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sarahscribbles · 4 months

Note

saz i am the FIRMEST of believers that loki’s into cock warming, especially when he comes home from a long mission or gruesome battle literally all he wants is to be nestled inside you for hours 😌

𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐇𝐢𝐦 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐱 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟐.𝟔𝐤

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The endless sky stretching beyond the Allmother’s library is a vibrant swirl of scarlet and amber when you hear the clatter of a dozen hooves in the courtyard below. Over the excited braying of horses you hear the calls of Einherjar for stable hands and body servants, and the book in your lap quickly tumbles to the floor with a thump as you rush towards the window in a flurry of skirts.

The sudden disturbance in the quiet of the evening can only mean that the campaign is over and the princes are home.

Loki is home.

You reach the window just as he swings a long leg over his horse and drops elegantly to the ground, looking every inch the warrior in leather and metal. The last dying rays of sun catch the small golden band around his finger and the breeze tousles his perfectly styled hair, but he barely appears to notice because his attention is already fully focused on something else.

You, standing at the library window.

He found you within five minutes of arriving back home. Always, your husband will find you, as though some invisible string connects his heart to yours.

The smile that curls across his lips when he catches your eye is both devilish and devastating, as is the wink he offers you as his horse is taken away.

A kaleidoscope of butterflies takes flight in your stomach and your fingers curl tighter around the pillar they rest on. Six weeks he’s been gone - one of the longest campaigns of your marriage - and it’s taking everything in you not to run through the palace and have him right there in the courtyard.

Perhaps more than once.

His bright eyes linger longingly on you until he disappears beneath the window ledge and into the Palace. From the floor below, you hear the gentle buzz of conversation and revelry as the warriors recount their journey to victory for anyone who will listen. You hear the distinct sound of Thor’s war cry; the hearty cheers of The Warriors Three; the joyous clanging of swords in celebration…

You hear the familiar deep roll of laughter that you would recognise anywhere.

The sound of your husband’s mirth, his uncontained joy, makes you giddy with excitement, the likes of which you haven’t experienced since you first started courting him or the first time you got to taste his kiss. You’ve missed him - missed the warmth of his embraces, the softness of his lips, the easy way he can make you laugh without even trying.

You’ve missed your best friend.

Forgetting all about the book you’ve left lying, pages akimbo, on the floor, you rush from the library on quick, quiet feet to race your husband to your chambers. You know it will be his first port of call, as it always is after any length of time you spend apart, and the thought alone is enough to make you fizzle wildly with anticipation.

Will he take his time worshiping your body? Will those large, gentle hands spend hours refamiliarising themselves with every dip and curve? Will his lips lavish attention on you until not an inch of you has been left unkissed?

Or, will he back you against the chamber wall and hoist your skirts around your hips? Will he rip your bodice from your body and roughly have his way with you? Will he make you orgasm again and again until you go limp in his arms?

Perhaps both if you’re lucky.

Perhaps this reunion will be similar to the last when neither of you were seen outside your chambers for three days; one day of pleasure for each battle the Asgardians had won, so your husband had promised.

And delivered on.

The late evening air tingles with his magic as you pass along the Palace hallways. He’s closer than you had initially believed, but when you finally approach the ornate double doors of your chambers, only the two Einhenjar stand outside.

You breeze quickly past them with a brief nod, stepping straight into the empty living area of your chambers. There’s nothing to suggest that Loki is anywhere within or lurking in the rooms beyond, so you haltingly let your guard down.

Beyond the walls of your chamber, you hear the merry sounds of the warriors making their way to Odin in the heart of the Palace to boast of their victory. They pass by in a raucous cacophony of cheers and shouts - still loudly retelling the events of each battle to their eager audience of courtiers - and you prepare for your husband to come striding through the doors energised by victory.

But they remain firmly closed.

Your brow furrows at the same time a knot of disappointment twists in your stomach. Loki’s letters from the battlefield had been dripping with innuendo and filthy promises of how he planned to ravish you upon his return - some so salacious that you’d had to lock the doors to your bedchamber early in the afternoon.

Surely, after so many promises of debauchery, he wouldn’t choose an audience with Odin over you.

The sounds of Thor and his fellow warriors become increasingly more faint and still there’s no sign of Loki. You wait another minute and then start towards the doors, but you’ve barely taken three steps when a familiar pair of arms wrap around your middle so suddenly that you yelp in surprise.

“I caught you, my little mouse.” Loki’s soft voice purrs in your ear, and you feel his warm lips press a lingering kiss to your cheek.

You pretend to huff, but it’s impossible to stop the smile that spreads across your face at being back in your husband’s embrace. “How do you always manage to do that?”

His answering laughter makes your heart swell. How had you survived six whole weeks without him?

Loki places one last kiss to your temple and twirls you around in his arms. You’re flush against his chest and the familiar feeling of safety washes warmly over you. “Do you forget to whom you are married, dove?” he teases, eyes twinkling as he gazes at you.

“As if such a thing is even possible!” you reply, teasing him just as easily.

“Little vixen,” he murmurs, and pulls you tighter against his chest. “Did you miss me?”

Briefly, you consider teasing him a little more, but something in his eyes makes you reconsider. Reflected in them clear as day is how deeply he missed you and how desperately he needs to hear you say that you noticed his absence.

“Like one would miss a limb,” you say softly and twist your arms around his shoulders.

Loki smiles and dips his head to kiss you gently. It’s sweet and innocent yet it still awakens six weeks of need within you. Your fingers curl greedily into his hair as you pull him to you, silently begging him for more, but you only feel him bite your lower lip and pull back.

“Don’t you wish to go and congratulate Thor and the others? I’m sure they would relish the praise of their Princess,” he says, his pretty green eyes dancing with mischief at your pout.

“The only thing I wish to do is spend the next few hours welcoming my husband home,” you reply.

The very thought has a throbbing ache begin between your thighs. You picture tousled bed sheets and your husband's firm body writhing and flexing beneath your hungry fingers. You want to spend hours losing yourself to the feel of him and clutch him to you like a life raft as he makes Valhalla dance behind your eyes.

You want to enjoy your husband.

Loki squeezes your hips. “You know there’s nothing in the Nine that I can deny you, darling.”

Before you can draw breath to reply, he’s easily tossing you over one shoulder and carrying you towards your bedroom. Your shrieks of laughter ring through the chamber. After six weeks, your heart is full again, swelling with love for the man who’s rushed straight home to you and is kicking the doors to your room closed with a satisfying bang. You wait for the inevitable feeling of soaring through air as he tosses you onto the bed, but seconds pass and you’re still draped over his shoulder.

“Are we feeling sentimental this evening?” you question, only half teasing.

By now, you had expected to be stripped and possibly restrained to the bed, but your husband appears to be in no rush to have his way with you.

“Possibly,” Loki answers, lightly tapping your ass.

He sets you down gently on your feet, then takes both your hands in his to raise them to his lips. They’re warm as they kiss the backs of your knuckles and his sparkling green eyes never once leave yours.

“Undress me, darling,” he whispers softly and releases your hands.

He’s already stepped out of his heavy outer armour, likely as soon as he stepped inside the palace, leaving him in the casual, soft leather that you know all too well. Your practiced hands reach out easily to push the long overcoat off his broad shoulders, and it falls to the stone floor with a quiet thump.

The rest of his clothing is quick to follow. It’s beautifully intimate, undressing him - revealing him piece by piece so you can marvel at this beautiful man who wears your ring on his finger. You reach out to lightly trace the scars on his abdomen that weren’t there last time, scars that you’ll kiss over and over while he falls asleep in your arms later.

“I’m fine,” Loki whispers, reading your thoughts while your fingers continue to dance over his skin.

Your eyes dart to his, searching for any tiny flick of untruth. The god of lies he may be, but he can hide nothing from you.

“I promise, dove.” He continues, letting his hands fall to rest on your hips. “I’ll recount the story of every new scar for you if I must.”

Your own hands find his on your hips to pull them to the fastenings of your gown. “I insist on it, my prince,” you say with a smirk.

Loki rolls his eyes, but the smile he gives you is nothing short of adoring. “As you wish,” he says, and begins to trail a single finger along the bodice of your gown.

In a pale shimmer of green the fabric disappears before you, melting to nothing until you’re finally bare before him. His eyes drink you in - heavy with six weeks of pent up desire - and you can’t fight the shiver when he reaches in to suck a bruise to the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, placing a kiss over your bruising skin. “Ethereal.” He adds, sliding his hands around your waist and letting them run along your lower back to squeeze your ass.

“Mine,” he says more forcefully, placing a firm kiss to your lips at the same time his hands lock around your knees.

You squeal against his lips as he hoists you into his arms, but easily lock your legs around his hips and your arms around his neck. You feel the shift of his body as he climbs onto the bed, but instead of being laid back amongst the generous piles of pillows as you expected, Loki positions himself back against the intricate headboard with you still straddling his lap.

“How I missed you, my darling wife,” he says quietly when his lips leave yours, and then he’s coaxing you onto your knees before him.

Loki takes your hand in his and guides it towards his cock, wrapping your fingers around it with a contented sigh. You know what he’s asking without him having to say a word.

Slowly, you begin to stroke him, watching his eyes flicker closed when you increase the pressure. “Did you miss me? Or did you miss this?” you tease him.

“How unfair of you to make me choose,” he replies instantly.

You squeeze his cock with a smirk, not missing the quiet groan that floats from him or the slight curl of his upper lip.

“Oh, that might cost you later, dove,” he says. It’s meant to be a warning, you know, but it only makes your core burn for him.

“Perhaps that’s what I’m counting on,” you quip back quickly, which makes the god in your bed chuckle softly.

His cock grows beneath your touch, which only makes a surge of power shoot straight to your head. You begin to stroke him faster and apply just the barest hint of pressure, but a large hand quickly reaches out to still yours.

“Am I…,” you begin, but trail off when you glance towards him.

Loki’s eyes are alight and dancing with the promise of mischief. Without a word, he edges you forward on the bed until your aching cunt is directly above his cock. You clench desperately at what you know is coming and it feels like an eternity until Loki is coaxing you down and the head of his cock is brushing teasingly against you.

He maddingly drags himself through your soaked cunt again and again, pulling groan after groan from deep in your chest. Your nails dig into the pale skin of his shoulder, leaving a pattern of tiny half moons in their wake as you fix him with pleading eyes.

“Fuck, Loki. Please, put it in,” you beg, needing to feel your husband fill you after six long weeks apart.

Loki grins back mischievously. “As my love commands.”

Slowly, he eases his cock inside you, making you take him inch by inch until you can take no more of him. He hisses at the feel of your cunt clenching wildly around him, and you’re rewarded with a stream of moans and curses until you’re fully seated on him.

A hand closes quickly around the base of your skull to pull you in for another blistering kiss that’s lazy and wondrously sloppy. “I missed this tight little cunt,” he rasps into your ear with a roll of his hips.

“Fuck,” you curse softly and let your head fall to his shoulder.

He feels so blindingly good inside you that all you want to do is ride him until he can’t remember his own name, but when your hips begin to rock against his, Loki plants two strong hands on them to hold you still.

“Ah, ah, darling. This is more than enough for now,” he says lightly.

Not fully believing what you heard, you pull back to peer at him. “What? Loki, it’s been six -.”

“Shhh, dove. I thought you insisted on hearing all about our time away?” he replies.

“Yes, but not now! There will be plenty of time for you to tell me after!” You try not to whine. There had been three battles in all, and Loki had promised to tell you about all of them in detail.

Your husband shifts beneath you, making you whimper when his cock does the same. “Perhaps, but, for now, I wish to have my darling wife warm my cock as I tell her about our victories. Would you deny me that?”

He knows that he has you. You can’t deny this man anything, even if it means spending a tortuous evening with his cock inside you.

“No,” you reply, fighting to keep from pouting.

Loki pulls you in for another quick kiss. “Good girl,” he says and gives another teasing roll of his hips. “If you can continue being good and not try to pleasure yourself all evening, then I will personally see to it that you don’t walk properly for the next week.”

#loki #loki smut #loki x reader #loki fanfction

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sycamoregirlsworld · 4 months

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I Can See You- L. Castellan

“what would you do if i went to touch you now?” -Taylor Swift

Luke x Fem! reader

slightly mature? idk

Early morning training wasn’t something many campers enjoyed doing.

Most of the kids at camp would much prefer staying in their cabins until the very last minute. Wrapped in their covers until they just had to go to training.

Luke and (Y/n) we’re not those people. Well— it was more like they couldn’t be those people.

Their sparring sometimes got a bit… competitive. Too many campers had complained about it, so the pair decided that they would start to spar early in the morning.

It’s not like they were complaining. Being alone provided a better environment for them.

“Gods, Luke.” (Y/n) breathed out as she was forced onto defense, blocking his jabs with her twin swords.

Sweat glistened on their foreheads as they clashed blades, the metallic echoes filling the air. Luke's brown eyes never left (Y/n)’s form, enamored with the way she fought.

While his fighting style was quick and agressive, she fought gracefully and her moves were calculated.

“C’mon sweetheart, is this all you’ve got?” Luke teased as he attempted to strike her arm.

“Fuck off, Luke.” She grunted and parried his strike.

She had always been a bit too competitive, and it got even worse when it came to Luke.

He winked before swinging his sword towards her, the steel side of backbiter unknowingly facing her.

Catching the silver gleam of the steel, (Y/n) quickly dropped and rolled under his legs.

“Steel side is out, stupid.” She huffed and kicked the back of his knees.

Luke grunted as he stumbled forward. He caught his balance and whipped around to glare at her.

“That was a cheap move, babe.” He breathed out.

Before she could blink, Luke had thrusted his sword out (this time making sure the steel was not facing her) effectively catching her off guard.

(Y/N) stumbled backward, her swords falling out of her hands. Her heart pounding, and not just from the shock of the move but also from the Luke way look was looking at her.

