yells.

“Fuck you!”

“No thanks.”

And then he was gone. Off to find some floozy in a bar to make him forget the awful world they live in.

Y/N retired to her room around midnight, her eyes tired and her back aching from leaning over all day.

As she changes into her pajamas She hears her phone ding with a message.

‘You awake?’

‘No. I'm sleeping peacefully. Ha! I just climbed into bed. What's going on?’

‘Eh. Nothing much. Just lonely.’

‘Lonely? You mean Romeo didn't go out and try to find another conquest?’

‘Not really in the mood. Just wanted to have a conversation that didn't lead to anything.’

‘Okay. So tell me about your day.’

Y/N laid in bed, reading texts about Romeo's job in pest control and how he hated that customers would call him in about their problems but when he eradicated the vermin there was no appreciation, no gratitude.

She tells him about her work as customer service and how she suffers the same fate.

‘The adage “The Customer is Always right” is bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit!’

‘I feel you there sister.’

The two of them keep texting back and forth throughout the night until Y/N hears Dean’s early morning return from wherever he’d been. She made a note to sanitize Baby’s backseat before their next trip.

She listens to his footfalls approaching and then continues past her room to reach his, further down the hallway.

‘God this night sucks! I just want to fall into bed and sleep. Text tomorrow, bestie?’

‘Tomorrow Romeo.’

That night, Y/N’s sleep is plagued with nightmares. They consist of the anonymous person on the other side of the phone. As the night continues the images behind her eyelids morph into more pleasant ones. Her dream guy is tall, muscular with beautiful features and a complete sweetheart; a complete and adorable heartthrob.

She wakes the next morning with a smile on her lips and an urgent need to masterbate. She sends out a silent thank you to the girl who gave out the wrong number; before making her way to the bathroom.

A week later, Sam and Y/N finally had enough knowledge and data on the Khiksaz for the three of them to venture out to the small community of Sikeston, MO and take this monster on.

With help from the immense amount of lorebooks and tomes in the library of the Bunker, they figured out that a Khiksaz was a phantasm from a tribes of Arabian descent that had been captured and stored for millennia in a handspun clay jar after the spirit ripped through the older members of the tribe and began to beseech the still infantile and juvenile members to allow it to lead them.

One of the oldest chiefs, a religious man, conjured up a binding spell that captured and trapped the Khiksaz creature into the urn for all eternity. Unfortunately, someone in Missouri had come across the container and, not knowing what it contained, unleashed the beast which was causing chaos and devastation in the small town.

Sam and Y/N had worked mercifully at creating a copy of the enchantment and found a similar vessel to once again apprehend the offending spirit.

It was a 9 hour drive that took Dean only 7 to accomplish. Once they were checked in and unpacked, the three of them set out to make sure they had what they needed to accomplish the job.

Well, Sam and Y/N did. Dean sulked and flipped through the television channels until he found an old John Wayne western to watch.

Y/N felt her phone buzz in her pocket, but she was too busy perusing the spell once again to check.

After a few minutes, Dean huffed and turned the tv off and announced he was going out to find some fun in this one-horse town.

Y/N had had enough of his attitude for the last few days. He had been agitated and snippy at them both.

“God damn Dean! We are here to get this Khiksaz not for you to get your dick wet in some strange pussy!”

“Don’t you fucking worry about where my dick is going!” Dean yells back. “I don’t need a cunt to get off. My hand works just fine. I just need a drink or twelve.”

“Asshole!” Y/N says, stepping up to the older Winchester and getting in his face.

“You’re insufferable! I’ll see you two when I see you.”

He steps toward the door, throws a middle finger sign over his shoulder and sings, “Don’t wait up.”

Y/N growls. She literally and audibly growls.

“What the hell is his problem?!” she asks, rhetorically.

“He’s Dean,” Sam tries to reason. “You know how he is.”

“Yea, he’s a giant asshole.”

Once the two of them get the spell and weapons, along with the container to hold the Khiksaz in, they decide to go find something to eat.

While waiting on Sam to use the restroom, Y/N pulls her phone from her pocket to see a text from Romeo.

‘How you doin’?”

‘Friends fan huh? So maybe I should call you Joey. By the way, that is the lamest pickup line ever.’

‘I thought it was pretty good. In the 90s. It worked a few times.’

‘Yes I tried it.’

‘An no, I’m not hitting on you’

‘I don't know whether to be pleased or offended.’

‘Why?’

‘Why what?’

‘Never mind. So what are you doing?’

‘Getting ready to head out and get a bite to eat.’

‘Alone?’

‘Nope. My brother is coming with.’

‘Oh. You have a brother? So do I.’

‘Cool. What are you doing? I thought we were keeping this anonymous?’

‘You're right. No deep seated questions about one another. Sorry.’

‘Feeling like a jerk. A co-worker of mine and I got into it and I said some things I didn’t mean and now I regret it.’

‘So go apologize.’

‘Yea. I probably need to. ‘

‘Go apologize Romeo. Or I’ll send my brother to kick your ass.’

‘You make your brother do all your dirty work?’

‘I don’t make him do anything. But anyway, he’s out of the bathroom now so I’ll catch you on the flip side.’

‘And go apologize.’

As they walked across the highway to the diner, Sam brought up the texting.

“You have a boyfriend or something?”

“No,” Y/N answers sheepishly. “Just a friend….who might be a guy.”

She waits until after the waitress takes their order before delving into the whole story of how some random guy began texting her because he was given the wrong number by a girl.

“Ouch! That’s harsh.,” Sam says. “But what do you know about this guy? Is there a reason the girl gave him a fake number?”

Y/N shrugs as she takes a sip of water. “I dunno. Like, he seems nice. And we get along. But just through text. I don’t even know his real name. I called him Romeo in jest and it kind of just stuck.”

“You don’t even know his name?! Does he know yours?”

“No,” Y/N laughs at the ridiculousness of it. “He refers to me as Regina or RG.”

Sam looks at her confused so she explains.

“Regina George from Mean Girls. I was kind of a bitch to him, like Regina is to everyone in the movie. I didn’t take offense to it. I thought it was quite hilarious.”

“Let me see your phone,” Sam says, holding his hand out for it.

Y/N watches Sam scroll through her contacts until he gets to ‘Romeo”. He opens the information tab and studies it. His lips pull into a quarter smile as he closes the phone and hands it back.

“What?”

“What, nothing? What was the smile for?”

“What smile? I’m just happy you made a friend outside Dean and I. I mean, you gotta be careful because of our line of work. But I like that you have someone else to talk to.”

“Oh.”

The waitress brings their food and the subject is dropped. Their attention and concentration goes back to the job at hand and they discuss how to lure the Khiksaz out and distract it while the incantation is said.

In the early morning hours, Y/N is awakened by Dean stumbling into the room, blitzed out of his mind. He staggers to the mini-fridge and pulls out a bottle of water, opening it and downing it.

Between the smell of booze and the aroma of some of the most fragrant perfume, Y/N can’t help but gag. Dean notices the involuntary movement and shakes his head.

He cautiously walks to the bed and sits down beside Y/N.

“Are you here to gloat?” she whispers. “I really don’t want to hear about your sexcapades with some poor hometown girl.”

“Y/N, we’re friends right?” Dean says instead and it shocks her.

“Yes, Dean. We’re friends.”

“I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to call you an uptight cunt.”

“Um, Dean? You didn’t.”

“Yes, I did. On the drive over to the bar. I called you an uptight cunt and a self-righteous prude and I’m sorry.”

“All is forgiven,” Y/N says, burrowing her nose into the pillow. “But please go shower and wash that stink off you before I puke!”

Dean chuckles. “Yes ma’am.”

Unfortunately the next day does not go to plan at all. Both Winchesters and Y/N are thrown around while fighting and trying to capture the Khiksaz. Sam ends up with a concussion but Y/N breaks a couple of ribs.

With horrible dictation, Dean gets the spell read and the monster is once again bottled up and will make the trek back to Kansas to be stored away in the dungeon of the Bunker.

Y/N feels every curve and bump in the road of the 647 mile trip. Broken ribs are uncomfortable and painful when you're lying still but Dean insists on driving like a bat out of Hell.

He is on a tangent about how the information they had to the Khiksaz wasn’t complete and they didn’t know it had powers and how it’s his fault for leaving the research up to the two of them.

Sam tries in vain to reason with his hard-headed brother.

“We don’t always know everything about the monsters we go up against. This is just another instance!”

“Yea. Well-”

“Well, nothing! This hunt was no different than when we went up against that Wendigo or the rugaru that killed Travis! What?! Is it because Y/N got hurt? Is that why you're so pissed off?”

“We all got banged up; it's not just her,” Dean defended. “You have a concussion for Christ's sake!”

“And your brooding and griping isn't helping. Let's just call it a win and move on. Please!” Y/N pleaded from the backseat. “And Dean? Slow the fuck down! You're killing me back here.”

Knowing that his erratic speeding and Baby's lack of sufficient suspension is probably agonizing with busted ribs, he took his foot off the gas.

“Sorry sweetheart,” he apologizes. “I just want to get back to Bunker to rest and recuperate. I'll go slower.”

The rest of the ride was quiet and uneventful, other than when Sam tried to fall asleep and Dean blasted Metallica to keep his brother awake.

Once parked in the garage, Dean hurried to help Y/N sit up and get out of the car and hovered around her as she made her way to her room.

“You need anything, just holler okay?”

“Thanks Dean.”

As soon as he was out of the room and the door was closed, Y/N pulled her phone out.

‘I've had a shitty day at work. Tell me a joke.

There was no response for the longest time; so long Y/N began wondering if Romeo had actually blocked her.

‘Did you hear about the Italian chef that died?’

‘No. What happened?’

‘He pasta-way!’

‘OMG! They was corny as fuck!’

‘Forrest Gump’s email is 1forrest1.’

‘That one is no better. Lol. But they made me smile. Thank you Romeo.’

‘You're welcome Regina. Wanna tell me about your day?’

‘Nah, that's okay. It was just another one dealing with ungrateful, unappreciative customers.’

‘How was yours?’

‘Honestly, about like yours. Customer called with a rodent nuisance and I took care of it. Customer never acknowledged it.’

‘People suck!’

‘Yes, they do.’

The phone was silent for a few minutes before it buzzed again with an incoming text.

‘I ordered a chicken and an egg online. I'll let you know which comes first.’

‘Ya know, I'm starting to understand why that girl gave you the wrong number. You. Are. A. Dork!’

‘You asked for it missy! I am quite offended. I'm the farthest thing from a dork. I'm suave and charming for your information!’

‘And a dork. But you made me smile with your silly dad jokes. So thank you.’

