#distance blooming aura

[weepinglilvessel]

Okay, now you have to tell us how Stars reacted to that pearl and what was on it.

This post is two months old COUGH I’m so sorry! Anyways here is part 2 of this lovely comic

Good voids this is long…

Part: 1

COUGH sorry this took so long. So much came up so it was delayed so badly. And sorry for this being long cuz holy moly.

and to those wondering, here is what said pearl said:

Picton Blue Pearl:

Hey Stars, my dearest sister of mine. If you’re reading this I’m guessing Fisher is now safe with you. That’s good at least.

Maybe not as good as the news I’m giving you… I’m sorry, you were right. I failed… and will most likely not make it to see anything else in the future… or you for that matter.

I know we ended on bad terms, which is not what I wanted. So here’s this, I don’t hate you as my sister and I’m sorry I said that to begin with before cutting you off. You know I love you, and I know you care… at least I still hope you do. Sure you’re an ass sometimes, but not without reason. I’m… glad to have someone like you.

I love you sis. You’ll always be an old grumpy owl to me, in the best way possible.

#weepingask #stare of thirteen stars #devoid of golden trails #distance blooming aura #the fisher #rain world iterator #rw iterator oc #rw comic #my comic #rain world fanart #rw fanart #my original characters

[milswrites]

The light which persists

~ Azriel X Fem!Reader

Summary: Azriel finds his source of happiness in the most unlikely of places.

Warnings: Smut 18+ Minors Dni (p in v)

It's strange how Azriel could identify the very moment in which his life had just changed forever.  All it took was one look, a second-long glance in your direction, and the shadowsinger was certain that his entire world had just shifted. Whether it be by the cauldrons design or his own, Azriel had no doubt that your fate was to be entwined with his.

It was unbeknownst to Azriel, how a flower as lovely as you could bloom in the toxic gardens of the Court of Nightmares. Yet here you were, sitting across from the male in this tedious meeting, a soft smile adorning your lips as Azriel admired you in all your beauty. A rose untouched by the thorns of her less than savoury counterparts.

The radiant aura you permeated acted like a beacon, a glowing light of warmth and comfort. Your bright signal subconsciously drawing Azriel into your safe harbour. He had yet to hear your voice and Azriel was already sure that whatever sweet nectar poured from your lips would coat his mind like honey, pulling him deeper still into the soothing waters of your tangible soul.

Azriel failed to register the dull words which Kier was speaking, his thoughts occupied by you and only you. In fact the shadowsinger found it impossible to tear his eyes from you. Afraid that if he were to do so for even a second, whatever hypnotic spell you had cast upon him would be severed and his world would be rudely shifted back to the mundaneness of its usual orbit.

Instead, his hazel eyes stayed locked on you, Azriel’s searching gaze committing your delicate features to memory. Noting the slight furrow of your brows knitting together and the growing pout of your plush lips as you listened to Kier’s absurd proposition, his chest tingling with satisfaction at the sight of the flames which flickered in your determined eyes. And when you finally spoke, each syllable which fell from your lips had Azriel clinging on for more, entranced by the power which laced every well-spoken word.

Azriel had only received but a taste of your presence and yet he was already addicted. The tantalizingly delicious way your light coursed through his veins was a feeling the male wished never to forget. He would bottle it if he could, squirrel away a piece of your light and take it back with him to Velaris so he could experience the high which had been gifted from you whenever the male wished.

And so, with your gravitational pull too mesmerizing to resist, the shadowsinger became a ghost in the ebony halls of Hewn City's palace. A shadowed phantom haunting the corridors, hoping to receive just a glimpse of your warming light with the goal of replenishing his well. Returning day after day to silently bask in the glory of your presence.

Even his shadows had fallen victim to your siren’s song, enraptured by the comfort your luminesce provided. The smoky tendrils slipping from Azriel’s control in order to seek you out and soak up the warmth of your prevailing light.

It was therefore no surprise when you noticed the new little followers who trailed after you like lost puppies as you walked through the winding halls of the palace of nightmares. Bringing you a warm satisfaction when you were able to return them to the blushing shadowsinger who always seemed to be hiding nearby.

It wasn’t long before the days where Azriel’s visits to the Court of Nightmares which were once filled with harrowing screams and cries for mercy were now few and far between. Instead, no longer needing to pine after you from a distance, his visits involved friendly walks through the gardens in Hewn. The twisted vines and dull flowers failing to hold a candle to the beauty which was you.

Azriel’s senses were right that day he had first met you, it was destined for both of your fates to be intertwined. Far behind were the days of being strangers, and soon, so were the days of being friends. The shadowsinger’s growing love for you was why it didn’t take long for the cruel city to become one of Azriel’s favourite places to be.

It was the highlight of Azriel’s day, wandering through the winding avenues of Hewn City as he made his way to your home under the cover of his obedient shadows. Following the faint glow which led him through the familiar streets, its presence holding the draining aura of the wretched city’s air at bay until he had safely passed through the threshold of your home.

And just like the day he first met you where you knocked his world off kilter with only one glance, a single look at your beaming face as he entered was all Azriel needed to feel the worries of his arduous day start to slowly ebb away.

A single look being enough to remind the male just how in love with you he had grown to be. Thankful that the prayers whispered from the dark cage of his childhood had finally been answered, because the gods have given him you.

Only you had the power to illuminate his life. Your presence a lighthouse which called him back from the festering darkness of where he once inhabited. Azriel could withstand anyone, any place, even the looming evil of the Court of Nightmares, if only it meant he was weathering them with you.

One look was all it took to muddle his senses and scramble his thoughts. Clearing Azriel’s mind of all the sweet things he had planned of saying to you as his lips came to meet yours instead.

Azriel kissed the same way he fought, rough and calculated. Each skilled brush of his tongue and sinful nip to your swollen lips done with the intention of drawing sounds of pleasure from you. But Azriel didn’t only kiss to please, every swirl of his warm tongue sought to absorb more and more of your comforting light. The two of you locked in a passionate kiss which was only growing wilder as he attempted to sate his never-ending hunger for you.

His scarred hands explored every inch of your body that they could possibly reach as his salacious lips moved to devour the soft skin of your neck, sucking and biting at your sensitive flesh until the purple marks of his labour began to appear in the wake of his reddening lips. Pleased with the desperate manner of which Azriel was attacking your neck you teasingly pulled away from the male, lips pulling into a smile as you goaded him, “What no hello? You’re not going to ask me how my day has been?”

Groaning at the distance you had created between you, Azriel closed the space once more, leaning forwards until his lips tantalizingly brushed against your ear. Using his teeth to gently tug on your lobe until his lips upturned into a cocky smirk, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine as he spoke lowly, “Why should I when we both already know that your day is about to get a whole lot better?”

“Confident in your skills are we?” you teased, not missing the twinkle which flashed in Azriel’s lustful gaze.

“Why don’t I show you?” Azriel asked, hovering his warm lips over your own, your sultry eyes glancing up at him through the shadow of your eyelashes, “And then you can tell me just how good my skills are.”

Azriel fucked well, there was no doubt about it.

Having done the act with him hundreds of times you were familiar with his unforgiving pace and the brutal force behind his thrusts. Azriel fucked like a man starved, seeking to steal every ounce of pleasure from you possible with each wild snap of his hips.

Yet tonight something was different, Azriel still drew the same cries of strangled pleasure from your lips, though his hips worked at a slower pace. The male taking his time to tear you apart, the leisurely pounding of his cock into your heat working to slowly bring you to your completion.

Tonight Azriel wasn't just fucking you, he was making love. His eyes, once blown black with lust, were now filled with an emotion you couldn't quite decipher and each languid thrust of his insatiable hips pulled soft moans and whimpers from your mouth. Your sounds matched by the shadowsinger's strangled groans escaping from his own lips at the newfound softness of the moment.

His stable hands entwined with your own, fingers laced together as he gently moved your hands to rest on either side of your head. Trapping you beneath him as he patiently drew you closer and closer to your high. Azriel was an expert of torture, never failing to stop the arduously slow rhythm of his thrusts no matter how much you cried for him to go faster.

The heat from his loving gaze becoming too difficult to withstand at the steady pace he was keeping and so you snapped your begging hips to meet his, allowing his cock to hit that sweet spot inside your core, urging the male to seek his high quicker.

A low rumbling laugh tore from his mouth, that cocky smirk once more returning to his lips as he continued his torturous pace. "So good for me princess," he crooned, his words stirring the butterflies in your stomach, aiding to pull you closer and closer to the high you were nearing, "You take me so well." The regular pulse of his hips unwavering, the repeated rhythm inching you closer and closer to satisfaction.

"Keep your eyes on me" he warned as the blissful wave of release began to wash over you, a scream of pleasure escaping from your lips as he finally began to speed his thrusts, "Don't stop looking at me my love."

It was Azriel's turn to reach his high, but it wasn't just satisfaction he was chasing, it was the glowing ball of light which stemmed from you that Azriel longed to absorb. Each mighty thrust working towards reaching that light, growling with the effort of reaching his completion.

Once he had found it, and that familiar golden glow had settled in his chest, Azriel's hunger was sated as his high washed over him and he spilled into your aching core. Panting in time with you as he carefully drew his cock from your heat and pulled your aching body into his soothing embrace, whispering sweet words of affirmation into your ringing ears. Aiding in bringing you down from your crushing high.

It was in the wake of his overwhelming pleasure, still inebriated by the intoxicating feel of your warming light, that the words slipped unceremoniously from his lips. "Come with me" he blurted, that unknown emotion from earlier still dancing in his begging eyes.

"What?" you asked breathlessly, unsure what it was that the male was asking for. Sensing their master's wavering nerves, his shadows had made their appearance. Slowly travelling across your heated skin, their soothing caress, acting to cool your burning flesh.

"To Velaris" he explained, the words leaving his mouth with a anxious gulp, "Come with me to Velaris."

Your eyes blow wide at his question. Thoughts becoming clear as the wave of your pleasure retreated. It was love you had seen in Azriel's stare, which you had felt in his passionate thrusts and searing kisses. Love which fueled his shaking nerves at the prospect that your answer would be anything other than yes.

"You deserve so much more than this cursed city" he continued, gentle hand coming to meet your cheek, his grounding touch drawing you from your tempestuous thoughts, “The world deserves to see so much more of you, you’re wasted here. This city, it just kills off everything good, everything pure. You deserve to live, to share your light with likeminded people."

"My light?" you questioned, not quite understanding what it was that Azriel was trying to convey.

Azriel moved the now shaking hand which was settled on your cheek to rest against the center of your chest, taking a few minutes to absorb the steady beat of your heart before continuing to speak.

"I don't know what it is, or why it's there. But I see it, the same light I only ever see on one day of the year, on Starfall. It calls to me, you call to me. . . I don’t know if we are mates, but I just get this feeling, the same one I felt on the day I met you, that this light was made for me. That it’s guiding me towards something. . . towards you.”

You looked down to where his hand was resting but was disappointed to see there was no light shining, yet the intensity of your lovers gaze already told you everything you needed to know.

“Is it there now?” You ask, noting the way Azriel’s hand had stopped trembling at the realisation that you believed him.

“Yes” he smiled softly, and whilst you couldn’t see the light yourself you could have sworn you saw the reflection of a warm glow in his hazel eyes, “it’s always with you, like my shadows.”

As if answering their masters call his shadows had begun to swirl around where his hand was placed, you could only assume they were dancing with the mysterious light that Azriel had likened them to.

“So Velaris huh?” You ask, looking deeply into Azriel’s hopeful eyes, “When do we go?”

And with those four words all of Azriel’s wishes had come true. The male no longer needing to bottle your calming light, sipping at his reserves until he was blessed with your wonderful presence once more. No, this time when he left he would be bringing his star to Velaris with him. To his home.

#acotar #fanfic #acotar imagine #sarah j maas #a court of thorns and roses #azriel x reader #azriel imagine #azriel #azriel oneshot #azriel smut #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar

[amhrosina]

frank with reader who’s really touchy and loves to touch frank and after a bad mission he snaps at her and she knows it’s because of what happened that night not her but she still feels really bad and distances herself

A/N: hey bestie i got this ask and felt so inspired that i wrote 90% of it in my free time at work today. fastest turn around time ever??? don't get used to it lol i hope you enjoy!!

MASTERLIST // JOIN MY TAG LIST

Frank knew he had fucked up the second the words left his mouth. He watched the words hit you, watched you process the rage induced slip-up that had forced its way out of his mouth – the way you recoiled your hand from his skin and stumbled over yourself to move away from him. It made him sick. Guilt coiled in his stomach, and before he could apologize, or say anything at all, you turned and left the room, mumbling an apology under your breath.  

Frank couldn’t figure out where it had gone wrong. He’d never snapped at you before tonight and was almost as shocked as you were when the words tumbled out of his mouth.  

“Stop fucking touching me. I said I’m fucking fine.”

Regret gnawed at his stomach, and if he wasn’t bleeding so hard out of the wound on his arm, he would’ve followed you out of the bathroom, dropped to his knees, and begged your forgiveness. But blood was hard to get out of carpet, and he didn’t want you upset about two things tonight. 

So he stitched himself up, and wondered where you were in the apartment, and hoped to God you weren’t somewhere crying. The tears, your tears, he realized, were his least favorite thing in the world, especially if he was the cause of them. He’d rip any fucker who made you cry in half, a promise he’d made good on multiple times, but he hadn’t accounted for the tears he, himself would cause. The guilt overwhelming his senses were doing the job for him anyways – the longer he waited to confront you, the more he felt like an absolute asshole.  

He tested the durability of the dressing on the wound, winding his arm around until he winced. A sharp pain clanged through the left side of his body, and though it made him grimace, he sat with the pain for a moment – let it ground him so that the stress of the evening could leave him. Pain usually sharpened his senses and made him feel more at home in his body. Tonight, it only unsettled him more. 

He wondered if he screwed it up with you for good. You’d worked through a lot of things with Frank, but never this, and the idea of you leaving before he could even try to make things right targeted the urgency in him. He stalked to the door and began his search. 

-  

The hard brick dug into your back as you sat down, and for the third time in half a minute, you questioned your decision to clamber out the window and climb to the roof. You didn’t mean to leave so quickly, but the idea of pacing around the apartment listening to Frank grunt his way through stitches made it hard to breathe, so you did the next best thing – aka the roof.  

You didn’t even need time to think the encounter with Frank over. You knew why he’d said it and what he’d been through tonight, but that didn’t stop the ache in your chest from blooming. It also didn’t stop the tears from welling up in your eyes. You had tried to blink them away, but the more you tried to ignore them, the more your vision blurred. 

You’d always been a touchy person, though it had never been quite as present as it was when you were near Frank. When you first met him, you’d been so drawn to his charming aura that you hadn’t realized you’d been shaking his hand for at least 45 seconds. He hadn’t said anything – just kept watching you watch him with a soft smile on his face.  

And the rest was history. You spent the entire first weekend after you met wrapped in each other’s arms, fucking on every available surface in your apartment. You didn’t quite understand why you felt the desire to be constantly touching him, but he didn’t complain and allowed you to give in to your desires as often as you wanted to. You had mentioned to him early on in your relationship that he could tell you to stop if he needed his space, but he’d never asked you to stop.  

Until tonight. 

And you respected it. You did what he asked. You “stopped fucking touching” him as soon as the words had left his mouth, and maybe it hurt your feelings, but you weren’t going to push that on him. If he wanted you to stop touching him, you would, even if it carved a deep, cavernous hole in your heart.  

“Sweetheart?” 

Your heart seized, and you jumped at Frank’s sudden appearance.  

“Hey.” You mumbled, refusing to meet his gaze. “How’d you find me?” 

“I worry about you too much not to be able to find you.” You quirked an eyebrow at him, unable to resist looking at him any longer, and he shrugged. “You left the window to the fire escape open. Can I sit?”  

You shuffled to the side, allowing him the space to sit down, though you were careful not to let your skin brush against his. Frank let out a choked scoff and pressed his leg against yours. You turned to him, brows furrowed. 

“I thought you didn’t want me touching you.”  

And yeah, maybe you threw the words in his face to make him feel a little worse, but he was cracking jokes after snapping at you, and you couldn’t help the bite in your tone - didn’t want to help the bite in your tone. 

He shook his head, expression turning grave.  

“Baby, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean what I said.”  

“You said it, though.” 

“I know.” He nodded. “I know.”  

You watched him take in your features – the swollen cheeks from the few tears that slipped earlier, the wildness of your hair after one too many run-throughs with your fingers, the way you could barely look at him before turning away again. 

“I was just trying to help you.” Your eyes crinkled at the thought of him snapping at you again.  

He nodded, cradling your face in his palms. 

“I’m an asshole, baby.” His voice cracked, “I never want you to stop touching me. I love it – I love you – and I’m sorry.” 

You gaped up at him, at the desperate expression on his face. A fresh wave of tears pricked at the back of your eyes. You gnawed at your bottom lip, unsure what to say. 

“Don’t cry, baby.” He shook his head, wiping your tears away with the soft pads of his thumbs, “Please don’t cry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. You don’t understand how sorry I am.” 

You sniffled, nodding. He’d groveled enough, and you weren’t entirely sure you knew how to stay upset with him for longer than 10 minutes.

“Did you tie the stitch off correctly?” you asked, nodding to the injury that was now covered with gauze. 

“Of course.” Frank nodded. You narrowed your eyes at his nonchalant tone. 

“Are you sure?”  

“No.” He huffed a laugh and pressed a sloppy kiss to your cheek.  

“Why not?” You giggled, swatting him away. 

“Because if this didn’t work, I was going to complain about my awful stitches later and hope my muscles would entice you to forgive me.”  

He smirked, and laughter bubbled out of you from deep in your chest. You climbed to your feet, holding your hands out toward him. 

“Okay, Mr. Muscles, let me fix it before it really does get uncomfortable.” 

He rose to his feet, using the leverage from your hold on his hands to pull you against his chest.  

“I’m sorry,” he paused, “again.”  

“I know, Frankie.” You murmured, pressing a kiss to his nose. 

“I love you.” he added, smiling. 

“Shut up and kiss me, muscles.”  

Tag List:

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#frank castle #frank castle angst #frank castle imagine #frank castle x reader #frank castle fluff #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle x you #frank castle fic #the punisher #the punisher fanfiction #the punisher fluff #the punisher angst #jon bernthal #marvel #marvel imagine #the punisher imagine #frank castle oneshot #the punisher x reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel angst #marvel fluff #requested #amhrosina

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Hi darling!~ (I'll immediately stop calling you that if you don't like it/don't feel comfortable lol) Lately your girlies been obsessing over the song 'Older' by Isabel LaRosa that's been going BADSHIT popular on tiktok so I thought I'd spill some thoughts~

Teacher!Vil X Yandere(ish)!Student!Yuu

Summary : Yuu who grew up with a bad father and gained heavy daddy issues gets attached to her teacher after he starts giving her the fatherly love and care she never got, always being nice and checking up on her. at first it's a simple silly crush on her teacher but after time it blooms into an obsession where she starts lusting after him and craves constant validation from him. In her eyes he's the perfect guy, he's older and has more experience, he could never treat her wrong. even though he may be colder from time to time she believes he has a soft spot for her. Poor Yuu when the teacher who she fell so madly inlove with doesn't return her feelings and begins distancing himself from her.... Or will he?..