She found herself on the ground, the force the the disarm sending her sprawling. Luke crouched next to her, his eyes now a mix of pride and something deeper.

Unable to break eye contact, Luke lifted (Y/N)'s chin with the tip of his sword, their faces inches apart. (Y/N) bit her lip as she looked up at him, her eyes wide and her breathing unsteady.

The cold metal of his sword should’ve made her scared, if he moved it a bit it could’ve pierced her skin, but instead all (Y/N) could think about was the fact that if she moved her face just a bit her lips would’ve been on his…

The tension hung thick in the air, their faces were both flushed from their sweat and close proximity.

"I could have defeated you," (Y/N) teased, her voice a mix of challenge and vulnerability.

Luke's lips curved into a half-smile, "Maybe, but where's the fun in that?"

His hand reached up and grabbed a fistful of her hair, tugging her head back slightly.

“You look hot like this.” He mumbled, his sword still under her chin.

(Y/n) averted her gaze from him, her face burning brighter.

“You’re such a perv.” She chewed at her bottom lip.

Luke nudged her chin with his sword softly. “Look at me, pretty girl.” He pouted playfully.

Luke discarded his sword with a clatter, his urgency evident as he pulled (Y/n) onto his lap, their lips colliding in a fervent, heated kiss.

With one hand tangled in her hair and the other gripping her waist possessively, he drew her closer, igniting an ache within her. (Y/n) gasped softly, before surrendering to the kiss.

She threaded her fingers through his tousled brown locks and tugged softly, eliciting a soft moan from him.

Luke's kiss was rough, and the lingering scent of his sweat heightened her desire.

With a yearning for more, she instinctively began to move against him, seeking the friction she so desperately craved— until a sudden realization pulled her back to reality.

"Luke—" Her voice faltered as their eyes met, his pretty, brown eyes were half-lidded and intoxicated with desire. His tousled hair and flushed cheeks, saliva-slicked lips only fueled her longing. "We can't... we're still on the training grounds..." She hesitated, torn between restraint and the burning need coursing through her veins.

"So what?" Luke's husky voice sent shivers down her spine as his hands began to explore beneath her shirt, his touch setting her ablaze with desire. “It’s still early.”

Glancing around, she considered their surroundings. It was early, and the ache between her legs had gone unattended for weeks…

"Fuck it," she muttered, her resolve crumbling as she pushed Luke down, surrendering to the intoxicating allure of their forbidden passion.

This was why they trained early.

#luke castellan x you #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #pjo series #pjo tv show #pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #aesthetic

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ceo-of-funny · 2 years

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bro renji’s backstory got him sounding like oliver mf twist

#mf lives in detroit #jojo siwa hairstyle headass #traction alopecia headass #widow's mountain headass #op slinky sword headass and you STILL lost to a ginger with brain damage and a kitchen knife #last minute backstory demon slayer headass #bleach #renji abarai #ichigo kurosaki #epic style live reaction #bleach e32

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staratie · 7 months

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i’m real. i’m here.

prompt from @nightprompts

sfw-ish, mentions body injuries, some forms of torture, language summary: after getting rescued from sadistic kidnappers, you were frantic, unsure if the voice you’re hearing are theirs or your pirate’s

Zoro

“I’m real. I’m here.”

After he helped you onto the ship, he pulled you into a hug. It wasn't like him to give that type of affection, so the crew was caught off guard.

When you felt his arms around you, you instantly tried to punch him off, thinking he was the man squeezing your body while putting a knife on your throat.

“Fuck you, let me go!” You screamed. Trying to find your sword was futile because you remembered the man taking it away. Little did you know that Nami was holding it.

“Calm down, it’s Zoro.” He said gently, easily evading your punch.

Hearing his name snapped you out of your vision. When you saw his eyes looking into yours with concern, yours bubbled up and you leaned your forehead on his chest.

Sanji

“I’m real, I’m here.”

On the beach, Sanji was carrying you bridal style. He was holding you close and kissed the top of your head as the crew ran to the boat.

You felt so limp, so helpless in his arms. Your body had purple bruises, and cuts on your legs.

Despite your injuries, you shook yourself free from Sanji’s grip, almost falling to the sand. “Let. Me. Go.” You growled.

“It’s me!” Sanji exclaimed. “It’s me, Sanji.” He repeated, kneeling next to you. Your eyes were bloodshot, making you look hysterical. It took you a minute to make sure that Sanji is Sanji. When he whispered your name, your eyes brimmed with tears and you melted into his warm embrace.

Luffy

“I’m real! I’m here.”

He was insistent. He wanted you to know that it was him giving you a piggy back ride, and no one else.

Your full body weight was on him. He didn’t mind though. Knowing you were safe with him was all that mattered. However, when the sedation started to wear off, you started kicking and screaming, screaming how you didn’t want to go under again.

He didn’t mean to make it worse, but Luffy tightened his grasp, trying to prevent you from falling.

“Go eat shit, asshole!” You yelled, freeing yourself. Luffy didn’t want to do this, but knocked you out with a (soft) punch. You effortlessly fell backwards and luckily didn’t suffer any more injuries.

Usopp

“I’m real. I’m here!”

Usopp was worn out from the fight but still managed to bring you on board.

Your arm was broken and you had a swollen eye. Astonished by how someone can be so cruel, Usopp grabbed some ice from the freezer and gentle placed it on your eye.

“I’m telling you I don’t know where they are!” You whimpered, wincing when your arm lightly touched the kitchen floor. “Let me go…”

Usopp sniffled and wiped the tears off his face. He chastised himself from not getting there in time to save you.

“Let’s get you to bed.” He whispered lovingly. “I won’t leave you alone this this time, I promise.”

#one piece #one piece live action #roronoa zoro x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #sanji x reader #zoro x reader #luffy x reader #one piece headcanons #usopp x reader #usopp headcanons #monkey d. luffy #monkey d. luffy x reader #luffy headcanons #sanji headcanons #roronoa zoro headcanons #zoro headcanons #angst angst angst #on queue

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astrumark · 1 year

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── YOU GOT ME SLIPPIN', ACTIN' LAZY ★.

PAIRING: aemond targaryen x female reader.

SUMMARY: you see aemond with his hair up for the first time, and it is distracting.

WARNINGS: fluff, curse words, suggestive themes.

WC: 1.4K

You believe you are having a very vivid dream, that you are still wrapped in silky sheets and foolishly thinking you already started the day. This could mean you were late to your daily practices with the one-eyed prince, and that could simply not do. He would be beyond displeased. But the sight in front of you could have easily been the fruit of your imagination.

When you moved to the Red Keep after your betrothal with Prince Aemond for proper courting, you were astonished by his fervent desire for you to begin to train with the sword and to learn self-defense. Personally.

"I cannot have my future wife being defenseless, can I?" He said. "As much as I love protecting you, my darling, it's beyond my power to guarantee I will always be around."

You cherished it. Your first encounters as betrotheds, like is commonly done, to walk around the gardens or drink tea during the afternoon was filled with awkward silence and useless small talk, but not the training.

It was a lot more smooth since there was a purpose to your meeting. You moved your bodies around and got too occupied to talk beyond the necessary, and somehow, it seemed to improve your relationship more than any other activity you have tried before. It's a fun way to bond before the wedding and you felt yourself getting closer to the prince each day. The air between you rapidly shifted for one of mutual respect and slight teasing.

And it was rewarding as well, to test and improve your body and abilities. The soreness of your muscles became pleasant, and you have grown to feel more motivated and stronger, looking forward to it each dawn.

Your only complaint is that it was too early, having to be awake even before the sun was entirely up. To look at your window and see a gray sky was simply distasteful. Aemond claimed it was necessary to avoid undesirable attention and comments. Usually, it was only the two of you and very few passing servants.

And this is how you would always find yourself in the chilly training yard first thing after you'd awake, a mist often covering the spot in the early hour.

The same mist that makes you doubt your eyes, but when the tall man stops just a few inches away from you, there is no mistaking it. Aemond has his hair up in a ponytail.

And he looks fabulous. You are unable to avert your eyes, never have seen him with any other hairstyle besides the half-up one. His angled face full on display makes your stomach tingle with excitement.

You could almost visualize him in an extravagant armor competing in tourneys if only he liked it. It made him look like a warrior, but you also noticed the intimacy of it. You could see him with his hair in such a style in your private chambers during the morning as well, chest exposed and thin sheets wrapped around his waist after a passionate night. Warmth flooded your body, and suddenly, all your sleepiness disappeared.

"Good morrow, my lady," He says quietly. "Slept well?"

"Yes, my Prince, thank you. What about you?" You bring your attention back to the table full of throwing knives in front of you.

"As usual." He hums. "Would you like to try these first?"

"Yes, please."

"Choose one or two and come." He orders, already placing himself near the target.

You watch him from afar for a minute, completely amused, you don't think you have ever considered him as handsome as right now, your heart threatening to burst out of your chest any minute.

Aemond sets himself behind you as you position yourself as he taught you before, holding the other knife for you. You are grateful for his mercy since it was much easier to resist the urge to stare at him when he was out of your sight.

You aim the knife at the wooden target and it flies through the air, landing close to the center, but it trembles terribly and falls to the ground.

"It didn't stick because you're standing too close," Aemond explains. "When it spins, if the blade is angled down when it falls, it indicates you need to step back. Half of getting the knife to hit the target is about where you are standing."

You listen attentively and try a new stance. This time, the knife lands on the right of the middle and sticks. You grin.

"Good, now let's try something else."

Your face falls slightly. "Already?"

"You seem to handle the knives nicely, although you still need practice. But you are awful at hand-to-hand combat, and so it must be our priority."

"You flatter me."

"Come and fight me, my lady." Aemond teases going to the middle of the yard, bouncing on his feet.

"You won't be as thrilled for it once we're wed."

He rolls his eye, and you mirror his stance. But it's distracting, the way his ponytail swings with each of his jumps, almost hypnotizing.

The sudden punch in your jaw makes you stumble backward as you wince and rub your cheek.

"What was that?" Aemond's voice is thick and intimidating as his slender fingers tap lightly at your cheek as if to wake you up. "Are you still asleep?"

"No."

"Then pay attention, you didn't even try to block it." His voice lowers. "Did I hurt you?"

You shake your head. He never does, his blows are weak, but warning. You've hurt yourself more seriously falling to the ground or striking him than from receiving any of his punches. He's awfully careful.

You go back to your positions, and though you do not stand still as before, you know you are being slow. When Aemond spins, aiming to elbow you, the ends of his hair brush your face, and the smell of lemon verbena soap invades your nostrils, once more distracting you. Unfortunately, you lose the timing to move away and try to protect yourself from his strike in the clumsiest way, flinching as you do so. Not necessarily effective, and most definitely not what you have been learning for weeks.

Aemond says your name exasperatedly, sending you a bewildered glance. "We've been past this."

"I know."

"This has not been an issue for you recently."

"I know." You repeat with a grunt.

"What is happening?" He asks.

"Nothing is happening, my Prince."

"You are distracted," He affirms. "Leave these thoughts behind, focus only on the movements of your body. You will notice that with our practices your body almost knows what to do on its own if you permit it."

You try to follow his advice, and it works for a while. Your footwork becomes meticulous, avoiding Aemond's offenses gracefully, your arms solidly shielding your face and chest.

With the effort, beads of sweat start to cover Aemond's forehead and nose. And your eyes are drawn to his hairline, especially to the wavy little hairs sticking to his skin. Adorable.

You realize you have lost balance a second too late, the twat successfully tackling you to the ground. Your back hits the dirt floor with a thud, and you lose your breath for a second. He hovers over you, pinning both your arms with his hands. A displeased noise leaves his mouth.

Another perk of training is the proximity. In no other context, other than fighting would be acceptable for betrotheds to stand so close, to find themselves pressed like this. The touches always held more importance than they should, a taste for what's yet to come.

"Foolish mistake." He releases your arms. "What is it? What's bothering you?"

You don't answer, and your attention drifts to his hair once again, the ponytail is falling to the side and very close to your face. You cannot control the urge to touch it anymore and your hand moves, the strands are softer than you previously thought, but it's also thin. You twirl it around your fingers as concentrated as a babe with their new toy.

Realization crosses Aemond's eye, and he chuckles wryly, pressing his body even closer to yours, making you feel all the outlines of his body. You whimper. Cunt.

"Is it the hairstyle?" He asks teasingly.

You wet your lips, throat closing up. He holds your chin, making you look directly at his violet iris. "Do you like it?"

You nod. "A great amount."

He grins wickedly, and he leans his face dangerously close, your noses brushing. "Then I will make sure to wear it around you more often, wife."

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x you #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #aemond fluff

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deadmotelsusa · 9 months

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Can we talk about the midcentury medieval craze for a minute?

Created in the 1960s and 70s, midcentury medieval motels usually had castle-shaped or tudor-style architecture and offered themed rooms featuring colorful carpeting, unique bedspreads and wooden bed frames. Most rooms had some sort of hand painted medieval mural or wall plaque displaying a sword, coat of arms or knight in armor. They also had themed restaurants which varied in design and color scheme. Light fixtures that looked like candles were a must.

Motel names that popped up around this time included the words royal, camelot, ivanhoe, palace, castle, knight, friar, medieval — you get it. One of the most popular opened in 1974 as the Knights Inn (pictured in the second photo) - which still exists today as a low budget motel chain. Even a few older Sheratons still look like castles.

#midcentury medieval #1960s #1970s #deadmotelsusa

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aachria · 1 month

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The long awaited (maybe? Idk how many of you were waiting for this) SSSBMTY College AU!

