Below is a masterlist of all of my writing on here. Please keep in mind that each post is appropriately trigger tagged, so I wonât be listing them here, but if you see something you donât want to read right now then please take care of yourself and donât read it đ
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
I have a lot of inappropriate thoughts about this man and now Iâm foisting it on all of you. Youâre welcome ⨠(gif is mine)
NSFW gender neutral Headcanons under the cut â¤ď¸âđĽ
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
-Everything with Lyonel is a dance, a spar.
-There is nothing he hates more than being bored. It sits under his skin and makes him restless, needing to expunge it somehow.
-Itâs a self destructive tendency he has; when something is going too well, he canât help but prod at it to see if it will give.
-Itâs infuriating at first, until his partner realises that there is no malicious intent behind it. He wants to play.
-But grown men are not allowed to play without some measure of teeth.
-When they stop ignoring his prodding and start answering it instead, heâs both surprised and delighted.
-That is, until he discovers just how good they are at getting under his skin.
-They seem to know exactly what to say and do to make his blood boil, and he loves them for it. Even when it makes him want to bang his head against a wall, he loves them for it.
-The anger is real, but Lyonelâs nature is mercurial. He can go from being furious to jubilant in mere moments.
-Or, more likely, from furious to incredibly horny.
-Biting words become biting, heated kisses in the closest thing to âprivacyâ thatâs available.
-Clothes are pushed aside, Lyonelâs hand slipping down the front of their waistband to set his fingers to work.
-âYouâŚare the bane of my fucking life,â he growls breathlessly in their ear as his free hand cradles them close.
-If heâs particularly overwrought, he will find the nearest surface to push them against and find the quickest way to get his head between their thighs.
-His hands grip their legs tight enough to leave bruises, his dark eyes looking up at them hungrily as they fuck his mouth.
-If thereâs time, or more than a fifty percent chance they wonât get walked in on, heâll bend them over at the waist and pound into them like a man possessed.
-He will cover their mouth with his hand to stifle their moans and cries, whispering filthy things in their ear.
-âYou drive me mad. When we get back to our bed, I will take you apart until you canât fucking walk.â
-When it is done, Lyonel kisses their cheek as a silent apology for any roughness, then smacks them firmly on the ass to let them know that theyâre not done yet. Not by a long shot.
-If there is a bed immediately available, however, he loves seating them astride his lap and fucking them that way.
-He can reach everything; their ass, their hair, their chest; burying his ire against and inside their warm body.
-Being Lyonelâs lover isnât for the faint of heart, and it can be incredibly trying at times.
-When he loves, he loves fiercely.
-Heâll drive a person to the brink of madness, but he certainly makes it taste sweet.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
It felt wrong to do Lyonel but not Dunc - sweet angel man that he is.
As usual, gender neutral Headcanons under the cut. These are NSFW, so minors DNI.
âââââââââââââ
-Honestly whoever heâs with, it isnât just gonna be a one night thing.
-Dunc is loyal, and honestly I think heâd feel a bit used if he slept with someone and then they walked away
-Because gods know it wouldnât be him walking away
-The first time, he would go to many lengths to make it as perfect as he can
-Heâs very aware that heâs covered in dirt a lot of the time, so he would curry favour with Lyonel in order to get himself somewhere to bathe (and a bed for the night)
-Imagine him in a bath thatâs much too small for him, limbs hanging out over the sides, twisting and turning to try and get himself clean
-After heâs clean, heâd wait awkwardly on the bed, nervous as all hell and fiddling with the sheets
-That nervousness would only get worse once his partner appeared
-Dunc is gentle; a little bit too gentle at first, but with some encouragement from his partner heâd stop treating them like theyâll break
-But heâs very aware of his size and strength, his grip strong but never rough, never putting his full weight on them
-I could see him bottoming for someone heâs been with for a while, but for someone heâs only just met the idea would make him !!!alarmed!!
-This man couldnât talk dirty if his life depended on it, but when his partner does something he likes he makes the softest little sounds and gives them the most adoring smile
-His sincerity makes up for it
-The first time I donât think heâd last very long. If heâs not a virgin, itâs been a long while
-Heâd get all flustered and apologetic
-Once heâs more comfortable with his partner, heâd be more open to exploring what they both like
-Heâd need practice to learn how to use his fingers and tongue properly, but heâd be determined to get good at it
-His favourite position would be having them in his lap so he can wrap his arms around them and hold them
-He also loves licking and sucking on nipples, I donât make the rules, he just does
-Heâs strong enough that he can just lift them up and down in his lap once their legs get tired
-Needs to cuddle after because he gets emotional gets cold, which usually ends up with his partner having a big olâ Dunc arm or leg resting over them once heâs asleep
-Sleeps like a baby after sex, and somehow snores less??
-Making love against a tree is one of his favourite things when a bed isnât available (which is most of the time)
-But he wonât do it anywhere near the horses, he doesnât want them watching
-Egg always gets sent off on a task that is bound to take a while (he knows exactly why and frankly doesnât want to see any of that nonsense so he makes sure to take his sweet time)
Hi, itâs me. Iâm back on my bullshit. Lord this man is sexy lmao
As always, gender neutral NSFW Headcanons under the cut! (Because letâs be real, this man doesnât GAF about gender.) Minors DNI.
