#love’s first kiss blossoms in the snow

[postmortemnivis]

spring was simon’s favourite season.

maybe because it meant rebirth, seeing the trees turn a vivid green again and the fields full of flowers and colours gave him hope. he loved to wake up and open his window in the early days of april, when the world was finally getting rid of the chilly morning breeze that always made him sick the first weeks of winter. every time he felt the air getting warmer, he couldn’t wait to change his heavy winter jacket into his windbreaker.

maybe it was because his birthday was in may, and despite not having celebrated it like he should’ve when he was a kid, he knew you would never forget to wake him up with a soft peck on the lips.

‘morning birthday boy.

if you asked him, he would tell you he liked spring better than summer because the weather was more enjoyable, not too hot yet not cold. spring’s light showers were his favourite noise to wake up to, after the one of the coffee maker he got you for christmas.

the real reason simon was so devoted to spring, almost as much as he was to you, were you. what did you expect from him?

he knew you probably couldn’t remember, but all those years back, you two met in early spring, after a particularly difficult winter.

simons life had been a deep, cold and dark winter for the past years. two, five, ten, who kept count anymore? his days would blend one into the other, seasons slowly turning into the next, he almost couldn’t tell the difference between august and february. seasonal depression was real, but somehow it lingered all around the year for him. that was before you.

you were the first shy sun ray that filtered through the clouds, quite literally. you, as fresh as the cold rain, and you heart, as warm as a late may afternoon, were all he needed to get out of his hibernation. you were what simon needed to wake up, the signal that spring and all beautiful things were on the way, that he needed to arise and get out of his hollow tree.

for the first time in years, simon’s eyes realized that spring was blooming everywhere around him, he was just too deep into his winter, blind, to notice; the flowers were blossoming, as beautiful as ever. he was grateful.

for you, for spring, for the sun finally caressing his face and skin and for your sweet kisses, each of them feeling like the first warm day after months of wind and snow.

“good morning, birthday boy.” you whispered as you kissed his lips.

simon squeezed his eyes shut before slowly opening them. he’d heard you get up, of course, the moment you started stirring in bed he was informed you were awake. you could try to keep the military out of the house, but the instincts followed him home, whether you liked it or not.

your bright smile was beaming at him, your hands on his bare broad chest as you sat on his hips, your thighs on either side of his waist.

“‘mornin’ beautiful.” he mumbled, resting a strong hand on your hip as he sat back, leaning against the headrest.

“breakfast’s in the kitchen,” you smiled, “i made coffee too.”

he hummed. “can smell it. i heard you too.”

you grinned.

“what’re grinning at?” he tiredly grinned back.

“want me to bring you breakfast in bed?” you said, “we can stay here in bed all day if you want to.”

he shook his head. “nah, love, i’m coming to the kitchen. i’ll be ready in a minute.”

you brought your lips to his again before getting off of him and caressing his cheek as you walked back to the kitchen, waiting for him.

his eyes followed your figure until you left the room, and he raised his gaze to the ceiling for a minute before shuffling his feet to the bathroom. he closed the door and stood in front of the sink, his hands on either side of the ceramic. his brown eyes, so dark they looked black, remained fixed on his reflection before he walked to the big window and opened the panes.

“simon?” you called. “baby, your coffee’s getting cold!”

his broad figure stood there, studying the nature outside. there was a small park in front of the flat, a little green heaven where mostly children went to play, he could hear from there the laughters and giggles. the trees, wild cherries and guelder rose followed the small street, their branches almost reaching the top floor where you lived.

“comin’ love.”

it was the middle of may, almost summer, and simon took a big breath of the fresh morning air before leaving the window open as he turned around and walked to the kitchen, right into his little piece of spring.

#simon riley #simons a loverboy at heart #postmortemnivis #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #spring is in the air #my baby #i love spring #springtime

[strangersmunsons]

Eddie, My Love! eddie munson x reader // valentine's day special series Day 1 Prompt: Flowers 💐 ~ 1,000 words Eddie surprises you with a bouquet of flowers.

You sigh as you trudge to the front door, stomping the excess snow off of your boots before entering the house. After a long, cold day, all you really want is to curl up on the couch with a cup of hot tea. 

All your outerwear is stripped off and hung, melted snow dripping little puddles on the hardwood floor. You quickly change into a pair of comfier clothes, seat yourself in the living room, and flick the TV on.

You’ve made it halfway through one episode of mind-numbing television when the front door pushes open again.

Eddie’s here.

You’re still getting used to that. There used to be someone, then for a long time there wasn’t anyone, and then Eddie came into your life, which meant that someone was…here, again.

He looks handsome, as he always does, when he comes in and finds you. He’s all warm, dimpled smile and puppy eyes, and the bit of scruff he neglected to shave off gives you a delightful scratch when he leans down and kisses you hello.

One hand is carrying a crinkly plastic bag, which he holds firmly behind his back, while the other hand softly cups your cheek. 

“Hey,” he says quietly, rubbing his nose lightly against yours.  

“Hi,” you whisper back, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Did you stay warm today?”

“I did. Had my hand warmers and everything,” he reassures you. 

You give him a little squeeze. “Good.”

He kisses your cheek. “By the way, I have something for you,” he says slyly, straightening back up. 

You blink, confused. “Oh?”

He pulls the bag out from behind his back, holding whatever the object is from its bottom. Then he bunches the plastic down around his fist, so you can get a clear look at what’s inside.

Eddie is holding a bouquet of flowers. 

It’s a mix of large and small blooms, ranging in color from white to pale pink to deep maroon. Some are roses, and you guess at the others. You think the small ones might be baby's breath, and the larger ones, dahlias, perhaps? You’re not sure. Whatever they are, they’re beautiful.

You simply stare at the fragrant blossoms, lips slightly parted.

“Sweetheart?” Eddie asks gently. “You good?”

“Yes,” you manage, an awestruck smile slowly unfurling across your face. “Those are for me?”

Eddie laughs kindly. “Of course they are,” he teases. “You see anyone else in here?”

A wave of unexpected emotion washes over you, and a lump rises in your throat. You rub at your temple with a shaky hand, embarrassed by your own intense reaction.

“No one I’ve been with has ever gotten me flowers before,” you admit.

Eddie visibly softens. “Well, I don’t know how that could be, but I’m honored to be the first.” He removes the grocery bag entirely and lets it drift to the floor, handing you the bouquet. “Thought it’d be appropriate for today.”