Majors in bold

Headcanons in regular text

Notes about the art indented in orange

Luffy — Undeclared

Was forced into school by his gramps. (The university dean. The fucking dorm building all the Strawhats but Jimbei live in is named after him.)(it was this or join the navy.) Takes the most random classes he can. Some of them are advanced and require perquisites and no one knows how he keeps getting into them. Wears shorts and sandals in winter & will run any errand or do any odd job for food. He has a very nice bike he got for free from a garage sale that Franky fixed up. There's a campus wide bet on when and what he'll choose as his major. His bucket hat was a gift from Shanks, the universities World Economics prof. Has a million friendship bracelets on his ankles because Ed makes them when they're stressed. Never has a bag on him. Fights Canadian geese on the way to class, like a fucking maniac. Protected species who?

When I tell you that this drawing of Luffy is the first time I've ever drawn actual feet with toes that don't look fucking ridiculous I need to cheer for me. Why is he a different flavour of boy every time I draw him please. His ass isn't rubber in this universe, of course he's scuffed to shit. Chopper ran out of Spiderman bandaids, sorry bud. Advocate for the Single Piercing Luffy™ agenda, he went and got it done with Ed when they got their helix.

Ed — English major Psychology minor

Took History of Piracy for easy grades & a story idea. Known around campus as that asshole who'll tell you exactly which of your roommates ate your leftovers for $5. Is roommates with Luffy because of a system mix-up when they got distributed. Always wears a Burberry trench coat Nami thrifted for $3 and gave them as a bday gift. Carries everything in a ratty falling apart messenger bag. Them and Luffy filled out marriage papers on a dare, Zoro (who got legally ordained on a dare minutes before) oversaw that, Zoro and Ed filed the papers when they were drunk. So Ed and Luffy are legally married. And they don't even notice until tax season and Jonah, Ed's accounting friend, asks about it.

I need you to ignore the inconsistence with the hands in these ok? Some of them get very nice and normal hands, and others get weird shaped blobs. Sorry Ed, them's the breaks kid.

Zoro — Health and Fitness major Mathematics minor

Literally no one knows why he has a Mathematics minor, least of all him. P sure he walked into the wrong class on the first day and just stuck with it. The most terrifying captain of the kendo team the university has ever had. He's won more championships and trophies in his tenure than the school has in its history, the revenue he brings in from sponsorships and such make them turn a blind eye to his... eccentricities (three sword style. Nobody has stopped him yet, anyone who says it's illegal gets penalized). Has had campus security called on him so often from being creepy when walking home from the gym in the dark there's a poster of him in the security office that says 'NOT ACTUALLY A THREAT. JUST WEIRD AND WALKS WITH PURPOSE.'

Zoro's sword patch on his jacket was designed by Usopp, embroidered by Luffy for a class (shittily) and fixed up and sewn on by Ed. Those docs have seen war. He has put them through hell. He has walked through a fucking river with those things, he superglues them back together every time they break. Franky had to strongarm him into getting the soles professionally replaced.

Nami — Meteorology major Finance minor

All of her clothes are thrifted designer things. Regularly terrorizes Value Village employees. Anything she has that isn't thrifted she gets from the many estate sales she plagues, snatching grandma's entire Chanel collection and all her nicest jewelry. She has absolutely everything anyone could ever need in her purse. Tampons and pads? She gotchu. Extra pens? It'll cost you, but yeah. A curling iron? Sure, why the hell not. She runs the betting pool on Luffy's major with Ed. She also writes a gossip column for the school newspaper and has a podcast she uploads a new episode to every few months. Shows up to every class looking like a supermodel no matter the time. 7am? Perfect. 10pm? Fabulous. Your go-to if you get locked out of your dorm. Has a moped but barely uses it.

Nami's bag is a large Prada Gallaria Saffiano bag, which I painstaking drew to accuracy down to the colour even though it still looks ever so slightly different, because Nami is a big purse girl. The compass rose necklace was a going away gift from Nojiko when she left for uni. I think her haircut is so cute I love her sm. Don't pay any mind to how fucking disheveled half of their lineart looks next to her pls.

Usopp — Graphic Design major

Not a member of the archery club, but shows up enough he’s in all the team photos. Was originally the designated driver, had a pretty little mini van they called the Merry, had one of those fucking fuzzy dice hanging mirror things in the shape of a sheep’s head. Got in a bad car accident and she got totaled by some jackass in a red Honda Civic. Dating Kaya, who’s a nursing student. They barely see each other because she’s so fucking busy and half the students are convinced the girlfriend Usopp is always talking about and calling is fake. The Strawhats have a dnd campaign that they run every other week, Usopp DM's. On weekends he works at an axe throwing range and holds the record for most bullseyes in a row. They have his picture mounted on the wall.

Usopp's necklace is the old key to the Merry, and he engraved his belt buckle for a project. I cursed his ass with the giant fuck off portfolio bag because those things are so big and unwieldy. The people in his program's studio never clean their paint up properly, that's why he's covered in it. Advocate for the Usopp With Gages™ agenda. God he is such a cutie patootie.

Sanji — Business degree

Literally grew up working in a restaurant, he’s only going to school to get the degree so he can open his own and also because Zeff threated to castrate him if he didn't get a higher education. Cooks basically every single meal for the dorm, since it’s just the Strawhats (it's a new (old it's old and was refurbished. Everyone assumed it was haunted.) building that they just dedicated to Garp. Has no other residents yet). Him and Zoro fight so much in their shared room half the time he ends up kicking him out and making him sleep in the community room lmao. He just shows up in half the culinary classes because he hates the business ones so much, the one time someone tried to tell him to leave he cussed them out for a full ten minutes while gesticulating wildly with a knife in hand. They never tried that again. Saw one of the profs berate a young lady for wearing a dress shirt to class because it’s impractical and proceeded to take that personally. Yeah he wears three piece suits to all his classes, he could still kick you ass in ‘em. Shut up. Volunteers to show around foreign exchange students because he can speak at least 4 foreign languages fluently. Is it to woo pretty French girls with his charm? Wouldn't you like to know.

I could not draw Sanji in a decent pose for the life of me, his ass was just not having it. He's got one of them really nice leather messenger bags with the lined pockets and filigree, he's very proud of it.

Chopper — PreMed

One of the few Strawhats who regularly sees Usopp’s reclusive girlfriend, and is very confused as to why people think she isn’t real. Still a literal child (is 15 still a child? Yeah that's like barely a teenager), a goddamn prodigy and got in with an incredibly good recommendation from the best doctor in the country, who just so happens to be his adoptive mother. He’s literally too cute for anyone to question that, plus he’s the sharpest tack in the damn class. He knocked his front tooth out ages ago (it was an adult tooth) but he's too fucking busy to get an appointment to get it fixed, just adds another layer to his babyface. Nice girls keep asking him if he's here to go see his parents or older siblings, he's endlessly infuriated by it and Sanji is endlessly jealous. Saved Ed from choking to death in a Domino's parking lot the first time they met, he dropped his pizza doing it so they bought him another. The rest is history. Does not feel cold, wears chunky boots year round. Got them reflective ass eyes like a deer, no one has ever taken a good picture of this child. He looks fucking possessed in his school ID.

TELL ME WHY I ALMOST FORGOT TO DRAW CHOPPER. I finished drawing Franky and was like "gee, only Brook and Jimbei to go! Good for me," and then I had to pause while looking as the picture of the group I was semi-referencing for heights n shit and was like "OH FUCK THE CHILD—" He's so cute tho. He's giving lil baby Goro Akechi. The argyle sweater vest and Timbs were a must, so was his hockey boy haircut. Matching backpack and tie for the win. Oh and the freckles, Chopper with freckles is everything to me.

Robin — Has a million hyper specific degrees. Currently earning her third doctorate.

Very mysterious and sexy. Mature student who occasionally gives lectures in the archeology program when she has free time. Owns a motorcycle but barely rides it. How is she not in debt after so much schooling? Don't fucking ask if you want to live. Is that why she lives in the dorm building? Do. Not. Ask. She and Luffy attend the same Theology class, no one knows how Luffy is passing with such good grades, but Robin is adamant that he doesn't take notes or borrow hers, and takes to having the same scores as him with grace. Child actor on one of those show like Barney (but not Barney dear lord) or Reading Rainbow and people only knew her as 'that kid with the creepy fuckin stare.' She was a meme a few years back, they called her the devil child. Every time someone asks her about it she just says she has no idea what they're talking about while giving them the creepy stare.

Women with Big Bags truther, right here. Robin deserves to be put in a suit. Goddamnit, get that woman in a suit!

Franky — Has a bachelors of Engineering, a bachelors of Architecture, and is earning his (water specific) Architecture degree

Currently the groups designated driver (after the tragic death of the poor Merry) with his supped up SUV, the Sunny. How do all the Strawhats fit inside? The power of love, obviously. That car will NOT fucking move if even one of the seatbelts is undone. Made Ed and Luffy wedding rings after he found out they accidentally got married. (Only after laughing for a half our straight, almost passing out, and laughing again. Then he cried for another hour about how beautiful it was.) He sometimes works as a nude model for life drawing classes on campus. Half of the the Strawhats have, in one way or another, seen him in the buck. Has knee braces from an... incident... with a train when he was younger. Now he volunteers at KidsAbility and has a shift on the campus crisis/suicide hotline. Huge advocate for mental health services at the school. He lives in the dorms for the ✨experience✨. Even worse than Luffy, mf wears booty shorts in the dead of winter. He's constantly dressed like It's laundry day. One of those guys from a famous Vine when he was younger that just gets stopped while he's walking so people can go "TRAMPOLINE VASE GUY??" (Iceberg was recording. I love Iceberg.)

Yes Franky is wearing an I ♥ MILFs shirt, what of it? It was a gift. Drawing him was an exercise in struggling with the pompadour and getting uncomfortably close to drawing Syndrome. Yes, he's cold all the time. No, he will not stop.

Brook — Literally no one knows. Something music related probably.

Fucker has been around forever, there’s old ass profs who swear to god they went to school with him and he hasn’t aged a day. Regularly plays local bars and cafes. Doesn't own a cellphone, he can literally only operate rotary phones. Computers confuse the shit out of him. Knows nothing about pop culture or recent events, but is up to date on everything in the music industry. He sometimes helps organize the old library archives because he's somehow the only person who understands the system they're organized in. Sometimes he'll just namedrop a famous singer/band he's either played with, done karaoke with, or done background vocals/instrumentals for and you have to guess whether he's telling the truth or just saying shit. There's a campus wide betting pool (run by Nami and Ed, go figure) on whether he's a vampire, ghost, time traveler, or Dorian Gray in disguise. Prepares the questions for 70s night pub trivia. Every time the Strawhats plan a ghost hunt he's busy, then at the end they find out that all the paranormal shit they've been experiencing is just him running his errands. It's happened at least four times.

Is Brook off-putting enough? I was trying to make him off-putting. He swears up and down the neck tattoo was gotten on a dare by Elton John, what, you gonna question a man who looks like he stepped out of Coraline? The skeleton gloves were a gift from Ed.

Jimbei — Has already graduated as a Marine Biology major Political Science minor and is taking both a Gender Studies course and a Peace and Conflict Studies course years later.

Teaches martial arts at a local dojo on weekends and volunteers with the martial arts team on campus. Robin helps him organize protests on weekends. He's good buds with a lot of the faculty and gets invited to after work drinks regularly. He helped establish a program that walks people who stay late at the library to their dorms when he was first a student that's still going strong to this day. Lives off campus and has the Strawhats over for BBQ on long weekends. Literally the only time the Strawhats eat food not made by Sanji. The Grill Master™. Somehow holds some kind of record or high score at every single bar/pub in town. Knows every single mailman and janitor by name. MVP of the catch and release fishing club, helps plan all of their trips.

I struggled with him. I struggled hard. That's a man who went his whole childhood with a horrendous underbite and only got it fixed once he was an adult. Ed gave him the fishing lure earrings out of guilt after he brought them on one of his fishing trips and they fell in and nearly capsized their boat. IT'S A REUSED PLASTIC BAG JIMBEI IS RESPONSIBLE ABOUT THE ENVIRONMENT—

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petit-etoile · 9 months

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everything i see, everything i feel (you are my universe)

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount: 8746 content warnings: astarion is not a vampire nor ascended & tav is not the dark urge but i use pet names from his ascended route because i think they fit & some of the dark urge connections are necessary, brief mention of tav being raised as a child soldier by gortash, tav is gender neutral, nearly 8k of pure smut other tags: alternate universe - royalty, character study, porn with plot, dom/sub undertones, mi.ssionary style, do.ggy style, riding, cr.eampie, marriage proposal, sort of archiveofourown: here. note: depending on reception & if i have time, there may be a part two or a prequel. i ended coming up with lore for this verse so i like it a lot. summary: ‘We are the Prince and his Shield,’ Astarion tells you sweetly, voice melodic in your ear. ‘This will be our world. You were made for me, and I was made for you, and we will do as we are meant to do.’

　　　　　　𝐈. ﹕previous fic　　　　𝐈𝐈. ﹕next fic

You can already tell what kind of evening it will be just from the way Astarion looks at you from beneath his eyelashes, so coy and pretty and unabashed in the way he glances over you. Whatever happened tpday at court has pleased him. He practically purrs when he steps past you to enter the sanctuary of his expansive bedroom.

‘You’ll come,’ he murmurs, ‘won’t you, darling?’

You’ll play his game because he likes it. You keep your lips pressed together in a firm line despite the way his hand slides gracefully across your waist, warming the chainmail that you wear dutifully every day so that you can keep the crown prince safe. He pouts when you pretend to not notice the playful mood he’s in. And when you change your mind after only a few minutes, Astarion will wear the same mischievous frown and think he has claimed victory over you once more.

You recite your vows to yourself to keep your mind from wandering, but it’s difficult. I am the Sword of the Crown, the Shield of the Realm. I serve no one but the Rightful King, the First of His Name, the Soul of Truth, Astarion Ancunin. It’s…admittedly hard to remember the rest. You’re distracted by the most impure thoughts. Memories of nights before. The taste of him on your tongue, the feel of him between your thighs, the sight of him as he grinds above you, the gleam of his skin as dawn begins to creep over the horizon. You squeeze your thighs together and try to wait out at least five minutes before you cave.