‘Glad I could make you feel better. Our conversations make me happy.’

‘Same goes for me. But I'm getting pretty tired so I'm gonna try to get some shut eye. Good night Romeo. :*’

Y/N's eyes widened as she realized what she had done. She'd sent him a kiss face! A stranger! Someone she didn't really know.

What if he took that the wrong way? They had agreed to be anonymous friends. FRIENDS, nothing more. So why did she send him that?

What did it mean?! Was she developing feelings for this mysterious man?

She thought back to just a few nights ago, the erotically passionate dream she'd had with what she imagined this stranger to look like.

She reminisced of her dream Romeo kissing her breathless, worshiping her body as if it were a temple; of how they had fervidly made love into the early morning hours. He had brought her pleasure numerous times!

Oh fuck! She was falling for him.

‘Sweet dreams darlin’ :*’

Y/N laid awake for hours, contemplating on how to handle the knowledge that she was falling for the stranger.

How was it possible to develop feelings for someone you've never met, someone you'd never laid eyes on. Hell, she didn't even know the sound of his voice.

Around dawn, she decided she would no longer exchange messages with him and as soon as her body was healed, she was going to go find some willing guy to fuck Romeo's memory away.

Of course, she was awakened by her phone alerting her that a text was waiting.

‘Good morning beautiful’

‘You're probably still asleep’

‘I just can't get you out of my head’

‘Maybe we should break the anonymous rule and meet?’

Y/N read each of the lines over and over, each time making her heart drop. She didn’t know what to do.

She began to think that maybe she should’ve just ignored and erased his first message; when she realized it was a complete stranger who had accidentally texted the wrong number. She shouldn't have engaged with him. Now she was in this predicament. Of course, this is how her life is, fucked up and confusing as hell!

Y/N silences her phone and rolls out of bed carefully. The motion takes her breath away as her broken ribs shift with the motion. She makes her way to the door and down the hallway toward the bathroom, only to be almost bowled over when Sam, dripping wet and shirtless, comes barreling out of the bathroom.

“Oof.”

“Oh god Y/N. I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, profusely. “I didn’t expect you to be out of bed. Dean said he was going to bring you breakfast.”

“That’s sweet of him,” Y/N responded with a smile. “But that doesn’t negate my bladder issues.”

Sam laughed and stepped to the side. “Yea, I guess not. So, ummm…I guess I’ll come check on you later?”

“Okay,” she says as she closes the door to the communal bathroom and shuffles to the row of toilets. As she went to sit, she realized that the mundane task was hindered; she couldn’t bend without excruciating pain radiating from her thorax.

Even though her bladder was yelling at her to be emptied, Y/N stood and studied the ancient throne. With a small shrug, she grabbed the roll of tissue and tore off a few squares of paper before pulling her leg out of one side of her sleep pants and straddling the seat.

After cleaning up-because peeing like a man isn’t as easy for a woman as you’d think- Y/N heads back to her room, where as Sam said, Dean was waiting with a tray of eggs, bacon and coffee.

“Oooh, nectar of the Gods,” Y/N says as she reaches for the hot beverage. “Thanks Dean!”

“You’re welcome. How’re you feeling?”

“I’ve been better. I can tell you that,” she answers. “I’m going to try to wrap them later.”

“I can help you do that,” Dean says as he watches her sit on the bed before sitting the tray of food on the table. “You probably can’t get it tight enough.”

“M'kay.”

A few hours later

“Dean, I swear to Chuck if you try to cop a feel, I’ll kick your ass!”

“Oh be quiet, Y/N/N. It’s not like I haven’t seen them before,” Dean teases.

And he was right. On a couple occasions the eldest Winchester had been witness to Y/N’s top half of her body exposed; whether it’d be walking into the bathroom as she was exiting the shower or when she got wasted at that bar the three hunters visited and she flashed the whole crowd as she finished singing “Natural Woman” by Aretha Franklin; well butchered it would be a better word as she couldn’t hit a single good note in her inebriated state.

But she was being ogled by a fellow patron and was feeling frisky so after placing the mic back on the stand, she flipped her shirt up and flashed the whole bar. Her bra covered the main parts but it had been a ragged one and didn’t hide much.

So, yea Dean and Sam and half the community of Bumfuck, NM had seen her tits.

“I know,” she giggles and then groans as he wraps the gauze around her torso tightly. “Motherfuck! That hurts.”

“Cry baby,” Dean jokes.

“Let me kick you in your balls and see how you feel,” Y/N threatens.

“Hey now. If I can’t grope you, you aint groping me!”

“You’re such a dork!” Y/N says and they both laugh.

“Okay, you’re all bandaged up now,” Dean says as he hands her her shirt. “Go on and get redressed.”

As soon as Dean leaves, Y/N feels her phone buzzing in her pocket.

‘Regina? Are you there?’

‘Did I scare you off?’

‘Could you please answer me?’

‘Please?’

Y/N pockets the device and heads back to her room. How is she going to answer him? Is she?

She sits on her bed and stares at the phone as it begins vibrating again.

‘I’m sorry. Whatever I’ve done, I’m sorry.’

Deciding to throw caution to the wind, she answers.

‘I’m here. I’m fine. No you didn’t scare me off. You actually didn’t do anything. I did. We agreed to be friends and I went and let my feelings take control and didn’t even realize it until I sent you the emoji after my message.’

‘I know you aren’t interested in me. I know I’m just the consolation prize for the busty brunette or blonde, maybe even a redhead, that you were really hoping to talk to and text. I won’t hold it against you if you want to stop texting. No need to meet in person to tell me.’

Y/N reads over her message a couple times before hitting send and laying her phone down. It immediately starts ringing.

Romeo calling…..

Fuck!

‘I’m not answering you.’

The phone stops ringing and then a message comes through.

‘You have it all wrong, darlin’. You are not a consolation prize…not even close! I wanted to tell you, to say the words to you. But you won’t answer so I’ll just type them. I’ve fallen for you too.’

‘Don’t just say that to appease me. I’m a big girl. I can take rejection’

‘Baby, rejection is the last thing on my mind. Will you please answer the phone?’

Y/N reads Romeo’s last message a few times before she opens the chat box and responds.

‘No. But I will agree to meet you. Work is going to be pretty busy for the next few weeks and I won’t have much free time. So, how about two months from now we meet at a mutually agreed upon place and see where this goes?’

‘Deal.’

Y/N knew that in a couple months her ribs would be healed enough to not raise any questions or alert Romeo to the fact that she fights monsters for a living and not existing in a dead-end customer service job as she had alleged to.

The next few days, Sam and Dean went on a couple little salt-and-burns, leaving Y/N at the Bunker to continue healing.

Y/N and her mysterious Casanova texted continuously, getting to know one another better and just regaling one another with childhood memories and stories.

It was nice; it was befitting for two strangers to become acquainted. Y/N still refused to actually speak to the man she had feelings for. The secrecy was thrilling to her and she preferred the voice he had in her now-nightly dreams.

To pop that bubble by finding out he had a high pitched, nasally voice would be most crushing.

Of course, she hadn't told Romeo her real past. He knew her parents had passed, but she claimed a car accident took them from her.

She felt terrible for lying to him but how do you tell someone that your parents were killed by a beast that isn't supposed to exist?

What Y/N doesn't know though is Romeo had lied to her about his past also.

When Sam and Dean returned from their latest hunt, neither one of them acknowledged Y/N or said a word.

Both Winchester stomped to their respective rooms and she heard one door slam right after the other did.

“What's gotten into them?” she wondered aloud before going back to reading the book she had found. It was an erotic novel.

Greg cups her cheeks in his hands and he leans into her, closing the distance until their lips meet. His were soft and plump against her thin, chapped ones, but the lack of moisture on her lips was the last thing on her mind. He licked the dry vessels until she obliged opening them, inviting him in to taste her.

Greg’s, Romeo’s moans filled her ears as he explored her mouth, his tongue wrestling with hers.

Layla Regina threw her arms over his shoulder and planted her hands against the back of his head, pulling her lover closer and deeper into herself.

They stumble and almost fall but right themselves before hitting the bed, her on her back and his weight pushing her into the mattress. As his hands begin wandering her body, Regina silently begs for his hand on her most intimate area. As his palm slides down the skin of her abdomen, she wonders if her prayers were heard.

After becoming so enthralled with the book that she was even substituting her and Romeo’s nicknames into the plotline she missed the sound of Dean’s boots thudding down the corridor.

“What has you all dreamy-eyed and drooling?”

Y/N jumps in her seat and slams the novel shut, internally lamenting the fact that she didn't mark her place for later indulgence.

She looks up to see Dean standing at the mouth of the hallway, a couple of beer bottles in his hand.

“Are you reading porn?” he asks with a laugh and a smirk.

“It's a romance novel, dumbass!”

“Eh, same thing,” Dean shrugs as he steps toward her and offers her one of the beers. “Romance guy woos the damsel right into his bed.”

“So, you know oh so much about this subject, I take it you've read a lot of romance novels?” Y/N snarks.

“You know as well as I do, life doesn't happen that way,” Dean says instead of answering her. “It's a lot more messier and a lot less loving.”

“Are you telling me you don't woo all those unwitting hookups you have? Not even just a little bit?”

“Oh no. I woo the hell out of them. Tell them exactly what they want to hear-” he takes a drink then continues. “Then I get what I'm after and leave before daylight. Easy in, easy out.”

“You are a real piece of work Dean,” Y/N says with a laugh. “Those poor women probably think they've finally found the man of their dreams and the poof! you're gone.”

“Oh like the schmucks you hook don't know you're a one and done?” Dean says, rolling his eyes. “I've heard them before, telling you all their hopes and dreams. I've heard them during, thinking you are ‘the best they ever had’- their words, by the way- and then you're usually in the back of Baby before Sam's even gone for his run.”

“Oh my god,” Y/N laughs, trying to hide the embarrassment of the fact Dean has heard some of her excursions. But that's what you get when you stay in cheap motel rooms with thin walls. “That was one time! And he was a clingy fucker. Always had to be touching me; my face, my hands, my hips. Hell he even tried to suck my toes. Eww!” she shivers at the memory. “I couldn’t get away fast enough.”

They both laugh and then it goes quiet as they drink.

“So, um…” Dean begins. “Girls, ahem women, don't like that? The touching?”

“No. I mean yea we love an attentive man but sometimes it just takes away from the whole experience. Touch me all you want, run your hands all over me. Play with my tits, my clit…hell a little ass play ain't out of the cards but once he's inside me, I expect to get fucked! Not just filled and rubbed. Use that dick and make me feel it. Ya know? It's inside me for a reason.”