ââââââââââââââ
-Oh you know this man is passionate in bed
-Lyonel isnât the type to have sex half-heartedly
-Heâs more dominant when heâs the one receiving, because heâs competitive
-Which means that when heâs on bottom, heâs a power/bossy bottom
-âIf youâre going to fuck me, put your fucking back into it!â
-Heâs more submissive when heâs on top, though heâd never admit to that
-Itâs in the little things, like how he loves getting his hair pulled when heâs on top, and how he admires the marks his partner leaves on his neck and shoulders
-âYou scratched me up properly - are you a human or a cat?â
-Heâs a very vocal top, moaning and cursing in his partnerâs ear
-Always likes to have his body as close as possible to theirs. He likes the warmth, the way he can hear and feel everything
-While sober-ish, aftercare isnât really his forte, the most anyone is likely to get from him is a quick clean up and a kiss on the head/smack on the ass
-But when drunk, heâs a real cuddlebug after sex. Good luck to anyone trying to extricate themselves from his arms, they ainât going nowhere
-His dirty talk is more of a stream of consciousness, especially if heâs had a lot of wine
-One moment itâs; âyou feel so fucking good, thatâs it, fucking scream for meâ
-The next heâll stop what heâs doing for a moment and murmur; âdid I leave my coat in the fucking tent?â
-He swears a lot, a LOT
-Itâs constant
-If he has a whole evening where he knows he wonât be interrupted? Edging
-He absolutely loves edging his partner until theyâre squirming and writhing and begging
-If they let him tie up their wrists, even better
-He wonât stop until theyâre shaking, and then he will fuck them into bed until they forget their own name
Please go to your local charity and donate to Gaza. There are drives for baby formula and clothing. I personally have donated baby formula and it took less than five minutes in one of my local charity shops.
If you donât have the means to donate, then please spread campaigns. Tell your friends, your family. Itâs important.
Last one! The conclusion of the mini series; find the other two parts in my pinned masterlist!
In which Rolan resolves not to let another chance slip through his fingers.
This one is the love confession bit yâall.
Rating: Teen
Trigger warnings: Past physical/mental abuse (Lorroakan), corpse description, injury description, blood. Mention of passive suicidality?? (Tav is Tired of this shit)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
For the second time in three months, Rolan was stood before the broken body of someone he admired.
Or -in this case- had once admired.
When he had finally entered the city of Baldurâs Gate, it had felt as if an iron vice had been pried off of his chest. Like he could breathe at last. Yes, the Steel Watch were unnerving, but nothing compared to the Shadow Curse. He could live with the prickle of unease if it meant that they were all finally safe.
And yes, the people of the city had given him suspicious stares and muttered scornfully towards his siblings. It wasnât something that they were unused to.
Again, heâd swallowed the churning in his stomach and plastered on a smile for Cal and Lia. Because everything was fine - it had to be. After coming so far from home, after each awful turn, it had to be.
It hadnât been until the first time that Lorroakanâs fist had slammed into his cheek and sent him sprawling that heâd realised the truth; the nightmare had never ended. Not for him.
And it was that, not the pain, that had him fighting back tears as heâd picked himself up and kept his eyes down.
A rabbit. Heâd thought of that after one night when Lorroakan, drunk, had landed a blow that cracked something wetly and left a dull pain in his side that grew sharp when he breathed too deeply. Heâd laid in bed with his arm curled around himself, and heâd thought of a rabbit.
A rabbit, gnawing at its own leg to escape a hunterâs trap. The snare would tighten, the fur matting with blood, but at last it would be free. Then, limping desperately to shelter, it delivers itself straight into a foxâs den.
The image had made him laugh wanly, then hiss through his teeth as the movement stabbed his insides. He had managed to rest enough to cast a healing spell on himself the next day, but he had never forgotten.
âKeep your head down, rabbit,â had echoed through his mind every time he saw that searching gleam in Lorroakanâs eye, âlet the fox nip at your heels, so that it stays away from your neck.â
Yet now that he saw Lorroakan sprawled out on the floor -back twisted at an odd angle, jaw hanging open and dishevelled red hair splayed about his head- Rolan allowed himself a small, twisted smile.
âNot so much a fox as a pup,â he muttered under his breath.
âWhat was that?â
The voice at his side gave him a start. He looked up from the body and into the eyes of his hero - when had he started thinking those words with fondness rather than bitterness?
Their eyes still had a trace of the fury heâd seen before - when they had come to Sorcerous Sundries, when the light had caught his face and revealed the purpling bruises on his cheek.
To say it had taken his breath away would be a disservice. Seeing the thrumming, boiling rage darkening their face and realising; itâs you. Of course itâs you.
Perhaps he should have felt ashamed - here they were once again, swooping in to save his sorry hide. But he hadnât the energy to even pretend at pride.
And, it dawned on him as he looked at the shadows on their face, neither did they. Yes, the rage still smouldered in embers, but the fire was starving.
The truth struck him as true as any spear or arrow; *you canât keep going much longer, can you?*
Rolanâs eyes found a trickle of wet crimson, barely concealed by the cuff of their armour.
âYouâre hurt,â he said softly.
They barely gave a glance, shaking their head and stretching their lips into a poor imitation of a reassuring smile.
âItâs nothing.â
Nothing - it probably was nothing. Theyâd been through worse, and he knew that from first hand experience.
The image of them lying lifeless on the floor of Last Light Inn seized him, and before he could stop himself his hand shot out and grasped their uninjured arm.
âYouâre bleeding,â he replied, his voice sounding stronger than he felt, âit isnât nothing.â
Their eyes focused, widened in surprise, on his fingers - but they made no move to pull away.
âI have no more potions,â they murmured.
âAnd I have no more energy for magic,â Rolan countered, his tail swishing slightly with impatience, âbut we can make do. Iâm sure that thereâs something of use in this tower.â
When they hesitated still, Rolan cast a desperate look to Karlach, who had stopped wiping her axe blade to listen to the conversation.
âWeâll be fine,â she said quickly, âwe can survive without you for an evening.â
âSpeak for yourself,â the white-haired elf drawled, only to receive a swift kick in the shin; âOw.â
Rolan watched a smile - a real one, tired as it was - break out over his heroâs face, their shoulders dropping.
âFine,â they conceded at last, eyes softening when they met his own. Rolanâs heart jumped, heat climbed up the back of his neck and into his ears.
âRight. Good,â he coughed, âcome on.â
As he led them away from their companions, they still made no move to pull their wrist from his grasp. In fact, they turned their arm over so that they could hold him in return. Their hand was strong and gentle, and even through the singed sleeves of his robe his skin rose in goosebumps to meet it.