You peek down the hallway. There are no other guards skulking around at night. You’re not technically supposed to leave your post, but if the prince commands it… Well, it’s an excuse. You rush inside before you can feel the call of your valor and close the door after you with a soft click. Astarion sits with his legs crossed at the edge of his bed. He grins. It’s almost as predictable as you are, but you would never admit it.

‘You called, my prince?’ you ask carefully, trying to keep your tone even.

‘I did,’ he says with a delicate shrug. ‘I thought I could use entertainment, and you were there…’

You smile beneath your helm. You were always there. Astarion tries to hide it a little too much, but there’s no one else he would seek out to keep him entertained when his mood is like this. He tries to play into the expectations everyone has of him. That he’s ambitious, unpredictable, easy to rile up. The truth of the matter is that Astarion longs for you in a way that he will never admit except into the curls of your hair when he thinks you’ve fallen asleep. You care for him — love him — and there’s nothing you adore more than the way he laughs around you as though you were born for him and him alone.

‘I take it the court wasn’t too uneventful,’ you say.

He grimaces. ‘I saw Lord Gortash, unfortunately. I believe the sight of him has ruined my week.’

‘So cruel,’ you hum. You touch the buckles of your cape and release it from your bodice.

‘It’s true, isn’t it?’ Astarion asks defensively, playfully.

You touch the latch of your armor. ‘He’s head of the city guard.’

‘I ought to fire him,’ the prince says darkly. ‘Hire a new one.’

‘Who would protect the city instead?’

‘You,’ Astarion says without pause.

‘Alas, I am duty bound to serve the prince,’ you disagree. You pull the weight of your chest piece off your shoulders and drop it to the floor. ‘How can I serve the city when my mind is filled with nothing but you?’

Astarion smiles, a true smile. ‘Oh, you honor me. You truly mean every word.’

‘Without question,’ you promise.

You think about kneeling before him and looking up at him, but your chest piece is still in the way. You pull and untangle and twist until it all slides to the floor, leaving you in a simpler top. His honor, a single white rose, is pinned to the front of your shirt. You can still remember the day he gave it to you, the day you knelt in the throne room and he pressed his sword to your shoulder to claim you.

‘You are mine,’ Astarion says slowly.

‘I am yours,’ you repeat fondly.

‘Until the end of time?’

‘Until the end.’

‘And,’ Astarion begins playfully, ‘if I asked you to please me?’

‘I would be duty bound,’ you reply.

‘Then may I ask you to please me?’ he murmurs, eyes dangerous.

Astarion practically preens under your careful attention, his eyes unwavering as he watches you. You take your time. You remove the rest of your armor slowly, savoring the hungry way he watches. Even in court when you are his shadow, Astarion barely hides it. The hunger. The longing. The darkest of desires. He would claim you in public if it wouldn’t be a scandal.

You lower yourself before him, groveling on your hands and knees. You place your head in his lap and sigh when he threads his fingers through your hair. These are the moments you live for. When he is no longer a prince and you are no longer a knight. You are you, and Astarion is Astarion.

You don’t have to wonder where his mind is. Not during times like these. He’s anxious to feel you, but you take your time in this. You slip his fancy boots from his feet then take your time undoing his belts and buttons, sliding everything down his lean legs with careful intent. His cock greets you, already half hard and growing still.

It still makes you nervous, deep down inside. Astarion is a prince and the pinnacle of perfection. He could have any duke or duchess he wanted, yet it’s you he takes care of when the standing watch for hours on end from dusk til dawn has caused your bones to grow weary. The least you could do is love him like this. You lean forward and kiss the side of his cock, and Astarion’s fingers tighten in your hair.

‘Please, your highness,’ you whisper.

You are perched at his feet still awaiting commands. Like a good little pup. You shiver.

‘Go on,’ Astarion encourages.

You barely stick the tip of your tongue out and watch as his cock throbs in anticipation. This is dangerous. Obscene, even. You’ve seen him hundreds of times yet it still excites you. Carefully, you take him into your mouth and admire his debauched moan.

You have half a mind to tease him, but when you glance upwards at him, he’s as pretty as an aasimar. Or something worse, but you don’t give yourself much time to think about it. You know his desires. What he enjoys. What he tolerates for you. You know Astarion likes your little hums as you glide your mouth over his cock. He likes being pampered more than anything.

Astarion’s hand is tender as he moves your bangs out of your eyes. It’s the eye contact he wants. He likes to see and always acts like it’s the first time. He holds the edge of your jaw while you rub the tip of his cock against the inside of your cheek, eyebrows scrunching. It’s divine for you as well.

Astarion lives for the pomp and circumstance, absolutely devours court rumors with a delight you barely understand — but he would let his kingdom fall into the Underdark if it meant he could spend every hour of every day fucking you.

It’s the same for you.

It always has been ever since your coronation.

You were not like the other knights who were born into houses of servitude, second born sons and daughters who were the spares of their family names. You were given to Astarion by Lord Gortash as a way to buy favor from the crown. You were once his favorite, well-trained dog.

But unlike Lord Gortash, you are coveted by the crown in a way no other knight has been before. Astarion kisses you every morning and finishes against your spine every evening. But he is your salvation, your savior, and you are on your knees to show what that means to you.

Astarion stirs beneath your ruminations, his thighs tensing beneath your elbows, his hips doing those unconscious lusty jerks that you like so much. His head falls back as he gets lost in the feel of your tongue and mouth and he moans so sweetly that it almost distracts you from your ministrations. You take his cock as far back into your mouth as you can manage, closing your eyes to squeeze out any embarrassing tears that might threaten to fall. Like the prettiest bird, he sings for you.

‘Wait,’ he moans. ‘Not yet, I want — ’

You pull away from him as commanded, licking your lips clean of spit. His hands dance frantically against your shoulders as he pulls you up against him, cock hard against both of your bellies. He kisses you hotly, one hand fisting in your hair and the other tugging uselessly at your shirt.

‘You are needy today, my prince,’ you whisper against a barrage of kisses.

‘You were too perfect,’ he whines. ‘Always perfect for me.’

You laugh against his cheek. ‘You did say to please you.’

‘And now I’m saying to get on the fucking bed,’ Astarion fusses. ‘Oh, and clothes off. I want to see you.’

‘Yes, your — ’ you begin.

‘You,’ Astarion accuses with an affectionate pinch to your side, ‘are being quite the obstinate charge tonight. I want to taste you and be tasted in return, but be familiar with me, my love. Come back to me. Share my bed.’

You are in the middle of doing as he requests, sitting with one leg on either side of his thighs when he slides his hands to your waist and forces you to roll to the side. He pushes you further into the many adorning pillows of his bed and starts devouring you, his mouth dancing from your neck to your collarbones while he tears your shirt apart with his hands, though he does slow down enough to place the white rose on the bedside table. He pushes his palms flat against your chest and leaves bite marks and bruises across your chest and down your belly, chasing after you as you try to squirm away. Astarion finally takes interest in leaving his mark on your throat.

You set to work pushing your leggings and small clothes down your thigh, but Astarion, in all his impatience, gets in the way of that too. He presses his thigh between your legs on purpose, rolling his cock against your hip while his thigh applies almost perfect pressure to the most sensitive parts of you.

You moan and turn your face away, but Astarion chases the sound. He nuzzles your noses together until you look at him, bleary and dazed, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. He rolls his hips again with intent. He catches the sound of your moan on the tip of your tongue and returns it, his own ragged breath warm against your cheek.

‘There you are, my love,’ he whispers deliciously. ‘I’ve missed you. My treasure, my pet…’

‘Yours,’ you moan.

‘Mine,’ Astarion agrees. ‘All mine.’

He drags his fingernails across the swell of your hip, and you can’t help but chase the curve of his wrist. Your cheeks burn, but you’re tempted to beg him. To ask if he’ll please you with his hands. You want to feel his fingers pressed up inside you, to feel them curl and twist. You want it more than anything else you’ve ever wanted to. Astarion watches the way you twist and turn with a small smile on his face. He pets your hip and slides his fingers between your thighs. You can feel the cool of his jeweled rings against your heated flesh.

Astarion is grateful for your reckless display. He acquiesces to your silent begging, brushing his fingers between your folds and pressing the tip of his middle finger against you. He watches with delight as you grind against the pressure. His cheeks and the tips of his pointed ears are ruddy, and though he’s pretending to be controlled right now, you can hear how shaky his breath has become.

And then, like a god answering a prayer, he presses a finger inside of you so painstakingly slow it’s almost maddening. You mewl, watching his expressions in fascination, because his own mouth falls open as he cranes his next to watch. He adds another. He twists and twirls his fingers as deeply as he can reach it. His eyes flutter with desperation. He’s so beautiful that you can hardly stand it. You want more, so much more, and you press your wrist against your mouth to keep from begging.

‘Don’t hide from me,’ he says hoarsely. ‘I want to hear everything. Please, sing for me.’

‘More,’ you whisper thickly. ‘More, I need more, I want more.’

He kisses your jaw sloppily. ‘I’ll give you everything.’

‘It’s not enough!’

‘You’ll take it,’ Astarion tells you. ‘You’ll take what I give.’

‘Astarion,’ you weep. ‘I want you. I want — ’

This time, he might as well have ripped the rest of your clothes with his haste. You aren’t sure what he does with them, you just know that you’re naked and in his bed, surrounded by all his pillows with your thighs slick from how wet you are.

Your eyes watch your star’s every movement. He rids himself of his finery as well, shrugging out of his layers until there’s nothing left. The moonlight hits his skin prettily, almost as dainty as the way his eyes catch in the candlelight. He chases you, chases your mouth, presses his cock against you and ruts for a moment. You can’t help but be dizzy with lust yourself. You leave your own marks across his collarbones and chest, mindful of his neck and what skin would peek above his elegant collars. You wonder how he’ll take you. Astarion has always been the creative type. Sometimes you’ll ride him, and sometimes he’ll ride you until you see stars. Despite his urgency, he seems tender tonight.

Astarion wants to make you feel good. He wants to find your heat and bask in the warmth. You can tell in the way he watches your face ever so fondly. He’s always been so good at masking how much he prefers you to anyone he’s spoken to before. You’ve stood and listened as the perfect guard during meetings with dignitaries from neighboring cities, and Astarion always spoke to them with practiced politeness bearing a practiced albeit bored undertone. Yet with you, he seems to hang onto your every word. He takes it in until there was nothing left to share. He cares when you are supposed to be nothing more than a knight at his door.

‘I have a gift for you tonight,’ Astarion says suddenly. He blushes. It’s adorable how much it’s unlike him.

‘What is it?’ you ask.

‘Patience,’ he complains, but he doesn’t mean it.

Astarion reaches for something just beyond your sight, and when he sits back up, you feel as though someone has released a cage of birds in the pit of your stomach. He holds out a small silver band for your inspection. ‘A warding ring,’ he explains. ‘I had my Master of the Arcane enchant it for you — for us.’

‘Kiss me,’ you whisper. ‘Please.’

‘Put it on first,’ he insists. ‘For me.’

Something must show on your face, because he’s quick to show you his own hand. There is a matching silver band there, and it causes your heart to swell so much you think your heart will give out. Astarion, with great care, slides the band onto your finger and then looks at you, hopeful.

‘Whatever you feel, I shall feel,’ he says like a promise. ‘You and I, together.’

You guide his mouth to yours before you can do something silly like cry. When you touch his chest, intent on finding his heartbeat, you can feel it so frantic against your palm.

What is a better story than a prince and his knight? A savior and his sword? The bards will sing forever about the prince and his favored knight, their matching rings, their sacred vows. You ache with longing. You surge with love. It is all Astarion’s fault.

You push your hands through his thick curls and guide him to lie on top of you. You can feel the ring humming with magic. Though you are sure this isn’t its intended use, you can’t help but feel nervous.

You take him into your arms. He collapses into you and your only thought is that it’s a little poetic. You have caught a star as it fell from the sky. Now, it rests in your hands again and again and again until, slowly, you cannot exist without one another. His mouth finds yours, and your hands with the matching rings reach out for one another as though choreographed. Astarion presses you against his sheets and you willingly let him devour you once more. It’s all you’ve ever wanted.

Astarion kisses down your chest again. He kisses your tummy and all the muscle you’ve earned from being a knight. He kisses every scar from every battle you’ve ever endured all the way down to your hips, to that warm core that lies between them. You moan unapologetically, head rushing until you’re almost positive you’re going to faint. Astarion presses a kiss between your legs, growls as though he was a man starved before finding you, and takes you into his mouth.

It’s a little romantic how you’ve grown together. You were each other’s firsts — Astarion taught you how to kiss, and you taught him how to fondle someone else’s body without feeling shy about it. You had first used your mouth on him, but he had taken all of the knowledge you had given and weaponized it against you the next moment that he could. He’s determined to please, desperate for compliments, hopeless in all his endeavors to please you almost as much as you’ve pleased him. But unlike you, Astarion is selfish and he reaches for fruit to pluck that anyone else would have discarded as soon as something better came along. He chose you.

He licks and bites and nuzzles and feasts upon the very fruit of you, groaning at how you taste. It’s his favorite taste in the world, and he would brag about it if it didn’t make your cheeks flush. He laps at your folds hungrily and squeezes the thickness your thighs until they’ve bruised.

‘Little star,’ you whine, pressing your hands to your eyes. ‘Please, please.’

His tongue is like torture. Astarion never does anything without fully committing, and from your time together, you know he’s memorized every little thing he can do to drive you absolutely wild. He’s pulled your legs over his shoulders, his fingers moving on after bruising them to dig into your hip bones, and he hums so prettily for you.