Dean shifts and adjusts his body in his chair and clears his throat. ��Okay. Okay. I get that but let's change the subject.”

“Oh is Deanie-poo getting turned on?” Y/N jests. “You got a big ole boner under this table?”

“Shut up Y/N,” Dean mutters before getting up and bolting back toward his room, his half-empty beer bottle still on the table.

Y/N shakes her head and laughs before opening her book to try to find the place she left off at.

Why is it that time crawls when you are looking forward to something?

Y/N's ribs are slowly healing, thanks to the Winchesters generous and considerable care. They both made sure she was taking it easy and mending.

Sam always made her stretch and exercise what she could so her muscles wouldn't lock up and get sore while Dean kept her fed and hydrated and in good spirits with his complete goofy foolishness.

Y/N also noticed that as time went on and closer to her “date” with Romeo, Dean began to get happy and cheerful and just completely giddy.

Not like him at all. She'd also noticed he went out a lot more than usual. Once the day was done, Dean would disappear with only the sounds of his beloved Impala leaving the compound behind.

Does he have a girlfriend? Has he met someone and is unofficially officially dating? Who is she? When will she and Sam get to meet her? Will they?

Y/N didn't put much more thought into Dean's disappearance because truth be told, she had her own secret. She was in deep with Romeo.

They had texted regularly after their proclamation and had even done a little sexting.

Nothing too graphic, just a few descriptive words here and there and talking about using and touching. But it was enough to make Y/N wet and yearn for the day she finally sets eyes on her Romeo.

‘What are you wearing, gorgeous?’

Y/N smiled as she read the words on the screen.

‘Wouldn't you like to know.’ she teased.

‘I wouldn't have asked if I didn't.’

‘I'm sitting on my bed in a lace bustier with the matching thong. I'm so lonely Romeo.’

‘Is that an invitation? Because I can be there in no time at all.’

‘Haha. I’m only joking with you. I’m sitting here in an old pair of ratty sweats and a tee-shirt that had way too many stains to be presentable. My hair is up in a bun on top of my head but most of it has already fallen out and is just blowing in my face. I do not want you to see me like that at all.’

‘So when we meet in a few days, I still won’t get to see the real you? You’re going to be all dolled up and not the picture of perfection that you just described.’

‘Romeo, believe me….NO ONE wants to see this.’

‘I do. I am going to be honest with you. I am tired of going out and hooking up with people who don’t show their true selves. Who lie about who they are, what they do….give out random wrong numbers. I’m ready to be with a real person.’

‘Wow. That is honest. And truthfully, I feel the same.’

‘Maybe getting the wrong number was an omen. Someone up there believes we are both ready for something substantial. Shit, duty calls. I’ll text you soon :*’

As soon as Y/N read Romeo’s last message, Sam was knocking on her door.

“Come in,” she calls and the tall, long-haired man peeps around the open door.

“Just got off the phone with Jody. She needs help. I called Dean and he’s coming to pick me up and head to Sioux Falls. Wanted to let you know.”

“Okay. What’s Jody got?”

“Sounds like a cursed object wreaking havoc. A couple of bodies have come up….” Sam begins to explain and Y/N pushes herself off the bed and begins throwing items in a bag. “Wait, what’re you doing?”

“I’m coming with, I’m tired of sitting here by myself. Don’t worry,” she says as Sam gives her a pointed look. “I will stay away from the line of fire so to speak. I can hang with Claire and Alex or something.”

“Okay,” Sam answers, skeptically. “I don’t know if the girls are even home. You know, Claire has been hunting and Alex….well, she has her own friends now. You might be stuck at Jody’s by yourself so how’d that be different than staying here?”

“Sammy,” she says, patronizingly. “Jody’s has windows and sunshine and warmth and just please let me go?”

“Yea I guess I can see your point,” Sam answers and Y/N pumps her fist in the air before finishing packing. “By the way, Samuel, were you calling me old? When you said the girls might not even be there? Insinuating that they wouldn’t want to be saddled with the old, hurt woman?”

“Shut up, Y/N” Sam says with a smile. “You know that’s not what I meant!”

Dean didn’t seem surprised at all when Y/N threw her bag into the back seat of the Impala and climbed in. He just nodded and as soon as everyone was loaded, took off toward South Dakota.

“Y/N!” Sheriff Mills exclaims as we all exit Baby. “I didn't expect you to come. But am I glad you did.”

She hugs me and whispers in my ear, “I sure could use another female to talk to.”

“I'm here,” I whisper back and then pull away from her embrace. “I'm gonna crash on your couch while these two help you with your case.”

“Good. Good.”

She turns to the Winchester and greets them with their own hugs. After the warm welcome, the three of them head toward the station to discuss the case.

Y/N pulls the erotic novel she's reading and heads to the park across the street and sits at a table.

Opening to the page she marked, she immerses herself back into the story. As she continued reading about the marriage of Greg and Layla, the fictional characters in the story, she began fantasizing about another wedding; one that featured herself and Romeo.

She is brought back to the present when her phone buzzes in her pocket and she pulls it out to see a message from the man she can't seem to quit thinking about. She smiles as she reads the words, remembering how she felt as they vowed their lives to one another.

‘Another day, another rodent to take down. Please tell me your day is better’

‘Not really. This seminar is taking forever.’

Before Romeo can respond, she hears Dean call her name and she turns to see him slide his phone into the front pocket of his jeans as he heads to the Impala.

“We're heading to Jody's,” he announces. “You coming?”

Y/N hurries to mark the place she thinks she left off at and shuts the book before jogging across the empty road to get to the Impala.

“Did you figure out what’s going on this time?”

“We think it’s Lamia,” Sam answers. “Bobby went up against one, years ago but he put it through a wood chipper so this is not the same one but it’s the same M.O. They look female and seduce men and then choke them and eat their hearts.”

“Ew. Well, where’re we going to find a woodchipper?”

“We’re not,” Dean says. “I’m going to pretend to be the victim and then stab it with a blessed silver knife and burn it.”

“That’s risky,” Y/N states, worry about her friend filling her with dread.

“Well…” Dean says with a shrug and the conversation ends.

They pull into Jody’s driveway to see the Sheriff having a very animated conversation with her surrogate daughter, Claire.

They watch through the windshield as Jody hugs Claire and then the young blonde heads toward an old jalopy of a car and takes off.

“That girl is going to be the death of me,” Jody exclaims and her three guests join her. “Come on in guys. I’m making lasagna.”

That night, after helping Jody with the dishes, Y/n and the Sheriff join the Winchesters on the back deck of Jody’s modest ranch-style home.

The conversation flows but no one brings up the case at hand.

Y/N notices Dean is distracted and keeps looking down at his lap and wonders if he is beginning to regret his role as the Lamia’s victim.

‘Just to let you know. Something’s come up and I gotta leave town for a few days so you might not hear from me for a while. Just know I will be back for our date. I’m looking forward to it.’

Y/N reads the message and smiles. She’s been looking forward to it also.

‘Be safe and I’ll talk to you soon :*’

After the guys go up to bed, Jody and Y/N finish their glass of wine and stargaze.

“So what’s new with you?”

Y/N turns her head, looks at the older woman and smiles.

“I have a date.”

“Oooo, tell me more. Who is he? Does he know about….?” Jody begins badgering her with questions.

“I don’t know his name. I call him Romeo; it’s a joke between us. He, uh…..a few weeks ago, someone apparently gave him a fake number and he texted it but it wasn’t exactly fake. It was mine. We’ve been texting back and forth since and agreed to meet.”

“Oh,” Jody says, looking apprehensive.

“What is it?”

“How do you know this ain’t some demon or monster just trying to get to you and the boys Y/N?

“I’ve thought about that, Jod. I’m wearing my silver rings and I’ll have a flask of holy water to spike his drink if need be,” Y/N explains. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it covered.”

“Sounds like,” Jody chuckles and then lightly punches Y/N in the shoulder. “You gotta tell me all about it, though. Even the juicy parts, especially the juicy parts. Damn, I ain’t got laid in forever. I need to find a man.”

They both laugh and then settle back down and stargaze some more before heading inside and going to bed.

Dean Winchester almost becomes the Lamia’s fifth victim. If it hadn’t been for his fast thinking brother, Dean would’ve succumbed to the creature’s power and be dead.

Although he was alive, it was only barely. The Lamia had sucked so much blood from his body that he was unconscious for days.

Sam and Y/N had maneuvered him into the backseat of the Impala and raced back to the Bunker, hoping to find something to revive the oldest Winchester.

While they waited and researched, Y/N realized that she hadn’t heard from Romeo in almost a week. Their date was coming up and he had gone radio silent.

Sure he had told her that he had to leave town and wouldn’t be able to text her but couldn't he at least take a second to check in?

As soon as she could, Y/N sent him a message.

‘Haven't heard from you in a few days. Are you okay?’

And then, for the rest of the day, she kept an eye on her phone for a response.

The device stayed silent.

When Dean finally came around two days later, it was much to the relief of both Y/N and Sam.

They sat at his bedside and regaled him with the story of how the Lamia was not who they thought it was but that Sam caught on pretty quickly and used the current from an old stove hookup to burn the creature before she could take Dean’s life.

Dean, as stubborn as he was, refused to stay in bed. He was adamant that he needed to get up and that he wasn’t wasting away in his room while there were other monsters still roaming the world.

Sam and Y/N eventually gave up and left him to his own devices, going to their respective rooms to rest themselves. It was tiring trying to save a life then having that same someone argue that they hadn’t needed it.

Y/N was awakened by her phone buzzing with an incoming text. She opens the message thread and sees that Romeo has responded.

‘Sorry darlin’. I’ve been extremely busy. But I’m back in town and chomping at the bit for our date. Wanna move it up a few day?’

Y/N felt her face flush. She had been excited and eager and wishing that time would move faster as well.

‘A few days would mean tomorrow. You want to meet tomorrow?’

‘Yes. Tomorrow.’

Y/N woke up the next morning, nervous but excited. She was going to meet the man she had been messaging and getting to know through texts for the last three months.

She joined the guys in the kitchen for breakfast and then headed back to her room to determine what she was going to wear.

What do you wear when meeting someone new? She knew him, she thought, but she had yet to see him face to face or even hear his voice.

What if he was not at all what she’d been picturing all this time? What if they meet and one (or both) of them weren’t completely different from what the other thought?

She chose her nicest pair of jeans; nicest meaning they weren't covered in monster blood and guts and other bodily fluids of the creatures she has murdered.

Next, she chose a nice flowy camisole that wasn’t so low cut it showed much cleavage but low enough to show off her chest. Over that she wore a fitted leather jacket with the fancy schmancy silver buttons.