It was unspoken - a silent moment that had his stomach warmly dancing; at least, it was silent until he caught Karlach out of the corner of his eye, sending both of them a horrifically unsubtle wink.
âHaularake,â he cursed through gritted teeth. Soft laughter bubbled behind him.
âDonât mind Karlach. SheâsâŚwell, Karlach.â
Rolan couldnât think of anything to say that wasnât either irritable or idiotic, so he squeezed their forearm and held his tongue. His mind was spilling over, but the loudest peal of all was âfinally aloneâ - despite knowing full well that there were things he should care far more about.
Oh well. Prioritising had never been his greatest strength.
ââââ
The room that he led them to was a small, enclosed bathroom on the west side of the tower. It was not as spacious as the main wash room, but it was more than comfortable enough for two -or even three- people. There was a single circular window that the setting sun shone through, and the places where the light didnât touch were illuminated warmly by the golden chandelier above.
âThere should be something in here,â he said as he closed the door behind himself and sealed them away from the rest of the world, âI come in here to lick my wounds. OrâŚI used to, I suppose.â
They gave him a pinched look as they perched on the edge of the cream coloured claw foot bathtub.
âOh, please donât look at me like that. You know I canât bear to be pitied,â he gently chastised.
âIâm not pitying you. I justâŚif Iâd known how he was treating you, I wouldnât have wasted so much time.â
Rolan scoffed, tail flicking in displeasure. They were being sincere, and he knew it - he hated it.
âI admit I do not know you as well as your companions do, but Iâm sure that they would agree that no one could accuse you of wasting time.â
They looked down at their hands. Whatever wound was hidden under their sleeve was steadily dripping blood onto cerulean blue tile.
âI donât think thatâs always true,â they whispered, so quietly that he had to strain to hear. Quiet settled heavily over the room, like a world encased in snow, as their eyes emptied before him.
It was too much. It reminded him too starkly of-âŚ
A cold shiver passed down Rolanâs spine. He abandoned his search and turned on his heel, marching over to them and falling to his knees. The hard floor sent a jolt up his thighs, but he bore the pain no mind.
âStop,â Rolan whispered, taking both of their hands in his own. One of them was slick and warm, the other rough and trembling.
âYouâve already done more than enough. More than anyone had any right to ask of you. I know - I know,â he said to their pointedly arched eyebrow, âIâve given you shit about âplaying the heroâ before. But Iâm big enough to admit when Iâm wrong.â
He squeezed their hands tighter, dared to draw a little closer.
âI am sorry. I never got the chance to say it. I was frightened and drunk, and not thinking clearly. I said that you were putting heroic ideas into their heads - I know them better than that. I never imagined that you wouldâŚâ
Rolan hesitated. He struggled to speak of it even now, but he knew that he must.
âIf Iâd known you would run off and get yourself killed, I wouldnât have said those things.â
Their face gave nothing away - meeting his eyes for a moment and then glancing away. Their expression shifted constantly; one moment stalwart, the next faltering. As much as he longed for them to say something, he knew that for once he had to stay silent.
Finally - finally - they simply whispered;
âIâm so tired.â
The shadows under their eyes seemed to have deepened tenfold, and they looked far older than their years. No tears shone unshed - they were beyond tears now.
Rolan did not know what else to do, so he leaned up on his knees and pulled them into his arms.
They smelled different than they had before. The city smoke had settled over them and muddied their scent. He felt a tug of longing for Last Light Inn - something he thought he would never feel in a thousand lifetimes, but for how the scent of the cold had lingered in their hair. It had been the only thing heâd smelled for weeks that felt truly alive.
They made a soft sound in their throat that tugged at his heart, their arms curling around his back as their face pushed against his chest.
âI know what I have to do to end this,â they said, muffled by his robe but with an edge of finality that prickled at his skin, âthe Absolute - everything.â
Rolan could feel the weight of their words. It should be a relief. So why did his chest feel as if it were filled with ice?
âAnd you?â He asked quietly. âWhat happens to you?â
âI wonât fail. I canât.â
âThat isnât what I asked.â
They went very still for a moment. Then he felt their head shake an âI donât knowâ against his shoulder. Rolan closed his eyes tightly and took a slow breath, his arms tightening around them as if it would make a difference. As if his body alone could stand between them and the wretched designs of evil gods.
âAnd ifâŚâ his voice trembled, ââŚif you were to-?â
He couldnât speak it out loud. He had a terrible feeling that if he did, it would make itself into reality.
âI donât suppose there would be a chance of another miracle?â Rolan forced out. In his mind it was an attempt at humour, but it came out too bitterly.
They pulled back from him to look into his eyes. The space between them yawned with thick silence, punctuated by the soft drip, drip, drip of blood splashing onto the floor.
âItâs so many people, Rolan,â they said, âitâs a handful of lives against the entire sword coast. Maybe even all of FaerĂťn. Thereâs no contest.â
Every part of Rolan began screaming. It wasnât the soft, hopeful pull heâd felt at the party. It wasnât the surge of relief pushing him forwards at Last Light.
It was desperation; clawing, rising up his throat like burning bile. How could they? How could they just accept their death, as if it were an inevitability? As if it wouldnât matter?
The words that he wanted to say raced through his mind in a whirlwind, but when at last he spoke, there was only one that felt right;
âBullshit.â
Their eyes widened, and satisfaction curled amongst the ire to see the shocked look on their face. It was brief - too easily snuffed out.
Rolanâs hands moved to their shoulders, gripping them tightly.
âI told you back at Last Light - if you die again, I will bring you back just to kill you myself. And now that this tower is mine, I will make good on that threat. After everything you and I have been through, I will do it as many times as it takes you to understand - you stupid bloody self-sacrificing arsehole - that I cannot lose you again!â
Rolan realised that his voice had raised to a shout and forced himself to take a breath, though it did nothing to slow his racing heart.