“Appropriate,” you murmur, sniffing delicately at a silky rose, eyes shining with happiness. “What do you mean?”

“Uhh…have you looked at the calendar today?”

Something in his voice snaps you out of your reverie, and you drag your gaze away from your pretty flowers to his amused expression. 

He cocks his head to the side. “It’s the 14th, baby.”

It takes a second, but it finally dawns on you. Your heart lurches.

“Oh my God,” you mumble. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t even realize —”

Eddie cuts you off with a wave of his hand. “That’s okay. We don’t have to make a big deal out of it. I’ve been meanin’ to get you flowers at some point, anyway.”

His smile tells you that everything is okay. You decide to believe it.

You hold the bouquet delicately, handling it as though it were priceless. Eddie follows you into the kitchen, where you pull your only vase out from its place beneath the sink. You blow a speck of dust off the glass rim, and fill it with water.

Then, after carefully peeling the cellophane away from the bundle, you lay the flowers aside on the counter. 

“You have to cut the stems at an angle, so they absorb the water better,” you explain to Eddie as you rifle around the junk drawer for your kitchen shears.

Eddie watches your ministrations with tender affection. “Oh, yeah? How does that work?”

You pause your movements. “I don’t know, actually,” you confess. “That’s just what my mom taught me.”

You proceed with cutting away the excess stems, and move the flowers into the vase, trying to arrange them exactly as they were when Eddie presented them to you. When they look right, you place them in the center of your kitchen table.

“There.”

Eddie stands back and admires your handiwork. You step in front of him and move in close, so that your middles are nearly touching.

“Thank you, Eddie. They’re really beautiful.”

Your eyes are wide, desperate for him to understand the gravity of the gesture, and how very much it means to you. 

But he knows. He always knows.

He closes the space and pulls you in tight, wrapping his arms around you, so that his hands settle at the small of your back, fingers laced together so as to keep you there forever.

“Do you really like them? ‘Cause when I was at the store, I had a way bigger one at first. It was all huge red and pink flowers. And then a lady in the checkout line told me I should pick a different one, since carnations are apparently tacky.”

You press your face against his chest. “That’s silly. I’d like your carnations too, Eddie.”

“‘They’re filler flowers,’ is what she said.”

You chuckle at his disgruntled tone, and the sound muffled is against his t-shirt. “Nevermind her. And to answer your question, yes, I really like them. I love them.”

Eddie notches a finger under your chin and tilts your head upwards. “I love you,” he tells you for the first time, and presses a sweet kiss to your lips.

thank you for reading!! xoxo Valentine's Day Special Masterlist

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson reader insert #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson comfort #eddie munson x gender neutral reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader

[blueberrypancakesworld]

My Angel - Submissive Coriolanus Snow

warning : o sex (m reciving), no use of Y/n, fem reader

They both knew that the door was locked so that no one could enter the lecture hall. But she knew that his bright eyes kept going back to the large double doors. It was his thoughts that kept him from intimacy.

Her fingers stroked through his light soft hair and he looked back at her. ,,My angel," his girlfriend murmured and pulled him into a deep kiss, feeling his tension melt away as he leaned back in the professor's chair.

The red trousers of his school uniform were off and only the light blue shirt and the pretty red skirt were on his body. He liked the nickname, she knew it flattered him.

Her other hand traveled down his torso, feeling his light muscles under the soft fabric of the shirt before tracing small circles on his thighs. ,,Shall we... really," the blond handsome mumbled, still unsure if it would mean his ejection.

But they both knew that with their money, they could settle anything. Yet it was he who had suggested this little game. His girlfriend just wanted to do him some good after he had learned so much.

Engaging him in another kiss, she signaled to him that this was exactly what she wanted and that it was fine. ,,You deserve it my snowflake," she whispered to him and her hand, which was resting on his thigh, moved to his middle.

She smirked, feeling that he was already slightly hard and the evasive look let her know that he felt the same. ,,Just relax," she murmured and moved down from his lap onto the floor in front of him.

Pushing up the red skirt, she squeezed his hand lightly and told him to hold it lightly in case he wanted to see her.

She knew he liked it when he could see her in all her intimate moments, he wanted to see her lust. While she wanted him to see her angel blossom.

She ran her fingers over the bulge in his underwear a few times and heard the soft sigh as he began to lean back in the chair.

The leather of the chair held him and made him comfortable. ,,That's it," she whispered to him and pulled down his white shorts knowing that when she looked up Snow would have his eyes closed. Putting her hand around his hardened shaft she gave him a few thrusts.

She felt his hips automatically try to match her rhythm. ,,Someone is impatient," she realized with amusement and looked up at him, seeing the rosy cheeks flushed with shame and excitement. Coriolanus looked so pretty, she didn't call him an angel for nothing.

Before she ran her tongue over his length he almost made a surprised noise and his hand tightened on the arm of the chair. She repeated the movement a few times before she slowly began to take his length into her mouth.

She felt his hips move again, the slight choking sound coming from her as she got used to his length too quickly. ,,S-Sorry is...only so good," she heard him mumble as his hand caught tighter in the fabric of the skirt and gripped the backrest. But a small chuckle came over her lips, she loved seeing him like this.

Apologetic pink cheeks and slightly tangled hair. It was beautiful. She ran her hands soothingly over his thighs, leaving light kisses on them that made him whimper.

He's so sensitive, she thought as she took his member back into her mouth, finding a rhythm that didn't make her jaw ache. He relinquished control and she knew he wanted more knew her rhythm was too little.

Which is why shortly after she heard the first whimper, her eyes looked up at him and she felt the tingling in her belly. His cheeks darkened a shade and his eyes tried to focus on one spot as light tears began to form.

She wrapped one hand around his cock while the other remained on his thigh. She could already feel him tensing slightly again, the lust had clouded his mind and the thought of someone discovering her was long forgotten.

She sucked in her cheeks every now and then and he couldn't hold back his moans as they faded into the large room and she continued. ,,Mhh-fucking good," he mumbled, his hips continuing to move, the slightly stifled sounds and his moans echoing in the room.

She tasted the first drops of pleasure on her tongue and knew he was getting closer to orgasm, his muscles tensing and relaxing. She tried to take him a little deeper, running her hand firmly and lightly over his cock.

He drew in his breath as his hand leaned off the chair and into her hair. He guided her lightly as he wanted it, only for her to push it back onto the backrest with her free hand.