She slid the silver and turquoise necklace on with the matching silver ring, that way if Romeo went in for a hug instead of a handshake, she could still test if he is a werewolf or skinwalker and she had a vial of holy water in her purse to confirm he wasn’t a demon.

As she was finishing her makeup she heard Dean walking past her room, a whistle on his lips.

“Why is he in such a good mood?” she wondered out loud then went to look at her reflection once more.

By the time she got to the garage, the Impala was gone. Y/N was glad because she did not want to explain to Dean why she was borrowing one of the many cars there.

She chose an older model black Ford Mustang because it was one of the few inconspicuous cars they owned. Heads wouldn't turn at the sight of it rolling down the street, unlike the Bel-Aires and the Fairlanes would.

She didn't want to bring attention to herself for a set of wheels that should be in a museum somewhere.

As she drove toward town she hummed a tune that had been stuck in her head for days. She'd finally realized it was ‘Hooked on A Feeling’.

Y/N had no idea where she'd heard the song or even who sang it but it seemed appropriate for the situation. She was hooked on a feeling that she'd found her soulmate through a mistaken wrong number.

Once she got parked and walked toward the door of the restaurant she was to meet her Romeo, something caught her eye.

Down past the building was a sleek black car that she'd know anywhere. A 1967 Chevy Impala that if you looked closely had been rebuilt at least twice but was in pristine condition.

She turned her head to look through the window of the restaurant and her heart dropped. Dean was inside!

What was he doing here? Did Sam tell him about her rendezvous with Romeo and he was here to stop it? But then she realized that she hadn't told Sam about the meet-up.

Turning on her heel, she walked with purpose back to her car and slipped inside.

‘Something has come up and I can't make it. Sorry.’

Y/N raced back to the Bunker, parked the car and ran to her room. She flopped on the bed and let the tears flow.

How dare he be there? Finally, when life was going her way, she was going to meet the man of her dreams, Dean fucking Winchester had to go and ruin it!

Her phone buzzed a couple of times in her pocket but she didn't check it until she was all cried out.

‘Hope everything is okay. Is there anything I can do?’

‘Are you ghosting me?! Really?’

She didn’t answer. Y/N wasn’t sure how to answer. She was no better than the woman who gave Romeo the wrong number to begin with.

What was she supposed to do? Tell him that her “brothers” were actually just two men she lived with in an underground shelter that was warded to keep out supernatural beings that were out for their head? That her job consisted of continually being on some demonic radar?

Yea, he’d think she was nuts!

So instead, Y/N turned her phone off and laid in bed, wallowing in her own self-pity. She would never find a man to understand her lifestyle and she wasn’t going to give it up.

Fighting monsters and demons was her life! She was dedicated to making sure no one ever had to witness or live with the fact that their loved ones were murdered by things that shouldn’t even exist!

A few moments later, she heard the bunker door slam shut and could make out the boys’ voices but couldn't understand what they were saying. It got heated quickly though as she heard Dean yell, “You don’t fucking understand!”

Y/N got off her bed, wiped the tears from her face and left the bedroom, heading toward Sam and Dean.

“I just don’t understand it, man,” Dean says as she reaches the doorway to the library. Y/N stays just out of their sight; she can see them but the boys have yet to notice her presence.

“We get along so well. She’s funny but smart. She puts me in my place.”

“Maybe you should just man up and tell her your real name,” Sam suggests.

“No, no way. That opens up this whole world-” Dean says as he waves a hand around, motioning to the room and all the books on the supernatural they have. “She’s not like us. She wouldn’t understand. I just don’t know what happened?”

“I’m telling you Dean,” Sam says sternly but compassionately. “You may just be surprised.”

“No. I’m not telling Regina about this life.”

Y/N gasps and puts her hand over her mouth as it all comes clear. Romeo is Dean. Dean is Romeo. Holy shit! Wait, what? Like, what the actual fuck?! Dean is who she’s been chatting with via text for months now?

She thinks back to the first message and tries to remember if it came in as Dean since she has his contact information saved. But no, it was a number that came up, not a contact. She quietly runs back to her room and grabs her phone.

As soon as it turns on, she goes into her contacts and scrolls down to Romeo’s. She opens it and sees it is indeed a different number than she has saved for Dean….and his other phone….and his other, other phone.

So what is going on?

She walks back toward the library and this time she makes herself known.

“Oh hey Y/N.” Sam says with a smirk on his face.

“Hey Sweetheart,” Dean says, his tone melancholy before taking a drink of his beer.

“So, which came first? The chicken or the egg?”

Dean swallows the drink in his mouth and then slowly turns his head toward her. “What did you say?”

“Which came first? The chicken or the egg?”

“Um, how do you know that?”

Y/N walks closer to Dean and holds out her hand. “Hello Romeo. I’m Regina.”

Dean froze. The only thing that moved was his eyes, from her outstretched hand to Y/N’s face.

Time stood still as Y/N waited for Dean to catch up to what she had said. Suddenly his eyes widened and his lips opened and closed like a fish trying to breathe.

“What?!” he finally found his voice and spoke.

“I’m Regina and I’m assuming you’re Romeo from what I’ve heard.”

“You are the amazingly hot chick I’ve been texting all this time?”

Y/N nods her head and Sam laughs from his spot across the table from his brother. “It’s about time! I was getting tired of watching you guys pine for one another, and not realizing it.”

“Shut up Sam,” Y/N and Dean both state.

Dean pushes his chair back and stands up, pulling a dinosaur of a phone from his pocket. It’s a frigging flip phone for Chuck’s sake!

“What the hell is that?” Y/N asks as she laughs and watches Dean flip the phone open and punch in numbers on the number pad. “How old is that phone?”

“It was Dad’s,” Sam explains as they both watch Dean work on getting into the phone and open up the text thread. “I didn’t even know it was still usable but apparently my brother uses it to hook up.”

Y/N turns her attention back to Dean and watches as he looks at the screen, apparently re-reading all the messages.

“Well, fuck!” Dean says with a chuckle. He then turns to her and smiles. “Romeo at your service. And he is a dumbass. I didn’t recognize your number, but I do now.”

Sam stands and closes his laptop. “I’m going to go to my room and give you two some privacy.”

Neither Dean nor Y/N pays attention as the taller Winchester leaves the room, their eyes glued to one another’s, studying one another. No words were spoken for a few minutes.

“You’re Regina?”

“And you’re Romeo,” Y/N states with a nod. “I just have one question though. How the hell do you know who Regina George is? That's a chick flick if there ever was one!”

Dean shrugs and blushes. “Rachel McAdams is hot. What can I say?”

They both laugh but then Dean surges forward and wraps her up in his arms.

“But not as hot as my Regina. She can't hold a candle to you, baby.”

Y/N feels her heart squeeze around such a heartfelt compliment and smiles. “How idiotic are we?”

“Well sweetheart, this idiot has fallen for you.”

Y/N’s phone slips out of her hand and her arms wrap around Dean’s neck. “It’s a good thing I’ve fallen for you too then.”

They stand there, wrapped up in each other just taking it all in.

“Can I kiss you now?” Dean asked and Y/N nodded.

He slowly leans in, their eyes glued to one another's until at the very last second he glances down to her lips.

As soon as their lips touched, it was like everything became clear. The world had been dark and gray and now it was bursting with vivid color.

Dean licked against the seam of her lips, begging for entry and Y/N immediately granted him access.

When the need for air became necessary, they pulled apart but not before Dean placed his forehead on hers and smiled.

“Who knew love was right under my nose?”

“Well, here it is,” Y/N says as she tightens her hold on the older Winchester. “Who knew we belonged together? Now take me to bed!”

@spnbaby-67 @sea040561 @delightfullykrispypeach @larajadeschmidt13 @atc74 @vicariouslythruspn @squirrelnotsam @sandlee44 @blacktithe7 @hoboal87 @mogaruke @supraveng @akshi8278 @lyarr24 @kazsrm67 @chriszgirl92 @deanwithscissors @raisinggray @fanfic-n-tabulous @hobby27 @stoneyggirl2 @purpleeclipseeggsland @kmc1989 @leigh70

#dean winchester #y/n #sam winchester #Anonymously Yours #angst #fluff #smut-ish #Supernatural

44 notes · View notes

eskawrites · 4 months

Text

i sat down to write and, well, i, um. tenlark.

It takes Moss a while to speak with them again.

There are the initial conversations, of course. The way she sobbed out apologies as Tenar took her into her arms and hugged her fiercely. The confessions that came from a bed in the ward as healers and mages took turns examining her, making sure both her body and her mind would remain free of infection.

But then there was silence. Her entire being muted as she trudged through the castle halls with them, going through the motions, the now-routine agenda that followed a war. Check in with the staff at the ward. Rebuild the cobbled streets and castle walls that were torn down in the attack. Organize aid to the outer villages, open halls to house and feed the citizens whose livelihoods became collateral damage. Meetings and orders and days upon days spent lending a helping hand.

Except people shied away from Moss’s help. Most wouldn’t even approach her unless she was standing beside the rest of them. So she stood silently in the background, head bowed, helping Lark and Tenar and Arren and Ged so they could help the others. And at the end of each day, she slinks off alone, shoulders hunched as she drifts off into the shadows of the castle.

But the last time Lark left her alone for too long, she’d been taken from them. So she follows Moss, pesters her with her near-constant presence and her weak attempts at lightening the mood. It doesn’t matter. Moss knows why she lingers, and so she lets her stay. They still don’t speak, but they spend the long hours of the night lying on blankets they’ve piled in front of the hearth. Lark listens to Moss’s breathing and watches the glow of the fire dance across the ceiling, pretending like she’s looking up at a canopy of leaves and a starry sky, as if everything was that simple again.

Ged is stressed.

It’s not unusual for him. He deals with nerves by burying himself in the library, foregoing sleep and food and drink in favor of research. So when the mages start to whisper of him staying at his desk for days on end, no one is particularly surprised.

What’s surprising is the anger.

“I’m not angry,” he says when Lark gives him a questioning look after he slams a tome onto the table they’ve been sitting at.

“Call it what you want, Ged, but that,” she gestures to his face—the furrow in his brow, the shadows beneath his eyes, the clench of his jaw that looks so out of place on him, “is not the look of a kid who is at peace.”

“I’m not a kid,” he snaps.

“Right. And definitely not angry, either.”

“You don’t get to patronize me, Lark. After everything else, don’t sit there and act like I have no right to be—and definitely don’t act like I’m some dumb kid who doesn’t—just don’t, okay?”

Lark bites her cheek, hard. Ged isn’t looking at her. He crosses his arms over his chest and turns away, giving her a moment to swallow the heated retort that springs to mind first. She breathes instead.