âHang FaerĂťn,â he continued in a voice that trembled with the effort to stay gentle, âhang the world. I canât lose you again.â
When he was done, he felt raw. Exposed. A skinned rabbit hanging in a butcherâs window.
They were searching his face for something - he didnât know what for. He had knelt before them and laid his heart out, still bloody and beating, right before their eyes. What more could they want?
Rolanâs tail thrashed. It was more than he could bear. He opened his mouth to try and salvage this, to apologise.
Instead, he was silenced by a pair of lips crashing into his own.
Rolan froze. He didnât dare move, didnât dare breathe, because he had to be dreaming. He had to be.
Then he felt their hands tighten in his robe, heard the soft sound in their throat, and he knew instinctively what it meant; âpleaseâ.
It was real. Heâd been too afraid to move, scared that if he did, he would wake. But it was real.
The realisation shot through him like a bolt, and he surged upwards to meet them. He kissed with every ounce of his starving, frantic adoration. Their hands cupped his jaw and cradled him closer, his found their shirt and held them closer still. It wasnât enough - never would be enough.
Rolan had thought that falling in love would feel like when he had reached out to the Weave for the very first time. Serene, yet vibrating with anticipation. But this hungry, clawing animal inside of him bore no resemblance to the cusp of Mystraâs realm. It keened and begged and panted, it was wretched, and now he truly understood why the poets both despised and revered it.
He kissed, and kissed, until they were both breathless. At last the need for air parted them for a moment, clutching each other as if one of them might be ripped away at any moment.
âStay,â he gasped against their lips, âplease, stay.â
Rolan only meant âstayâ. He wanted them near, to hear their footsteps and their breathing, to feel the weight of their presence. But by the soft intake of breath he heard, theyâd read something else into it entirely.
âIâm-âŚâ
âYes,â they whispered.
He didnât know which god he had appeased enough to make him the luckiest bastard in FaerĂťn, but he would make sure to give them one hell of an offering.
Before he could go too far down that train of thought, though, they abruptly pulled away from the embrace with a quiet âshit!â
âWhat?â He asked, alarmed.
âIâve got blood all over you,â they replied sheepishly, âIâm sorry.â
In all honesty, he had completely forgotten about their wound. Rolan turned his head to inspect his shoulder. Their blood had soaked the fabric of his robe, a trail of red speckles leading up to his shoulder. In that moment, he recalled the Grove; how he had been so concerned with being presentable, how making a good impression on Lorroakan had seemed so vital.
Now, it all seemed so absurd that he couldnât help but laugh.
âThis robe is ruined anyway,â he said with a dismissive wave, âand Iâm sure that the new master of Ramazithâs Tower can afford one that isnât half burnt and covered in road dust.â
That earned him a bright smile. And if referring to his shiny new title made him puff up with pride a little, that was his own business.
âIâm sure that he can,â they said with that teasing glint in their eye. Charitably, Rolan elected to ignore it.
âBut first, I should bind your wounds so you donât bleed all over that new robe.â
As Rolan went - albeit reluctantly - to leave them and get his medical supplies, a tug at his lower back halted him. He looked down and realised with horror that his tail had wound itself tightly around their thigh.
For fuckâs sake.
Rolan groaned loudly and brought his hands up to shield his burning cheeks from view. The pealing laughter it drew from them only made matters worse.
âThatâs sweet,â they said, and he could hear the smile in their voice.
âItâs not,â he mumbled. They clearly knew nothing about tiefling body language, or they would understand exactly why he was so mortified.
âI think it is.â
Well - perhaps he shouldnât argue the point. If they thought it was a sweet gesture, then he could allow them to believe it for now. He could always tell them the real meaning of it later. This was his thought as he unwound his tail from around their thigh - still to the sound of their giggling - and half heartedly sulked as he searched for his medical supplies.
Later. The idea that there was a later with them in it sent a thrill through him. Not a far-off, distant daydream but a reality. Between now and the battle that they would have to face, there was a time for the two of them. For languid, unhurried kisses tangled up in the finest bedsheets either of them had ever touched, the pink light of dawn spilling out over the city and through the windows to caress their skin.
I have no words to explain how much this breathtaking commissioned piece by the beautiful @miurgen means to me. From the moment I saw their gorgeous art, I knew that I would jump at the opportunity to have a piece done by them and it's everything I could have asked for.
It's so tender, so intimate and so them. Just in time for my birthday too.
Thank you so much for putting so much love and care into this my friend, your skills are truly remarkable. I love everything about it.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Follow up from part one! You can find it linked in my masterlist. This one is less angsty (thanks Withers) but Rolan is still being Rolan about it, so expect theatrics.
More of a Tav insert than a reader insert, but I tagged it just in case.
Themes: Resurrection, brief argument. Tw for excessive drinking. Tw for an averted panic attack.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Rolan hadnât stopped drinking since his siblings had gone to bed. Lia had said she would stay, but her eyes had deep shadows under them and she could barely stand; he knew she couldnât have slept while they were imprisoned under Moonrise.
No - he couldnât ask that of her. Especially not when he truly wished to be alone and drink until it either wiped his memory or killed him outright.
Every time he let his mind wander, he saw their body lying on the dirty, cold floor. He wept silently, soaking the sleeves of his robes as he wiped his face dry in vain. Then, he drank. Then wept some more. Then drank enough that the sober part of his mind calling him pathetic was drowned into silence.
Time passed - though it meant little in this cursed land, and even less when he had enough drink in him to fill the Chiontar. The fire in the centre of the room dwindled to embers, then was relit once more. The steady pale light streaming through the rafters shifted, but would never turn to day.
He must have fallen asleep at some point, head slumped across the bar, because he started awake at something cold touching his cheek. Rolan dragged himself to his senses, just enough to realise that it was a hand. The weight of it was gentle - soothing.
âLia?â Rolan guessed, then winced at how sticky the sounds felt in his throat. His mouth tasted of bitter saliva and settled dust. The back of his neck was damp with congealed sweat; somehow his hair had come loose and was splayed over his face and shoulders.
