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#started reading game of thrones because i was like

the-amazing-spider-bi · 9 months

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reading a game of thrones and fuck. robb doesn’t get to be a narrator (he’s lyanna stark he’s the dead girl in the pool he’s the narrative’s most special ghost) but he barely has to. we’re watching him from every point of view but his own. he’s the lannisters’ second thought, a teenager pretending to be the man his father was. he’s jon’s best friend, his older brother, the guy he compares all the others to, snowflakes melting in his hair forever. he’s catelyn first son, it was just the two of them for so long, her boy who looks like her but takes after his father so much it aches, and yet is never like him quite enough, a boy soldier leading men to war when he can barely grow a beard. in private, he listens to his mother’s lessons about command as if she was a school teacher, blushes when he gets the answers wrong, then he earns the lords’ respect in public, like he is older than his years. her son slipping between her fingers when he’s right here.

but most of all in the first book we see him through bran. he’s lord robb, who commands his men and fights wildlings and only has to say one word for his wolf to rip an attacker’s fingers off. he’s robb the brother, who comes into bran’s bedroom in the evening to cry because he’s scared, actually, he’s so scared that he’s going to die, that he has no right to order all these people to die for him, that his father isn’t here and he went south and starks never come back from the south, and now he’s the fifteen year old boy on the throne of a war hero with no idea what he is really doing. he’s scared and he does it anyway. ned tells us very early in the book, after the execution, that it’s the only way to be brave and we don’t know yet that he’s talking about his son. robb haunts the narrative and he’s not even dead yet

#like what does it say about a character that the words that best describe his arc are said about a man who just faced his death #of course I start reading game of thrones and get overly invested in dead boy premium #also I’m so annoyed that the show didn’t keep any of these intimate moments that give a lot more depth to his character #I assume this is because of the age lift but do you know any 17/18 yo boy who wouldn’t ALSO be on the verge of a panic attack 24/7?#sorry for the long post I got them stark brain worms #Léa talks #robb stark #asoiaf #agot #Léa reads asoiaf

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andr0medafallen · 1 year

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I was watching Game of Thrones today and I realized how I’m attracted to practically every single character (the adults - I’ve seen people say some creepy ass shit about the kids who I love like they’re my own despite my zero maternal instincts) like Jaime Lannister?? The Hound?? All of the women?? Hot as fuck, sue me

I don’t know why I’m sending this to you in an ask, it just felt like the right thing to do

...Okay maybe it's my general hatred for men and I do think that all the actors in that show are very attractive, but like if confronted with any of the characters irl ithinkmostofthemwouldbepassesimsorrythey'rejustsocreepy.

But I'm glad that you enjoy the show and characters! I really am not trying to be a hater.

In fact, to be completely candid, Yara Greyjoy had to have been one of my first tv crushes, so i am capable of love i swear.

#i think i maybe just like associate this show with my dad?#and like i do think Jaime is like physically attractive but then i remember he fucks his sister and i want to barf #but also you have to remember i watched game of thrones with my dad when it came out #i was 9.#so i have a weird perspective on the show for sure #also #this should really go without saying but don't let your 8 year old child watch Games of Thrones #and don't watch it with her for gods sake #also this isn't even mentioning the years that i had to go to bed at 7 and plug my ears while reading #because my dad would start BLASTING The Walking Dead #which i was also encouraged to watch as a 7 year old but chose not to #Sorry to be a party pooper!#scout: 'these people are hot!'#me: 'this is a great segway into explaining my rocky relationship with my dad'#'i wanna kill you if you don't beat me to it'#scout tag <3 #my lovely (and tolerant) wife

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alpaca-clouds · 6 months

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Why the media CEOs will always learn the wrong lessons

Yesterday a friend and I talked about how the entire (AAA) game industrie looked at BG3 being as popular as it is and going: "Oh, we need to produce 100+ hour games, I guess! Those sell!" Which... obviously is not why it is popular. The game is not popular because it has 100+ hours of gameplay, but because it has engaging characters, that are well-acted and that work as good hooks for the players. Like, let's face it: The reason why I so far have sunken 160 hours into this game is, because I wanna spend time with these characters - and because I wanna give them their happy endings.

But the same has happened too, just a bit earlier this year, right? When Barbie broke the 1 billion and every Hollywood CEO went: "Oh, so the people want movies based on toy franchises! Got it!" To which the internet at large replied: "... How is that the lesson you learned from this?"

Well, let me explain to you, why this is the lesson they learn: It is because the CEOs and the boards of directors at large are not artists or even engaged with the medium they produce. They mostly are economists. And their dry little hearts do not understand stuff more complex than numbers and spread sheets.

That sounds evil, I know, but... It is sadly the truth. When they look at a successful movie/series/game/book/comic, they look at it as a product, not a piece of art or narrative. It is just a product that has very clear metrics.

To them Barbie is not a movie with interesting stylistic choices that stand out from the majority of high budget action blockbusters. It is a toy movie with mildly feminist themes.

Or Oppenheimer is not a movie to them with a strong visual language and good acting direction. No, it is a historical blockbuster.

And this is true for basically every form of media. I mean, books are actually a fairly good example. In my life I do remember the big book fads that happened. When Harry Potter was a success, there was at least a dozen other "magical school" book series being released. When Twilight was a big success there was suddenly an endless number of "teen girl falls in love with bad boy, who is [magical creature]" YA. When the Hunger Games was a success, there were hundreds of "YA dystopia" books. Meanwhile in adult reading, we had the big "next Game of Throne" fad.

Of course, the irony is, that within each of those fads there might have been one or two somewhat successful series - but never even one that came even close to whatever started the fad.

Or with movies, we have seen it, too. When Avengers broke the 1 billion (which up to this point only few movies did) the studios went: "Ooooooh, so we need shared universe film series" - and then all went to try and fail to create their own cinematic universe.

Because the people, who call the shots, are just immensely desinterested in the thing they are selling. They do not really care about the content. All they care about is having a supposedly easy avenue of selling it. Just as they do not care about the consumer. All they care about is that the consumer buys it. Why he buys it... Well, they do not care. They could not care less, in fact.

So, yeah, get ready for a 20 overproduced games with a bloated 100+ hours of empty gameplay, but without the engaging characters. And for like at least 15 more moves based on some toy franchise, that nobody actually cares about.

And then get ready for all the CEOs to do the surprised Pikachu face, when all of that ends up not financially successful.

Really, I read some interviews yesterday from some AAA-studio CEOs and their blatant shock and missing understanding on why BG3 works for so many people.

Because, yeah... capitalism does not appreciate art. Capitalism does not understand art. It only understands spread sheets.

#baldurs gate 3 #oppenheimer #barbie #barbie movie #hollywood #game industry #media #indie media #media criticism #anti capitalism #late stage capitalism

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inky-duchess · 7 months

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Fantasy Guide to Creating Your Own Language

When writer's set out to world-build, language has a huge role in creating new cultures and lending a sense of realism to your efforts. A world and people just feel more real when language is involved. As the old Irish proverb says "tír gan teanga, tír gan anam”. A country without a language, is a country without a soul. So how can we create one?

Do Your Homework

First things off, you should start by studying languages. Nobody is asking you to get fluent but it's important to understand the basic mechanics of language. You will start to see certain tricks to language, how verbs are conjugated and how gender effects certain words. It will be easier to make up your own when you know these tricks. For example, in Irish one doesn't scold but "gives out to" - "a thabhairt amach". In German, numbers are arranged differently to the English with the smallest digit arranged before the tens for example 21 - Einsundzwanzig. By immersing yourself in an array of different languages (I recommend finding ones close to how you want your language to sound), you can gain the tools necessary for creating a believable language.

Keep it Simple

Nobody expects you to pull a Tolkien or channel the powers of David J. Peterson (hail bisa vala). You're not writing a dictionary of your con-lang. You will probably use only a handful of words in your story. Don't over complicate things. A reader will not be fluent in your con-lang and if they have to continually search for the meaning of words they will likely loose patience.

Start Small

When you're learning a language, you always start with the basics. You do the exact same when writing one. Start with introductions, the names of simple objects, simple verbs (to be, to do, to have for example) and most importantly your pronouns (you will use these more than any other word, which is why I always start with them). Simple everyday phrases should always be taken care of first. Build your foundation and work your way up, this is a marathon not a race.

Music to the Ears

If your creating a new language, you're more than likely doing it phonetically. Sound is important to language and especially a con-lang because you want to trick your reader into thinking of a real language when reading the words on the page. I suggest sitting down and actually speak your words aloud, get the feel of them on the tongue to work out the spelling. Spellings shouldn't be too complicated, as I said before the readers aren't fluent and you want to make it easier for them to try it out themselves.

Also when you're creating the con-lang, it's important to figure out how it sounds to an unsuspecting ear. If a character is walking down a street and hears a conversation in a strange language, they will likely describe to the reader what it sounds like. It might be guttural or soft, it might be bursque or flowery. It's always interesting to compare how different languages flow in the ear.

Writing in Your Language

Now that you've written your language and created some words, you will want to incoperate them into your story. The way most writers do this is by italicising them. As a reader, I generally prefer authors not to go too overboard with their con-lang. Swathes of con-lang words might intrigue a reader but it can leave them confused as well. It is better to feed con-lang to your readers bit by bit. In most published works writer's tend to use words here and there but there are few whole sentences. For example in A Game Of Thrones by George RR Martin, has actually only a handful of short sentences in Dothraki despite the language being prevalent throughout the book. Daenerys Targaryen pronounces that "Khalakka dothrae mr’anha!"/"A prince rides inside me!" and it's one of the only sentence we actually see in actual Dothraki.

There's also nothing stopping you from just saying a language has been spoken. If you're not comfortable writing out the words, then don't make yourself. A simple dialogue tag can do the trick just fine.

Know your Words

I do recommend keeping an actual record of your words. Make a dictionary if you want or a simple list of words you need. This is one of the most entertaining aspects of world building, have fun with it, go mad if you like. Also here's a short list of questions you can ask yourself about language in general which might help your juices flow.

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ryker-writes · 2 months

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Hiiiii thanks for making my day your the best, I give you so many hug (or high fives if you don't want hugs!) If I may ask can you write a broken relationships with malleus pretty please with a cheery on top? ( Also can I be lizard anon please! 🦎)

I would gladly accept any and all hugs! And I will devour that cherry while I write this-

Malleus I feel would be one of the ones that actually would be a good sibling so it's difficult to think about how a broken sibling relationship with him would be lol

Note: I haven't read any of Chapter 7 yet

Request Rules and Masterlists

Broken Sibling relationships

Malleus as a sibling (Broken relationship)

To say that you and Malleus were different would've been an understatement.

Even as kids, you two were very different. He was always treated as the best and the golden child, seen with much love, and he was naturally talented at just about anything. He had no problems with magic, no threats, and no flaws. He was the perfect heir for the throne of Briar Valley

And you? You were his younger sibling.

Compared to Malleus, you were never anyone's priority

Of course, you had servants and knights helping you just like him, but anything Malleus needed always took priority

Your help could be taken away at any moment for the sake of Malleus getting help

In the beginning, it didn't bother you as much because you and Malleus were together a lot of the time! He would spend a lot of time with you, and the two of you had so much fun together

You two would spend hours together in the library, and Malleus would read to you books on magic and history, but he got really passionate when he read about gargoyles. The two of you even ran around the castle once, trying to identify each gargoyle, both of your laughter echoing through the halls for guards and servants to hear

But as the years went by, things changed. Malleus had to become more of the heir he's meant to be. He spent most of his time alone or surrounded by guards

You started to get used to being in Malleus' shadow and not taking priority. Your brother had helped you feel less alone and more equal in the past, but he was too busy for you now

everything only got worse once you two had gone to Night Raven College

Malleus was praised from the moment he got there of course. He was recognized as one of the greatest and best of everyone there. He even had knights in training with him here, and a personal greeting from the headmage. You however...

"Who are you?"

You weren't even recognized or known. Not to the headmage, not to anyone. Why would you be? You aren't the heir of Briar Valley. You aren't the great wizard that Malleus is. And you aren't nearly as important.

Even after explaining who you were, people would just go "Oh." and ask about Malleus

To them, you might as well not even have a name. You were barely noticed. Barely recognized. And even when you were, you were simply known as Malleus' sibling. Nothing more.

And to top it all off: You weren't even invited to things

If people couldn't remember to invite Malleus, there's no way they remembered you. They probably didn't even know you existed. You're just in the background

You saw all the games he played in, all the praise he got, heck one of his knights practically worshiped the ground he walked on, but not when it came to you

People avoided him, they didn't notice or ignored you

Eventually, your birthday came around, and of course, no one noticed. Malleus didn't even see you at all, and didn't say anything

Your own brother didn't remember your birthday...

Are you cursed or something? Cursed to never be seen? Cursed to forever live a life that no one will notice? It's so cruel...

It's not like you wanted anything grand. You didn't need some big fancy party for your birthday

You just wanted to be acknowledged. For one day.

But compared to Malleus, you might as well be insignificant. He shone too brightly for anyone to even see you, hidden in his shadow

Even on a day that should be dedicated to you, he was the one being praised and followed around. He was the one everyone adored. Malleus, the prince of Briar Valley...

You were insignificant, unimportant, ignored

At this point, you can't even help but wonder if even Malleus himself forgot about you completely

you had assumed that was the case

that is, until you opened the your door the next morning. Sitting outside was a neatly wrapped gift box, and inside, a small gargoyle statue

#twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #malleus draconia #malleus x reader #malleus draconia x reader

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suguann · 3 months

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Hello! My name's Anne | An adult in my mid to late 20's | A hobbyist writer

RULES:

• I write for many fandoms, including Call of Duty, JJK, Shadow and Bone, Star Wars, Game of Thrones, Haikyuu, One Piece, etc.

• This is an 18+ space, and I also write dark content, so please read all content warnings if that makes you uncomfy!

• Don't copy, paste, or translate.

LINKS:

General tag

Writing tag

Fic Recs

MASTERLIST:

JUJUTSU KAISEN

ও GOJO

• Possessive Gojo (18+)

He gives you another once-over, thinking of several ways to describe you, silly not being one of them.