Ged isn’t angry. He gets it from Arren, she knows, but even Arren has his moods.

Maybe Ged is simply overdue.

“You’re not a kid anymore,” she says. She aims for gentle, but exhaustion seeps into her tone instead. It’s better than something mean, at least. “And you’ve never been a dumb kid. We both know that.”

“No, I’m not. But all of you act like—like I’m just here to do everything, to handle everything. Like I can just help save the day and move on like none of it happened!”

She frowns. “No one expects that, Ged.”

“Don’t you? Because you—and after everything, you all just keep—I saw you die, Lark, do you realize that? I watched you get thrown from that tower, and I thought you were dead.”

“That was years ago—”

“And this time—Tenar, she just—you weren’t there when she was fighting Vecna. None of you were, I had to protect her, and she just kept putting herself in danger, willingly—”

“Ged—”

“She was trying to destroy herself!” He spins around, finally facing her. “Do you even know what that felt like? She would have killed herself to stop him, and I had to sit there and let her while also trying to keep her alive! And I didn’t know if you and Arren had found Moss, and I didn’t know if we could get her back even if you found her, and I didn’t know if we would win or what would happen if I did let Tenar die and—and—”

He cuts off in a sob as Lark pulls him close. She hugs him tight, keeping him upright as he trembles against her.

“I’m tired, Lark,” Arren whispers late one night, sitting out on the balcony of his room and staring up at the sky.

Me too, she doesn’t say. She sighs and scoots closer, offering her shoulder for him to slump against. He does, like she knew he would. She lifts her hand and runs her fingers through his hair.

“We’re getting through it,” she says. “It’s hard, and it hurts, but we’ll make it.”

“Since when did you become the optimist?” His voice shakes, and she wraps her arms fully around him, squeezing him gently and letting him know it’s okay to let go, with her.

But she doesn’t answer his question. She’s not, really. It’s just that…someone has to be.

“Lark.”

Lark sits up a little taller at the sound of Tenar’s voice. Even in the dark, even calling so gently, all the edge softened by the shadows cast by the lanterns lighting the armory, it compels her to attention. But when she turns, Tenar’s expression is just as soft, bidding her to relax again.

“Your Highness,” Lark says anyway. Tenar’s smile turns wry.

“Don’t do that,” she says as she crosses the room. She comes up behind Lark, placing her hands on her shoulders and peering over her head at the arrows scattered across the table. “You give our fletcher a run for his money.”

Lark snorts. “Hardly. My shoddy, self-taught work is only passable at the best of times.”

Tenar reaches around her and picks one of the arrows up. She twists it between her fingers, inspecting the fletching. It’s uniform enough—Lark can admit that much; she’s never made an arrow that won’t fly true—but it’s far from pretty work.

“I’d say it’s impressive, given that you haven’t slept in a day and a half.”

“Have you hired someone to tail me, Princess?”

Tenar lifts her free hand to Lark’s hair and gives it a gentle tug. Lark huffs, not sure if it’s a sigh or a laugh.

“Sorry,” she says anyway. Tenar hums and shifts her hand to run her fingers gently through Lark’s hair.

“To answer your question, no. It would be a waste of gold—I pay too much attention to you myself.”

It makes her cheeks flush. Years of falling for Tenar, and weeks, now, of being caught by her, and she still doesn’t know what to do with this affection.

Tenar sets the arrow back down and brings her other hand to her hair. Lark closes her eyes and tilts her head back into the touch. The sigh is involuntary, and she would be embarrassed if Tenar’s soft laugh didn’t follow it.

“I have a favor to ask of you,” Tenar whispers.

“Of course.”

“No,” she says gently. “Not of course. Only if it pleases you.”

“Whatever you want of me, I will do it.”

“Oh, I know.”

She feels lips against her hairline, and then Tenar is moving. Lark opens her eyes to see her walking around her chair and hopping up onto the table. She reaches out, and Lark gives her her hand without hesitation.

“You do whatever any of us ask, without hesitation.” Tenar cradles Lark’s hand in hers, running her fingers over her palm. Lark shivers. “You took on the entire kingdom without question, and you hadn’t even realized that’s what I was asking.”

“I gave you an earful when you woke.”

“You did, but it was mostly for show.” Tenar’s smile turns mischievous for just a second before she softens again. “When’s the last time you let yourself rest, Lark?”

Lark feels bare under her gaze. She swallows. “You already know, apparently. A day and a half? Perhaps a little longer?”

Tenar shakes her head. “No. I mean, when is the last time you let one of us carry you?”

She drops her gaze. “I’m dealing with it, the same as everyone else.”

“You don’t have to handle it all.” She rubs her thumb across Lark’s palm, firm and soothing. “You’ve carried so much responsibility this entire time, and we needed it. But you can let it go now.”

“And give it to you?” Lark asks. “You’ve dealt with just as much. Don’t scold me for being stubborn and then do the same thing yourself.”

“Then let me carry it with you,” Tenar says softly. “And carry mine with me. We’re in this together, Lark. We always have been.”

Lark sighs. She slumps forward in her chair. Tenar runs her hand over her hair again.

“Is this the favor?” she asks. Tenar’s nails scratch gently at her scalp.

“No. Not tonight, at least. Tonight, I have a more short-term goal.”

“Oh?” She sits up again to look at her.

“Spend the night with me.”

Lark gives a soft, short laugh. “How is that a favor?”

“Make no mistake, I’m asking for my own benefit here, perhaps even more so than yours. I…I’ve missed you these past few weeks, Lark.” She lets go of Lark’s hand long enough to tuck a piece of hair behind her ears, shy and uncertain in a way Lark forgets still exists, sometimes. “You know, the night before we lost Moss, I…I had been looking for you.”

“Why?” Lark breathes.

“Because…” She smiles down at their hands, the tips of her ears turning pink. “Because of this.”

It shatters her. It steals her breath away. It makes her want to cry, stupidly. Lark leans forward to take Tenar’s hands in her own.

“Tenar…”

“I fear, sometimes, that we can still lose everything. And I fear it more when I’m lying awake and wishing you were there with me.” She looks up again. “So please, Lark, come to bed. Let me feel safer with you there. And let me—” She brings their hands to her lips, kissing Lark’s knuckles, “let me make you feel safe, too.”

Her eyes sting, and she knows Tenar sees it. She swallows hard and says, “I don’t want to burden you.”

“What if I want your burden?”

Lark has no clue what she’s supposed to say to that, so she doesn’t. Tenar doesn’t make her. She just slides off the table, tugging Lark’s hands to pull her up and along.

Lark doesn’t acknowledge the walk through the castle. She doesn’t pay much attention to anything but Tenar as she leads them to her room, and then to her bed, and then under the covers and into her arms. It’s only there, wrapped in the warmth of her embrace, that Lark realizes how cold she was. She shivers, and Tenar holds her tightly, fiercely.

“I worry,” Lark whispers into the dark, even as she brings her arms up to wrap around Tenar. “I worry that it will never be over. That we’ll never truly have peace.”

“I do, too,” Tenar breathes.

“How do you hold on, then? Why do we keep trying when—when—”

“Hey,” she breathes, bringing her hand up to cup Lark’s cheek, cutting her off.

Lark looks at her, feeling loss and fear and despair echo in the meager space between them. But then Tenar leans forward, and it melts away, all of it, at the first brush of their lips. The tightness in her chest loosens, and she lets it spread through her. Lets herself unravel, for a moment, in Tenar’s arms.

“This,” Tenar says when they part. She presses her forehead to Lark’s. “Because of this.”

Lark closes her eyes. She can’t keep the tears back this time—especially not when Tenar brushes them away, kisses her cheeks and her brow and the tip of her nose. But what she can do is hold on. What she can do is nod, even as she cries. What she can do—what she hasn’t been able to do since the night she found Tenar dying on that balcony—is believe, finally, that they’ll be okay.

#tenlark #erathia #i was GONNA write lethal company au #and then i wrote 2k words of post erathia 4 softness #featuring lore that i'm really not sure exists outside me and sweepy's dms lmao #i think my problem is i'm trying to write this intense space survival but in my heart of hearts i just want softness #so shit like this keeps happening #have some tenlark i guess!#i've lost control of my life!

36 notes · View notes

faerunsbest · 3 months

Text

On the subject of young Rolans very 1st crush

The boy is fair of face with ivory skin and honey brown hair blonde in the sun. Why does rolan know that? He looks away from the boy and back out the window... not down to his books.

Sitting at the library again, sharing a space, quietly with little happening bit for the flipping of pages. Rolan has already absorbed his book, a mind as voracious as his consumes tomes with ease. It seems that is not the case for everyone, the boy across the table huff in agitation before grumbling and looking up towards Rolan.

" You read this last week right?"

He flipped to the checkout card at the front tapping rolans name. Rolan nods once elbow perched on the edge of the table with his palm pressed to his chin.

The boy glances about, pink lips pressed to a thin line, agitation making an ear twitch.

" I don't understand it..."

"Did you read the previous volumes?"

Rolan blinked slowly at him, looking a bit tired. The boy stared up at him perplexed.

"What other volumes?"

Rolan shifts in his seat to stand and collect the books he'd already finished.

" I'll show you."

The boy huffs but follows him, trying not to look at rolans tail while it sways lazily behind him. He watches while Rolan places his books back on the shelves in cataloged order with one hand before stopping in front of a shelf of what appears to be encyclopedias.

"These ones. You don't need to read them all but it helps."

The boys face pales at the number of thick books weighing down the shelf.

" You read them all?"

Suddenly Rolan felt his face flush with warmth. Why was he suddenly so embarrassed?

"Of course I did. But some of it is a bit repetitive so you could probably skip this, this and this one."

He tapped the spine of a few particular volumes, trying not feel the way the boys eyes focused on his hands.

" how did you find the time? Didn't it take forever to read all that?"

Rolan blinked at him, one eyebrow going up slightly.

" I just multitask, read while I'm doing other things. It doesn't take long, maybe a week?"

He tried not to see how jarred the boy looked at his words. He tried not to pay attention to the way he put his hands over his mouth. Clean hands, well kept.

"I can help if you like. I took a fair few notes to clarify parts..."

Ah, why did he say that? Why did he make that offer? He has other things to do...

Suddenly the boy changed, from anxious to outraged. His face shifting from near colorless to pink and red, balling up his hands at his side.

"Oh you're gonna help? Cause you're so damn smart!?"

Rolan blinked at him, not sure what went wrong.

"I am smart, I am offering to be of assistance... or I was."

The boy suddenly shouted at him before slamming his hands against rolans chest, knocking him backwards into the shelf.