That would be fun to de-tangle later. Gods, at this point he would be lucky to present himself to Lorroakan at all, let alone respectably.
The hand on his cheek brushed his hair back behind his ear, and Rolan couldnât help the smile that flitted over his lips, nor the sleepy sigh that left them.
âRolan?â
Rolanâs heart stopped. Not Lia. Not Cal, either.
He knew that voice.
His eyes flew open. His vision was all dark spots and blurry light for a few moments, a seething fog that he couldnât pierce. He sat up to try and clear it, and thatâs when he saw;
Those eyes.
As they had been on that wonderful night in the camp, not glassy and lifeless. With that glimmer in them like a distant, burning star. His mouth fell open, heart jolted back to life with vengeance. It pounded on his ribs, trying to break free.
âIâm dreaming,â he whispered. It was the only explanation.
He had seen the wounds - smelt them. Yet here they stood, skin unblemished, a slight tilt to their head and a frown on their brow.
âIâm dreaming,â he said again, lifting his trembling hands towards their face, âyouâŚyouâreâŚâ
Rolan wouldnât think of touching them, of bearing his heart so plainly. But this was a dream. A cruel, wonderful dream.
His palms cupped their jaw, fingers curled so that his claws wouldnât break this fragile illusion. But they did not feel fragile - not like glass or crystal, liable to shatter under so much as a wayward glance.
Their skin was beautifully, mercifully warm. So utterly apart from the cold of their dying flesh that it pulled a whimper from his throat.
And yet, it felt as just as real.
âYouâre not dreaming,â they said gently, the kind of sweetness reserved for soothing a wounded, frightened animal.
It was that very notion, that he was some injured bird that ought to be held, that made Rolan realise that what they said was true. Because of course he was just another thing that they needed to save. That was so typically, awfully them.
And in a moment, the breathless awe holding him nearly aloft crashed back to earth, shattered - and became rage.
âI see,â he said tightly, dropping his hands and straightening up despite his back aching in protest, âall better, then?â
They blinked rapidly, no doubt alarmed by his sudden shift in manner.
âWell-âŚyes?â
âGood.â
Rolan threw a punch at their chest. He should have thought it through, because they were wearing armour, and he realised that when pain jolted through his knuckles and into his wrist.
âDamn it!â He swore, cradling his hand to his body. Ever the hero, they reached towards him, but he glared at them sharply.
âDonât. Donât. You come in here, acting as if nothing happened, as if I have no right to be upset!â
âI didnât say-âŚâ
âYou didnât have to! For godsâ sake, Iâm not another pathetic creature baying to be saved! I didnât ask anyone to come in here and pity me, least of all someone that was DEAD!â
Rolanâs voice steadily rose until it was reaching even the high ceilings above. He could see a few curious faces peering out of doorways and out from behind columns, wanting to see what the commotion was about. He didnât care - all of his ire was focused on the person right in front of him.
âYOU were DEAD! Do you understand that?!â He shouted, pushing his hoarse voice to the point of cracking. His blood was pounding in his ears, hot and fast.
âI saw your body! I-I held your hand. I feltâŚyou were coldâŚâ
Rolan wanted to keep shouting. Truly - he wanted nothing more. But his throat was being squeezed shut, and he could barely breathe. His vision started to blur and burn, and he couldnât take in enough air, even as he pulled it in faster and faster-
Then warmth enveloped him. Arms encircled his shoulders, crushing him to a firm body. The armour dug into his skin but he buried himself into it anyway, breath catching and hitching in his chest.
Rolan threw his arms around them and held on as if they would vanish. This could still be a dream. He might wake up and they would be gone, forever. Even the thought made him pull harder, harder, until all of the air was nearly pushed out of him.
âItâs alrightâ they whispered in his ear, âbreathe slowly. Iâm here.â
The rumble of their voice was like a purr, rippling through him and quelling the storm inside his chest. His claws dug into their back as his breathing slowed, probably puncturing the cloth over the armour, but he couldnât care less about that.
His head was nuzzled into the side of their neck, and he could feel their pulse. Irrefutable proof that they were alive once more, beating steadily against his cheek. He closed his eyes to better feel it, to memorise it so that he would never have to be without it again.
âGods, Iâm so fuckedâŚâ
âDonât ever do that to me again,â he murmured, trying and failing to sound stern, âI donât know if Iâd survive it a second time.â
They laughed, and he felt it vibrate through his own chest; and if he curled in a little closer, that was his own bloody business. They couldnât know just how true his words were.
The Descent, the deaths of the other tieflings on the road, the ambush by the Absolute; the only thing that had shaken him as badly was when his siblings had been taken.
Heâd thought that as long as he had Cal and Lia, he could survive anything. Now - now he didnât know if that was true anymore.
âI canât make any promises,â they replied, though only half joking. He could tell by the way their voice lowered - how closely had he been watching them and not even realising it?
He pulled back to look into their eyes, and his breath caught once again - this time, because of the way that his stomach dropped. The last time he had been this close, it was at the campsite party.
He felt the same as he had then; heart racing, mind empty of any meaningful thought. Only a longing gnawing at him, urging him to just lean in a little closer.
âWell, if you die again, Iâll bring you back. And then Iâll kill you myself,â he said with a weak chuckle.
Closer. Closer.
No - he couldnât. They couldnât possibly feel this way too. He was just some tiefling wizard who had a bark worse than his bite.
BesidesâŚit wasnât the right time.
âHow did you come back, anyway?â Rolan asked out of a desperate need to change the subject. He averted his eyes, and missed the flicker of disappointment that passed over their face.
âI have my resources,â they said mysteriously.
âResources - I see. Well, whatever they are, Iâm glad youâreâŚalive. Again.â
Rolan coughed as a flush climbed up his cheeks and into his ears. Words came so easily when he was angry, why couldnât they come when he felt anything else? Curse him and his stupid heart.
