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starofthesea7 · 1 year

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König~Worship the King

Your eyes traced the huge mass of muscle in front of you. Fresh from the field, he looked exhausted, primal- his canvas pants still splattered with mud and god knows what else. Arms shiny with sweat and rain, leg bouncing absentmindedly, his head was still a void, swimming with pictures of death and devastation. His eyes were focused on a bowl of stew, dwarfed by his huge, muscled hands. Pale fingers against white ceramic.

‘You can take the mask off to eat your food, I have to clean up your face anyway. In fact I should look at that first.” Your voice was soft, hesitant. Afraid of startling him, even though little could do so.

Dark fabric folded as he shook his head gently. “After. I don’t want it to…” he searched for the word in English, “to scare you. Yet” His voice was rough and tired, laced thickly with an accent, german. Your heart twinged at his words.

“You couldn’t scare me.” You attempted a reassuring smile. König. King. A very fitting name for the enigma in front of you, and yet in some ways not fitting at all. True he was imposing. Large. Stately. Yet he was gentle, anxious, even, when he was in close proximity to others. Under scrutiny. He was anxious when it came to people, most of all you. He was good at hiding it though, to you it seemed an aloofness, perhaps even a polite disinterest, that he felt towards you. A simple nod in greeting as he passed you was the most you could hope to receive.

Now you stood in between his enormous thighs which he’d spread just far enough apart to avoid grazing yours, the air between them thick with tension. You rolled up his dark sleeve, doing your best to ignore the rippling muscle beneath. They way it flexed which each ascent of his spoon, before it disappeared underneath black cloth, then reappeared, empty. He barely flinched as you dabbed an alcohol pad across the gaping wound on his shoulder. Blood glistened carmine.

Oxymoron was a more fitting name, you thought. Perhaps it was too long for a nickname. He truly was a paradox, though. So colossal, yet reserved. So immense yet quiet, even gentle. He was a man of few words. A wave waiting to crash, or a volcano waiting to erupt.

Your voice broke the silence, surprising you both. It felt small. “Feel okay?” He was nervous, although you couldn’t see it, underneath the mask. He wasn’t really afraid of you, more afraid of hurting you, or scaring you. With his weight. His scars, his is strength.

His eyes raised to meet yours. Although he was sitting, they were level with your own. A cold, pale olive green. “Ja. Thank you. I am sorry for waking you for this little scratch.” When you’d gotten a call that he’d needed a small patch job, admittedly you’d jumped at the chance to see him. You’d been drawn to the Austrian giant since you’d arrived a month ago. You liked his presence, it was safe, a shield to all else. Nothing could touch you with him there. No amount of horny jeering men, or loaded guns.

“It’s not a just scratch, König, its a big gash. And I haven’t even gotten to your face yet. Plus, I couldn’t sleep anyway, I’m happy to do it.” You rambled, feeling the burn of his eyes on yours, studying your face as you concentrated, threading a sterile needle. You stepped forward, into him, bumping his leg. He smelled like earth, and motor oil. Faintly of cigarettes and metallic blood. The heady odour was thick, collocating with the rubbing alcohol of your sterile office.

“Deep breath.” You felt silly, instructing a man who’d murdered countless men in the past week to do a breathing excersise, but he obeyed, the soft, raspy sound making your knees weak, and your imagination run wild. You blinked and regained focus, before puncturing the skin. His eyes fixed on your face, unwavering. You counted the stitches. Eleven, black and neat, in a row. “Aaand…done.” You cut the thread. “And not even a flinch.” You smiled at him, and his eyes crinkled, barely.

You gently rubbed it with ointment and wiped your hands on a towel, blood staining it crimson. You noticed his thighs now resting against yours. They were warm, and dirt from them stained your kaki pants but your hardly cared. “Ok. Ready for the mask?” You felt nervous, more nervous than he looked. It felt monumental, an enigma becoming real, smoke condensing into man.

You’d thought about what he looked like, but only in patches, certain features imagined while the rest of the picture was more of a blurred haze. Pale skin and light eyes. Dark or light hair? A sharp jaw or weak and soft? You couldn’t really imagine him being ugly, and truly, you felt you’d be attracted to him regardless, like opposite poles of a magnet. North and south. Dark and light, soft and hard.

He cleared his throat, and set the empty bowl down beside him. His eyes held yours vehemently, and large hands raised black cloth, revealing a pale, broad column of neck, a white scar gracing one side. You wanted to graze it with your lips. His lips were split, bitten and red. And inviting. A glint of teeth and a jaw, sharp with a whisper of stubble. The cloth clung to a splatter of blood and small cuts now integrated with old scars, and a few pieces of shrapnel that traveled up to a deep, glistening slice. Caked blood ran down his temple. His nose was sharp and slightly crooked, veering to the right in an endearing way, as if it had been broken when he was a child.

Then, his eyes, deep set and soft, framed with long lashes and crowned with sharp brows, one interrupted by a large, aged scar. Finally, hair, light, light brown, almost blonde, with a tinge of red, tumbled out. It was tied back with an elastic, but not long, as if he was in need of a trim, shorter pieces falling across his forehead. His head tilted back as he looked at you, silently, daring you to react to his intimate sign of trust.

You breathed out. It wasn’t what you had expected. His face was, interesting. Attractive. Younger than you’d imagined. A sharp canine pressed into his lip. You let out a breath, and raised a hand to his jaw, feeling it clench beneath your fingers, tilting his face up towards artificial light. His lips parted, adams apple bobbing. “You should’ve let me do your face first.”

“Sorry.” His voice was soft, ragged.

You reached for a pair of pointed tweezers and began removing each piece of shrapnel from his face. The night was quiet, save for for soft breaths. His was hot against your cheek. “König.” Chunks of metal and stone clanged into a small aluminum bowl. He hummed in response.

“You could never scare me.”

He smiled softly at you, slightly crooked.

Without meaning to, your thumb stroked the soft skin of his jaw. His legs tightened against you, barely, but your heart quickened against your ribcage.

Again, you soaked the wounds in alcohol. You could tell it stung. His fingers began absentmindedly drumming against your hip, leaving hot tingles in their wake. You moved to the cut on his lip, he hissed quietly as you made contact with the cotton pad. Your eyes were focused, pupils blown wide as you stared at his lips. His hot tongue peeking out from behind pink bloodied skin.

Your voice was quiet, distant, “You have a pretty bad split lip, I’m gonna put a little stitch in it.”

He swallowed hoarsely, “Okay.”

You were close, so close to him, breaths mingling in the hot air. His scent enveloped you. He enveloped you. You weren’t particularly small, but to him you were. Fragile. The needle ruptured his lip and his hand gripped at your waist, heavy and large. You leaned into him, lower stomach barely grazing the split of his pants. He shifted in thick canvas.

Your hand shifted, cupping his jaw as you cut the thread. His eyes were heavy with fatigue, and something else. You looked at each other with neediness, both in awe of how the other contained all that they could ever want- him to satiate your emptiness, you to soothe his aching burn. A month of passing glances and unsaid words threatened to morph into action; spurred on by the arousal of seclusion and stagnation after the high of adrenaline, the heady scent of blood, metal, alcohol.

You leaned in and felt his hand tighten against you hip, You were inches from him, the air between you buzzed as opposites attracted, pulled you towards him. His mouth widened as he leaned into you. Your soft, plush lips grazed his, barely, and he pulled you into him, emitting a soft sound. Mouths opened wide with need. He was metal, cigarettes and gasoline, the taste and smell making you unsteady, faint. You gripped his shirt tightly, his mass keeping you from falling, or perhaps from floating away.

Deft, strong fingers found the back of your head. Scalp prickling as he pulled at your hair. You were slick.

He groaned slightly into your mouth, and your hands found his hair, fisting it free from the elastic band, copper locks brushing your forehead, stubble brash against your reddening cheeks.

His large warm hand traced from your hip down, raising your leg to straddle his thigh. Hot, hard muscle against your softness. You let out an involuntary airy moan as the seam of your jeans jabbed into your clit, cunt clenching around nothing, deprived and empty.

You lifted your other leg to straddle him fully, clothed cunt contracting at the friction against pelvis, you could feel him, large, hard, heavy and confined. It made you hot with need. You pulled back to stare at him, pupils blown, lips puffy. His hips bucked up into you, searching for friction and release, his brows furrowed. Colossal hands found your waist beneath your shirt, opposite fingers almost touching around your circumference. His fingers were calloused and rough. Feeling his hot skin against yours made you reel with thoughts of at the way he dwarfed you, dominated you with the simplest of actions. The fact that he could fill your emptiness, stretch you to the brink, overwhelm you, crush you- was inebriating.

“I-” he searched for the right words, “I want you. Ich brauche dich.” You smiled at his mother tongue appearing, as it often did in states of intoxication.

You pressed your mouth to his neck, with an open mouthed kiss, feeling the bump of his scar as he swallowed, and looked up at him through wet lashes. Grinding your hips against him, making him groan, cock twitching, hyper sensitive from months of neglect. You maundered, “Let me make you feel good, König.” Your voice was airy and laced with fervour. His eyes were glassy and lidded as he looked down at you, hair falling across his forehead, glistening with sweat. His head swam, the situation feeling far to good to be true, an intoxicated dream or adrenaline spurred hallucination. His blunt fingernails clutched at your waist harshly, leaving half moons in their wake.

Your eyes flickered to a stain of precum darkening the crotch of his thick pants as you rose to your feet, his hands gripped his thighs in restraint, watching you in anticipation. Then, you knelt to the ground to worship your king.

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shibaraki · 5 months

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THE VANISHING MOON ┊ TSUKISHIMA KEI

tags: GN reader, post timeskip, exes to lovers, fluff, emotional hurt + comfort, reader is a writer, alcohol consumption, mutual pining, getting back together, kisses, weddings, previous ‘mutual’ breakup, happy ending

wc: 4.2K

For as long as you can remember, you’ve loved love stories.

The first time you picked up a pen with the intention to write you’d been looking for a specific someone. To pour love into and be loved by. Conjured from the recesses of your mind, a soft smile from the boy you liked, one prepared to whisk you away from the converging angst that came with your adolescence.

In later years you looked inward, searching for yourself. To satiate your loneliness through self introspection. Ink blotted fingers working arduously at the knots that make up the soul. Knots that were once straight rope, simple and without weak points. And when you failed to love yourself you turned outward, exploring the web that made up the world.

You saw that other people loved stories, too. That there would always be at least one which speaks to them in some way and stays with them. You coveted that reality; to be something another person could love, and look back on with fondness. For your words to strike such a chord that they’d become part of another’s tapestry. To live on. Never again be forgotten, even if it means being an echo of something.

That yearning accompanies you up the cobbled footpath. The crisp air pinching the tips of your ears. Soft, muted chirps rippled throughout the treeline. “Wow,” you murmur, breathless. Arms sticky with perspiration, leg muscles tingling in exertion after walking the steep hill.

The reception venue sits on the end of a private road, concealed by threadbare canopy. Under an open sky there lay every shade and stroke of colour. Dappled sunlight casts shadows across the grass and your eyes are drawn to them.

“Wow is right. They’ve done an incredible job,” Sugawara airs his appreciation as he walks at your side. His voice is awed, and his cheeks are red. “I can’t believe they managed it. Karumai Gardens are notoriously stingy for booking events”.

The wedding invitation shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Remaining some of your closest friends, Kiyoko and Tanaka had already confirmed your attendance long before the formal invites were sent out. You even found yourself on the end of multiple phone calls over the months assisting a panicked Tanaka with writing and rewriting his vows.

Despite that, your stomach roiled at the invitation on your kitchen counter, and your heart crawled up into your throat. Because suddenly it was too real.

Everybody would be there.

Tsukishima would be there.

You’ve been a high strung for most of the day, hyper vigilant to the point of fraying. The ceremony was beautiful. Kiyoko looked ethereal draped in her white lace gown, a delicate veil cascading down her back and rippling down the aisle as she walked. Tanaka was striking in his dark blue suit and embroidered waistcoat. Sitting at the forefront, you remained steadfast in your ignorance of Tsukishima’s scrunity and dabbed at your face as you cried.

You missed having his attention. Missed the subtle stroke of his sharp gold eyes across every part of you as though it were Tsukishima’s hands themselves. A scant, cowardly part of you considered not attending the reception, grateful that he hadn’t approached you yet. If he would at all. Kei could be unbearably prideful about these things. But what do you know?

Nothing. After all this time you probably know nothing at all.

“I think he wants to talk to you,” Sugawara says, drawing your focus to the present. “It’s obvious he’s missed you”.

You edge past the increasingly dense foliage with intent, your fingertips outstretched to brush the near-blooming plants. “Who?” you ask. Sugawara’s grin turns wry and he threads his arm through yours.

“So petty,” he murmurs, patting your bicep. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. But he’s single, and has been staring at you all day. I thought I should mention it”.

“Well you’ve mentioned it,” you return without true malice, squeezing him back. Sugawara’s lips parted in a sigh, and for a brief second, you saw a wistful expression beneath the lighthearted veneer. It stirs unease in your chest and you add, “I just don’t want to make a scene”.

“You really think that’s what it’ll come to?”

Memories unearthed from the deep recesses of your mind. Packed away into tight spaces and left to collect dust where they can’t hurt you. They awaken easily, triggered by a simple question, and with such clarity that you wonder if you ever forgot them at all.

Soft, deliberate touches. Long, warm embraces, swallowed up by his large frame. Graceless laughter—the ugly kind that makes your stomach hurt. Languorous kisses, biting kisses, chaste kisses, clumsy kisses. Good morning and good night kisses. Bickering over breakfast. Bickering over dinner. Wandering, calloused hands. Pressure behind two fingers, splitting you like soft fruit. A sharp tongue and sharper words. Holding hands in bed, anchoring yourself to him like you were afraid he might float away in the night.

Life became busier than either of you expected. Kei landed an opportunity to play for a division two team in the V league alongside his work at the Sendai city museum. Your publisher's demands increased. Kei’s priorities shifted. Resentment crept in. He started to forget things. Small promises and favours, like getting the grocery’s or making it home for date night. They felt so significant at the time—things you deemed indicative of his commitment to you, without communicating as such.

Fractures formed in your relationship. You ignored them in favour of keeping the peace, hoping to address them when the timing was better. Only with hindsight can you say that was the wrong choice. The fractures contracted, expanded until it grew into a yawning cavity with one of you standing either side of it. A slow decay.

“No. No, it wouldn’t,” you tell Sugawara. Tsukishima has never been a shining paragon of virtue but he wouldn't do anything to disrupt Tanaka’s wedding. “I’m just nervous. I haven’t seen him since…��

Sugawara hums his acknowledgment. You’re adrift as he guides you into the venue holding the wedding reception, welcomed into a kaleidoscope of colour. Carefully crafted floral arrangements line the hall. Half of the building is a greenhouse conversion, and natural light filters in through the high, arching ceilings, illuminating the dance floor. You take in the surroundings as your senses are enveloped by the pleasant din.

“Look, there’s Yachi and Nishinoya,” Sugawara tugs on your arm and calls out, “Yachi! Noya!”

Nishinoya crowed, leaping forward to gather you and Sugawara into a blistering hug. Barely two extra inches on him yet larger than you remember, skin kissed by the sun and his hair handsomely coiffed. His waistcoat creases awkwardly with the stretch of his body while you sink into his warmth and feel your cheeks ache.

“Man, I feel like I could scale a mountain! It’s so good to see you guys again,” Nishinoya reclines to get a look at you both and firmly takes you by the shoulders. “You have a lot to answer for,” he says with mock seriousness.

“I do?” you laugh, skull knocking side to side as he shakes you.

“I read your book on the plane”.

Your laughter putters out. You grimace and clear your throat, “Oh—really?”

“Most of us have. We wanted to support you properly,” Yachi admits as she steps forward to hug you. She’s smiling when she pulls away, faint laughter lines deepening.

Sugawara nods and pokes at your waist, “Don’t look so embarrassed. It was amazing”.

“It made me cry!” Nishinoya effuses. He sniffs, and to your mortification he looks like he might burst into tears again. “There was this one line—gah, no! I can’t talk about it. Get over here, I need to hug you again”.

“Thank you, Noya-san,” you wheeze at the arms constricting around your midsection, eyes clenched shut to repress the impending sting. You turn your head, nose knocking against his temple as you peer at the others. “Thank you all. I mean it”.

Yachi squirms, her smile quivering. “I’m really happy you made it today,” she says once you’ve been released. The unyielding pressure of Nishinoya’s embrace lingers like two phantom limbs. “You too, Nishinoya-san”.

“It’s amazing you’re upright. I thought for sure the jet lag would get to you,” Sugawara laughs. He utters a quick apology to the server passing with a tray of drinks. “Didn’t you fly in from Barcelona?”

“Yeah. Should’a been heading to Andorra but I wouldn’t miss my bro’s wedding for the world,” Nishinoya’s voice drifts as his eyes follow the alcohol. He plucks a glass in one swift motion and holds it high, “Salut I força al canut!”

Yachi watches him throw back the drink with poorly veiled anxiety. “Ah, speaking of, we should find our seats. It looks like the cake cutting is starting soon”.

“Good call. We’re getting in the way of the preparations. And I think you’ve left Asahi alone for too long,” Sugawara claps Nishinoya on the shoulder. “Looks like he’s been accosted by Saeko-san”.

Nishinoya pivots on his heel, whip-like and buzzing. You’re not sure which name he reacted to more. Asahi or Saeko. “Where?” his gaze locks in on the pair across the room. “I’ll talk to you guys in a bit!”

Gone in a blink. “He never slows down,” Sugawara sighs, shaking his head fondly. “Guess that’s my cue,” he says before parting ways. Yachi waves after them.

An idea strikes you then. “Say, Yacchan. You’re next to me, right?” you glance toward the long tables set up around the dance floor and meet her gaze with a suggestive smile. “Would you want to sit next to Yamaguchi instead? I don’t mind swapping”.

Their relationship had blossomed over the past few months. A long, slow burn finally come to fruition, new enough that mention of it usually makes her turn pink. But the light in her eyes dims at your suggestion, and rather than flustered, Yachi looks uncertain.

Her fingers form a loose clasp around your forearm. “Tadashi is seated next to Tsukishima,” she explains gingerly. You feel yourself freeze and the kind motion of her thumb strokes circles along the inside of your wrist.

You let out a shaky exhale. “That’s okay. I don’t mind,” you tell her before the consequences of what you’re offering can really be cemented. Yachi’s eyes widen, her grip tighter on your hand as you squeeze back in an attempt at reassurance, knowing your smile looks brittle. “It’s probably for the best. We haven’t… talked yet”.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure”.

“Are you sure you’re sure?”

“Hitoka,” you laugh, bumping your shoulders together. “I promise I’ll survive”.

You regret it not two minutes later.

Anticipation fizzes under your skin as you spot him. On approach you give him a cursory look over, the harsh beat of your heart ricocheting in your chest. Tsukishima looks good—he always does, but today, dressed in his dark, double breasted suit, with the golden hour light carding fingers through his neatly styled hair, you think he’s never looked better.

It is disconcerting to see him again and realise that your feelings haven’t changed much in the slightest.

You sit in the chair beside him. You see his spine draw taut in the corner of your eye and feel an oscillating loneliness; so alike those final few weeks together that cold dread seeps between the spaces in your ribs and steals your breath.

“Tsukishima,” you incline your head, impersonal and cautious, hating how foreign his surname is on your tongue.

A beat passes before he repeats your name in greeting, soft as a psalm despite the dour expression on his face. You’re overcome with the urge to poke the uncomfortable crease in his brow. To smooth it out and kiss the skin there, the way you used to do.

You shift in your seat. The arms curve around your midsection and knock against your elbows as you fiddle with the table cloth, “I told Yacchan that Yamaguchi could have my seat so they can sit together. I hope that’s alright”.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” and you know the clipped answer is reflexive by the way his jaw locks in frustration at himself. Bracing for what you’ll say next.