" I DONT NEED CHARITY FROM SOME SHOW OFF TIEFLING ORPHAN!"

Outraged and embarrassed, the boy stared down at Rolans shocked expression looking up at him.

" stop staring at me you pronged freak!"

He stomps hard as he can on Rolans tail before running for the door. Rolan yelps, jumping in place, knocking one of the heavier books loose from above him. It falls fast and lobs the top of his head.

Now with his eyes watering, he grips his injured tail and whimpers in pain. A small older woman peeks in around the shelf, gasping at the image he made laying in all that mess.

" boy what happened?"

She wrinkled her nose and squinted through thick lenses at him.

" I'll clean it up, don't worry."

Both of them turn their head at the sound of a loud scream, yelp, and thump.

Rolan sighs heavily before getting to go see what it is. Out in the hall just outs the main library door, he sees the boy scrambling to his feet, bawling while holding a quick forming bruise on his face.

Unsurprisingly there stands Lia huffing and puffing before kicking at the tile.

" Can't be nice to anyone, yeesh."

A few minutes later, they've found Cal and start the walk home. Cal glances up, trying not to see how tight Rolans jaw is set. Lia reaches over and puts her hand in Rolans, unsure how to help. A tear slips down his face, immediately followed by a silent parade of them. Lias hand tightens in his, with his free hand Rolan begins wiping his face.

Cal huffs crossing his arms over his small chest and says firmly.

" boys are stupid anyway."

Now caught quite off guard rolan stares at him, then suddenly can't stop laughing. Lia cracks up shouting

" yea! They're stupid!"

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #romance #rolan #bg3 rolan #oc #lia #cal #tiefling #holy rolan empire

21 notes · View notes

sarahscribbles · 2 years

Text

On The Throne

Summary: Yet again Loki has allowed a security council meeting to run late. You decide that, this time, you'll go and help hurry it along.

Genre: Fluff, smut

Loki x f!reader

Word count: 3.8k

Loki Masterlist

One hour.

Two hours.

Three hours.

You slammed the heavy tome in your lap shut with a resounding thump, causing two songbirds resting nearby to startle into flight. The early evening breeze tousled your hair, bringing with it the sweet smell of wild jasmine and magnolia; a scent you would always associate with your wedding and with Loki.

He had told you, he had told you multiple times this morning, that his audience with the security council would likely last the entirety of the afternoon and that you shouldn’t expect to see him before sundown, but still you burned with impatience. You were hungry for his company, for the rich, safe sound of his voice and the soft feel of his lips on yours as he kissed you hello.

You missed him.

From your perch on the open balcony, you watched the setting sun bathe Asgard in a golden glow, the shimmering city appearing almost iridescent in the evening light. Usually, your husband would be by your side by now, a goblet of rich Asgardian wine in his hand while he kept you abreast of state affairs or told you tales of every inch of Asgard to the Bifrost and beyond.

This evening, though, you were alone.

Loki had been King for a few short months, your husband for only a little while longer, but you could count on one hand the number of times he had concluded a security council meeting when he should have. He was close to fanatical about the security of Asgard - why, you weren’t certain - and his meetings tended to run well overtime, no matter how much a singular issue had been discussed.

Despite the centuries you had been together, you still ached for his presence, for his embrace and his touch, after only a few short hours apart. Centuries behind you and millennia before you, yet you still couldn’t get enough of him.

You would never get enough of him.

In your chambers behind you heard the distinctive soft click of the double doors opening, a small, unassuming sound that relaxed your whole body.

Loki had returned.

Your ears pricked for the dull thud of his boots against the flagstones and the telltale clink of his golden helmet on mahogany; your body braced for the feel of his strong arms wrapping tightly around your shoulders and his warm, sweet kiss pressing against your temple. You were practically vibrating in anticipation of his touch, counting down the seconds it would take for him to cross the chamber to the open arch of the balcony.

Five…four…three…two…

“Your Majesty?”

Oh.

Masking the bitter disappointment that had settled quickly over you like a sudden spring storm, you turned in the direction of Åse’s voice. Loki’s return was likely a few hours away yet; he only ever sent Åse when…

“His Majesty has been delayed again, my Queen,” she said, her timid voice drifting softly on the evening air. You still weren’t sure why the girl feared you so. Was it because you were Loki’s wife? “He sent me with -”

“With his apologies, yes,” you interrupted her, moving the heavy volume from your lap to stand. Instantly, you regretted your sharp tone. Åse stood in the wide open arch, nervously twisting her hands in front of her, as though she believed you blamed her for Loki’s delay. “I am not angry at you, child. Don’t fret,” you softened your voice, touching a hand to her burning cheek as you passed by into your chamber.

Her light footsteps echoed along behind. “Would you like me to bring a message back, my Queen?” she asked, the quiet swish of her skirts filling the silence of the room.

You paused to think for a moment. “Yes, you can tell His Majesty that…” you stopped short, a wicked thought beginning to take shape in your mind. “No, Åse, dear, that’s all. You may retire for the rest of the night. I’ll retrieve His Majesty myself.

oOo

“...we can’t possibly hope to strike a deal with the Vanir before Midwinter. There remains scores of bad blood between their King and my father. If we are to truly try and build a bridge between the realms then a diplomatic envoy will need to be sent from Asgard before Midsummer…”

Loki’s deep, commanding voice drifted from under the heavy oak doors to the throne room into the small antechamber where you lingered impatiently. He had been speaking without pause for ten minutes, providing no opportunity for interruption as he laid out his plans to restore the frosty relations between Asgard and Vanaheim. It had been the biggest thorn in his side for all of his short reign and one that he was decidedly determined to pluck out and flick to the dirt.

His muffled voice continued to float through the imposing wood, only heightening your impatience with each slowly passing minute. You waited…and waited…and waited, until a natural pause in his monologue gave you the chance to heave open one of the doors to the throne room. They had been built to appear ominous, to deter any trivial interruption into state affairs, but to you they were but a minor obstacle standing between you and your husband, Loki long having told you that no matter of state was more important than you were.

His eyes, cold and stern as they addressed his council, flickered to you the second that you stepped through the doors, filling instantly with open warmth. Holding his gaze you leaned against the cool stone of the wall, folding your arms across your chest and cocking an eyebrow at him. Loki’s lips twitched with the beginnings of a knowing smile and his eyes suddenly twinkled with mischief as he turned back to the men gathered before him.

“My lords, my Queen commands my attention. We will reconvene momentarily. You are dismissed,” he said firmly.

You watched amused as the men shuffled out, many of them shooting you looks of pure gratitude for providing respite from Loki’s unending peacebuilding quest. When the doors finally shut with a boom that echoed to every corner of the chamber, you turned your attention back to your husband. He had taken his seat on the throne, Gungnir still held proudly in his hand, his legs parting in a wide, inviting V that pulled you in like a bee to nectar.

“Reconvening momentarily, are you?” you remarked, the soft click of your slippers echoing around the chamber as you ascended to the throne. “Is three hours not long enough to keep me waiting for your company?” You stopped short of stepping between his splayed legs despite the nearly overwhelming urge.

Loki leaned forward, resting his hands on your hips and pulling you towards him. A small, startled squeak left your lips as you stumbled, but ended up safely perched on one of his muscular thighs. “Anyone would think I hadn’t ravished you thoroughly last night, my love. You’re becoming quite insatiable,” he teased.

Easily, you looped your arms around his neck, settling into the familiar comfort that came with being close to him. “Perhaps,” you allowed him. “Although can I be blamed when my husband is so exquisite?” you said, delighting in the faint dusting of pink that crept across his cheeks. Unable to wait any longer, you pressed your lips firmly against his, drinking in the taste of him like he was an oasis that quenched your desperate thirst. His lips parted easily for you and soon the only sound in the chamber was that of your kiss.

Against your thigh, you felt him begin to grow hard, something that only spurred you on. You broke from his mouth, trailing wet, open mouthed kisses along his sharp jaw and down the exposed expanse of his neck, occasionally nipping him with your teeth to mark him as he had you so many times before. Loki shifted beneath you, the slight rise of his thigh pushing you closer against him, his arms locking tighter around your waist. You could feel every quiet hitch of his breath, and when you twisted a hand into his hair to tug it gently, he shivered.

“Darling, as much as I relish your attentions, I can’t keep the council waiting,” he protested. It was weak resistance, you knew; he was already angling his head to grant you better access to continue marking him.

“You had no such qualms about leaving me waiting,” you remarked, pushing open the parting of his tunic above his armour to mark his collarbone.

His fingers were instantly under your chin, tilting your head back to make you look at him. “You’re upset,” he stated, his own distress beginning to swirl in his eyes.

You entertained letting him believe it, but your inability to ever hurt him ultimately won out. “I’m not,” you assured him, cupping his cheek in your palm for emphasis. “I know this side of being King is unavoidable. You are only doing your duty.” You ghosted your thumb across his cheek.

“You know there is nowhere in this universe I would rather be than with you, my love,” he replied, leaning in to your touch.

“I know,” you assured him softly. “Which is why I came to you. I can only imagine how you’re wilting from a lack of my affection,” you teased him, warmth seeping through you at the sight of his smile, the smile that was reserved solely for you.

Gently, as though he still believed you were made of glass, he brought your hand to his lips to kiss your fingertips. “Like a flower under the hot summer sun,” he answered.

You adopted a look of serious concern, dusting your thumb over his cheek again. “Well, we can’t have that. Perhaps I can revive you?” You bent in to give him another lingering kiss before easily sliding from this thigh to kneel between his spread legs.

A deep rumble of approval sounded from him, and he leaned forward to grasp your chin between his fingers. “You do look delightful on your knees for me, darling,” he purred. “I only hope you can work fast enough so as not to arouse the suspicions of my council.”

“Don’t pretend with me, my King. I know how much the thought of an audience excites you,” you shot back instantly.

Loki narrowed his eyes playfully at you. “Little minx,” he said softly, leaning back to raise his hips just enough for you to yank his trousers down this thighs, exposing him full to you.

His cock stood proudly before you already hard and demanding your attentions. For a moment you did nothing only watch him, letting him wait…and wait…and wait. When his strong brow begin to knit together and his lips began to part, you bent in to apply the barest hint of pressure with your tongue from base to tip, doing nothing but coat him in a thin sheen of your saliva. Loki’s hips rose off the throne in a silent command for more, but you sat back on your heels and peered up at him with feigned innocence.

His head snapped forward on his shoulders, green eyes glittering darkly with quiet threats when they found yours. “Don’t tease me, my pet,” he said, a faint note of warning creeping into his raspy voice.