âI am too. I think.â
They stepped back, and he instantly missed the warmth and weight of their body. Even if they smelled a little of sweat and leather, he didnât mind. In fact, he quite liked it.
Stay.
Rolan felt his tail curling towards their thigh and quickly grasped it and held it in place. He leaned against the bar, trying to act as if his stomach wasnât in knots.
They paused at the edge of the bar, and for a second they looked as if they might say something. Their body was tense and poised, caught halfway between leaving and remaining in place.
They opened their mouth, and Rolan leaned forward on his stool eagerly-
Then a voice called their name. That damn Waterdhavian wizard, waving frantically as if he were trying to flag down a ship.
Damn that stuffy son of-
âI should-âŚuh, that seems urgent,â they stammered, blinking away whatever thought had been growing behind their eyes.
âHmph,â Rolan grumbled, âwell, go on then. Run off and be a hero. Iâll just be here.â
The glimmer of mirth in the corner of their lips almost made it worth it. His eyes were stuck on them for a moment too long, tracing the swells and curves of their mouth. Despite everything, they still looked so inviting. How was it fair for someone to have such lovely lips on a road such as this?
âIâll see you, Rolan,â they said, before turning on their heel and racing over to their companions.
âSee you,â he sighed for his own benefit. Once they were out of sight, he swivelled on his stool and buried his face against the bar and his own folded arms, releasing a deep and pained groan.
To say that his mind was whirling was like saying that the Hells were a tad warm. The Hero of the Grove was dead - now they were alive again. Heâd felt their breath ruffling his hair and their hands on his shoulders, they smelled of leather and metal.
And heâd squandered yet another chance.
âYou stupid bloody mragrashem,â he growled under his breath.
Next time. Next time - he had to do something at some point. Either that or heâd finally truly go mad.
Ever since the tiefling party, Rolan has been harbouring reluctant affection for the hero who saved them all. However, he canât help but lash out when his siblings go missing. When they stage a daring rescue that goes terribly wrong, Rolan is left reeling.
Obviously warnings for character death (even if temporary), injury/corpse description and grief. Thereâs also a warning for vomiting if you have emetophobia, and for drunkenness.
Itâs not really a reader insert, more of a Tav insert, but Iâm tagging it as reader insert anyway. Enjoy!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seeing Cal and Lia again, alive and intact, was such a rush of relief that it nearly knocked Rolan off of his feet. Even if they were dirty and worse for wear, they were here. They were really here!
Rolan slid off of his barstool perch and ran - well, stumbled - towards them. He threw his arms around his siblings with a choked sob, drawing them both in close.
He expected Lia to call him out for smelling of booze, for Cal to get all watery and try in vain to get a word in edgewise. He expected babbling, tears and lighthearted scorn.
Instead, all he got was silence. Rolan pulled back to look at them, his drunk mind tripping over itself to try and understand what the look they exchanged meant - all frowns and sullen eyes.
âWhat?â He asked. When they didnât immediately answer, he felt the ground sway under his feet.
âWhat?â Rolan pressed, gripping both of them urgently; âWhat did they do to you? Are you hurt? I swear upon all the hells-!â
âRolan,â Lia sighed, not quite able to meet his eyes, âweâre fine. ItâsâŚitâsâŚâ
In the end, she didnât have to say it. He saw one of their companions, the tall one with the single horn and red skin, helping one of the medics to carry a stretcher. Her face was set like stone, her usual cheery disposition utterly absent. Even the flames that licked at her chest seemed subdued.
And on the stretcher, a body. Something - someone - lying painfully still.
And Rolan knew. He knew. But he couldnât let himself believe it.
Suddenly, it was as if he hadnât had so much as a drop to drink. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears, he could hear how his breath rushed raggedly between his numb lips.
âWhoâŚ?â He asked, his voice guttering out like a candle flame drowning in too much wax.
âRolan, Iâm sorry. It all happened so fast,â Cal said solemnly.
âThey put themselves between us and the cultists to buy time. We didnât thinkâŚit wasnât until we got on the boat that we realised how bad their wounds were.â
Rolanâs legs moved before he could think. His siblings didnât stop him as he chased after the stretcher - they knew better than to try. His eyes roved over the covered figure wildly, trying to find any sign, any possibility that it wasnât them.
Please, gods, donât let it be them.
One of the guards - Fist Something-Or-Other - put his arm across the door in an attempt to stop him from entering the makeshift ward. He shoved his arm aside with a snarl;
âGet out of the way!â
The commotion made the one-horned woman look his way, and he hated how her expression tightened as she looked at him, crouched over the stretcher on the floor.
She stood to her full height and stepped in front of the body. There was no way that he could move her by force - not without using Thunderwave. The worst part was the pity - gods, the pity. So damn well meaning and concerned.
âLet me see,â Rolan demanded, trying to sound more sure than he felt.
âRolan, mate, I really donât-âŚâ she started. So she knew his name - he didnât have the capacity to feel embarrassed for forgetting hers.
âLet me see,â he repeated, trying to spit out all of the venom he felt welling up inside of him. But his traitorous voice wavered, broke under the weight of it. After a long silence, he squeezed out one more word;
âPlease.â
The one-horned woman hesitated for a moment longer, her hands flexing and clenching at her sides. Then she bowed her head in a single nod and stepped aside.
âItâs- I know it looks bad. It is bad. But itâll be alright. I can fix it. I will fix it.â
Her trembling words were lost on Rolan as he saw them at last. The sheet had fallen aside just enough for him to see a limp hand. It lay at the edge of the stretcher, knuckles grazing the cold floor. It looked almost as if it were reaching for him.
Rolan sank to his knees. With one hand, he gently slipped his fingers through theirs. The flesh was not yet fully cold, a whisper of warmth still clinging to it. But the sliver of hope it gave him quickly diminished; he could feel it fading away under his fingers.
With the other hand, he slowly peeled back the sheet.