Only, your mouth curls up a little, and you exhale a short laugh through your nose. You haven’t seen him this skittish since your first year of highschool. You consider that maybe you aren’t the only one who’s scared. That things are the same and they are not the same. The thought is bittersweet, but it’s nice, the way his trepidation gives way to muted awe, how he sends you sidelong glances when he thinks you’re not looking.

The music picks up in a grand crescendo as the newlyweds enter the hall and the reception begins with a raucous applause. A rich aroma unfurls as the food is served, the depth of the flavour layering over the already present notes of wildflower and honey. Drinks are handed to the guests. Generously. You swirl the liquid gold around the rim of your glass, luxuriating in the syrupy inebriation of a gently oaked chardonnay.

“So, uh. How’ve you been?”

Tsukishima, to his credit, does not startle at the question. “Fine,” he says, and you think he might leave it at that when he adds, “The museum received another new Crinoid collection last month, so I’ve been preoccupied”.

You grasp at the conversational thread, not wanting him to stop, “Crinoids?”

“Marine animals. They still exist today, though not as common. You might’ve heard of sea lilies and feather stars,” he shrugs halfheartedly, not daring to look away from his deep fried tofu, though it’s clear he can’t help talking about his work with pride. “Ours are from the Triassic period”.

“Just like the, uh—” you click your fingers to conjure the name from thin air “—Gojirasaurus! Your favourite, right?”

Tsukishima pauses. It’s a fleeting thing, but you notice. The corner of his lips curves into a barely-there smile. He seems pleased that you remembered. You busy your hands with repositioning the cutlery a fourth time so maybe, hopefully, you can distract yourself enough not to say something stupid like: “If I visit, will you show it to me?” or “Do you miss me, like I miss you?”

You clear your throat. “I hear the Sendai Frogs have been doing well, too. Congratulations on moving up to division one”.

Those aureate eyes are sliding to you again, bright and searching. Tsukishima arches his brow in a delicate mocking gesture that was unbearable when he was sixteen and even more so now. “Keeping tabs on me, are you?”

There’s mirth trickling into his voice, giving it a familiar smarmy lilt. A wave of emotion washes over you. Embarrassment and heart-twisting-happiness. You shove some rice into your mouth and chew it down to fine paste, vying for time to formulate a coherent sentence. “No. I read about it in the latest Volleyworld issue,” you reply unconvincingly.

“You don’t read Volleyworld”.

“How would you know that?”

Tsukishima takes a shallow breath and nods. The warm gloam of late afternoon mellows his taut features. “I’ve been reading too,” he says after another sip of wine. “I saw you finally published your book”.

Dread seized the inner workings of your mind and the apology on the tip of your tongue curdles. Time ticks by, one sickening second after another. Your eyes dip low to avoid his gaze—which for some reason, he refused to direct anywhere else.

Your recollection of the break up itself was hazy at best. There had been no raised voices, no desperate movie-esque kiss, no slammed doors. Only grief filling your body like lead, and jumbled, half-hysterical thoughts of ‘Is this it? Are we giving everything up, just like that?’

You remember everything that followed, though. The inability to accept reality. It is said if a writer falls in love, that love can never die. And so you kept writing, and writing, and writing; perceiving love through different lenses, creating different endings; relying on metaphors of natural forces and disasters, of cannibalism and gluttony, of journeys and patience to make sense of it all. Six months after everything fell apart you completed the final draft of ‘The Vanishing Moon’, dedicating a final testimony to him in small print on the first page.

Given the choice, I would’ve rather had you at my side than any one of these words.

Has he seen it? Is that what he’s getting at? Did he read through all eighteen chapters and meticulously pick out the remnants of him you pressed between the pages?

“Noya said it made him cry,” you eventually reply.

Tsukishima signals for another drink. He takes two flutes from the server, handing one to you. You accept it with a soft ‘thanks’, hoping he didn’t notice the tremor in your fingers. “Nishinoya-san cried when he found out swans can be gay,” he points out.

“You cried at The Land Before Time”.

“What kind of cold hearted bastard doesn’t cry at The Land Before Time?”

Laughter bubbles up in your chest as the initial dread ebbs away and the tension seeps from your shoulders. Tsukishima dips his chin, a small smile as he mutters, “That’s better”.

In the centre of the hall Tanaka cradles Kiyoko in his arms, now surrounded by clusters of their loved ones whirling with their own partners, a hurricane of colour and laughter and love. Tsukishima observes them with a solemn gleam in his eye. That could’ve been us, his heart says in chorus with your own.

“Do you remember that time we danced together in third year, at the summer festival? I tried to kiss you and gave you a nosebleed”.

“I remember”.

Your gaze drops to the bottom of your glass. At the time you had been mortified. Now it’s a story you would share at your own wedding table. The thought cleaves your heart in half.

“Do you remember the song that was playing?”

“Why are you bringing this up?” Tsukishima snaps. “Yes, I remember everything. I couldn’t forget even if I wanted to. Happy?”

There’s a surge of something devastating in your chest, like love and heartbreak all at once, strong enough that you feel as if your ribs might splinter just to make room for it. But they don’t—and you don’t, because you’ve felt this before, and your body remembers.

You remember.

Suddenly the room is too hot, and the music is too loud. “Sorry. I’ll be back in a minute,” you murmur, pushing your chair back and getting to your feet.

“Wait,” in one short breath there are long, calloused fingers circling your wrist. You do wait. Tsukishima hesitates, the pressure elevates, and as you lean away your palm slips into his, skin kissing skin. Then he’s standing, towering over you. “I’ll come with you. I know a place that’s quiet”.

Tsukishima does not let go of your hand, and you don’t let go of his. He walks a few steps ahead guiding you through the throngs of people. Some familiar heads turn, their attention drawn immediately to the place where your bodies meet, and shooting you various looks of encouragement or confusion. Yamaguchi sees you pass and his mouth splits into a grin so wide that his eyes crinkle.

You’re not sure where it is he’s taking you, only that his promise of finding quiet is true. The cacophony simmers and soon enough the festivities are muffled entirely. Just when you think you’ve wound up at the end of a corridor it curves, leading to a pair of french doors. “Come on,” Tsukishima ushers you out onto a balcony.

What you’re greeted by makes your breath catch. The world as it is around you comes to a standstill, the fabric of reality peeling away. An orange yolk dips below the horizon and the sunset hour drapes across the ostensibly endless meadow hidden behind the Karumai Gardens. Rolls of grass sway in the wind, peppered with wildflowers of every shade.

You move to stand at the balcony’s edge. Tsukishima drops his hand, and your fingers curl into your palm. The shadows grow longer, the air cooler. The evening insects begin to sing. You’re warmed still by the wine thrumming in your bloodstream.

“Hey, Tsukki?”

He comes to stand beside you, folding his arms atop the wall. “Don’t call me that”.

“Oh,” you swallow against the swell in your throat. “Sorry, Tsukishima”.

Tsukishima’s expression twists into a scowl. There’s a blush creeping toward his ears. “I didn’t mean that,” he says. You blink and wait for him to elaborate, which only flusters him further. He stares stubbornly at the border. “Just—call me as you normally would. Anything else sounds wrong in your mouth”.

The name leaves you in an instant. Hushed—not whispered, “…Kei”.

He makes an inquisitive noise, strangled as it is.

“You didn’t say what you thought of it,” you continued. “My book”.

You feel a rush of adrenaline when Kei doesn't answer immediately, unable to read his expression. “Good,” he says, veiled indifference belied by the restless twisting of a cufflink between his forefinger and thumb. “It was good”.

“Well, that’s practically a Pulitzer recommendation coming from you”.

“Shut up,” he huffed, gaze flitting across your face and dropping to your tentative, uncertain beginning of a smile. He wets his lips and glances away. Heartened, both by the alcohol and his reciprocation, you press closer in small increments, and Kei flowers under your gentle persuasion, like he always used to.

“This okay?”

In lieu of a reply you are ensconced by a warm, firm chest and two strong arms around your back that show no sign of withdrawing. The low timbre of his voice vibrates under your cheek, “Who was it for?”

“Hm?”

“The book. You dedicated it to someone”.

You exhale, squeezing your eyes shut. You’re glad, in part, that he can’t see the emotion written plainly on your face. “Nobody,” you answer lightly, angling to position your ear right over his beating heart. “Just an ex. You don’t know him”.

“Right,” Kei says, drawing out the ‘l’ the way he does when conceding a point he knows he’s correct about. It sounds so fond that you want to curl up where you’re resting, like some benevolent cat. “Guy must’ve been a dick”.

“I was too. We made a lot of mistakes, I think,” you say. If nothing came of this you would at least be able to revisit it; to pick at the scab and stop the wound from closing over too soon. There’s comfort in that. You crane your head and meet his gaze, nervous but unwavering. “But even if he was kind of a dick, I miss him a lot”.

“Yeah?” his eyes soften, half lidded and dark. “He misses you too”.

“He told you that, did he?” your mouth trembles. Kei dips to bring your foreheads together, and the hard frame of his glasses bumps your eyebrow. You share a shaky exhale of laughter.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, brow pinched with regret. Again, “I’m sorry. I know I fucked up”.

You feel your jaw quiver. The familiar burn behind your eyes. Tears so close you can taste them. “We both did. Don’t shoulder the blame on your own”.

“But I made you feel lonely,” he says.

You tuck your chin and whisper, “Yes”.

His fingers splayed across your cheek, pinky tucked beneath your jaw as he cradled your face in his hand, tilting until you’re staring back at the reflection in his pupils. Puffy and damp, eyelashes clumped with tears. What a sight.

Kei strokes his thumb in an arc beneath your eye. A tear beads on his nail, slipping into the crook of his hand. The inexpressible tenderness is overwhelming yet you are underwhelmed by the inaction. You can’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed by the whine in your voice as you ask, “Are you going to kiss me?”

“Demanding as ever. What happened to ‘please’?” he murmurs. And then he kisses you.

It is slow at first, hesitant, leaving room for you to pull away. But with every languid movement of Kei’s lips came a sweet affirmation, that which you took and took until you no longer felt unworthy of receiving it. His hand flutters at your waist. You take a shuddered breath, pressing closer into his embrace and deepening the kiss. In his distraction you take him by the wrist, encouraging him to touch. There’s an immediate, reverent grip at your hip, kneading over your clothes.

This is what you’d been longing for. The feeling you couldn’t transpose; that which people have long tried to capture. The esoteric, giddy anticipation and joy that bubbled between two people on the precipice of something bigger than themselves. Even with an affinity for stringing words together you are scarcely able to describe it. Immense and overwhelming, light and dark, tender and everything in between.

Kei pulls away for breath with a low, vibrating hum, wearing a smile that you thought you’d never see outside of your memories. Almost boyish when he looks at you. The distance is an inch too many but it is just that—an inch. “Eager,” he teases, only to kiss you again, twice as eager.

For as long as you can remember, you’ve loved love stories.

But love doesn’t only exist in stories.

You remember that, now.

#hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #haikyu x reader

923 notes · View notes

verbenaa · 4 months

Text

air so deep and sweet

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: “You’re just utterly shameless, aren’t you?’ He tsks, “Seducing me away from my work like this.”

Astarion’s eyes rove your form laying beneath him in reverence, the silken strands of your hair spread like a halo around your face and your dress a mess around your waist.

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𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: Astarion/Reader 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: smut, fluff, slice of life! 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 7.1k 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: body worship, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, hand jobs, vampire bites, mentions/discussions of anal, vaginal sex, vampire sex, soft dom astarion

MDNI, 18+ CONTENT

𝑎/𝑛: This is my first ever fanfiction despite a literal 20 years of reading them LOL i truly have lost the plot. Find me on ao3 too, my username is leadii 💕

ao3 here

masterlist

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Dim candlelight plays along the walls of Astarion’s studio, illuminating the discarded bolts of fabric leaning against the wall with haphazard grace, the threads of linens, silks, and cottons a riot of color against the muted walls. Spools of silken thread and tangles of ribbon lay sprawling across the work table, interspersed with pincushions and stray needles waiting to be threaded.

The studio itself is small, humble in its nature. Set aside on a small street within the city walls it wasn’t a far walk from your shared home, making it an easy decision to join him on the nights he decided to work.

Lush velvet draperies hang heavily across several leaded windows, while multicolored rugs layered themselves over the floor. Fat pillars of candle wax sit haphazardly upon several surfaces, filling the room with moving pockets of light, their dance helped along by the light summer breeze blowing through the open windows. It was undeniably one of your favorite places to be.

Despite Astarion’s initial claims to the contrary (if you could even call his half-hearted condescension to the concept such a thing), he was decidedly well suited for a life of domesticity. Much like a spoiled cat, he very much enjoyed his luxuries. Vials of scented oils, a soft bed covered with blankets and quilts, piles of books in the corners of rooms waiting to be read at his decision. You were very quick to learn that Astarion was nothing if not a creature of comfort. And he made it so very easy to spoil him, accepting your love and affection with open arms.

You nestle deeper into the nest of pillows that made up the corner you had decided to call your own, novel discarded beside you and your goblet of wine long emptied of its contents resting against the floorboards. With a small huff your attention turns from your surroundings to said owner of the studio, watching him weave the needle in and out of the fabric in his hands, focus intent on his art.

He had such beautiful hands, you couldn’t help but think. Hands as well-versed in sowing chaos as easily as they could thread a needle to create the tiniest of embellishments upon a single piece of silk. Hands as intimately versed in the art of death as they were in the art of drawing pleasure. Sometimes, you think, he is secretly desperate to prove that his hands no longer have to steal, cheat, or seduce for others and instead were capable to creating something soft and vulnerable for himself instead.

With a small stretch you sit yourself upright, adjusting the lovingly embroidered straps of the light linen dress you wore to compensate for the overbearing warmth of summer. You were always content to accept any creation Astarion made for you and your dress was no exception, tailored to perfection to sit on your curves perfectly with small decorations of lace and embroidery as he saw fit.

As though drawn by your thoughts, his carmine gaze glances up to meet your own. Astarion’s eyes linger upon your form as you slowly stand and stretch your arms high above your head, back arching slightly with the motion before you step to the nearest open window. A light breeze ruffles your hair as you rest your elbows on the sill, careful of the several plants currently residing there as your eyes move to watch the people below weave through the streets in the darkness.

“Dearest, do you mind lending me those ever-so-lovely eyes of yours for a moment?” His voice is a casual drawl. “I wish to seek your opinion on this particular color scheme.”

You turn to face him from your spot at the window as he gestures to the work in his hand with a small movement of his wrist, and quickly step across the floor to stop at his side. You glance down to see the wooden embroidery hoop he holds with measured regard in one hand, the other carefully grasping a small, sharp needle. You lean in slightly to see better, your breasts adding the barest of pressure against his arm.

You focus your vision upon the delicate pattern of his needlework, the threads weaving together to create an intricate pattern of scrolling vines and abundant spring blossoms in a warm milky white adorning the collar of a cream colored linen shirt, the colors almost ethereal together in their similarity.

“I hate to break this to you, but…I do believe it is simply cream upon cream,” you say with a small smile gracing your lips. “What ever is there for me to even give my opinion on?”

“It’s called monochrome, my dear.” Astarion gives you a look of affectionate exasperation before continuing, “Despite what everyone seems to think, I am capable of subtlety when the occasion permits.” You briefly turn to look at him, an elegant eyebrow arching in amusement.

He rolls his eyes and scoffs slightly before murmuring, “Certainly those pretty eyes of yours can see the differences despite the similarity of color?”

Sure enough, upon further inspection you could pick out the slightest hint of metallic gold threaded throughout the creamy colored delicate flowers and surrounding vines, the only detail differentiating the colors from one another. The subtle shine of the golden threads were mesmerizing to follow with your eyes, the candlelight bouncing off of them creating fiery highlights on the raised embroidery. Like everything Astarion touched, it was undeniably beautiful.

“I suppose it looks decent.” You tease, pressing your chest further into his arm while your attention shifts to the elegant planes of his face. He was simply so easy to admire, the way his hair always seemed to fall so perfectly into place, his mouth held soft in concentration looked so inviting.

A noise of protest leaves his lips at the mere thought his creation was only ‘decent’, and you can’t help but laugh at the reaction while leaning in to press a soft kiss to his pale cheek.

“It must be so hard to have such artistic merit, Astarion. I’m afraid such a talentless individual as myself can’t fully appreciate such craft and workmanship.” You playfully lean your body back and throw a hand up your forehead in mock distress, earning a short laugh from him.

“Despite such questionable opinions, you are far my talentless, my dear.” Astarion sets aside the hoop and needle to the far edge of the worktable and turns in his chair, settling his full attention on you.

“In fact, I would be more than willing to remind you of the several of the talents you possess.”

Slowly, he draws his eyes from your features to glance down at the twin pinprick scars decorating your neck before slowly continuing lower to finally rest on a spot above your breasts. He brings his fingertips to brush lightly against the skin, pressing against the delicate lace trim of the neckline, sweeping slowly and softly back and forth against the swells. He watches the sudden intake of your breath with interest before his eyes glide up to meet your own again.

A slow, feline smile graces his lips. “Such a distraction, dearest. Especially when you press these lovely breasts of yours into me.”

You match his smile with a sly one of your own.

“Can you blame me?” You give a half-hearted shrug, hardly caring that you had been caught in your so-called crime. “It’s quite hard to not want to be close to such a beautiful individual like yourself.”

“Ah yes, there it is. Talent number one: flattery.”

He moves the hand tracing patterns against your skin upward, glancing touches against your neck, before curling his fingers underneath your chin to bring your face closer to his own.

You knew he could easily see the effects of his relatively innocent ministrations, could view the inevitable pink beginning to decorate your cheeks.

Could smell it in the blood beginning to race through your veins.

Astarion had always known exactly what to say made you breathless and had never held back on using that knowledge to his advantage to make you weak to his whims.

“Now be a good girl and take a seat.” His voice is low, hungry; he leans forward and both his hands find your waist and pull.

You feel your body relax easily into his touch, letting him smooth your skirts out of the way as he brings you towards his waiting lap. Your hips instantly connect together, fabric the only barrier between you. You feel a telltale twitch beneath you, signaling his pleasure at the slight friction created by the connection and your hips grind against his own instinctually, the friction and pressure adding to the growing warmth deep in your belly.

Astarion leans forward, connecting his mouth with your own in a scalding kiss, moaning into your mouth as his hips roll against your own, his growing erection pressing closer to your covered center.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull yourself even closer to him as your hands card through the silver curls sitting at the back of his neck. Opening your mouth, you lick against his lips hoping he will open them for you. Astarion obliges, meeting your tongue halfway.

Your tongue brushes against a sensitive fang, drawing another moan out of him and he slowly pulls away from the kiss, lightly nipping at your bottom lip as he leaves before moving to press small, sweet kisses across your jaw.

“Would you indulge me a snack, dearest?” He presses a quick kiss followed by a small lick to the skin behind your ear, sending a shiver of pleasure down your skin.

“I suppose I could be convinced…” Breathy sighs fall from your lips as he peppers kisses down the elegant column of your neck. “Quite easily perhaps, too.”

“Will you give me a small taste, my dear?” he mouths the words against your skin, lips hot.

Your eyes fall closed at his kisses. “You know you don’t even have to ask to have my blood. I give it to you, freely, and I always will.” With a tilt of your head you grant him more access to continue his search.

“I don’t deserve you.” “Absolutely false. You deserve everything.” The words roll off your tongue with quick ease, certain you’ve never spoken truer words.

As Astarion moves the straps of your dress aside to hang off your shoulders and free the expanse of your neck and collar he finds the spot he had been looking for, laving the area with his tongue briefly before he bites down.

A split second of burning heat as his fangs dig into the flesh of your neck with as much delicacy as he can manage before he finally begins to suck, the pull of the blood leaving your body as he drinks brings a decidedly indecent moan to your lips, the heat of your core growing wetter with every draw of his mouth.