“Not even a little bit?” you replied, quickly pressing your lips to his bare thigh, pulling a soft groan from him. You sucked mark after mark into his pale skin, the little patches of red that slowly blossomed underneath sending a jolt of pure power straight to your head. These were your marks, he would be adorned with your marks.

He was yours.

High on the feeling of it, you continued to pepper a myriad of further marks across his skin, wanting his entire body to be claimed as yours. The soft little sounds of pleasure that he released above you in an unending stream confirmed just how much he did love to be teased.

“Darling?” he breathed out above you, his voice now beginning to sound strained.

“Hmm?” you hummed, still not finished with his thighs.

“Put that wonderful mouth of yours to better use.”

“As you wish, my King,” you said, watching his cock twitch at your words. You sucked a final bruise into the flesh of his thigh and sat back on your heels, taking in the beautiful sight of him hard and ready for you. A small bead of pre cum glistened on his tip, weeping temptingly and making something deep within you twist. You ran your tongue firmly along the underside of his cock and locked your lips around his tip, swirling around him and pumping the rest of him steadily with your hand.

“Good girl,” Loki said above you, his head tipping back while his hands on the armrests balled into fists.

You continued to work him towards release, the feeling of his heavy cock on your tongue and the endless stream of his pleasured moans and sighs floating through the air driving you to increase your pace. You flattened your tongue firmly against him, drawing a sharp hiss from his lips as he steadily climbed the edge.

On the armrest of the throne, his fingers curled and uncurled, his breathing now coming in short, broken pants as he braced for the flood of pleasure. “Fuck, darling…I’m close,” he panted out. “Keep…doing that.”

His pleasure was just within his grasp, dangling enticingly before him. He was seconds away…another few bobs of your head on his cock…

At the last possible second before his climax consumed him, you pulled off him, leaving a wet string of your saliva clinging to his red and angry tip when he fell completely from your mouth.

Before you could even draw breath his head was snapping upright on his shoulders, emerald eyes staring daggers when they found yours. “I’m…I’m going to trust…that that was an accident,” he panted, his breath still lost to him.

You gave him an innocent flutter of your eyelashes. “Were you close, my King?” you asked, swallowing a smirk.

“You are playing a dangerous game, my pet,” he said quietly, leaning forward and bunching a hand in your hair to push you back towards his cock.

“And it sounds like you’re rather enjoying it. Perhaps I should drag it out?” you replied, pushing back against the force of his hand, determined that he wouldn’t have any pleasure until you decided.

“Do that and I’ll put you over my knee,” he said, pressing you more firmly still towards him.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, my love,”

His weeping tip pressed against your lips demanding entrance, and with his hand firmly twisted in your hair, you had no choice but to part your lips and take him. A contented groan fell from him when you wrapped your lips back around his cock, running your tongue steadily over his head and pulling a sharp hiss of pleasure from him. His hand bunched tighter into your hair to force you to take more of him, his hips beginning to roll evenly to meet every bob of your head.

The throne room was filled with his soft moans and grunts of pleasure, the noises filling your ears like the sweetest chorus of a melody. A glance up through your lashes saw his head tipped back in ecstasy against the back of his throne, eyes squeezed shut and lips parted to allow your name to fall from them like a prayer from his heart.

He was close. He was so wondrously close.

Moments before he tipped over, you removed your hand from his cock and slowed down your rapid pace until you were doing nothing but running your tongue along his shaft at a slow, tormenting pace, dulling the little waves of pleasure to practically nothing.

His sharp, agonised whine floated through the air as the edge he had been riding once again ebbed away from him. His hips began to frantically roll into your mouth, desperately seeking its warm wetness to tip him over into a blinding release. You allowed him a few frenzied thrusts before pulling off his cock completely, fighting the press of his hand with great effort, and watching his face above you melting instantly from drunken pleasure to disbelieving betrayal.

“Darling…darling, please,” the plea fell quickly from his parted lips. “Please…please don’t leave me like this,” he continued to beg, his big green eyes filled with need and the earlier firmness of his voice long since gone.

Wordlessly, you rose to your feet, feeling heat pool between your legs at the look of utter desperation on his face and the silent pleading in his eyes. “Did you really believe I would, my King?” you asked, smirking at him as you began to hike up your gown.

The desperate look on his face instantly shifted, a knowing smile stretching his lips and mischief starting to twinkle in his emerald eyes. With his assistance you climbed into his lap, a curse slipping from your lips and a hiss from his when you seated yourself fully on his pulsing cock. “I believe you know better, my love,” he said, voice raspy and dripping with arousal.

With the feeling of his beautiful, thick length buried inside you, the temptation to ride him until you both saw stars was close to overwhelming. You could take your pleasure from him right here, fill the throne room with the sounds of your cries of ecstasy. You could…

No.

The opportunity had presented itself too perfectly tonight, and you had already got this far…

“Mmm,” you hummed in apparent agreement, bending in to kiss his weak spot right below his ear. “You’ve kept me waiting all night, dearest,” you whispered. “If you want that orgasm you’re going to have to get yourself there.” You bit down on his lobe, delighting in the sound of him sucking in a sharp breath.

His deep laughter shook your body. “You are very demanding tonight, my Queen. I quite enjoy this side of you.” He turned his head to capture your lips again, his kiss near making you dizzy with need. “As you command.”

His strong hands adjusted you in his lap and slowly, as though he was the one teasing you, he began to roll his hips to thrust his cock into you. You latched your arms around his neck for balance, twisting one hand back into his hair and giving it a sharp tug, making him shudder and momentarily lose his steady rhythm.

“You know…exactly…what you do to me,” he breathed out, his hands clamping around your hips like a vice.

You answered him with a kiss, deep and long and full of raw posessiveness.

He was yours.

One hand slid from your waist to the small of your back to gently press you closer to him, and, steadily, his thrusts became faster, hitting every sweet spot buried within you and making you fight every instinct and primal desire of your body to roll your hips against his. You remained still, clutching his neck and practically drunk on the sight of him edging himself with your cunt.

“Surely…surely you aren’t going to…make me do all the work, darling?” he panted, small beads of sweat beginning to form on his hairline and his cheeks glowing pink.

You gave him another quick kiss. “Maybe for just a little while longer,” you teased him.

A mischievous smirk crossed his face. “As you wish, my Queen,” he replied, instantly switching to thrust into you at a punishing pace and unknowingly driving himself towards an orgasm that you weren’t going to let him have.

His cock was hitting you at just the right speed and just the right angle, pushing you further and further towards your own magnificent release within every upward thrust of his hips. You dug your nails into the back of his neck, peppering little half moons across his skin and desperately attempting to ignore how good he felt filling and stretching you. You clenched hard around him, drawing another strangled whine from the depths of his throat and watching his eyes flutter shut once again. His chest beneath you was heaving, pink lips parted in silent prayer, and his thrusts quickly began more frantic and erratic.

“Fuck,” he cursed again. “Fuck” His teeth were bared, his hips now jerking wildly into you and making your cunt take every inch of him. You could feel him pulsing inside you, so close to painting you with his seed, so close to a shattering release.

For another second you drank in the sight of him coming undone beneath you. His lips parted in ecstasy, every tendon in his throat stretched taut against his skin, loose strands of hair falling forward to frame his face. He looked so beautiful, so drunk on the pleasure that your body was giving him that you almost felt guilty about what you were about to do.

Almost.

Slowly, so as not to alert him to any sudden shift, you placed a hand on each armrest of his throne to brace yourself and, at the very last second before he completely unravelled beneath you, you lifted off him, your cunt clenching in protest as his cock was prematurely pulled out of you.

A tortured shout of frustration left him, his hips bucking wildly in a desperate reach for your warmth. “Darling, please!” he begged, leaning forward in a vain attempt to pull you back onto his lap, but you were safely out of his reach. “Please let me finish!” His breathing was coming deep and hard, his chest heaving from how gloriously close he had been.

You fixed him with a satisfied smirk, feeling your core clench at the sound of his pleading. “Oh, but we can’t leave your council waiting. You said so yourself, my King, and it’s already been close to a half hour,” you said, straightening the skirts of your gown and bending in to give him another blistering kiss.

When you attempted to pull back Loki’s firm fingers grasped your chin to keep you in place. “Finish what you started, my love, or you won’t be capable of sitting properly for a week,” he threatened you, his pupils still blown wide with desire.

“Is that a promise?” you replied quickly.

“Yes.”

You grinned wickedly at him, pulling from his grip and fighting the shiver that threatened to run through you at his words. “Then, my King, I’m afraid I really must go. I can imagine your council is beginning to grow restless waiting for your summons, though I imagine your meeting will be finishing sooner than you anticipated. I hope you don’t face any hard decisions,” you taunted him.

“Darling, if you leave this chamber…,” he continued to threaten, but you were already halfway down the steps to his elevated dias.

“I’ll inform them all that you’re ready for them again!” you called over your shoulder, ignoring his words. “I trust I’ll be seeing you soon, my love.” You heaved open the heavy doors again, Loki’s growl of anguished frustration ringing in your ears.

You gave him thirty minutes.

Tags: @cake-writes @sineads-art @maevetriesart @lovelysizzlingbluebird @drdaddystrange @thedistractedagglomeration @joyful-enchantress @amethyst-dow @sailorholly @hyperfixating-on-loki @trickster-maiden @high-functioning-lokipath @mochie85 @vickie5446

#loki #loki x reader #loki smut

509 notes · View notes

of-wildflowers-and-stars · 2 years

Text

part 2

The soft squeaking of wheels on the carpet drifted around the corner of Hero's bookcase. The librarian scoffed and Hero looked up. They sat sprawled on the floor surrounded by stacks of tomes and scrolls laid out in no particular order. It was quite a sight. Hero couldn't imagine what they looked like if this was the result of their night's work. The disgruntled old librarian shuffled out of sight.

Hero sighed, returning to the book in front of them. Two pages later it was clear it was no use. This book was another dead end.

Hero slammed the book shut, the loud smack echoing back off the high ceilings. A cloud of dust rose around them as they stalked from the aisle.

They needed to clear their head. It'd been a long night of searching. If the book wasn't here then they’d have to tell the Headmaster what was in it. If they did that Hero would be severely punished, but the book would be safe. Luckily, there was no need for drastic measures yet. The book was here. It had to be. If it wasn’t then–

Hero slammed into someone down the next aisle. “Oh! I’m so sorry,” they apologized to the person’s back. “I–” They stopped short as the person turned.

“Ah Hero,” Villain purred, eyes roaming the bedraggled Hero head to toe, “do watch where you’re going.”

“What are you doing here?” Hero asked before they could stop themselves. Hastily, they added, “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

Villain cocked their head, “Dear Hero, the sun has risen and thus, so have I.” They smirked at Hero’s poorly hidden shock. They sighed, leaning back against the bookshelf, “Besides, I’ve found the most interesting book.”