It was them. The hero of the Grove lay statuesque before him. Their eyes like painted marbles were open but unseeing, their lips parted for a breath that wouldnât come. The skin of their right side was charred and blackened, curls like tendrils of smoke crawling up their neck. The acrid, red hot stench of fire magic clung to their skin; he would know it anywhere.
Just last night - last night - they had been bickering with him at the bar after his ill-advised rescue attempt. Gods heâd been such an ass. Heâd been meaning to apologise, to let them know that he was grateful for their help; truly.
But no. No, he couldnât keep his bloody mouth shut, could he? Heâd blamed them for putting ideas in Cal and Liaâs heads, as if it were their fault the AbsolutistsâŚ
Just thinking about it made the ale in his stomach lurch into his throat. Asharakâs cries of agony, the scent of blood thickening the air like a fog, the screams of the children. Now this-
A bucket appeared helpfully at his side, an unseen and likely experienced hand shoving it towards him. Rolan swallowed hard, fooling himself that he could hold it back even as the bile rose into his mouth. It was no use of course - he threw his head into it just in time for all of the ale heâd gulped down to come spewing out.
Someone patted his back lightly and he swatted them away. His eyes returned to the frozen face in front of him and he felt another lurch - not in his stomach this time, but his chest; as if a hand had reached into his ribs and given his heart a sharp yank. His fingers tightened around the bucket, his claws scraping the wood too loudly in the silent room.
âHow did this happen?â He rasped out. His voice sounded far away.
âItâŚwe were rescuing everyone from Moonrise,â the one-horned woman replied, âthings got dicey when the gnomes knocked out the wall. Itâs just- this has never happened before.â
âYou donât say?â Rolan sneered, whipping his head around. He must look ridiculous, curled over a bucket of his own vomit with a scowl on his face, but this felt right. It felt natural to expunge the ache in his heart through his tongue.
âI thought that was the whole reason that they kept you lot around. Youâre all supposed to âprotect each otherâ, arenât you? What is the bloody point of you if you just let them d-âŚâ
The word stuck in his throat, a cold stone that he choked on. The fight drained out of him in an instant, leaving him slumped and wilted. Just like every other thing in this awful, cursed place.
The one-horned woman - Karlach, he thought with a bolt of clarity - pressed her lips together tightly for a prolonged moment before muttering;
âYou done?â
Rolan merely nodded as best he could. His head ached, and it suddenly weighed a tonne.
âRight.â
Karlach bent down and drew the sheet back up over the body. She might as well have slammed a door in his face with how his body jolted.
âWeâll fix it. JustâŚhang tight, yeah?â
Fix it. How could they possibly fix this? Revivify would not work on a corpse so damaged, and he doubted that anyone here was accomplished enough to cast True Resurrection.
If only he had gotten over his fear and written to Lorroakan before the Descent. Perhaps he could have gone to Baldurâs Gate that much sooner, he would have mastered his craft by now. He could have âfixed itâ in an instant.
He didnât realise that he was crying until a tear slid between his lips, wet and tasting of salt. A cold, writhing thing had made its home between his belly and his chest, with tendrils that gripped his insides strangle-tight.
At some point Cal and Lia came to his side, but he couldnât say how long he had been there. His knees ached from the hard floor, and his tail was raw from thrashing against the wood. They pulled him to his feet and he didnât have the words to protest, even as his traitorous tail curled around his leg and reached towards the body on the floor.
He didnât hear their reassurances as they led him away. His feet barely moved. They might as well have been dragging a wooden dummy. His eyes burned from not blinking, but every time he closed his eyes he saw their face.
They took Rolan into one of the scant unoccupied rooms of the inn, but it didnât matter. He was not here, in this half dead place. He was somewhere with warm evening air and fireflies buzzing above a river, with drunken singing floating on the breeze and merriment in his heart.
Their eyes - they had been anything but empty that night. They had glittered like the colourful bursts he produced for his siblings, like the very stars in the night above. Their laughter had been so musical, and he remembered thinking how much younger they looked with a smile on their lips.
He remembered the warmth heâd harboured, knowing that he was the reason for that smile.
But most of all, he remembered a moment. When the party was starting to die down, the quiet settling like a comforting blanket over them, and he had realised that they were alone. Their eyes had met, and they were alone, and his heart had leapt into his throat and it would have been so easy to just-
But he hadnât. He hadnât done anything but talk, because he was afraid. Just like he should have written to Lorroakan sooner. Just like he should have done a lot of things.
The dam burst, and the sluggish trickle of tears became a flood. A cry tore out of him as he doubled over. He felt Lia tense in alarm against him, but he couldnât stop it now.
Such a fool. Such a bloody fool.
One pair of arms wrapped around him - Calâs. Then Liaâs. They enveloped him tightly as he wept out all of the thorns in his heart; everything that had happened since the Descent had been one endless nightmare. Except for that one night. That night had been a star-bright, giddy dream.
This one is for my ace/aro besties who still want to have a special relationship with the Elvenking. Love comes in many forms, and companionship is one of them đ Gender neutral Headcanons under the cut.
-Theyâre the only one that he feels he can be vulnerable with.
-Itâs difficult with Legolas; heâs his son, and their relationship is strained anyway. There are things he just canât tell him.
-But with them, he can be all of the things that he canât be with anyone else; tired, frustrated, unsure.
-One of his favourite things to do is drink wine with them in the evenings and just talk. He doesnât have to be careful with his words for once, and itâs refreshing.
-When heâs with them, he finds himself laughing and smiling more than he has since his wife was killed.
-In front of others, itâs a lot of nonverbal communication.
-Theyâve learned what each expression means, the subtle difference between âcan you believe this?â and âIâm starting to get irritatedâ.
-Secretive smirks, sidelong glances.
-In anything of importance, he wants them by his side; council meetings, battles, matters of state.
-He trusts their advice, their perspective.
-He likely has made them a member of his kingâs guard.
-He does love them, but not in the way he loved his late wife. Itâs different, but still important to him.