• I Hope You Stay (18+) | Long Fic

He’d asked why your coworkers weren’t waiting outside with you—it's not safe here—at the same time you asked for a kiss. It just sort of slipped out.

• Virgin Gojo (18+)

His last slip of restraint is when he finally looks down to find a wet patch on the front of your panties and how you're starting to form a dark gray spot on his sweats.

• Messy (18+)

You look so small like this—smaller than usual because everything about him is big in comparison—and that stirs something foreign in his gut that he can’t name.

• Three's A Crowd (18+)

“If you ask nicely for what you want, maybe he’ll give it to you,” your husband offers evenly. (Gojo/ Reader/ Nanami)

• Be With Me (18+)

The feeling sneaks up on him without his knowing, a throbbing in his chest that festers and grows over time until he can’t ignore it anymore or contain it in the proverbial cup of his hands no matter how hard he tries.

• Everything Comes Back to You (18+)

"Did you know we'd end up here?"

ও GETO

• Possessive Geto (18+)

In times like this, he wishes he had never come up with the rule about keeping your relationship a secret—so nobody thinks I’m picking favorites—regret is a thick pill to swallow.

ও MULTI

• Prettiest Baby (18+)

They can't help it, they're kind of obsessed with you.

• Fuck It, I Want You (18+)

They're so infatuated with you.

CALL OF DUTY

ও GHOST

• Good (18+)

“Just a little more,” a small lie because there’s never just a little more when it comes to you.

• Let Me (18+)

There comes a point where Simon finally admits that he hates your new boyfriend. [Part Two]

• I Left It Wet For You (18+)

Simon doesn’t share, but he makes an exception this time after his best friend’s date is a no-show, and he isn’t heartless enough to let Johnny hang out at the pub alone. [Simon/ Soap/Reader]

• Smitten

He watches you swipe lipstick across your mouth, grinning at your reflection in the mirror atop the dresser, and it's the cutest fucking thing.

• In Threes (18+)

Your ex-boyfriend makes you think you are the problem. Simon shows you that's not the case.

• New Girl

He has a feeling that the new girl running the front desk at the gym is going to be a problem—a distraction disguised in a gym uniform polo and khaki pants.

• Neighborly (18+)

Simon looks at you with a cocked brow and something akin to amusement as he watches you squirm in his doorway.

ও PRICE

• Redamancy (18+)

You tried not to grow feelings—you really did. Feelings make things complicated, but you can’t help it. John’s just…John.

BALDUR'S GATE

ও ASTARION

• Oh, Darling (18+)

He’s in a perpetually strange mood for the rest of the day, quieter than usual and more sulky, and you have the sneaking suspicion he's upset with you.

#anne's navigation #jjk x reader #mw2 x reader #gojo x reader

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theragethatisdesire · 8 months

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show off - eren jaeger x afab!reader x jean kirschstein, 18+!!

something wild and wicked came over me while considering the dynamics of the erejean threesome, and i realized we all deserve to see the incident that started it all. this is the official part 2/prequel to three's a... and it is very very fun and tasty. i feel like i haven't been posting as much, so i am super excited to get this up. i hope you guys enjoy as much as i did writing it :) it's also from eren's pov which you guys know i adore

pairing: jean kirschstein x reader, eren jaeger x reader, a lil bit of eren x jean tension but nothing physical

wc: 6.2k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: swearing, smut, threesome, implied internalized homophobia??? (literally just like, a pinch. eren has a "no homo" moment at the end lol), oral sex (male receiving), pet names (slut, brat, bitch, baby, princess), eren's a bit of a hard dom in this one, degradation, humiliation, penetrative vaginal sex, thick tension between eren and jean, eren's a menace

enjoy :)

Eren should be mad.

Eren should absolutely be mad, waking earlier than normal and padding into his kitchen, finding this scene waiting for him. You, wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts and a stringy thong and leaning over the counter enough to make that fact exceedingly obvious, and Jean, his roommate and friend since high school, shirtless and smirking, flirting over coffee. When he announces his presence, the shame and surprise on both of your faces is evident enough to confirm his suspicions; there’s definitely something building between the two of you, and whether it be a harmless crush or more, it’s there. Eren should be mad.

He’s just…not.

Despite his constant struggles to bite back his temper, especially when it comes to you, Eren surprises himself by the pointed lack of red in his vision. The heat’s still there, though; something coils in his chest that reminds him of anger, has the same flavor and the same spark, but none of the pulsing rhythm is there. Only something slow and catching, simmering in the pit of his stomach.

You come over again that night, winding up snuggled into his bare chest and intensely concentrating on the newest episode of Game of Thrones that Eren’s been dying to watch, but can’t bring himself to pay attention to. The image of this morning, you and Jean leaning into each other and smiling conspiratorially over whatever conversation had been struck up, is burned into his brain. And he’s still not mad.

“Do you want to fuck Jean?” Eren doesn’t parse his words; he’s no good with them anyway, and he’s a straight-to-the-point person as it stands.

“What?” You shoot up off his chest, eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrowed accusingly at him. “What gave you that idea?”

Eren’s not buying it, though; there’s a little flush rising to your cheeks, and it betrays you. Not only do you flirt with Jean when Eren’s not watching, but you do want to fuck him. And Eren’s just not mad.

“You two were flirting in the kitchen this morning– I saw you,” Eren snorts when you try to interrupt him in protest, “and it’s not like we both haven’t known about Jean’s little crush on you for the last couple months.”

“We’re friendly,” you shrug, looking down into your lap guiltily, “we’re trying to be friends.”

“Well you’re both doing a damn good job of it,” Eren rolls his eyes.

“I’m sorry if I made you mad, I wasn’t trying to be flirty with him, I just–”

“Want to fuck him,” Eren finishes for you, carefully watching your reaction. You scowl at him, irritated, but your heart’s not in it, he can tell.

“Why are you so stuck on this idea of me wanting to sleep with Jean? I’m sorry if I went a little too far in the kitchen earlier, but that doesn’t mean I want to fuck him.”

“You keep bringing up this threesome idea,” Eren strikes right where he knows your mind’s already headed, “is it because of Jean? Is he the guy you want us to fuck?”

“You said you’d never do that,” you bite into your lip, suddenly so embarrassed. Eren’s overcome with a sudden urge to comfort you, to smooth the crease between your eyebrows and tell you that it’s okay. It confuses him, and he knows he can’t do that without betraying whatever…odd feelings are brewing in his stomach at the idea of you and Jean together, of you Jean and Eren together.

“Is it Jean?”

“It’s not Jean,” you huff, crossing your arms like a petulant child.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not–”

“I mean, if it was going to happen, I’d rather it be Jean than some fucking rando.”

Eren’s caught you off guard, and he can tell. Your mouth hangs open a little, trying to mouth the words that you want to say, but nothing comes out. The flush on your face grows deeper, and Eren wants to kiss you. He’s always loved this about you, that you’re so filthy deep down, but you get so shy about telling him what you really want.

“W-why is that?”

“At least he’s our friend,” Eren shrugs, trying to seem nonchalant despite the bulge that’s already starting to grow in his pants at the thought, “he wouldn’t cross any lines or pull out any crazy shit on us.”

“I guess so.” You’ve returned to fiddling with the hem of your shirt, avoiding his eyes. Eren reaches out, tilts your chin up to look at him.

“C’mon, be honest with me. Is it Jean?”

“Maybe a little.” Your words may be reluctant, but your eyes have taken on that glossy, distant look that Eren knows so well. It is Jean.

Eren pauses to wonder what you’ve fantasized about in the dark, what you’ve been holding back from him. Maybe one in your mouth, one thrusting into you from behind? Riding one and taking the other down your throat? The pictures that flash through his brain have a groan threatening to slip from his lips, the raw hotness of it cutting straight through the weirdness that he’s sitting here, staring at his girlfriend, and thinking about Jean with a tent in his boxers.

“Would you do it? If you were put in the right position?”

“I…yes. I would.” Your words come out in breathless gasps; oh, you have it bad, for both of them, Eren realizes. You catch yourself before he can drag you down too far though, reining yourself in with an airy chuckle. “But I doubt Jean would even go for it. He doesn’t seem all too freaky.”

“You never know,” Eren concedes, letting the matter lie for now and pulling you back into his chest, “but you would do it, right? If he was into it.”

“If you both were, then yeah, absolutely.” Eren can feel you subtly rubbing your thighs together, and he smirks above your head where you can’t see him.

“Maybe one day we can ask him.”

A lighthearted laugh shakes your frame. “Yeah, maybe one day.”

From then on out, Eren can’t escape the plaguing thoughts of you and Jean and himself, tangled up together in a mess of sweaty limbs. Images of you gagging on Jean while Eren has a hand on the back of your head, shoving you further along his length, keep him distracted while he’s at work. Making himself cum into his hand in the shower thinking of watching Jean, face between your legs and two knuckles deep in you, Eren telling him how to make you cum, how to make you scream.

It’s become a private obsession for him, one he can’t run away from. Eren has you over at the house every night nowadays, insisting he’s been going through a lot at work and he misses your company. You, being the sweet little thing that you are, have no idea that he’s watching, baiting Jean into coming clean.

Eren has happened to “lose” all of his sweatpants but one pair, forcing you to walk around their apartment in those short little sleep shorts you favor, or ideally, just your panties and a t-shirt. He observes Jean as you pitter patter around their kitchen, keeping track of just how many times Jean’s eyes flit to where the shirt rides up as you reach for something high in the cabinets. He’s not just watching Jean, he’s watching you too; the way your breath hitches in your throat when Jean slicks his hair back, when he stretches, arms over his head, and lets a little slip of skin show.

And when he can find the presence of mind to focus, late at night with your mouth on him or his face buried between your thighs, Eren listens closely, and he’s rewarded. There’s the telltale creak of feet on the carpet, of someone lurking just outside of Eren’s barely-cracked, “accidentally” left-open bedroom door. If he listens close enough, sometimes he swears he can hear little grunts and groans coming from across the hall.

You two want each other badly enough that it’s practically weighing the air down, and Eren’s not mad, he’s frustrated. You’re both so shy, so clearly uncomfortable with the attraction between each other, how is he ever going to manage to get you both to just say it?

It turns out that Eren’s not just an observant hothead, he’s a lucky observant hothead.

It’s been three weeks since you let Eren in on your little crush, three weeks of mind-numbing observation and little bits of bait thrown out, but neither you nor Jean have risen to any of it. It’s not until you’re finishing up dinner with Eren in the kitchen, wearing nothing but a tank top and the tiniest shorts he’s ever seen, that Jean comes home, sweaty and out-of-breath from the gym, and Eren sees his opportunity.

“Hey,” Jean breathes out in greeting, whipping his sticky shirt over his head and tossing it to the ground.

“Hi, Jean,” you smile amicably at him through the doorway. Eren watches as Jean’s expression lightens, the corners of his eyes crinkling with a wide smile.

“You save me something?”

“Always.” You shake a full Tupperware container at him meaningfully before sliding it into the fridge.

“You’re too good to me,” he whistles, hands running through his hair, “I’ll get to it after I shower.”

“How was the gym?” Eren makes his presence known, looking up from his phone where he’s seated at the dining table they’ve put just outside the kitchen. Jean meets Eren’s gaze with an all-too-obvious blush rising to his cheeks; Jean always gets that little embarrassed look when Eren catches him flirting with you.

“Fine,” Jean shrugs noncommittally.

“Any cute girls?” Eren asks, returning his gaze to his phone. He can viscerally feel the startled look you give him, the stuttering of Jean’s fluid movements next to you across the room, getting a cup from the cabinet.

“What?”

Eren lifts his gaze to find exactly what he expected: Jean, subconsciously having drawn just a little too close to you for comfort, glaring over at him; you, eyes wide and questioning, the slightest hint of a frown creasing your forehead. Eren lets an easy smile grace his mouth, shrugs.

“Were there any hot girls at the gym?”

“No,” Jean answers carefully, slowly pulling his arm down, cup in hand. Eren doesn’t miss the way the two of you glance at each other, the unsaid what the fuck? passing between you two in the air.

“I figured as much,” Eren shrugs again, scrolls on his phone, “not like you’d notice, considering how much drooling you do over my girlfriend.”

The words hit the floor like a shattering glass, spreading a heavy, thick silence over the room. Eren doesn’t dare look up from his screen, doesn’t want to disturb the aura of casual conversation that he’s worked to establish. He can’t jump in to reassure Jean that he doesn’t mind the other man’s flirtation and ogling glances, not too quickly. Eren has to spin this just right, back the both of you into the corner you so desperately want to be in.

“Eren,” you finally hiss, scowling at him. Eren knows you must be confused, but you’ll understand in a moment if he can play his cards right. “What the hell?”

Jean, for his part, is stock-still and bright red, looking between you and Eren like a deer caught in headlights.

“Oh, don’t pretend like you don’t know,” Eren rolls his eyes and stands from the table, leans against it with his hands in his pockets, twitching with anticipation, “we’ve talked about his little crush on you.”

“I– I don’t,” Jean tries to stutter out a rebuttal, but Eren cuts his words short with a cool, calculated grin.

“Yeah, you do,” Eren saunters over to the kitchen to place firm hands on your shoulders, turning you to face Jean, “but if you haven’t noticed that she has a little crush on you too, then you’re blind.”

“Eren!” Eren can hear the panic in your voice, can feel your shoulders tense up with embarrassment, but he’s hardly paying attention. His eyes never leave Jean, watching as the muscles of his chest and shoulders flex with the tension humming through his body.

“What are you playing at, Jaeger?” Jean narrows his eyes, finally picking up on Eren’s little game. Eren bites back a grin; if only Jean understood what game they were actually playing here.

“Nothing,” Eren says innocently, knowing full-well that the dark glint in his eyes is telling a different story, “it’s not like I blame you, I mean, look at her.”

Eren rubs relaxing circles into the skin of your shoulders, urging you to loosen up under his touch. You’re still strung tight, practically vibrating with confusion and shame under him, but Eren can feel the way your skin’s starting to run hot. Most of that tautness in your muscles is nothing but pure, unadulterated want, Eren’s felt it enough times now to know the difference.