(Your ending <3)

Surprise me sweetheart ♡

-Prev. 🥀🦋 / Now 🎋🪭

I really like that song, might become my newest obsession... 🖤🖤🖤🖤

Yandere Teacher Vil Schoenheit x Obsessed Student Reader 

Vil definitely has that aura of an unbiased but caring mentor much like Crewel. He’s confident and quaint, praising you in any capacity thrills most who receive it. Granted it’s sprinkled with underlying insults and a general lack of faith. But for someone like you, who can barely get your own father to even look at you it means so much more:

So of course you’ll obsess over him 

Putting him on a pedestal you’re willing to do anything for 

Study and pass his class

Tell on all the naughty potatoes in class

Even framing the professor he’s wanted gone since the beginning

“Well done.”

“R-really?”

“Yes, I’m quite pleased you’ve proven to be more helpful than the other useless potatoes.”

“T-thank you M-Mister Vil!”

He doesn’t stop you or even act like he doesn’t reciprocate

A few light touches

A kiss or two

A nibble of the ear

Your friends warn you  when they realize the love of your life is the degrading teacher of etiquette 

“This isn’t a good idea…(Y/n) he’s like much older than you.”

“So? That just means he has experience!”

“He’s thinking about retirement!”

“Early retirement!”

“Nooo!”

Nothing really stops you from your newfound love 

That is until he crashes the illusion himself 

“Oh~Roi du Poison, don’t tell me you’ve fallen for the misguided doe?”

“Please, they’re just a tool I’m sharpening. A potato I’ve decided is worth polishing…for the time being.”

It destroys you

What meaning of life is there if he doesn’t even care about yours

You stop showing up to school

You won’t leave your room

“Where is (L/n)?”

“Pft wouldn’t you like to know!”

“We’re not telling you. You don’t deserve to even speak to them.”

“Fine if that’s how it’s going to be, I’ll give your regards to them.”

“What?!” “Wait!” 

Unbeknownst to you Vil is very much in love with you 

But what did you expect?!

That he’d admit to actually being just as obsessed if not more so than you

He figured the best way to keep you close enough was by taking advantage of your emotional flaw

And while he wasn’t wrong, 

he realized the way it’s been going is all too risky

Nosy obstacles friends of yours, suspicious coworkers, gossiping potatoes

It’s just too risky so he’ll promptly resign putting time and energy into his former hobby

Taking the world by storm he’ll disappear

Giving you the so-called space you want so badly

But he’ll be watching

Watching as you mend yourself together only to fall apart again with every new tragedy

Your grades suspiciously slip

Your house is going to be foreclosed

Your father disappears one evening becoming a missing person’s case

And finally, your dear poor friends suddenly die

Catching some sickness after investigating something they refused to tell you about in  the forest

It’s there, where you’ve graduated and are at your lowest once again that he makes his move

“It’s been a while, (L/n).”

He’ll skew the events that day claiming the doe was someone else or that it was all a cover

And like that, he’ll slither back into your heart with his leash fully keeping you within his grasp

“For all that trouble, (Y/n) you’re irrevocably mine.”

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere #yanderes #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere vil schoenheit #yandere vil #yandere vil x reader #yandere vil schoenheit x reader #yandere x gn reader #yandere x gender neutral reader

[inoreuct]

I have a hc that Zoro gets really bad migraines, sanji is usually the one who notices and takes care of him- any thoughts/headcanons on what that looks like? (If you feel like it ☺️❤)

couldn’t resist writing a small drabble,,, more hcs below! 

Zoro yanked the galley door open, vision blotting out in spots of white, banging his shoulder into the doorframe when he misjudged the distance. “Cook—”

“Shit,” Sanji hissed, quickly switching off the stove and grabbing him under the arms as the swordsman stumbled.  

He felt hot and cold at the same time, sweat beading along his forehead and lip and lower back, the throbbing of his head sending neon spikes of colour blooming through his field of sight. A chair clattered as he was set into it heavily, legs scraping along the floor as Zoro immediately folded his arms on the dining table and buried his face into them. 

The fridge door was opened and closed, cold fingers sweeping up the back of his neck as Sanji pressed a bag of frozen peas into his hand. “Idiot. Why’d you let it get so bad?”

“Didn’t notice,” Zoro groaned, trying to breathe deeply as he jammed the plastic package against his right temple, over his eye. The temperature shock was a blessed relief. 

Sanji sighed, long-suffering as he went to rummage through a cabinet. “Here,” he murmured, voice toned low, nudging something at Zoro’s lips. “Aah.” 

The swordsman took it between his teeth and tucked it under his tongue with a long exhale, humming a question as it began to dissolve spicy-sweet, the zing of it prickly on the roof of his mouth. 

“Ginger drops. Should help with the pain.” Sanji carded a gentle hand through his sweaty hair and swiped a bead of condensation from the bag before it could drip. “Wait here, I’ll make you some broth.”

Zoro made a vague noise of assent, content to sit there with his peas and his candy and the pounding in the side of his head that was, thankfully, a smidge duller than it had been when he’d come in. He could hear Sanji puttering about behind him, dimming the electric lamps, pulling things from the fridge again, the soft tk-tk-tk-tk of the gas stove igniter. 

The aura had hit him out of left field this time. By the time he’d realised it was going to be a bad migraine his face had already started going numb, a hot flush growing in the back of his head and something humming in his ears. If he’d stayed in his quarters like he sometimes chose to, he wouldn’t have been able to yell loud enough for Sanji to hear and—

“You should tell the crew,” the cook breathed, and Zoro winced. Listening to anything at all at the moment felt like an ice pick being driven through his temple, but at least the bubbling he heard was slightly soothing. He shook his head. He knew Sanji would see. 

They’d had this conversation a dozen times over by now. Sanji wanted the crew to be aware, at least, just in case for whatever reason Zoro needed help and he wasn’t there; Zoro just… didn’t see a need. He’d handle it. He always had. 

He heard the soft sound of a wooden spoon on ceramic, heard the flame turn off and a cork placemat being put down in front of him. Shoving his face further into the crook of his arm, he smelled the light, savoury fragrance of chicken soup as Sanji brought the pot over. 

“Up,” Sanji whispered, poking at his elbow with a spoon, and Zoro sighed. 

The galley was dim, washed in warm yellow light. He tucked the remnants of the ginger drop to the side of his cheek as Sanji blew on a spoonful of broth and lifted it to his mouth. It was less rich than Sanji would have preferred— Zoro appreciated the consideration. “S’good.”

“Of course it is.” Sanji carefully fed him another spoonful, brows furrowing. “How’s the head?”

“…Better.” Zoro had long since gotten over his qualms at getting spoonfed like a child; after that one time he’d lost his balance and nearly cracked his skull open on a cabinet corner insisting “he could handle it”, he’d given up and let Sanji take care of him. 

The cook took a seat, lifting the chair so that the legs didn’t drag. “This isn’t a weakness, you know.”

“Th’ fuck are you going on about,” Zoro mumbled. He was too tired to even make it a question. His brain felt three sizes too big for his skull and the backs of his eyeballs hurt.

“Your migraines,” Sanji clarified, insistent but still keeping his voice hushed. “None of us would think any less of you, or—”

“It’s not that.” He cut that train of thought off before it could go anywhere. He knew better than to think that, even though it did rub him the wrong way sometimes; but his migraines were more of a liability than a weakness—

Oh. Put that way, those two were kind of the same thing, weren’t they. 

Sanji scoffed at the back of his throat. “Then what is it?”

“Maybe I just like you taking care of me,” Zoro said, and immediately winced. There was more honesty in that than he was willing to deal with at the moment. 

“You—” Sanji started, before huffing in frustration a moment later. “If what you're worried about is getting migraines in the middle of a fight—”

Damn this cook, seeing through him every time.

“—you need to tell them so that we can cover for you if it happens.” 

And that made Zoro pause. Not so we can pick up your slack, but so we can cover for you. So we can protect you. 

He was so tired.

“…Fine,” he allowed, and the gentle smile Sanji beamed at him was so bright that he nearly put his head back down again. 

“Thank you.” 

“For?”

Sanji pushed the pot towards him and got up, going behind his chair to thread his fingers through green hair, rubbing firm circles into his temples and coaxing Zoro upwards. “Trusting us enough to take care of you,” he murmured, grinning, pressing the words into Zoro’s hairline. The cook dragged neatly-trimmed fingernails across Zoro’s scalp and turned away, and the swordsman heard the tap start running. “I want that soup gone, we need to keep you hydrated. Finish the noodles if you can stomach it too, hm?”

“Hm.” Zoro sat. He drank his soup. He ate his noodles. By the time Sanji came around to steal a bite he’d nearly emptied the pot. 

“Oh, this is good,” Sanji mumbled around the last mouthful as he took it to the stove, and Zoro stood up to wrap his arms around his boyfriend’s waist and rest his forehead on Sanji’s shoulder. The bag of peas was left on the table, half-thawed and forgotten.

The cook took his weight easily, his warm chuckle reveberating through Zoro’s chest as he heard what Zoro didn’t say. “You’re welcome, marimo.”

Zoro hummed quietly, giving him a squeeze and brushing a kiss to his cheekbone, feeling the cook’s heart thump beneath his palm. Sanji had always been the best at reading him.

He pressed his temple to Sanji’s jaw, and realised his migraine was gone. 

fin.

they’re stress migraines, i think. started when zoro was younger, and they played a part in his drinking problem; he’d try to use alcohol to dull the pain and then wake up with a head-splitting hangover. needless to say he was looking for alternative solutions pretty quick.

he can kind of tell before the real migraine hits. he starts getting numb and feeling out-of-body, then his ears start buzzing and his vision whites out if he moves around and then the pain starts. cold sweat too, definitely, and painkillers help but only if he takes them early. the problem is that it starts getting bad real quick once the aura hits.

sanji found out after they got together, when zoro had a migraine so bad he was curled up in his bunk with his head buried under the pillow. the cook kinda freaked out because?? zoro doesn’t just hide like this wtf?? but zoro gets the gist of it across and sanji spends the rest of the night with him, trying to help as much as he can. it’s not much— but it’s something.

pressure helps. they’ve definitely tried goofy things like zoro lying down between sanji’s thighs like sanji’s sitting on his shoulders and asking the cook to essentially crush his head; nami walked in on them, and that’s how they were forced to explain that they weren’t doing anything funny BUT they also accidentally got so flustered that they came out to the crew by accident.

they still do it sometimes when the migraine isn’t too bad; other days zoro drags himself to the galley and sanji gets some liquids in him, puts an ice pack on his head and lets him shrivel up and die on the cold floor in the corner a little

zoro mentions not wanting to take laudanum, because he’s afraid of getting addicted— so sanji makes the ginger drops. they’re made of concentrated ginger, turmeric, cloves and willow bark, all natural painkillers that help with inflammation and headaches, with a pinch of lavender because after the actual migraine passes zoro likes to sleep it off and a little bit of extra help can’t hurt. AND they’re hard candies and not pastilles because sanji knows that chewing makes the migraines worse.

on that note, he mainly gives zoro some sort of soup or broth, or porridge; something bland and easy to get down and keep down. the swordsman hurling his guts up in his sink and worsening his migraine to the point where he’d nearly cried (he’d insisted that his eyes were just watering) is something that sanji never wants to experience again.

after zoro tells the crew, they’re all a little pissed off that he’d been dealing with it for so long on his own (“what am i, chopped liver?” sanji had scoffed) but they all reassure him enthusiastically that yes, he’s still the big strong swordsman and yes, they won’t baby him and yes, it isn’t an inconvenience at all.

(zoro refuses to admit that he’s touched.)

he only ever actually gets a migraine once on the battlefield, the one time he has to pull his punches so hard because they need to capture, not kill. his head hurts so bad but he still tries to fight until luffy slingshots him back to the boat with strict orders to stay.

he’s smoking mad, but he does stay. he sulks and rages as much as his headache allows but he stays, and everything’s fine in the end. sanji gives him a kiss for being a good marimo (the cook’s words, not his) so he supposes it’s alright.

that’s all for now! as someone who occasionally gets migraines this was nice to write HAHA THANK YOU FOR THE ASK ANON 🫶🏼🫶🏼

#zosan #one piece zosan #op zosan #zoro x sanji #ronoroa zoro #one piece sanji #black leg sanji #one piece #one piece zoro #HOLDS THEM GENTLY #ask box #ino’s ask box

[travelersspark]

𝑷𝒐𝒍𝒚.ᐟ 𝑬𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑴𝒆𝒈𝒂𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒏 & 𝑶𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒖𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒆𝒓 𝒉𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒔/𝒐 𝑯𝑪ᐟ𝒔

When you first met them you were pretty surprised. Mostly cause you've known Dot for most of your life and yet she never told you much about her life with the cybertronians. She introduced you to them one night after you persisted on her telling you what the G.H.O.S.T signia was on a folder. (Finding it by accident in a stack of papers) Them being giant alien robots from another planet and all but they didn't seem to want to hurt you so you were cool about it.

Optimus being the gentleman he is was one of the first one you gravitated towards. He just RADIATES supportive husband aura.

Megatron was first to catch feelings for you. It was because of your smile. He swore you looked so beautiful to him. (Dot is his wingman so she would try and hook you guys up)

Both Bots ask about your favorite things, which makes sense since you randomly started get gifts at your home at odd hours of the day and night.

Megs loves holding your hand in his big servo. HE'S SO GENTLE WITH YOU ! Never was one to show affection but with you , he's all over you.

Op is more of a verbal affectionate person. He easily will encourage you with you words of comfort and affirmations.

Both have a talk about you. How they feel about you. They kind of try to understand this feeling in thier sparks. They are in a bit of denial. Them. Falling for a Human?! No way. But as time progresses. They see more to you than they thought. You as well.

They confess after an attack on your home by the decepticons. Thier sparks hurt seeing you so scared. Megs being the one to swear to protect you as long as he can and Op agreeing. Now. You have two old Cybertronian boyfriends.

Love triangle vibes. You being that center peice to blooming romance.

Expect some random drop ins by them both when your home. They just want to make sure your alright. Optimus offering to set up camp at your home for a couple of weeks which Megatron agrees with.

One of the best surprises they gave you was after a couple of months dating, both decided to reveal thier holoforms to you. You. Were. in. TEARS ! you were so happy to finally have them your size and actually get true hugs and love.

They never had a term for this relationship but you had to explain he idea of Polyamory to them. Both being old bots it took them some time to understand such things about this day and age.

PDA is a suprising thing for you with them. They are all for contact and affection. Megs still being a bit shy about it but he's open to it.

Love watching you while doing work. They look off from a distance, amazed by your presence and gaze. They love you and they are happy to call you thier sparkmates.

#transformers earthspark #tf earthspark #tfe #megatron #optimus #tfe megatron #tfe optimus #earthspark x reader #transformers x reader #polyrobots #transformers imagine #transformers headcanons

[zapreportsblog]

Ok ok ok, do one where reader is a fairy, I mean like tinkerbell size, and they need somewhere warm during the winter because they’ve been living in a tree, so they seek refuge in the Cullen household and one of them finds them (I don’t really care who it is so you can pick, but in the end I want all of them to meet the fairy)

Also I love your writing so much omg ❤️

❝little fairy girl❞

✭ pairing : Cullen Family x reader

✭ fandom : twilight

✭ summary : (y/n) is a forest fairy that lives nearby the Cullens though she goes unnoticed but as winter rolls by she seeks shelter in their house, again unnoticed well that’s until she is noticed

✭ twilight masterlist

In the heart of Forks, Washington, nestled deep within the dense forest, there was a place unlike any other. It was a realm of magic, hidden from the eyes of ordinary humans, and only known to those who believed in the extraordinary. This mystical place was home to (Y/N), a fairy of unparalleled beauty and grace.

(Y/N) had lived in the enchanted woods of Forks for as long as she could remember. With her delicate wings shimmering like the morning dew and her emerald eyes sparkling like the ancient trees that surrounded her, she was a vision of ethereal beauty. Her hair, the color of moonlight, cascaded down her back, and her laughter echoed through the forest, filling it with a sense of wonder and enchantment.

The fairy's home was a cozy, ivy-covered cottage nestled beneath the towering cedar trees. Inside, her living room was adorned with delicate crystals that bathed the room in a soft, colorful glow. Books on magic and ancient spells lined the shelves, evidence of her insatiable curiosity about the hidden mysteries of the forest.

But (Y/N)'s life wasn't just about solitude and serenity. She had friends among the woodland creatures, from the mischievous squirrels who would playfully tease her, to the wise old owls who shared their ancient knowledge. She was also known to dance with fireflies on warm summer nights and sing songs that made the flowers bloom with every note.

Her closest companion, however, was a majestic wolf named Luna, who had silvery fur that shimmered like the moon. Luna was not an ordinary wolf; she possessed a deep connection to the fairy and served as her protector in the enchanted woods. Together, they were an inseparable pair, guardians of the mystical secrets that lay hidden in the heart of Forks.

But as peaceful as life seemed, there was an undercurrent of mystery and intrigue in the enchanted woods. Rumors of a long-forgotten prophecy whispered through the leaves, and (Y/N) couldn't shake the feeling that her destiny was entwined with the fate of the forest and the creatures who called it home.

As autumn's vibrant colors gave way to a crisp chill, (Y/N) sensed the approaching winter with a shiver of unease. Her woodland home, though enchanting, was not immune to the harshness of the season. The leaves had fallen from the trees, and a biting wind swept through the forest, making her delicate wings quiver.

Realizing she hadn't prepared herself adequately for the impending cold, (Y/N) knew she had to find shelter. Her small, palm-sized form wouldn't withstand the winter's icy grasp for long. She needed a safe haven, and there was one place that came to mind—the Cullen house.

With a mixture of determination and trepidation, (Y/N) embarked on her journey to the Cullen residence. She fluttered through the forest, her wings beating gracefully against the frigid air, until she reached the edge of the property. She hid among the evergreen branches, observing the house from a distance.

The Cullen house, like its inhabitants, was a mysterious place. It had an aura of elegance and secrecy that intrigued (Y/N) from afar. She knew of the family who resided there, thanks to the whispers of the forest creatures. They were rumored to be different, special in a way that matched the enchantment of Forks' woods.

Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, (Y/N) darted closer to the house, searching for a hidden entry point. She found a crack in the foundation just wide enough for her to slip through. With a silent prayer to the woodland spirits for guidance, she entered the Cullen home unnoticed.

Inside, the warmth enveloped her like a comforting embrace. It was a stark contrast to the biting cold outside. (Y/N) remained hidden, her tiny form tucked away in the shadows, as she watched the Cullens move about their daily lives, unaware of her presence.