She let go of him for a moment, hearing his almost pathetic whimper as she reminded him that she was the one controlling him. His mumbled apology was interrupted by tears and a near yelp as she took him in her mouth again.

She felt the movement of his hips become more erratic, his noises increased and the twitching of his cock. ,,I dear...I please-need to" he begged she knew what he wanted to say she took his length one last time and his throaty moans went through the room.

She tried as best she could to swallow it all and slowly pull away from him. She heard his heavy breathing and his eyes closed, but she couldn't stop herself from smiling. Even now, he was the image of an angel.

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

#ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunger games #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #tbosas #tom blyth

[kairiscorner]

first kisses with them are like . . .

being greeted with the feeling of soft, sunflower petals.

when they kiss you, it feels like the world slows down a little. they had no idea how to fit their lips with your own, they sort of feel like your lips are too beautiful, too sweet for their own to touch; but you want them to interlock their own with yours, anyway—you don't mind how inexperienced or anxious they may be, or how much overthinking they've done—you just want them to know that your lips are theirs to kiss; theirs. they gulp a little, give you a dorky smile that you can't help but chuckle a bit at, and slowly lean in forward, and give you a brief, chaste kiss that sends butterflies in your stomach and a light feeling that sends your heart soaring.

it feels like that kiss could last forever, and you both wished it did; they really downplay themselves a lot, for someone who says they aren't a good kisser, they certainly know how to make you all giddy and giggly after their gentle peck on your lips.

after they pull away, it's like you both start wondering just how magical that frozen moment in time was; it was straight out of a fairy tale, how easily they romanced you with the mere feeling of their lips on yours, with all the love they had for you in that loving kiss that probably didn't even last for a minute, but felt like an eternity that you wished you two could live out forever.

yamaguchi, sugawara, asahi, daichi, yachi, aran, goshiki, aone, lev, ennoshita, alisa.

having the sparks of firecrackers dancing on your lips.

they always seemed so confident, daring, and unafraid of anything—anything, that was, except confronting their feelings about you, because if anyone could get them this restless and enthusiastic, be it in obvious or subtle ways of their own, only you could do that. they had reputations for being a bit hard-headed or too cocky, some of them being a bit chaotic and intimidating at times... but they were very, very passionate lovers at heart—and they really, really wanted to let you know just how much they loved you through this kiss that you let them share with you.

out of excitement, they stole that kiss from you the minute you puckered those sweet little petal-like lips of yours; you hadn't realized it, but they had already placed their lips on yours—and it felt like a flame had kindled in your chest, and your cheeks burned with so much fluster in them.

they kept your lips firmly locked with theirs, telling you without words that you were theirs... and they were yours. they hated sharing, no matter how good their facade could get, that was the one thing they couldn't mask up. as long as you loved them and their kisses, their lips would be the only ones on yours, making your heart burn and your lips sear with so much love—love they could only give to you, and only you, because you're the one for them, the only one their lips, heart, and selves belonged to.

hinata, bokuto, nishinoya, tanaka, terushima, iwaizumi, atsumu, tendou, yaku, oikawa, kuroo.

feeling a cold frosty blanket of snow melt into warm greenery.

if they were being honest... they didn't quite know how to kiss; or rather, they had no clue just how kisses were supposed to feel like. sure, romance and romantic gestures could be read about, heard about, but never truly experienced by them. until you came and changed the flow of their lives. their lips always ached with this fervor, this burning need, that was overshadowed by their cool, composed, sort of aloof, personality. if only they could show more than what you're used to, then you'd know how much they want you, how much their lips yearn to touch with yours.

when you finally let them kiss your lips... a blossoming feeling in their hearts grows, and they feel a blooming passion erupt from them that is released through the soft kiss they plant on your supple lips. they were more enamored with you than you had realized—and it makes you all the more in love with them.

to think that someone so beautiful, so perfect, so out of your league had wanted, so desperately, for this moment to happen is just... phenomenal to you. when you kiss them back, they give a soft whimper—oh, they're soft... both physically, and internally. you can't help but appreciate the vulnerability behind their austere, indifferent gazes; it makes you just want them more, and more, and more, and they're more than willing to give you all of them, always.

kenma, osamu, suna, akaashi, ushijima, kiyoko, kita, tsukishima, semi, sakusa, kageyama.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!! #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x f!reader #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x male reader #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x gn!reader #yamaguchi x reader #sugawara x reader #asahi x reader #daichi x reader #yachi x reader #aran x reader #goshiki x reader #aone x reader #lev x reader #ennoshita x reader #hinata x reader #bokuto x reader #nishinoya x reader #tanaka x reader #terushima x reader #iwaizumi x reader #atsumu x reader #tendou x reader #yaku x reader

[bruciemilf]

Now I’m thinking of Alpha Martha scooping in like “is anybody going to love and cherish that omega” and not waiting for an answer. She uses every Wayne gala to flaunt her Omega and later, pup in Carmine’s face. The only reason she hasn’t killed him yet is that seeing his rage and sad plans to get Thomas back is amusing and if it ever comes down to that Thomas deserves the honors.

Gosh, I’m starting to fall in love with that concept. Just imagine stern browed, lethally beautiful Captain Martha Kane, infamously known for her service in the military.

She reeks of bloodied snow, and sweet pomegranate with a note of petrichor. Of gunpowder, grainy and dark and rich, and of something so alluringly nameless Thomas can’t shake off.

The rumors about her hawk like gaze aren’t just rainwater.

Her look is made of storms and winter and Thomas shivers when he sees her for the first time, walking aimlessly around Gotham’s museum. His mother’s museum.

Carmine’s now, legally.

She stops just besides him, — she’s tiny, for an alpha, and he’s big for an omega, and for a moment, Thomas feels vindicated. So they had anomalies, too. Good. They earned it.

“Beautiful.”

She’s referring to the exhibit they’re admiring together. She has to be. Thomas stays quiet.

“What’s your opinion about it? I’ve visited her hundreds of times and I just can’t understand it. Not correctly, I think.”

He scoffs, but otherwise, the silence continues to expand.

Of course no Alpha understands The Good Omega.

Right above them, exposed almost proudly, imprisoned behind a thin layer of glass with rose gold framing, with delicate ivory marbled in, The Good Omega displays an omega women kneeling by her alpha.

It’s not intricate, or complex in composition. It translates well, and it’s just detailed enough.

Her mouth is sewn shut.

It’s a blood painting.