As Astarion drinks in your lifeblood in slow gulps, you feel his hands moving to the neckline of your dress and he grabs at it, pulling the fabric down across your chest, exposing more and more of you with every pull of the fabric. You had forgone a corset today in an attempt at comfort in an unending battle against humidity, trusting the bodice of your dress to instead keep your (somewhat questionable) modesty in tact.

The rush of cold air combined with the sudden brush of his chilled hands against your breasts as he lets the dress fall to hang freely around your waist draws a surprised gasp from your lips. You move your arms out of the straps before burying them again in his silver locks.

He quickly brings a free hand up to grasp a breast, brushing his thumb over a newly hardened nipple. Extricating his fangs from your neck, his tongue moves to lick up the blood tracing down from the wound, not letting a single drop go to waste.

“Such a delightful little treat,” he murmurs against your skin, lips brushing with every movement as your hips grind downward against his growing erection in slow rolls.

His lips move further down your chest, no longer following the trail of fresh blood but that of the blood in your veins leading to your heart.

Astarion presses a chaste kiss over the place where your heart beats, your back arching with the movement of his lips as he moves lower to capture a hardened peak. A soft cry at the touch of his mouth falls from your lips, the motion of his tongue drawing circles around the bud sending a flash of heat straight to your core.

He laves at the bud, alternating licks and soft bites in a bid to stoke the fire inside you even higher, his free hand coming up to massage its twin with delicate motions.

Astarion cants his hips up into yours as he sucks hard at your breast, his prominent erection pressing into your growing wetness before his mouth moves to your other breast, continuing his ministrations.

“Astarion, please, I need more.” You whine, attempting to press harder against his erection in hopes the touch will grant a reprieve from the building heat between your thighs.

“As you wish, my love.” He grants your request with a whisper, his hands falling on your thighs to support you as he moves to stand, bringing you with him. Chair pushing back with the movement, he places you on the desk in front of him as his hips spread your thighs.

Desperate to keep the connection between the two of your bodies, Astarion stands between your legs, pressing close. His hands skate up your body to land on your cheeks, tilting your face to look up at his own as a thumb brushes absentmindedly against your bottom lip. He leans down to press his lips to your forehead, your eyes, cheeks, nose, and finally your lips.

“Lay back, love,” His words are a whisper as one hand makes it way from your cheek to rest on the back of your head. “It’s alright, I’ve got you.”

His eyes never leave your own as your body relaxes, trusting him, and he leans you back onto the tabletop with care until your body meets the wood.

Barely breathing, you watch as his hands made their way teasingly downwards, skating over your bared breasts to find the skirt of your dress, moving to push the thin fabric tantalizingly up your thighs to settle around your waist and out of the way. Astarion’s eyes settle upon a tiny, lacy pair of panties, the fabric the only thing keeping you from being completely bared to him.

“You’re just utterly shameless, aren’t you?’ He tsks, “Seducing me away from my work like this.” Astarion’s eyes rove your form laying beneath him in reverence, the silken strands of your hair spread like a halo around your face and your dress a mess around your waist.

He was so beautiful it made your heart feel like it was going to beat out of your chest.

With bated breath, you raise a hand to draw your fingers softly over his cheek, capturing his attention.

“Promise me that you will tell me if this gets to be too much for you,” Your eyes meet his as you watch his expression fill with sudden affection at your request.

“What a sweet thing you are,” Astarion brings a hand to cover the one you had placed over his cheek. “Thank you for always taking care of me so.” With a small movement, he turns his head to bring his lips to press against your palm.

“I promise you that anything and everything I do with you is my choice.” Astarion moves the hand that covers yours to flit down your body, teasing touches over your peaked nipples, down your belly, before brushing against the line of your underwear. A sudden intake of breath escapes your lungs as he watches your stomach jump with the touch.

A smirk graces his face as he moves those same fingers lower, brushing lightly against the gusset of your underwear before pressing harder against the growing damp of the lace. His touch creates a sweet friction, your wetness mixed with the texture of the lace and the pressure of his fingers drawing a soft moan from you.

You whine as his fingers pull your underwear to the side, Astarion moving to slide his fingertips up and down your exposed slit, spreading your wetness. He makes teasing passes around the small pearl that rests above; close but never quite touching where you need him, your arousal aiding the smooth glide of his motions.

“I’ve barely touched you and you’re already this wet for me, darling?”

“You know I always aim to please.” The words are hard won but you manage to give him a haughty smile nonetheless, trying to maintain the last shred of willpower you have left to pretend to be unaffected.

He moves to pump a finger shallowly inside you, not nearly deep enough to provide any relief. You gasp at feeling, attempting to roll your hips in hopes to bring his finger deeper. But just as quickly as he enters he leaves, eliciting a noise of frustration from you.

“Patience, patience.” He tuts, hands moving to your hips to tug at the lace resting over them. He yanks at the fabric, and you raise you bottom to aid him in finally removing them. Astarion pockets the pair with a smug look as his hands move to spread your thighs further apart.

With every push of your thighs Astarion bares you to him, your arousal glistening against your center in the low light.

“You know, dearest, I think I would maybe like to have a taste of something else as well.” You feel your cunt clench at the prospect, adding to the building heat deep inside you.

“Consider me at your mercy, then.” A smirk from him at your blessing as he slowly lowers himself to his knees before your spread legs.

Astarion is supplicant before you as he rests his head on your upper thigh, unfairly close to where you want him most. Your hips jump in anticipation as he begins pressing tantalizingly soft kisses into the crease where your hip meets your thigh.

You feel his fingers touch you finally, delicately spreading your folds as he watches your most intimate place open for him. His thumb comes to rest against your clit, rubbing lightly at the small bud and you release a contented hum at the warmth of the pleasure inside your body growing with the movement of his fingers.

Your eyes fall shut at the sheer relief of his attention, his expertise in knowing exactly how and where to touch to drive you wild drawing a moan from you. Your hand falls from its place in his hair to land beside your head, jostling errant sewing supplies from their resting place next to you.

“Careful, darling. Watch those lovely hands of yours to not catch on a needle. I would so hate for you to bleed so needlessly.” A roguish smile alights his lips as he lowers his mouth to lick a slow stripe up your center, intent to collect as much of your wetness on his tongue as he can.

Your hand immediately finds its way back to his hair, gripping his silver curls mindlessly as he begins to work his tongue up and down your center, tracing patterns against your sex as he goes.

His tongue moves to finally circle your clit with small movements, intent to drive your pleasure higher and higher with every pass. His mouth moves lower, licking across your folds as he finds your entrance, tracing around it with agonizingly slow motions.

Astarion is quick to move a hand to rest over your belly as your hips jut up, applying soft pressure as he grows bold in his motions and his tongue moves to push inside of you. Your grip on his curls grows harder with every thrust of his tongue inside your body, head thrown back and moans growing louder as he brings you closer and closer to completion.

The hand resting on your stomach moves to press lightly at your clit, once again resuming the small circles round and around as his tongue continues its exploration deep in your core, eating you out with fervor.

Astarion continues to lave inside you, his soft tongue whorling against your walls as his fingers expertly work your clit in tandem with your cries as your hips ride his face, thighs shaking as your orgasm barrels towards you.

And it’s just like that when you cry out and finally come, his tongue moving deep inside as his finger strums your clit with practiced motions and the feeling is white-hot as you plunge into your ecstasy. He licks up your come greedily, tongue never stopping its endeavor as you ride the wave of your orgasm, breathy cries leaving your lips and hips rolling until your body finally relaxes.

Shaking in the aftermath of your orgasm, your hand falls from Astarion’s hair to rest over your eyes as your breathing begins to even out and you finally come down from the high, Astarion cleaning up your cum until you can take it no longer, hips jerking in overstimulation away from his mouth.

Astarion places a light kiss over your clit before raising up from his knees back to his full height, your slick glistening on his chin and lips in the light of the candles as his still clothed cock brushes against your empty center.

Astarion leans forward, arms caging your head as he leans down to nuzzle your cheek whispering ardent words, “Out of all the beautiful things in this room, you are by far the most gorgeous.”

His admission momentarily stuns you. Astarion had never been shy in his admirations of your beauty and while you had grown more used to them during your time together he still managed to catch you off guard with such compliments from time to time.

“Can I please touch you? Taste you?” You pant, desperation coloring your words in the wake of his earlier admission as you begin to push yourself up onto your elbows. Astarion’s hand comes down and gently presses on your chest instead, and you lower yourself back down at the gentle command in the gleaming red of his eyes.

“You can put that clever mouth of yours to use later, my dear. I have other plans for you, I think.” His eye rove your features before pressing his mouth upon yours in a fevered kiss, his tongue licking against your lips asking for entry. You can taste the essence of yourself on his lips and groan at the taste, opening yours to tangle his tongue with your own.

Astarion deepens the kiss as his hands find your own and grasping them gently, he brings them down his body to rest upon his still-clothed cock.

“You said you wanted to touch. Indulge me, lover.” His lips never leave your own as he speaks the words, tongue sneaking out to lick at your bottom lip.

Your hands spring to action immediately to palm his cock through his leather pants before you find the laces holding him and undo them with deft fingers familiar with the task.

Astarion’s thick cock springs free of the confines of the pants and your fingers find the beads of precum decorating the tip and spread the wetness down his length. your fingers glide from top to bottom in smooth motions over the veined velvet of him, his essence aiding your ministrations as his mouth falls open from the sheer indulgence of your touch. His head falls heavily onto your shoulder and his lips move over the spot he fed from earlier, kissing and licking the area as your hands work him closer to closer to the edge.

Lifting a hand from him you bring your fingers to your own wetness, drawing your fingertips through your slick before pumping two of them inside yourself in an imitation of his own motions earlier as you moan at the feeling.

Astarion glances down to see your fingers buried in your own cunt, the sight making him go impossibly harder as he watches you briefly pleasure the both of you. With a whine, your fingers leave your body to return to Astarion, a mixture of your arousal and come coating your fingers as your spread it onto his waiting cock, increasing your rhythm to rub him faster.

“Gods Above, you really are something else.” His pupils are blown out in lust as he groans at both the sight and feel of your hands working his shaft, one hand massaging the crown of his cock while the other works him closer to the base in quick motions.

A wicked thought strikes your mind, and you almost feel badly for even entertaining the idea. Almost.

You can feel his breath fanning your neck with every pass of your hands, his moans growing more unrestrained as your ministrations draw him to edge of completion. Without warning you withdraw your hands from his weeping cock, cruelly denying him the climax he was so close to.

Astarion’s head flies up from where it rests on your shoulder as a noise of disbelief leaves his lips and he shoots you a look of pure shock. The knowledge you caught him so unaware has you riding another kind of high, one you rarely had the privilege of reveling in.

“You little minx! Who knew you were capable of such cruelty. You’re going to pay for that, you know.”

Mischief settles on your features. “Maybe that was the goal.”

“Ask and you shall receive, little love. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” His lips curve with a devilish grin, eyes glinting in the candlelight as his hands move to grip your waist, fingertips pressing hard into the soft skin.

“How should I make you pay for it, then?” He muses. “Should I shove my cock into that tight, sweet cunt of yours and fuck you so hard you won’t be able to stand? Or maybe I should make good use of that wicked little mouth of yours and fill it instead?”

His darkening eyes bore into your own, your cheeks heating at his suggestions as you shift under his contemplation.

“You do look quite beautiful like that, you know. Mouth stretched around me as I fuck your throat. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You give an enthusiastic nod at the prospect, excited for whatever punishment he deems appropriate to hand out.

Without warning, you feel the hands upon your waist move to lift you up and flip you over, your stomach making contact with the table as your bare breasts press tight against the wood grain. His hand comes to rest in the center of your back, pushing you further into the surface. You move your head to rest your cheek upon the table, the coolness of the wood a welcome sensation to the quickly rebuilding heat inside you as your eyes glance up to meet his own in curiosity.

“Too bad. I have another idea instead.” His voice is deep with promise.

Such trouble you had gotten yourself into, it seems.

Cool hands move from your back to the forgotten skirt of your dress to flip it upward to rest around your waist once more, exposing your ass and glistening center to the warm air.

Astarion brings his hand down hard against one of your cheeks, the sharpness of the spank making you cry out as surprise and pleasure mingle into one. He rubs the growing red mark left on your skin before bending down to press a his lips to it, soothing the area with barely-there kisses.

He brings both hands to your ass now, rubbing soothing circles over the area before moving to pull your rear cheeks apart, allowing Astarion to see absolutely everything.

A wave of embarrassment hits you to be put on such display for his vision despite his knowledge of your body, and you fidget slightly under his intent gaze of your most intimate areas.

“Astarion…” you let out a moan and he is quick to shush you as he moves a hand off your asscheek to brush his thumb in light circles over your asshole.

“Maybe I should take you here instead, I know how much you love when I play with your pretty ass.” His voice is deep, eyes impossibly dark.

“Oh fuck,” His words draw a ragged moan from your lips at the mere thought, setting your neglected pussy on fire with need.

“Prove to me you can be a good girl.” His thumb applies soft pressure before it leaves you to be replaced by his lips. He presses a soft kiss to the tight hole before kissing downwards and licking deep into your cunt without warning, lapping at your waiting wetness.

“Gods, Astarion…” your hips press backwards towards his waiting mouth. “Whatever you want, wherever you want, my love. I’ll do anything. I just want you inside of me.” Your voice is hoarse with need, no longer caring to win this little game you had started.

You feel Astarion’s mouth leave your pussy and whine at the loss, but he is quick replace your empty cunt with two of his elegant fingers instead, sliding them in and out at slow, measured pace.

“Do you think I should let you come one more time before I fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk properly?” You are helpless to do anything other than nod your head in insistence, hoping he won’t rob you of your orgasm the way you had done to him. “I don’t know if you deserve it yet.”

Astarion slowly pulls his fingers out of your body only to add a third finger on the plunge back in, drawing a cry from your lips at the sudden fullness.

His fingers push deep and curl inside of you pressing against that special spot over and over again, driving you to new heights as the lightest veil of tears begins to dust your lashes at the sheer bliss of the feeling.

Noticing the tears, you feel Astarion immediately stop his ministrations and lean over your back to look into your eyes with concern, a noise of protest at the lack of motion falls from your mouth as his fingers slowly leave your body to rest on your hip, brushing calming circles on your skin.

“Is this too much, love?” Any trace of his teasing dominance is gone from his voice as he speaks the words to you clearly, looking intently for any indication you needed him to step back from the scene the two of you had created. “We can stop, darling, if you need to. I don’t want you to push yourself too far to please me.”

You smile at genuine concern evident on his face, blinking away the sheen of tears.

Pushing your hips back into him with as much motion as you can manage in your prone position against the table, you lean your body up in hopes to press a kiss to his lips. Astarion leans in, mouth quick to meet you halfway in a kiss as his spare hand moves to cup your cheek.

“The only thing you are pushing is my patience, love. Please don’t stop.” You beg, hoping he will acquiesce to your desire to continue as you lower your body back down onto the table. “The only thing I want in this moment is to come so hard I can’t think straight and then to have that beautiful cock of yours inside of me in whatever way you wish to give it to me.”

“Insatiable. Who taught you such language?” His body follows yours down, back pressing against your own as his lips brush against yours as he speaks the words, the concern leaving his eyes replaced with mounting desire.

“Believe me, there is nothing I want more than to be buried deep inside you,” The hand on your hip makes its way back towards your center. “Make me the same promise I made you earlier.”

The words come to your mouth effortlessly.

“I promise you that anything and everything I do with you is my choice.” You recite the words softly, with ease.

Quieter now, you whisper. “I trust you, Astarion.”

You know how much your words and trust mean to him, can see it in his unguarded expression. Astarion didn’t put much trust in the Gods, but he would never stop thanking whichever one it was that brought your paths together. His fingers gently graze your pussy, ringing around your entrance with soft, teasing touches.

“I love you.” Astarion says before pressing his lips firmly to your own, those same three fingers finally slipping back inside.

Astarion renews the pace of his fingers right away, pressing and curling with precise motions meant to bring you to the brink.

You give into the sensation of every movement of his fingers, mouth open and eyes falling shut at the feeling and it’s not long before he has you once again close to your orgasm.

“Please, don’t stop,” you whimper as your thighs begin to shake.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Astarion brings his other hand down your body to brush lightly against your clit. He sounds as lost in desire as you feel. “Want to feel you come on my hand. Can you do that for me, sweet thing?”

His words have you clenching hard on his fingers, the pressure of them against your insides combined with the fingers of his other hand brushing light, concentric circles over your clit have you coming within moments of his request.

“Such a good girl to give me what I want so easily.” You barely hear the words that fall from his lips through the haze of your ongoing orgasm, the feeling of his breath on the skin of your ear serving to only enhancing the moment.

Your body spasms around his fingers and cries of ecstasy fall from your lips as he continues, working you through your orgasm while his lips press soothing kisses anywhere his lips can reach—your face, your neck, the tip of your ear.

“That’s it. You always look so beautiful when you come for me.”

Slowly, finally you feel your body begin to relax through the haze of your orgasm. Your mind comes back to you and you release a small laugh as your breath starts to even out, feeling him leave your body. Without breaking eye contact, he brings the fingers that had filled you so deeply to his mouth and licks them clean. The sight of it sends a wave of heat right back to your cunt, a shudder of anticipation running through you.

“I think you already succeeded in your wish to make me unable to stand.” You pant.

“And to think I haven’t even fucked you yet.” His cock is hard as his eyes scan your form from the flesh of your core to the flush of your cheeks, your eyes glassy with a haze of lust.

“I think I want to fuck you just like this.” He whispers into your ear as his hands run soothingly over your back. “I like you this, on display as you wait for me.” You desperately attempt to push your hips back to brush against his uncovered cock, looking for any bit of friction.

You watch him from your place on the table, the lithe way his body moves as he takes off his luxurious silk shirt to expose his chest.

His beauty was almost otherworldly as the dancing candlelight illuminates the carved marble of his skin, light and shadow creating a moving chiaroscuro upon the planes of his body.

He looked like a god.

“You are so beautiful.” Your words are a mere whisper as he moves his thick cock to finally brush against your center, slicking himself in your spend as the tip catches against your clit, drawing twin moans from you both.

Grabbing your hips, Astarion positions himself at your entrance and begins to slowly push inside, so familiar with your body he barely needs to guide his cock.

His head drops to press a kiss to your shoulder before righting himself again, hissing in pleasure at the feeling of your walls closing around him as he slides in, your wetness aiding him as he bottoms out and his hips press hard against your own.

Low moans escape you at the sheer feeling of his cock stretching and sliding home and your hands move grasp for purchase on the desk as he slowly begins to rock back and forth.

“If only you could see yourself now,” His voice is deep as he watches himself pull his cock out of your body almost completely, only the head left resting shallowly inside you before pushing forward with a hard thrust, hitting a place so deep you let out a ragged cry at the feeling.

“Gods, Astarion, just like that.” He fucks you hard, the force of his thrusts pushing you back and forth with small motions, breasts pressing hard against the wood of the table as one of your hands finds his own still holding your hips. You grab at his wrist in hopes he will take it, needing to touch more of him. Sensing your need Astarion takes your hand, bringing it to his lips to press a soft kiss on the back of it before resting your joined hands on your lower back.

“No one takes my cock like you,” He pants through his thrusting. “You were made for me, weren’t you?”

Supplications fall from his lips as he moves in and out of your body, showering you with worship as if you were his own private deity. His words further kindle the rising flame inside your belly, every touch of his cock against your walls serving to push you closer and closer to your third orgasm.

“Only you,” you pant, hips canting back into his own to match the rhythm of his thrusts. “No one else.”

You feel so incredibly full with your body positioned like this, every movement of his cock has him pressing hard against your sweet spot, the feeling like heaven as cries fall from your lips.