“Eren…” the pinch of anger has faded from your voice now, and Eren can hear the cautionary, are we doing this now? tone hiding behind the words. In response, Eren digs his thumb into a particularly tough spot between your shoulder and your neck, wrenches an unwilling gasp from you.

“She really likes you, Jean,” Eren’s leaning over your shoulder, ignoring your warning completely, practically nose-to-nose with Jean now, “wants to fuck you, wants us to fuck you.”

Jean’s face stutters while his mouth remains silent, but just before he hardens his mouth into a flat line, schools his face back into that perpetually suspicious scowl of his, Eren catches it. Jean’s trying to keep himself closed off, but Eren’s faster, and he can see the flicker of arousal that floats over Jean’s face.

“You’re fucking with me,” Jean counters, but there’s a questioning lilt to his words. Eren grins, shakes his head. Jean looks down at you, trembling and frozen in Eren’s grip. “He’s fucking with me, right?”

“Tell him,” Eren coos, leaning down to whisper hot against your ear the way he knows will get a fire started in your belly, “tell him the truth, it’s okay.”

“He’s not,” you choke out, strangled and nervous, “it’s…it’s not a game.”

Jean blinks once at you, twice at Eren. Eren grabs you by the chin, gently guides your mouth to his. All of his suspicions are confirmed when he kisses you; you open up for him a little too easily, let him suck your tongue into his mouth with no resistance at all. And when he releases you, looks back up at Jean with a question in his eyes only to find that Jean’s gaze has darkened, mouth just ever-so-slightly ajar, Eren smirks. He’s got both of you right where he wants you.

“What do you think, Kirschstein?” Eren brings his hands up to hold your breasts, twisting your nipples through the thin fabric of your tank top. “Isn’t she cute?”

“I, I mean–”

“She’s so pretty,” Eren nips at your ear, pulls a little whimper from you, but he sees how your eyes never leave Jean’s, “and she listens so well, such an obedient little thing.”

“Eren,” you pant, the last bits of your anxiety showing in the tremble of your voice. Eren shushes you disapprovingly, sneaks a hand down between your legs, applying just enough pressure to make your knees weak.

“Gets bratty when she’s nervous,” Eren explains, flitting his eyes up towards Jean, who looks like he hasn’t taken a breath in several minutes, “don’t you want to show Jean how good you can be, hm?”

“Mhm,” you hum. It’s quiet, but it makes Jean’s eyes widen, makes him suck in a sharp fuck between his teeth.

“Why don’t you kiss her, hm?” Eren shoves you into Jean’s arms, startling both of you.

“Jaeger, I don’t–”

“I’m serious,” Eren backs away a few feet to prove his point, smiling earnestly, “kiss her.”

Jean scowls, looks between you, Eren, back to you. Eren takes note of how Jean’s hands haven’t left their grip on your waist where he caught your stumble from Eren’s push, how your arms are tucked into Jean’s tacky, strong chest.

“Is he serious?” Jean murmurs down at you.

“Only if you want it.” Eren hates the self-conscious waver in your voice, wishes he could have told you everything he’s seen over the last few weeks, all the evidence he’s collected that yes, Jean very much does want it. But then again, if he had, he wouldn’t be treated with the sight before him now: you and Jean, nervous in each other’s arms, practically vibrating with the idea of exploring each other for the first time.

“I,” –Jean licks his lips– “I want it. Want you.”

“Me too,” your voice is hardly louder than a breath, Eren recognizes the sound in a heartbeat. You’re already strung out, fingernails digging ever-so-slightly into the skin of Jean’s chest.

“Can I?” Jean’s so sickeningly sweet with you, Eren almost wants to roll his eyes. He likes to be sweet with you sometimes, but if Jean only knew how much you could take, the dirty, mean things that you beg Eren for…it occurs to Eren that maybe he can show Jean sometime, and his boxers start to tent underneath his sweats.

“Yes,” you tilt your chin up to Jean pleadingly, and Jean’s resolve finally breaks.

Eren’s delighted to see that Jean’s chasteness doesn’t hold out long; after only a few minutes have passed, your hands are flying all over each other, breathless little moans passing between your mouths. Jean’s hand trails down to cup your ass, and Eren looks on intently as the flesh gives under Jean’s grip through hooded eyes. Eren’s hand has subconsciously traveled down to the front of his sweats, palming roughly at the erection that’s showing through the thick fabric.

Jean starts to wander away from your mouth, eyes shut as he peppers gentle kisses along your jawline, feather-light nips down your neck. As if he’d forgotten about your clothes, Jean’s eyes widen when he feels the strap of your tank top under his mouth, and his eyes flit to Eren in question. Eren nods at him, tries to offer an encouraging smile that comes off more like a wicked smirk.

Jean slowly– ever so slowly– slips the strap over your shoulder, kissing at the newly-bare skin. Eren already knows you’re sensitive there; Jean quickly learns from the quivering gasp that reaches his ears.

“Is this okay?” Jean mumbles against your skin; Eren has to choke down a gag at his sugary tone.

“Take it off,” Eren answers for you, cheeks burning at how coarse he already sounds, throat swollen and thick with arousal. Jean scowls at Eren over your shoulder, turns softer eyes back to you.

“Please,” you echo Eren’s sentiment, raising your arms to emphasize your answer. Eren doesn’t miss the slight shake of Jean’s fingers as he reaches for the hem of your tank top, rids you of it slowly. Once you’re bare, Jean’s eyes darken, almost glossing over.

“Fuck,” Jean breathes out, ghosting a thumb over one of your peaked nipples. Eren’s chest swells with pride at how completely wrecked you’ve gotten Jean already; he’s practically drooling down at your half-bare form.

“Told you she was pretty.” Eren grins, gripping his erection harder through his pants. You were right about this, you were so right. There’s not enough blood flow above Eren’s waistline for him to focus on how bizarre it is that he’s getting off to another man, his friend even, pawing at his girlfriend; all he can process is the tangible heat of the room, memorizing each little spot on your body Jean’s hands return to in admiration, learning which parts of you Jean likes and which actions of Jean’s make your knees shake.

You peek over your shoulder at Eren, as if you’ve just remembered he’s in the room, and his knees nearly give out. Your lips are swollen and wet from Jean’s slow, strong kisses, from pulling your lip between your teeth in shame, and your eyes are glistening with unshed tears of pure want. Eren’s never seen you so beautiful.

“Do you want to…” you trail off, offering Eren a beckoning hand, but he declines, grinning at you.

“Have your fun,” Eren says, words a sharp blade against Jean’s steadfast comfort, “you begged for it enough.”

Your mouth stutters open in embarrassment, a half-formed protest on your lips, but Jean’s deft fingers grab your chin, gently directing you back to him. He gives Eren a chastising frown, clear disapproval of Eren’s snark. Eren thinks that he likes the contrast they give you as a team; Eren the firm hand of discipline, and Jean the soothing balm to ease your cries.

“Is he telling the truth?” Jean questions you softly, free hand cupping your breast ever-so-tenderly. Eren watches your back arch, watches the way you lean desperately into Jean’s touch. “Did you beg for this?”

“Yes,” you say, voice breaking under the weight of your arousal.

“Okay,” Jean nods, as if he needs any more reassurance, Eren thinks with a roll of his eyes.

“Her mouth,” Eren calls out, unable to rein in the telltale rasp of desperation in his voice, “she’s good with her mouth.”

Jean’s eyebrows furrow in thought; Eren can see the choices flying across his face, to have you spread on the counter before him, feel the warmth of your walls around his fingers, or the soft give of your throat around his cock.

“I like doing that,” you whisper, so low Eren almost doesn’t hear you. Jean’s eyes shoot open in surprise, until a slow, understanding smile spreads over his face. Eren almost wheezes with relief.

“You like using your mouth?” Jean thumbs lovingly at your lip, smiles wider at your enthusiastic nod. Without being told (Eren decides to reward you later for being so good for your guest, showing off how well he’s trained you) you climb down onto your knees, sitting back and waiting patiently.

Jean looks back to Eren, the last thin string of hesitation taut between them and aching to be cut. Eren snaps it with an affirmative nod of his head, shoves his pants and boxers down to finally free his dick and bring it against the familiar skin of his palm.

Jean’s eyes flick to Eren’s length, pausing just a little too long. Eren doesn’t have the wherewithal to think too much into that now, only to appreciate the rush of heat it sends through his veins. In answer, Jean pushes his shorts down his legs, sending the compression boxers he’d worn for the gym sliding to the floor with them, cock bobbing free and dangling in front of your face.

“Pretty,” you murmur, wrapping your hand around the base and pressing a light kiss to the tip affectionately. Jean’s head falls back, and he groans; a throaty, appreciative sound.

Eren was growing frustrated initially with Jean’s softness towards you, but it hadn’t occurred to him that you might behave differently towards Jean than you do towards him. When you take Eren in your mouth, you’re all enthusiasm, dipping as far as you can go the moment he taps your tongue, retching on him, drool hanging in long strings from your tongue and wetting your chest.

With Jean, however, you place curious little kisses up the bottom of him, deliver kitten licks to the tip before swirling your tongue in long, slow circles around where he’s flushed and dripping for you. Jean swears repeatedly under his breath, brings a tentative hand to the back of your head to run his fingers through your hair. Eren’s own hand slows where he’s jerking off, his gaze honing in to look on in wonder as a woman he thought he knew so well reveals a new side of herself to both of the men watching her.

“That’s– shit,” Jean groans, head lolling off his shoulders and eyebrows knitted in pleasure.

Eren feels a poignant rush of pride at watching Jean become unraveled from your mouth, watching how good you make him feel. It’s a relief for Eren as much as it is for Jean, he thinks, to watch some of that iron-clad composure drop, see the way Jean’s jaw drops slack, his shoulders slouch.

“She’s good, isn’t she?” Eren hardly recognizes his own voice, gravelly as he speaks into the sticky air. Jean meets Eren’s eyes, both of their gazes half-lidded and desperate.

“So good,” Jean answers, only breaking eye contact when a satisfied little hum rings out from you, sending vibrations ricocheting through Jean’s body and making him roll his head back again, a little moan echoing out into the room.

“Doing so good for him, baby,” Eren strides closer, bold and half-mad, wanting to see the way your cheeks hollow around Jean, the way that drool is starting to collect in a glossy sheen on your chin. “You like it? Like having him down your throat?”

You nod, mouth still full and eyes shining up at them, glazed over and content. Eren softly cups the back of your head for a whisper of a moment, loving that he has this relationship with you, loving that he can watch such a sacred sight and know that you love him all the same, loving what a filthy little thing he’s turned you into.

“Fuck,” Jean exhales, eyes widening as Eren’s tenderness morphs into something urgent, shoving you further along Jean’s length, “don’t– don’t choke her–”

“That’s what she wants, isn’t it?” Eren’s affectionate gaze turns hard and expectant, hand forcing your head to move faster, harder, further. “You love having your mouth full, don’t you? Nasty little slut.”

“Mhm,” you whine around Jean’s cock, pulling a throaty groan out from him.

“You’re being– shit, too rough with her,” Jean tries and fails to shoot Eren a glare, eyes flitting back down to you when your throat constricts around him with a gag.

“She loves it,” Eren corrects him coolly, mouth quirking up at the corner when you retch, “loves being whored out. You want his cum down your throat? Show him how bad you want it.”

You slip your tongue out, letting it rub down the thick vein on the underside of Jean’s cock, opening your throat that much more for him. Jean nearly whimpers, bringing his hand to the other side of your head, holding you softer, more gently than Eren, but clearly beginning to lose himself.

“So good for me, princess,” Jean murmurs down at you, chest beginning to heave with the growing intensity of your movements. You blink up, hearts in your hooded eyes, humming around Jean affectionately. Eren chuckles darkly.

“Is that what you are? Jean’s little princess?” Eren shoves you down particularly hard, grinning cruelly as your body constricts with a vicious gag, Jean groaning loudly next to him.

“F-fuck, I’m–”

“Getting close?” Eren murmurs in Jean’s direction, never taking his eyes off of where you’re on your knees, crying and gagging and working so hard for Jean’s cum, “I bet. She’s fucking good.”

Your eyes flick between the two men towering over you, trying desperately to keep your throat open to receive the little thrusts of Jean’s hips, hands folded in your lap obediently as you squirm, rubbing your thighs together in a fruitless attempt to gain some much-needed friction. Eren notices the steady, needy rocking of your hips, smirks triumphantly.

“Look at her, like a bitch in heat,” Eren sneers, “squirming and shit, trying to get herself off with your cock down her throat. Give her what she wants, Kirschstein, come on.”

Your gaze lands on Jean, watery eyes blinking pleadingly. Eren can hear the little hitches in Jean’s breath growing more frequent, more urgent, and he isn’t sure where he wants to look more: down at you, so needy and pleading on the floor, throat stuffed and wet between the legs, or Jean, strung out and panting down at you, hips canting into your mouth harshly.

And then Jean’s cumming, and Eren realizes where he wants to look, has to squeeze the base of his cock hard. Jean throws his head back, eyes screwed shut, hand fisting into your hair and fingertips rubbing against the back of Eren’s hand, a deep, raspy groan clawing its way out of his chest. His hips push forward of their own accord; Eren can hear you coughing as Jean cums down your throat, a lot by the sound of it, but Eren can’t be bothered to look away from the other man, fucked out and untethered all from your mouth. Eren’s damn close to busting from just watching Jean cum, knowing the feeling all too well and never having anticipated how erotic it would be to watch another man be brought to his knees by you on yours.

“Holy shit,” Jean breathes, barely a whisper of a statement, chuckling airily down at you when you release him with a little pop.

“Was that…good?” You venture, smiling shyly. Eren nearly scoffs; you’re so good at playing the part of the innocent little thing, when he knows better. You’re a menace, a vixen.

“That was incredible,” Jean says, and Eren can hear the bare honesty in his statement.

“Up.” Eren interrupts your little moment with Jean to tug you to your feet. It prompts an expression of bewilderment to appear on your face, as if you’d forgotten that he needs to get off too, and so do you. Eren turns to Jean, appraises him. “I’m going to fuck her, you’re more than welcome to stay.”