“She used to be an artist, I believe, “ Martha continues, with just the barest twitch of discomfort in her face, but she doesn’t allow her attention to shift. “I thought maybe you’d have a better perspective about it.”

“I’m not allowed to speak to you. As you well know.”

She pauses for a bit. “I apologize. You have no collar on. Your alpha didn’t pick one yet?”

He hums. “He can collar me when I’m in the ground.”

Oddly enough, that answer satisfies her. Pomegranate blossoms on his tongue.

“It’s freedom,” he continues, not really caring about customs. He already defies them daily. “It means freedom.”

Martha listens, but she huffs, half confused, half incredulous. “That doesn’t look like freedom to me. “

“That’s because you’re used to it,” He grits, turning his own gaze on her. He’s been told he smells horrible when he’s angry. He hopes this tiny, beautiful alpha chokes on it.

“Suffering is the only freedom omegas have. It forces you to look, to awknolege. There’s no exits The freedom of existing, that’s all we got.” He scoffs, not even noticing she’s clingy to every little sound.

“ Enjoy it while you can. Its going in the junkyard next week.”

“The junkyard?” She echoes, almost offended by the idea, but the casual insult. “Who’d throw away something like this, omega? It’s too valuable. “

Omega.

Thomas wants to purr and he rages, almost.

His smile is nasty, and full of teeth, and he’s grown to love how alphas cringe at the sight of it. Not this one, thought. This little beast stares at it like it’s living art.

“The same people you fight for. Thank you for your service, alpha.”

Thomas turns, not bothering to bow, excuse himself, or make a respectful exit. One good thing about being a rich omega is that he follows no rules his alpha doesn’t specify.

Nowhere did Carmine say he wasn’t allowed to ditch gorgeous alphas.

—

“You’re back rather early, Madame,” Alfred greets her with a kiss on one of her brow, soft as anything, his like tea, blueberry and dark chocolate scent hugging her deeply.

He takes a whiff of her, frowns, both in intrigue and concern. “…Why do you smell like unhappy omega?”

“Alfred,” She says, “I want to retire. Would you be a darling and contact my lawyer?”

“Oh, thank heavens. Anything else?”

Martha’s gaze bleeds blue, her thighs buzzing with the sneer of Thomas’ anger still, “Can you ask him if I can legally kidnap a taken omega?”

#IDK HOW THIS TURNED INTO A FULL FICLET BUT ENJOY ^^^^ #dc comics #writing #pennywaynes #thomas wayne #martha wayne #alfred pennyworth #a/b/o dynamics #batman #dc #my writing #text #text post #gilded sparrows au

[mizuseyebrows]

I'm... a monster —mizu x reader

warnings: not proofread. fluff. she/her pronouns for mizu. slight angst. insecurities.

includes: sweet and compasionate reader. 'weak' and vulnerable mizu. word count: 2.2k (the shortest i've written so far, make a wish)

summary: you two were playing roll around, you kissed and mizu felt insecure when you called her 'pretty'... and you gave mizu her first hug ever 😭

a/n: i love writing vulnerable mizu... someone give her a hug

You've been traveling for a while with Mizu. Although at first she refused, as the days went by you showed her your skill with archery. Now when she had to defend herself from those who stood in her way, you could defend her back with your bow and arrow.

This has led to develop your relationship and become closer the more time you spent together. Maybe one night, resting in an eater, you went a little too far with the sake and let out a loving and clingy side that Mizu didn't fully know. And maybe, you stole a kiss from her that night that caught her off guard, she didn't know how to react… for almost a week.

But against all odds, that led you to have a certain joking and mischievous attitude towards each other. On more than one occasion, you both stole some kisses to see which of the two of you would be more flustered. It was all very innocent and playful, and that seemed to allow Mizu to let go a lot more.

However, you could still see that there were things that Mizu avoided telling or confessing. You assumed there could be a turbulent past, it was something you suspected due to certain comments that reflected her poor perception of herself. You wanted to help but how do you do that if she wasn't ready to talk about it yet?

Still, not being very clear about what happened in her life before you —not including the reason why she is on a journey of revenge— did not prevent you from seeing what was hidden beneath that cold and ‘impenetrable’ mask.

Under that layer of snow, there was a warm girl with a softer tone of voice who usually laughs at your flirtatious and affectionate comments. Sometimes she didn't even know how to respond to you, her mind seemed to freeze the second she tried to flirt with you back.

But it was adorable, she is adorable.

Mizu’s so adorable when she laughs as you two roll around playing some wrestling near the campfire. She’s so adorable when she grasps your wrists to settled them both sides of your head. She’s fucking adorable when she pins you against the floor and you can feel her pants brushing above your nose and mouth.

And, oh… She’s way more adorable que she gives you a little smile while her blue eyes looking over your features breathlessly as her chest heaves up and down.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" You asked with a giggle. Your face slowly took on the color of the cherry blossoms as those sapphire orbs scanned you intensely.

"I'm... thinking." Mizu mumbled as her cheeks flushed pink too, her lips parting in a slight smile.

But she kept quiet after that, as if she didn't know what else to say. She didn't move, looking down at you with a soft expression. She remained like this for a few seconds before she broke the silence, leaning in a bit closer.

"May I... have a kiss?" She whispered as she looked up at you, her eyes darting down to your lips and back up to your eyes. There was something hidden in her gaze, almost like a hint of insecurity or fear.

The hairs on your body stood up as you heard the tone she used and how soft her question sounded. Also those hidden feelings had made your limbs tense a little, "…a kiss?"

"Yes," She breathed, leaning closer to you. "Please." Her voice was breathless, her eyes closing as she inched towards you. Her blue eyes looked right through you as her breath tickled your nose with a small smile. She paused, waiting for you to make the first move.

Your heart raced as you couldn't focus on Mizu's face very well due to the proximity between the two of you. Her eyes closed so gently, creating a pair of crescents that made an excited scream want to escape from your throat.

You shortened the distance, initiating a shy and soft kiss. Your lips pressed against each other, their warmth clashing together. Her mouth softly opened up now sharing a passionate kiss with you. Although your breathings were getting heavier, there really was no ulterior motive in this display of affection. Not even because Mizu pressed herself more against you as the kiss continued.

When she broke the kiss she looked away from you— her cheeks flushed pink as they glowed a dark red in the dim light and her eyes darting away from yours. Now her expression seemed conflicted: she frowned and pouted while it seemed like she was thinking about something. Her breathing was still heavy but you didn't think it was because of the kiss. With concern, you raised your hands to caress her cheeks, seeking to distract her or take her back from wherever her mind was on her.