“I love how wet you get for me, darling,” Astarion can feel you tighten around him as you grow nearer to your orgasm, your body trembling and cunt pulsing with pleasure as your hips drive back into his own. The feeling of you so close to your orgasm has hips losing their rhythm, his eagerness at the two of you reaching your end together driving him to move harder with every press inside you.

You love seeing him, feeling him like this. His hips finally moving with wild abandon, chasing pure instinct as he moves fast and deep inside your body. A hand comes up to settle in your unbound hair, softly gripping the silk-like strands in his fingers and in his passion he pulls softly, the motion lifting your head. His lips lower to your ear as his back presses fully against your own, the feeling of his cock moving even deeper inside you unmatched. Between his chest against your back and his cock moving so deep he was practically rutting inside, you were almost certain your cunt had never felt so full. Breathless whimpers escape your mouth at the feeling, eyes closing in complete ecstasy as the sound of his own moans against your ear leaves your cunt clenching hard as he hits your g-spot over and over again with each deep thrust.

“Beg for it. Beg for me to let you cum.”

And beg you do.

“Please, Astarion!” A chorus of pleas rise from your throat voicing your desperation as his tongue licks the shell of your ear, the hand in your hair tightening slightly with every word and moan that falls from your lips.

You can barely think as you feel your orgasm careen towards you, unintelligible in your words as you lose yourself in the feeling of your bodies. Astarion’s cock hits that deep inside spot at your front wall once more, and you finally let go, orgasm taking over your body, stars behind your eyes in all-consuming pleasure. You recognize Astarion nearing his own end, his hips rutting into yours as you ride out your orgasm on his cock, cunt squeezing him in a vice. He comes with a drawn-out moan as he paints your insides with his cum, hips shuttering until his thrusts slow down.

Astarion stays inside you, cock softening as he rubs his hands up and down your sides as you both come down from your high, his cold cheek pressed against your shoulder. With deep breaths you take air so heavy and sweet with your shared lust into your lungs, the weight of Astarion on your back an anchor to the world.

With one final pump Astarion pulls himself from your body, watching as your empty cunt weeps with a mixture of his and your own cum. Before he can stop himself, he reaches two fingers up to catch the cum on his fingertips, gently pushing it back inside you before it can fall out onto the table resting below your hips.

“Wouldn’t want you to waste a single drop, my love.”

You whine and buck your hips, overstimulated after coming so many times in a row. With one last press of his fingers, he leaves your cunt, leaning forward to place a kiss on the small of your back.

Astarion grabs a discarded piece of silk off the table beside your head and he gently wipes at the mess that threatens to leave your body before cleaning his own spent cock. As your breathing returns to its normal pace, you push yourself up slightly.

“Silk. Really, Astarion?”

“Only the best for you, my love.” Astarion is quick to help you off the table, steadying you as you sway slightly after being in the same position for so long. He presses a kiss to your lips as he helps pull your dress back up over your breasts and into place.

“I would ask if I was too rough, but I know you better than that.” His remark makes you laugh as you lean into him, throwing your arms around his neck with a wide smile.

“You know, I think I’m missing a tiny piece of my clothing,” Your eyebrows raise as you gesture to his pocket where a tiny piece of darkened lace sticks out from. "You wouldn’t happen to know where it is, would you?”

“Why bother?” Astarion gives a casual shrug as he waves off your query. “I’m just going to take them off of you again when we get home.”

He stuffs the underwear in question deeper into his pocket, patting it securely before flashing you a crafty smile.

“After all, I haven’t even had my dinner yet.” He leans in, setting your heart aflame with a passionate kiss before grabbing your hand to lead you out the door and into the waiting night.

#i have lost my mind and i have no regrets #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x female tav #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion x f!tav #astarion x f!reader #my writing

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red-riding-wood · 3 months

Text

I Want You to Want Me

Pairing: Neil Lewis x F!Reader

Fandom: Watching the Detectives

Summary: Neil receives a frantic call and finds you outside of Gumshoe after a date night gone wrong. Secretly habouring feelings for you ever since the two of you met, he finds you oddly irresistable in your tears and torn fishnets.

Warnings: SMUT, mutual pining, dub-con touching, dryhumping, riding, foreplay, teasing, begging (m), masturbation (m), clothed sex (semi), Neil being a wet paper towel, so just Neil being Neil, pervy Neil, switch!Neil, slight dom but mostly sub!Neil because c'mon guys it's NEIL, slight dom!reader, body worship, public sex (technically?), premature ejaculation (sort of?), angst, some fluff? by my standards anyway lol so take that with a grain of salt -- this ended up being more wholesome than I thought it would be

Inspired by this cover of I Want You To Want Me (the reader's song) and Creep (Neil's song) by Radiohead.

Huge thanks to @your-nanas-house for getting me started with a prompt for this and cheering me on!

Totally nicked the "jock boyfriend" inspo from @cillianmesoftlyyy's fic here; go check that out if you want more spicy Neil content, because it was fantastic!

And thank you and also fuck you to @rysko for dramatically beta reading this in my ear WHILE I WAS TRYING TO MAKE THE HEADER

And now that I'm done thanking every fic writer on tumblr, my parents, the Royal Society for the Prevention of Birds, and Saturn and all of its rings, enjoy your filth!

WC: 4239

He found you outside the back door of Gumshoe, huddled against the concrete step, the cool air of the spring night nipping at the wet tears that streaked your cheeks, the slight breeze stirring a shiver from one fretful limb to the next. The whites of your eyes burned red beneath the faint glow of the lanterns atop the neighbour’s picket fence. It wasn’t exactly the most incognito place to cry your eyes out, but you didn’t have a key to Neil’s store, and it was nearly three in the morning.

“Hey, I got your call. What’s going on?” A familiar voice broke the pitiful sounds of your sobbing, and the tension of your shoulders eased if only slightly at the mere sound.

You tried to answer past your sobs, but found that your words came only in hiccups, in broken fragments of your splintered heart, and it didn’t take long for him to sweep an arm around your shoulders, lowering himself to sit beside you on the cold step. Instinctively, you found yourself leaning into his touch, trembling against the warmth of his body.

Neil was never really great at these sorts of things to begin with, but it certainly didn’t help that his attention was drawn to the low-cut top where a tear streaked down the groove of your breasts, to the fishnets that you’d torn on your way out the door of your boyfriend’s, to the short skirt that rode up just enough for him to catch a glimpse of the lace hem of your panties.

He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, and he tried to keep his eyes on the face you so desperately tried to hide with your trembling fingers, for you were ashamed of your unkempt appearance. You must’ve looked like a cheap whore – a mess of one, no less. You couldn’t tell what was more embarrassing: the way you were dressed, like you were begging for attention, or the way your emotions seized you so cruelly that you could scarcely breathe.

“Hey.” His warm, careful touch landed on your wrist, and as you pulled your fingers from your lashes, they came away black with smudged mascara. “I’m here,” your friend said. “Tell me what happened.”

You could still only speak in hiccups and broken vowels.

“Shhh,” Neil soothed you, fingers running up and down your spine, sending tiny shivers through each nerve as the fabric of your shirt bunched and his skin brushed yours. “Shhh. I’m here.”

Resting your head on his shoulder, your hair spilled in sticky threads over the jacket that, judging by the slight musty scent that lingered in the weave of the corduroy, had probably missed one too many washes. But you didn’t care. You’d come to appreciate the little imperfections about him, the details of his scent that made Neil Neil. Like the waxy tinge that seemed to always cling to his fingers after a long shift of rolling back tapes. Like the silk cream and smoke of the vanilla candle you’d gifted him last week. Like the artificial scent of cheap shaving cream and the slightest hint of blood where he’d nicked himself with the razor. The musk of his sweat and skin, buried beneath all these little things that you’d come to know almost as intimately as your own.

But there was something else, something you couldn’t quite pinpoint. And its unfamiliarity unnerved you.

His other hand came to rest on your knee, hot as fire in the cold of night. He thumbed at the tear in your fishnets and looked at you with bright, concerned eyes, but he used this as an excuse to touch you.

“Did he hurt you?” Neil asked. His hand stayed on your knee. In a way, it felt comforting; it grounded you enough so that, finally, after lulled by the rise and fall of his shoulder and the unique blend of his scent, you could speak.

“Is that cologne?” You wrinkled your nose and drew back to look him in the eye, your tangled hair peeling reluctantly from his corduroy jacket.

A rose blush came upon Neil’s cheeks, and he smiled nervously. He’d been sure to spritz himself with a good helping of it before he left, despite his hurried state. He needed to impress you; ever since you’d started dating that jock from across the street, he’d been trying to find more ways to steal your attention back.

“Yeah, it’s new,” he said, a little flustered, in a way that made your stomach flutter. “I wanted to ask for your opinion on what I should get, but you – well…” His voice cracked a bit as a hint of sadness crept into his tone. “… you’ve been pretty busy lately.”

“It’s awful,” you told him, laughing slightly, and your words seemed to cheer him up; his lips tugged into that playful grin of his again, and a deep chuckle rumbled from his throat.

And then you both fell into silence, and he looked back to your knee, still thumbing the skin where the fabric had torn.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Neil said.

You swallowed, another lump forming in your throat, and when you looked at him, bottom lip in your teeth, reddened eyes pouting, rimmed by your messed mascara, his heart sped in his chest in both fear and arousal. The thought of James even touching you boiled his blood, made his skin crawl and tightened a noose round his neck, but seeing you like this, baring your soul to him with those tear-brimmed eyes and mournfully upturned brows, it made him want you even more.

If he’d been the one to take you out tonight, he would’ve brought you home to his bed, worshipped each inch of your hallowed skin and made love to you like you were the only woman in the world, splayed his fingers across your thighs and parted them like a sea, dropped to his knees and prayed with the hungered strokes of his tongue and lapped at your holy waters.

He’d started reading poetry lately. It had felt right; it was the only thing that seemed to express just how he felt about you. Echoed the words in private like they were gospel; chanted your name from desperate lips as he palmed himself each night – and morning – to your photographs, to the vanilla of the candle that reminded him so much of you, to the fantasy of your sweat-slicked thighs wrapped around his waist, your walls clenched around him as he bucked his hips against your weight and finally let himself go, spilling himself inside you and hearing you moan so sweetly for him from those heavenly lips, feeling his own cum dampen his stomach as you collapsed over him. He always knew you’d be so tight, that you’d fit so perfect around him.

But sitting here, staring at your shivering, impotent form in your torn fishnets and your skimpy attire, he could barely contain the urge to tear open your knees and fuck you against the concrete. It had been so long since he’d even been this close to you; James took up all of your time nowadays, and gone were the late movie nights and stolen games of basketball on the breaks he took so liberally.

He missed you. So much.

And you knew it. You knew it, deep in your chest where the remnants of your heart twisted, still hearing the words, “You’ve been pretty busy lately.”

You shook your head, choking out another sob as shame crept along your skin, and you shivered at its grotesque touch. “No, he didn’t hurt me… not – not in that way.”

You couldn’t look at him; his pearlescent blue eyes and his sun-kissed freckles and his boyish brown locks all fading into memory as you buried your face in his chest, inhaling once more the faint scent of his laundry detergent and the musk of him beneath the shirt that was flipped inside-out but still outlined the blatant logo of Back to the Future. Whether he hadn’t realised he’d put it on backwards or he’d been shy about it, you couldn’t be sure, but it lightened your heart all the same, your sobs turning to giggles.

Neil pulled you closer, his chin resting along the nape of your neck and his hand running up your thigh; you barely noticed how near his hand was to your panties as you tugged at his shirt, nails sinking past the fabric as if to keep him and never let him go.

You regretted all that time you’d spent with James, when you should have been spending it with him instead. Everything felt so much easier with him; your smiles were broader, your laughter more carefree.

But you wanted more – selfish and lovesick, you wanted more than what he already gave you. You needed more than his attention and his friendship.

You needed him to want you.

“I thought that…” You sniffled. “… I thought that James wanted me. I dressed up all… nice… fucking whorish… and I thought tonight was finally the night and that he would’ve… that he would’ve…”

The words twisted in your throat, and you squeezed your eyes shut. Two hours ago, when you did up your makeup and clothes for your date with James, you’d felt sexy. Powerful, even.

Now, you just felt worthless.

Neil nestled his nose in the crook of your neck, brushed the silk strands of your hair aside, breathed your scent in so deeply that for a moment, the butterflies came back to the pit of your stomach.

“I just want to be wanted,” you admitted, losing it, sobbing uncontrollably into the now-damp shirt that clung to his thin frame. “I just want to be desired. That was the only reason I was with him, Neil. The way he looked at me that day when he came into the store, I…”

With a bitter pang in his chest, Neil remembered that day. The way James had looked at you like you were a piece of meat. The way he’d asked you if had any recommendations on which sports film he should rent and Neil had practically wedged himself between the two of you and started chattering to James about every little piece of trivia he knew about Chariots of Fire and Rocky. How, despite his efforts, James had still gone home with your number as well as the tapes. How you’d come in the next morning with a hickey on your neck and Neil had just known that where James had paused one of the tapes was when your movie night was likely cut short by… things he’d rather not think about ever again.

It should’ve been his couch you’d been curled up on, should’ve been him watching the movie with you. His mark on your neck.

And he would’ve picked something a little more fitting for the mood, too. Something more like Casablanca or Sin City. It was as if James didn’t even have to try to get you drooling over him. What was so special about him, anyway?

I wish I was special, Neil thought.

Neil’s grip on you tightened at the memory, nails digging in to the flesh of your thigh in a way that stirred a little gasp from your lungs, huffing against his collarbone as you tilted your head up to look at him.

“Y/N.” His breath caught in his throat, and he reluctantly pulled from your neck to look you in the eye, locks of messy hair falling across his forehead and his eyes half-lidded. His fingers ghosted up your thigh, and you blinked past the sharp mint of his mouthwash – it burned your eyes slightly, but you didn’t care. You were so close to him, your breaths became one, a few threads of his hair tickling your cheeks and his nose brushing yours.

“Neil,” you breathed, the slightest of smiles tugging at your lip as your heart thudded between your legs, dangerously close to his fingers. Warmth spread across each fevered limb, taking you somewhere past the cold concrete and bitter chill of the wind, somewhere away from the graffiti-painted alley and the reek of broken booze bottles. Somewhere safe, and warm, and thrilling all at once.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” Neil’s voice cracked around the words, a nervous laugh huffing against your fluttering lashes as his freckled cheeks darkened another shade of red. The hand that wasn’t between your legs played with a lock of your hair, twirling it in his finger but still supporting you beneath a quivering arm.

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t believe this was real.

He had to have been playing some sick joke, right?

But the whimper that fell from his lips was very real, as his nails dug into your flesh again and he tugged you closer, his hips arching upward against your outer thigh.

“You look more than nice. You’re so fucking hot in this skirt, in anything you wear. That asshole is fucking blind,” he breathed, fingers grazing your panties and landing over your hipbone, testing the waters more and more as he tried not to rock his growing arousal too obviously against you.

But you noticed. You noticed the way his cock hardened and twitched beneath your weight; you noticed how even despite his body trembling from his attempts to resist his primal urges, his hips still gave little bucks upward, seeking friction. Seeking the heat that flared between your thighs, that ached for him so desperately that it was all you could do not to return the favour.

He couldn’t take it anymore. Staring into those gorgeous, bright eyes. Looking up at him with anything but innocence. So he scooped both hands around your ass, squeezing the flesh and lace and tugging you properly onto his lap with an alluring squeal tearing from your full lips.

“I want you, Y/N.” His hot breath pooled at your collarbone as he trailed wet, sloppy kisses along your jaw, your neck, and your lips parted in another gasp, back arching and thighs clenching around his waist as you ground wet panties against the bulge in his trousers.

“I fucking need you,” he whined, nipping like a needy puppy at the delicate skin of your neck. “Always have.” Another kiss. “Ever since I first saw you. Long before James.” A possessive growl stirred from his throat at that, the flare of dominance sending a jolt through your core.

“Neil, I – oh my God.” A moan broke your words as his fingers moved up your spine and his teeth grazed your collarbone, hovering over your pulse point.

“Fuck, baby. Say that again. Just like that.” His fingers began rolling your shirt up over the lip of your breasts, the sight enough to make him whine again in need. He couldn’t help himself from groping you, squeezing your breasts and rolling one nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Bending his neck to trail more sloppy kisses down your torso, they were his next destination.

“Oh my – Neil. Neil, I – “ You had so much to tell him, so much you needed off your chest, but his hips bucked sharply against you at the sound of his name moaned so beautifully, a low groan in his throat and his cock digging slightly inside your heat, the fabric of your panties scraping almost painfully against your walls.

“Please, Y/N, please don’t make me stop. Please let me keep touching you like this. I wanna worship you.” His hot breath shattered against a pert nipple. “Wanna fucking prove to you how much I want you.”

For a few moments, you were rendered speechless, mind whirring like the wheels on a VHS. Everything was happening so fast, and the warmth of his touch was seeping into you like honey, inundating you in a sort of comforting flame.

He could almost smell the vanilla of the candle wick burning.

You left nail marks down his chest where you clawed at the collar of his shirt, but he didn’t care. He sucked a nipple past his teeth and moaned around the taste of you, the sound so filthy that your eyes nearly rolled back in your skull as your parted lips tipped to the heavens. His name outlined by their perfect shape.

Reality came crashing down around you as you jumped, another squeal leaving your tongue as his teeth bit at your nipple and pain shot along your nerve endings.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, chest heaving, looking up at you with reverent eyes. “I didn’t mean to, I – “

You cupped his chin in your palm and shook your head. “No, Neil. I’m sorry.” A tear streaked down your cheek, beaded on your jawline. “I’m so, so sorry.” You were beginning to sob again, and his brow furrowed in concern, thumb beginning to trace small circles along your spine. “I’m sorry I abandoned you for James, I didn’t… I shouldn’t have. I didn’t know you felt this way, I – I’m so sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he told you, his words sinking into your skin like a warm tide. With one hand, he brushed the tear from your jaw and wove his fingers into your hair, pulling you closer. “Just let me keep touching you. Please.”

When you didn’t respond for a moment, caught up in the way his blue eyes seemed to hollow with a certain hunger, the way his chest rose and fell beneath the bare flesh of your stomach, he uttered that word again:

“Please.”

You smiled, elated and giddy with joy, blood pounding with arousal, and kissed him, threading your own fingers into the fluffy locks of his hair.

Another tear streaked across your lips as they met his, and you tasted like salt and vanilla, slightly waxy from your chap-stick but the sweetest thing he’d tasted nonetheless. At first, he was embarrassed by the noises he made, the way he’d accidentally called you “baby” because he’d always wanted to do so, but he melted beneath you like butter. Nothing mattered anymore except the fact that you were finally his, that you were in his arms and grinding against his cock.

Neil broke the kiss to pull your shirt over your head, tossing it aside somewhere on the concrete – he would buy you a new one. His hands flattened against your back and pulled you flush to his chest, taking any excuse he could to hear that little squeal you made each time.

“Please, baby, please let me be inside you,” he whined, biting his lip as he stared up at you with those powder-blue eyes. Nails dug into your skin. Hips bucked against yours.

Your heart soared with his words, his worship, his want; you’d never been this ecstatic in your whole life. Part of you wanted to keep teasing him, make him beg, while another part of you ached to feel him buried to the hilt inside you.

“Patience, Neil,” you giggled, as you undid his trousers. You worked them down to his knees and your eyes widened as your hand brushed his cock, bare and springing flush against his stomach. You hadn’t expected him to not wear boxers.

Neil smiled sheepishly up at you, eyes still lidded, mouth still panting out a fevered breath. “I was in a rush getting dressed. I…” His cheeks reddened, and there was something so cute about how pathetic he looked in that moment. “You wanna know how much I want you, Y/N? I was touching myself thinking of you when you called.”

Creep, some voice in the back of his head hissed.

You bit your lip to suppress a moan, trying to ward off thoughts of Neil stroking himself to you, finishing to the thought of you. Oh, how you wished you could have witnessed the sight.