“Wait, Eren–”

“Wait?” Eren chides, ripping those tiny shorts from your body like the inconvenience they are, leaving you bare and wanting. “Don’t you want to get fucked? I mean, look at you. You’re soaked.”

There’s a little glisten at the apex of your thighs, the evidence of you rubbing your legs together in a desperate attempt for stimulation shining in the low lights of the kitchen. Eren pulls you over to the chair that had started it all, where he’d been sitting when this beautiful opportunity had stumbled across him. He sits, tugging you into his lap with a smack to your ass, settling you over his cock and letting you grind yourself against it, slick him up.

“Tell me,” Eren pinches your chin, forces your eyes to his, “don’t you want me to fuck you?”

“Please, please,” you gasp, working your hips over him like a woman starved, like your last chance at salvation is getting Eren as deep inside of you as he’ll go. Eren smiles, pleased with your answer, and lifts your hips, letting you sink down on him with an endless, pitchy moan. He glances over your shoulder to see Jean, sitting across the table from you both, tugging absentmindedly on his half-hard cock and watching intently. The sight of it fuels the fire in Eren’s veins, convinces him to convince you to keep showing off, show Jean how hot you two can be when you get into it.

“Give it to me then,” Eren slaps your ass again, nips at your jaw, “show me how bad you need to be fucked, baby.”

“E-Eren,” you whine, rolling your hips down on him the way he knows you love, the way that makes a little bulge appear right at the base of your tummy, the evidence of just how deep he is.

“There you go,” he coos, grabbing your hips and working you faster, forcing you towards your orgasm as fast as he can because he knows good and well he’s not going to last, “all better, yeah? Little slut likes having her cunt stuffed full?”

“Yeah I do,” you say dreamily, eyes rolling back as Eren starts to thrust up into you in tune with the canting of your hips. He can see Jean over your shoulder, fully hard again and pulling at his cock, looking mesmerized. Eren catches Jean’s eye, smirks like a cat that’s got the cream.

“He’s watching you,” Eren murmurs to you, purposefully loud enough for Jean to hear, “watching you get fucked dumb. Gonna show Jean how pretty you are when you cum?”

“I-I–” A well-placed thrust from Eren makes you cut yourself off with a sob, hands flying to his shoulders for support. Erin grins, something feral and predatory, snapping his hips up into you harder.

“Gonna cum so fast I bet,” Eren grunts, “so needy for it, my spoiled fuckin' brat. Can’t ever be satisfied, can you?”

“Uh-uh,” you whimper, thighs already beginning to shake around his hips. Eren’s eyes are glued behind you, on Jean’s strung-out gaze, on the desperate motion of his hand around his cock. Eren wonders if just the sight of you fucking him is enough to make Jean cum again; the thought spurs him on, has him jackhammering up into you like his life depends on it.

“Quit holding out on me, then,” Eren growls, “can feel you clenching down on me, know you want to.”

“I w-want to.” A fresh wave of tears has escaped your mindless eyes, dripping down the side of your face, off your jaw, onto your chest.

“Fucking do it then,” Eren snaps, growing closer to the end of his line with every punch of his hips up into you, “show Jean what a little slut you are, how hard you cum for me. Go on, show him.”

“E-Eren, I– oh, oh fuck, I’m gonna–”

“There you go,” Eren snarls like he’s tired of waiting on you, feeling your body break and bloom all at once in his hands, “there you go, good girl.”

Eren watches Jean look on as your body thrashes, rolls with the waves of your orgasm quaking through you, the way his jaw drops a little when you wail and leave dark half-moon indentations into Eren’s shoulders. Jean’s hand is moving impossibly fast in time with Eren’s hips, and when Eren feels himself getting close, only moments away from his release, he meets eyes with Jean. Something overtakes him, something dark and unfamiliar, and Eren flits his eyes down to Jean’s cock, back up to Jean’s gaze, and nods. Jean cums with a loud groan and a shudder, triggering Eren’s orgasm. Eren clutches you to his chest desperately, pinning you down onto his cock and filling you with his cum as deep as he can manage, groaning in your ear amidst the sound of your whimpers and whines.

A beat passes, heavy and pregnant with tension. Eren and Jean are still locked eye to eye, watching each other to see who will make the first move. Jean, coated in his own release, glances down to see Eren’s cum dripping out of you, seems to come back to himself with a shudder.

“I…I’m going to shower,” he says, clunky and awkward, standing and pulling his shorts back over his softening cock, mindless of the white ropes decorating his abdomen.

“Jean?” You murmur into Eren’s skin, sitting up slightly and wincing at the feel of Eren’s half-hard cock still digging into the most sensitive parts of you.

“Yeah?” Jean stops in his tracks, looking over at you and Eren with all the tension of a wild animal that’s been caught.

“That was fun,” you smile dreamily, slumping back into Eren’s chest and blinking up at him, “don’t you think, babe?”

“Lots of fun, baby,” Eren strokes your hair, urging you to stay curled into him, knows you need to for a few minutes after he’s fucked you half-dumb, “what do you think, Kirschstein?”

“It was…” Jean gulps, looks around the room with a pink stain to his cheeks, “it was fun, yeah.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed us,” you giggle deliriously, “we’ll have to do it again sometime.”

“Is that so?” Jean eyes Eren, narrows his eyes suspiciously. Eren almost rolls his eyes, out of patience for this Jean, all cautious and nervous like he hadn’t just cum down your throat.

“I think so,” Eren says in confirmation, trailing a hand up your back soothingly, “anything for my girl, right?”

“Right,” Jean frowns, almost as if Eren had said something in another language.

“See you soon, Jeanie,” you wave him off to the shower sleepily, biting a smile back behind your swollen lips. Jean makes a swift exit, still blushing madly. “Do you think he liked it?”

“I think he loved it,” Eren chuckles down at you, still cording his fingers through any parts of your hair that aren’t a tangled mess.

“And you?”

“I’d do it again,” Eren answers you with a noncommittal shrug. You cock an eyebrow at him.

“Seemed like you really enjoyed yourself. Am I the only one with a crush on Jean?”

“I’m not gay,” Eren scoffs, rolling his eyes. You simply keep your disbelieving glare on him for an extra beat or two; Eren squirms uncomfortably under your knowing gaze, not necessarily wanting to confront this while he’s still balls-deep in you. To his relief, you ease up, gingerly stepping off of him and offering him a hand.

“Mmm, okay. We’ll talk after a shower?”

“Fine,” Eren grumbles, letting you pull him towards his half of the apartment and hoping you don’t notice the quick glance he shoots over his shoulder, catching a flash of Jean’s bare skin as he steps into his bathroom.

#hehehe #i'm so thrilled to be posting u guys have no idea #eren jaeger x reader #jean kirschstein x reader #eren yeager x reader #jean kirstein x reader #aot x reader #eren jaeger smut #jean kirschstein smut #jean kirstein smut #eren yeager smut #jean x you

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shankss-magnificent-ass · 3 months

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Imagine DND night with the beast pirates

During one session

Queen: Alright, you idiots somehow managed to kidnap the ambassador. You have him tied up in the dank, dark, dilapidated dungeon of the old capital ruins.

King: We need to interrogate him for answers, it's clear that he's working for the necromancer, he might know where he is. I roll for intimidation, *rolls* sixteen.

Queen: *mutters,* of course that is where you go with it, pervert. *Speaks loudly,* Your intimidation is only slightly successful. The ambassador knows his life is in danger and needs to flee. However, he refuses to answer your questions. He proclaims, "I will never tell you anything, I shall be loyal to my master till my last breath!"

Kaido: *really in the character of his half-orc barbarian* that can be arranged, little man.

Queen: *rolls for him* The ambassador stutters, his voice quivering, "I just received messages from him and carried out his bidding, I don't know where he is really."

Yamato: Perception check, I'd like to see if he is lying.

Queen: you'll need a nineteen or higher, Are you sure you want to do that?

Yamato: *rolls* nat 20.

Queen: you can tell he's lying big time, you can practically smell the nervous flop sweat on this guy from across the room.

You: I can make him talk, I cast heat metal on his bones.

Queen: heat metal only works on metal, it's literally in the name of the spell. It doesn't work on bones, since they're made of calcium.

You: and calcium is a soft metal.

Queen: what's your source.

You: *came prepared to dispute this because you've been looking for an excuse to use this knowledge for evil. You pulled out an advanced chemistry textbook with the page bookmarked and the section highlighted, and handed it to him.* Read it and weep.

Queen: *puts on his reading glasses to read it* ... Dear god, okay, you cast heat metal, roll a d10 for me.

You: *rolls* 8

Queen: and with a plus three modifiers... you heat his bones until he's screaming. The ambassador lasts only thirty seconds before he reveals that the wizard necromancer, Typhus the Terrible, lives in the glittering palace deep in the inky caverns of Roptian, which is guarded by the onyx dragon.

Sasaki: yer kind of scary sometimes.

You: thank you.

At another session

Queen: okay, you enter the throne room, and the evil wizard is lounging on the glittering throne, Typhus the Terrible.

King: I roll for initiative *rolls dice*

Queen: critical fail, your fighter is dead.

Kaido: *rolls for attack* critical fail.. Hmm, I hate this game.

Queen: you are also dead, (y/n), you are the only one left with any spell slots or turns left. What are you gonna do?

You: ... I would like to cast summon water

King: there goes that campaign.

Queen: that spell lets you fill a space with water, are you sure that's what you want to do.

You: yes

Queen: the room fills with water

You: I didn't cast it in the room.

Queen: where then did you cast it?

You: inside the wizard's skull.

The whole room: *horrified*

Queen: you can't do that

You: the spell specifies that it fills a space, and a skull cavity is a space. And you let me fill the chest down the hall with water, why not this dude's head?

Queen: ugh, hang on a minute, I need to figure out the damage.... You killed the boss... You flooded his brain with so much water, that his skull exploded.

King: that's the most messed up thing I've ever heard.

Kaido: *mutters* we've done worse.

You: you should be very glad I don't have a devil fruit

King: I'm starting to see that now, thank you.

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#from the depths of the dragon's hoard #tma original #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece imagine #king the wildfire #king the conflagration #kaido #op #sasaki #queen #queen the plague #yamato #no beta we die like men #dnd #1/29/24

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sad-drake-lyrics · 8 months

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what my 65yo father has to say about antis:

let me preface this by saying, i literally wish i had what just happened on video to go viral on TikTok. i was shook by this conversation down to my bones; and if you could see my father - a loud old Italian man with dramatic hand gestures - say what he had to say, i think this shit would blow up. but as i was obviously not filming him while we were eating, i will have to relay to you the story with my words.

so i'm sitting eating dinner at the coffee table with my father while watching TV, as Americans often do instead of eating at the dinner table, and since the news was on he started telling me this story that had been recently mentioned on TV once again from maybe ten years ago (it was in 2014, you can read about it here) where these two 12-year-old girls killed one of their friends as a sacrifice to the Slender Man. yeah, real thing. fucked up.

and so my father told me about how they interviewed one of the killer's mothers, and when questioned about where her daughter's motive could've come from, she said something along the lines of: you know, when i was a kid, i was into Stephen King and horror - and so when my kid was into that kind of stuff, i didn’t think it was a big deal.

so, of course, my response was "yeah, being into that stuff isn’t a big deal at all - it's normal - but being a sociopath and murdering someone is not normal; it's fucked up. but there's nothing wrong with being into horror stories - they're just stories meant to entertain - it doesn't make you a murderer to enjoy Halloween - but it would if you put on a Michael Myers mask and went out and stabbed people." and, of course, like any sane person, my father agreed with me.

then, continuing this line of conversation, i started talking about the concept of how "fiction isn’t reality," and how a frightening amount of people don't understand that; and i literally started telling him about antis - people on the internet who attack and harass others over "problematic" or "inappropriate" fictional interests.

i used well-known pop culture examples like: if you're into Game of Thrones and like Jaime and Cersei together or wanted Jon and Daenerys to end up together (i didn't think he would process the term "shipping," but clearly by the end of this conversation i think i was wrong), that people (antis) will say things like "you should die," and that you "support inc*st in real life," and that "you're disgusting."

i also used the examples of "toxic relationships" in pop culture, like the Joker and Harley Quinn, or Kylo Ren and Rey, and how if you’re into those kinds of fictional relationships that people (antis) will say that you "support toxic relationships," and that you are "glorifying abuse," and that it all "must be what you really want and believe is right or good."

and my fucking 65-year-old father literally goes: "I don’t understand. It’s a TV show. Don't they know it’s fake?"

queue my jaw dropping to the fucking ground because i'm like. YES. THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT PRO-SHIPPERS ARE TRYING TO SAY AND THESE PEOPLE DON'T GET IT.

he was flabbergasted, my pals. the shock in his eyes was incredible to behold.

and, oh boy, that isn't even the best part, guys.

my father then says, "Don’t tell me it’s like that with anime too?"

and i said, "it's worse with anime."

and i fucking swear to you - no joke, on my life and baby Jesus' cradle - again my 65-year-old father looks at me and says, “It’s a fucken cartoon."

... ... ...

... i can't ...

i can't end this post better than that.

#anti anti #anti harassment #proship #proshipper #proshipping #pro ship #pro fiction #pro shipper #pro shipping #profic #comship #proship safe #comship safe #proship positivity #anti censorship #ship discourse #fiction is not reality #fiction is fiction #ship and let ship

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thechekhov · 3 months

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Chekhov Reads Dungeon Meshi: CH46

D....dark Laios?

I mean, you DID consent!

The fact that ghosts can pass through walls and take other things with them... it kind of elicits another type of organism. Like, what can pass through cell walls? What other parts of the body can just yoink stuff from one place and bring it to another?

Congrats! It's all just been a dream!

I'm sorry what the SHIT?!?!?

Well, I-- .... yeah, I GUESS.

Though it looks more like one of those carousel horses.

I think this is probably still inside the dungeon. Very... DEEP. Inside the dungeon.

What? WHAT?! These things are like regular animals down here???

Oh, I--hm. I see.

Ordered by WHOMST?

Is this just an entire society of (humans??? ghosts?) that lives here in the dungeon deep? Is there still a king under the mountain? Are the rumors of the king dying not true at all?