She listened to their conversations and marveled at their beauty and grace. There was something otherworldly about them, much like herself. In this moment, (Y/N) felt a strange kinship with the Cullens, as if fate had brought her here for a reason.

As the days grew shorter and the nights colder, (Y/N) continued to seek refuge in the Cullen house, all the while remaining hidden, her presence a secret known only to the creatures of the forest and the whispering winds. Little did she know that her decision to seek shelter with the Cullens would lead to unexpected encounters and a destiny she could never have imagined.

Days turned into weeks, and (Y/N) continued to find solace in the warmth of the Cullen house, hidden away from their view. She observed their interactions with a mixture of fascination and curiosity, still unsure if revealing herself was the right course of action.

One evening, as (Y/N) perched on a windowsill, peering outside at the falling snowflakes, she heard a soft, melodious voice. It was Esme, the matriarch of the Cullen family, known for her boundless compassion and nurturing spirit. Her voice carried through the house like a soothing lullaby.

Esme had been tending to the grand piano in the living room, her graceful fingers dancing over the keys. The hauntingly beautiful music filled the air, and (Y/N)'s heart swelled with the emotions it evoked.

Drawn by the enchanting melody, (Y/N) fluttered closer, her tiny form hovering just out of sight. Unbeknownst to her, her presence had not gone entirely unnoticed by Esme. The matriarch had a keen intuition that extended beyond the ordinary, a gift that had served her well throughout her long life.

Esme paused in her playing, her golden eyes scanning the room. Her gaze, gentle yet perceptive, landed on the small, hidden fairy.

"Is someone there?" Esme asked, her voice filled with warmth and concern. Her eyes seemed to penetrate the shadows, seeking out the hidden presence.

(Y/N) hesitated for a moment, her heart fluttering with uncertainty. But there was something in Esme's gaze, a kindness and understanding, that urged her to reveal herself. With a graceful descent, (Y/N) landed on the edge of the piano, her tiny figure illuminated by the soft glow of the room's lights.

Esme's eyes widened in gentle surprise as she beheld the tiny, radiant fairy before her. Her fingers, once poised over the piano keys, now reached out slowly, as if offering a delicate greeting.

"Hello there," Esme whispered, her voice filled with wonder. "What brings you to our home, dear one?"

(Y/N) hesitated no longer. With a voice as delicate as the rustling leaves, she replied, "I sought shelter from the cold, and your home offered warmth and solace."

A warm smile graced Esme's lips as she extended her hand, allowing (Y/N) to alight upon her palm. "You are most welcome here," Esme said, her golden eyes filled with kindness. "We are a family that embraces the extraordinary, and you, my dear, are indeed extraordinary."

In that moment, (Y/N) knew that her life had taken an unexpected turn. She had found not just refuge from the winter's chill but also a new family, one that saw the magic within her and accepted her as one of their own. And so, her journey with the Cullens began, forging bonds that would change her destiny forever.

With Esme's gentle hand supporting her, (Y/N) felt a sense of belonging she had never known before. The warmth of the Cullen house was not just physical; it emanated from the family's genuine acceptance and kindness. Still nestled in Esme's palm, she couldn't help but feel a wave of gratitude.

As (Y/N) perched in Esme's hand, the matriarch made her way through the house, introducing the tiny fairy to each member of the Cullen family. First, they came across Carlisle, the family's patriarch, with his calming presence and golden eyes that mirrored Esme's. He extended a hand, and (Y/N) hopped onto his fingers, offering a delicate curtsy in greeting.

Next were Alice and Jasper, their unique gifts allowing them to sense emotions and foresee outcomes. Alice's infectious enthusiasm and Jasper's serene demeanor made (Y/N) feel at ease. She flitted around them, her presence met with smiles and welcoming gestures.

Edward, the introspective mind-reader of the family, regarded (Y/N) with curiosity and a hint of amusement. He didn't say much, but his presence was enigmatic and intriguing. (Y/N) couldn't help but be captivated by his enigmatic aura.

Rosalie and Emmett, the physically powerful siblings, greeted (Y/N) with hearty laughter and playful banter. They seemed larger than life, their vibrant personalities filling the room.

Lastly, they arrived at the youngest member of the family, Renesmee, a half-human, half-vampire hybrid who possessed an extraordinary ability to communicate with those around her through thought. Renesmee's eyes widened with wonder as she extended her hand, her gentle thoughts reaching out to (Y/N). The fairy fluttered toward her, sharing a moment of unspoken understanding.

Each introduction was met with curiosity, fascination, and an unwavering acceptance. The Cullens, a family of unique individuals with their own supernatural qualities, embraced (Y/N) as one of their own, a living embodiment of the enchantment that surrounded them.

Esme's voice filled the room as she spoke of (Y/N)'s arrival and the circumstances that had brought the tiny fairy into their lives. The family listened with rapt attention, their expressions a mixture of intrigue and empathy.

"You are no ordinary visitor, (Y/N)," Esme said with a smile, her hand cradling the fairy gently. "You are a part of this family now, and we are delighted to have you."

(Y/N) couldn't have asked for a more extraordinary welcome. In the presence of the Cullens, she had found not just shelter from the cold, but a place where her magic was celebrated and her heart had discovered a new home. Her life had taken a remarkable turn, and she knew that her journey with the Cullens was only beginning.

#x reader #x reader one shot #x reader oneshot #x reader requests #twilight #twilight masterlist #twilight scenario #twilight imagines #twilight carlisle #twilight imagine #twilight esme #twilight rosalie #twilight emmett #twilight edward #twilight alice #twilight jasper #esme cullen #carlisle cullen #rosalie hale #jasper hale #alice cullen #emmett cullen #edward cullen #twilight x fairy reader #twilight x y/n #twilight x you

[cho-aaacho]

¸¸♬·¯·♪·¯·♫¸¸ 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑪𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏 ¸¸♫·¯·♪¸♩·¯·♬¸¸

Masterlist I Archive Of Our Own

Summary : Your admiration for your captain is delightful, blossoming within him. As dawn falls on the horizon and the sun peeks through the curtain, everything has changed; he needs to do something.

Tags : Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Boss/Employee Relationship, Soft Albert Wesker, Crushes, Admirations, Love Confessions, Reader is genderless.

He knows you adore him. Thinking it was cute. Your admiration for him transforms like a delicate flower in his palm and your heart dances like a train every time you steal a glance at him. 

Fall like fragile flowers, fluttered hearts like a butterfly. Every moment and every time you see him, you feel that way.

Jill thinks your admiration is unhealthy because every time your captain needs you for something, you immediately run to him without hesitation, complaining or talking badly behind his back.

With lips as soft as a plum, eyes that painted like a morning veil, and a voice as gentle as a night breeze, he was the perfect man in your own world. You imagine yourself in the romantic waltz with him, under the beautiful full moon.

Amazing.

Despite never calling your given name. You always love the way he's calling your name. Sweet as sugar, sweeter than honey, made your heart pound rapidly. The gentle moment when his eyes closed while spelling your name became a sweet memory.

Or when he lovingly guided you to use the gun. With this distance, he places his chin on your shoulder, creating a tranquil intimate moment as a secret whisper.

His masculine aura, mingled with the sweet scent of expensive hair products, enveloped your presence when he drew near.

Could it be love?

One day Albert called you to his office, saying that he had something important to say. You didn't know what it was, because what you remembered was that you didn't have a problem with him. You did your best to finish your reports and didn't make a single typo.

But you entered his office and found him in the front of an aquarium, waiting for you for something. A smile bloomed on his face, blossoming something beautiful inside your heart.

"Rookie, I know it may sound weird or crazy. But let me tell you something. How about we—I mean. We are both adults, right? So... we shouldn't act like children. How about we—I mean, do you want to be someone in the story of my life?"

"I love you, Rookie."

A/N : I'm not good at drawing but I made a fanart for this scenario

#albert wesker x you #wesker x you #wesker x reader #albert wesker x reader #albert wesker fluff #wesker fluff #wesker #albert wesker #resident evil fluff #fluff x reader #resident evil x you #resident evil wesker #resident evil albert wesker #resident evil fanart #wesker fanart #albert wesker fanart

[mrsoharaa]

Ꮺ ❥ 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

characters: Miguel O'Hara x Reader

content warnings: none! all fluff, mentions of secret cameras in readers apartment, but nothing out of context for it. Lyla being a real one in this lmao.

kinda a second part for this piece! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ♡

Since the night he had frolicked into your little quaint apartment and tending to his wounds, like the good little nurse that you were, he couldn't stop thinking about you. Couldn't stop thinking about the way you gently, tenderly tended to his inflicted wounds. How soft and endearing your gaze was when you carefully studied him. Showing him such welcomed hospitality and shelter from that dreadful night of down pour.

So with everybody out of his heir and off on missions, he pulled up the secret surveillances he sprawled across your apartment and scoured through each hovering luminous screen in search of your beaming presence. But to his dismay, he couldn't find you. Thoughts rambling amuck, his anxiety burning through his pumping veins, but quickly fades as he watches you lazily waltz through your front door and being greeted by your fury, eccentric animal companion, Cheddar.

He scoffs under his breath at the silly name.

What a name to appoint to a canine.

But...he smiled none-the-less when he watches you happily indulge in your giddy pets affections towards you. Laughing, stumbling back onto your bottom as you hold your adoring pet in your warm, welcoming arms. Basking in the sheer happiness and blooming joy radiating off from you.

His rigid, shallow scarlet eyes soften at the display, casually— gradually, falling towards the full allure of his prying attention; your pretty flush lips. Head tilts lightly to the side as he intently studies the way the plush flesh would curl, part and press ever so delicately amongst one another. Finds himself so entranced with the supple skin. Feels his barren heart trample frantically at the thought of needing to press his fingers, let alone his lips, against them.

"Ohhh, is that the girly nurse that helped you out that one night Miguel?" Lyla loomed over Miguel's right tense shoulder suddenly, quickly tearing him away from his deep trance. Hastily changing the glowing screens bestowing before him.

Her coy giggles bellow repetitively into his burning ears, a pinch to the bridge of his nose hardly subdues his growing frustration and slight embarrassment.

"I thought I told you to shut down Lyla" he grumbles under a weighted breath.

"You did, but there was something I had to check before I did soooo...I'm glad I haven't, she's super pretty, stalking her now Miguel? not very heroic-y of you" she taunts with a brimming grin, earning her another prolong frustrated grunt in response.

"Lyla." he rumbles firmly, a light tinge of flush creeping into his firm chiseled cheeks.

"Alright alright fineee Miguel...but just so you know, maybe actually asking her out on a actual date wouldn't be such a bad idea, hm? instead of y'know...creeping on her" she shrugs with a joyous, mocking laugh.

"Buen dios, ¡vamos!" he barks with spiked fluster, dwelling embarrassment clawing through his beating chest. Waves frantically at his looming AI over his shoulder, listening to the pestering giggles slowly fade off.

His eyes roam off into the dark distance of his vast space, the sound of your sweet voice immediately drawing his attention back to his hidden screens, which he instantly pulls back up. Watching you gleefully stroll through the kitchen, fixing up a bowl of cereal with your loyal, giddy companion at your side.

His concentrated eyes never leaving you for a split of a second.

The inquisitive suggestion Lyla prodded at Miguel had lingered at the back of his mind. Wondering if he should just "drop on by" just to "check on you", only wanted to be surrounded by the radiating warmth your aura seemed to permeate. To ease his hounding stress and riveting anxiety mauling over his broad, stiff shoulders.

#I just had this urgeeee to write a cutesy flustered miggy! #hehe he's sooo crushing! #it's sooo cute! ૮꒰⸝⸝> ̫ <⸝⸝꒱ა #ngl...the last bit about the bowl of cereal was based off of me eating a bowl of cereal lmaooo #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv

[plagueoffools]

I saw that you write for land of the lustrous so i was thinking hat maybe you could write moon phos and a lunarian reader??

"GOD BLESS MY FLOWER, LET IT BLOOM FOR THE WORLD TO BEHOLD AND LET IT NOT BE SO COLD."

(REQUESTED) MOON! PHOSPHOPHYLLITE / LUNARIAN! GN! READER

LAND OF THE LUSTROUS

[ slight ANGST ] 799 WORDS

[SEMI! HC AND SCENARIO FORMAT.]

⸺SONG// the perfect girl by mareux //

Moon Phosphophyllite is a gem of much curiosity, going through far and wide to busy his head in somewhere it shouldn't be. This is no surprise when you manage to catch his eye, though you take the form just as similar as all the many lunarians that he has become familiar with. He cannot seem to place where the source of his intrigue and fascination with you has originated from.

⸺Perhaps, it was the fact that you brought him back to a past. A past where he was not so burdened with the responsibilities that he holds today, he reminisces in memories filled with grassy bedding unlike the smooth surface of the cold floors he walks upon now.

⸺Though phos is a gem of confrontation, he finds just as much relief in glancing at your form from a distance as well. He decides in this one instance that he won't headbutt himself into the situation like he always does instead he'll simply just -stalk- watch you.

⸺He's a gem who has known helplessness like the back of his hand, like a familiar foe who he fights off every time he watches you slip past his peripheral vision or a familiar friend who he invites back when an unsettling void has settled inside of him.

⸺In his days of stress, he can't help but find relief in this odd -obsession- fascination he has harboured for you. A subject to take over his mind when he need not to think most, an object to pry his eyes away from visions he does not want resurfacing.

⸺ After a short amount of time ( he's a gem with a patience as low as his hardness ), he goes around subtly asking his fellow gems and lunarians. One time being as desparate enough to seek information of you from the admirabilis. Perhaps it was your odd nature, you had an aura of enigma that a curious person like he was magnetised to.

⸺ Sometimes, he finds himself searching for your presence in every room he walks in subconsciously. Sometimes, he even finds himself at places he has heard you frequented usually with a look of expectancy. Amongst the tall artificial meadows and gardens that overlook the scenery of kumera.

He discovered that you were a botanist of some sort, retrieving plants of varying kinds from earth and documenting them by writing encyclopedias. However, the plants retrieved from earth dies sooner or later due to the lack of oxygen that was supplied.

So you started to pursue a new project. To grow authentic plants on the moon, ones that could replicate the beauty and vibrancy the ones on earth held. Of course, it was discovered that the experiment had a difficult time progressing due to the moon's contrasting nature compared to earth's. Even though the meadows he stands in hold a serene view of vibrancy and colours, he'd find that after wandering through, a green house of sorts. The green house houses a view of solemnity, wilting petals are scattered on the floor as they slump.

Tragic, he mused at the odd division separating the tall moon flowers swaying along his movements and the wilting brown of the earth's flowers inside. However your form sticks out the most amongst all the slumping flowers. Your slouching form almost resemble the wilting flowers that you have encassed yourself with, unlike theirs your vibrancy never withered nor your beauty. ( That's what he thinks at least )

He reminisce back when he was tasked the same, almost wishing how he should've gone through with the job and gain some extensive knowledge just so he could find a reason to strike up a conversation of sorts with you.

Though with the overwhelming situation at hand, he finds it difficult to indulge himself in your presence. Usually being taken from here to there for this and that.

However he'd find that he wasn't the only one with a keen eye for engimatic figures,

With colours like the convolvulus tricolor plant, a true morning glory he was. You found yourself eyeing the gem often, it really wasn't your fault. How could you deny such an inviting glance? You were well aware of the effect you had on the gem, though you weren't aware of how deep the depth of this effect went.

It was still quite a comedic situation, peers would confront you one after another about the inquiring gem and it only brought a smile out of you after each one. It was only fair to reciprocate the interest he has showed, you were just as interested in the byronic hero as he was in you after all.

Unfortunately, work's calls and demands will not go unanswered. Though you walk in the same garden, you both have different paths to travel upon.

#moon phosphophyllite x reader #moon phosphophyllite #houseki no kuni x reader #houseki no kuni #land of the lustrous x reader #land of the lustrous #phosphophyllite x reader #phosphophyllite #moon phos x reader #moon phos

[weepinglilvessel]

Some more Oc art, but it’s happier :3

“You guys didn’t have to be here… but I’m glad you are”

—————————————————

I know it’s not Christmas yet but this has been on my mind for so long. This idea came from you guys decorating the crap out of Distance and calling him a Christmas tree XD

But other then that I had so much fun making this

#weepingart #rain world iterator #iterator oc #rw slugcat #distance blooming aura #devoid in golden trails #time of spiraling essence #murky luminescent seas #stare of thirteen stars #the willow #the fisher #oc artwork #oc art #rain world fanart #rw fanart

[milswrites]

Hobbies Epilogue.

~ Azriel X Reader

Summary: In an attempt to keep Azriel away from Elain, Rhys sends him on a sabbatical to the Day Court. With a lot more free time on his hands Azriel needs to find something to keep him occupied. Unfortunately he meets Y/N who has the annoying habit of not staying away. Can she teach him that there’s more to life than he thought?

Grumpy!Azriel X Sunshine!Reader

Series masterlist

Warnings: Mentions of sex. Mentions of drinking. Crippling sadness over the fact that this series is over maybe? (Just me? 😭)

Feyre and Y/N were hurriedly running through the streets of Velaris towards the townhouse, Nyx held lovingly in the latter woman’s arms, his little legs too small to be able to keep up with his rushing family.

They were running late, the two having decided to meet for a coffee in the Rainbow before Y/N and Azriel set off on their long travels. A honeymoon of sorts, Azriel’s gift to Y/N for finally accepting the golden bond between them after a year of taking it slowly.

A year of the two taking in turns to visit the other’s court, of spending every minute they weren’t working in the other’s company. Azriel’s shadows were a great help in this, aiding the male in swiftly travelling to her home at the end of each day, ensuring that the pair slept soundly in the comfort of each other’s arms by the time night fell.

A year of Y/N getting to know her mates family. Her family. Who didn’t just see the woman as Azriel’s mate, but as their sister. Her bright aura being the missing piece of their puzzle, her shining presence a sign that their family was now complete.

And what a family it was. Azriel sometimes miserably complained that he swore Y/N only visited him to get to spend her precious time with everyone else.

To paint with Feyre in her studio, using Nyx as their giggling muse as he failed to sit still for them. Wriggling and squirming, as the women attempted to capture his beaming face on the canvas. Wanting to capture every minute of his youth as they could before he grew old.

The drinking with Cassian and Mor and Rita’s, there being many nights where a grumbling Azriel had to hide his smirk as he had to lift a wobbly Y/N into his arms in order to carry her home to sleep away the alcohol in her system.

Amren and Nesta were always up for a reading session with Y/N. The women spending hours of their time perusing through the dusty shelves of all the quaint bookshops in Velaris. Excitedly exchanging reviews whenever the woman from Day returned to the Night Court.

Y/N had even began to help Elain in her garden. Bringing trimmings of the plants that blossomed in Day, hoping that with Elain’s tender nurturing they would bloom just as beautifully in Night. Growing a piece of Y/N’s home in Azriel’s court.