“Did you come?” you asked, a devious grin pulling at your lips as you took him in your hand, massaging a bead of pre-cum into his sensitive flesh.

His eyes fluttered, and he shook his head, his words coming out as a breathy whine,

“No, I promise. I didn’t come. Not yet.”

“Will you?” You dipped your head to let your words tickle his neck, your grip on him tightening.

“Yes,” he moaned. “Yes, yes, oh God, I will. Fuck, baby. Fuck, gonna come if you don’t stop that, need to come inside you, please, please…”

His mutterings trailed off into a low hiss of a whine, and your movements stilled, dragging him to his peak and letting him teeter at the edge as you both caught your breaths, chest heaving and a cold chill racing down your sweat-slicked back, thighs trembling around him.

“You sure you can handle this?” you purred against his ear before pulling back once more to witness the shivering mess you’d made him, priding yourself in your accomplishment. Lining his cock up with your entrance, the fabric of your panties scraped his tip teasingly as you slotted them to the side.

Neil looked up at you like you were some kind of goddess, his breathing coming laboured, his throat stripped of words. The dazed, blissful look he gave you was all the answer you needed. But you wanted to reap him of every last praise he had.

“Use your words, Neil,” you giggled, smirking.

“Ah…” His lips parted, near soundless. You watched intently as they formed the word “Please”.

You almost felt bad for him.

But it wasn’t pity that brought your hips down around him, slowly, teasingly, savouring the stretch of him against your walls and the fullness in your belly, but rather, your own need.

Neil’s head rolled back against the brick wall, blood welling at his lip where he bit it to keep himself from toppling over his peak; he nearly did it to himself when he bucked his hips upward, burying himself inside you, making you whimper at the pain that blended so sordidly with the pleasure. Your fingers tugged at his hair, and your nails grazed his scalp, and every little sensation sent him into overdrive. He used these little things to ground himself, as you had his tangled scents; he focused on how smooth your stomach felt against his own, his shirt hiking up so that you were skin to skin; he focused on the noises you made, huffing and whimpering, as you began to ride him; he focused on the softness of the breast that he cupped in his hand. Tried not to think about how you felt better than he’d imagined, how you clenched so tightly around his cock that he was almost pushed out each time you elevated your hips, but were so wet for him that he slid back inside so seamlessly each time.

“Neil,” you moaned as you fucked yourself on his cock, breast bouncing beneath his thumb, skirt fluttering around the bareness of his thighs. “Neil, fuck. Fuck.”

“Baby, I’m s—sorry. I’m gonna…”

You yelped again as pain shot deep inside your core, his hips bucking against yours with a violence you hadn’t known sweet Neil from the VHS store to possess, bottoming out inside you as his nails dug into the now-abused skin of your back and pulling you close, so close you were panting over his shoulder and his breath shattered against your ear. The hand that had been cupping your breast shot up to cradle your head, petting your hair.

He held you to him so tight, you didn’t think he’d ever let go. And you couldn’t have been happier.

Warmth spilled around his cock, sticky against your thighs, painting your insides white. You shuddered around him, balling his hair into a fist and digging your own, sharper nails, against his back.

“I didn’t mean it to be over so fast,” he mumbled into your neck. “I just… you’re so… fuck, I’ve been waiting for this for so long.”

“So have I,” you breathed. You practically hugged each other, shivering in the night air but content in each other’s warmth. “Don’t worry.” Pulling away slightly, you smiled down at him, cheeks flushing bright red. “If anything, it… it’s endearing.”

“Really?” he chuffed out a laugh.

“It…” you looked down, unable to meet that crystalline gaze. “It makes me feel wanted.” You pecked a quick kiss to his jaw, and could’ve sworn you saw love in his eyes when you pulled away.

“God, you’re perfect.” His voice broke again as his lips sought yours, and his breath hitched in his chest when the action caused you to rock your hips forward, a new sensation he’d never felt before buzzing along his skin. His mouth hung open and you laid kisses to his lips, his jaw, the Adam’s apple that bobbed along his throat. He felt his cock stiffen again inside you, already eager for Round Two.

“I should take you home,” he murmured, hands running up and down your sides. “You must be so cold.” As if just realising that he still had his jacket on, Neil shrugged it off in haste and wrapped the heavy material around your shoulders. A chill ran down your spine, as the material was damp with sweat – you smiled at how predictably forgettable he was when he had a woman on his lap, just as you’d imagined –, but his scent soothed you.

Though you were cold, it was a small sacrifice to make to stay here, with him buried so deep inside you that you felt dizzy in the head. Depleted of your energy and sinking into his warmth, you smirked, and rested your chin on his shoulder.

“I was thinking of just staying like this a while,” you admitted.

“Whatever makes you happy,” he breathed, hugging you even tighter. “Whatever you want.”

A.N. Sorry if this was a bit rough, guys. I smashed this one out the other day because I was tired of my writer's block.

I actually laid into some themes that I was planning on using for a Dark!Neil fic based on the song "Creep" which I don't know when I'll get around to writing, but let me know if you guys would like to hear more about the idea for the series or are interested.

MASTERLIST • REQUEST

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Taglist: @emotionalcadaver @zablife @shelbydelrey @look-at-the-soul @brummiereader @mrkdvidal1989 @fiercelittlemouse @ohwellthatslifesstuff @purplesnorlaxplush @henrywintersdearestgirl @goblinjnr @mizzbel @s0urmarvel @onasmoko @elenavampire21 @rysko @chris-seb-marvel @muhahaha303 @novemberschy @thatonesinglefriend @forgottenpeakywriter @youbyradiohead @your-nanas-house @onehornedbeast @kiss-me-cill-me @ilovefictionalpsychopaths @birminghamshelbyboys @sometimes-i-sing

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arthistoryanimalia · 5 months

Text

#TextileTuesday:

Embroidered Drawn Net Bed Valance with Bobbin Lace Border

Russian, 1766-1833

Linen ground, linen embroidery threads

The Cone Collection, BMA

on display at “Making Her Mark: A History of #WomenArtists in Europe, 1400-1800” exhibition at Baltimore Museum of Art

#animals in art #european art #museum visit #Russian art #18th century art #19th century art #Textile Tuesday #double eagle #textiles #lacework #embroidery #exhibition #women artists #Cone Collection

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comfortabletextiles · 9 months

Text

Test lace for the sleeves.

I shouldn't be doing that in the evening...

Also possible for a center pattern would be:

Also the framing pattern could be just these:

Not Shure yet.

Now I'm tired

#lace #drawn thread work #drawn thread lace #pulled thread lace #pulled thread work #fun fact. the first known drawn thread work and the vikings missed each other like 34 years

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bardic-inspo · 2 months

Text

Blood in the Mortar

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Vampire Bride Tav

Rating: Explicit (Smut!!)

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

Summary:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am Enrik, if it pleases you.”

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

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

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

“It has certainly been enlightening thus far.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She’s not wrong.

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

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

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

“She was the hero of Baldur’s Gate.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Only one remains.

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

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

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

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

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

“Good morning,” she says brightly.

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

“You.”

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

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

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

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

Enrik folds against the floor, panting for breath.

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

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

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

“I need not fear anything.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What a vile little ingrate,” Astarion snarls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He hasn’t yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oops,” he says, low and shameless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh,” her realization comes out quivering.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please,” she starts to say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mine, mine, mine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His lips crush down against hers in a kiss consuming.

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

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ominoose · 2 months

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𝐅𝐢𝐱𝐞𝐝 𝐅𝐚𝐫𝐞

Pairing: Jake Lockley x GN!Reader Summary: Boyfriend Jake drives you to work in the cab, insists you find a way to pay. Warnings: Smut WC: 1.3K

S/o to @reallyrallyauthor for the old lil chat we had about this and @silver-night-m for reminding me of it and reading over this <3

The day was already dragging on, and it was only 9am.

Sleeping through the alarm before work was one thing you could potentially manage to bounce back from. Spilling coffee down your shirt after burning your meager breakfast of toast, not so much.

Enter Jake, cab keys spinning around his index finger and barely suppressing a grin. He was the most attentive boyfriend one could dream of, seeming to possess some inner alarm that rang the moment you were even slightly miffed.

“Need a ride querido?”

Drops of rain obscured your view of the world beyond the taxi window, but you didn't need to see to know how dreary it was. Jake truly was a godsend, keeping you dry and snug within the warm taxi that seemed to permanently retain the new car smell alongside the faint fragrance of his cologne.

The taxi crunched over stones and shuddered to a stop outside your workplace, the engine humming faintly.

“Thanks so much babe, I owe you one.” Some of the earlier tension had left you, the man seeming to have some innate ability to soothe you.

Although the morning had been a disaster, Jake had managed to salvage some of it for you. Instead of wanting to call the entire day quits, you now had the will to make it through until at least lunch without committing workplace assault.

“No hay problema, that’ll be £10.50.” His voice always took a more warmer, gravelly tone when he spoke his native tongue.

“Sure thing,” you giggled, hand on the door handle, seat-belt already unbuckled, “See you when I’m home babe.”

A sudden sharp click came from every side of the car. The doors had locked.

“Ma’am, I’m afraid you cannot leave if you don’t pay.”

Normally his dry banter would force a smile onto your lips, no matter how much you wanted to grump, a power he used and abused. Today didn’t feel like a day you’d be in the mood to joke.

“Jake, I left my wallet at home! I’m already late, let me out.” “Well…” The rumbling drawl lacing his voice cut through your attempts to miraculously shake the door open and shot straight between your legs, “Maybe you can pay another way.”

Hair slapped against your face as you whipped around to face him, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. A relaxed smirk adorned his olive skin, naturally, and dark brown eyes raked over the entirety of you.

Before another breath could be drawn his lips were crashing onto yours, molding softly yet passionately. Goosebumps erupted across cold skin as leather gloves smoothed up the curve of your thigh, fingers digging into the soft inner flesh and stopping just short of where you very suddenly needed him.

And then he was gone.

“Jake-”

“Chica. You are the one paying me, eh? Tut, tut, trying to wiggle out of paying a poor working man.” The words were punctuated with a few pointed pats on his inner thigh, those same dark eyes now crinkling with mischief.

You knew what he wanted. It was hard to pick apart the desire and annoyance. Maybe they were one and the same, but in the end there was only one way this was going to play out.

A final dubious glance was cast at the fogged up windows, the pedestrians barely visible beyond, before your hands were unbuckling his belt.

You were already late as is, and blowing Jake was better than blowing up at the annoying guy at the desk next to you.

Jake's hands were already threaded through your hair, gently rubbing your scalp with his thumb in endearing familiarity. A low, gravelly hum was drawn from deep within his chest the moment his hard cock was bobbing free from his trousers, the heady musk enticing you as a silver thread of precum leaked from the brown tip.

The taste of salt bloomed across your tongue and your thighs automatically clenched. Slowly your head took the entirety of him, sliding him against the flat pad of your tongue, almost pressing an open kiss against his pubic base.

Satisfaction was evident by the way he sighed. You could practically picture his head leaning against the headrest, eyes closed, not a trace of his usual tense demeanor. There was power in knowing you were the only person in the world that could bring him to total bliss and freedom.

When you pulled back and began bobbing your head at a leisurely pace, his breaths became huffs and his fingers tightened against the crown of your head. Jake wouldn’t dare gag you down without approval, ever the gentleman, and it was a small, intentional inaction that endeared him to your heart.

Wet squelching noises filled the cab as you sped up, passion and absolute adoration for the man before you pumping through your veins and filling you with the need to take care of the man that was always the caregiver. The need to show him the intensity in which your heart beat for him had your throat clenching around his length as you took him to the hilt again and again.

He must’ve felt it if the sudden sound of leather being strained and him keening into your mouth was anything to go by. Jake was nearing his limit already, a man who was usually so composed even during a blow job was now a panting mess. It was clear he was in a losing battle with himself, his hips bucked slightly off the seat before he forced himself down, fingers clenching then unclenching in your hair.

Usually he’d mutter encouragement, telling you how good your mouth was, you were doing so good, his bebé. Now he could barely get a full word out, his mind too far gone to even translate to English.

“Si- Si mi amor… Eso es todo- Bien, muy bien... Por favor, nena, por favor..... Sí.”

Jake always came with a strained groan, choking out a breath then straining to take it back in. The salty yet pert cum hit against the back of your throat, triggering your gag reflex and for the first time Jake tugs at your hair to pull you back.

Tears blur your vision entirely but the feeling of tissue dabbing at your mouth assures you that you don’t need sight or any other sense. Jake will take care of you, even after the most mind blowing blowjob of his life. A fresh tissue dabs gently at your eyes, revealing the rare, charming sight of Jake with tired, drooping eyes saturated with love.

“Maldito mi vida, it was only a £10 fare.” The words were playful, but his voice was soft, quiet. Raw.

“Thought I’d tip the best cabbie in London.” That got a smile from him, his thumb stroking over your jaw. If you squinted you could’ve swore his eyes glossed over, but before the thought lodged itself he had already sat back, sliding his gloves on.

“Gracias, cariño, but you’re now an hour late. Better hurry if you want to afford any more rides.”

Panic flooded over the moment as you scrambled to gather your things, smooth yourself down and stumble out of the car, shouting love yous and thanks to him over your shoulder as you book it to puppy-eye your boss.

In your haste you don’t notice the way the taxi lingers, the driver smiling to himself and shaking his head before he pulls off of the pavement and loses himself in the traffic.

#jake lockley x reader #oscar isaac #omimuse #jake lockley

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mysweetlixe · 4 months

Text

✰ Don’t start something you can’t finish ✰

Paring: |OT8 x Reader|

Genre: Slightly Suggestive

Words: 3.6k

Chan:

In the dimly lit night club, the pulsating music set the rhythm for Y/N and Chan as they danced closely. Y/N couldn't resist the way Chan’s hand

gently trailed down her back, sending electric waves of pleasure cascading through her body. Their bodies moved in perfect synchrony, a beautiful dance of desire and longing.

As the music swirled around them, Y/N could feel the heat emanating from Chan's body, igniting a fire deep within her. She leaned in closer, her lips grazing his earlobe teasingly. "You know, Chan," she whispered seductively, "I love how you always think you're in control."

A mischievous smile played on Y/N's lips as she felt his grip on her waist tighten slightly. She could sense his anticipation, his desire to match her playful banter. Chan's eyes met hers, filled with a mixture of amusement and hunger.

"Princess," he murmured huskily, his voice dripping with a teasing edge, "don't start something you can't finish."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat at his response, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. Challenge accepted, she thought to herself. With a wicked grin, she gently broke away from him, swaying to the rhythm of the music as she retreated further into the dark recesses of the club.

Chan watched intently as Y/N weaved through the crowd like a siren in the night, her luscious curves catching the dim lights, casting alluring shadows on the dance floor. He followed her with his eyes, unable to resist the magnetic pull she had over him. With every step she took, the tension between them grew, an invisible thread connecting their souls.

Y/N knew exactly what she was doing. Her body moved with a tantalizing grace, drawing Chan deeper into her game. Each sway of her hips, each twirl of her body, was an invitation for him to chase after her. She could feel his gaze burning into her back, a mixture of desire and frustration.

As Y/N reached the edge of the dance floor, she turned to face him, a seductive smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Her eyes locked with Chan's, a silent challenge passing between them. She knew he wouldn't back down easily.

Chan's heart raced as he made his way towards Y/N. The air crackled with anticipation as he closed the distance between them, his steps filled with determination. He couldn't resist her playful teasing, couldn't resist being drawn into her intoxicating spell.

Finally reaching her side, Chan pulled Y/N closer, his hand sliding possessively around her waist. Their bodies pressed together, the heat between them becoming almost unbearable. Y/N's breath hitched as she felt Chan's lips ghost over her neck, sending shivers down her spine. She tilted her head to the side, exposing more of her skin, a silent invitation for him to continue.

"You think you can just tease me like this, princess?" Chan whispered against her ear, his voice low and filled with a mix of desire and warning. "You have no idea how much control I actually have, my dear."

Minho:

Y/N playfully flicked a strand of hair, smirking as she eyed her boyfriend Minho in their bedroom laying on the bed. “Baby I’m bored” Y/N said crawling next to him. Minho reached out to grip her waist firmly, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Oh really? And what do you propose we do about that, love?" he replied, his voice laced with playful challenge.Y/N laughed, a warm, seductive melody that filled the room. "What did you have in mind?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Minho's heart rate spiked at her teasing tone. He knew she loved playing games, loved pushing him to his limits. It was their little secret, their unspoken language that only they understood.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, “ Don’t start something you can’t finish.” Y/N's eyes widened at Minho's words, a surge of excitement coursing through her veins. She loved the way he always matched her playful banter, pushing her further with his words. With a sly smile, she traced her finger along the line of his jaw, teasingly grazing his lips before pulling away.

"Is that a challenge?" she purred, her voice dripping with seduction. "Because I'm always up for a challenge."

Minho's grip on her waist tightened, his fingers digging into her skin possessively. His eyes flickered with desire as he met her gaze, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. They were both aware of the intense chemistry that existed between them – an electric connection that ignited whenever they were near each other.

Leaning in closer, Minho brushed his lips against hers, teasingly pulling away before Y/N could deepen the kiss. He enjoyed playing this game as much as she did – the push and pull, the dance of desire that kept their relationship exhilarating.

"Let's see who can finish it," he whispered huskily, his warm breath sending shivers down Y/N's spine. His hands trailed up her back, fingers tangling in her hair as he pulled her closer.

With a playful smirk, Y/N leaned in, her lips brushing against his as she whispered, "Bring it on, Minho."

Changbin:

Y/N's mischievous smile grew wider as she and Changbin joined their friends for dinner. Casually, she placed her hand on his thigh, inching it down slowly.Changbin might have feigned surprise at her forwardness, but he knew Y/N's touch was always a catalyst for their playful banter. He smirked, less than subtlety returning the gesture.

"I thought we were supposed to be on our best behavior around company," he teased, affecting a stern look.

Y/N feigned innocence, looking around the table before meeting his gaze once more. "What are you implying, sweetheart?" she asked, lips curling into a knowing smile.”Don’t start something you can’t finish” Changbin whispered in her ear.

Changbin tightly holds onto Y/N's hand, which rests on his thigh, a silent challenge in his eyes. His voice dripped with husky promises. "Y/N, always trying to push me to my limits." She gave him a sultry smile, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"And what's wrong with that, darling?" Her fingers trailed up his arm before she gently wrapped them around his neck. Her gaze locked with his, a silent promise of the fire that was about to ignite between them.

Their friends noticed the tension between them, their laughter fading into the background as their eyes remained locked in a battle of desire and anticipation. Y/N could feel the heat radiating from Changbin's body, fueling the passion that was about to unleash within her.

"I always seem to be winning these games, don't I?" His eyes twinkled with devilish amusement. Y/N's heart skipped a beat at his words, her breathing growing shallow.

"Do I make you nervous, baby?" She asked teasingly, her lips brushing against his ear.

Changbin chuckled, his fingers still gripping her hand. "You should be the one feeling nervous," he replied, his voice low and throaty, "because I always play to win."

The tension between them was palpable, as if they were the only two people in the room. Y/N couldn't help but feel a thrill coursing through her veins, the anticipation of what was to come. Changbin had always known how to push her buttons, how to draw her into his web of desire and temptation.

As the conversation around them continued, Y/N sneaked a glance at the clock, noting the time. It was getting late, and their friends were starting to disperse, leaving the two of them alone in the dimly lit restaurant.

With a mischievous grin, Y/N leans in close to Changbin. "It's getting late, don't you think we should be getting home?" her voice low and sultry, her breath warm against his ear.

Changbin's eyes flickered with desire, his grip on her hand tightening. He knew what Y/N was suggesting, and he was more than ready to take her up on it. With a smirk, he releases her hand and stands up from the table, extending it towards her.

"Lead the way, my dear," he says, his voice low and throaty.