........or are these people and descendants of adventurers who came in but were never able to leave? And the fact that Senshi points out that none of them are old.... are they ageing?

Laios, Senshi n--...... welp. There they go.

Bless this man and his absolutely non sexual obsession with monsters. But.

Izutsumi, who is a human-level intellect beastkin (though she's low on wisdom and patience....) is being very.... beast-ly and soft here. She's being magically compelled, presumably, to chill the fuck out.

Which means all these monsters are also under the same effect? Isn't that a little fucked up? They're basically under a permanent drugged effect.

Also. Hm. 'short lifespan' is....relative. Short lifespan compared to what? Immortality?

Orcs know this place exists....?

These people planting things for fun means they're absolutely trapped here like spirits.

Keeping up appearances for. Whom.

These poor people have no new incomers to talk to, huh.

Oh, I uh---- ................ hm. THat's not at all what I was imagining either.

Fashion is cyclical after all I guess....

Mmmmm. Mmmm-hmmmMMM.

WHEEEEZXE

Knowing I've finally hit these two absolutely iconic panels... amazing.

......I guess it can only do so much to make her docile...... she still doesn't like Laios.

Why does he look familiar...?

....so Derghal had a son. And a grandson. So then why is there a bid for the throne...?

Laios. Laios, is milking the minotaur the ONLY thing you did? Or was there more to it? Laios.

It's interesting. That bartender said he was 600 when he started his now-400 year old ale. So. That means they're 1000 years old.

That means that they're about as long lived as elves? Haven't gone mad yet. But that's still a long time.

That's kinda worse, yeah, but a loss of the self is a type of death, in a way...? So....

The most throwback of all time.

Actually, I feel like that's been there for a while, although it didn't always look EXACTLY like a lion's head. I feel like the little living armor he keeps in there made it that design? But how would it do that on purpose?

this is what it looked like some chapters back. Yeah, it's been sculpting into a lion's mane for a while now.... Ohohohoh playing the long game are we? 👀

Ah, it's not a wolf. How tragic for you, Laios. It'll never work out.

Also, damn, those wings sure be lookin like Falin's very non-dragon wings. What a wild coincidence. I'm sure that doesn't mean anything. :)

laughing hysterically. This poor guy can't get a break. He's been running from responsibility and inheritance for his entire life and it still catches up and trips him purposefully.

There is definitely a certain amount of tragedy there, yeah. These people aren't asking Laios for help because it's easier. They're legitimately stuck in a nightmare scenario. Unless you're someone who can get pleasure from other avenues, living all that time without the basic needs will drive a person mad. Elves live just as long, presumably, but they're still able to eat, I assume.

I'm honestly more surprised they're all as sane as they are.

.......King of Forgor.

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi liveblog #dungeon meshi quick reacts #chekhov reads dungeon meshi

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bardic-inspo · 2 months

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Blood in the Mortar

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Vampire Bride Tav

Rating: Explicit (Smut!!)

Key Tags: Vampire/Blood Bride Lore, Service Dom Astarion, Sexy Use of Telepathic Bond, Evil Power Couple, Torturing a Captive, Choking, Biting/Blood, Masquerade, PIV, Cunnilingus

Summary:

“I wanted to see you right where you belong,” Astarion whispers, the sound as sheer as the lace he wrecked. “So beautiful on your throne.” It started on Naomi’s knees, this new life of passion and pleasure unbridled. Astarion didn’t know he’d be hers, just as much as she’d be his, when he bit her thrice, bled her dry, and gave her just one drop of his ascended blood.

Cross-posting from my AO3 account. This is my first BG3 smut fic. If you like it, I'd love to know! Click here if you'd prefer to read on AO3.

“To whom can a vampire bare its soul and admit its fears? From whom can it receive consolation for the past, comfort for the present, and hope for the future?...The vampire is drawn emotionally to a mortal and decides, because of the strength of this emotion, to make her his bride…The happiness of the vampire becomes tied up with the prospective bride, and its well-being depends on hers.”

-Van Richten’s Monster Hunter’s Compendium, Vol 1

Astarion twists the stem of his wine glass, idly tilting the contents within. His assorted guests warp in the bulb of it, swaying between rosy red and clear crystal.

A gravelly voice interrupts his game. “Quite the menagerie you’ve gathered here, Lord Ancunín.”

Astarion doesn’t bother to stifle his sigh. There’s no mistaking him as the lord of the house, even masked as he is. Astarion’s ensemble this evening is pitch dark velvet swirled in crimson thread and snaking silver. His mask glimmers in the same shade of scaled metal, set to complement the curve of his cheekbones, with only miniscule, twinkling rubies encrusting the edges. Nothing meant to outshine the searing color of his eyes. The mask might be silver, but it’s a red dragon Astarion embodies for this particular masquerade.

This party’s for more monstrous company, after all.

No expense was spared for the ‘menagerie’. A grand piano, polished to an opalescent white, plays under spectral hands at the heart of the ballroom alongside a string quartet. A starlit Baldur’s Gate glistens outside the windowed east wall, framed in gold drapery to match the shimmering flecks in the white marble floor. Lavish wine and better blood pour freely; his guests have only to lift their empty glasses to have them brimming again.

Even with all the ornate masks, in the shapes of creatures exotic or fierce, none of the fangs in the room are fake. All the titles are, save for his and his consort’s. Astarion’s lip curls with distaste.

This masquerade was meant for nobility of a supernatural stature. Vampires, warlocks, lycanthropes. Those who lead them. But what his doors received were lowly spawn. Servants sent in their masters’ stead to get just a glimpse of the one and only vampire ascendant, and then to scurry back and tell tale of him. Cowards.

There’s only one human here who’s just human.

Astarion offers him a well-practiced shrug of a laugh. “I do hope you don’t feel out of place among us more…colorful sorts. Lord…? Forgive me, what was it again?”

“Isn’t the point of a masquerade not to bother with such trivialities?” The stranger chuckles hastily. “In any case, I am not lord. Only a humble apprentice to the most renowned wizard Waterdeep has to offer.”

Ah, yes. The invitation was sent for the newly named archmage, filling the god-shaped hole Gale left behind in the wake of his own ascension. Astarion’s eyes flit over the lanky, unkempt apprentice who addresses him instead.

His hair hangs in honey blonde waves past his shoulders, like the mane of the beast he seeks to imitate. It’s a lion’s mask the apprentice wears. Perhaps a poor attempt at humor. The effort would’ve been better paid towards penance, and a sheep’s head would’ve suited him far better than the guise of a predator. Anything would’ve been more fitting than the baggy business he calls a shirt.

Astarion clicks his tongue. “That still doesn’t give me a thing to call you.”

“I am Enrik, if it pleases you.”

“No surname?” Astarion asks with an arched brow.

“None of consequence, my lord,” he replies with the uneasy edge Astarion’s entitled to.

“Well, Enrik, I hope you find our masquerade pleasing.”

“It has certainly been enlightening thus far.”

“And how’s that?” Astarion asks brusquely. He never did like wizards.

He doesn’t like the look on this one’s face, either. The lion that should be a sheep surveys the room with a pitying expression, like he’s watching some petty amusement. A zoo. Gods, or a circus. And what would that make him, Astarion the Ascended, if not a clown? Astarion’s fingers tighten on the stem of his glass, an imperceptible change to any eyes not keen enough to catch it.

“Why, it’s been only a year since your ascension,” Enrik says. “You’ve accomplished much in short order. It’s quite remarkable.”

Astarion’s nose twitches. Praise. From cattle. How quaint, and ill-fitting.

His expression abruptly eases. A refined, familiar scent carries to him from across the crowd. A note of lavender, twined with his favored bergamot.

“And you’ve already enthralled some truly magnificent specimens,” Enrik carries on, oblivious. “Take this fine creature, for example. What a pretty thing to have strung along on your leash.”

Astarion feels her before he sees her. She wipes a palm down the sheath of her skirt, smoothing out some infinitesimal wrinkle. The music smooths, too. With that one simple motion, it bends and blends into something deeper, fuller. All of the lesser spawn of Astarion’s making straighten their slouched shoulders.

He feels the tug of her in his head, and then the cool stroke of her hand to his back, the soothing feel of her fingers combing through his hair, and the gentle scrape of her nails against his scalp. It takes a concerted effort to suppress the pleased groan that bubbles in the back of his throat. All this from across the room, without so much as a glance, let alone a touch.

Hello, darling, he thinks, and she hears it just as if he’d spoken aloud. Aren’t you ravishing?

Her skirt is snow-white crepe that clings taut to her shapely hips before fanning out at her feet. It’s the same lovely shade of ivory as her hair, twisted in a braid like a crown around her head, with the rest falling sleek down her back. A black lace bodice sets just off her lilac shoulders, with gloves to match. Floral stitching vees down from her waistline. The same embellishments decorate the skirt’s edges.

His dark consort, his Naomi once-Tavriel-now-Ancunín, weaves leisurely through the partygoers. The thorny prickle of Astarion’s irritation inspires a little lift at the corner of her mouth.

I’ve been called so much worse, she thinks. It sounds suspiciously like a laugh. I think you called me ‘creature’ just yesterday. Should I not have taken it as a compliment?

Astarion’s scowls. He should be grateful to have your name in his mouth. To even set foot in our home. Let alone speak to me like that. Or at all.

But think of how much fun he’s started, she answers, chipper. You were so bored before.

She’s not wrong.

If they’re not the guests you wanted, Naomi continues, cool and calm, then they’re intruders, aren’t they? Whatever should we do with them?

A slow smile steals its way onto his lips. Just when I thought I couldn’t love you more. Miracles never cease.

“Do you know what they call her?” Astarion says aloud, to worse company. “Other than mine, of course.”

“She was the hero of Baldur’s Gate.”

Astarion waves a manicured hand irritably, as if swatting away a stray fly. “One of them, true, but isn’t there another name that comes to mind?”

The man swallows thickly. “The Siren of the Sword Coast.”

"And yet here you are," Astarion sneers, "ready to dash yourself upon the rocks like a little ship blown astray. I can hardly blame you."

His eyes soften, just past the shoulder of Enrik’s gaudy doublet. In the low flutter of candlelight, he spies the sheen of amethysts set among delicate feathers wrought from silver. He'd had the mask made for Naomi with the likeness of a swan in mind.

Still, as pretty as it is, his favorite gleam is those eyes. She still kept the kiss of violet in them, even in death. It mingles with the red in her irises, like a rich, dark wine.

"She is captivating, isn’t she?" Astarion sighs, a faint smile grazing his lips. "My beautiful bride."

“Forgive me my lord, I meant no offense,” Enrik says, eyes down with deference. “I’m merely an admirer of fine things. And a messenger for my fine master.”

“Do your duty, then,” Astarion says tersely, his smile evaporating.

“My master understands that power is the only currency that holds any weight for men of your making. He has much of it to share, if you're likewise inclined.”

Astarion laughs coldly. “And what does your master wish for me to share with him, exactly? I don’t bite just anyone, after all.”

A swallow bobs in Enrik’s throat. “He only means to make mutual use of your shared arsenal. Like you mean to make of his, my lord. He could work wonders with even just one scream. He could bottle it--”

Astarion clenches the wine glass in a chokehold. He could kill this wretched cretin here, now, bare-handed. Or have him drawn and quartered. Or--

No one knows their manners these days, Naomi sighs inside his head. But if you want to play along and see what this archmage would pay, I’ll--

Astarion’s jaw clenches. You won’t be screaming for him, little love.

It earns him an eyeroll. It wouldn’t be like that--

It won’t be at all. Astarions sends his answer with the weight of a stone.

He sips his wine, boring into Enrik with a hard stare. “Don’t you know swans make the most achingly beautiful music?”

Enrik’s eyes dart anxiously over Astarion’s burning ones. “Only just before they die, so the stories go.”

“Before someone does,” Astarion drawls, as the vintage seeps sweetly down his throat. “You see, my beloved, oh, she’s a monster, too. She so does love the taste of blood in her mouth, now that she’s supped of mine.”

Enrik edges back, shoulders hunched small like the prey he is. “I-I’m just a messenger my lord. Killing me after you’ve so graciously offered your hospitality would be the same as breaking a mirror. It would only cast ill luck on you and your house.”

A gloved hand wraps Enrik’s shoulder. He shirks from that delicate grip like it's scalding. At long last, he finds the decency to shut up.

Naomi’s fangs gleam like the bottle in her hand. “More wine?”

The white marble of the ballroom shimmers like freshly fallen snow. All the curtains are drawn back, cinched aside for good measure. Shadow and sunlight slice the floor in slanted strips. Gritty ash piles where the light lies, coils of rope strewn among the gray dust of guests gone for good.

Only one remains.

Sprawled motionless across the floor, Enrik lies nose-to-nose with the knife edge of day and darkness. It’s only a silhouette that keeps him from being swallowed by the glow. Only Astarion’s grace shades him.

The vampire ascendant cuts a sharp shadow before the arched windowpane. Brightness clings, soft as clouds, to his curls, his lean edges, and his jaw. His velvet coat crumples at his heels as if it were nothing more precious than the ash heaped around him. He’s blessedly bare from the waist-up, resplendent in the sunlight while he surveys his domain awash with it.

It calls to mind the man who took Naomi out into the woods all those months and nights ago. What he looked like when she woke and found his back arched, chin tilted skyward. What she’d do, and what little she wouldn’t, to see Astarion slip into bliss every day as easily as slipping out of a coat.

It’s Naomi’s grace that finally rouses their disheveled company. A rolling melody, played on piano, pours from her fingertips and crests with the morning birdsong drifting in. Enrik groans against the grain of it.

At once, the music cuts to quiet. Naomi’s hands hover over the keys, knuckles twitching in faint longing. Then, she turns on the bench and turns her attention towards her restless audience.

“Good morning,” she says brightly.

Enrik squints up at her. His brown eyes leak with the light, even though he’s sheltered from it. They dart across the room, skimming like stones over water, before they sear into Naomi.

“You.”

“Who else were you expecting? You’re in my home.”

Rope binds Enrik’s hands and heels. He tugs at the ties, or tries to. He hasn’t yet figured out it’s all for not.