Life had been perfect. A constant upwards spiral of contentment. The shadowsinger doing everything in his power to ensure that Y/N always had a dazzling smile across her face, the male undertaking this task with a grave seriousness as if it were a matter of life and death.

Now the shimmering bond had been tethered permanently between them, life could only keep on getting better and better. And it was going to, starting with this magical trip he was going to take her on across the courts, just as Azriel had promised Y/N before the bond between them had even made its appearance.

At least it would be if Y/N actually got there in time.

~~~~~

“And you’ll make sure to write to us every week right?…And starfall! You have to come back for starfall!” Feyre panted heavily as she spoke to Y/N, the shadow of the townhouse appearing in the distance as they continued to quickly dash towards it, the figures of their impatient mates coming into their view the closer they got to the building.

“Oh of course we wouldn’t miss it Fey! Besides I promised this little man that I’d save him a dance this year” Y/N lovingly pecked Nyx on the cheek as she answered Feyre, the young boy blushing profusely at the action. His little heart belonging entirely to the woman who held him in her arms, Feyre’s child having a youthful crush on the lady. Threatening Azriel that whilst Y/N was his mate, he would be the one to marry her.

“I know” Feyre flashed a gentle smile over to Y/N as they slowed in their approach to the waiting males, “I just know Azriel would keep you wandering around Prythian for an eternity if he could.”

“No, we’d miss our family far too much. We can’t stay away for too long, we wouldn’t want to.”

Y/N plastered one last affectionate kiss onto Nyx’s cheek before passing him over to Feyre, the boy starting to cry as he left her tender embrace.

“Finally” Azriel huffed, walking over to the two women, giving Nyx a gentle squeeze to his cheek when he finally came to stand before you, “I was thinking you’d started to have second thoughts about this.”

“Second thoughts about spending night after night alone with my dashingly handsome mate? I think not” Y/N teased, her eyes moving to rake over her mates form. Azriel was once again wearing one of her own creations, it was all he wore these days when he didn’t have to be in leathers. He said it was because he didn’t like to waste money on clothes, Rhysand said it was because he was whipped.

Feyre rolled her eyes at the scent which had started to radiate from the shadowsinger, his dark eyes locked onto Y/N. “Save it for the trip Az” she chided, tapping him on the chest as she passed by him, moving to stand by Rhys.

Azriel came to stand behind Y/N his arms wrapping protectively around her as he pulled back into his chest, leaning down to whisper in her ear, “Thank the mother you’re here, the sooner we set off the sooner we can get away from Cassian.”

The woman looked over the silvery-eyed male who was hiccuping from the overwhelming force of his emotions, tears rolling down his cheeks at the realisation that his brother was leaving him for a few months.

“Oh come on Az he’s not so bad” Y/N muttered, eyes going wide in shock as the General released a particularly loud sob.

“He spent three hours crying last night at Rita’s over the fact we’re going.”

“See he loves you!”

“I think he was more so crying over the fact you were leaving him” Azriel said this jokingly, but failed to cover the bitter jealous edge to his voice. The frenzy of the bond’s acceptance still not quite fading, even after the two months you had spent feeding his desires.

“You’ll miss him” you smiled softly, warm eyes looking to your family who had gathered to wish you goodbye as you set off on your journey.

“Yeah” Azriel admitted, his own contented amber gaze taking in the same view of yours, “but something tells me we are going to have a lot of fun these next few months. We have to make the most of our time together before you go back to Day.”

Y/N stilled, going slightly stiff in Azriel’s arms as she lifted her head to meet his face, shyly speaking to her mate, “What if I told you that I don’t have to go back?”

“What?” Azriel asked, anticipation building in his chest as he turned Y/N around until her body faced his, needing to properly absorb her expression to see if what she was saying was really true.

“What if I said that Helion offered me a promotion? Emissary to the Night Court. He seemed to think that you guys needed some cheering up, something about you being miserable whenever I wasn’t there.”

Azriel laughed, a deep, earthshaking laugh. Sweeping Y/N into his arms as he spun her around, his enthusiastic movement gathering the attention of his family.

“Then I would tell you,” Azriel started, his forehead pressing lovingly against his mates, “that I’m ready for whatever adventure life will throw our way.”

“You’ll never be bored again” Y/N grinned, eyes bright and lively at the prospect of an eternity with her mate in Night, “not if I have anything to do with it.”

“My love” Azriel breathed deeply as he hovered his soft lips over Y/N’s, “It’s impossible to be bored when I have a mate as captivating as you are.”

There was no doubt in his mind that Azriel would never find himself short of anything to do again. After all Azriel was no longer alone. He had found his mate. His other half. And he would allow himself to spend an eternity trying out new things, as long as he meant he got to do it with her. With the woman who stole his heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Notes: Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!

Excuse me while I go cry.

Just want to thank you guys for all the love and support and comments and enthusiasm you’ve shown this series. There’s absolutely no way this would have been done without you guys and you’re all amazing and I appreciate each and every one of you so so much <3

Taglist:

@thelov3lybookworm @minnieoo @going-through-shit @iluvyewman-blog @laughterafter @amysangel @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @aaronwarnerobsessedmylove @justvibbinghere @honeybeeboobaa @willowpains @tele86 @mysticalfuncollectorus @mybestfriendmademe @starryhiraeth @gorlillaglue25 @moonlwghts @darling006 @anuttellaa @serendipityx150 @xxxalicerogersxx @that-one-little-soybean @scatteredstardustt @naturakaashi @nyx-the-alien @lostinpages13 @namelesssav @dreamlandreader @fightmedraco @maxmouse001

#acotar #fanfic #acotar imagine #sarah j maas #a court of thorns and roses #azriel x reader #azriel imagine #azriel #azriel oneshot #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar

[adore-laur]

SUNSTRUCK

— a sensual addition to southpaw 🌞

——

TODOS SANTOS, 1992

Palms slick with saltwater spread atop the surfboard floating in Mexico's turquoise ocean, its waxed surface scorching to the touch as it sparkles underneath the smoldering sun. Heaving himself up with taut and tanned arms, Harry switches out the cool engulfment for a beating heat that strikes his skin just right. Droplets cascade down the toned muscles of his back. Freckles that have come out of hiding dot his face in scattered clusters. The ultraviolet rays of June naturally bleach his tuft baby hairs blond.

He's unequivocally thriving, surrounded by a yellow aura gleaming brilliantly in the daylight.

Lying on his stomach, he manually paddles over to where Sawyer is supine on her pink inflatable raft. With a caramel-colored complexion and slim, silky legs that shimmer from the start of a sun-drenched summer, she resembles a solstitial vision for the ages. She has never looked more relaxed in all the years he's known her for. Her limbs that soak up splashes of Vitamin D are loose and not tense from working stationary hours at her office desk. There's no wrinkled crease of frustration between her eyebrows that needs to be smoothed out, nor is there a troubled frown pulling at her lips that needs to be lifted. She's in her own bubble of iridescent ecstasy.

This hush-hush getaway has rejuvenated their souls. The lush ocean breeze and visually flamboyant architecture lured them like they were a message in a bottle destined for the shoreline. Harry finally has uninterrupted time to spend with Sawyer in private in a nestled town where no one knows his name. Domesticity has already begun blooming in the desert bungalow where they're staying. Whispered confessions of love and gratitude spoken around the rims of coffee mugs. Waking up with her in his snuggly embrace is a luxury he's still getting used to. Kisses followed by wandering hands careen lazy mornings and sleepless nights. Their relationship is flourishing every day, and it feels like paradise.

As Sawyer tans like a sun goddess, Harry grows increasingly bored. The sluggish waves weren't nearly powerful enough to triumphantly catch, so he resorted to catching some rays instead. It didn't pan out too well because now his back is burning, and his girlfriend isn't paying attention to him. It's a deadly combination he needs to fix pronto.

"Sawyer," he says, peskily flicking water at her. "There's a shark behind you."

Opening her pretty brown irises shielded with cat-eye sunglasses, she flips him off and grouses, "You're not funny."

Harry smoothly straddles his surfboard and points past her. "I'm serious. Don't move, okay? I can see its fin circling."

It only takes a single second for her precious face to drop. She timidly shifts her sunglasses to the top of her head and stares at him in terror. "Is there really?" she whispers as if the non-existent shark is eavesdropping on the two lovers. "What do we do, Harry? Oh no, what do we do?"

To not crack a mischievous grin severely tests his might. "I'll grab you and take you to land. Don't worry, baby."

"We can't!" she tells him urgently, her voice rising to a whisper-shout. Thankfully, she doesn't dare turn around to see if they're actually in grave danger. "It'll follow us if we move. We have to be smart about this."

Harry dramatically looks off into the distance like he's in a film playing a determined survivor lost at sea. "If this is the last time we see each other," he declares with faux valor, "I want to die knowing I tried saving you."

Sawyer gawks at his morbid statement. He thought it was romantic. "Are you out of your mind? Don't say things like that!"

There's a slight growl to her tone, and she appears borderline petrified, so he abandons his silly prank. He's close enough to her raft to stretch his body forward and lift her, so he does, but not before humming the menacing Jaws theme and wiggling his fingers in her direction. She looks bewildered as he grips her waist and carefully transfers her to his surfboard. Once she's sat in front of him, he clings to her like a koala on a eucalyptus tree, his perspiring chest pressed flat against her back.

"Hi," he murmurs, nuzzling her cheek with his nose. "There's no shark. I just wanted to be near you."

Sawyer stills, then hastily unwinds his arms from around her. "You're so annoying," she whines, harmlessly slapping his thigh and grabbing her raft so it doesn't drift away.

Harry cups her jaw and tilts her head toward him. "You love me. I annoy the hell out of you, yet you can't get enough of me."

Glancing at his lips, she situates herself in his lap and smiles. "It's true. My sunray makes me happy even when he's a complete ditz."

Harry suddenly doesn't know how to speak, too enraptured by her natural beauty paired with a doe-eyed gaze that melts him like an ice cube on a sizzling driveway. Those brown eyes could get him to do anything she desired. Does she know that? Does she see the influence she has over him? Does she know nothing made sense in his life before he met her?

Unable to express his undying commitment to her without stumbling over his words, he utters a simple and sincere, "I love you."

Sawyer places her hand over his heart. "I know it."

Eventually, the rolling tide brings them back to the shore. The Baja California peninsula's tip possesses powdery sand grains that carry on for miles. This particular beach, Punta Lobos, is a hidden gem, and no tourists infest the area during the week. Rocky bluffs border the water, and the occasional hiker will admire the oceanic view from their advantage point before retreating down the trail behind the cliffs. Other than that, there's no one lurking around and disturbing the peace.

Harry and Sawyer lie side by side, sand sticking to their wet skin as the foamy waves barely reach their toes. Their fingers instinctively interlock, palms smoother due to being immersed in saltwater for hours, and something about it sends a firecracker shooting off in Harry's heart. Sawyer's skin after sunbathing is always gorgeous — golden, silken, and stamped with secret birthmarks only he knows the locations of.

He suddenly feels hot all over. Blazing sunbeams mixed with coursing dopamine are making him antsy. Trying to ignore his straying thoughts only worsens the constriction.

Looking over at his girl, Harry swallows and swipes his thumb across her chin to garner her undivided attention. She squints and beams angelically at him, a sheen of sweat gracing her cheekbones.

"Pretty girl," he says, his knuckles tracing the shape of her jaw. "What's on your mind?"

"I'm thinking about where our next destination should be."

"Nowhere. Let's stay here forever."

Sawyer ruffles his wavy hair. "And do what?"

A thousand scenarios whip around in his brain, and he ends up settling on asking his favorite question. "Wanna make out?"

Her plump lips instantly melt into a blissful smile. She rolls over on top of Harry's body, her syrupy skin adhering to his as she clasps his cheeks with her hands. She grants him his wish, coaxing warm and salty kisses from his mouth. His greedy hands roam the back of her thighs, trailing them up and down her sun-kissed flesh. Her ankles prop up and cross over each other, and she hums into his mouth as their craving kisses deepen. The pendant with his first initial that rests perfectly between her clavicles reminds him she's not going anywhere, as does the ring he gifted her that's settled on her finger, the cool metal neutralizing his flaming body temperature.

The unfortunate cause of their breakaway isn't because their love-filled lungs are deprived of oxygen. It's because, after all, they're on a public beach, and the sound of distant chatter has them pulling apart as quick as a zap of lightning.

Sawyer stands, briskly adjusting her bikini straps and glancing around like what they were doing was a scornful obscenity. She's adorably flustered. On the other hand, Harry sits up and nonchalantly adjusts himself while pinching his swollen bottom lip. He would be lying if he said he hasn't noticed excessive PDA isn't something Sawyer is necessarily comfortable with now that they're dating. She shies away from it, while he's quite the opposite. It's almost impossible to suppress the urge to touch and kiss her like there's no tomorrow, so he doesn't feel awkward about the innocuous disruption.

As he snatches his floral-patterned button-up that he left stranded on the sand and begins putting it back on, he spots his camcorder nearby. He brought it along to capture memories, which so far have mostly been of Sawyer in her feminine element—sunbathing on the poolside lounge chair with a magazine in her lap, curling her eyelashes in the bathroom mirror, dancing and singing to "Venus" by Bananarama on the bungalow sofa. 

She's the center of his universe. The summit of beauty and love.

His gaze flits between the device and Sawyer, who is now red in the face. It's amusing, so he brings the viewfinder up to his eye and presses the record button. He purses his lips to hide his growing smirk as he zooms in on the small group of people strolling to the coastline and then on her rattled reaction. 

It doesn't take long for her to notice. She jogs over to block the lens with her hands, fretting, "Stop it! This is so humiliating."

Harry laughs, lifting the camcorder to a height she can't reach. Sawyer is looking at him unimpressed, her arms crossed, and her head tilted to the side. The people most definitely saw them being handsy and smitten out in the open, but what's there to be sheepish about? Love is meant to be shown to the world.

"Are you embarrassed?" he teases, dragging out the last word.

She raises her eyebrows and nods. A hint of a smile plays at her lips, but it doesn't seem genuine. It appears insistent, one of hidden discomfort. 

Harry isn't a total space cadet, so he takes it as a cue to quit messing around and acknowledge her unspoken signals. He stops recording and drops the camera in the striped beach bag slung over her shoulder. He then tucks his surfboard under his armpit and offers Sawyer his free hand. The energy between them has shifted by a smidge, and he doesn't like it one bit. The grains of sand beneath his soles have somehow turned into eggshells within minutes.

"Ready to leave?" he asks. Sawyer nods again, still ominously silent, as she ignores his hand and fetches her deflating raft. "'Kay. Let's hit the road, then."

They arrive at the rental car, a vintage orange convertible that made his pockets hurt. Sawyer wanted it, and he couldn't refuse her. The hood is up in case of unpredictable weather, so Harry straps and fastens his surfboard to the top while Sawyer hops in the passenger seat, throws her raft in the backseat, and shimmies back into her daisy dukes.

Harry sits behind the steering wheel, his lanky limbs struggling to comfortably fit in the restricted space. The engine rumbles to life when he turns the key in the ignition, and he rolls the windows down before reversing out of the vacant parking lot. He peeks at Sawyer a few times as he merges onto the highway winding along the coast. She's staring at the desert landscape ahead that's saturated with a golden haze from the forthcoming sunset. Cacti and dead brush sizzle under the evening sun. Mountains tower over the feathery clouds. Vultures circle in the sky as roadrunners scurry along the pavement. It's stark scenery but nonetheless transcendent.

None of his surroundings matter, though, when his favorite person to talk to is overtly ignoring him. He tries to convince himself that maybe she's just tired. No, that can't be right. He knows her. She's affectionate when she hits a wall and cuddles up to him sweetly, clinging to his arm like a sloth on its beloved branch.

The truth is that he messed up.

Before he can dwell on every misstep he took in the past ten minutes, an earsplitting BOOM cuts through the atmosphere, followed by a rapid whooshing sound. Harry firmly clutches the wheel as the vehicle suddenly loses equilibrium. Without outwardly panicking, he takes his foot off the gas pedal and lets the car naturally slow down before pulling it off to the side of the road and braking lightly.

"Shit," he hisses under his breath, heart thumping erratically. "Goddamnit. I think one of the tires just blew out."

Poor Sawyer has her eyes pinched shut and a death grip on his bicep. Harry snaps back to reality and kills the engine, listening for any odd sounds. Before he steps out, he gives the top of Sawyer's head a gentle, comforting noogie and murmurs, "It's okay. We're okay."

She shakily gets out with him and leans against the passenger side door, anxiously biting her polished fingernails while Harry perplexedly settles a hand on his hip and assesses the external damage. The front right tire looks like one of the clocks in Salvador Dalí's The Persistence of Memory — sad, melted, and a surreal depiction of an unfavorable outcome.

He looks up and down the highway, finding no signs of any buildings, vehicles, or humans. Something he does see, however, is a broken beer bottle a couple of yards behind where they were driving a mere minute ago. Most of the shards of green glass are scattered along the edge of the road, yet a few stray pieces are lying in just the right place for any vehicle that comes racing down the highway. It's the perfect puncture for a not-so-perfect boyfriend already on thin ice. Karma must have a vendetta against him today, but he won't let it clip his wings. When life gives him lemons, he knows how to make a delectable pitcher of lemonade.

So, Harry does what he's best at: distracting his girlfriend. He can quickly turn this misfortune into something fun and make Sawyer forget about how sour the day has turned.

Swiping his sweaty forehead with his wrist, he huffs and gets to work. He's changed a few tires in his life, so it should be done in no time. First, he takes his shirt off so he doesn't get heatstroke. The humidity outside is brutal, causing sweat to bead by his hairline and on his back. He makes a show of slowly unbuttoning it and slinging the fabric over his shoulder. It's obvious Sawyer's gaze is locked on him. He's willing to admit he possesses vanity over his physicality, and it doesn't help that the girl watching him constantly feeds his ego.

Next, Harry takes his sweet time and saunters to the trunk, where the rental agency told him the spare tire is located. Lifting the trunk and flexing his arms, he opens the well to reveal the tire. There's also a jack and lug wrench that'll come in handy.

After gathering everything, he kneels on the blistering road, loosens the tire's lug nuts with the wrench, and then places the jack under the vehicle's frame. He stretches his arms above his head before using the jack to slightly lift the car off the ground. After removing the lug nuts, he removes the ruined tire, momentarily glancing at Sawyer as he breathes heavily from his body's exertion in the unbearable heat. She's in front of the car now, looking at the sunset that paints elegant splashes of pink and orange across the horizon.

Harry grunts as he tosses the tire aside. Sawyer glances back, and he doesn't miss how her eyes flick down to his abdomen, now slick with a sheen of sweat. 

"Wanna learn how to do this?" he calls out, grunting again when he picks up the pristine spare.

He's given no response as he lines up the holes and pushes the tire into the wheelbase. His biceps flex with soreness, and when he peers up again, Sawyer still looks at him, her eyes communicating something obscure. They have a little stare-down until he can't take it anymore and begins replacing the lug nuts. His jaw is clenched as he works quickly to try to get to the bungalow as soon as possible so they can untangle this yarn of bizarre tension.