Hyunjin:

Y/N playfully raised an eyebrow as she caught Hyunjin’s reflection in the bathroom mirror, a teasing glint in her eyes Y/N playfully raised an eyebrow as she caught Hyunjin's reflection in the bathroom mirror . She had just finished getting ready for their date, and now, as she stood in her lacy black dress, Y/N couldn't help but feel a sudden surge of confidence wash over her.

The way Hyunjin's eyes lingered on her only fueled the fire within. “Baby can you help me zip my dress up”Hyunjin turned his head to face Y/N, a mischievous smile playing at the corners of his lips. He took a step closer, his dark eyes filled with desire as he reached out to grasp the zipper of her dress.

His fingers brushed against the smooth fabric, tracing a tantalizing path up her spine, causing a shiver to run down her spine.

Y/N bit her lip, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks as Hyunjin's touch sent electricity coursing through her veins. She knew exactly what she was doing, and she loved every second of it.

"Don't start something you can't finish," he warned in a low voice, his breath tickling her ear.A playful glint danced in Y/N's eyes as she leaned in closer, her voice laced with a innocent tone. “ I’m not doing anything”

Hyunjin's eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a devious smile. "Oh, really?" he whispered, his voice dripping with challenge. He slowly moved his hand from the zipper to the small of Y/N's back, his touch gentle yet possessive. "Because it seems to me like you're playing with fire," he murmured, his warm breath fanning over her skin.

Y/N couldn't suppress the shiver that ran through her body at his words. The air in the room crackled with tension, desire hanging in the air like a heavy fog. She tilted her head back, allowing her lips to graze against Hyunjin's jawline. "And what if I like playing with fire?" she breathed, her voice barely audible.

A low growl rumbled in Hyunjin's chest as he tightened his grip on her waist. His eyes darkened with hunger as he lowered his head, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. The world around them ceased to exist as they became lost in each other, their bodies pressed together in an intoxicating dance.

The echo of their rapid breaths filled the bathroom, their every touch igniting a wildfire within them. Y/N's hands roamed eagerly over Hyunjin's toned chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath her fingertips. He pulled away from the kiss, his eyes burning with desire. "Then let's see how you handle the heat."

Jisung:

As the night wore on, Jisung fell into a deep slumber, unaware of the creeping presence that silently approached him. He felt something rough and unyielding grinding against his body, causing him to stir in his sleep.

“Y/N what are you doing”Jisung's voice was low and husky as he slowly opened his eyes, the dim light of the room swirling with a seductive haze.

Y/N didn't stop her mischievous actions, a cheeky smile forming on her lips as she watched Jisung slowly awakening from his slumber.

The room was draped in a mystical ambiance, the moonlight seeping through the sheer curtains, casting ethereal shadows on their entwined bodies.

She leaned closer to him, her warm breath tickling his ear, sending shivers down Jisung's spine. "Just having a bit of fun, babe," she whispered playfully, her voice filled with a hint of seduction. Her fingers traced teasing patterns along his bare chest, igniting a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

Jisung's eyes fluttered open fully now, meeting Y/N's gaze filled with mischief and desire. The room was charged with a palpable tension, both of them relishing in the secret game they played between themselves. The air was thick with anticipation, like a storm waiting to unleash its torrential rain.

But Jisung wasn't one to back down easily. He smirked, his voice laced with equal parts amusement and challenge. "Don't start something you can't finish," he replied, his voice low and husky, mirroring the intensity of the moment.

Y/N's laughter danced through the room like music, a sweet melody that Jisung found himself unable to resist. His hands gripped her waist, pulling her closer to him, “Jisung”Y/N giggled, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she leaned in closer to Jisung's ear. "Oh, but I always finish what I start."

Felix:

Although they had a disagreement the day before, Felix still chose to take Y/N to the dance studio. Communication between them was non-existent at the moment. Felix observed as Y/N chatted with one of the backup dancers, their conversation carrying a flirtatious tone.Felix couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy as he watched Y/N interact with the charismatic backup dancer. Her laughter filled the studio, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

The way she leaned in, her body language open and inviting, stirred something within Felix.He knew Y/N had a playful side, but witnessing it in action was like discovering a hidden treasure. The way she effortlessly charmed others, the way her words flowed like silk, held a seductive power that left Felix both captivated and slightly unnerved.

As Y/N leaned closer to the dancer, her lips curved into a mischievous smile. Her voice dropped to a low whisper, a secret shared only between them. Felix strained to hear their conversation, his curiosity piqued and his heart pounding in his chest.

Felix strode over and seized Y/N's arm tightly. "What do you think you're doing?" he demanded.Y/N turned towards Felix, surprise etched across her face. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she said, "I was just having a simple conversation, baby.

"Felix's grip on her arm tightened, his jaw clenched as he struggled to control the surge of emotions coursing through him. He leaned in close, his voice a low growl as he whispered in her ear, "Don't start something you can't finish, Y/N."

A shiver ran down Y/N's spine at the intensity in his voice. She met his gaze defiantly, her lips parting in a seductive smile that sent his heart racing. In that moment, she knew she had pushed the boundaries, testing the limits of Felix's patience. “

"Why?" Y/N inquired, her gaze meeting Felix's with a fierce determination. He could feel her tense under his grip, but he couldn't deny the spark of defiance in her eyes, matching his own intensity.

"Because," he began, his voice laced with a mixture of desire and frustration, "you have no idea what you're getting yourself into." His words hung in the air, a warning wrapped in a promise.

Y/N's smile deepened, a mischievous glimmer dancing in her gaze. She leaned closer to Felix, her breath brushing against his ear as she whispered, "Maybe I like pushing your buttons. Maybe I want to see just how far I can take it."

Felix's chest tightened at her audacity, his heart pounding with a raw mix of desire and anger. He couldn't deny the pull she had on him, the intoxicating feeling of their shared chemistry. But he also knew that pushing the boundaries could lead them down a dangerous path.

"Y/N," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "I'm not someone you can play games with. This is real." Her eyes softened for a brief moment before returning to their defiant spark. "Then prove it.”

Seungmin:

But Y/N couldn't help herself. She thrived on the playful banter between her and Seungmin, always pushing the boundaries to see just how far she could go before he snapped. And right now, with his fiery eyes boring into hers, she sensed that she had indeed crossed that line.

A mischievous smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she playfully pushed him away, breaking free from his heated embrace. "Oh, come on, Seungmin," she teased, her voice dripping with feigned innocence. "It's not like you can't handle a little teasing."

Seungmin's nostrils flared in response as he took a step closer, towering over her petite frame. His grip tightened around her waist, pulling her back into his embrace. His voice dropped to a low growl, sending shivers down her spine. "Don't start something you can't finish, Y/N."

Her heart raced with anticipation as she locked eyes with him, refusing to back down. She loved this dance they played, a constant push and pull that only fueled their desire for one another. And though she knew Seungmin's patience was wearing thin, she couldn't resist the temptation of pushing him further.

With a daring glint in her eyes, Y/N leaned in closer, brushing her lips against the shell of his ear. A mischievous whisper escaped her lips, laced with a hint of seduction. "Oh, but Seungmin, where's the fun in not pushing your limits? I've seen you handle much more than a little teasing before."

Seungmin's grip tightened as a low growl rumbled from deep within his chest. His eyes bore into hers with an intensity that sent a thrill coursing through her veins. He was a man of few words, but his actions spoke volumes. Y/N knew that he was not one to back down from a challenge.

She could feel the electricity in the air as their bodies pressed closer, taunting and tempting each other like magnets drawn together.

Every breath she took was filled with the scent of his cologne, intoxicating her senses and making it hard to resist.But Y/N never backed down easily either. She reveled in the taste of danger, in the moments when she pushed boundaries and discovered new layers of passion hidden beneath the surface.

With a sly smile playing on her lips, Y/N traced a finger along the firm line of his jaw, relishing in the way his skin prick led beneath her touch. "You know, Seungmin," she whispered, her voice dripping with desire, "I think you secretly love it when I push your buttons."

Seungmin's eyes darkened, a mixture of frustration and longing swirling within them. His grip on her waist tightened even more, his fingers digging into her skin. "You have no idea what you do to me.”

Jeongin:

As the final credits of the movie began to roll, Y/N couldn't tear their eyes away from the mesmerizing sight before them. The way Y/N's hips swayed and rolled as they straddled Jeongin was captivating, a subtle yet alluring movement that drew Y/N in closer.

The dim light of the room cast shadows across their entwined bodies, adding to the intimacy and intensity of the moment. Every shift of Y/N's body against Jeongin's elicited a shiver down their spine, igniting a fire within them that was impossible to ignore.

As the music faded out and the screen turned black, all that remained was the pulsing sensation between Y/N and Jeongin.Jeongin couldn't help but let out a low growl, his hands gripping Y/N's hips tighter as they both felt the heat building between them.

The scent of Y/N's skin, a mix of their favorite perfume and the lingering aroma of the popcorn they shared earlier, was intoxicating, and Jeongin couldn't resist the urge to lean in and nuzzle the delicate curve of Y/N's neck.

Y/N laughed softly, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of their mouth. "You really can't resist, can you?" They whispered, their voice low and sultry.

Jeongin grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Don't start something you can't finish," he warned, his breath ghosting over Y/N's cheek as he spoke.Y/N chuckled, their eyes sparkling, "You're right, I wouldn't want to leave things unfinished.”As they continued to lock eyes and indulge in each other's presence, Y/N's heart raced, their chest tightening with desire.

The anticipation was almost unbearable, yet intoxicatingly so. Jeongin, too, struggled to contain himself, every touch, every embrace only fueling the flames within him.

Slowly, he leaned in, his lips brushing against Y/N's ear, sending shivers down their spine. "Do you know how much I've wanted this?" he whispered seductively.

Y/N shivered, their breath catching in their throat. "I have an idea," they managed to respond, the intensity of the moment making it difficult to form a coherent sentence.

Jeongin's fingers traced the outline of Y/N's jaw, gently caressing their skin as his eyes locked on theirs. "Then let's make it happen," he urged, his voice low and seductive.Y/N nodded, their eyes smoldering with desire.

They leaned in to kiss Jeongin, their lips meeting softly at first, before the passion of the moment took over. The kiss was intense, fueled by the raw emotion and Y/N's eyes twinkled playfully, and they leaned closer, their lips brushing against Jeongin's ear.

"Then what should we do instead?" they asked, their voice husky with desire.Jeongin responded with a low groan, his hands tightening possessively on Y/N's hips. "I have a few ideas," he whispered, his breath warm against Y/N's skin.

As he spoke, Jeongin's lips trailed down Y/N's neck, their teeth gently scraping against the delicate flesh. Y/N shivered, their breath catching in their throat as desire coursed through them.

Y/N's hands moved restlessly, running through Jeongin's hair and pulling him closer. "Show me.”

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fluorynn · 2 months

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💙 — 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬 !

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : Valentine’s spent with Neteyam, Kiri, and Lo’ak !

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 : @aristocolourway @deadgirlrin @missisaz @faintfill @honeycinnamon @by-bananant @lauren1523 @xobridgertonblues @hungrynessforfics @dananannanana @innercreationflower @angie-1306 @cozybubble

𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐲 : @cafekitsune !!!

a/n : It is love day, everyone !!! To those Avatar lovers still out there who adore these characters — these are for you ! Please enjoy, and happy Valentines Day!<33

Valentines Day with Ao’nung, Tsireya, and Rotxo !

— Neteyam !

Anchored. Unrelenting. Sizzling. Neteyam’s mind was anchored, his heartbeat unrelenting, and his body sizzling over your dampened frame. The propinquity he shared with you allayed him, the water’s ambience soothed him. Shallow were Awa’Atlu’s pristine oceans for each gentle wave covered you both lying within it, complying to the silhouette of his body lithe and tendered into yours.

A rarity of a sight it was to witness him, Neteyam the strong and mighty warrior, in a state of relaxation, for he habitually carried a solemn countenance, resolute in his duties. As not only the eldest son but older brother, the golden child, he adhered dutifully to his responsibilities. And you, trainee under your mother, Tsahik, in hopes to become your Clan’s future Tsahik were in freedom from its worries for the time being, in freedom of being the eldest child and daughter, something that had drawn one another together. The profound joy derived from sharing tranquility with someone who served as the paramount source of it marked an unparalleled and cherished experience, and you liberated him all those titles as he liberated you, giving each other the simplest and most valuable one yet: your Neteyam, his Y/N.

Tucked beneath the outline of your jaw was his head, the wet entwines of his hair grazing your turquoise flesh with every movement of his burrowing deeper into your neck. The shore’s aroma was strong from the current breeze laced with the currents, the aromas you’ve inhaled, embraced and adored your entire life; but Neteyam’s potent fragrance was the single one that inebriated you in this moment. Pandora’s multicolored fluorescence illuminated the ocean’s vibrant blues, clashing breathtakingly with both your distinct tones under the night sky. This felt right, this felt nice and tranquil. Something you knew he needed far more than you ever did.

You felt the brims of his lashes fluttering, hearing him breathe in the pure essence that is solely yours, and this dragged a shuddering sigh from your lungs. You raised the three of your fingers and let them trace down his spine, tips soon straying from its path to outline his endearing stripes, to memorize the star-like specks shimmering upon his rich blue contours. The lingers of your ascend elicited a shiver from the young warrior, an elicit you hoped for.

“That feels nice…may you do it again?” You couldn’t help the giggle bubbling up your throat at his request, so sweet, so polite in asking even when eager for your touch, so Neteyam. Not a second of the day goes by without the lightest of contacts with you, always savoring each and every touch you gave his being and you could never ever deny him the privilege, so of course you more than willingly agreed. There it was, that sound of acceptance, that feel of content that you chased when with him, it is what you savor; to gratify him, to fortify him.

“I have made you a gift for you, ma ‘Teyam,” Your soft utterance brought his head to lift from its haven within your warmth while his lips twitched. “You did not need to do that, my love. I can conform with the gift of your presence. That is all I need and want.” His fingers rose to softly thread through your dark tresses, chuckling at the pretty purse your lips now formed despite the flush pigmenting your cheeks.

“Rutxe, Neteyam ( please ). I did it for you out of my love. Please allow me to show you, and please accept it because it took some time to make it.” He knew denying you was a task he had never done, and Neteyam knew he could never even comply with it when it came to you. Those alluring swirls of blue orbs you carried relished him to let out a deep sigh but reluctantly agreed, for he did not want your efforts to go to waste, much less when it was made from the affections you held for him.

You lightly tapped his shoulder and he pushed himself away from you, much to his dismay, though he was genuinely intrigued as to what you have made for him. Your fingers reached behind your neck, unclasping a necklace above one he had given you with, though he hadn’t been aware of though the way it was woven had been familiar, and his golden hues brimmed confusion at how there was another similar with its design like the one now in your palm, displayed for him to catch the way the one you held carried a vibrantly blue stone in the middle, assisted with 2 tiny stones accompanying each side.

“It is a necklace.”

You nodded happily, bringing his wrist out of the water and had him splay his fingers out to place the jewelry there. Your translucent gaze caught his own and smiled at how curiosity colored his beautiful features. “Would you like me to put it on, pretty boy?” His eyes resisted from rolling at the nickname given, but he would admit it had grown quite noticeable on him; his ears batted bashfully from the sound, his tail swaying in anticipation, creating cute splashes against the ocean that made you giggle beneath his playful glare. “Yes, please.”

He settled himself in front of you as you kneeled, carefully moving the longer length of his single braid before it was assisted by the myriad of his much thinner ones. You smiled to yourself at the way he exhaled deeply from your feathering touches, and you knew that he was waiting patiently for you to elaborate the reason for your gift. “I know how much you miss your home, so with the help of your sister and mother, I made this out of the material you used back in the Forest.”

He turned back with a softness in his eyes, and he caught onto the similar lace accentuating your neck had, the one he’d given you; the middle being an oval-shaped, light blue stone while assisted by soft colored stones. He stayed quiet, knowing there was more you wished to say, but his heart couldn't help but feel concerned at the way your ears so very slightly flattened alongside your head. “I know my father said you are Metkayina now…but I am sure that if Eywa gave you the chance, that when conflict is over, you’d like to go back with your People–”

“If that ever were to happen, I would not leave you, if that is what you are thinking. I will come back to you, Y/N.” He was in haste to reassure those doubts, those fears, not wanting to think or continue a life without you by his side, without you as his future mate. Neteyam did not know anymore what path has been set for his family or himself, but he much rather it be one with you in it and him in yours. To which is why he paused for a moment before he reached to take his necklace off. His fingers then slithered between the long cascades of your locks and to the nape of your neck without tearing his eyes from yours, and unclasped your own necklace.

“Neteyam, what–” Unaware you were to the exchange he’d done, the necklace made for him now adorning your neck while yours adorned his. Your eyes shyly peered up, chest blossoming a rareness of warmth as he gave you a precious smile and interlocked his fingers within yours. “We now wear each other’s, so we carry a part of the other everywhere. No matter how far away we are from each other, no matter the time, no matter the People, I am and will forever be yours, Y/N.”

Gleaming and utterly gorgeous was your smile, and he took in the purity of your beauty, of your love. “And I, too, am and will always be yours, Neteyam.” He kissed you, sweetly and delicately yet enough to have your mind and heart soaring higher than you ever thought possible. “Wherever, whenever.”

He gave you one more of his precious smiles before settling back down into your neck, soft kisses brushing and accompanied by the water’s light current across your skin.

— Kiri !

There was noise, some semblance of it at least, you thought. Yet Pandora’s outside world was reduced with every word spewing from Kiri’s lips. You decided then and there that no other melody could vanquish the one she created, not even your songcord – of course, you’d never say that aloud to anyone besides her.

Kiri, the Na’vi girl with humanistic features that everyone in Awa’atlu thought to be odd, even you. Yet not the bad kind, never the bad when it came to the Sully girl. Beyond compare and contrast was her beauty, alluring was her smile. It was easy to get lost in it, so effortlessly to overawe its brilliance.

Kiri’s feet very lightly whirled within the translucency of the waters, the glittering light of Pandora’s tiny fishes circling her motions. You scrutinized her every expression though, smiling at the way her eyes brimmed with thrill down at the little creatures while your focus remained solely on your Kiri.

Something then fell from her lips – a subtle tug down following afterwards when she turned to look at you. Her once lax-hold on your hand was quick to direct and persistent, and this time your gaze fell to your twined fingers and smiled even more at the sight. But to reassure her, your thumb grazed over the back of her palm lovingly and gave a small nod. Kiri protested your dissociation for she was not indulgent with it in this second, not amused of your dazing irises. If only she could know one did not – couldn’t or shouldn’t ever be allowed to dissociate when around her existence. If anything, the only possibility for you was to associate with her. Kiri, despite the silent and rather be reserved with her thoughts and emotions, was so worth listening to, so worth being able to associate with the way her eyes twinkled brighter the the fluorescence Pandora had to offer, dimming every light encasing you as you sat at the edge with your feet dangled in the water, life wavering you as the night’s stars shimmered.

“I don’t think my family believes that I can feel her, Y/N.” She rolled her eyes with a soft scoff, the act that anyone else would believe as disrespectful and angry but you knew her; you knew this facade, how much this tethered her heart with hurt and sadness. And you also knew – witnessed the strong connection Kiri had with Eywa, and even if you hadn’t you believed in her word with no doubts, no hesitations. Of course, she was reluctant in how you quickly believed her but you reassured the Omaticayan girl. You gave her the closest thing there was to feeling like she did belong, like she did have something – someone to emotionally open up to and depend on. She then smiled softly, “But as long as someone believes me, that someone being you, I think I can settle with tha–”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

The sudden blurt of your declaration halted her words. The rareness of a blush pigmenting beneath those glittering star specks across her cheeks. You didn’t see it because her face dipped down as quick as it came, yet you didn’t need to. You knew Kiri, purely and confidently. “I made you something, by the way.”

Her head lifted at your words and her nose scrunched. “Why, out of all days, today?”