Mizu remained still as you caressed her cheeks, her heart beating faster with each touch you gave her, but she turned her face to look at you again. Her eyes were snapping back to yours as you could see deep into her blue eyes. There was a certain weakness in her gaze, however, she gave you a relieved smile, enjoying this moment. She felt a strange sense of calmness wash over her... as if she finally found the light to help see through the dark.

"You look so pretty." You said without thinking much, admiring her.

"I'm not pretty. I'm far from pretty." Her voice sounded a little raspy despite how calm she looked.

"No, don't say that. You're very beautiful, Mizu. Seriously." You smiled warmly, unable to stop looking at her face.

"That's a lie." Mizu muttered, turning away from you. She looked at the ground. "I'm not beautiful. I'm just a scarred, vengeful assassin whose lost all sense of beauty. I'm... a monster."

You blinked in disbelief at what you heard. Those words were too harsh to describe a person, you couldn't believe what you heard. You wanted to ask who dared to make Mizu think that about herself. You wanted to have all the details about why she has that concept about her. But you didn't want to disrupt the moment, you didn't want to make her feel worse. So you just cupped her face lovingly and made her look at you again, rubbing your thumbs in circles.

"Whoever made you feel those ugly things about yourself is the real monster. And as a child I wanted to be a monster slayer. I'm gonna kill that monster."

You could see Mizu's eyes widen slightly, her breathing suddenly stopping briefly as she looked right at you. "I... you..." She mumbled, her face heating up as tears quickly welled up in her eyes.

"What's wrong?" You asked in a soft tone, wiping her tears.

Mizu was still silent as her breath hitched in her throat. Your affection was making her... emotionally vulnerable. She hated that. She couldn't let you see that weakness of hers. "Nothing, it's nothing. Just forget about it." She mumbled as she separated from you to sit a little away and turn her back to you, wiping the tears from her eyes.

"Mizu?" You sat on the floor watching her, concerned about her reaction. You gently caressed her shoulder, wanting to comfort her.

Mizu's hands clenched into fists to keep herself from bursting out in tears as she sniffed back. She didn't like the way you were so caring and worried about her... because she liked it. "I'm fine... really. Just... don't mind me."

"How do you ask me that? You're crying, I can't get past that." You moved a little closer to her, stroking her arm. "What's wrong? Tell me."

Mizu shuddered when you got closer to her... she wanted to push you away with all her strength but she couldn't. She couldn't break the warmth that she felt when you caressed her arm. She hated feeling weak. She had the feeling that you probably thought she was pathetic for crying in front of you like this. "I-I'm fi... it's just that... no one's ever... He—"

Mizu's cheeks flushed red as she looked down at her lap, trying her hardest not to look at you while still being next to you. She felt like she had lost all sense of self-control, and she hated every instance of it. She wanted to push you away from her, to stop the feelings of warmth that were washing over her body, but she couldn't. Her arms hung loosely, her hands starting to tremble slightly.

"Do you feel overwhelmed? Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?" You stayed at her side, you wanted to hug her but you wouldn't do any of that if it was too much for her.

Mizu remained quiet for a few moments, her breathing shaky and her cheeks flushed a dark, deep red. It took her a while but she finally found her voice again, her eyes still unable to look at you. "I just need a minute more... then I'll be fine." Mizu mumbled softly, breathing quietly. She hated showing this kind of weakness especially in front of you. She didn’t want you to think she was a weak and vulnerable girl.

"Take all the time you need." You smiled lovingly but you didn't move, you would accompany her until she felt better and that stupid that she was a monster faded away from her mind.

Mizu closed her eyes as she leaned her head back against your chest, breathing slowly. You could feel her chest rise and fall against you, trying to compose herself. She didn't know why she was revealing such a vulnerable side of herself right now but she felt so tired... as if she wasn't going to be able to hold on any longer. She needed you at this moment without even realizing how much she actually depended on you.

You caressed her back gently. You wanted her to understand that you were there for her, that she wasn’t alone and that she will never be alone when she needs it most. You didn't say anything else either, you felt like talking right now wasn't going to do much for her. Maybe in silence you will provide her with the answers she needs.

A small smile crept over her lips when she realized how safe she felt with you. You gave her a sense of calmness just by being next to her, your touch and breath giving off an aura of warmth. The warm sensation that was radiating from you made her heart beat faster than before, her cheeks flushing a bright pink. Your touch did something to her... something she didn't quite understand. It was like everything around her felt so quiet and still...

"Do you want a hug?" You asked her in a soft and calm tone. "Would that make you feel better?"

Just by hearing you ask this question made her heart skip a beat. A hug... that was all she had been wanting. The way you were caressing her back made her want to lean into you more, her body practically begging to be held. "Please..." She mumbled as her hand slowly reached for yours.

You smiled softly and approached her to put your arms around her body, wrapping them around her torso. You clinged her to you with some force. Then you raised one of your hands to rest it on the back of her neck, making her head rest in the crook of your shoulder.

Her breath hitched as she buried her face into your neck, her shoulders shaking slightly as she held onto you for dear life. She had wanted this— needed this for such a long time but could only admit it to herself now. Your warm body embracing her made her feel safe. She felt so vulnerable and weak. She felt like she could cry right now.

Again you were just silent and hugged her body lovingly, tightly. You leaned your head against hers, smiling at what you were doing. It was not only hugging Mizu's body, it was also hugging her soul with yours, wanting to convey to her that she was loved and appreciated.

She felt safe with you— a sense of calmness that swept through her in your embrace made her feel at ease. This was the type of feeling she had been yearning for, craving, a feeling of comfort.

"How do you feel, Mizu?" You asked in a whisper, stroking her back slowly and gently.

Mizu's body tensed up at your question, her breath suddenly becoming shaky. "I... feel..." Mizu mumbled as she bit down on her lip momentarily, trying to figure out what she was feeling right now.

"Don't put pressure on yourself." You tried to lull her and held her tighter to you, clinging to her a little.

Your comforting touch was all she needed right now. The way you were holding her tighter to you had her heart beating fast. She was surprised that you were so affectionate and comforting, and it was doing something to her. Her breath hitched in her throat once again as you held here tightly to yourself, your touch giving her a sense of happiness that she thought she would never felt in her life again. It was as if she had been drowning for so long and your hug was a glimmer of hope which she was finally grasping right now.

second part

#mizu #mizu x reader #mizu x you #mizu blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai #mizu bes #bes mizu #blue eye samurai mizu #bes

[kaeichi]

love is in the air.