Even you aren’t sure what you’re begging for. You want Astarion to stop teasing you so insistently. You want to feel his heartbeat, you want to taste his lips. There’s a part of you so empty and full of longing that if you wait any longer, if you withhold anymore, you might lose yourself. The only thing serving to ground you to this world is depravity, twisting carnal lust, and the depths of your love. You shiver under his touch and moan even as you try to hush it.

‘ — star!’ you cry sharply.

You try to twist out of his grasp, crying at how determined he is, but Astarion simply drags you back down to where he is as if it’s nothing to him. He doesn’t stop torturing with your tongue until you’ve choked out a sob and chased your release, chest heaving from the effort. He doesn’t let you go for long either, climbing up your body so that he can press encouraging kisses to your jaw, pushing your damp curls back from your temple.

Astarion pushes his nose against your ear and breathes in, almost so desperate to have memorized your very scent. It’s always been his little habit. As if just by knowing your smell, he is able to do whatever he needs to accomplish in this world.

‘You,’ he murmurs between kisses, ‘are always so magnificent for me.’

You reach for his hip, the back of your knuckles sweeping against his sharp bone. ‘I want to do the same for you,’ you say shakily. ‘Let me have you, please. It’s all I want.’

He moans, soft and quiet, and settles between your legs. He kisses you again with that same hunger. The same, almost desperate kind of lust. He presses you so far into his sheets that you’re not sure you’ll ever be released from them again. And you think you would be fine with that. There’s nothing more that you want than to stay here with him. His hands joined with yours, your hips pressed to his, forever until the world has ended.

You slide your hands across the broad sweep of his shoulders and feel as his muscles shift. He is so gentle with you even when he doesn’t have to be. He’s cautious, meticulous, almost ridiculously polite because it’s you. His love is like an apology for everything you’ve been through, and when he cradles the back of your head, you lean into his touch.

‘You are mine,’ he says tenderly. His thumb sweeps across your cheek.

‘Take me,’ you say hungrily. ‘I am your prize.’

‘You were created by the gods for me,’ Astarion tells you sincerely. He sits onto his knees and pulls your hands flush against his stomach. ‘Look at how well you fit against me.’

You were never one to be shy before, but his praise causes you to turn your cheek aside and look away. He pushes his hands up your thighs, searching, admiring. He says pretty words, but he’ll never understand if you were to repeat the things he’s said back to him. Underneath that prestigious bravado and practiced façade, Astarion still understands little of his own divinity and worth. You’re thankful for him as much as he is for you, and you allow him this. He finds his worth at your core and marvels in it, allowing you to see him as Astarion. Like a mortal making a deal with a cambion, he reaches for you.

‘Do you want me inside of you?’ he asks in a graveled voice.

‘More than anything else,’ you reply, choking on how thick your want is. You think about how it feels every time he’s claimed you and shudder. ‘Please.’

‘I am going to get lost in you for hours,’ Astarion promises. He smiles, dangerous and dark. ‘When you return to your post, you’ll feel me still. You’ll be sorer than you’ve ever been.’

You are so aroused it’s painful. You ache and twist, spreading your legs so that he might take you then and there without so much as a second thought. You need the closeness. His grounding touch. His cock, as much as it would embarrass you to say aloud, has been on your mind ever since he invited you inside his room. He strokes your hip.

‘You’re shaking,’ he says fondly.

He leans forward and kisses you. He connects with you like that, nose brushing yours affectionately, before he stares at the little shivers you’re now aware you’re doing. He sees everything, knows everything. It delights him.

And then he slides his cock into you. Slowly, agonizingly, inch by inch. He squeezes your hip in encouragement, but you’re too full and he’s too thick for you to manage any coherent thought. He’s determined to reach the deepest parts of your core.

Astarion speaks through gritted teeth. ‘You are perfect.’

‘No,’ you say. ‘You are.’

‘I like to watch,’ he says honestly. ‘I like to see how you take me. You’re so tight here, did you know?’

‘More — ’

‘Use your words for me.’

You swallow. ‘I want you — to fuck me.’

‘You’ve been a good pup,’ Astarion says with a small laugh. ‘I’ll make love to you until dawn calls.’

For the faintest few heartbeats, this is the only way you want to exist. He is pressed inside of you, and you are surrounded by nothing but him and his scent and his bed and his pretty words, longing so intently to memorialize this moment. Astarion is haloed by the silver moonlight. He shines prettier than the crown he wears at court.

He shines brighter than the stars.

You’re aware of how fragile your breathing sounds. You forcefully drag air down into your lungs and hold his gaze, so warm and soft when he looks at you. You don’t know why it’s so different this time with him, but you reach out until he entwines your fingers together and you lose yourself in a way you haven’t before. You don’t realize you’re crying until he coos at you and calls you beautiful.

Astarion only moves once he’s assured you’re not in any pain. He’s conscious of the way you tense, but you shake your head and try to dry your tears.

If you’re being honest, you aren’t really sure why you’re so emotional tonight. You’re ignoring what the rings promise on purpose. A meaning that you are too nervous to confront. You know it’s how much you wish this was your fate. It all comes to a boil when he leans forward and kisses the tip of your ear. Astarion wraps his arms around you and moans softly in your ear, the heat of his cheek flush against your temple.

‘I love you,’ he whispers.

‘I can feel you,’ you whisper back, voice uneven. ‘All the way inside.’

‘Our souls are touching tonight,’ Astarion promises you. ;This is what I want to give you.’

Once he’s assured that you’re fine, Astarion begins moving inside you. You still feel overly full. It’s almost difficult to breathe, that you’re so aware of how deep his cock is inside of you — as if it’s the first time you’ve experienced him before. He murmurs encouragement into your hair and ruts further and further, but when you press your fingers against his biceps, you can feel how he’s shaking too.

‘Let me be yours,’ you say softly, eyes fluttering closed. ‘Let me be with you, Astarion, please.’

‘You are my pretty consort,’ Astarion says fiercely. ‘You belong to me, and I to you.’

His consort, his knight. The one he comes home to, that he ignores all the other lovely people at court for. The idea of it makes your blood warm, makes you feel a little wild and different. You rock your hips back against Astarion’s. Feeling him lose what little of his control pushes you over the edge. You start mumbling nonsensically, thank you, thank you, my prince, my star, thank you, I feel it, Astarion and he growls low in the bottom of his throat. His hips stutter against yours and you know with a little wiggle, you could make him spend then and there.

It’s only when Astarion pushes into you as far as he can go, the tip of his cock pressed as deep into your core as you can handle it, that you remember what a devout worshiper you are. You’re fully aware of how your spine protests the way your back arches up off the bed. You feel Astarion’s mouth hot and desperate against the side of your throat, his hands slowly sliding down your skin to grip your hips, the tips of his fingers digging in harshly to the curve of your ass.

When you dare meet his gaze, you’re mesmerized.

Astarion has always been the most beautiful person you’ve ever set eyes on. The height of his cheekbones, the way they flush when you moan his name. His uneven smile, the way his teeth point when he laughs. His intense eyes that take in even your faintest moves. He is sharp and calculated, cunning and keen on dramatics — but underneath, you can see the gentler side. The warmth in his gaze. The way he laughs ugly with you instead of with practiced finesse. You fit rather well together. Perfectly, like a puzzle. Intoxicatingly. He catches you staring and his breath catches in his throat.

You must be quite the sight as well. Astarion always lavished you with the utmost attention, often buying you things you’d never need as a knight. Rings, gowns, circlets and other finery to wear with him on your occasional strolls through Baldur’s Gate when you were off-duty and carefree.

You feel nearly feral at this moment. It takes all your self-control to not rake your nails down his spine or bite his shoulder because you’re too full and he’s too much and you’re almost certain you’re going to explode, but you wrap your legs around his hips and pull him tighter to you until there’s almost nothing else he can do that grind uselessly, desperate sounds coming from both of your mouths as you try to hold on just a little longer.

Without thinking, without caution, you whisper, ‘Inside — Tonight, I want you to — ’

‘Gods,’ he chokes out. ‘You’ll be the death of me.’

‘Please,’ you beg. ‘I’ve been good. I’ve been — ’

Astarion burrows his face against your collarbone, whining unceremoniously. That’s when you can feel it, his cum, hot and warm, so wonderful and dizzying that you also forget to be dignified. Your fingers stutter against his skin, and if it was painful to experience, the only proof is the way Astarion hisses at the burn and coils dangerously beneath your touch.

‘That’s it,’ he soothes proudly. ‘You’ve done well, my sweet.’

You murmur, ‘So much.’

‘Don’t tease me,’ Astarion says. He pouts his bottom lip. ‘You’re quite beautiful, you know.’

‘Not as beautiful as you,’ you say.

‘Well,’ Astarion allows with a small laugh, ‘I am rather perfect, I agree.’

He groans when he pulls away from you, brow furrowed in concentration. He trembles with exertion, and whatever other plans he might have had are forgotten, for Astarion drops down into his sheets beside you in all his naked and exhausted glory and presses close to you, an arm thrown over your waist.

A pang of guilt hits you at the sight of his closed door. Your armor is thrown carelessly across this floor, and while you wish you could enjoy this moment of bliss with him, you must continue to do your actual duty of guarding the prince. You move, delicate, to stand up. Astarion wraps his other arm around you.

‘Where are you going?’ he demands tiredly. ‘The sun is not yet up. Come back.’

‘My post — ’

‘Fuck your post,’ he snorts. ‘Your only duty is to lie in my bed and look pretty.’

You open your mouth to protest, but Astarion fusses. It’s hard to deny him even though you know only what the Captain of his Kingsguard has instilled in you. The moonlight is a gorgeous embellishment on his skin, and the ridges of his body are enticing enough that you forget your vows for the time being. Your heart squeezes at the tenderness. Astarion welcomes you back into his arms without further complaint. It’s your turn to tuck your head against his shoulder, basking in the warmth of his body as he cradles you close.

‘This is where you belong,’ Astarion tells you plainly. ‘You and I belong in bed having forgotten our other duties forevermore. The kingdom may fall to rot and ruin for all I care. As long as I have you, I care not.’ He touches your hip. ‘I know what you must be thinking. That it isn’t that easy. But it is that easy. I’m the prince and I want it to be so. I see our fate in my dreams.’

You allow yourself to daydream and doze for the moment. He’s murmuring sweet things into your hair, and your eyes are so heavy you know when you close them, it’ll be hard for you to wake up if you give in. The ache in your muscles is comforting. It’s a reminder of all the ways Astarion has ever had you, and you can’t help but wonder if this really is where your life was always meant to head.

You do fall asleep. Despite your best efforts to stay awake, you fall into a peaceful slumber with Astarion’s hand petting your spine. When you next awake, Astarion is no longer at your side. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed staring out of the window watching as dawn begins to peek through.

He hasn’t left you entirely alone. He’s draped his many fancy satin blankets over you and somehow managed to coax your head onto a pillow without waking you. You’re almost inspired to fall back asleep at the sight, but the view of Astarion basking in an orange glimmer keeps you from entering the depths of your mind once more.

‘No,’ Astarion says. He’s smiling. ‘Don’t move. I like the way you look.’

‘And how do I look, your highness?’

‘Sated.’

‘Come back to me, my love,’ you say. You try to hold one of your hands out, but you’re still so very tired from before. You press your cheek further into the pillow. ‘’m cold.’

‘I was thinking,’ he says.

‘Enough thinking,’ you whine. ‘I miss you beside me.’

‘Promise me something first.’

‘What shall I promise?’

‘That when I am king, you will help me create my new world,’ Astarion says, peering affectionately at you from over his shoulder. ‘A world where you are both my shield and my consort. A world where no one else like us has to get hurt.’

You start to sit up at that, blood suddenly rushing to your head as you try to think of what he means. Were you not already his Shield, extending your Sword to his greatest foes? Were you not already his Consort in all but proper name? You furrow your eyebrows, too sleepy and overwhelmed, but Astarion is quick to come to your side, to press kisses into your hair and against your ear and at the tears on your cheeks.

‘When I am king, there will be no need for us to hide like this,’ Astarion promises, petting his hand comfortingly down your spine. He shushes you. ‘I will sit on the throne and you will sit beside me.’ When he’s certain you’re done crying, he adds, ‘Or in my lap, if you prefer.’

Somehow, there’s only one thing you can manage to say. ‘I love you.’

‘And I love you,’ Astarion says. ‘That’s why I will do this for us.’

‘Will it go well?’

He hums. ‘Of course it will go well. I will be king. I will make it go well.’

You say again, ‘I love you.’

‘We are the Prince and his Shield,’ Astarion tells you sweetly, voice melodic in your ear. ‘This will be our world. You were made for me, and I was made for you, and we will do as we are meant to do.’

‘I promise,’ you say, ‘to help you.’

‘Then say no more, my love,’ he whispers. He kisses the side of your throat again and slowly pulls his silk sheets away from your skin. The cold morning air leaves a trail of gooseflesh down your spine, and he tastes every knot of it with his mouth and tongue. He gives you commands, ‘Let me have you again. You’re so beautiful in the morning light. I need you now more than ever. Gods, the things you do to me.’

You rock your hips back to meet his. It’s an alluring situation straight from your wildest, most longing of dreams — a world where you might sit alongside Astarion as he rules, no longer a simple guard dog to follow commands, but something else. Something sweeter.

It was like marriage but better. The thought of you and Astarion rising to godhood through his own determined means rather than falling into the same song the bards often liked to play on unrequited love. You allow him to trace his fingers down your stomach to that place between your legs, your warm core where you’re certain he’s found his divinity. Astarion presses his cock against your lower back and gives into his own avarice. He bites your shoulder almost a touch too rough and leaves a bruise in the shape of his teeth, reveling in your shocked cry.

You want him.

You want to be by his side, to kneel at his feet. You want to watch him dress in the mornings and fall into his arms every evening. You want to place his crown atop his brow. You arch your hips against his waist, and ponder about the creation of the empyrean heavens above. You will guide him to become celestial.