“Your brother had told me something about … a festivity Sky People have. One your father said they had back on their planet.” You paused, eyes averting. “He asked me for help in making something for Tsireya and while I did…I was convinced to make you something.”

Her eyes squinted as if trying to recall this holiday before realization settled in and a groan erupted from her throat. “That festivity is so cheesy, I swear. Why would you make me something?”

You shrugged, a bit confused as to why she thought this, “The way he spoke about it intrigued me… you do not want the gift then?”

Her eyes widened and mouth pursed. “But I didn’t get you a gift.”

“Having you is more than a gift.”

She groaned once more, but it was a mirthful sound. “You need to stop hanging out with Lo’ak. And my dad maybe. But okay, fine…let me see it.”

You grinned widely and brought your legs out of the water to retrieve the gift and returned with it hidden behind your back as you settled down, “Give me your feet.”

“Perv. Why out of all things my feet?”

“Kiri, please just listen! – What is a perv?” You shook your head before bringing one hand to her knee. “Never mind – Come on… it is nothing bad.” Her brow was hitched up high, letting a few beats go by until she sighed and gave in, propping both her dampened feet over your thigh. “Now what?”

You goofily grinned at the glare she gave you when you squeezed her foot. “Close your eyes.”

She narrowed her eyes even more , trying to inspect and unravel what you were up to. “If you tickle my feet, I will personally end you.”

“Everyday in your presence, you end me by taking my breath away.” That brought out a groan and laugh, her eyes crinkling beautifully. “You’re so corny, I swear. But fine, let’s get it over with.”

You chuckled but continued, fingers very lightly curling around her ankle and wrapped the piece you had made for her, occasionally letting the tips of your fingers stray the heel of her foot. “Stop! Y/N, that tickles, stop it or I will open my eyes!” She’d huff at the whispered giggles you would let out, trying to keep the deep furrow between her brows and yet with every joyous sound you made, she could no longer contain the warm smile curling her mouth. You adjusted the piece on the other ankle then, smiling proudly at your work. “Open them.”

Kiri’s lashes fluttered as she complied and very quietly gasped. Her feet had been embroidered with incredibly crafted barefooted sandals, the color scheme assisting browns, yellows, and green tiny fragments of trinkets, and she recognized the patterns to be similar to the necklace around her neck, the one that once belonged to her mother.

Her head snapped to you. “W-what, how did you—”

You smirked, “It helps hanging out with your brother and dad.”

Golden irises broadened in awe as she retracted her feet from your lap, her leg bending as her fingers brushed over the fine jewelry. “How did you even make this?”

“It took time…and a few minor injuries with the beads, but nothing my mother couldn’t fix,” She looked down at your hands, tiny and faint cuts scattering your digits and palms and she frowned. “You skxawng,” she lightly hit the back of your head but reached for your hands, bringing them close to her face and placed a soft kiss over each scratch. “You beautiful, considerate, lovable skxawng.”

“Don’t know if I should feel insulted or flattered,” you chuckled out. She giggled, bringing one of your palms to her cheek and the pads of your fingers stroked her bangs, giving her that heartwarming look that always mollified her insides. “Thank you, Y/N…but I still didn’t get you anything.”

You waved her off, “Do not worry about it… though I do have another surprise.”

“Again, I didn’t get you anything!”

“You didn’t need to! Look –” You outstretched your leg over her lap revealing your ankle being bejeweled with a similar patterned anklet. “I'm matching with you now!” She grinned widely and feathered her touch over it before wrapping her hands around your leg and tugged you closer. “I love it. I love you, in fact.” she didn’t give you time to respond because her complete enamour with you led her to kiss you soft, firm, lovingly.

— Lo’ak !

“My dad had told me of a celebration the Sky People once had on their planet — a celebration that included gift giving.” Gift giving that included the special gift in a pocket tied to Lo’ak’s loincloth, unaware to you.

“Really?” You smiled, a wonder and intrigue morphing your features. “That seems like something we do here when courting your future mate! Is there a name for this celebration?”

“Valentines Day. That is its name…but it’s not only about the gift giving, if not the motive behind it.” The swaying motions your interlocked hands created slowed down as the tips of his fingers pressed deeper into your skin. “Oh? And what is that, ma Lo’ak?”

He smiled briefly at the nickname given, a reflection of what his mother called his dad, and the love they shared swelled his heart of the love he shared with you. “To celebrate any sort of connection with your loved ones. Preferably friendship, admiration…love.”

“Lo’ak, what is this?” The melodic sound of your giggles normally mesmerized him, eased his nerves with the soft joyous sound. Today, under the setting eclipse should be no different, for this is how you spend your evenings together; hands clasped together, swinging through the air while the both of you strided through Awa’atlu’s sands, the winds astoundingly tousling through the rich ringlets of your hair, and you’d both soothe each other’s struggles of the days with sweet words and gentle touches.

But today, his nerves could not be tamed by even you, his sweet girl, as he stopped his steps indicating you to do the same, and stood in front of you with a shell-made case in his tight grasp, his saffron colored eyes looked anywhere but those cerulean ones he adored endlessly. The points of his ears flitted from his resistance of emotions while his tail lashed, and your smile faltered with the final sign that indicated his nervousness; the way he practically chewed off the corner of his lip, incisors puncturing into the flesh.

“Lo’ak, what is wrong — are you okay? Is something the matter?” The soft tone and light touch of your hand on his clenching one brought his gaze up, and his brows knitted in awe at the delicacy of your features, of the ocean pools you carried. He swallowed hard, briefly smiling with a nod.

“D-do you know what a ring is?”

A subtle quirk resided between your eyes but nodded. “I do not wear them…but I do know what they are. A type of jewelry worn on the hand, yes?”

He nodded, thumbs tapping over the shell’s thin dents. “What does it mean to you? I-if I gave you one? For this celebration of love that Sky People have?”

Your lips parted and the corners threatened to lift into a smile, but kept quiet as you observed his expression. “I would be more than happy… especially if it came from you—”

“But do you know the purpose of a ring? What would it mean to you?” He felt the pulsing of his heart, practically heard it and wouldn’t be surprised if you too could, for the way its wild and profound beating hammered against his chest with each pump of blood in and out of the organ.

You thought for a moment, trying to connect a response that would somehow calm him. The three of your fingers fiddled over the five of his, smiling at the way his deeper blue tones contrasted with your aquamarine ones, coming together as one. “It will be an act of affection on your part if you did. And I would cherish it very much. Though I do not know the…actual significance of a ring.”

His father had told him of the ways humans bonded to each other for eternity without the intimacy of tsaheylu, of how all the things tied to love were forged into a single promise, a single piece of jewelry such as a ring.

“Why did you never get mom a ring then?” He recalled Tuk questioning, and he would only chuckle while scratching the back of his neck. “Your mom isn’t fond of human things and the Na’vi’s got their own thing for marital acts, baby… besides you need five fingers for this to work.”

But that did not matter to him, not in this case, because when he heard and unraveled the details behind a ring, he found it to be beautiful and significant. You had been one of the greatest things that have ever occurred to him since the Sky People returned. Since he had to flee from the only home he’s ever known. Since the death of his big brother. And in the months that he has known you, in the months living in uncertainty and fear only for it to be washed away by those ocean eyes of yours, he found a firm certainty in something after a long time; about the love he felt for you, about you deserving something that beautiful, that significant. “Why do you ask?”

Because within this shell, the shell you and I happened to catch from the bottom of the ocean and you praised me for it, is a ring that isn’t exactly for marriage but as a promise to you of my undying love and promising future I will make sure to have with you. Because I am certain that I do not ever want to lose you, because you have seen me at my worst when he died. I cannot risk going on without you.

Another bob motioned up his throat before his shaking fingers opened the case in his palm, catching onto the soft gasp emitted from your lips.

“Dad told me the meaning, and I learned that it signifies an eternity of love; no beginning, no end. That the hole in the middle, it’s a gateway that leads to things and events known and unknown.” His accent was increasing its thickness as he spoke, internally cursing and hoped that you could still understand him. “The marital ring means forever, and I know that I want forever with you,”

It took you a moment to recognize the chiseled figure over the twig-like band — a single pearl in the middle, twinkling and impressively tiny trinkets embedded around the band. You knew it must’ve taken the Omaticayan boy quite some time to create this. Though you then caught a glimpse of a new necklace around his neck, one that assisted a pearl similar to the one upon the ring .

“But in the meantime, I want to give you what they call a promise ring, a-and when the time comes, I can….if you’ll take me, be your mate. Forever.”

Tears glistened the vibrancy of your irises, threatening to fall down your cheeks, clogging the words within your throat. All you could do was create a wobbly smile as he took ahold of your hand and slipped the ring around your middle finger, sliding perfectly into place.

“And as soon as everything gets cleared out, as soon as we hit that age, I won’t hesitate in making this the real thing, h-how does that sound to you?”

The sudden wrap of your arms around his shoulders and the soft pecks meeting his face spoke the answer, and he chuckled against your lips. “Happy Valentine's Day, baby.”

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mariasont · 1 month

Text

Our Minds Entwined------------------------

ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5

Aaron Hotchner x Original Character x Spencer Reid

in which jason gideon's daughter joins the fbi as the newest youngest member

The clock struck midnight, its chimes echoing softly though the BAU's office, a space usually buzzing with the day's urgency now settled into a rare stillness, broken by the occasional shuffle of feet or the muted ring of a phone quickly silenced.

Evelyn, her silhouette illuminated by the soft luminescence of the computer screen, was a portrait of focus. Her eyes, reflecting the screen's pale blue light, moved rapidly as she scanned the data before her. Stray locks of hair framed her face, a few rebellious strands occasionally obscuring her view, only to be tucked behind an ear with an absent-minded brush of her hand.

Her desk was a landscape of organized chaos, with documents cascading over one another and colorful pens scattered across the wood. Her fingers, poised gracefully above the keyboard, were a study of precision, each keystroke a deliberate and thoughtful action.

The office around her was still, save for the soft hum of machinery and the distant sound of a siren that wailed briefly before fading into the night. The air was heavy with the scent of coffee, long gone cold, and the faintest hint of ink and toner.

Across the room, Reid's silhouette was framed by the window, his tall figure bent over a table littered with files. The faint light from the streetlamps outside filtered through, illuminating his furrowed brow as he pieced together profiles with the meticulous care of an artist.

Their interactions were sparse, limited to the necessary exchange of information, yet there was a comfort in the shared silence, a mutual understanding that words were superfluous when the work demanded their all.

Evelyn rose from her desk, stretching slightly to ease the stiffness in her back. She gathered a stack of papers, the edges crisp and cool against her fingers, and made her way to the copy machine nestled in the corner of the office.

Reid, his attention usually locked within the realm of profiles and patterns, found his gaze inadvertently drawn to Evelyn as she bent over to load the papers into the feeder, her hips jutted out, her ass perfectly outlined by her skirt. Her body was a rare lapse in his concentration, one that left him momentarily disarmed.

"Uh, need a hand with that?" Reid's voice broke the silence, a touch of hesitance threading through his usual calm as he diverted his gaze from her ass.

Evelyn looked up, a hint of surprise flickering across her face. "Actually, yes. It's being stubborn," she replied, her tone laced with mild frustration as the machine gave a disgruntled beep and ceased operation.

Reid crossed the room, his steps measured, the soft carpet muffling his approach. He stood beside her, their shoulders almost touching, as he examined the rebellious machine. "Sometimes it just needs a little...," he began, reaching out to navigate the copier's cryptic buttons.

Before he could finish, the office plunged into darkness, a power outage seizing the building in its sudden grip. The hum of the machinery died, leaving a heavy silence in its wake.

"Spencer?" Evelyn's voice cut through the darkness, tinged with confusion and an instinctive reach for familiarity. Her hands, almost on their own accord, reached out into the void, fingers splayed in search of the tangible reassurance of her surroundings.

In the sudden stillness, Evelyn's breath hitched as she felt the unexpected warmth of Spencer's hands on her hips. His touch was gentle yet firm, a steadying presence that grounded her in the enveloping darkness. The soft fabric of her skirt offered little barrier to the heat of his palms, and she could feel the contours of his fingers pressing against her.

Spencer's front was close, so close that she could sense the line of his body against her back without either of them moving. It was an intimate proximity that had never shared, his chest almost brushing against her as they both paused in the unexpected closeness.

Evelyn's heart raced, not from fear of the dark, but from the sudden heat she felt. His presence was like a solid pillar, and for a moment, she leaned back ever so slightly, drawn by the comfort of his nearness. The air around them seemed to thrum with a new energy.

As quickly as the moment came, it passed, and they stepped away from each other, the space crackling between them with an unspoken tension.

"Sorry," Spencer's voice was a hushed murmur in the darkness, a soft admission that seemed louder in the silence.

Evelyn's response came quickly. "It's okay," she said. In the pitch-black office, Evelyn was acutely aware of the warmth spreading across her cheeks. "It's just... dark."

Her body shouldn't be reacting this way, she chided herself silently. He was a colleague, maybe a friend, and yet the fluttering in her stomach contradicted her rational thoughts. The darkness concealed her flushed face, but it couldn't hide the quickening of her pulse or the confusion that clouded her mind.

Evelyn's voice broke through the silence again, this time with a note of practically. "The doors... they're badge-operated," she stated, more to herself than to Spencer. The fact was a simple one, but it served as a necessary anchor, pulling her thoughts away from the lingering warmth of his touch.

Reid's mind, ever analytic, race through their options. "The backup generator should kick in, but it might be a few minutes," he said, trying to sound reassuring.

They moved together, almost instinctively, toward the door. Evelyn's fingers fumbled along the wall, seeking the familiar contour of the switch, though she knew it was futile. Reid, meanwhile, pulled out his phone, the dim glow casting shadows as he tried to illuminate their path.

The badge reader beside the door was unresponsive, it's usual green light extinguished. They exchanged a look, an unspoken agreement passing through them for a moment. They were indeed stuck, at least for the moment.

The stillness of the office felt different now, charged with the intimacy of shared confinement. They retreated from the doors, finding their way back to the center of room. "Guess we wait,"

"Or we could call Hotch. That man never sleeps." With a resigned sigh, he pulled out his phone and dialed. The call rang persistently, but there was no answer.

Spencer ended the call, a hint of frustration in his eyes. "No answer," he said, turning to Evelyn. "Maybe you should try."

Evelyn raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. "What, and shatter the myth that Aaron Hotchner actually needs sleep like the rest of us mortals? Fine, I'll give it a shot."

She dialed the number, half-expecting it to go to voicemail. To her surprise, Hotch picked up almost immediately. "Hotch? It's Evelyn. Evelyn Gideon. I... uh, didn't actually think you'd answer."

"Yes, Evelyn I know it's you. Is everything alright?" Hotch's voice was calm, a stark contrast to the fluttering in Evelyn's stomach.

"We're locked in the building. The power is off and the badge reader's down and... well, we're stuck here," she confessed, her words more measured than she felt.

"I'll be there in ten," Hotch replied without missing a beat, and the line went dead.

Evelyn turned to Spencer, her earlier confidence replaced with a sheepish grin. "Okay, now we wait."

Spencer leaned against his desk, his eyes reflecting a hint of amusement. "You know, it's probably just the novelty of not hearing my extensive use of statistics in casual conversation. Hotch might've thought it was a prank call."

Evelyn's laughter filled the room, a sound that seemed foreign in the usually somber office. "Speaking of, what's the statistic of getting locked in the office with a power outage?"

Spencer glanced at her, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. "Well, actually, it's quite rare. The probability is less than 0.005% on any given day."

Her laughter grew louder, and she shook her head in disbelief. "Spencer, I wasn't being serious."

He smiled, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary. "No, I know that," he said, though his tone suggested otherwise. "But you have to admit, it's an interesting statistic."

Evelyn hopped up onto the desk, crossing her legs as she faced Spencer. The conversation flowed easily between them, filled with light banter that had become their unique way of coping with the stress of the job.

"So, Dr. Reid," Evelyn began, a teasing tone in her voice, "if you're so good with statistics, what are the odds of us getting out of here before we turn into BAU office decorations?"

Spencer chuckled, adjusting his glasses. "Well, considering Hotch's driving skills and disregard for traffic laws when it comes to his team, I'd say the odds are in our favor."

As they laughed, Spencer's hand accidentally brushed against Evelyn's leg. The contact was brief, but it was enough for him to notice the smoothness of her skin. He quickly retracted his hand, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

Before either could comment, the lights flickered back to life, bathing the room in a harsh fluorescent glow. The badge reader beside the door beeped, its green light signaling the return of power.

The door swung open, and Hotch stepped in, his expression of concern and mild irritation. "I see the power's back," he said, surveying the scene before him. "You two alright?"

Evelyn slid off the desk, smoothing out her skirt. "We're fine, Hotch. Just enjoying some... statistical analysis with Reid."

Hotch raised an eyebrow, his gaze lingering on Evelyn for a moment. He nodded once, before turning to leave the room.

Spencer, curiosity piqued, hurried after Hotch. "Hey, Hotch," he called out, catching up. "Why didn't you answer my call?"

Evelyn, left alone by the desk, couldn't help but giggle. She quickly gathered her belongings, the recent events still playing in her mind like a curious melody. She slung her purse over her shoulder and made her way to the exit, her steps echoing softly in the now-quiet office.

As she rounded a corner, she collided with a figure emerging from the shadows. "Oh shoot, sorry," he exclaimed, taking a step back.

The man she bumped into was tall, with a friendly smile that reached his eyes. "No harm done," she said, his voice smooth and reassuring. "You're Evelyn, right? From the BAU? I'm Daniel, from the Counterterrorism Division."

Evelyn nodded, a little taken aback by the recognition. "Nice to meet you, Daniel. I didn't expect to run into anyone else here so late."

Daniel's grin widened. "Yeah, the hours can be unpredictable. But it's all in a day's work, right?"

Evelyn returned the smile. "Absolutely, makes the job all the more interesting." She glanced at her watch, groaning in her head at how late it was. "Well, I should head out. Early start tomorrow and all that."

"Of course," Daniel replied. "It was nice running into you, Evelyn. Maybe I'll see you around."

With a final nod, Evelyn turned and walked away. She stepped out into the cool air, the parking lot bathed in the soft glow of streetlights. She noticed two familiar cars: Spencer's old sedan and Hotch's study SUV. As she made her way to her car, Spencer's vehicle started up, and he drove past her, offering a small nod.

She then spotted Hotch, sitting in his SUV, his silhouette unmistakable. "Hotch?" she called out, approaching the vehicle with a curious tilt of her head.

The window rolled down, and Hotch looked at her, his face a mask of casual vigilance. "Just making sure you get to your car safely," he said, his voice carrying a subtle warmth reserved for his team.

Evelyn laughed softly, the sound carrying in the stillness. "Aw Hotch, playing the knight in shining armor?"

He cracked a rare, half-smile. "Well, considering you've attracted more trouble in your first week than most agents do in a year, I thought it prudent to stick around."

She shook her head, still smiling. "I'll take that as a compliment, coming from you."

Hotch nodded, his gaze lingering for a moment longer. "Just try to avoid any more late-night lock-ins, okay?"

She laughed, the sound crisp in the night air. "I'll do my best. Goodnight, Hotch."

"Goodnight, Evelyn. Drive safe."

With a final nod, Evelyn turned and walked to her car.

Evelyn arrived at her home, a pristine two-story house that exuded classic charm. The white paint glowed under the moonlight, and the dark roofing added a touch of elegance. Each dormer window was adorned with pastel flowers.

Inside, she moved gracefully, her high heels clicking on the hardwood as she placed her bag down. The day's tensions melting away as she slipped into her silky pajama, the fabric gliding over her skin like a gentle caress. As she settled into bed, the softness of the sheets a welcome contrast to the day's harshness, her phone rang. It was Spencer, his voice a soothing presence in the quiet of the night.

"Hey, Evelyn, just wanted to make sure you got home safely," he said.