. . . and maybe that's why mikage reo can view the world with such clouded, pink-hued vision, and why nagi seishiro cannot breathe at all.

series. nagi + reader + reo. no gendered terms, but some implications of m! reader. reader likes boys. bestfriend! nagi. valentines/white day. highschool setting. swearing. humor. fluff & angst.

a/n. repost bc it wasnt showing up in tags T-T i js want a shoujo anime w these two as the MLs...

prev ┊ next ┊ 01 … 02 … 03

⊹ 01 : my dear partner [wc: 4.7k]

TWO YEARS AGO

“…dude. you're scaring all the hoes away.” 

nagi watches your lips move, though he barely registers anything you've been saying since he has stopped listening a while ago—which, honestly, comes as no surprise to anyone.

there’s no real reason to be so lethargic at this hour (it's already late noon, plus he surprisingly had a decent amount of sleep the previous night for once), nor the time to think about trivial things, but he can’t help but think about how exactly every single thing stopped being so bothersome like it used to.

he can't quite pinpoint what brought on this gradual change, but if he had to, then it’d probably be three springs ago—when he’d wake up a little earlier than usual to the gentle kiss of the sun through his window and the cherry blossoms were in perfect bloom. around that time is when he’d received his quiet companion choki, he’d finally scored top 1 in the leaderboards after months and months of grinding in his favorite mobile game, and… when you’d first sat next to him in middle school.

for as long as he remembers, you were simply just there. an unexpected oddity that has not only forced its way through, but has also wedged firmly into every aspect in his life. and somehow, he’d concluded that maybe some things weren't so bad—that some things weren't such a hassle to him after all.

“move, idiot. at this point you might as well hold my hand.” the snow-haired male barely hears your voice over his wandering thoughts, stumbling from the light shove you give him. he has now become acutely aware of your swinging hand, wary of the close proximity and the faint buzz of static that lingers on his skin. huh. maybe it is better to move away.

still, he’d rather not reposition himself. it’s too much work, he’d like to reason, and it's certainly not because of anything else… maybe. he doesn't really know for sure. what he does know though, is that the space beside him suddenly feels strangely empty. 

when he looks at you to see a pout forming on your lips, he can't help but sigh. you're being unreasonable. there's something that's been nagging his curiosity for a while now, and it took him quite a bit to realize what it is.

“seishirooo,” you whined one day, allowing your head to sink against his mattress, taking up nearly the whole space while nagi sits at the corner of the bed. you came over to his place that day to bother him, stating that you needed some comfort because apparently, “no one ever looks at me. i feel so damn invisible.” he shrugged and offered you his controller, challenging you to a 1v1 with him as a distraction.

“…but i look at you all the time?” he replied.

“yeah, but that's different.” and he would've asked you to elaborate more, if not for the fact that you've been horribly vague about it when he does ask, and the perpetually sleepy gamer only has so much patience before he gives up and decides it's something not worth spending his energy on.

besides, you're always emotional like that. this was probably just another one of your fleeting phases.

it's not until he notices you've been longingly gazing at the couples on the campus, quietly seething under your breath that it finally clicks. now, he may not have the greatest understanding when it comes to feelings and all its complexities, but even he can tell you’re reeking with jealousy.

despite being pushed off only seconds ago, nagi shuffles closer again as he falls into step beside you. even if sparks prick his skin, it feels right in this way. “dunno why you ‘need’ hoes when you already have me.”

“just because i'm into guys doesn’t mean that i like you in that way,” you mutter, sending him an odd glance like you thought there’s something wrong with his head for even suggesting that. not knowing how to respond, he settles for staring right back without a word. 

“what's with that look? you know what i mean, seishiro.” you continue, averting your gaze from him. what look? he asks internally. “it's just, well, literally everyone is getting into relationships. and i know we're still first years, but… it just feels like i’m missing out, y’know? 

“do you really? sounds like a hassle to me,” he shrugs, and it truly does—he never saw the appeal of dumb crushes, of drama nearly every day, of possible unrequited “love,” or of wasting half your time and energy on someone just for it to not mean anything at all in the end. video games sound way more fun, and way less heartbreak inducing.

“you can't say that when you haven’t even experienced it,” you argue, still pouting.

“it’s overrated anyways. being single is better.”

“hah! of course you’d say that, you virgin.” 

“you’re one to talk,” nagi boredly quips. “i’m celibate purely by choice, but you on the other hand… if you really think about it, you're basically an incel.”

nearly choking on your spit, you exclaim, “hah?!”

“you don't even really talk to other guys except for me, and on top of that, you're barely approached by anybody,” he explains in a matter-of-fact tone, oblivious to the way his best friend’s confidence waning rapidly by the second the more he speaks.

“yeah? and who’s fault is it, you cockblocker!” 

nagi simply sticks a tongue out as you flip him off.

right after that, the two of you ended up breaking into a sprint as you heard the clicking sound of heels walking on the tiles around the corner, not wanting to get caught for skipping classes. well, you ran, and just dragged him by the wrist. he felt the warmth of your fingers even through the thick barrier of his baggy sleeve.

PRESENT

you try not to trip and fall face first as a cold hand guides you through the crowded hallway.

it's embarrassing enough as it is to be rushing through the middle of the corridor and pushing past the bodies of random students like you're a main character or some sort, but even more so when the (apparently) most popular guy of the campus that you’ve (never) seen is walking right in front of you.

and it gets even more humiliating when said popular guy has taken hostage of your wrist, leading you away to a more secluded area. shocked, harsh whispers echo throughout nearly the whole floor, and multiple eyes shoot daggers at the fingers wrapped around the sleeve of your uniform, and you’ve never wanted to bury yourself alive more than this moment.

after rounding a corner into a miraculously empty hallway, you finally skid to a stop, yanking your hand away, ready to pounce at the culprit who made you go through all that unnecessary attention. however, before you can get a word in, the refined male bows his head low in front of you, and you find yourself face-to-face with sleek purple locks.

“i’m sorry, but i have no time for dating. i’m really flattered, though. i hope we can stay friends still.” he hurriedly says, hope gleaming in his matching purple eyes.