Naomi stands, her heels clicking staccato to the tile. As she goes, she paints a palm over the piano keys, stroking each octave from root to rise. Music flows freely again all on its own, even when her hand falls away.

She comes to loom over her captive, lips pursed. “I hear you said some very rude things to my husband.”

Enrik folds against the floor, panting for breath.

“You should be so grateful for our hospitality,” she says. “Should have been. That’s all behind us now, isn’t it?”

Feral noise rips from his throat. Like a dog, he lunges, snapping for her ankles. She side-steps into the light, not bothering to flee any farther than an inch. He freezes, ogling the shiny toe of her shoe now parallel to his nose.

“You don’t fear the sun?” he gasps, quivering.

“I need not fear anything.”

Naomi lifts her head, meeting a scarlet stare brimming in equal measures affection and amusement. Sunlights melts over the bare of Astarion’s chest, spurring her tongue to wet her lips. He leans against the glass, head angled back, eyes slitted in satisfaction. A slow smile unfurls on his face.

“You should be grateful, too,” Naomi says with a sneer, “to lay here and not just a little to the left.”

“W-What do you mean? What did you do to me?!” Enrik’s eyes bulge. He squirms in a sudden panic, to no avail.

Naomi tilts her neck to the side and taps at the scar Astarion’s teeth marked her with. Her fingers fan down on her own throat, savoring the shape of that succulent memory. Of the last bite he gave her in life. Of his lips swirling comfort into her skin before sucking her down to the last drop. Of the look on his face, the awe he had, when she next woke.

The faintest leak of breath, soft as down, passes from Astarion’s mouth.

“You--you--! You turned me!” Her hostage sputters. Naomi frowns darkly.

“Oh not me,” Naomi snaps, incredulous. “I’m only a weak little spawn puppet, according to you. According to you, the only good thing I can do is scream. How could I manage to turn you without choking on my own leash?”

She gags for good measure. He doesn’t get the joke. He hasn’t caught on to the other joke yet. Which means she’s safe as can be, even this close. So long as she stands on the other edge of Astarion’s shadow.

Astarion turns. His silhouette twists with his movement. Enrik shrieks like a swine.

“Oh, that wasn’t good at all. You can do better.” Naomi presses out a strained sigh, crouching down to fist a hand in his hair and yank his head upright.

Enrik bares his teeth as if they aren’t dull and flat. “Filthy bitch!”

The insult doesn’t so much as chip Naomi’s serene composure, but it puts a twang in her head, along the invisible string that links her and Astarion. His anger lashes in her mind like a restless tail.

“What a vile little ingrate,” Astarion snarls.

She lets her hostage’s head roll from her palm, cheek smacking the tile. Enrik writhes against his restraints. Naomi clicks her tongue in reproach. I’ve barely even touched you yet.

Green magic threads between her gloved fingers, glittering. She snaps them and says, “Scream.”

And he does. Loud enough to drown out the crescendo coursing from the grand piano. Inside of Enrik’s skull, the song isn’t nearly so sweet. His back jerks up and away from the floor, head bent back, eyes torn wide in terror.

His cries pitch with the slink of Astarion’s shadow stretching nearer. Sunlight clings close behind his heels. Naomi’s fingers flex and the spell recedes.

Her magic leaves Enrik sniveling, inching like a worm away from the slice of light between Astarion’s legs. Astarion huffs softly. With a wave of his hand, a ghostly one apparates behind him and snags the curtains closed.

Astarion’s scent sweeps with his sleeve -- the sweetness of brandy, mingled with the woodsy smell of rosemary. His knuckles gently brush the side of Naomi’s cheek. Instinctively, she leans towards the touch.

“Precious thing,” Astarion chides with a pout. “You’re being far too sweet to him. Here I thought you only had room in your heart for me.”

Naomi inclines her head, eyes narrowing by a hair. “My sire would see me be crueler?”

Astarion’s thumb grazes her lips. At once, she parts for him, teasing the pad of it with her tongue while he toys with the tip of a fang. He presses in, watching his skin bend to near-breaking, as if to test her sharpness. Before any blood’s drawn, he draws his hand down to cradle her chin. His voice is smooth as satin, though his stare is a hardened one.

“Your sire would see you spoken to with the respect you’re owed. And he needs you to kneel, dear one.”

The words are a weight to her shoulder, easing her down. But the heft is a comfort, not a compulsion. He could compel her, if he wanted to.

He hasn’t yet.

One day, she thinks, he will. And he’ll feel the weight of whatever chains he’d wrap her in through the bond that binds them tighter than the tadpole did. He won’t do it without good reason. Naomi doesn’t need a reason to kneel for her lover. That he wishes it is enough.

When her knees meet the ground, she feels the shape of Astarion’s smile pressed against their bond like it’s pressed, wet and wanting, against her mouth. She feels the dainty tug of his teeth coax her lips apart. Tastes the coppery tang of her own blood and the velvet undercurrent of his within her veins. The heat of him, still such a novel thing in his ascended body, bleeds from his skin to hers, fanning the newfound ache between her thighs.

In her mind, and his, his lips pour down her bare shoulders. His fingers fist in the fine fabric of her dress, ripping it to ruin. He leaves none of her untouched. To anyone else’s eye, they’re not even touching.

Naomi’s eyelids flutter. She downs a hard swallow. Good girl, he says, just for her.

To their captive audience, he spares no such kindness. Astarion raises his foot above Enrik’s ankles, letting it dangle for a moment. It drops like a hammer to an anvil. Enrik bucks with a fresh scream and a sickening crack.

“I’d never give a miserable little wretch like you the gift of immortality,” Astarion spits. “You wouldn’t know how to appreciate it.”

Confusion flits between the pain and panic in Enrik’s eyes.

“That’s right,” Astarion seethes. “You’re not a vampire. You aren’t worth my consort’s teeth. Or mine.”

Crunch. Another ankle shatters. Another shriek claws the air. Astarion strolls, leisurely, to Enrik's hands next. He grounds his heel into the pop of fingers breaking beneath his boots. Their hostage heaves a broken sob.

“Sh, sh, sh, oh, it’s all right,” Astarion croons. “I happen to have just the knife for you.”

Astarion crosses back to his coat piled near the window and draws a dagger from its folds. Rhapsody. Cazador’s blade. Naomi hasn’t seen it since they claimed the Crimson Palace for themselves.

Brightness glints off the twined edge, a match for the harsh and singular focus gleaming in Astarion’s gaze.

So that’s what Astarion was smiling about, as he basked by the window. What had him so peacefully quiet and content. Murder was on his mind, even then.

Not the only thing on my mind, little love. She feels the slant of his smirk in her head, as if it ghosted past the hinge of her jaw. There’s no trace of it on Astarion’s stony exterior.

He plucks the crystal wine glass from the sill while he’s there, rotating the stem as he saunters back over. Blood flecks the fine leather of Astarion’s shoes. He plants them on either side of Enrik’s torso. He seizes Enrik’s collar, yanking harshly until he’s kneeling, too.

“Fuck you,” Enrik spits. “Fuck you both! My master will--”

“Darling,” Astarion trills, grip unwavering, “Would you..?”

Magic swirls sticky across Naomi’s tongue. “Ad Lapidē.”

Violet runes blaze to life beneath their captive’s knees, capturing him in perfect stillness. His mouth hangs agape with unspent vitriol. Astarion’s hands recoil, twisting the dagger in one, and the glass in the other.

“Your master,” Astarion sneers with a dark laugh. “Too much of a coward to show his face, so he sends you. His sacrificial lamb, sent to speak to me about sharing my dearest treasure, like he isn’t the scum beneath her shoes. He had to know I wouldn’t hear of it. But he didn’t care enough about you to even taint your blood. That’s right. My lesser spawn sampled you just like they would any cattle. But my beautiful bride hasn’t had one bite, not yet. Not until I was sure you were sweet enough for her palate.”

Astarion strokes Rhapsody down the man’s outstretched neck. The barest streak of blood leaks from the scrape. Astarion’s eyes skate over the ash piles around the room, wistful.

“All it took was a sleeping potion,” he muses. “Just a few drops. Now all of the spawnlings sent by all of my lessers are dust. You’ll wish to join them, before this is done. And you will. When I decide we’re done.”

Naomi’s eyes fasten to the blood beading down Enrik’s pallid throat. Astarion digs in ever-so-gently with Rhapsody’s tip, just enough to start a stream running. He presses the cup beneath it. Slowly, the crystal fills red to the brim. Her mouth waters.

Astarion looks up abruptly, eyes wide and soft as his malice dissolves to fondness. “Darling, you do look famished. Open up for me, dear.”

Naomi’s chin lifts, lips parted. Astarion tilts the glass to meet her with the utmost care.

“I won’t have your grime and sweat on her lips,” Astarion hisses in Enrik’s ear. “Only your blood. You don’t deserve that…” He sucks a sharp breath in. Naomi watches with rapt attention as it stutters through his chest. “...pretty little mouth.”

Blood, rich and smooth as cream, slips across her tongue. Her eyes slip shut with it. With each swallow, syrupy warmth spreads slowly through her chest, down her legs, through arms, to her every inch. Too soon, it’s taken from her. Naomi’s eyes flutter open. She’s taken all of it, already.

“More, my love?” Astarion hums happily. “You only have to ask.”

“More,” she says at once, lips still wet.

Astarion carves. The insolent apprentice bleeds without a sound. Again and again, the cup fills. He tips it to her lips, and Naomi drinks until her eyelids grow heavy.

Her body thrums like it remembers the pulse that used to play through her veins. She’s warmer than a dead woman should be. Even the air itself feels like the kiss of steam tingling against her skin.

It’s then that Naomi feels Astarion’s lips in her head again, sucking little marks down her throat that match the rosy flush heating her cheeks. She pants out of habit, out of instinct, and not of need. Out of want for him to watch what he does to her. As if he doesn’t already know.

One twist of Astarion’s wrist turns the little leak of blood from Enrik’s throat into a fountain. Naomi’s spell dissipates in violet sparks. His body slumps over, lifeless. Blood runs from him in little rivers, rushing to fill the grout lines between the tiles.

Astarion cradles one last glassful in a delicate grip. His face clears of any clouded rage as he gives the glass an experimental swirl. Wordlessly, he tilts the cup to her mouth once more.

Naomi gasps. Wetness paints her chin. It streams down her neck, drips down her sternum and between her breasts, still bound in lace. Astarion drips with it, down to his knees in fluid motion. Somewhere behind him, the wine glass shatters. In her periphery, she sees the shards glitter like frost.

“Oops,” he says, low and shameless.

Barely any blood made it to Naomi’s mouth this time, but she doesn’t mind one bit. Astarion crawls to her, catlike. She’s only spared a moment to admire the lithe muscle flexing through his naked chest before he leans into the hollow of her throat. Silver curls brush soft beneath her chin. And then, she feels the tip of that devilish tongue take a tentative lick of the mess he’s made.

And gods, what a mess she must be. Blood smears from her neck to her navel, near-black on her blue-gray skin. Dark like Astarion’s eyes, with pupils blown wide and hungry. A flare of heat twists low in Naomi’s stomach. Her thighs shift, wet with it.

Thread rips in her ears. Rhapsody drags delicately down her side, scratching faint like a quill. The lace of her gown splits without resistance. There's none to be had against that mouth of his, just as busy as his nimble hands.

Astarion laps, dainty, down the path of her swallow. His coy smile curves with a petal-soft laugh against her collar bone. Naomi laughs, too, breathless as his tongue chases lazily after the spill. Breathless as the day he took the last breath she needed.

Ever since, Astarion’s given her everything she could want, without leaving her wanting for more than a moment. Now, her knees will never grow numb, no matter how long they bend against the marble. The chill of it can’t phase her, either. Even if it could, Astarion’s drawn the curtains wide. When she kneels for him, it’s only ever on sun-soaked stone.

Astarion treasures her. Cherishes her. Lavishes her with love and pleasure and wealth and power. Preserves her like prized silver, polished with such devotion so she’ll never know the tarnish of time. She’s his spawn. His wife.

But above all else, she’s his pride. The very thing that rules him. The only thing that still does.

Naomi wants to be in ruins with him. To be the last pillars of a broken world already so far beyond repair before they were dragged through it. Aeterna amantes. Until the fall of everything.

Until then, this, the low groan he gives her while her fingers stroke red through the plush white of his hair, the heady hum in her blood, the bloom of someone else’s waking color in her cheeks, the way Astarion looks at her like there’s nothing else at all, the way he tears into a dress he paid a fortune for, the hand he knots through her braids to wreck them -- this is everything.

Astarion tosses Rhapsody over his shoulder to join the broken wine glass, just like any other worthless trinket. His deft hands curl into the tears in her bodice and tug. At once, it gives way to his grip. She would, too, were it not so binding. Naomi grounds out a gasp. Her skirt pools at her knees, leaving her bare but for the warmth of Astarion’s roaming hands and the daylight pouring over them both.

“Do you know why I wanted you down here, pet?” He asks softly.

Astarion’s eyes latch to hers while his teeth toy at the curve of her breast. His tongue slicks over to soothe where his fangs grazed her, and then it melts against a pert nipple, taking it in with a lewd suck.

Naomi paws for a coherent thought, but all she finds is a pleading hum. He nips her again, just enough to see her tit tremble from the pull when he draws away. He leaves her nipple glistening and the underside of her breast peppered in pink before moving on to the other.

“To torture me, clearly,” Naomi pants. Her hands still tangle in his hair. Amusement glimmers in his gaze as he plants a chaste kiss to the inside of one of her wrists and sets them both back at her sides.

“Oh no, my sweet. I would never,” he says, chin resting flat against her navel. He looks up at her with wide, doey eyes, full of faux innocence.

He slinks lower, laying a line with his tongue that ends in a kiss just above where her skirts still shield her. He shifts them aside, ripping where he needs, until it’s only one little piece of black lace covering her cunt. Astarion growls against it, nosing at its edges, his back bowed, stomach brushing the floor. His teeth find the waistband and tear that, too.

Hot breath fans across the other mess he made. Naomi wavers on her knees. From that minute motion alone, she can hear how he’s soaked her.