It’s with a near untamed fervor that Astarion tears through his sheets to get to you. He slides his knee beneath yours and pushes it forward, his breath warm and hiccuped against the blade of your shoulder. He doesn’t hurt you and he never would, but he slides his cock inside, the tenderness of earlier forgotten.

‘Be loud,’ he encourages you, groaning, his hand still scrambling against the arc of your belly. He sounds debauched. ‘Let them all hear. Let them know.’

He fucks into you like he wants you both to grow together. One body and one soul. You’re glad for it. It only intensifies the burn from the evening and pushes you to a place you’ve never been before. You’re almost certain you see sparks in your vision, but you do as asked. You don’t swallow down your moans. They’re taut, sharp, staccato ah-ah-ahs that match the sun’s rise.

It’s almost sweet how hard Astarion fucks into you. His princely demeanor is gone now, the control he tries to exhibit. He moans freely as well and kisses without meaning. Your shoulder, the back of your head, the nape of your neck, and he’s babbling things that don’t make sense. But you’re no better. Your cheeks are so warm you’re feverish, hands clenched in his sheets, and the pleasure borders on welcomed pain when he sits up behind you, knee still forcing you to be pliant, as he drags his cock in and out of you from behind. Astarion is watching again, one hand on your lower back, the other on your ass. When you try to hide your face in mild embarrassment, he scolds you.

‘Let me see you,’ Astarion rasps. ‘Let me see, I want to see everything — ’

So you let him, shifting and arching as much as your back will let you. Your muscles feel strained. Your mind is hardly there. But the prince has asked, and it would be rude of you to not heed his call. It’s not as though it matters. You’re easily distracted by the way he presses himself in and out of you, intoxicated by the gravitational pull he’s created between you. You can’t help but lean into his every touch, to mewl, to whine the exact way he likes.

You wonder what Lord Gortash would think of his loyal dog if he saw it now. You were taught the blade and the bow, how to use a lance and a shield, and you were never meant to be anything more than a warrior given to the ground so that he could get on the good side of the king. There isn’t much of your life you can remember before you were brought to the steps of the throne room and thrown down before the prince and his father. All you remember is looking up and seeing an angel smiling down at you.

So you arch your back and push up into your elbows, looking over your shoulder to catch Astarion’s eyes. He’s constantly looking between your face to make sure you’re alright and looking down at your hips where your bodies meet. He has the audacity to blush. It makes him look sweet and less severe.

‘More — ’

The fairest thought you have is that you’re not sure you can take more. There’s something ferocious building in the pit of your stomach, a volatile hunger unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. Your almost delirious with how much greed is inside you, how you long to do this all day if you could. Sitting pretty on your hands and knees and belly while Astarion ravishes you — forgetting your duties and the kingdom — but it’s somehow worse than before when you’re aware that he would do the same. Gone is any sense of decency, replaced by something carnal, something infernal.

Just when you think he might be done with you, Astarion pulls out and drags your body along. He lays handsomely in the center of his pillows, a deep blue and rich satin and silk display, and pulls you into his lap. His bottom lip is ruined from where he’s bitten it in an attempt to maintain control.

He arranges for you as he likes. He tilts his head to the side as if looking upon a painting. Finally, he coaxes you upwards and whispers kind encouragements as you guide and slide his cock back inside of you. You aren’t sure how far it can go, but then it goes deeper and deeper and deeper until you’re sick.

‘Oh,’ you cry sweetly. ‘It’s too much. It’s too much, I can’t — ’

‘You can,’ Astarion promises, rubbing his thumb across your hip. ‘You can do anything. You were made for me, and I was made for you, and we were created for this.’

You sit atop him, your ass flush against his hips, and try desperately to not squirm in his lap. The wiggling makes it worse, you think. You feel swollen around him. He feels thickest inside of you. And you can’t help but lean forward as he rubbs his hands up and down your spine, kissing your temple and cheek and jaw. You can kiss him better this way. You can taste the sweetness of his mouth, taste his words.

‘I love you,’ you say over and over.

‘I know,’ he murmurs, kissing your tears.

And you do cry in this position, overwhelmed and stuttering. Astarion guides your hips back and forth across his so that he’s not necessarily drilling inside of you, but watching how you dance across his cock. He always watches so intently as if he’s afraid to miss anything you do. He guides you intently, humming, tensing beneath your thighs as you try to balance yourself with your hands on his belly.

Astarion moans at the sight. He sounds positively wrecked. You decide that you want to hear him sing for you again, so you raise your hips this time and slide them back down. You squeeze your eyes shut in concentration, treating it more like trying to hit a tricky shot with an arrow rather than taking and un-taking every inch of his cock. You’re trembling so much that you seek out his hands, guiding them away from your hips so he can tuck them under your thighs for help.

‘Ah,’ Astarion says hoarsely. ‘Fuck.’

And that’s how he helps you, his hands helping carry your weight so that you can bounce on his cock and enjoy every minute of it. The physical strain is worth it. You know Astarion likes to watch, possessive of the way you look and ride, and his eyes shine with a certain kind of deviance that you’ve grown to love.

It’s a long way from where you started as a poor soul standing on the steps, but you lean forward and kiss your raison d'être on his open mouth, savoring the way his bruised lip tastes in your mouth, enjoying just how much he enjoys you. The sunlight warms your skin and basks Astarion in a golden glow, so impossibly handsome that they should write songs about the way he looks after a night of lovemaking. He groans, trapping your bottom lip between his teeth and bites down hard enough you’re almost certain he’s drawn blood.

You don’t mind it. You welcome the rougher things, enjoy them as much as he does. You lean back, hands now behind you on his thighs, and try to not feel too self-conscious about how open you’re being with your body. You’re encouraged to do it. His reactions are what drive you to be better. Because Astarion’s eyes widen slightly to take in the sight of your legs spread apart as you sit on his cock, your skin shining with a delicate veil of sweat. He comes with a rough moan.

Gods, you could listen to the sound of him all day.

You fall forward onto Astarion’s chest. Your limbs feel like nothing after a night of increasingly more difficult sex, but it’s worth it for the way he spoils you after. Astarion kisses you nice and slow, lips and tongue and teeth, as if an apology for the roughness you willingly endured. He cradles you close to his body. He always seeks your warmth, always tries to press as close as he can.

It’s your turn to preen under his careful ministrations. Astarion pushes your sweaty hair back from your face and runs the tips of his fingers across your cheekbones and forehead, following the delicate lines of your bone structure. He lightly pinches your cheeks as if to savor the heat of your blush, but it doesn’t hurt when he does it. He kisses them better. He helps you slide back down into his sheets and takes note of the mess, smoothing his fingers against the bruises and love bites he’s left as gifts against your skin.

Astarion takes gentle care as he lifts your hand. He admires the ring on it and watches as he slides his fingers into yours so that his ring can crowd the empty spaces of your fingers. He kisses the back of your hand like a proper prince and then unceremoniously collapses down by your side, boneless and lazy.

‘You’ve made a mess,’ you accuse him sleepily.

‘I made you happy,’ Astarion corrects.

You reach out and touch his throat. ‘You’ve ruined your sheets.’

‘These sheets are perfect, my love,’ he murmurs. ‘Just like you.’

Later in the morning, after you’ve rested again despite your attempts to stay awake, you’re coaxed back into existence by Astarion’s lips dancing softly against the nape of your deck. You’re almost certain he’s going to ask for more — a thought that startles you — but instead he lifts you from the depths of his blankets and carries you to a bathing tub in the corner of his quarters. He lowers you into freshly warmed water, and you try to not let how much you long for him show.

‘The maids — ’

‘They’ve seen you,’ he says with a shrug. ‘But they did not care. You should have heard the way they swooned over us.’

He lavishes you again with rose petals and fancy perfumes and soaps. He guides a cloth over your skin and even massages a rather determined knot in your hip. You lean into his touch, eyes fluttering closed. You’d let him pamper you for the next month if you could.

‘I will have you like this often,’ Astarion warns. ‘Tonight. Every night. You have no idea what you’ve done to me. It’s like you’ve enchanted me.’

He’s climbed in with you at this point, tucked behind you so that he can style your hair in a plait. He likes the way it’s gotten long. You can tell how hard he’s thinking by how silent he is. His fingers trickle water down your spine and occasionally trace the shape of a petal against your skin. You shiver and allow him these idle distractions, basking in his touches and singing while he allows himself to wander in his lost thoughts. You fall asleep again briefly, lulled into a dream by the warmth and the relaxing scents of the many perfumes and Astarion humming softly in your ear.

Astarion washes your chest again to avoid having to leave the bath. He’s in one of his contemplative moods, eyes somewhere a thousand miles away, lips twisted in curiosity. You would’ve stayed forever as well, but the water is slowly getting colder and you’re beginning to shiver. You look over your shoulder at him. You watch as his eyelashes flutter and close as if he too is moments away from falling asleep, but then you see it. A sign of melancholic hope.

‘You and I belong together,’ you tell him.

‘We are the greatest match together the world has ever seen,’ Astarion agrees. ‘There is no one else.’

‘It is an honor,’ you say. You catch a petal in your palm and show him.

He pulls your fingers up to his mouth with his own hand guiding you. He kisses your palm and the petal, and then each of your fingertips one by one.

‘I’m doing this for you, you know,’ he murmurs.

‘You are doing this for us,’ you say, shaking your head. ‘We are a family.’

‘We are more than a family,’ he insists. ‘We are more than lovers. Our souls belong together.’

‘I’ve never been happier,’ you say.

Whatever world Astarion is imagining, you’re beginning to see it too. A world where being a king means more than throwing extravagant parties and hosting masquerades and balls and ignoring those in need. Astarion cares because you care, and that makes your heart squeeze dangerously. You are with Astarion when he usurps his father’s court. He had called them weak-willed men in front of his own council, his lip curled in distaste. They had allowed a shadow ruler to take his father’s place for years, had controlled the crown like a puppeteer would his prized puppet. And now, Astarion has pulled together enough favor to overthrow those who had betrayed him, who had betrayed you, and who had betrayed Baldur’s Gate most of all.

‘I believe you are sitting in my chair,’ Astarion calmly tells Ketheric Thorm.

The removal of the pretenders is fairly certain. Ketheric’s own daughter Isobel aids in his arrest. The installation of Astarion’s council is relatively easy with such esteemed replacements. Wyll Ravengard takes his father’s place as Lord Commander of the Flaming Fist. Karlach takes Enver Gortash’s place as leader of the city guard, betrayed as you were, and her eyes burn with heat when she pulls him from his tower. Gale and Shadowheart had been planning the entire thing for years behind the scenes, favoring Astarion against the old court. All you do is stand beside Astarion with your hand on the hilt of your blade though no one dared raise their arms against him.

Astarion’s coronation takes place later that week, and even with all the planning, he does not allow you to stray from his side. You are with him when meeting with the emissaries Lady Lae’zel and Lord Halsin and Lady Jaheira. You are with him during his fittings. You are with Astarion the night before when he fucks you so hard you see stars.

You are there the day of his coronation. He is dressed in brilliant reds and off-whites and wears a crown with rubies. You stand alongside him in the armor he commissioned for you styled after Dame Aylin’s and hold the sword gifted to you from the crown.

It is a wedding as well.

A wedding of peace and resilience. A wedding of love and understanding.You drop down before him to one knee and swear anew your vows, though now they taste sweeter on your tongue. I am the Sword of the Crown, the Shield of the Realm, the Consort of the Chosen. I serve no one but the Rightful King, the First of His Name, the Soul of Truth, Astarion Ancunin. When you rise, Astarion kisses you.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x oc #astarion smut #bg3 smut #from ，carcosa .#my fic #* et toi，et moi

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ilguna · 7 months

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☼ lovestruck, lovesick, lovelorn pt2 (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; Finnick has a hard time keeping up his façade, especially since you know that what he told you was a bunch of bullshit. he's not able to confirm it until weeks later, when you've healed from the capitol abuse.

warnings; swearing, death mention, death, gore for sure, blood, weapon usage, mention of prostitution, needle mention, strangulation, abuse.

wc; 6.5k

part one.

“Sponsor gift.” Johanna interrupts the silence.

You look over from where you’re standing the water, finding the silver parachute slowly making its way down to the beach. It seems that Katniss has finally woken up, as well. She’s leaning forward on her crossed legs, rubbing one of her eyes.

Johanna catches the gift in her palms, the parachute falls away to reveal that there’s another pyramid of rolls. It looks identical to the batch you’d received last night, which is confirmed by Finnick after he meticulously counts each one, and tells them that there’s twenty-four of them.

They begin to divide the bread, you turn away, not wanting to be included. You would eat, if it meant that you didn’t have to sit in a group with them. Namely Finnick, who’s kept a close eye on you since last night. Especially since you refused to lay down with the others, choosing to pace the treeline.

You would’ve offered to take Peeta’s spot behind Finnick to take watch, but you’re not really interested in being in close proximity with Finnick. It’s partly the embarrassment, and there’s also the fact that he was lying to you. You saw the look on his face, you heard it in his voice. He fed you bullshit.

And now he must be waiting for you to make your escape. It’s not going to happen, though. You made a commitment, you have a plan, and you have the full intention to execute it tonight. After all, it’s the third day. All you have to do is make it fourteen more hours, and you’ll be free of this arena.

“(Y/n), do you want your bread?” Johanna asks.

“No, I’m fine.” You tell her without moving.

They spend the next few minutes eating, before Katniss takes Peeta into the water to teach him how to swim. You back away, heading to lurk along the treeline of the jungle again. It’s close to where Johanna and Finnick are, as they try to stay occupied. Johanna’s keeping her eyes on the two in the water to ensure that they’re not getting up to no good, while Finnick begins to weave himself another net.

“You said you had a plan last night.” Johanna says, looking over her shoulder at you. “Are you ever going to let us in on it?”

“The Careers are probably watching our every move, waiting for the right moment to attack.” You tell them, a conclusion they’ve likely already come to, themselves. “They won’t do it until we’ve split up.”