…what. 

who is he again? and why is he rejecting you?

for some reason, you find the stranger’s gaze too bright that you have to look away; so you do exactly that, tilting your chin downwards instead and letting your hair mask your expression.

after a few beats of silence, he clears his throat. “i'm really sorry, it hurts me to see you look so down… i’m sure we can put this behind us and—”

“nice shoes,” you interrupt, still not raising your head to meet his now confused stare. “i can tell you really love wearing them, judging by the busted, worn out stitches. hey, is it just me or is that prada logo kinda wonky too?”

the male's jaw drops down nearly all the way to the floor.

“pardon me?” he says through gritted teeth, keeping his composure by flashing his usual award-winning smile, albeit a lot more stiffer. “i know i just rejected you, but you don't have to be so hostile…” 

when you finally raise your head, your expression can only be described as terribly and solemnly unamused, unimpressed beyond words.

then, you suddenly lean closer, peering closely into his violet irises with thoughtful hum. an unwilling flush of red creeps on the tips of the boy’s ears, his eyes widening comically at the sudden intrusion of space. “you’ll do,” nodding to yourself, you now grab his wrist and pull him away. “come.”

“w-wait, huh? where are we go—” 

“you're the one who made me late. let's go!”

reo isn't quite sure why he's the one being dragged away now.

he has only initially planned to gently turn down the person who last confessed to him, whose family just so happened to be related to his father’s business partners—but now he somehow finds himself on a whole date with that person? (the same one who brazenly insulted him by implying his shoes are fake, by the way!)

“i have other plans today, you know…” the heir says, subtly trying to inch away from you.

you tug him back by his sleeve, with twice as much force than he had used on you earlier. “i can imagine, my dear partner.”

“w-what?” reo stutters, and he's cringes at himself for how he's acting at the moment. the usually composed and charming mikage reo, now reduced to a stuttering and blushing mess? how embarrassing.

“normally my best friend would do this with me, but he slept in today.” leave it to seishiro to leave me all alone on the day that actually matters, you irritatedly mutter under your breath. “well, whatever. come on.”

as you and him enter the packed bubble tea shop, the fingers that were wrapped around his sleeve slides down to interlace with reo’s own clammy ones. he realizes this a second too late, and before he has the chance to let go, the clerk by the entrance greets them with an enthusiastic “welcome, lovebirds!”

“huh?!” reo’s jaw slackens, dumbfounded. he’s really starting to hate himself now—it's unbecoming of him, really, but it's hard to process everything when you're so close to him that the scent of your shampoo keeps invading his senses and subsequently messing with his head.

“here’s your special tickets for today. thank you for participating, and happy valentines!” you drag him straight to the back, where the colorful claw machines are set up. reo catches a glimpse of the pink posters set up on the walls of the quaint shop, which reads: couples get free special tickets! today only! …ah. that's why he's here.

“aoi-san… you're gripping too tight,” he says, gritting his teeth together into a forced smile. 

“aoi?” you repeat, your grip finally loosening until you let go entirely. “huh… i see. by the way, what's your name again?”

needless to say, the purple-haired male is beyond perplexed. “is this your unique attempt at a joke or something?”

“come on, rich boy. we've held hands and i don’t even know your name!” 

“right… which i totally wasn't being forced to do…” he lets out an awkward laugh. sure, some admirers of his tend to get a tad excessive, but they were never able to get far with him, much less forcibly drag him out on a date—and it's not even because they want him to spend his unlimited budget on them and spoil them rotten, but just so they can get… a free special ticket for a claw machine. how did he end up getting in this bizarre situation? more importantly, how does he get out?

you simply shrug. “your fault, rich boy. you should try thinking about anyone other than yourself for once.”

“excuse me?” he narrows his eyes, slightly peeved. he's had enough of your rude attitude; potential business partner or not, he hopes that he never has to interact with you again in the future. “stop calling me that. i have a name, and it's mikage reo.”

the way your eyes widen doesn't go unnoticed by him. “and what did you even mean by that?” he presses defensively.

you plop down on the seat, with reo mirroring you as you insert the rouge ticket decorated with pink hearts into the slot of the claw machine. “well, mikage reo. i’m sure you're aware how aoi’s family is important, right?”

yeah, this person is definitely a weirdo, reo muses. who refers to themselves in third person?

“i heard they had connections everywhere… just like you. it's crucial to maintain a good relationship with someone like that, right?” you conclude—that would explain why reo had taken the time to personally talk to “aoi” one-on-one instead of just flat out rejecting them on the spot.

reo tilts his head to the side. “i’m not following…?”

“mikage.” you emphasize, looking at him straight in the eye before turning your attention back to playing. “i’m saying that the poor kid’s still waiting for an answer. your heartfelt and sincere rejection, to be exact.”

a few seconds of silence pass. well, as silent as it can be with the loud chattering of the crowd and the mechanical whirrs of the claw machine you're currently messing with resounding in the air.

“you mean, you're not…” reo trails off, all color draining from his face. “i’m so, so sorr—”

“aoi’s the one you should apologize to, not me. oh, i got a double! how lucky.” you eagerly grab the prize, the limited edition valentine’s merch exclusive to this boba shop; a plushie collectible that comes with a redeemable code for your favorite video game. you want to collect all of them, but you’re broke as hell and you’re only here due to the free ticket. turning to reo, you shove the second plushie to his chest. “here, this is for you. since you did help me out with getting these.”

“ah, thank you…” reo absentmindedly accepts the small toy, still reeling on how he could make such a careless mistake. “listen, i do apologize—”

“i wonder how'd you even mix us up. is it ‘cause we have the same hair color?” you ask, slightly amused because aside from that, you and aoi look nothing alike. your fingers tap on the surface of the control panel, observing reo’s shame-stricken visage. “or maybe… is it because everyone just looks the same to you?”

at that moment, mikage reo realizes two things: (1) maybe he's more transparent and vulnerable than he thinks, and (2) you're dangerous, and it's better to stay far, far away from you. how could you see right through him so quickly? what if that's something you'll use against him?

he doesn't like to admit it, but it's true—in his perspective, everyone's the same. they're just after him for money and status, and at some point, they've all just become faceless, superficial pawns vying for his attention.

and of course, you’re no exemption.

noticing he’s gone quiet, you continue, “but i guess if my world was as vast as yours, i couldn't possibly keep up with everything either, so i get it. i’m not saying i’m in the same situation as you, but i can kind of relate, i guess. i only keep the ones who's important to me close, and the rest just exist and do whatever. i’m selective, but in that way, at least i can give my all to the ones that really matter.”

reo closes his mouth shut. here you are casually saying that you don't matter to him, and while that isn't a lie in the slightest, he still can't help but feel guilty. maybe it's just the people-pleaser in him, or maybe it’s the way the corners of your lips are slightly quirked up and to form a miniscule, accepting smile, but he wants to reassure you, “still, i’m sure you feel that—”

“i don’t.” you don't mind that he didn't know you, because you didn't even know him either—there’s no reason for you to take it personal. you’d be a hypocrite otherwise. “i really don’t.”

you smile at him. he thinks it's out of understanding, but unbeknownst to him you're actually just entertained by how his inner turmoil is so clearly reflected on his expression. “so don’t worry about it. plus, we’re even now.” you add, gesturing towards the prize.

hopping off the stool, you wave at him as you start to walk away. “...happy valentines. i'll see you around, mikage. maybe. er, probably not.”