Hero’s heart stopped. Started. Then stopped again. Against their will, their eyes widened and they fought to regulate their breathing.

“Are you familiar with this title?” Villain asked. They watched them from the corner of their eye, enjoying every second of Hero’s reaction.

Hero stared at the book held loosely in Villain’s hands. They knew they were baiting them but they couldn't help themselves. They lunged for the book. Villain grabbed their arm, throwing them off balance, and pinned them to the bookshelf.

“Now, now Hero,” Villain purred into the squirming Hero’s ear, “let’s play fair. This has been a clean game.” Villain released Hero, pushing them to the ground. Their voice dropped as they rounded the corner. “Let’s keep it that way.”

Hero scrambled around the corner but they were gone.

#the race is on #a little academic snippet for this lovely fall day #hero x villain #hero villain writing #heroes and villains #hero and villain snippet #creative writing #writing snippet #dark academia #academic rivals #academic rivals to lovers #hero #villain #hero/villain

187 notes · View notes

cup1d-cafe · 5 months

Text

The Forces Of Destiny — Part III :

"Regal Reflections"

- A fanmade ninjago season-

Word Count: 1731

Warnings: none

The team relentlessly searched for answers, having looked through all the scrolls owned by their mentor, they found themselves immersed in the books held within the vast palace library. It was an ancient treasure trove of forgotten wisdom, with towering bookcases looming over them like guardians of knowledge, their shelves laden with dusty tomes and worn down scrolls, a testament to the passing of time. The scent of musky, aged parchment weighed heavily in the air as flickering sunlight performed its dance on the polished wood floors.

With each tick of the clock the team delved deeper into the twisted labyrinth of knowledge, eyes meticulously scanning the words, calloused hands delicately turning pages. The warm tendrils of golden sunlight, once streaming in through the grand windows, gradually shifted as the hours of day melted into the evening. Their hopeful endeavours slowly disappear along with the sun.

Kai, with undisguised frustration, slammed shut a particularly thick volume, the sound making Jay and Cole jump surprise beside him as it echoed throughout the wide expanse of the library.

“This is absolutely ridiculous! How much longer are we going to spend in this ancient dump!”

“Don’t forget that at least the texts in the modern language are split between us 7, poor Yuki has to read all of the texts in the ancient language” Kais younger sister, Nya, scolded. Her eyes travelled to Yuki, hunched over countless books, scrolls and documents written in the ancient language.

Lloyd let out a frustrated sigh “I'm starting to think this is getting us nowhere. Even modern texts are starting to look like ancient mumblings.”

Zane, the analytical one, furrowed his robotic eyebrows from his position opposite the table “ We must remain persistent, we need patience to fix this.” he said as his icy blue eyes scanned the bookshelves.

“I don't understand. There… There has to be a clue. A clue, a reference. There has to be something.” Yuki said, her voice sounding as if on the verge of tears, not ripping her eyes away from the words in front of her. “How can there be nothing if the problem revolves around the source of the entirety of Ninjago” she continued, her voice sounding more panicked with each word.

This is so exhausting.

Jay, thinking fast, tore Yuki’s mind away from her anxiety “What if there's another section we haven't checked yet, like a secret chamber or something?” he paced back and forth.

“Don’t try to be funny Jay! If there was another section then I would have checked it already.” Yuki snapped, her sharp gaze cutting into Jay through messy strands of pink hair.

The frustration in the air grew thicker as the moon ascended into the sky, despite the wide space of the library, everyone felt the walls of bookcases close in on them with every minute.

As the hushed whispers of ancient knowledge weighed on the team, Cole, sensing the collective fatigue, hesitantly suggested a break. “ Guys, let's take a break, we can’t go on like this if we’re over tired.”

The idea resonated fondly with all of the team, all except one member.

“You guys go ahead, I have too many things to read in this god forsaken language. I’ll -” Yuki was cut off before she was able to continue her rant.

“Yuki, I swear on the First Spinjitzu Master, I will not hesitate to drag your ass out of here and make you take a break.” Cole stated, eyes narrowed at the girl.

“I'm coming, i’m coming.” was all she could say as she joined her friends.

They staggered out of the library together, exhaustion palpable as fatigue etched itself in their faces, craving a change of scenery. The shadows seemed to play tricks on them, or so they thought.

Nya, ever vigilant, noticed the flickering in the great mirror mounted on the wall of the corridor; she noticed the smooth, glassy surface twist and turn as she brought it to the attention of others. Soon everyone saw the image of an elegant, regal, red-headed woman.

Queen Kaida, The first Queen of Ninjago.

“Maybe a break wasn’t such a bad idea after all.” Yuki chuckled dryly.

It’s okay, just breathe.

The spectre of the past observed as Morro pulled Yuki behind him, instinctively moving in front of her along with Lloyd, their protective stances conveying the message to the apparition as she raised an amused eyebrow at their determination to protect their friend. Yuki’s gaze locked with Kaida’s, determined to not let her ancestor smell her fear.

The team felt newfound protectiveness, positioning themselves, ready for action if they needed to step in. Their eyes darted around for potential danger, ready for any unseen threats.

Queen Kaida, sensing the tension on the other side of the mirror, softened her expression as she addressed Yuki affectionately. “There is no need for fear. My dearest Yuki, i have observed your efforts, i have come to give you guidance,”

The unexpected offer of assistance puzzled the ninja, they shared unsure looks between themselves.

“How do we know we can trust you?” Lloyd spoke, his weapon drawn ready to attack, cautious of the reflection.

Kaida’s reflection glowed softly in the dimly lit corridor, her calm authority spread though the space as she began to speak, her voice like a gentle melody.

“Lloyd Garmadon, you are the grandson of my dear friend. this queendom exists because he trusted me to be the first to wield all of the magic weaved into this realm. Long ago, before time had a name, the first spinjitzu master created ninjago and harnessed all of the magic into the wand. The wand you are holding now my dear Yuki. We shaped the destiny that intertwined with the very essence of magic.

The team listened intently as she spoke, her words almost hypnotising, she continued, “ Ninjago was born from a vision to unite the forces of creation and destruction. Light and dark. Good and evil. It preserves harmony in the world. I laid the foundation of magic that flows through your veins Yuki. A part of this magic flows through all of your veins as well, noble ninja.”

Her voice grew stronger, infused with wisdom “ Yuki you are a continuation of the legacy, you are the key to its preservation. Without you, there is no magic.”

A warmth spread across the corridor, Kaidas reflection grew brighter, casting a soft glow on the ninja in front of her, “The realm of magic is a canvas painted with colours of our shared history. You must not let the darkness unravel the threads, find it. And remove it. You were handed this torch, carry it forward, you must pass it on, you have been destined to be the guardian and keeper of ninjago’s magic for centuries before you were born. You are not just a part of the legacy; your greatness will shape its future.”

Kaida finished her monologue, the ninja stared at her in awe.

“But…But how can we find the answer? We have read everything we can.” Yuki said, the inspiration from the monolog wavering away as she remembered the day spent in the library

“The Royal Archive will have the answer you are searching for.” Queen Kaida responded.

“The archive?” Yuki questioned, her confusion echoing everyones thoughts.

“It is a secret well hidden indeed. The Archive has the real history of the realms, beyond what is in your books.” She reassured the girl, watching as she pushed past her friends, now standing almost at eye level.

“How does one get into these archives?” Yuki questioned her kin, her tone sceptical, yet she couldn't help but trust the woman in the mirror. Kaida simply smiled patiently.

“Head into your office, look behind the tapestry on the northern wall and you will know.” Kaida glowed brighter, before slowly fading away within the mirror; black smoke flowing behind the glass, leaving the ninja staring into their own reflections in the mirror. The corridor fell into a profound silence, Queen Kaida’s message echoing in their thoughts.

As they gazed into the pristine reflective surface, they felt their emotions shift. The burden of uncertainty lifted ever so slightly as the first queen's words guided them. They felt a renewed vigour, a new found determination.

Yet Yuki felt like a sailor in the centre of the stormy sea. She retreated to her own thoughts as the team moved to her office; the weight of destiny had been thrust upon her from a young age, she was aware of that much, yet the conundrum vexed her more than she expected despite the years of experience. She wandered the corridors of her mind as she attempted to decipher the cryptic message.

"Destiny intertwined with the essence of magic."

"Don't let the darkness unravel the threads."

"Key to preservation."

"You shape its future."

Each word held the ancient weight of destiny, a fate that spanned generations. They echoed in her mind, Yuki felt a resigned acceptance settle within her heart as she braced herself for the challenges that lay ahead of her.

I have to do this. If not me then who?

She watched her friends rush in front of her, falling behind the group, she listened to their eager chatter. In the sanctuary of her own mind, Yuki found herself to be bitter, the chaotic symphony of outrageous emotions burdened her with the weight of her predetermined role. The expectations and echoes of a legacy she had not sought as she fought with the internal conflict of being born into a role that demanded her whole soul plus more.

I hate it.

It crushed her, pressing down harder every passing day. Frustration welled up inside her, surging throughout her body like electricity. Every memory she could remember, bore the thread of resentment, a persistent reminder of the destiny she never chose. She was a mere pawn in a cosmic game, chosen for a game years before her birth, shackled to her fate forever.

She walked to her office, squeezing her glove clad hands until nails painfully dug into her skin. She sought to channel Queen Kaida’s words into a source of strength.

“You were handed this torch, carry it forward, you must pass it on, you have been destined to be the guardian and keeper of ninjago’s magic for centuries before you were born.”

No one ever considered what she truly wanted.

< Previous | Next >

♧Masterlist♧

Summary: A mysterious rift between time and magic tears the fabric of the realms. Yuki, the master of magic, the purple ninja and the queen of ninjago, must find the powerful spell to fix this. In an unexpected twist, the team is transported into the depths of Yuki's spell book. The ninja must navigate through the chapters and memories of all the queens, finding the thing that is jeprodizing peace.

In a risky race, the ninja must piece together fragments of memories to uncover the truth. Will they succeed in fixing the rift? Or will Dark secrets unravel a mystery that changes the fate of everything?

Taglist: (open)

@shatteredhope123 @stupidgayartkid @crikkit-kitterton @queenoftaslik @spinjitzu-spy

Feel free to ask to be added to the Taglist!

#ninjago #ninjago rewrite #ninjago headcanons #ninjago oc #lego ninjago #yuki dragonfly #lloyd garmadon #ninjago jay #ninjago kai #ninjago lloyd #ninjago cole #ninjago zane #ninjago morro #sensei wu

13 notes · View notes