Finnicks hands have paused, waiting for you to suggest that you should go off alone to attack them.

“They’re outnumbered if we stay together.” Johanna says.

“Right.” You say, “We all know Katniss, though. She’s not going to want to be in this alliance much longer. She’ll probably stay until the Careers are dead, because that just leaves us.”

Johanna’s nodding, following along.

“I say that we kill them tonight, at midnight.” You stab the sword into the grass, leaving it there when it sticks. You move to stand in front of them in the sand, hands on your hips. “And we do it Beetee-style. We can electrocute them on the beach, assuming that they come out here to refresh when we go into the jungle for the night.”

“How?” Finnick asks, you look him over.

“The sun goes down, making it slightly cooler. The wave will hit at ten, making the beach wet. All we’ll have to do is wrap the wire around the lightning tree, and get two people to walk the wire down to the beach to bury the spool before the lightning hits.” You hold up two fingers, “This causes the group to split two to three, and by then, Enobaria and Brutus will be on us like flies to honey. And that’s when I’ll split away to kill them before they can do any real damage.”

“So, really, whoever has the wire will act as bait?” Johanna asks, face twisted. “And what makes you think you can take out two Careers?”

You half-shrug, “Because I’ve done it before. If you got any better ideas, I’m all ears.”

She shakes her head, “I don’t. It sounds like it’ll work out fine.”

When you both turn your attention to Finnick, you find that he’s nodding, eyes on the sand.

“Well, if we’re in agreement, then we can tell those two,” You jerk your head towards the water, “Later. We can’t do anything until the wave hits, anyway.”

When neither of them say anything else, you go back to where your sword is, pulling it out of the mushy dirt. There’s a deep slice from where you’d stabbed it. As you’re about to wander away, Johanna says something about her going back to sleep in the meantime, since she didn’t get much sleep last night.

Finnick continues weaving his net out of the jungle vines. You watch his progress between glances each time you turn to move the other way. You could probably just stand here, staring into the jungle, but you said so yourself last night—the Careers aren’t going to attack until nightfall, when they’ve got cover.

However, there’s always a chance that you’re wrong, and they decide that they’d rather take the five of you head-on. This is why you refuse to rest. If they get the jump on you, you won’t be able to keep yourself together any longer. You’ll chase after them, and they’ll end up dead before midnight.

“Hey, Finnick, come on in!” Katniss suddenly calls. You pause long enough to see her waving. “We figured out how to make you pretty again!”

Finnick ties off the net, which looks like it’s pretty much done, anyway. He leaves his trident behind, going over to see what they mean. From what you can tell, they’re taking handfuls of wet sand to rub against the scabs that are peeling from their skin. You would need to do the same, if you hadn’t been picking at them all last night.

When they’re done, they come out of the water to apply another round of ointment. Katniss offers the tube to you, which you take gratefully. After a small squeeze on your hand, you rub it along the places where you’ve been affected. For the most part, you were able to say ahead of the fog, even when you were helping Finnick carry Peeta.

“I’ve come up with a plan.” You tell Katniss and Peeta once they’ve settled in the sand. “I already told Finnick and Johanna about it while you were in the water.”

Katniss places the bow in her lap, fingers pinching the string. “And they liked it?”

“Enough.” You say. “There’s only two threats left in the arena, and that’s Enobaria and Brutus. So, we need to take them out. Except, we can’t hunt them down because they could be anywhere, and it’d take all day.”

“Do you think they’ve figured out the clock?” Katniss asks.

“If they haven’t, they will soon.” Finnick says.

“I want to set a trap tonight.” You dig the toes of your left shoe into the sand. “Enobaria and Brutus won’t attack again until it’s dark out and they have cover, that’s a fact. Which means they’re not going to come out here, onto the beach, until they’re sure we’re done.”

“You want to stay in the jungle tonight?” Peeta asks, “That’s dangerous, how will we know what sections we’re in?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” You shake your head. “What I want to do is kill them when they step foot on the beach. And the only way to do that is with this wire.” You point at it.

Katniss’s face twists.

“The wave hits at ten, making the surrounding beach damp. If we connect this wire to the lightning tree and bring it all the way down to the beach—or even into the water—that first strike will electrocute anything in contact with the sand. It’ll kill them.”

It’s quiet between the four of you, as they mull this over. You can see that Finnick is looking at you, but you keep your eyes on the Twelve tributes. They need to agree to this plan, in order for you to move on and worry about greater things. Like how you’re going to take down Enobaria and Brutus at the same time. Or if you’ll be able to split them up, too.

Peeta’s mouth pops when he opens it to speak. “How do we know that the wire won’t just burn up when the electricity passes through it.”

“It likely will.” You say, “We probably only have one shot at this.”

“So there’s a possibility that we won’t even get them?”

Finnick sighs, “Yeah.”

“But all the seafood will be cooked.” Peeta says.

You nod, “It will, but we found other things in the jungle.”

“Nuts and rats.” Katniss says, you think you’ve got her on board. “And we have sponsors.”

“It’ll be a pain if we fail.” You tell them, “There’s always other options, after this.”

Katniss meets your eyes. “Why not? If it does fail, there’s no harm done. If it works, there’s a decent chance we’ll kill them. And even if we don’t and just kill the seafood, Brutus and Enobaria lose it as a food source, too.”

“I say we try it.” Peeta agrees.

When you’ve lost the attention of the Twelve tributes, you look at Finnick, giving him a smug look. You told him that you’d figure out a plan, and it’s not half-bad either. You’re sure Beetee would’ve said the exact same thing, just with more technical nonsense. You make a pretty good filler, if you say so yourself.

“What should we do until then?” Peeta asks.

“We could take a hike up to the tree to get a look at it.” You suggest, but you’re thinking about surveying the area on the way up. The better you know the jungle, the more you’ll be able to sneak around in it.

“I’ll get Johanna up.” Finnick says.

You back off, Katniss and Peeta gather their belongings, getting on their feet. Finnick catches Johanna up to speed, telling her that the plan is on, and you want to go take a look at the tree. She sighs, getting up from where she was laying.

You pick the wire out of the sand, throwing it over your shoulder to hold while you walk. You move over a couple sections, and Johanna makes the way into the jungle first. You follow after her, not wanting to have a debate with Finnick on whether or not you’re allowed to be behind them.

The air is thicker in the jungle than it is on the beach. It must have something to do with the vegetation, or possibly a hidden water source, making it humid. Between the incline and the heat, you’re sweating in a matter of minutes. Even though all you’re wearing is the undershirt and shorts that were provided with the wetsuit that you abandoned yesterday.

You focus on your breathing, and the steps you’re taking to keep from tripping. Not the fact that Finnick is close enough for you to hear his breathing. You wish he would stay a few steps back, so you can pretend that he’s not there entirely.

As if he’s reading your thoughts, he says, “Can you walk faster?”

“Maybe you should be in front of me if you don’t like my pace.” You snap.

“That’s not happening.”

“Then shut up and deal with it. And stop walking so close, while you’re at it.”

He makes a noise, “There’s three feet between us, that’s plenty.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you think so.” You mutter.

He must hear you, because he doesn’t walk for a couple of seconds, letting the distance grow. You laugh, unbelievable. This is why you don’t believe what he said to you last night. He can deny what you said as much as he wants, but a part of it has to be true.

However, the more he denies it, the more you feel yourself slipping. Why do you like him in the first place?

“Katniss should take the lead, Johanna. She can hear the forcefield.” Finnick calls from behind you.

Johanna pauses, turning around for you to see her. There’s a bead of sweat running down the side of her face. “Hear it?”

“Only with the ear the Capitol reconstructed.” Katniss says below.

“Go ahead, then. I’d rather you get electrocuted to death than me.” She motions.

Katniss passes the line, taking the front. When you glance behind you to see who’s taking up the rear, you see that Finnick and Peeta have switched places. Which makes sense, but you still shake your head.

Katniss brings you to the towering lightning tree, making you wait a few feet back while she gathers nuts to throw ahead to see how far away the forcefield is. She tosses a few of them, and you know when she’s found the field when it sizzles on impact, jumping at her.

“Just stay below the lightning tree.” Katniss tells you.

With it being only nine—almost ten—it’s quickly decided that you’ll stay here for the next hour or so. They divide responsibilities between each other, leaving you out so you can figure out the tree and how the plan will work. Naturally, they stick Finnick with you, while Johanna taps for water, Peeta gathers nuts and Katniss goes hunting for the tree rats.

You go back and forth, looking at the tree, guessing how far around it is, and then looking at the wire, thinking about how much you’ll have to use. There’s easily miles of the wire wrapped around the base, so you’re not worried about running out of it. It’s how thick you need to make it on the tree.

You make a noise, biting the inside of your cheek. This is where Betee would come in handy. You can make a plan, but executing it correctly is a different subject. Either way, you need to make this work.

“You can’t figure it out.” Finnick says, it’s not a question.

“I’m thinking about how much wire I need to use.” You eye him, “It’s figured out.”

And if it isn’t, it will be by tonight, you think.

The ground begins to shake beneath you, as the sound of the wave crashing through trees fills the momentary silence. You have an hour and a half before you need to get back down to the beach in order not to get caught here in a lightning storm.

Katniss comes crunching out of the trees, holding three of the rats in one hand, the bow in the other. She stops next to Peeta, dropping the animals next to him, and then draws a line in the dirt a few feet away from the forcefield.

She cleans the kills, cubing the meat, and roasting them by tossing them at the forcefield. She catches each one in a free basket that was made by Finnick yesterday. Peeta follows her movements with the nuts, dropping it in the same bowl as her.

“Figure it out?” Johanna asks you, setting the water on the ground behind Katniss. She holds the spile out between her fingers in Katniss’s direction.

Katniss reaches up to take it, and secures it on the vine attached to her belt.

“Pretty much.”

By the time Katniss and Peeta are done, the next hour is up. You know this when the clicking in the section over rises. You heard some of it last night, but it wasn’t very loud because you were on the beach. Here, it sounds so close.

“I think it’s an insect.” Katniss says. “Maybe beetles.”

“Something with pincers.” Finnick adds.

The sound swells in reaction to their voices.

“We should get out of here, anyway.” Johanna says. “There’s less than an hour before the lightning starts.”

At that, the food and water are gathered, as well as weapons. You don’t go very far, only to the rain wedge next door. The food and water is placed on the ground, where you squat around the bowls to pick out what you want. This is when you finally eat, because it looks fairly appetizing. Still, you don’t take much from the pool, only enough to be full.

When you’re done, you make your way back down to the beach until nightfall. The sand is smooth from the water, sinking under your weight, leaving footprints behind.

Johanna offers to take watch to allow the rest of you to sleep if you want to. They take her up on the offer, but you sit up, fingers laced in front of you. None of them nap for very long, because they’d gotten a fair amount of sleep last night. The only person it would benefit at this point is you, except you haven’t been tired since yesterday afternoon.

Well, that’s what you think until Finnick switches off with her. He lowers himself next to you, back to the water, eyes on the jungle. He’s less than a foot away from you, off to your left. For someone that doesn’t like you, he really sticks close, doesn’t he?

“I’m going to sleep.” You mutter, getting to your feet.

You find a nice place in the sand that’s covered by a tree in the jungle. It’s not easy settling in, you think that you’d rather fight with a rock-hard bed, but you don’t really have a choice. You close your eyes, forcing yourself to take even breaths to relax, feeling the drowsiness creep up on you.

–

The heel of your shoe is kicked, jolting you awake. You grab the knife that you’d placed next to you, rolling over to see who it is. It’s Finnick, he’s holding his trident in one of his hands.

“We’re about to clean the seafood, come join us.”

You squint at him, wondering if you should strangle him for waking you up like this. It wouldn’t be that hard to, and you’d likely get over him quicker. And you would probably do it, too, if it weren’t for your allies a few feet over, talking.

“Sure.” You say, he walks away, going to resume his place in the circle. You sit up, heels of your hands massaging your temples. You should’ve just stayed awake, now all you are is tired and irritated.

You scoot over, finding a place between Johanna and Finnick. You look over all of what they’ve collected, which is fish, shellfish and oysters. You sigh through your nose, reaching forward to grab a fish, as you begin to slice into it with your knife. It takes you about two minutes to successfully clean it, tossing it in the next basket.

Peeta pries open an oyster, laughing slightly. “Hey, look at this!” He exclaims. You look up from your next fish to see that he’s holding up a pearl. “You know, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Finnick says. Katniss laughs.

Peeta rinses the pearl off in the water, handing it to her. “For you.”

“Thanks.” She says, closing her hand.

You toss another fish in the basket, Johanna gives you a look. “No wonder why Finnick woke you up, you’re faster than he is.”

Finnick gives Johanna a glare, “That’s not true.”

“I don’t want to make this a competition.” You tell both of them. “I’m not in the mood.”

“I can see that.” Johanna says, “Bad dreams?”

“I just want to get the fuck out of here.” You make a clean cut through the fish, looking at her.

She sighs, “Don’t we all?”

“The locket didn’t work, did it?” Peeta asks. “Katniss?”

“It worked.” She says.

“But not the way I wanted.” He says, looking away from her. That’s the last thing you hear from him for the next fifteen minutes.

With your help, they finish preparing the food pretty quickly. They give the seafood a final wash to get rid of any of the sand, and right as you’re about to eat, a parachute comes down from the sky, landing next to Finnick. The first one is a pot of red sauce, the second one being another set of District Three rolls. When counted, the number turns out to be the same as it’s been the last couple of times.

You take a strip of the fish, dipping it into the red sauce, and then dropping it into your mouth. The moment your tongue realizes that it’s tasting more than just raw fish, your mouth begins to water. It’s spicy, and so good. You hum, giving the others an approving nod.