Once the tire is secure, the old one is thrown in the trunk, and the tools are all put away. Harry walks over to Sawyer. She's perched herself on the car's hood, picking at her cuticles. Standing in front of her, he places his hands on either side of her thighs, his shoulders taut as he watches her eyes dance over the sky behind him. He kisses the tender spot below her jawbone, tasting and smelling residual coconut tanning lotion left there. Goosebumps rise across the expanse of her neck like a swelling tidal wave, and Harry can't help but bury his face in it and whimper pitifully. He's like a needy puppy when she ignores him, pawing for the tiniest bit of love and attention.

"It's so hot out," he complains before sighing dramatically. "Let's head back."

Sawyer doesn't push him away, which counts as progress. "I want to watch the sun go down," she says, lost in thought. "Who knows the next time we'll be able to on an abandoned desert highway."

He won't argue with that. He doesn't need to nor necessarily want to. If Sawyer wants to soak in the sunset, he'll endure the feverish weather if it makes her happy. Besides, she's right; little precious moments, such as experiencing the sun dip below the horizon, leaving behind a new, wispy portrait of captivating colors each day, are worth pausing life from time to time.

Sealing a kiss on her forehead, Harry hops on the hood and settles beside her. "I'll never learn how to say no to you."

☼ ☼ ☼

Back at the secluded bungalow, an unorthodox band of tension is still waiting to be snapped.

Sawyer has started cooking dinner with the miscellaneous ingredients she purchased from the downtown market yesterday morning. Canola oil is popping and sizzling in a frying pan, and julienned bell peppers of various colors are ready to be sautéed. Harry took a quick shower to wash the ocean and sweat from his sunburnt skin and has since changed into a white long-sleeved button-up tucked into teal trousers. He also has a pair of sunglasses over his eyes to help relieve spending hours in saltwater and squinting under the blinding sun.

Sawyer is in a tight, cropped blue camisole with low-waisted silk pajama pants. Her hair is down, golden beach waves reaching the middle of her back as she maneuvers around the kitchen area. Harry observes her from the dining room table, not quite knowing how to initiate a conversation without stretching the metaphorical elastic too far. Or worse, past the point of no return.

He watches Sawyer tilt the cutting board over the pan so the peppers fall into it. They immediately crackle when introduced to the heat. She then takes a wooden spoon and stirs the vibrant vegetables, turning on the overhead stove fan so the smoke doesn't set any detectors off. She's still ignoring him, entirely focused on one task and pretending there's not an elephant in the room that needs to be addressed before the night concludes. Harry knows if he brings it up, she'll shut it down, say everything is fine, and insist she's not angry. She's a terrible liar, so he'll save that tactic for another argument.

As he stares at the back of her head, he realizes he doesn't like her version of the silent treatment. It's okay if she won't talk to him, but acting like he doesn't exist is ruthless. So, he walks over to her and wraps his arms around her slim waist. She tenses but continues mixing the peppers in silence. 

Okay, that's definitely not the reaction he wanted. Not even an ounce of acknowledgment when he begins kissing her neck, taking his time loving on the beautiful ridges carved there.

"Slow dance with me," he murmurs pleadingly, squeezing her.

"I'm busy right now."

Now, don't get him wrong; he likes her stubbornness. He even finds it incredibly endearing to a degree. But when it's directed toward something he's clueless about, he finds himself having to coax an answer past her adamant walls of defense. Being candid doesn't always end well, so choosing the proper approach is crucial if he wants to crawl out of the hole he's dug himself into.

Harry reaches around her preoccupied figure to flick the stove's heat off. The blue flame vanishes, and the sizzling ceases, causing Sawyer to sigh heavily as she sets the wooden spoon off to the side. She still doesn't turn around, even when Harry moves her thick hair over her left shoulder and starts planting warm kisses further down her skin, slower and more intentionally. She smells like the ocean breeze at the height of summer, sweepingly refreshing and pure. He doesn't know how he went so long without touching her like this.

Light from a dying yet persistent sunset pours through the slanted ceiling window. The nearby radio quietly plays a mariachi song that doesn't fit the fraught mood. Upbeat and punchy, the music is supposed to evoke happiness and camaraderie. It falls short this time, but like before, lemons can always be turned into lemonade.

"Do you know how to Salsa?" Harry pipes up while stepping away, giving her room to breathe.

"How to make salsa?" Sawyer replies distractedly. She's begun garnishing the semi-cooked peppers with fresh oregano.

"No, how to dance the Salsa."

She drizzles more oil into the pan. Her hand hovers over the stove's knob to light the flame again, but she retracts and mutters, "Um, not really."

Harry rolls his sleeves to his elbows and tosses his sunglasses onto the counter. "It's all in the hips, isn't it?"

She glances back at him for a split second before leisurely spinning around and crossing her arms over her chest. "Did you need something?"

"Sí, muñeca."

The almost invisible twitch of her lips doesn't go unnoticed by his attentive nature. "What is it?" she asks impatiently. "I'm trying to make dinner. You know, I've realized you always decide to be a pest when I'm not paying enough attention to you."

Busted. Well, at least she's talking to him now.

Harry begins clapping his hands to the song's rhythm in the background and swinging his hips in a terrible presentation of what's supposed to be salsa dancing. Sawyer arches her eyebrow and blankly stares at his uncoordinated movements. He's making an absolute fool of himself, but honestly, he just wants to see her smile. He'll go to the greatest lengths.

Shuffling closer to her, he caresses her limp hands and tries to get her to loosen up. "Let's dance."

“I'm not in the mood to dance."

He frowns dramatically, widening his feet to be the same height as her. "What's going on right now, hmm? We were having so much fun earlier."

Sawyer slides away from the stove and leans against the adjacent kitchen wall. A psychedelic painting of a gecko in the desert hangs above her. "It's not that hard to figure out," she says, looking everywhere but at him. It stings just a tad.

One of Harry's hands rests flat on the wall beside her, his thumb faintly yet purposefully touching the shell of her ear. He leans in and murmurs, "Are you still upset with me?"

The stubborn girl he knows and loves dearly steadily nods her head. "I'm furious. My body is on fire."

He bites his bottom lip with his front teeth as his piercingly intimidating gaze hungrily travels downward and lands on her exposed stomach. The silver bellybutton ring shining against her golden skin sets him on fire in an entirely different way. She's a delectable feast for the eyes.

Harry doesn't believe that her blood is boiling to the extent of fury, but he'll entertain her flair for dramatics. He says, "I'm sorry for shoving a camcorder in your face when you got embarrassed."

Sawyer gives him a puzzled look. "Huh? Oh, I don't care about that. I'm over it."

"Okay, then tell me why you're so furious." He's being thrown for a loop, and it's making him dizzy.

It's clear she's internally contemplating her response based on how her posture becomes less stiff. After rubbing her arm awkwardly, she says, "Because you're not nice."

Harry blinks slowly. Once, then twice. "What?"

"You were being a jerk by teasing me while fixing the tire."

It takes a while to realize his plan totally backfired. His innocuous teasing wasn't supposed to make her even more mad at him, and now he's stuck in a maze of figuring out exactly what he did wrong. Girls are so complicated!

Unless…

"Is that what this is about?" he asks, his lips quirking in amusement and slow realization. Perhaps the little show he put on for her had the intended effect after all.

Sawyer scoffs. "Stop smiling!"

He grins like a lovesick fool. "I'm not smiling."

"Yes, you are! Your eyes smile before your mouth does." She goes to tuck her stray baby hairs behind her ears, and when she does, Harry traps her fidgeting fingers with his hand still resting beside her head. 

"Yeah?" he goads, his pulse throbbing faster. "When did you notice that about me?"

"I've always noticed it. It's so easy to tell when you're about to smile. Your eyes glimmer, and then you scrunch your nose."

"You like watching me?"

"Cállate. We're not finished with this argument."

"Go on, then."

Sawyer waves her free hand around as incomplete sentences get caught in her throat. "I— you— we can't keep doing this!"

Harry's heart falters at the vagueness of her confession. "What are you saying? Be gentle with me."

She gathers her crumbling composure, then carefully says, "What I mean is... we can't keep fueling this fire if we're not going to do anything about it."

The fire she speaks of has been wildly swirling in his stomach for a long time. He's managed to tame the carnal flames by waiting for Sawyer to declare her desires first since her comfort level is always his top priority. The opportunity has now risen, and he's lucky she has opened up this much so that he can jump in and kickstart the colloquy they've been hesitantly dancing around for months.

"Is this about sex?"

Pink spiderwebs of heat spread across her face. Harry's thumb presses down on the apple of her blushing cheek, her skin delightfully warm. It's nice to know a little fire has also been burning in her stomach. It's just a matter of tending to both of them. Kindle the flames until they roar with lust.

"Sort of," Sawyer mumbles, her eyebrows plunging with an unknown emotion. "Maybe. Yes. I don't know. All I know is that I don't want to tiptoe around it anymore." Her hand reaches out to rest on his neck, her pleading body language igniting the embers again. "Harry, it's killing me. I can't hide it."

He cups the side of her head. "Why didn't you tell me sooner, baby?" His voice has stooped to a deep, gentle rumble that shelters her with compassion.

"I didn't want to rush into things." She drapes her arms over his shoulders and plays with the outgrown curls at the nape of his neck. "I want to take my time with you and soak you in day by day. Take slow sips of your sunshine."

Knees weak, Harry whispers, "Don't. Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"With those eyes, Sawyer. Don't look all innocent when your words are the opposite."

She's completely clueless about how her imploring brown eyes can hold such seductiveness. Amber flecks swim in her irises, which are the color of dark chocolate. Rich. Exquisite. Tempting. Harry wants to break her off between his teeth like peppermint bark and swallow her silky, revivifying sweetness.

The tip of Sawyer's nose trails along his jaw, her lips brushing a path against his hot skin and setting fire to his loins. "I'm just tired of being patient. Does that make sense?"

Harry gives her a slight, truthful nod, then slumps his forehead against hers. "Tell me what you need, and I'll give it to you. There's no need to be shy around me. I'm your boyfriend."

"What if you don't want the same thing? That'd be so embarrassing."

"Sawyer Alejandra, you are so goddamn stubborn. Do you want me to just give it to you straight? Because I will." He takes a deep breath before blurting, "I want to have sex with—"

She clamps her hands over his entirely-too-bold mouth. "Shush!" Pinching her eyes shut, she whines and grumbles, "Forget I said anything. I have to finish cooking dinner."

If there's one thing he knows about Sawyer's personality, it's that the second she feels an ounce of mortification, she immediately backtracks. He'd usually let it slide, but this topic of conversation is a tricky one to simply forget about and move on from like nothing happened.

Harry unwinds her hands from around his neck and keeps them cradled in his grasp. Then, while staring into her devastatingly gorgeous eyes, he says, "This tension between us isn't going to just magically disappear. Either we do something about it, or ignore it. Your choice."

Sawyer swallows thickly. "I want to, so badly. But I'm scared."

"Why?" he asks, trying to open her blooming petals. They're singed with uncertainty.

"It's an incredibly vulnerable act, dufus." She cutely wrinkles her nose.

"And we're incredibly vulnerable lovers, so what's the sitch?"

She brings their conjoined hands up to her lips and kisses his knuckles. Against his skin, she mumbles, "How do we even go about this? I've made it awkward."

He shakes his head in disagreement. "You didn't. Do you trust me to take the reins?"

"Of course."

"Then follow me to the bedroom."

Sawyer points to the stove. "But what about dinner?"

Harry pinches her cheek and starts dragging her down the hallway. "I know just the cure for an appetite."

☼ ☼ ☼

The queen-sized bed has sheer canopy curtains draped around it. They were too lazy to make it this morning, so the sheets are still crumpled, and pillows are strewn about. Sunlight streams through the open bay window, making the room glow a tender hue of honey. 

It's alluring and also equally terrifying.

Harry went into the master bathroom to mentally prepare himself, even though he told Sawyer he was just freshening up. His reflection in the mirror peered back at him pensively. He fixed his hair about ten times, swiped another layer of deodorant across his armpits, and then gave himself a hushed pep talk before swinging the door open and putting on a cool, calm, and collected face.

Yet the butterflies in his stomach currently contradict everything he's trying to convey, especially when he finds his sweet Sawyer sitting against the headboard, the puffy duvet covering her bare breasts. The sun casts light on her stunning face and accentuates her apprehensive features. She's innocently staring at him as if she didn't knowingly climb into bed without any clothes on and sat there patiently waiting for him like the good girl she is.

And... he's hard already. Well, that's one less thing to worry about.

Harry clears his throat and strips down to his boxers, then slides into the space next to her, waiting with bated breath. Neither of them looks at each other, too hesitant to make the first move. They've both had sex with different people before, so it's not like they're blind leading the blind, but now that they're actually in the bedroom, all confidence has apparently flown out the window.

"We could start with, like, kissing or something." So much for saying he'd take the reins. He can't even speak properly right now.

In his peripheral, he sees Sawyer nod hastily. "Sure," she says, quieter than ever.

"Okay. Are you comfortable doing it naked since you're already... naked?" She laughs, and Harry smacks his forehead. "Sorry. God, I'm so nervous. You're making me feel like a teenager all over again."

Silence lingers long enough for him to finally gain the courage to glance at Sawyer. She locks eyes with him, then slowly, almost teasingly, lets the duvet drop and pool around her waist. Harry's mouth goes dry as he takes in skin he's never fully seen before. She's soft, shapely, and undeniably tempting.

Sawyer crawls on her hands and knees until she's straddling his lap. She still has her underwear on, lace boy shorts that hug her hips deliciously well. With blood rushing to his brain (and other places), his reaction is a bit delayed until his hands eventually find their place on her waist. He's breathing deeply, nostrils flaring as he ravenously wonders how she will look naked underneath him, pleasure etched on her face.

"You're divine," Harry whispers while toying with the flimsy hem of her underwear.

"So are you," she replies, rubbing a coquettish hand down his chest. "Hey, let's maybe skip the kissing part? I'm kind of impatient."

"Damn, all right. We're diving straight in?"

She presses her body against his torso and hooks her arms around his neck. "I want to feel you. I've dreamed about it."

A desperate groan sounds in his throat. "You're lying."

"I'm not. Then I'd wake up, and you'd be kissing me like you knew exactly what I needed. And your hands would get so close to where they were in my dream but never close enough."

"Yeah? Where were my hands in your dream?"

Her eyes flutter shut as if she's recalling the fantasy. "Mm... everywhere. Warm and heavy between my thighs. Sliding up my stomach." A lazy, sensual smile creeps onto her lips as she adds, "Around my neck."

Harry is tired of waiting a second longer. He flips her over so he's on top, his silver necklace with the 'S' pendant swinging over her collarbones like a pendulum. "Let me make you feel good. I'll give you the real deal."

Sawyer twists the chain around her pointer finger and tugs him closer. "Please. I want it more than anything."

"Dig your heels into my back," he instructs before shuffling down her body until his head is lined up with her thighs.

She complies, and the pressure on his shoulder blades makes him choke on a moan. Her bent legs effortlessly fall open, granting him access to the single layer of fabric that comes between him and paradise. He stares at her from his position, his hands hooking around her knees. She stares back at him, a vehement fire in her eyes.

"It's all yours."

Her readiness is enough for him to lose his last shred of self-control. He leaves a suckling love bite on her inner thigh, then murmurs, "Lift your hips for me."

She raises the lower half of her body, and Harry slides her underwear off. She assists him when it reaches her ankles by kicking it across the bedroom. He focuses back on the inviting sight before him. A shiver trails down his spine when he takes two of his fingers and circles them around her entrance. She's dripping wet.

Sawyer's jaw goes slack as she scratches her nails across the expanse of Harry's sturdy back. He hisses past his clenched teeth, loving the luxurious burn. Tingling and tantalizing sensations course through his system as he tests the waters, slowly sinking his middle finger past her drenched opening. He vigilantly gazes into Sawyer's eyes the entire time, gauging her expressions for the faintest flicker of pain or unease.

"Talk to me," he says.

"It stings a little, but keep going."

"You're doing so good. So, so good. Tell me if it's too much, okay?"

She nods with a raspy whine, so he adds another finger, then uses his thumb to press against her clit and rub halo shapes onto it. Her thighs tremble and tighten around his head, tiny gasps escaping past her lips. He leaves bruising, biting kisses on her skin as he skillfully works his fingers, which are now soaked with her arousal. Filthy thoughts invade his fuzzy brain, thoughts of dreams he's had himself. Vivid images of doing what he's doing right now, except they'd always be cruelly cut short by the breaking of dawn.

Harry grinds his hips into the mattress, alleviating the ache while his kisses move closer to where his fingers are. Sawyer's panted breaths motivate him to ask: "Do you want my mouth?"

"Yes, please. Eres tan bueno conmigo."

The foreign praise rolling off her tongue enchants him to dive into her sweet, sticky heat. He laps up her wetness like its melted candy, the taste dangerously addictive. He hums insatiably, palms spreading on her lower stomach as he swirls his tongue inside of her. His cheeks are ablaze with sex drive as his eyes train themselves on Sawyer's face. Soft, sensual sounds trickle out of her mouth, fueling the intensity with which he pleasures her.

Pulling away for air, Harry whispers, "I can't get enough of you," before replacing his mouth with his fingers. They slide past her clenching walls so enticingly, so perfectly.

"Harry," Sawyer moans, fisting his hair and tugging at the strands. "I-I'm almost there. It's so strong."

He removes all body contact while sucking his fingers clean, then catapults off the bed to quickly grab a condom before she loses her approaching climax. He sifts through his duffel bag, finding the box he secretly packed in case something happened on this trip. 

Maybe he manifested it. Or perhaps his girlfriend is simply braver than him.

Making his way over to the bed again (tripping on Sawyer's unplugged curling iron in the process), he bounces back on the mattress and hands her the foil package. Her skin is glowing with an angelic radiance, but sinfulness cracks through when she pushes on his chest to get him to lay back. She straddles him and rips open the package with her teeth. The arch of her back, the excitement in her movements, and the slickness of her arousal are all he sees. She has no idea how heavenly she looks.

Sawyer's fingertips walk down his abdomen and brush over his length, which is straining against his boxers. "Can I?" she asks politely, her eyes wondrous.

"Go ahead, sweetheart." Harry cradles her head and brings it down for a fond kiss, her hair tickling his face. "Feeling okay? Not in pain or anything, are you?"

She shakes her head. "No. I feel like I'm floating."

"Same here." He breaks into an aching smile, coming to the realization of how special this moment is. "I love you so much. I'm gonna remember this forever."

"Me too." Sawyer slides his boxers off, their harmonious breathing mixing together. Harry's cock breaks loose and rests against his happy trail, reddened and throbbing. "Woah."

He laughs at her reaction. "Don't act so surprised. It's all your fault, baby."

She blushes and carefully rolls the condom on while Harry stifles moans by biting his knuckles. He won't last very long, but he'll make it worthwhile for her. He'll take his time, just how she likes it. Soak her presence in. Slow sips.

He sits on his knees, then motions for Sawyer to recline and spread her legs. Once she's in position, he settles an arm on either side of her body and hovers over her. He tucks her hair behind her ears and leaves a hungry kiss on her lips. "Ready?"

"Yeah," she exhales. "You?"

"Totally."

"Change my life, sunray."