This one is for my ace/aro besties who still want to have a special relationship with the Elvenking. Love comes in many forms, and companionship is one of them đ Gender neutral Headcanons under the cut.
-Theyâre the only one that he feels he can be vulnerable with.
-Itâs difficult with Legolas; heâs his son, and their relationship is strained anyway. There are things he just canât tell him.
-But with them, he can be all of the things that he canât be with anyone else; tired, frustrated, unsure.
-One of his favourite things to do is drink wine with them in the evenings and just talk. He doesnât have to be careful with his words for once, and itâs refreshing.
-When heâs with them, he finds himself laughing and smiling more than he has since his wife was killed.
-In front of others, itâs a lot of nonverbal communication.
-Theyâve learned what each expression means, the subtle difference between âcan you believe this?â and âIâm starting to get irritatedâ.
-Secretive smirks, sidelong glances.
-In anything of importance, he wants them by his side; council meetings, battles, matters of state.
-He trusts their advice, their perspective.
-He likely has made them a member of his kingâs guard.
-He does love them, but not in the way he loved his late wife. Itâs different, but still important to him.
I re-watched Narnia recently and I noticed that Prince Caspian doesnât have many mlm fics, so hereâs a short one. Slightly NSFW but mostly fluff.
Themes: Mutual loss of virginity, secret relationship, slight insecurity, enthusiastic consent
Nights had always meant little more than darkness and bedtime. When Caspian was a child, it had meant being bathed by a fireplace, then tucked into bed by nursemaids as they sang him lullabies. When he was older, it meant thoughts that kept him sleepless and cold.
But of late, the nights had meant something else entirely. Whispered words, glimpses caught of a familiar face in a sliver of moonlight, kisses stolen under cover of darkness.
And tonight, he found himself entangled in soft limbs and his own bed clothes. Caspian lay heated, desperate kisses over his loverâs neck and chest. The air was filled with the sound of quiet panting and stifled moans.
Caspianâs hands paused at his loverâs hips, hesitating at the drawstring around them. A single tug, and everything that he wanted would be laid bare before him. Never had he stood to gain so much with so little resistance. So why, now, were his hands trembling?
âAre you alright?â His lover asked, reaching up to push a lock of his dark hair behind his ear. Caspian leaned into his touch, closing his eyes under the familiar weight.
âIâm fine, I justâŚâ he couldnât think of why, of what was making him stop when he wanted nothing more than to press forward.
âWe donât have to do this. Itâs alright if youâve changed your mind, Caspian.â
Caspianâs eyes went wide.
âNo! No, no. I still- I really do want this. God, I do. ButâŚâ he had to avert his gaze as he felt burning creeping up his cheeks, ââŚIâve never done this before. What if Iâm not good at it? I want to be good for you.â
His lover gave him a soft smile and ran his thumb over his cheek in soothing back-and-forth sweeps.
âIâve never done this either. But I love you, and I trust you.â
âI love you.â Caspianâs head still swam when he heard those words. The very first time, he had damn near fainted on the spot.
âBesides,â his lover continued with a mischievous smile, âwe will both get better with practice. Lots and lots of practice.â
Caspianâs face broke into a boyish smile.
âThat sounds like fun,â he said, leaning down until his lips were almost brushing the other manâs.
âDo you want to start practicing now?â His lover asked, his breath hitching slightly when Caspianâs hands went back to his hips.
âYes. Yes I do.â
Caspian kissed him hard, rocking his body forwards until he was between the other manâs thighs. His fingers deftly untied the drawstring of his underwear, then tugged the fabric down over his thighs.
âI love you,â he whispered breathlessly.
âI love you, too.â
For once, they dared to remain together until morning broke, only parting once the light of dawn first touched Caspianâs bedroom windows.
After the prince lay back down in bed and nestled into the sheets as if he had been fast asleep the entire night, he traced the memories etched into his body with his fingertips. Nails digging into his shoulder, an open mouth panting against his throat, a grasping hand on his thigh.
Through half-closed eyes he watched the sky turn peach through his window, and he smiled indulgently. Then, finally, he allowed himself to sleep - if only for an hour until the professor would come to rouse him.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Slightly based on my headcanons I posted a few weeks ago. Very very NSFW, so be warned.
Jaskier had been singing all night. Not an unusual turn of events for him, really - heâd been singing for his supper for years now. Usually he could scrape together enough for a bed and board, a decent meal and a drink or two. All in all, he would consider himself a decent performer.
However, even he would admit that he couldnât compare to the sounds that the beauty beneath him was making.
It had all happened so quickly. A few flirtatious winks had turned into smiles, had turned into a hushed conversation over drinks, had turned into this; the son of a lord wrapped around him in a small, dark room lit only by a single oil lamp.
The table that the young lord was balanced on knocked rhythmically against the wall with each thrust of Jaskierâs hips. The air was filled with breathless panting, stifled moans, soft curses. And gods - he felt like luxury against Jaskierâs body. Soft pampered skin, warm lips that mouthed insistently at his throat, so- fuck, so tightâŚ
Jaskier rocked forwards harder than heâd meant to, and the man below him let out a loud, beautiful keen. Jaskier quickly clamped his hand over his mouth, albeit with a tinge of regret.
âShh,â he leaned down whispered, laughter dancing around the edge of his breathless voice, âas gorgeous as you sound, I donât fancy getting caught and chased out of the province.â
The young lordâs eyes glimmered at him over the edge of his fingers before he jerked his head to the side, loosening the bardâs grip.
âIâd rather you silence me with your lips,â he replied indignantly, though his hoarseness ruined the effect of his glare; âYour hand smells of lute strings.â
âOh, forgive me, my lord,â Jaskier drawled as he dug his fingers into his hips and tugged him forwards, drawing out a soft gasp; âIâm so terribly sorry that my profession causes you offence! I never-!â
âShut up and fuck me,â the young lord growled, pawing at the laces of his shirt.