The five of you begin to eat, actually enjoying the meal. While they gorge themselves, you take it slow, not wanting to be too full for when you fight the Careers. It’ll slow you down. When they’re done, there’s still a lot of leftovers, but you’re not able to keep them. They toss the food back into the water, so that when you leave, the Careers won’t be able to have it.

Katniss and Peeta go to sit by the water together, holding hands. You, Finnick and Johanna stay where you are, passing around the water shell. There’s still a couple of hours until the wave, you could probably an hour or so in, but if you try to get any more sleep today, you won’t get up the next time they try to wake you.

The anthem plays, no faces show up in the sky. The sun has officially set, and you can’t sit still any longer. You get to your feet, sword in your hand while you go back to pacing the treeline.

When Katniss and Finnick agree that it’s about nine, you move on from the beach, taking only what’s necessary. Katniss leads the way this time, Peeta in front of you, with Finnick and Johanna at the very end. This time, Finnick leaves a safe distance between the two of you, learning from his mistake.

When you get to the tree, Finnick is assigned to help you. And before you can object and ask for Johanna, they’re already walking away to find their places to watch the trees. You stick your sword in the ground, and then crouch down to begin unrolling the wire. You set several yards aside, making Finnick wrap some of it around a broken tree branch, which you leave aside.

After that, you and Finnick stand on opposite sides of the lightning tree, passing the spool back and forth. You form an X, watching as it grows thicker, before you begin to wrap it around the middle. This goes on for about an hour, until you hear the wave begin. You wait for a while longer, and decide to stop once it’s thick enough.

When Finnick hands the wire back to you, you clear your throat. “The wire needs to be brought back down to the water.” The three taking watch turn to look at you, waiting. “Katniss and Johanna will do it.”

“I want to go with them as a guard.” Peeta says immediately.

“You don’t move fast enough.” You tell him. “Which is a result of you hitting the forcefield and your prosthetic leg. You’ll stay here with me and Finnick. Katniss can guard, because she’s got her bow.” Peeta’s shaking his head. “We don’t have time to argue, they need to leave, now.”

“It’s okay.” Katniss says after a moment. “We’ll just drop the coil and come straight back up.”

“Not here, we’ll meet you two in the next section over.” You remind her.

She cups Peeta’s face. “Don’t worry. I’ll see you at midnight.” She kisses him, you avert your eyes, and land on Finnick, who’s staring. You squint at him. Katniss moves away, “Ready?”

“Why not?” Johanna shrugs, coming over to take the wire from you. “You guard, I’ll unwind. We can trade off later.”

Katniss walks off first, with Johanna following. You keep a careful eye on the sliver of wire that hangs through the air as they go down. If you try to pass through that area, you need to be mindful that it’s there.

You grab your sword out of the ground, while Finnick divides the area into three sections for you to stand in. You’ll give it about fifteen minutes before you take off with some sort of excuse, because there’s not a single doubt in your mind that the Careers are out here right now.

Over the fifteen minute period, you shift your weight from foot to foot, trying to make it seem like you have to use the bathroom, restlessly moving around. You let out a loud sigh, “I’m sorry, I have to pee. I’ll be right back.”

“That’s not a good idea.” Peeta tells you, “Finnick should go with.”

“He’s not standing over me while I pee, and you’re not either. I’ll stay within earshot.” You say, looking at Finnick. You raise your eyebrows, Finnick gives you a slight nod. He better keep Peeta distracted enough to the point where he doesn’t realize how long you’ve been gone.

You duck under the wire, heading into the trees with your sword. You walk a few feet, occasionally glancing behind you to make sure that neither of them are looking, before you make your escape. The wire is close enough for you to see it, still suspended in the air.

You move quickly down the slope without having to wait on anyone, searching the area ahead for anyone. Katniss and Johanna have got to be more than halfway down by now, it’s going to take you a minute to catch up with them. But if Enobaria and Brutus are smart, they won’t stick that close, because Katniss is paranoid.

The sound of rocks rolling on one another makes you stop behind the tree you’re passing by. It came from the left, from the other side. You lower yourself to the ground, peering around the trunk and through bush leaves to see if it’s them.

You find Enobaria creeping out of her hiding place, knife in hand, blade glinting in the moonlight. With a swift motion, she cuts the wire, sending both ends in different directions. She chases after the end going down to Katniss and Johanna, and that’s when you can see Brutus, following after her.

He’s limping. This will be easy.

You stalk them, trying to be quiet. The wire is gone, completely out of sight. It’s probably already bunched up at the bottom. Which means that they know that something—someone—has come between them and the lightning tree. And vice versa for the top of the hill, where Peeta and Finnick are going to realize that the girls are in some danger.

You were wrong about how far down Katniss and Johanna were, because you come across the coil of wire a minute later. Katniss is laying on the ground, eyes shut, forearm cut where the tracker should be.

“She’s as good as dead! Come on, Enobaria!” You hear someone shout.

Your head whips in the direction, forgetting about Katniss. She’ll pick herself up soon, and if she doesn’t, someone will come for her. You pick up the pace to follow after the heavy footsteps. They have to be targeting Johanna, because she’s nowhere to be seen in the area. She’s drawing them away, taking the focus off of the girl who scored a twelve.

You see Brutus moving through the trees, trying to keep up. You switch the sword into your non-dominant hand, grabbing out a knife. You draw your arm back, and with every ounce of strength you have, you send the knife flying at Brutus.

It hits the back of his head, a cannon blasts immediately, his body falling into the greenery. If it wasn’t a frenzy before, it will be now that someone has died.

Enobaria, who was a few feet ahead of him, stops in her tracks, turning to look at you. You walk toward her, a smile spreading over your face. “Hi.”

“You’ll regret that.” She snarls, throwing a knife at you.

You see this coming, twisting just in time for it to miss you. She charges forward, you switch the sword into your dominant hand, swinging at her. She blocks, blade clashing against yours, the sound of metal sliding on itself fills the air.

“Stupid plan you made.” She says between breaths, baring her teeth.

“You fell for it.” You grin, sweeping her legs.

She falls, you stab down at her, she rolls out of the way. She doesn’t have time to stand up, you’re swinging at her, getting closer each time.

“(Y/n)!” A voice calls, you halt, just for a second, eyebrows twitching in.

Finnick.

“Playing house?” Enobaria sneers, right before she swings at your hand.

You drop the sword, but still get cut across the back of your hand, up to your wrist. The blood begins to leak out, making your skin slippery. You hiss, reaching for your knife when Enobaria gets to her feet, coming for you.

She gets you several times across your body, you’re off beat by a second. You’re not thinking about the fight anymore. Your mind is on Finnick, who’s supposed to be watching Peeta at the lightning tree, but instead he’s out here, looking for you.

He knew the plan, he knew you’d go after the Careers, that was the whole point of splitting up. The sooner you get rid of them, the better. There won’t be a threat in the arena anymore. You’ll be able to cut out the trackers in your arm freely and wait for the rebels to get you. You could even let Katniss and Peeta in on it, because by then it’ll be too late for the Capitol to intervene.

Enobaria steps too close, snapping you out of your thoughts. You grab her shoulder, holding her in place while you slam the knife upward, into her stomach. You stare at her, watching as her mouth drops open, struggling to take a breath in.

“How the mighty fall.” You murmur.

Her eyes meet yours, “Go fuck yourself.” She wheezes. “You’re next.”

“We’ll see about that.” You tell her, pushing her back.

She stumbles a few steps, you drop low to pick your sword out of the grass. She’s shaking her head, a plea forming on her lips, when she jerks forward, and she falls to her knees.

Johanna stands on the other side, her axe now embedded in the back of Enobaria’s skull. She gives you a little smile, “You killed Brutus?”

“It was easy.” You tell her. “We should get back to the tree. The lightnings going to strike any minute now, the beetles are getting quieter.”

Johanna nods, you begin to lead the way, climbing as fast as you can. It’s difficult with the cuts that Enobaria managed to land. They’re in the most inconvenient places, as if she was doing it on purpose. Maybe she thought you’d run, and this way she’d slow you down.

“Katniss!” You hear a voice call, it sounds like Peeta. He’s not supposed to be out here, Finnick should’ve had him on a leash. “Katniss!”

“Is Chaff still alive?” You pant, “There’s only been two cannons, right?”

“Yeah, he should be.” Johanna says.

You’re just nearing the top, the clicking is practically nonexistent, until it suddenly swells. Your eyes pan down, afraid that you’ve stepped into the wrong territory, but there’s nothing on the ground. That’s when a scream erupts from your left, drawing out for a minute.

And then a cannon goes off, there goes Chaff.

You turn, wanting to make sure that Johanna’s still following. She’s leaned over her knees, breathing deeply.

“Katniss!” Peeta’s voice is close. You look up, and barely find him through the trees. He must see you, too, because he starts to come down. His eyes are bouncing between you and Johanna. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know.” You shake your head. “Is she at the tree? And where’s Finnick?”

“Johanna?” Peeta insists, ignoring you.

“The Careers split us up.” She lies, “I had to draw them away.”

“Is that who died?” He asks.

“Brutus, Enobaria and Chaff were the cannons.” You tell him. “Let’s get back to the tree to regroup.”

He nods, Johanna stands up. The three of you are beginning up the slope once more, when the dome of the arena bursts into a blue light. You watch as the first fiery explosion breaks it, throwing bits of debris into the air.

“Shit.” You say, “That’s not good.”

The hike up the jungle is torturous enough in the heat that’s provided by the Gamemakers. It grows worse when the trees surrounding you are suddenly set afire by the bits that land on the ground, causing small earthquakes. Several times, you have to hang on to a tree to keep from falling over, as the dome falls apart.

You keep an eye on the growing hole, and the sky beyond it, waiting. You watch as the hovercraft materializes out of thin air, above the lightning tree. A second later, the claw is being dropped to retrieve those who are by it. You’re hoping it’s Katniss, because that was the whole goal of this plan. Anyone else was just an added bonus.

It secures around someone, and pulls them out of the trees. You’re not that far, you might even be able to make it. The claw drops a second time, for one more person, pulling them up. It’s hard to see the hovercraft through the thick branches and leaves.

You’ve about five yards from the lightning tree when the hovercraft disappears in the air. Your pace slows, as you let out a breath. When you look at Johanna, you find her shaking her head.

“There goes being saved.”

“What?” Peeta asks, looking between you two.

“I’m sorry, Peeta.” You say, locking your fingers and placing your hands on the top of your head. “The good news is that you got what you wanted.”

“What do you mean?” He asks.

“She’s safe.” Is all you say.

You don’t bother telling him that the three of you are screwed. While Katniss and presumably Finnick, get to go to District Thirteen, where they’ll be safe. You’re going to be taken by the Capitol, and there’s not a doubt in your mind that they’ll try to tear you apart to get information about the rebels.

This is where the real test of strength begins.

—

A knock on the window makes you look up from where you’re staring at the IV in your arm. Your eyes land on Finnick, who’s not standing at his full height, playing with a small piece of rope in his hand. There’s a slight frown in his lips, eyes tired. He’s been visiting you these last couple of days, and you’ve been doing your best to avoid him.

Usually, you have a visitor in here, which makes it easy to cast him out, but you’re alone tonight. Johanna’s finally grown tired of bothering you for hours on end, talking your ear off. It’s been a one-sided conversation these past couple of weeks while your throat healed.

Recently, the doctor cleared you.

You stare at Finnick, really not wanting to let him in. He’s no doubt heard the news, too. Which means that he’s looking to actually talk to you. You take a small breath in, chest aching. You rub the area over where the pain is, lifting your other hand to motion Finnick in.

He opens the door slowly, closing it behind him. He doesn’t say anything as he grabs the chair from the corner of the room, dragging it next to your hospital bed. You watch him sit down, elbows on his knees, eyes on the floor.

You thought that since Katniss and Finnick were saved by the rebels, they’d be in better condition than you, Johanna and Peeta are. It seems to be the other way around, though. Despite Snow having you strangled and deprived of oxygen for as long as humanly possible without doing major brain damage, and Johanna being repeatedly electrocuted in water, the two of you are relatively normal. You wish you could say the same for Peeta, but he’s up in the air right now. They won’t even let you see him, although you’re not sure what that would do exactly.

Finnick has been torn apart, like being in District Thirteen is a form of torture, in of itself. The light in his eyes is gone, voice quiet, “Mags told me about the ultimatum that Snow gave you.”

“Huh?” You let out.

Finnick looks up from the tile. “After the jabberjays, you asked me what changed.” He reaches over, placing his hand on top of yours. He’s warm. “It was before that. When Mags told me that you’d agreed…” He trails off, “You’d agreed to be a prostitute if it meant my family lived.”

You try to shake his hand off. “Whatever.”

He grabs on with both hands, squeezing your fingers. “She told me that you would volunteer to take some of my nights in the Capitol, because you saw how tired I was.”

“Get off me.” You murmur.

“My family was in the Capitol and you protected them,” His voice wavers, you get sent back to that night in the jungle. When he denied the fact that he had feelings for you. “Again. You protected them again. You let Snow do this to you.”

“It was the right thing to do.” You shake your head.

“I heard you talking the day of the reaping.” He breathes. “How you told Mags that you wouldn’t let her volunteer because you know how much she means to me. You said that you’d rather risk your life and go back in the arena than put her in danger.”

“Anyone would’ve done that.” You tell him, impatient.

“Annie couldn’t. Librae wasn’t going to. I was sure you weren’t, either.”

You sigh, “Will you just leave me alone?”

“I was wrong about several things.” Finnick stands from the chair, letting go of your hands to reach for your face. His thumbs running over the skin beneath your eyes. “I do care about you.”

“No, you don’t.” You push his arms.

“Listen to me.” Finnick says, his face is so close to yours. You can feel the warmth of his breath tickling your nose. “I was looking for you during the jabberjays, I was looking for you the night the dome went down, and I haven’t been able to breathe since you were taken.” He closes his eyes. “I care.”

“I know.” You breathe, “I know you do.”

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