But Astarion doesn’t disprove her theory; he leans back abruptly, straightening up to his knees again. An arm loops slack around her waist as he circles around to her bare back. Naomi’s lips twitch. If this is the game he wants, it’s too soon to beg. The thought inspires another needy flex through her cunt. His other hand slides to cup the heat of it, and Naomi whines. Reflexively, her back arches. Astarion pulls her still.

He catches the side of her jaw, angling her back into a biting kiss. It’s over before she wants it to be, his lips red and glistening with what he stole from her. Without him, her mouth burns from the cut.

“I wanted to see you right where you belong,” he whispers, the sound as sheer as the lace he wrecked. “So beautiful on your throne.”

For a brief moment, he draws away entirely, leaving her with nothing but a lonely chill. And then, his back comes flush to the floor beneath her. His body splays behind her. The heat of his mouth crests against the heat of her cunt, his face fitted between her thighs, his lips hovering so close, but not close enough. His breath alone snags the one halfway through her throat.

“Oh,” her realization comes out quivering.

The tip of his nose nudges, just barely, against her clit, spurring her hips to roll. But all she gets from that mouth is mischief and a quiet snicker. He shifts his cheek, laving a long stroke of his tongue to the tender crux of her inner thigh before sealing it over with a tight suck. When he bites down, he draws out her blood with a rough moan.

Astarion pulls back, his smirk glazed in her, his eyes aflame. “Oh, darling, I’ve barely even touched you yet. And you’re so very wet for me.”

“Touch me, then,” she hisses between her teeth, raking her hands through his perfect curls and fisting them there.

His eyes spear into hers, hard like the way he clenches her ass and pulls her hips down. Even as it sets her on fire, his mouth gives her mercy. Astarion’s tongue melts hot across her cunt, swiping slow and dexterous. Not for the first time, Naomi thinks she might like to die like this.

It’s not so different from how she died. It started on her knees, this new life of passion and pleasure unbridled. Even then, Astarion already knew the shape of her body like he knew his own hands. Every curve, every intimate bend, how to make her speak in noise instead of words. The hidden language behind every whimper she makes, every shiver.

So he knows exactly what he’s doing while his tongue teases gentle circles around her clit. He knows, by the time his timid little laps blend into a needy suck, that she’s so, so sensitive. Astarion’s hungry groan seeps into her slickness. She feels him like a current and clenches again, just as hungry.

Every feeling he gives her gives him an echo back just as strong. Every thought in her head is in his head, too. He eats her cunt and feels fed by her pleasure curling in the tips of his toes. He didn’t know he’d be hers, just as much as she’d be his, when he bit her thrice, bled her dry, and gave her just one drop of blood back.

But Astarion knew her body before she was his bride. Now, he knows her mind. A part of him lives there, as she does in his. As he drags his pale, elegant fingers between her folds, he drags her head through a dozen depravities. Filling her with nothing but thoughts of how he’ll fill her properly.

He could have her against the arched windows lining the east wall, body pressed so pretty to the glass so he can see the imprint of it even after she peels away. She could feel the heat brimming off the sun outside, washing over their empire. He could taste her sunbathed shoulder while he fucks her senseless. His little love, dipped in honey. So what if someone else sees. Later, he’ll see to them not seeing anything ever again.

He could take her here, on the ballroom floor. Pull her down just as she surfaces from the pleasure he’s paid her, and roll her beneath him to bury her in it all over again. Make love on the marble streaked with the blood of their enemies, where hundreds of dignitaries have danced and dined on countless evenings before. But none of them were ever blessed with such a fine feast as he. The stone would be hard and unyielding against her back, and he would be just the same, driving into her, relentless. At least it’s far prettier than the dirt they used to fuck in.

Or--

A new picture snaps from Naomi’s mind to his, with the dip of his tongue to her entrance, a staggering spike of pleasure, and an unbidden whimper.

The piano. Pearly white with jet black keys, so pristine, so gorgeous with blood spilt red down the sides. Naomi poured over the side, ivory hair tinged with crimson, cascading over her bare, bent back. Astarion’s fingers buried in her hips, planting the promise of bruises, his body bucking wildly into her as he finally--

Naomi’s moan hits the high pitch of the ceiling. She grinds, needy, against the pair of fingers he crooks inside of her. His thumb spreads her slickness back and presses to the pucker of her ass.

So eager for me to fill you up. His voice in her head is a caress. Her hips roll with the sound. His thumb dips inside her ass with the motion, and Naomi gasps as she eases into that delicious stretch.

But darling, I haven’t fed all night, Astarion pouts, mouth moving with agonizing slowness as his eyes flutter shut beneath long black lashes. Naomi’s eyelids grow heavy, too, as she’s lost to that lovely, slick click of his lips. A meal like you is meant to be savored.

He fucks her holes leisurely, with the air of someone who knows he’ll be back for more before long. It brings to mind those long, lithe fingers, folded between the pages of a book to mark his place. All it takes is an effortless flex of them to keep her coaxed open like this. Her body draws taut as he leans her over the precipice of her own pleasure.

If you need more, my dear, by all means. Take it.

He growls into their bond like he’s the one devoured. Like he can plead ignorance to how he’s taking her apart with his hands, his mouth. Naomi catches a whine between her teeth. Astarion’s free hand cups her ass, urging her into the thrust her body bends towards. She parts a hand from his hair to brace flat to the floor beside his face, the other knotting anew in his silver curls.

Desperately, she rides against the flat of his tongue, against that long, refined nose, fucking herself back into the curve of his fingers. Every pull of them pulls her under, deeper into her own ecstasy. Her body grips him back like she means to drown him, too. The tip of his tongue flicks her clit in relentless rhythm, starting off a shudder she can’t stop.

“Don’t stop,” she begs within and without, the jerk of her hips growing frantic.

His mouth is mercy. When she comes for him, she’s wreathed in heat, slick with sweat, every nerve in her body alight with the most blissful burn. A strangled cry breaks in her chest. It buries the song now trembling from the piano. Naomi shivers out a sigh, and the keys shiver with her.

Astarion wraps his arms tight to her thighs, anchoring her through the aftershocks. When she stills again, her body throbs with a heady rush of blood, pleasure, want. Every part of her is limp with it, save the pulsing, rigid press in her mind and in his trousers. She’s putty in his hands even as his fingers leave her. Naomi twitches back towards the touch he takes away, body aching with his absence.

Naomi’s knuckles unfurl, stroking soft through the tangles she wrought. What a sight he is, his hair in utter disarray, his mouth a mess of blood and lust and her. An ease settles into his graceful features, not so different from that quiet contentment he wore while leaning into the light by the window. His eyes simmer with it, lips drawn in a soft smile.

Without warning, his grip tightens. Naomi stifles a huff of surprise as she’s taken down, marble kissing smooth to her spine. A pale hand cradles her head, cushioning her fall. In a blink, he’s hovering over her bare body and dipping down to catch her in a fever of a kiss. It’s a needy, sweltering latch of lips, tangy with her own sweetness as much as his.

“Here?” She purrs to the seal of his mouth.

She lets him feel the way the word alone makes her body tense. Waiting. Wanting. Their bond curls with it, crooked and beckoning in his head. The way his fingers bent a few moments before, buried in the heat of her.

A long breath passes out through his nose, his eyes sliding half shut. A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth. But his cheek turns by just the barest hair, and Naomi’s attention follows after his.

Music flutters, breathy, off the black and white keys. The piano stays a pretty picture of perfection, among the deaths little and large they’ve littered throughout the ballroom.

His teeth trace the angled edge of her ear. Naomi keens with the sting of it as she’s swept from the floor.

“There.”

She’s caught in his kiss again as he carries her. One swipe of his tongue to where he bit her lip before has her quivering. Has her a world away from the one still around them. Vaguely, she’s aware he’s somehow rid her of her gloves and shoes. She hears a dull, wooden clatter, and then a resounding thud. The piano plays on, but it's muted.

Astarion doesn’t bend her over the way she mused. Instead, he seats her on the polished wood of the piano’s closed lid. His hands leave her back to push her knees apart, scoop beneath them, and pull her spread legs to the strain trapped in his trousers.

Naomi grins, her fangs snagging his lower lip as he tries to part from her. Astarion’s answering groan is rough like a scrape of sandpaper. It leaves her mouth raw, tingling, alive with a pulse that plays to the tune of his pleasure. She wants more of that noise. More of the happy purr it pours into her head from his. One drink of that sloppy, slap happy look on his face sates her more than blood ever could.

You’ve given me everything, he told her, once. But now, all she can think is more. Take more. Take everything.

Astarion grinds his hard length against her in answer. The sweet friction makes sweeter music in their mouths as Naomi moans with the motion, too. Still, there’s far too much fabric for her liking.

Astarion’s fingers make fast work of it. He unlaces his pants only enough to free his cock, parts from her only enough to push her back and clamber up after her. Then, he’s on her again like a second skin. Her cunt throbs with the press of his cock, the tip of it wet and seeping against her thigh. She tries to fit a hand between them, to wrap her palm around his girth and feel with her hands, not just her head, how badly he has to have her. Astarion doesn’t leave her space for it.

It’s not his hands that put her flat on her back, against the body of the piano. It’s the sudden swell of his adoration ballooning from his brain to hers. The weight of his affection pins her there beneath him, utterly paralyzed, as the music flows on under both of them. He’s brimming with it, and it washes over her in a wave, a cup overflowing.

His curls hang down in his eyes, wild with the look of a man starved. “You’re going to scream for me, little love,” he says with the slightest slur. The thought smears from him to her, burning in the back of her mind like a pull of liquor. He brushes her snarled hair back until it tumbles over the piano’s edge, white over white. “I’m going to make you. And I want to see that beautiful face when I do.”

“Please,” she starts to say.

But barely any of it makes it past her lips. Astarion never leaves her wanting for more than a moment.

“O-Oh,” she stammers instead, as her soaked cunt splays to his cock sliding home. Astarion pushes out a moan as he pushes into her. He hooks her legs with his arms, folding them up and back.

“That’s my girl,” he pants, forehead heavy against her own. His thumb circles her cheek, a feather-light counterweight to the thickness he seats inside her. He watches her intently, fixated. Hypnotized. “My good, good girl.”

Kisses and praise tumble from between his teeth, down her cheek, to her throat. Naomi’s head rolls back while she relishes the wet, smacking mantra that’s the mess of them. He’s not tender with his tempo. He doesn’t have to be. You could ruin me. I’d let you ruin me, she thinks again.

And how beautiful he is, in ruins with her. No more composure. No more restraint. Sweat streaks his brow as it bends beneath his focus. All there is is the blend of them, the slow rock of the piano underneath them, and the scattered, stranded pieces of a melody left in their wake.

It could break. The thought cracks through her, through them, with the wooden whine of the piano legs taking the shift of their weight. Astarion crushes her worry beneath the thrust of his hips, any notion of it lost to the head of his cock pressing just where it needs to make her see stars.

Naomi bites down on her own lip, grounding herself in fleeting pain and the tang of blood. He’s not even touching her clit; he doesn’t have to. He floods her with how it felt when he did, when his tongue rolled against the swell of it, just the tip of it teasing that sensitive little bud. How she felt to him, so silky and slick in his mouth. How amazing it feels to finally fuck her, to take what’s his and have her take him so, so tightly.

He could ruin her. Snap her like the creaking legs of this instrument, not long for this world. It would be almost as effortless as the way she spreads for him. But instead, Astarion fills her. Every shift prods the crown of his cock against the sweetest spot inside her cunt.

Naomi’s fingers claw into Astarion’s back as he bucks wildly. Tears sear in her eyes. The tell-tale pressure in her pelvis builds near-blinding.

“Scream for me, darling,” he growls against her neck, out loud this time.

Her cunt throbs with his command. But she doesn’t heed it. Astarion lets out a low, steaming hiss.

“I said scream, dear,” Astarion says, his velvet voice edged in warning. The sparks of his indignation spit flinty in her head alongside a flicker of excitement at her defiance.

He wants to feel the rush of her own power with the spasm of her cunt as she comes undone. He wants her magic to spill into him as he spills his seed inside of her. Wants to taste it with the rest of her. If Naomi was nothing to him, she’d still be the siren; it’s not a power Astarion gifted to her. It was hers without him. It is her. And she’s his.

“I might break the glass,” she whispers, wary of anything louder.

“Oh, my love,” Astarion says tenderly, a husk in his throat as his hand wraps loose around her neck. “You can break everything.”

Astarion kills her hesitation. She’s never felt more whole. She feels holy, feeling her own perfect squeeze around his cock, feeling herself fucked in his body and her own. Feeling what she does to the man who already has everything, but will never have enough of her.

When Naomi screams Astarion's name, it’s everything else in the room that shatters.

Glass crashes from the windows. They burst one after another in quick-fire succession. Astarion buckles against her body with the sudden, decisive snap beneath them. His hips jerk, rutting erratically. Warmth spurts into her with every shudder down his spine, every pulse of his cock.

He cuts her cry with his teeth buried in the crook of her neck. Naomi clings to him as her cunt convulses. It’s the bite that takes her apart, knowing he tastes his own name in her throat and thinks--

Mine, mine, mine.

Naomi’s head drops limp. Astarion’s grip on her neck gives way to soft circles stroked against her cheek again. Mine, she thinks, as his ruby eyes watch her keenly, awash in the soft glow only she knows.

Even after Astarion stills, the room spins dizzy from her upside-down view. She blinks it all back into place, but some pieces won’t fit together again so easily. They’re far closer to the floor than when he slipped inside of her. The piano legs splay at odd, splintered angles. The floor glitters with glass like crystalline teeth, ready to bite the heels of any who dare tread their hall.

Astarion slides out, and she shivers with the fade of his warmth. He sits up, his gaze sweeping the shattered windows, his smirk smug and wet with her. “Perhaps all of the Gate heard you. The gardener did for certain.”

Naomi sits up, too, leaning forward and letting his shoulder take her weight. Her forehead comes to rest against his collarbone. She finds an easy smile while relishing the way his heart still hammers his chest. She did that, in multiple senses. Absently, he tucks the hair sticking to her cheeks back behind her ears.

“I guess I’ll have to kill her,” he adds, chipper. “I suppose, for now, we can spare all the others.”