Grabbing the base of his cock, he lines it up with her entrance. He reminds himself to go slow as his tip sinks into her, and he keeps it there as he watches Sawyer's face. Her shiny lips are parted, eyebrows pushed together. Her legs squeeze him while her hands hold onto his biceps. The muscles of her cheekbones twitch. God, she's an angel.

"I've got you," Harry says, a thrilling knot forming in the pit of his stomach. "Fuck, you were made for me."

He sinks further into her wet warmth, one hand grasping her leg to bend it more. She's tight, yet he's able to fit himself all the way in. Gasps leave both of their mouths at the feeling of him bottoming out, and it's like everything is moving in slow motion, the golden haze in the room adding to the delicacy of the moment.

"Mierda. Oh my God, Harry. Oh my..." Her fragile voice, leaking with whispery weeps, shatters his poise as he begins thrusting in and out. Sawyer's limbs become weak, her feet slipping down to the dip of his spine. It's all hot breath and swallowing each other's noises with sloppy kisses. Being inside her is a level of intimacy that electrifies every part of his soul. It's unfamiliar territory that binds him closer to the girl he wants forever. The orange flames they stepped around for years are now a cool, sapphire-blue.

Their hips reconnect with each thrust, a beautiful sound fused with their satisfied moans. Harry's pendant sways forward, his neck straining. Sawyer's nails pierce crescent moons onto his back, followed by more scratches that make him shudder.

"Goddamn," he chokes out, his cheek pressed against hers. "You feel stellar. I'm close. Give me... Christ, give me something to dream about."

"I'm there," she says. "I love you. I can't hold it any longer."

"Let it go, Sawyer. C'mon."

Arching her back off the mattress, she orgasms with a cry of release, and the vision of her has Harry immediately spilling out into the condom. It's powerful, otherworldly, and absolutely life-changing. He pulls out and lays on top of her, embracing her in a hold of overwhelming adoration as he whimpers into the pillow beside her head. They both melt into each other, sweaty and happy, coming down from their individual climaxes.

Every minute that passes, the room grows darker due to the moon painting the sky black with stars. Only the wind and their breathing fill the space, cool and heated gusts reciprocating. Harry can feel Sawyer's lips against his temple, curving up with a smile every so often. He's got a permanent smile as his fatigued gaze stares at the ring on her finger. He feels like sunshine is bursting from his pores and serotonin is being absorbed.

Sawyer is the first to move. She uses her remaining strength to get up and tightly wrap the sheets around her naked body before stepping out onto the balcony. With the door open, he can see the full moon illuminate the expanse of the flat desert, cacti and palm trees looming as far as the eye can see. The lack of humidity at night causes a balmy breeze to encircle her body, whipping her tousled hair.

"Can I tell you a secret now that we've had sex?" Harry asks from his place on the bed. His voice is sore and hoarse.

Sawyer turns around and bites her lip with a giddy grin. "Shoot."

He disposes of his condom, then puts his boxers back on and joins her, not caring about the chilliness. He still feels warm inside and out. "Do you remember our phone call last September when I was in South Carolina with a broken wrist?"

A flash of remembrance crosses her moonlit face. "Yeah. I was so worried about you."

He cradles her cheeks and pertly kisses her nose. "You took such good care of me when I got back."

It's the absolute truth. All the tagalongs to physical therapy, icing his wrist while cuddled on the couch, being a shoulder to cry on when he got frustrated—he couldn't have done it without her.

"I hated seeing you in pain," she says, looping her arms around his torso. "It hurt my heart."

"Never mind that." He inhales deeply and pushes forth his confession. "You... when you said you missed me during that call, a feeling came over me. Something in your voice made me weak. And something happened to me that had never happened before. I don't even know why I'm telling you—"

"Spit it out, Harry."

His head tilts back as far as it can go. "Fuck's sake. I got hard, Sawyer. Your voice made me hard."

Her mouth hangs wide open. A well-timed gust of wind passes like an awkward moment in a cartoon. "Um, wow. I'm not really sure how to respond to that."

"You don't have to say anything. Just thought you should know now that we've done the deed."

Sawyer giggles, hiding her face in the space between his pecs. "First off, please don't call it that." She looks at him and continues, "Secondly, you thought I should know that you got hard in South Carolina?"

He starts laughing too. It's contagious around her. "I should also probably tell you that I jerked it out in a crummy Holiday Inn shower. It was quite pathetic and sad."

She sputters out a boisterous cackle that echoes across the barren desert. Harry's cheeks flush instantaneously. "I appreciate your honesty."

"On a more serious note," Harry starts, gripping the balcony railing with one hand, the other on her hip, "I appreciate how you forced a confession out of me the next day. Don't know if I've ever told you that."

Her expression turns sorrowful. "I didn't mean to pressure you. It had been building up inside me for so long, and you looked so beautiful that night. My heart spoke for me and—"

Harry cups her jaw and kisses her unexpectedly, making her squeak. It reminds him of that night in the rain when his blue raspberry lips collided with hers for the first time. He pulls away slowly, fitting his nose over her own and swaying her slightly. "You did everything right. I was a coward who was frightened of rejection. The thought of ruining what we already had was nauseating."

"You thought I would've rejected you?"

"I never really know what you're thinking. That pretty brain of yours holds so many secrets."

Sawyer steals a ripe kiss. "Can I tell you one right now?"

"Always."

She kisses him again before saying, "I see forever with you. I want to wake up in your arms every day. I want to laugh with you until our sides ache. I want to kiss you until I get dizzy."

"Sawyer," Harry whispers, his eyes softening.

"I mean it. No one will ever make me feel this type of love again."

"I feel the same. You're all I need."

"Te quiero. Mi alma es tuya."

He nips her neck, slow and tender. "If you keep speaking Spanish to me, we're not getting any sleep tonight."

"Sí? Quieres más rasguños en la espalda?"

"Gonna tell me what that means?"

She gracefully traces the tattoo on his abdomen and says, "I can show you instead."

Harry's stomach suddenly grumbles with hunger, ruining the intimate moment. He peers at the twinkling sky above and laughs at the inconvenient interruption. "I would love that, but I'm absolutely starving right now. We skipped dinner."

"There's cold peppers on the stove."

"Delicious," he says sarcastically, shifting his gaze to her again. A few seconds pass before something he wants to mention pops into his thoughts. "Hey, did you know this month marks five years since we first met?"

Sawyer gapes at him, genuinely surprised. "No way. Five years?"

"Crazy, right? Five years since you almost gave me a concussion."

"I still feel terrible about that," she admits with a pout.

Harry remembers everything about that day, even when his brain got jolted by a killer volleyball serve by the prettiest girl on Cocoa Beach. Her brown eyes up close, holding gentle concern for a stranger. That sassy hand on her hip thing she still does today. Clementine fabric against caramel skin. Orange juice in a bottle. Summerboy.

"But if that never happened," he says quietly, "then we might've never spoken to each other."

Her dreamy hum tells him she's musing about it too. "That's true. Isn't it mind-blowing how the tiniest of decisions can affect the entire course of your life? I like to think that every past choice of mine led me to you."

He admires the way her voice gets wispy when her mind wanders. "Word. Does post-sex make you all philosophical and shit?"

She shrugs. "Maybe."

"Cool." Harry backs away while holding her hands until their fingers eventually slip from each other's grasp. "Well, while you brood about Plato's teachings, I'm going to snack on your world-famous half-cooked peppers."

"Have fun with that."

"I will. Love you." Halfway through the doorway, he suddenly stops and rushes forward, giving her a suffocating hug, his lungs breathing everything about her. "All jokes aside," he murmurs, "I also believe everything I did brought me to you. And it just makes sense to be in love with you. Okay, bye."

He's off and running toward the kitchen before she can say anything else, not even the shadows of night on the floor being able to darken the natural luminescence he leaves behind.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles au #harry styles x oc #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles #adore-laur #sunstruck #southpaw series

[astarionmademewriteit]

The Lovers

Spawn!Astarion x Durge f!Tav x Halsin (Minor role)

Cycles between Astarion and Tav POV

Rating: Mature themes (No smut)

Wordcount: 9.4k (Long one-shot)

Tags: Many many Act 3 spoilers, violent images, torture, self-loathing, depression, refusing to eat, eluding to SA, codependency, hurt/comfort, angst, blood drinking, injuries, brief mentions of sex (if you squint). If I missed a tag, let me know.

Summary: What started as a great day at the Circus of the Last Days ends with Astarion gaining insight from a fortune teller into his future as the ascendant vampire and Tav as Bhaal’s chosen. Astarion decides to face Cazador alone and keeps it a secret from Tav–slipping into the night and leaving only a small note. Halsin is there, promising to watch over Tav. However, Tav suffers in his absence (sometimes lashing out at Halsin), but Astarion knows it is better than the alternative–their collective demise and the loss of love.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

✧*̥˚ Astarion POV *̥˚✧

The Circus of the Last Days was teeming with excitement and laughter, children with face paint ran rampant through the grounds, weaving through the stalls where merchants yelled at passersby looking to make a pretty copper. Other stalls tried to sell the promise of financial abundance with the spin of a wheel, but it was all too easy for me to see they were rigged to steal money from the pockets of the idiotic. Their tactful manipulation is reminiscent of the days I spent as Cazador’s puppet, luring people in with the luxury of pleasure beyond their wildest imaginations.

It was not a bad business strategy, to be sure. But stealing straight from the pockets of the unaware was a quicker solution to our financial needs. I look towards Tav, watching the way her eyes scanned the crowd with quiet excitement. A smile plays on my lips. After all the danger we have faced, the chaotic nature of our adventures has not dimmed the light in her eyes–the happiness that paints her aura in such beautiful vibrant colors.

I wish the same could be said for myself. I can practically feel the looming shadow of the Szarr palace on the horizon, its threatening presence taunting me at every turn–reminding me of the centuries of pain, torment, and abuse Cazador subjected me to. My fists tighten, and I try to steady my breathing lest I spiral into a dark and violent rage–revenge feeding the anger that once laid dormant in the pit of my stomach. I can almost feel the sting of his blade carving his infernal contract into my back, blood slipping from my back in blooming rivulets where steel meets flesh. I grind my teeth at the memory.

“Astarion, look!” Tav squeals with childish glee snapping me out of my tortured reverie. Murderous as she was, her innocent nature overrode her violent tendencies in this moment. Her bloodlust replaced by the overwhelming need to momentarily forget our places in the world–the parts we were meant to play. I follow her gaze and spot a fortune teller’s tent nestled between two stalls selling enchanted jewelry and exotic furs, their claims of authenticity are laughable. To the untrained eye, one would easily fall for such fraudulent claims, but I knew better. Honestly, how this group would survive without my expertise was beyond me.

Tav closes the distance between us and looks up at me with rounded eyes and a pouty lip, “We should try it!” My mouth twitches, threatening to split my face in two. 

“Darling,” I warn playfully, “Need I remind you that half these booths are wasteful ventures that we should avoid? We might as well throw our money in the garbage. Besides,” I drag a knuckle down her jawline to the base of her throat, “I’m the only one who should be draining you dry.” My words have their desired effect, her skin flushing–the smell of her blood carried on the warm breeze wafts to my nostrils. The elation I feel from her scent alone makes my mouth water.

A sharp raspy voice cuts through our moment, “You. Vampire.” I snap my head towards the fortune teller’s tent, a wrinkled decrepit woman leers at me with glassy eyes. Her long robes draped to the ground and her back is hunched painfully behind her, diminishing her height by at least a foot.

“In the flesh,” I bow sarcastically in her direction. Uncertainty washes through my entire body  and I feel Tav stiffen at my side.

“We have much to discuss regarding your future,” She murmurs, her voice grates my ears in the most unpleasant ways.

I sneer, “I doubt you have anything worthwhile to spew, hag,” I growl coldly. I wasn’t about to fall for her thieving tricks. Our gold would be better spent elsewhere.

She wheezes out a laugh, “You will pay a heftier price without my help.” It’s as if she has read my mind. Probably just another party trick meant to lure people into spending money they do not have. However, something tugs at the back of my mind–warning me that she is true to her word.

Halsin moves to my side and places a burly hand on my shoulder, the weight only adding to my own doubts, “Hear the woman out, my heart,” he whispers, “I sense no deception from her.” Tav is nodding her head in agreement, her eyes wide with apprehension and anxiety, and I groan at their collective consensus. It was almost annoying having two people intent on drowning me with their unconditional care. Almost.

After a moment of quiet contemplation, I finally give in, “Fine, my dears,” I huff unenthusiastically, “But I expect to be showered in apologies when I come back empty-handed,” I roll my eyes.

 Halsin chuckles behind me, “Don't worry, my Star. Everything will be alright.”

“We'll be here, waiting for you,” Tav says on my other side, giving me a reassuring squeeze on the arm and a light kiss on the cheek.

I gulp and swallow my pride before entering the witch's tent. Incense wafts through the air, sending tendrils of smoke curling to the sky. Various charms hang from the walls and the shelves are littered with trinkets, tomes, and dead creatures in jars of liquid. It is all very pedestrian.

“Spawn,” the hag’s grotesque voice rings through the air snapping me out of my reverie, “Save your judgements for the future,” she gestures at an empty chair across from her, divided by a small table with a crystal ball centered in the middle. Her consistent peek into my thoughts was unnerving but not unexplainable considering the wall of potions seated behind her against the back of the tent. She most likely used a mind-reading potion. It felt more invasive than a stake in the ribs, to be fair.

I cautiously take a seat across from the hag, impatience brimming on my tongue, “Let’s just get this little performance over with.” I roll my eyes and take a relaxed pose, watching the hag expectantly.

“I can assure you, dear Astarion, that this is no performance,” she pins me down with her glassy stare, “Devils whisper in my ear, speaking of your demise. I rather think you should hear me out.”

Her words sway me slightly, the promise of a devil should not be heeded lightly, nor the promise of one’s demise. I huff exasperatingly, “Fine, spin me your tale of the future.”

She smiles lightly before fishing in the pockets of her robe, pulling out an ambiguous vial of clear liquid and reaching across the table, offering the strange elixir with an open palm, “Drink and we may begin.”

I eye the vial cautiously, a putrid smell wafts through the air, promising bitterness on the tongue. I snatch the vial from her hand and drink before I can change my mind. I am doing this for Tav and Halsin if nothing else. The bitter liquid slides down my throat with ease, souring my stomach immediately. Warmth immediately washes over me, rivaling the warmth I feel when drinking from the necks of my partners. 

My head begins to swim as magic rolls through my body in thick undulating waves, threatening to pull me under. I steady myself, gripping the side of the table in front of me for support as I ride out the arcane sensation. 

“Peer into the crystal ball, Astarion,” the witch commands, “I have much to reveal.”

I focus my eyes on the object in front of me, the crystal ball that was once clear suddenly swims with visions too quick for me to latch on to. The dizzying effects of the elixir begin to subside ever so slightly, and the images in the crystal ball begin to slow, flashing images of Cazador carving scars into my back with agonizing precision. I wince at the memories, feeling the sharp pain of torture carving into my back.

“Your former master, Cazador, has made an infernal pact with a devil it seems,” the hag rasps pragmatically.

“Yes, yes,” I huff through gritted teeth, ignoring the searing pain of my scars, “I already know he plans to complete the Rite of Profane Ascension. Tell me something I don’t know.” I ball my hands into fists, wishing to forget the torture Cazador put me through that night and willing away other, darker thoughts of being sequestered in a tomb–a year of darkness and pathetic attempts of escape.

The image of my scars reflected in the crystal ball dissipate and are replaced by images of my former targets–people I willingly lured to Cazador in the hopes that he would not punish me again, but instead finding new forms of punishment through using my body in ways that I would never have consented to if I hadn’t been chained to his power. Something is different about the victims that stare at me through the curved glass, their eyes are blood-red now, familiar scars mark their bodies, and they suffer behind gilded bars under the Szarr palace.

“Your targets still breathe, newly changed, serving as a blood sacrifice. Seven thousand souls writhe beneath the floors, facing their inevitable death.”

“T-they’re alive? But–how?” I manage to sputter, utterly bewildered by the information and the painful reality that has just been set before me. They have suffered decades–no, centuries–beneath the palace. I thought they were dead. They should be dead. But–why? Then the truth hits me like a ton of bricks. Their souls will be exchanged for his ascension. Not just seven spawn, but seven thousand souls. It takes all my strength to keep from collapsing onto the floor in anguish. This cannot be happening. Cazador has played me for such a fool. Anger wells in my chest and I have to restrain myself from throwing the crystal ball across the room.

“Control yourself, spawn” the hag eyes me cautiously, “the truth of your future has yet to be revealed.”

I suddenly feel as if I want to empty all the contents of my stomach onto the floor as the bitter taste of the elixir dances across my tongue. What more could there possibly be? Was I even prepared to face it?

Before I have time to decide, the images shift yet again. A vague shape takes form, and the person in the crystal ball stares back at me with a familiar gaze. It takes me a moment to realize that I am looking at myself, but it only feels like a stranger staring back at me. Tav enters the frame and stands next to me, a worried expression painted across her features. My eyes look crazed and hungry for something more. I look at the hag for clarity, but she urges me to keep watching.

The images shift again, and I am standing over Cazador’s bruised body. He cowers below me as I grip a dagger in my hand. Suddenly, I am barking orders directed at Tav, pleading with her to connect our tadpoles so that I can copy the scars from my back into Cazador’s flesh.

Relief washes over me as I realize that everything I have been fighting for would be worth it if my future promised my own ascension in my former master’s place. His body, the bodies of my brothers and sisters, and the targets I lured to the palace disintegrate into ashy piles as power flows through my body, centered in the middle of the bloody Black Mass. Revenge never looked so sweet.

“Do not forget yourself, Astarion,” the hag breaks me from my concentrated stare, “You will lose your soul too.”

I take a moment before answering, “That is not an unreasonable transaction, especially if it means I become powerful enough to protect myself and the ones I care about. Nobody would harm me ever again,” I lean back and cross my arms over my chest, the tension from earlier melting away as I sit with this new reality.

The witch eyes me wearily before continuing, “You seem so concerned with protecting Tav from danger, but who will protect her from you?” She waves her hand over the crystal ball, willing the previous images of the ritual away and replacing them with images of Tav. Her vermillion eyes are illuminated, watching me with practiced reverence. Puncture wounds scar her neck, and her movements are sharper and more precise. So, she would allow me to turn her if it meant spending eternity with me. A small smirk plays on my lips.

“I hardly see how her becoming a vampire is any consolation,” I bark with renewed arrogance.

“Not a vampire,” the hag replies sharply, “a spawn. Forever a slave–bending to your will.”

I brush off her remark, “I would never treat her as Cazador treated me. Do not act like you know the first thing about me.” 

An amused grin pulls at the corners of her crusted lips, “Your soul says that now, but do not forget that you sacrifice that and so much more by choosing this path.”

I roll my eyes and focus on the crystal ball once again. Reflecting back at me are the same eyes I’ve come to adore, but now they look pained and resentful as they stare back at me. I falter momentarily, and if my heart were still alive, it would die all over again.