Evelyn settled deeper into her pillows, a smile playing on her lips. "I did, thanks. But you know, you don't have to worry. Statistically speaking, the likelihood of encountering danger on a short drive within one's own neighborhood is quite low."

There was a pause, and then Spencer's voice returned, laced with his characteristic blend of humor and fact. "Well, actually, while the probability is low, it's never zero. For example, did you know that--"

Evelyn cut him off with a light-hearted laugh. "Spencer, I know whatever you're going to say is not going to be exactly a comforting bedtime statistic."

"I suppose not." He laughed, the sound warm in her ear.

"Thanks for the check-in, Dr. Reid. I'll see you tomorrow," Evelyn said, her voice tinged with amusement.

"See you tomorrow, Evelyn. And remember, statistically, your bed is the safest place you can be right now." Spencer added before saying goodnight.

Evelyn ended the call with a soft laugh, feeling a sense of warmth flood her body as she caught herself smiling into her pillow. The night was quiet, and for once, the statistics were in her favor.

you guys!!!!!! the support on this is unreal, ugh love u all <3 i also want to start writing drabbles, one-shots, etc. SOOO if you have any requests shoot me a message <3

let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

taglist: @nonamevenus

#Spotify #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x original character #spencer reid x oc #reid #dr reid #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #hotchner #hotch #aaron hotchner x oc #aaron hotchner x original character #aaron hotchner x oc x spencer reid #aaron hotchner x original character x spencer reid #reverse harem #why choose #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds

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tinytinyblogs · 4 months

Text

Let me paint my feelings onto your dreams tonight.

Expressing emotions they couldn't voice while you were awake, trusting the night to carry them.

⚠Ot8, non-idol reaction, cocktail of emotion, and a lot more⚠

Stray kids masterlist here

Chan

The flickering light of the television cast long shadows across the room, dancing across your peaceful slumber on the worn couch. Chan, his heart heavy with the weight of another late night, tiptoed closer, his gaze softening as he watched your chest rise and fall in gentle rhythm. The sight, a testament to your unwavering love and patience, twisted his gut with a pang of guilt. This, another night sacrificed to the demanding altar of work, was yet another night he'd failed to be the boyfriend you deserved. He reached for the remote, silencing the droning TV with a soft click. The sudden quiet deepened the intimacy of the moment, drawing him closer to the haven you'd created on the worn cushions. Kneeling beside you, he whispered, "I'm home, honey," his voice a caress against the stillness. "I'm so sorry I kept you waiting. I must be the worst boyfriend ever." A sad chuckle escaped his lips, the sound echoing in the cavernous silence. He settled on the floor, his back against the couch, his gaze never leaving your sleeping form. You were a portrait of serenity, your features softened in slumber, your breathing a lullaby that soothed the storm within him. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice thick with unspoken emotions. "Thank you for always loving me, for understanding me, even when I don't deserve it. I don't know what I'd do without you, without this sanctuary you create for me every day."

He knew he should wait until your eyes fluttered open, to confess these vulnerabilities in the warm light of day. Yet, the words, like caged birds, clamored for release, seeking solace in the quiet intimacy of your slumber. He needed you to hear, even in the realm of dreams, the depth of his love, the aching gratitude that bloomed within him like a fragile flower despite the thorns of circumstance. The gentle caress of his hand on your head, a feather-light touch that sent shivers down your spine, disrupted your peaceful drift towards sleep. His voice, a low rumble laced with a tenderness you'd grown so accustomed to, echoed in the quiet room, a balm to the ache of his late return. "I have my day off tomorrow," he murmured, his breath stirring the strands of hair around your face. "I swear, I'll make it up to you. No need for waiting, no need for worry." A gentle kiss, like a whispered promise, landed on your forehead. It was a feather-light touch, yet it ignited a fire within you, a spark that danced in the depths of your soul. "Good night, love," he whispered, his lips brushing your skin, sending shivers dancing across your skin. And then, the words that made your heart skip a beat. "A little secret for you," he breathed, his voice a husky murmur. "Today, I fell for you again."

Minho

The night settled into a hushed stillness, a stark contrast to the symphony of whispers and gentle banter that usually flowed between you and Minho. Your voice, like a firefly's light, had extinguished, leaving him alone in the cool, quiet darkness. He shifted, his gaze tracing the soft rise and fall of your chest, a silent confirmation that you had succumbed to sleep's embrace. Peace, like a feather, settled upon him. He cherished these moments, the quiet intimacy where vulnerabilities were laid bare and whispered secrets found sanctuary in the space between your breaths. Yet, sleep remained elusive for him. The day, with its tangled threads of anxieties and triumphs, clung stubbornly to his thoughts. He chuckled, a soft rumble that barely disturbed the night air. The idea, though seemingly absurd, held a curious truth. He, who had always prided himself on his stoic demeanor, found himself drawn to your orbit like a moth to a flame. He reveled in your laughter, savored your silences, and found his heart skipping a beat at the mere mention of your name. A small smile tugged at his lips as he turned to face you, his hand brushing aside a stray strand of hair that veiled your peaceful countenance.

He traced the curve of your jawline, his touch feather-light, and marveled at the way your features softened in slumber. "You know what, my mom said I'm a simp for you," he whispered, the words tinged with a playful amusement. "Never thought she'd see me like that, but hey, what can I say?" His voice dipped even lower, a conspiratorial murmur in the quiet. "Maybe she's right," he conceded, a hint of self-deprecation in his tone. "You do have this way of tying my heartstrings in knots, making me sing off-key and blush like a teenage boy." He paused, a sigh escaping his lips. "I guess," he continued, his voice softer now, "I don't mind being your simp. As long as I get to keep you safe, make you smile, and witness the magic you weave into the world, then the title suits me just fine." With a final, lingering touch, he settled back against the pillows, a newfound peace washing over him. Sleep remained elusive, but it no longer held the sting of frustration. For in the quiet hush of the night, with you by his side, he had found a different kind of solace – a quiet contentment that whispered promises of a future where dreams, like fireflies, danced in the moonlight, guided by the gentle glow of his unspoken devotion.

Changbin

Changbin emerged from the shower, a halo of steam clinging to his damp hair. He ran a towel through his locks, the fabric rasping against the strands with a satisfying roughness. Water dripped from his fingertips, leaving tiny puddles on the tile. As he dried, a small smile played on his lips, a secret melody only he could hear. He reached for the doorknob, the metal cool against his palm. Pushing it open, he peeked into the bedroom. The sight that greeted him was a tableau of serenity – you, sprawled peacefully on the bed, lost in the world of dreams. He paused, his hand hovering in the air, the smile widening on his face. It was a scene he could never tire of, your slumber like a whispered promise of stolen moments and shared secrets. Walking softly, he approached the bed, his bare feet making the faintest whisper on the floor. He settled beside you, close enough to feel the warmth of your skin, the gentle rise and fall of your breath against his cheek. "Cute," he murmured, the endearment a secret shared with the night. His voice, husky from the shower, dipped into a low murmur, filling the silence with his own private monologue. He knew you wouldn't answer, but the words, like pent-up water finding its release, tumbled from his lips. "Today was a good day," he said, his voice laced with contentment.

"Every day with you is, really. But today… it hit different." He sighed, a deep rumble in his chest. "I never really thought about it before," he continued, his voice dropping even lower, "but when I saw you in white gown… it hit me like a truck." His words, though spoken into the quiet night, were heavy with unspoken emotions, a glimpse into a world only he and you could see. The clock, a relentless metal heart, beat out the seconds in the hushed room. Each tick, a tiny hammer tapping against the silence, punctuated by the soft, rhythmic melody of your sleep. Even the slight, endearing snore that escaped your lips was music to Changbin's ears, a lullaby woven from the threads of your slumber. He let the towel fall carelessly to the floor, its abandoned form a testament to the singular focus of his gaze. Your sleeping figure, bathed in the moonlight that spilled through the window, was the only landscape he needed. "I must be the luckiest person in this world," he whispered, the words barely audible above the symphony of the night. "Knowing you'll be mine forever," he murmured, his voice a thread of silk woven into the tapestry of the night, "could you imagine how happy I am?"

Han

The heavy thud of the front door resonated through the silent air, a jarring contrast to the gentle rise and fall of your breath on the sofa. His eyes, weary beyond the fatigue of a strenuous workout, held the echoes of your fight, the sharp words still stinging on his tongue. He tiptoed in, each step measured and deliberate, afraid to shatter the fragile peace you seemed to have found in slumber. As he drew closer, a single tear, sparkling like a trapped diamond, glinted on your cheek. His heart clenched, a physical ache mirroring the emotional turmoil within. "Honey, I'm home," he whispered, his voice a soft caress against the silence. The fear of waking you battled with the urge to cradle you close, to chase away the remnants of the storm that had raged between you. He sank to his knees beside you, a silent sentinel guarding your dreams. His gaze traced the map of your face, etched with the residue of tears and unspoken hurt. He wanted to rewind time, erase the harsh words that had wounded you both, undo the tangled mess of their argument. "I'm so sorry," he breathed, more to himself than to you. The words tumbled out, a confession woven with guilt and regret. "We lost control, didn't we? Words like weapons, flung in the heat of the moment. I shouldn't have said what I did, those things about not loving you...they were lies, born from anger and frustration, but never from truth."

The living room held the echoes of their fight, but with each soft breath you took, they faded into the background. His eyes, weary from the emotional battle, found solace in the sight of you curled up on the sofa, an angel bathed in the soft amber light. A smile, both hesitant and hopeful, curved his lips. "I feel like I met the right person," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper, afraid to shatter the fragile peace. "Never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd want you to be away from me." The words hung heavy in the air, unspoken apologies woven into their fabric. He knew they couldn't erase the sting of their argument, but they were bridges, tentative steps towards reconciliation. He spoke to you in the language of the night, words whispered to a sleeping heart. It didn't matter that you couldn't hear them, not yet. It was his own catharsis, an unburdening of the guilt that weighed on his soul. "I'll make it up tomorrow," he vowed, his voice thick with emotion. "I'll show you how much I love you, every beat of my heart, every breath I take." He leaned closer, his hand hovering over your cheek, hesitant yet yearning for connection. And then, a feather-light kiss on your forehead, a silent prayer for forgiveness and a promise of a new dawn. "Good night, love," he whispered, his voice a lullaby in the stillness. "Thank you for always understanding me, for loving me even when I don't deserve it."

Hyunjin

As the soft glow of twilight seeped in, you found yourself nestled in Hyunjin's embrace, your head resting comfortably on his chest. His arms were strong, yet gentle, cocooning you in a warmth that seeped into your very core. His voice, like honeyed velvet, flowed over you, carrying a melody that danced with the twilight breeze. His words, whispered promises of love and laughter, mingled with the steady rhythm of his heart, a lullaby luring you towards the land of dreams. You felt yourself drifting, eyelids growing heavy, your answers to his endearments becoming softer, then fading altogether. A sigh escaped your lips, tinged with the contentment of his nearness. Hyunjin saw it, the telltale signs of slumber stealing over you. A smile, as gentle as the moonlight, curved his lips. He tightened his hold, just a fraction, ensuring you felt the unwavering presence of his love, a silent whisper against the canvas of your dreams. "We spent another day together," he murmured, his voice a sigh against your hair. "And it makes me happier than words can say." His hand traced idle circles on your back, a silent conversation between lovers, a language older than words. His silence deepened, broken only by the rhythmic tick-tock of the clock. A sudden realization bloomed in his heart, casting a fleeting shadow across his peaceful expression.

"Do you know what I just realized?" he whispered, his voice barely a murmur, afraid to break the fragile spell of your sleep. "How I always freak out when I see others wanting you as much as I do." He let out a soft chuckle, self-deprecating and honest. "It's silly, isn't it? My fear of losing you, it feels like a bottomless pit in my stomach." He paused, the silence pregnant with the truth of his confession. You stirred, a small, unconscious movement in search of greater comfort. His chuckle turned into a low, amused sigh. "And then you do that thing," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to disturb your slumber. "You ignore them all, turn back to me with that breathtaking smile, and my heart just… beats like a hummingbird's wings." He fell silent again, content to simply hold you, to watch the moon paint your face in its soft silver light. His worries, for now, were tucked away, replaced by the profound peace of having you in his arms, of knowing that in this quiet haven of shared breaths and whispered fears, he was your home, and you, his refuge. "Having you by my side feels like the universe's way of saying I deserve all the happiness in the world." And so, under the watchful gaze of the moon, Hyunjin held you close, letting the lullaby of his love, sung in hushed tones and gentle touches, carry you deeper into the embrace of sleep. Your dreams, he hoped, would be filled with rainbows and sunshine, a reflection of the joy you brought to his every day.

Felix

The soft thud of bare feet padding on wood was music to your ears, even in slumber. Through the haze of a long day, you felt a familiar rhythm approaching, drawing you back to wakefulness. It was Felix, his eagerness radiating even before he came into view. You peeked a sleepy eye open, just in time to see him skid to a stop on the living room floor, his eyes immediately glinting with joy at the sight of you sprawled on the sofa. "A tiring day, huh?" his voice was a warm whisper, tinged with that familiar playful concern. He reached for the remote, the TV's glow fading into darkness, leaving only the moonlit stage of your shared living room. His gaze lingered on you, tracing the lines of your sleeping face, each soft breath a silent melody in the quiet room. "My friends were giving me an earful today," he chuckled, more to himself than to you, as if confiding in the soft air around you. "They said I'm a hopeless romantic, a fool, stuck waiting for someone who might never make the first move." He shook his head, a touch of self-deprecation in the gesture. "Said I need to tell you how much you mean to me, how I dream of having you as mine." His voice took on a more serious note, dipping even lower, almost afraid to break the spell of your sleep. "And I guess they're right. I can't imagine anyone else making the first move, stealing away the chance to show you my heart on a silver platter." A smile flickered across his lips, hesitant, yet hopeful.

"So maybe..." he trailed off, a question hanging in the air, a promise whispered to the night. Felix swallowed hard, his gaze holding fast to your peaceful slumber. Sunday loomed large in his mind, the art gallery visit taking on a whole new significance. "Asking you to be mine there…makes me a tangled mess of nerves," he admitted, the words tumbling out in a soft rush. His eyes traced the familiar contours of your face, etched with the day's weariness. He shifted slightly, his gaze landing on a collection of your belongings scattered on the coffee table – a well-loved book, a half-knitted scarf, a mug bearing a silly cartoon cat. He reached out, his touch feather-light as he tidied them, creating a constellation of your life against the worn wood. "You have no idea how much I've practiced," he chuckled, the sound barely a whisper. "Like a madman, rehearsing lines in the shower, pacing in the park, even babbling to my bewildered cactus." His smile held a touch of self-effacement, a vulnerability that tugged at your heartstrings, even in your sleep. The weight of his unspoken question hung heavy in the air, a melody played on the strings of his love for you. In that quiet space, surrounded by the echoes of his whispered confession and the unspoken promise of Sunday, you drifted deeper into sleep, unaware of the storm of emotions brewing in the heart of the boy beside you.

Seungmin

The soft thud of the apartment door closing seemed impossibly loud in the hushed space. Seungmin tiptoed in, his eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through the window. You, his beautiful angel, were sprawled across the living room couch, lost in the slumber that always seemed to paint your face with an extra layer of serenity. He moved with the stealth of a cat stalking its prey, his every step cushioned by a silent prayer not to disturb your peaceful dreams. Placing the plastic bag of convenience store goodies on the coffee table, he sank into a crouch beside you. In that stillness, your sleeping face became his masterpiece. Your features, usually animated by laughter or furrowed in concentration, were now softened by the gentle brush of sleep. He traced the delicate curve of your jawline with his gaze, his lips curving into a tender smile. "It's still feels like magic," he whispered, the words barely audible. "Even if I think about it a thousand times, even if I wake up tomorrow and it's all a dream…" His voice trailed off, replaced by a sigh that spoke volumes of his disbelief and unyielding joy. His eyes, pools of adoration reflected in the moonlight, drifted from your eyelashes to the small, contented curl of your lips. "That you're mine, and we just fit, you know? Like puzzle pieces carved from the same soul." Seungmin reached out, a hesitant hand pulling the soft throw blanket higher around your shoulders, ensuring you wouldn't feel the night's chill.

The gesture, small yet overflowing with tenderness, spoke of a love that thrived in the quiet moments, in the unspoken promises etched in whispered breaths and soft touches. "I even feel the love," he murmured, his voice barely a tremor against the silence. "The kind I used to wonder if it was just something in fairytales. You make me so happy, Y/N. With you by my side, every day feels like a miracle." His hand, calloused yet gentle, found its way to your head. His fingers brushed through your hair, a comforting rhythm that spoke volumes of unspoken affection. "Never thought I'd fall this hard," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your ear. "But then you walked in, and my heart turned into a kaleidoscope of emotions, all swirling around you." A soft chuckle escaped his lips, the sound laced with a hint of disbelief. "Never thought I'd be capable of holding so much love for someone, but here we are." He lingered for a moment longer, his gaze tracing the gentle rise and fall of your chest, committing every detail of your sleeping form to memory. Then, with a final, lingering kiss on your forehead, he rose, the quiet guardian of your dreams, forever grateful for the magic that had brought you, his perfect puzzle piece, into his life. With eyes full of devotion, he murmured, "Love you, sweetheart, more than words can express."

Jeongin

Jeongin's thumbs danced across his phone screen, the glow illuminating his face in the quiet room. But the words on the display couldn't compete with the symphony playing out beside him. Your rhythmic breaths, the gentle rise and fall of your chest, were a lullaby he wouldn't trade for any ringtone. He glanced over, a smile curving his lips as he watched you sleep. Your phone, still clutched in your hand, buzzed with the remnants of your conversation, a conversation he hadn't been fully present for. A pang of guilt flickered through him, quickly smothered by the overwhelming tenderness he felt for you. He reached out, careful not to disturb your slumber, and gently pried the phone from your grasp. With a sigh, he placed it on the nightstand, his gaze returning to your peaceful face. In the stillness, his own insecurities began to whisper. "You know what," he murmured, his voice barely louder than a sigh, "sometimes I feel like I'm not a good enough boyfriend for you." The words hung heavy in the air, laced with self-doubt and a yearning to be better. "It's not like I don't want to," he continued, his voice a soft confession. "Even though you're mine, this incredible, beautiful puzzle piece that fits perfectly with me, I still feel this shyness, this awkwardness like I can't quite express what's in my heart." He shifted, his eyes never leaving your face, searching for some hidden sign of disappointment.

"I know I should tell you more often," he whispered, "how much you mean to me, how you light up my world with just your smile. I'm trying, sweetheart, I really am. Just give me time to find the words, to truly open up this clumsy, shy heart of mine to you, to us." He settled beside you, your warmth radiating through the thin fabric of your pajamas. He wasn't a grand gesture kind of guy, not yet. His love bloomed in the mundane, in the shared silences and the comfortable routine that was just beginning to define their 'us.' He worried, sometimes, that it wasn't enough. That his fumbling attempts, his shy pronouncements of 'I like you' whispered into the night, couldn't compete with the grand fireworks of established relationships. The silence returned, but it was no longer empty. It was filled with the unspoken promise of future confessions, of whispered declarations that would one day bloom into a vibrant tapestry of love. Even with his lips sealed, his message resonated in the quiet room. His hand, resting comfortingly on your cheek, spoke volumes. "Even if I don't say it enough," he breathed, his voice barely a tremor against your skin, "you have to know this, sweetheart. I love you. So much." And in that quiet act of vulnerability, Jeongin's shyness seemed to soften, a delicate seed waiting to blossom under the warmth of your understanding. The future stretched before them, a blank canvas ready to be painted with the vibrant colors of their love, a love he would learn to express, word by precious word, until it filled every corner of your shared world.

💬Forget resolutions, let's toast to new beginnings! Consider this a sprinkle of sweetness for your New Year's journey, wishing you joy and good vibes all year long.

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