“She’s already dead enough, dear,” Naomi sighs.

A tiny, discordant note of sadness plucks in her chest, among the pleasant haze settling over her. Astarion stiffens against it, as if she reached out and pinched him. She doubts he’d be so eager to slay one of his spawn for the same crime of hearing her come for him.

The gardener is hers, of a sort. Not a vampire -- Naomi can’t make those. Before Naomi sang her awake again, the gardener was just a sad stack of bones collecting dust in a closet. Now, she rattles along to Naomi’s tune, keeping the flowers trimmed to her liking.

“I suppose you’re right,” Astarion murmurs. His expression softens with fondness, the sort that’s rare to surface unless they’re alone, but never fails to make her chest light and fluttery. “Are you tired now, pet?”

“We stayed up all night,” Naomi laughs faintly.

“Hm,” he nods with a pitying frown. “Let me see to you, my treasure. Don’t you move.” His lips curve, coy, as his eyes flicker back to the wrecked windows. “I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself.”

He saunters back to where his coat lays, now tattered. He returns to settle it around her shoulders, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead.

“You’re such a staunch defender of my honor,” Naomi says dryly, even as the leftovers of their lovemaking start to seep down her thigh.

“Ha,” Astarion shakes with a rolling laugh. “I rather think I’m the thief of it. You were quite the heist. It wouldn’t do to have some debaucherous upstart happen by and think they can make off with what’s mine.”

“I wouldn’t let them live through it.”

“Aw,” he clicks his tongue, “you’re such a romantic.”

Astarion leaves her with her legs strewn over the broken piano, relacing his trousers as he goes. Glass crunches beneath his heels. He stops to ring the bell near the door. A few seconds later, it creaks open a hair. She catches his curt commands to the servant she can’t see on the other side.

“...yes, here, in the ballroom. My consort and I wish to take in the view, and see none of you.”

His lesser spawn are quick to make good on their orders. The door swings open once more a short time later, and in floats a claw-foot tub without another soul to be seen. Magic clings, cloudy, beneath the porcelain belly of it. A pleasant, floral scent curls with the steam from the water within. The tub drifts to the heart of the ballroom and settles with a soft thud before the yawning window panes.

Astarion returns to her as her toes touch the ground again. He frowns tightly, eyes narrowing.

“There’s debris scattered everywhere, my sweet,” he says, saccharine even in reproach. “I wouldn’t want to see you hurt.”

Naomi sniffs a laugh, picking her path carefully. “If I can’t handle a little sharpness here and there, it’s a wonder how I’ve managed to handle you.”

“Oh, it’s simple,” Astarion says, catching her wrist with an effortless flourish. “We were made for each other. By each other, really.”

And Astarion’s made up his stubborn mind that she’s not to take another step, it seems. With a soft huff, he sweeps her off her feet all over again, strides to the tub with her legs dangling over his arm, and delicately deposits her there.

Water laps at the tub’s edges, splashing as she situates herself. She shrugs from Astarion’s coat, shucking it away to join all the other debris they don’t have use for. Heat tingles across her skin, like little, loving nips of Astarion’s teeth. Naomi eases back into the burn of it as the sting settles sweetly.

Astarion rids himself of his shoes and trousers. He dips a foot into the tub, bidding her to make way for him with a gentle nudge. The water ripples as he settles in behind her. With a satisfied sigh, she sinks back against his chest and deeper into the furling warmth.

The ballroom overlooks the well-kept gardens behind the estate. The hedges are high enough, only a spyglass might have hope of spotting them both bare. Under Cazador’s reign, the garden was little more than a sprawl of weeds and webbed ivy. Now, fountains babble between the blooms of pink and blue and violet. If she strains, she can catch the weave of music in the trickling flow, like tinkling wind chimes.

A soft breeze tickles her ears, sending gritty glass and ash scattering over their floor. Astarion clenches a soft sponge in his grip, wrings it out, and starts to scrub her skin in slow, deliberate strokes. Naomi’s head tilts back beneath his tender care, every rub taking the tension from shoulders.

She turns after a time, and he starts to wash blood from her front, while she wets her hands and works the redness from the white of his hair. Her fingers linger along the slants of his ears, rubbing delicately, until she catches that satisfied hum in his throat that leaves her lifted, floating on the buoy of his happiness.

The water never cools or clouds; magic still swirls in the steam, even long after they’re free of blood and grime. Astarion rakes hand through her hair, his fingernails digging pleasantly against her scalp.

“You are divine as ever,” he rumbles. “Rest now, pet.”

And she does, slipping soundly into a trance, soaked in sunlight and lavender oil with her lover wrapped around her. Only Astarion sends her to the sort of rest that reaches her soul. His presence is sanctuary.

It’s his disquiet that wakes her suddenly. He still strokes her hair just as gently, but he levels a hard-cut stare out over the garden, his lips set with the same stoniness.

“No one will ever take you from me,” he murmurs, as if to himself.

“As if they ever could,” Naomi whispers back, reaching up to graze the edge of his jaw.

Heavens help the fool who tries. Any who dare to hatch such plots, to harbor such ill will in their Crimson Palace, will find themselves laid to rest with all the others. Their enemies’ gravestones are just bricks in their empire, every one of them laid with blood in the mortar.

Astarion dips his head down, the hint of a smile curling at the corner of his mouth. “I suppose it might be fun to see them try. In the meantime, my love, I’m of a mind to keep you spread for me for the next tenday.”

Naomi laughs. The sound echoes around the otherwise vacant room.

Astarion’s grin only grows, the tips of his fangs sharpening his smile. “Did I say something funny, dear?”

His lips crush down against hers in a kiss consuming.

#ascended astarion #astarion #astarion ancunin #tav x astarion #astarion x tav #tavstarion #vampire ascendant #vampire lord astarion #bg3 #astarion smut #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfic #my writing #naomi tavriel

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gffa · 5 months

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Over the last week, I decided to go ahead with bookmarking all the fics I've recommended over the years on AO3 since I abide by tumblr poll results always (and man pour one out for all the fic that never made it to AO3 or has since been deleted, sooooo many gems lost to time!) and it was a bit more than the ~3,000 I was expecting:

Hopefully, this will be easier than browsing the hundreds of recs posts I've made, since you can filter for any of the author's tags now! These are mostly focused on Star Wars and DC fandom, but I did my time in the anime mines and occasional tours through some TV fandoms or movies. You can dig into everything unfiltered and start your own filtering, or the bigger fandoms you'll find:

MAJOR FANDOMS: Each of these should have 100+ at minimum and, in the case of Star Wars, literally almost half of them are in that fandom. Look, Star Wars fandom might be a trash fire in a lot of ways, but it is ON FIRE with some good fic. (Older bookmarks not guaranteed to match my current sentiments, especially re: the Jedi, but they did catch my fancy at that point in time!)

STAR WARS: - All Star Wars -OR- All Star Wars minus the Obi-Wan/Anakin ship - OR- Nothing BUT Obi-Wan/Anakin

BATMAN/DC: - DC can sometimes be tricky, but you can do a Batman* search and get most of them (though, sometimes Nightwing* or Young Justice* or Superman* will catch some of the others). Honestly, though, you might want to just do a search for what character or dynamic you like and have fun from there, because otherwise you're getting a face full of my Dick Grayson Is The Center Of The Universe And I'm Making That Everyone Else's Problem agenda. ;)

MARVEL/MCU: - Marvel* will probably get most of the various properties, though you may want to filter for Defenders* or Guardians of the Galaxy* if you're interested -OR- Marvel* without the Thor/Loki - These focus a lot on the Thor* fandom if you want to witness the results of like 8 years of constant voracious reading in that fandom (Minus the ship), because, seriously, I read a LOT of Odinson family fic. - Bonus, just do a search for Maximoff* to find some really good X-Men: First Class-verse because, listen, I have been ALL ABOUT the Maximoff twins since long before the movies or MCU brought them over and I will DIE ON THE HILL of "Marvel, make Magneto their bio-dad again or I'm never reading another comic of yours ever".

TOLKIEN/LORD OF THE RINGS/SILMARILLION/HOBBIT: - Tolkien* -OR- Hobbit* -OR- Lord of the Rings* searches will turn up most of my Elf-hunting, I primarily focus on the Sindar Elves, but look I can't resist my problematic Feanorian faves or that I will die on the hill that Fingolfin is the best ever. (You have NO IDEA how sad I am that so much fic on Stories of Arda or FFNET is not easily bookmarked on AO3, sob. I externally bookmarked a few of the bigger ones, but sooo many shorter faves are missing from my recs tag.)

CLAMP: - X/Tokyo Babylon legitimately bums me out because it's not a huge fandom and yet so much of what was written was pre-AO3 and lost when CLAMPesque went down or was never brought over from Livejournal, yet this fandom (well, the Seishirou/Subaru pairing) still burns brightly in my heart.

BOOKS: Chrestomanci | Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint

DRAMAS: Nirvana in Fire | The Untamed -OR- Modao Zu Shi

VIDEO GAMES: Dragon Age: Inquisition | Final Fantasy 8 | Genshin Impact | Okami

BANDS: Arashi

All right, whew, that was actually a fun project, despite how much work it was to hunt down a lot of older faves to see if they were on AO3, hopefully you'll find this useful!

#lumi.txt #fic recs #star wars fic recs #batman fic recs

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adorabluesposts · 20 days

Text

Lucifer X Alastor's daughter PART 2

part 1 can be found in my acc. reblogs + comments are the most appreciated.

decided to change up my writing style a bit..

Not proof-read, might have grammatical errors. Either way, enjoy!

He kept visiting. Lucifer kept coming to the hotel, and it was screwing you up.

•He was amazing. Sugarcoating your relationship, treating you like the fine lady you are, appreciating the little things you do for him.

•Every time Alastor was around, he'd get more touchy; he'd kiss your hand, hug you.. He'd thank you and give you gifts, share his food with you.. call you his best friend.

Alastor was beyond furious. He kept telling you there would be a chance you wouldn't be coming to the hotel anymore, which always became a massive argument.

and, truth is, Alastor hated fighting with you.

The others noticed something was happening, too. The glares between the two men, the way Luci was always clingy with you.

It drove you MAD. Because the feelings that Lucifer brought in you were imaginable - he made you feel things no one has ever done. Every lie he ever told you, every pretend love-tiuch he gave you felt like Heaven and made your stomach twirl around with butterflies.

At first, Lucifer just wanted something to drive Alastor mad. He hated that man's guts with his entire heart. He made his daughter a challenge, why shouldn't he make Alastor's child one too?

But then, seeing how you reacted to his game, he felt bad. He felt guilty, a certain pity towards you.

He felt like a horrible man, for making you go through this rollercoaster. And yet, the glare Alastor gave him was like a trophy.

Lucifer kept going to the act, making himself closer to you. He started enjoying your presence not long after- the way you always out a smile on his face, the way your compliments made him feel, the triumph he felt when you blushed at his words.

He knew you knew he was just playing with you. And it confused him why you still stayed.

Why didn't you go? Why didn't you leave him? Now that he fell for you, it would be better to leave. Hurt him like he hurt you. Play him like he played you.

Oh, how silly his thoughts were.

He fell in love with the way your hair fell, the way your eyes stared at him, your smile and your blushing cheeks, your hands and your body, the way you laughed, your jokes and compliments, your incredible sense of humour, your outfits, your skills and hobbies, your clingy nature.. he was head over heels for you.

You weren't Eve, and you certainly weren't Lilith. You were more than that.

You beat him at his own game.

And yet, Alastor kept you as close to him as he could. It was terrifying, really, how demonic that man could turn when it came to you. It wasn't the typical radio demon shenanigans- he was worse than that.

Lucifer was sure that if something happened to you Alastor would turn Hell upside down. Maybe even take his throne.

*-*

Seeing you all dolled up to go out with Angel one night made Lucifer's heart sting.

You two locked eyes, and when you smiled, his whole heart shattered into hundreds of pieces, cutting him as he walked over to you.

Alastor followed closely behind, mocking Vaggie as he kept an eye on you and Luci. Lucifer kept that in mind as he kissed your gloves hand. You blushed.

"You look amazing tonight, love." The both of you could hear Angel giggling next to you.

You smiled as he let go of your hand . Loud static was heard. "And you look as handsome as always, even though you don't try."

It was his turn to blush. He grinned like a puppy seeing his owner after a long day of work.

He took a deep breath. Truth is, he locked himself in a room for hours to prepare himself for this moment. "Uh.. we, we should talk, Y/N." Lucifer spoke, now quieter. Loud static.

"What's wrong, Luci?" You asked and tilted your head ever so slightly to the side.

"just the two of us." He took your hand. Angel smirked at you, giving you a look that said 'I will keep an eye on this one' while pointing towards your dad.

You took a few shaky breaths as you reached a balcony and Lucifer let go of your hand. "You.. well, you know this already."

"Know what?"

"that I used you. To get to your dad. You.. you know that." Lucifer was clearly ashamed.

You looked at him, your eyes stinging with tears. Until then, you tried to convince yourself it wasn't real, that it was just something you came up with. But it was. It was so real. The man you fell for didn't like you.

He just used you.

"Yeah, I know." You let out.

"I regretted my desicion the second I got to know you."

That doesn't change anything.

"I fell in love with you, Y/N." His eyes were also watery. "The way you talk with me, the way we laugh, the way you awkwardly smile when you don't get a joke, the homemade cookies you bake., everything that you do, I love every thing about you."

You sighed and tried to smile.

"Were deep in this. I used you and it's horrible. And I know you've liked me from the start." Lucifer took both of your hands. "I was a loser, a selfish prick. But I can't lose you too, Y/N.."

"You're selfish right now."

"I.. I know."

"I like it."

"What?" His eyes widened and he let out a chuckle.

"I.. it's true you've hurt me. You are hurting me. This.. this hurts." You confess. "But telling you 'no' and refusing your apologies will hurt me even more."

"I love you too, you know?" You asked.

"Oh, I know." He smiled truthfully, cupping your cheek with his right hand, pulling you in close until your soft lips met his.

Loud static.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #hazbin spoilers #hazbin #hazbin hotel fandom #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar #lucifer magne #hazbin hotel lucifer

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