“W-well,” I stammer, back-pedaling slightly, “I’m sure the power dynamic would be…unsavory. But I’m confident Tav would still find it in her heart to love me,” I whisper, trying to convince myself rather than the hag. I continue to watch as darkness shrouds the eyes of my beloved and I begin to feel less sure of myself with every passing second. 

“A vampire’s greatest threat is another vampire,” the hag recites, mirroring the words I uttered not long ago, “The love you have cultivated will be nothing more than ash in your mouth,” she warns.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat but remain silent. “You will set Tav down a dark path of her own should you choose to ascend,” her words do not falter at this admission, and I know she speaks the truth.

As if to solidify her words, the images shift yet again. Now Tav stands before the bloodied walls of Bhaal’s underground temple, Orin dead at her feet. She is faced with an avatar of her father, and she kneels before him accepting her fate as his chosen. The promise of carnage and violence flits through her eyes as she transforms into a grotesque slayer, her features warped by the bloodied maw of the beast, all emotion siphoned from her eyes as murderous intent envelopes her completely. 

All words on my tongue fall away as I stare at all she has become–everything she has valiantly resisted now a distant memory…an empty promise that echoes of slaughter. “She..” I choke out the words, “She accepts her fate as Bhaal’s chosen if I ascend?” I peered up at the hag, wishing I could wipe the smugness from her wrinkled face. 

“Truly a terrifying couple,” she rasps, “reviled by all… and resented by one another.” 

I look down in shock as the images twist grotesquely into a new picture. My powers wash through Tav’s body, forcing her to act against her will. I force myself to watch, even though I wish very badly to tear my eyes from the horrible images. Tav grips a dagger, hanging still in the air as if frozen in time, inches away from piercing my heart... So, I will drive her to murderous rage, so much so that she would willingly kill me. The love that once hung between us is now non-existent as hate fills her eyes.

So, this is what's to come… Unimaginable power at the expense of my soul… Tav’s soul… and the budding love that lies between us. The promise of death and murder the last thread tying us together.

I stare dumbfounded as the new revelation washes over me, more powerful than Cazador’s power imbuing me with his will. 

“This cannot be…” I whisper, my hands trembling at my sides. My body racks with pain as I continue to watch. The bloody future unfolds before me as our bodies lay lifeless beside one another. Our inevitable demise ends at the hands of one another, effectively destroying the trust and mutual care we have built together… between each other. The images fade to black, leaving a deep-seated wound in my heart.

“This,” the hag gestures towards the now empty crystal ball, “is to be your fate, if you so choose.”

I sit frozen, too stunned to speak. Tears threaten to flood my eyes and anger washes through my body with agonizing intensity. “Why,” I ask through gritted teeth, “Why show me all this?” My words now sting with acid, “Why, help me?” I stand suddenly, knocking the table off kilter. 

The hag grabs the crystal ball before it has a chance to shatter on the floor. A part of me wishes it had, as if that would undo the future it laid before me. She eyes me sternly before reaching into her robes once again and retrieving a card. She hands it to me, and I reach out and snatch it from her hands, letting anger control my limbs.

The card is decorated with a kaleidoscope of colors and gold foil, its design is ostentatious and obtrusive. I flip it over to find an image of two bodies romantically entwined and the phrase “The Lovers” embellished along the bottom. I look at the hag, waiting for her to elaborate.

“Because…” she says after a moment of contemplation, “I wish someone had extended the same courtesy to me when I was younger.”

I simply stared at her, half wondering what she had experienced to end up in a place like this. I lower the card on the table and turn to leave. I hover just before the exit and turn my head, “This… is a gift you know. I will never forget it.” I drop a satchel of gold on a nearby table before exiting the tent without another word, steeling myself to face Tav.

Should I tell her? I think it would be unwise, but guilt wracks my body as I see the look of pure love that adorns her face when she catches sight of me. Her features are now covered in face paint, and I cannot hide my own amusement. But it feels shallow, the weight of my future encumbers me and every step I take towards Tav…every second I look into her beautiful eyes is just another reminder of what she could become–of what I would enable. 

I slip into my charming facade, choosing to hide the looming threat that hangs over my shoulders like a wraith clings to the shadows. 

“Astarion!” Tav squeals excitedly, “What did she tell you?” Her body shivers with anticipation, and she hops enthusiastically on her heels as she waits patiently for my reply.

“Nothing of note, really,” I wave her off nonchalantly, “Just the usual propaganda a lonely wench spouts hoping to siphon money from her visitors.”

“Oh,” Tav looks down, disappointed, “Like what?”

“Finding love,” I say, lifting her chin with the tip of my finger. Her eyes find mine and light up at the prospect, “Accruing unimaginable wealth and happiness if I follow my dreams. That sort of thing,” the lie falls easily from my lips and I scold myself internally for resorting to shallow lies, especially where Tav is concerned. We have built a bond based on trust and consent. I have already tainted that bond by withholding the truth, depriving her of her right to know what the future holds.

I try to push down the guilt that rips through me, more painful than any injury I have sustained on our road to Baldur’s Gate thus far–and there were times I was close to death. But this pain is incomparable. Self-loathing starts to creep its way through my very bones, threatening to shatter my carefully rehearsed mask.

“Uh, darling” I say carefully, “I’m suddenly not feeling well. Perhaps we should head back to camp.”

Tav eyes me warily. I’m almost certain she knows that I am hiding something–her attunement to my many masks have sharpened over the months and I silently curse myself for being so predictable at this moment. 

If she suspects anything, she makes no mention of it but agrees that we should head back to camp. Halsin promises to fashion some sort of tincture to soothe whatever ails me and I acquiesce, trying to widen the berth between me and their suspicion. 

Back at camp I withdraw into my tent, pacing the small enclosure reminiscing on the words spoken by the witch. I was filled with dread and wracked with guilt. Tav's unconditional loyalty towards me would be nothing but a tool of manipulation I would use to seek power that I now realize should never belong to me, no matter how intensely I craved it as a means of protection. 

I could be up front with Tav, but I knew she would urge me to face Cazador with her by my side–always the hero. The promise of power would be too much to turn down, like a shiny hook baiting a fish. Tav’s loyalty and unbreakable need to please me would prove an easy avenue for manipulation–something that would surely end with our inevitable demise. I couldn’t put myself in a position to force her hand, and I absolutely could not put Tav in a position to accept her own dark fate. Her love was the first good thing to happen to me in the centuries since I became a vampire, and it could be undone so easily. I could not let that happen, even if it meant facing Cazador alone.

It was the only way.

“Astarion,” Tav’s sweet voice filters through the tent, breaking me from my thoughts. She pulls back the flap of my tent after a moment and looks at me with caution in her eyes.

“Yes, my dear?” I slip back into my easy facade, knowing full well what needs to be done.

She closes the distance between us, careful not to touch me without permission. Always the astute observer. I smile softly at her, trying to repress the memories of her deadened eyes as they looked at me with resentment. That was not her. It would not be us.

“H-how are you feeling?” She shifts nervously, fully aware that something weighs heavy on my mind.

“Honestly? I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed. Arriving in Baldur’s Gate has stirred some… unpleasant memories.” It wasn’t a complete lie, just an omission of the entire truth.

“I understand,” She whispers carefully, “I’ll always be here when you need me. You won’t face this alone.” Determination fills her eyes and I know she wholeheartedly believes the words she speaks. I do too. 

“Thank you, my love,” I whisper after a moment, my words painted with sincere gratitude. I don’t expect her to forgive me for what I’m about to do. But it is the only way I can protect her. I reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She gives me the strength to do the right thing.

Tav turns to leave but stops short and looks over her shoulder, “You can feed on me tonight, if you like.” My breath hitches in my throat. My attempt at selflessness falls short as she offers herself so freely to me. I knew it would be selfish of me to accept, knowing that I would vanish from camp while she unknowingly slept. But it could also be my best chance at surviving the encounter with Cazador. Would she forgive me if I made it out alive?

“I-I’ll…okay my dear,” my mask falters momentarily, “I’ll see you tonight. Thank you.” I bow my head with gratitude as she exits the tent.

As I wait for the sun to set, I fill my time with mindless reading around the campfire, searching through various texts that might provide useful information for the fight to come. I sift through a particularly dull tome when something falls from between the pages, fluttering to the ground like a feather being shed from a bird.

For a moment I look at the object, completely bewildered by what lay at my feet. I reach down and pick up the card. The words “The Lovers” are inscribed across the bottom edge. The witch’s tarot card stares back at me as if to taunt me. “What in the nine hells,” I whisper to myself.

“What’s the matter, my heart?” Halsin’s booming voice echoes behind me, and I spin on my heels, quickly tucking the card in my pocket.

“Oh Halsin! My dear, you startled me,” I laugh nervously, “Actually, there’s something I need to confess. I trust you will understand and assist me in this one thing.” Although our relationship is newer, I trusted Halsin with my life, and Tav’s life. I know he will watch over her while I am away–however long that might be. Hopefully not forever.

“Of course,” Halsin’s face softens, “I shall lend you an ear.”

I pull Halsin to my tent discreetly, eyeing Tav across camp as she accompanies Gale while he cooks.

I quickly relay all that the witch showed me, Halsin’s face falling with concern when I deliver the horrid news. A small weight was lifted from my shoulders at the confession.

“That is concerning,” Halsin whispers, “How are you feeling?” he reaches out and caresses my cheek tenderly.

I laugh sarcastically, “Not well, as you might imagine. That is why I need you to watch over Tav while I slip out of camp and face Cazador alone.” The weight of my words causes Halsin to still.

“Astarion,” his voice shaky, “You’re certain this is the only way? What if–” his sentence dies on his lips, too difficult to utter the very words that haunt me as well.

“I have to try,” I whisper after a moment, “Even if it means I won't make it back,” speaking the words aloud suddenly makes them feel real. It was a possibility I would die and Cazador succeeded in completing the ritual. But I was out of options.

“Tav will be devastated,” Halsin’s concerned tone washes over me, only adding to my fears.

“Yes, well,” I laugh nervously, “It is better than the alternative. I am sure you would agree.” I pause before continuing, knowing the next part will be difficult for him to swallow, “She cannot know where I’ve gone–this is important, Halsin. She will follow me, and all of this will be for naught. It’s… for her own good.”

After quiet contemplation Halsin agrees, “ She will not see it that way, Astarion, but I promise to do as you say, my Star. But you must make it back to us. A world without you would be unjust,” his voice breaks. I slip him a folded note and instruct him to give it to Tav once she notices my absence.

I smile and pull him in close, placing a soft kiss on his lips. His arms wrap around me protectively–an unsaid goodbye passes between us. I pull away before I can change my mind.

“Thank you, Halsin. I will not forget what you have done for us,” I nod before exiting the tent. There was nothing left to say.

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✧*̥˚ Tav POV *̥˚✧

I search among our companions for Astarion. He has been particularly aloof this evening and I could not ignore the concern as it flooded through my veins. I knew that arriving on the doorstep of Baldur’s Gate would be difficult for him, but I couldn’t shake this feeling that he was avoiding me. If he wanted his space, I would respectfully take a step back while he sorted through his feelings, but I couldn't help but worry that he was spiraling into a dark void that would be impossible to pull him from. At what point do I step in? I tread a fragile line–one that could potentially cross over into territory that I wished to avoid at all costs if I wanted to carefully respect his boundaries.

Even still, something awful churned in my stomach–a sense of foreboding tugged at the recesses of my mind. I’ve learned to trust my intuitive nature. My life training in the Temple of Bhaal sharpened my instincts into a fine point that rivaled the very daggers we equipped ourselves with. However, even years of honing my mind will not assist in revealing what darkness lingers on the horizon, until it has fallen upon me. It’s blinding disruption, a promise that haunts me. If only it would reveal itself before it’s too late.

I look up to the sky, its domed shape spattered with twinkling stars, heckling me with false hope. If any gods could hear my silent prayers, they showed no sign of acknowledgement. Praying was a trivial pursuit, but it felt right in this moment, even if they went unanswered. I know not what lies ahead, but I knew it was not good. 

“Quite the sight,” Astarion whispers from behind me, mirroring the hollow words he once spoke in the first few nights of our meeting. I spin around to find his vermillion eyes watching me with a careful expression, “You, I mean.” He whispers, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

I let out a breathy laugh, relief washing over me as his presence pulls me away from the impending dread that inhabits my body.

He opens his arms invitingly, ushering me into his cool embrace. I gladly comply, welcoming the feel of his body against mine. His arms wrap around my waist and pull me in tight, threatening to never let go.

“I missed you,” I whispered in his ear.

“I haven’t gone anywhere, darling,” he laughs quietly.

“I know. But every moment that I am away from you is more agonizing than the last.” His body stiffens at my truthful words and panic begins to settle in the pit of my stomach. I hope I haven't crossed a line. “Sorry,” I amend quickly, “I just enjoy your company.”

He pulls away, but keeps his arms firmly wrapped around my waist, his smile is soft, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes, “You know I enjoy your company as well, darling. I fear I wouldn’t survive without it.” There was some underlying meaning to his words, but before I could inquire further, he pulled me in for a kiss.

I lace my fingers through his ivory curls–his touch melting away all the tension that burdened me only a moment before. His kiss steadily grows hungrier, his tongue slipping between my lips as he sought out my own. He sighs against me as our tongues slide against one another.

All too soon he pulls away, planting small kisses along my jaw and down my throat. The reverence laced in his kisses leave small confessions against my flesh.

“I’m going to turn in early tonight, my dear,” he whispers against my skin in between small kisses.

“Alright,” I whisper shakily, “Are you forgoing dinner tonight?”

His lips halt against my throat and he inhales deeply before pulling away and looking into my eyes with a worried expression, as if internally warring with himself.

“I–no,” he whispers after a moment, tearing his gaze away from me with a guilty expression. My deep-seated curiosity takes hold as I watch a wash of emotions cross his face, “I would like that very much.”

“O-okay,” I whisper suspiciously. 

Before I can ask what burdens him, he pulls me to my tent and patiently waits for me to lie comfortably on my bedroll. What ensues feels less intimate than usual, and more of a formality. I let my questions die on my lips, chalking up his rigidity to the earlier confession he laid at my feet when I had visited him in his tent. I only wished he were comfortable and happy. He laps eagerly at the blood he pulls from my veins, taking his fill.

Once he was finished, he placed reassuring kisses along the puncture wounds that marked my  throat as his. The camp had fallen quiet outside my tent, my companions choosing to rest their weary eyes on this early evening. 

“Do you mind if I linger, until you find rest,” Astarion asks, a glimpse of vulnerability flashes across his sharp features.

“I would love nothing more,” I whisper, relieved. I quickly change into my bedclothes, Astarion’s eyes lingering on my form as I slip into something more comfortable. 

I slide into my bedroll and Astarion pulls me in close, nuzzling his head into the crook of my shoulder. I wrap my arms tightly around him, lazily running my fingers through his silver curls with one hand and tracing words into the cold flesh of his back with the other, careful not to touch his sensitive scars.

“I could stay like this forever,” I admit into his well-manicured curls, his scent comforting me beyond reprieve. 

Astarion lets out a tortured groan and holds me tighter, “Me too,” he finally confesses, “Me too, my love.”

His embrace eventually lulls me into a deep, dreamless slumber. His proximity stirred a deep sense of comfort within me that only reveals itself when he is near. 

I did not feel as he carefully slipped into the night.

Beams of sunlight filter through the tent, bathing me in its gilded illumination. I wipe the sleep from my eyes, rolling over reaching out for Astarion. My hand lands on the empty bedroll. I frown, wishing he had stayed through the night.

Something savory wafts through the air and I can hear the sizzle of meat in a pan over the fire. Even as the inviting aroma assaults my senses, something stirs in the morning air. The camp is unusually quiet. By now, I should hear the excited lilt of Karlach’s voice–she was always a morning person. I should hear Gale delighting in telling stories of Waterdeep. I should hear Lae’zel sharpening her weapons, or Shadowheart reprimanding someone for being too reckless during battle. At the very least I should hear Astarion, his voice dripping with disdain at the breakfast we gorge ourselves on each morning, or the playful complaints of our current accommodations–sleeping in the dirt like commoners when there was a perfectly accommodating establishment in the Lower City. 

Instead, silence creeps through my tent threatening to swallow me whole. Something stirs in the air, reminiscent of the dread I felt last night before Astarion approached me. 

I quickly gather myself before exiting the tent, not even concerned with changing into day clothes. Immediately I see Halsin across camp, whispering to a huddle of companions. Their hushed tones not quite reaching my ears.

“What’s going on,” I immediately felt panic rise in my throat.

All the companions fall silent as they whip their heads towards me. I immediately note Astarion is not among them. But that wasn’t unusual. Their behavior, however, was.

The companions stared at me momentarily before falling into their usual routine ignoring the suspicious glare I sent their way like daggers in their backs.

“Good morning, Tav. You must be famished! Come grab yourself a plate. You look like you need sustenance,” Gale rambles. I watched him carefully but headed towards the fire anyway, the remnants from Astarion’s feeding last night left me feeling light-headed still.

I sit silently as I eat. The companions were careful in my presence, offering me kind words as if to distract me from something. Their diversion was obvious. I leave my food half-finished behind as I stomp towards Halsin. He watches me approach, his face unreadable but his eyes guarded.

“What the hell is going on, Halsin?” I demand, “Why is everyone acting so strangely?” I cock my hip to the side and cross my arms over my chest waiting for an explanation. 

“Nothing slips through the cracks with you, my heart,” he laughs. It doesn’t reach his eyes and I know he is hiding something. 

“Quit stalling, Halsin,” I snap. My temper was burning on a short fuse this morning, and even though I felt bad for snapping at Halsin, who has done nothing but show kindness and patience towards me, he was obviously keeping something from me.

“Perhaps, we should go to your tent and talk,” he places a large hand on the small of my back, but I whip away from him.

“No. We will talk here. Tell me, what is going on?” The camp falls quiet and alerts me that everyone, aside from me, knows what is happening.

Halsin falters, and I look around the camp searching for something out of place. What has made them so worried?

“Tav,” Halsin whispers with careful explication, “Astarion is gone.”

His words envelope me, and I stare in disbelief as they swirl around in my head. “Gone? What does that mean?”

He sighs and refuses to meet my gaze, “He left.”

Darkness threatens to overtake my vision as his words settle in the pit of my stomach like a stone falling to the bottom of a lake.

I spin on my heels and tear through Astarion’s tent. The emptiness that stares back at me feels like a slap in the face. I feel my breath quicken, threatening to send me into overdrive until I’m hyperventilating.

I storm out of his tent, “Where?” I whisper, my fists involuntarily balling at my sides as I try to control the bubbling anger that threatens to spill over into unbridled rage. All I can see is red.

Halsin walks towards me cautiously, the whole company trailing behind him with worried expressions painted across their faces, “My heart–”

“WHERE?” I yell, all patience evaporates from my body.

Halsin quietly pulls a piece of parchment from his pocket and hands it to me slowly. I snatch it and unfold it, scared of what I might read.

I stared at his elegant handwriting, unable to soak in the words that stared back at me. This tells me nothing other than Astarion was gone. He had intentionally left. But for what purpose?

I fold the note and head to my tent, quickly changing into clothes more suitable for travel. I need to take a walk.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

✧*̥˚ Astarion POV *̥˚✧

I spent the first couple of nights quietly scouting out the Szarr palace, watching as guards came and went. I hadn’t seen any of my brothers and sisters since I arrived at my discreet hiding place. I knew the city like the back of my hand, having spent years watching the city grow even when my purpose had stayed the same. 

“Your only purpose is to lure back pretty things for your Master, boy,” Cazador’s words ricochet through my skull, “By any means necessary. Let them use you, gain their trust with your pretty words and face.”

I try to shake the words from my mind, but arriving on his doorstep only heightened the centuries of memories and torment. Long nights chained in the kennels with nothing but dead rats to sate my appetite flit through my mind. The painful bite of the whip as it bit into my flesh. My screams echoing through the palace, feeding the egos of my captors. 

Your screams sound the sweetest.

I knew that returning to this godsforsaken place would be a painful reminder of what once was, but it was more difficult to face alone than I had previously planned. I caught myself on several occasions turning my head, thinking Tav was standing next to me–a habit that I had become more than accustomed to.

I try to shake my thoughts from Tav. I cannot imagine how angry she must be with me. If I dwell on it too long, I will abandon all control and run back to her with pleas of forgiveness falling from my lips.

I checked my inventory one last time, having stockpiled supplies, potions, and weapons. I was ready. I slip in, undetected, having done this thousands of times before–but never with murder on my mind.

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✧*̥˚ Tav POV *̥˚✧

The nights were cold and agonizing. I could not sleep. My mind retraced our last day together. Something in Astarion’s demeanor had shifted after he visited the fortune teller. What had the witch said to him? I was almost certain that was the pivotal moment when things changed. 

The day had gone by in a blur. I stormed from camp and walked through the streets of Baldur’s Gate, searching for a glimpse of my silver-haired vampire. My urges thrummed in my chest and diabolical whispers filled my ears–my anger igniting their hunger.

I interrogated as many people as I could–barkeeps, guards, and merchants. Some required a knife to the throat to cooperate. I was perpetually having to cool my blood and ignore thoughts of maiming during their interrogation. I scared even myself at times. However, no one had captured a glimpse of Astarion. I shouldn’t be surprised; he had perfected the art of slipping undetected through the city streets for centuries.

By the time I returned to camp empty-handed the first night, I was exhausted. Gale tried to push a plate of food in my hands, but I was too high-strung to eat. Halsin was persistent in checking on me as I lay in my tent while I tried to push down the tears that threatened to spill. I was on the precipice of shattering completely.

Then the anger started to settle in. I numbly traced the puncture wounds that marred my neck. The only evidence that Astarion still existed. I was angry at him for leaving. For drinking from my neck and lying with me in my tent before slipping into the night–never to be seen.

I was angry that he left without a clue as to where he was going. I could not help but wonder if he was going to face Cazador. But it didn’t make sense. He was adamant that he needed my help to face his old master. What would push him to go back? I was not sure I wanted to find out.

The yawning breadth of despair sits like a cavern where my heart once beat with elation in his presence. I was not sure how much longer I could entertain thoughts of him pulled back under Cazador’s control. Images of Astarion’s limp body under the Szarr palace plagued my thoughts. What if he had been captured? What if Cazador had sacrificed him and completed the ritual? But why would Astarion willingly stroll back into his own torment? I knew the answer. He wouldn’t. But the witch–she knew something.

After a restless night pacing through camp, I headed out on my own to the Circus of the Last Days, refusing the company of my companions. The witch would divulge what she knew. She was the only lead I had. I would force it from her if I had to.

My heart sank when I saw her tent was absent. The merchants that had sat on either side of her said she had packed her things and left just the day before. I grip the hilt of my dagger, anger surging through my veins as whispers of murder rang in my ears. I knew I was treading a dangerous path. My anger had become untethered, and my murderous nature boiled just below the surface, yearning to break free.

After long hours of wandering the streets, staking out the Szarr palace, and harassing people in the street, I return yet again empty-handed back to camp.

“My heart,” Halsin pulls me into a hug, brushing the hair from my face, “I know you are worried about him. I am too. But you must take care of yourself. You haven’t slept. You haven’t eaten. You are out all day long. Let me care for you.”

The past two days I had been drowning in my own guilt over the way I had snapped at Halsin. But my anger and determination to find Astarion overpowered any rational thought. 

“The thought of living normally… Taking care of myself… feels wrong when he is out there somewhere,” Halsin gently runs his fingers through my tangled hair, trying his best to comfort me. “Why?” I choke, “Why would he leave? I don’t understand.” A tear slips from my eyes, and I can no longer hold back my despair. I cried into Halsin’s shoulder. My sobs echoed through the camp. I didn’t care who witnessed it. 

Halsin continues to comfort me. He helps me slip into my night clothes and brushes my hair, ushering me to put something in my stomach. I nibbled on a small piece of Waterdhavian cheese, but it tasted like ash in my mouth. I realize that all the luxuries of life–all the magic that one could find in the small mundane things, such as the taste of food or the vibrant colors of the city, did not matter if Astarion was not there to experience it with me.

Halsin brewed me some tea, promising that it would help me sleep. He offers to stay with me, but I regrettably turn him away, electing to be alone with my thoughts. With my despair.

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✧*̥˚ Astarion POV *̥˚✧

It was surprisingly easy to clear the main floor of Cazador’s palace. I took special pleasure in killing Godey, one of my main tormentors aside from Cazador. His screams echoed against the kennel walls, his empty threats silenced once and for all. 

I stood in the middle of the kennels trying to regain my composure. The ghosts that once taunted me in this room had been suddenly silenced. Their whispers effectively cut short. I remove the key to the chapel from the pile of bones that had once been Godey and make my way back to the main floor, cutting through all who stood in my path.

The humans that served Cazador in the hopes that they might one day become his spawn whimper pathetically as I slice through them without a second thought. The nocturnal horde that Cazador had amassed was no match for the centuries of rage that I had unleashed. I wore their blood like a badge of honor. A trophy of my revenge. 

But there was only one person whose blood I cared about at this moment–Cazador’s.

I pass through his study until I find the hidden lift that would descend me into hell. I steeled myself, knowing I would come face-to-face with the people whose trust I betrayed. It was one thing to prepare myself to face their inevitable wrath and suffering, but it was entirely different to witness with my own eyes.

Their vermillion glares pierced me from the other side of their gilded cages. I recognized their faces. They did not deserve this. It was all my fault.

Tav’s voice creeps into my mind unbidden, “You had no choice. This isn’t your fault. It’s his.” 

I pull the tarot card from my pocket and stare at the letters, deciphering its hidden meaning. The reminder that Tav was back at camp, hoping that I would return to her arms only strengthened my resolve. This card was meant to serve as a reminder. It reminded me of why I was doing this. It wasn’t for me. It was for us.

“I’m going to kill Cazador and free you all,” my voice was full of resolve. My previous targets stared back at me, unmoving. I don’t expect them to trust me. Not until it was done.

The smell of blood and death reverberated through the air, weighing heavy on my thoughts. I felt its influence on my mind as I traversed deeper into the underground chapel. My thoughts no longer felt like my own. The thrum of power hurtled through the air like static electricity, further warping my mind into something else–something I deeply wanted to avoid.

Finally, I reach the large ornate door leading to the ritual site. I could feel the power hitting me in undulating waves, the smell of death threatening to send me into a violent frenzy.

I take a deep breath, touching the pocket that stowed the tarot card. I let thoughts of Tav give me the strength and bravery that I desperately needed. I finally push open the doors.

“Is it true? Has our prodigal son returned?”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

✧*̥˚ Tav POV *̥˚✧

Last night was one of the most difficult. I had not been parted from Astarion this long since our first meeting. Memories of his cool hand tracing lines in my skin, the taste of his lips, the intimate moments we shared with only the moon as a witness addled my mind. Halsin’s tea sat untouched in the corner of my tent. 

I was scared to sleep–scared of the dreams that would play like a reel in my mind. I wasn’t ready to face those quite yet. A part of me still held out hope that he would return, begging to be held in my arms like the last night we spent together. His cool skin comforted me in ways that no one else could supply. I knew I was chasing false hopes.

How could I surge forward, eager to save the world when mine had just been decimated. Selfish thoughts flitted through my mind, wishing all of Faerun could suffer like I was. The thoughts scared me. They were foreign to me–at least the new me. I felt the thorny tendrils of my past life gripping me tightly, seeping through my veins like the poison of a viper. The lonely Bhaalspawn I once was lingering behind the threshold, threatening to break the fragile barrier that I had worked so hard to build.

Astarion made me realize that all she had needed was love–a tender touch. Something to care for. But that had been ripped from my grasp, and the shattered girl I once was slowly began to reveal herself once again.

The camp was active, but I was too depressed to leave my bed. I knew that if I continued to tear apart the city looking for evidence that Astarion still existed would turn up nothing. He had vanished, just as quickly as he had come. 

My eyelids are heavy with exhaustion. My limbs ache from lack of sleep and food. My eyes close against my will, and I fall into a dark slumber filled with dreams of Astarion.

A commotion in camp wakes me from my sleep, images of Baldur’s Gate flooded with blood and viscera rescind from behind my eyes as I try to take hold of my surroundings.

Outside, I hear urgent voices. Shadowheart is yelling out a list of potions and ingredients for healing, “Astarion, stay with us.”

All the lingering effects of sleep drain from my body when I hear his name. I scramble out of my tent, tripping over my own feet. I look up to find Astarion collapsed on the outskirts of our camp, bloodied and bruised.

A strangled cry escapes my lips as I run towards him. No. no. Don’t die.

I’m hovering over Astarion, clasping his hand in mine. His labored breathing is shallow and painful.

“Astarion,” I cry, choking on my own sobs.

His eyes open slowly, and he squeezes my hand weakly, “D-darling. I-I’m terribly sorry,” he sputters before his eyes fall closed again and his arm goes limp.

“Shadowheart,” I cry, panic rising in my throat.

“Let me work,” she murmurs, casting restoration and healing spells, her hands working methodically.

Halsin wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me away. I fight against him, thrashing violently, “No,” I scream.

“Let her work, Tav, she can heal him,” I hear the uncertainty in his voice.

“LET. ME. GO.” I scream, maneuvering out of his grip and falling to my knees beside Astarion. Halsin paces behind me, running a hand through his hair, clearly trying to stay calm for my sake. But I can tell he is just as concerned.

“Astarion, please,” I whimper, running a hand through his hair, ignoring the blood that paints his curls red and pink, “Stay with me. Don’t… Don’t leave me again.” 

Shadowheart works throughout the day, patching up any visible wounds and casting spell after spell. Finally, as the sun begins to slip from the sky, she announces that he will be fine. But he has fallen into a deep rest so that his body has time to heal.

I don’t leave his side for three days, counting his breaths and wiping the sweat that dampens his brow. I whisper encouraging words to him when others aren’t around, coaxing him to wake up. All of my anger was abandoned and forgotten. Halsin stayed with us as much as he could, only leaving to eat and sleep.

The third night, Halsin exits the tent to catch up on sleep. The bags under his eyes grow heavier with each passing day. He forces tea into my hands, practically begging me to sleep. I promise that I will try. I give him a soft kiss and whisper apologies for my decorum these past few days. I felt like an awful partner. Halsin waves off my concerns, showing nothing but understanding and kindness. He knew what Astarion meant to me.

I curl up next to Astarion, careful not to touch his wounds. It looked like he had suffered quite a bit. I saw the healing scars of knife wounds. Some looked like he had been stabbed while others were large gashes that marred his body. Even still, large bite marks and burns were scabbing over, only just staring to heal. My thoughts turn over in my head, wondering where he had gone. I felt deep down I already knew the answer.

I gulp down Halsin’s tea and close my eyes, listening to Astarion’s rhythmic breathing until I finally fall asleep. 

I’m not sure how long I was out before I felt him stirring next to me. I hear a grunt as cool arms snake around my waist and pull me close. My eyes spring open and I am met with the most beautiful sight I could pray for.

Astarion’s vermillion eyes stare back at me, something haunting lingers behind them.

“Astarion,” I jump. A mixture of surprise and excitement touches my voice.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, pulling me back to his body, “I-I’m so sorry, darling.” 

I watch him as sadness and relief surface in his features. “I have so much to tell you.”

I nuzzle my head into his chest, tears spilling from my eyes, “You need to rest, Astarion,” I say choking back my sobs, “Reserve your energy, please,” I beg, “You can explain later.” I mesh my body with his, not wanting to ever be parted from him again.

He chuckles lightly beside me, his quiet laughter rumbling in his chest. He painfully leans forward to plant a kiss on my head.

“This cannot wait, darling,” he murmurs through painful breaths.

I lift my head to meet his loving gaze.

“Tav–I. I’ve had a lot of time to think. But the only thoughts that occupy my mind are thoughts of you,” he pauses to catch his breath, “You have taken hold of my heart–my soul. There is nothing–nothing I wouldn’t do for you. I–I love you,” he breathes, “and I do not want a future if it does not include you.”

He slowly and painfully pulls a card from the pockets of his bloodied discarded trousers. “You gave me the strength to save myself. I will never forget it.”

I take the card from him and study its blood splattered image. The words The Lovers stare back at me, promising a future that I yearned for more than anything.

“I love you too Astarion,” I breathe after a moment, cradling myself against his body once again, “Don’t ever leave me like that again,” I whisper into his skin, inhaling his familiar scent.

“I promise,” he whispers before falling back into a deep sleep. His breathing slows to a steady rhythm.

And for a moment, I swear I could hear the soft beating of his heart.

#astarion #bg3 #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfic #astarion x tav #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x f!reader #astarion x f!tav #astarion x female tav #f!reader x astarion #Astarion x f!durge #Astarion x Durge #Astarion x Female Durge #Astarion x Dark urge #Astarion x Female Dark Urge #astarion ancunin #f!durge x Astarion #Astarion x f!durge x Halsin #Astarion x Tav x Halsin

[roleyartnstuff]

y know what? We've had enough of children of eo and autism pebbles, its @weepinglilvessel Distance Blooming Aura's turn now.

#roley stuff #rain world #roley draws #rain world others oc

[feyhunter78]

Hi author I had a request English isn't my first language so please excuse me for bad wording.

A modern spy Aemond x reader when he's slightly possessive yandere for her and he's undercover when he meets her not sure about the details do I'll leave it to you .

Also, I love your work, and if you don't like this idea, feel free to delete it 🩷

Hi love!!! I'm so happy you're enjoying my work and your English is wonderful, don't even worry about it!!! This was such a cool idea, and it gave me a chance to try out that headcanon style of writing! I know it's probably not exactly what you had in mind, but I hope you like it!!!!

Modern Spy!Aemond Headcanons

You weren’t his target, not even close, and yet he couldn’t stop himself from following you. He was one of the agency’s best, known from his perfect aim, and intimidating aura that kept the authorities at a distance.

You’re just a normal florist, who goes about her day, never noticing the man with mismatched eyes and a scar down his face. You feed the stray cats in the alley behind your shop, and visits your grandmother every Tuesday, content and happy with your peaceful life.

His target works in the bank across the street from your shop. The bank that’s definitely protecting more than just its customer’s money. Intel tell him the man has ties to the cartel, but his gut tells him it runs deeper than that.

But his target is smart and stays within the building, never leaving unless escorted by guards, too many for Aemond to dispatch in broad daylight without causing a scene. So, he waits, and while he’s waiting, he bumps into you.

In a floral sundress, with a bright smile on your face, you’re carrying a bouquet of sunflowers, and don’t see him until you’ve collided with his hard chest, dropping the blooms.

“I’m so sorry.” You say sweetly, eyebrows drawn together in distress as you scramble to brush any petals or pollen from his shirt.

“It’s alright.” Aemond says, bending down to help you collect the fallen flowers. “Only a fool would be angry to run into such a beautiful woman.” The smile on his face is practiced, smooth and charming, his voice low, and wraps around you like velvet.

Your face flushes and, you stutter out a “thank you, and again, sorry.” Before you take one of the sunflowers out of the bundle along with your business card and hand them to him, rushing past him and into your shop.

He catches the sweet floral scent wafting off you, and he’s hooked. He’s in your shop constantly, first under the guise of wanting to get his mother flowers then his sister flowers, then he drops the excuses and spends half the day following you around the store and making conversation.

You don’t mind, you like the company, and he’s a handsome man. It feels…nice to have his attention focused solely on you. So, you buck up the courage to ask him out, and he says yes.

He takes you to an expensive restaurant where everyone seems to know him, and by the end of the night you’re in his lap. Back pressing into the wheel of his sleek black sports car that probably cost more money than you’ve ever made in your life.

He says he works in finance, a job too boring to talk about, he only wants to hear about you, your dreams, interest, hobbies, every detail of your life is utterly fascinating to him. It’s flattering, and you bask in his devotion.

Aemond is split between completing his mission and wanting to spend all his time with you. He’s had the head banker tied up in his apartment for days now, hesitant to turn him in because then the mission would be over, and he’d have to disappear.

He doesn’t want to disappear, not after he’s gotten a taste of you, there must be someway to keep you by his side. He strokes your hair, watching you as you sleep, cuddled into his side. Maybe he’d suggest you both take a trip, settle in Essos and continue working from there. You could set up a new flower shop, or if you wished, you could stay home and wait so pretty and patient for him to return.

He hums lowly as he considers his options, and pulls you closer, breathing in your sweet scent. Regardless of what he decided, no one was going to take his sweet girl from him, he’d make sure of that.

Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96, @shintax-error, @bellameshipper, @the141bandicoot, @the-phantom-of-arda, @haydee5010

#aemond x reader #aemond headcanons #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #prince aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #thanks for the request! #I hope you like it!!! #meg's writing #hotd au #aemond x female reader #prince aemond #anon request #not sure if I did this headcanon thing right tbh #modern aemond