“wait!” he hurriedly jumps off the stool as well, clutching the plushie in his hand as he follows after you. “i… let me drive you home.” the words stumble out before he even realizes what he's saying. you're probably just using him, and you're dangerous, and you see right through him, and he should stop wasting his time because his actual valentine's date is probably three seconds away from storming out the restaurant he's booked at—

so why is he doing this?

“drive?” you repeat, because of course he’d have a driver. damn rich people, you think internally. “nuh uh. it's like a ten minute walk, and i’d rather save the environment.”

“then i’ll walk with you.”

“you do realize i’m done dragging you for the day, right?” you quirk a brow up, amused; you could've sworn he was itching to get the hell away half an hour ago. “you're free. you can go home if you want.”

reo smiles, a more genial one this time. “i know.”

“so, you into popular guys now?” 

“hell no.”

nagi narrows his eyes at you. “you’re just into reo, then?” 

while you expected to be grilled first thing in the morning by random people about your apparent relationship with mikage reo (to which you simply replied, “i don’t know who that is, sorry,” and proceeded to run away), you didn't expect to be interrogated by your apathetic best friend as well. 

usually, nagi prefers to be completely silent during the 1st period (and actually all the way through lunch), not bothering to utter more than a few words, but today, he seems uncharacteristically on edge, waiting for you at the corner of the gym with a wrinkle between his brows.

“why are you on a first name basis with him?”

“everyone calls him reo.” he shrugs. “why him?”

“i never said i was into him.”

“then what's all that partner thing about?” he asks, which confuses you a bit. you doubt that reo would go around announcing to everyone how you teasingly called him ‘partner’ and practically dragged him to a date against his will, but it's not like him and nagi are close either, so you wonder where nagi has heard this information from. then, you suddenly recall back to yesterday, where you saw the curtain of your neighbor’s bedroom window swinging side-to-side, as if it was drawn close a mere second before you looked up. 

it seems that your mind wasn't playing tricks with you after all, and that a certain someone was eavesdropping on your conversation with reo as he walked you to your door.

“fake partners, you mean? and it was a just a joke—i met him that day.”

“that day? why are you acting so close if you've just met that day?”

“you're awfully talkative today, seishiro.” 

“i know. it's making me exhausted, and it's all your fault.” he then presses his weight against you, leaning his forehead on your shoulder—as he always does when he's tired and you're within reach. your eyes widen immediately, darting around the gymnasium to see if any of your classmates has noticed.

you don't want people to get the wrong idea about you two. it's not because it kills your chances with anyone due to the assumption that you aren't single (which you still very much are, by the way), or even because of potential issues of being a two-timer due to a certain rich boy—it's just that whenever you get asked if you and your best friend are together, you can't help but flinch from the idea, like ice is being poured inside the back of your shirt. you don’t really know what to call it, but you do know that you've answered the question a hundred times and you're positively sick of it.

“i told you to stop doing this in public,” you hiss, trying to push the giant, clingy sloth off you. “and stop whining, nagi. i’m not going anywhere. besides, i’m not even looking for a relationship or anything like that. not after… you know, what happened during our first year.”

he lifts his head up, frowning at you. “don’t call me nagi. just ‘cause you met a new guy doesn't mean you get to call me nagi.” 

you raise an unimpressed brow. what’s his problem? “only if you stop whining.” 

“…‘m not.” he slurs his words together, only proving your point.

“yes you are!”

“why do you have to be so annoying? you're such a pain,” he sighs, now walking away from you.

“i'm the annoying one?! and don't call me a pain, you—!” without hesitation, you promptly snatch a red ball from the steel ball cart beside you before swinging your arm at him, slamming the dodgeball right to his head. well, you tried to, at least; even with his back facing towards you, nagi only takes one step to the side to avoid it.

“your shitty aim sucks balls,” the tall male comments unenthusiastically, his white fringe falling over his eyes as he gazes at you over his shoulder. his nonchalance only spurs you on, now hauling multiple dodgeballs at him.

“how about you suck my ba—”

“give it up already. you're never gonna hit me.” and nagi actually has the audacity to yawn mid-dodge. of course, it only fuels your irritation even more. you eventually run out of balls to throw, so you mindlessly grab the nearest object to your right and chuck that as well.

…which unfortunately, happens to be nagi’s phone that he's snuck inside the gym, peeking under a face towel on the bench.

“oh, fu—” 

because of your (rightfully) so-called shitty aim, it swung way up high to the left, a few steps away from nagi. in less than a second, he realizes what you have flung at him, and his body moves instinctively; he throws himself towards it, swinging his leg upward and trapping it with his foot with perfect ease before it has the chance to plummet down on the floor.

“why are you making me move so much…” he sighs. “what a pain.” 

“you’re supposed to move anyways, we're in PE. you're welcome,” you smugly reason out. and then not even a second later you fold, shoulders curling inwards as you glance toward his phone; if it weren't for his godly reflexes, you would've broken it. with a small voice, you meekly add, “sorry.”

nagi shrugs in response.

when he saunters over to place his phone on the bench again, a silver glint catches your eye. a small charm swings lightly, small beads of white and black strung haphazardly together attached to the side of his phone case.

“wait, this is…” a phone charm crafted by hand, which is your birthday present for him four years ago. “i didnt know you still had that.”

“why wouldn't i?”

“where was it this whole time? this wasn't here a few days ago.”

“i just kept it in my drawer ‘cause i don’t wanna lose it.”

tilting your head to the side, you ask, “so why'd you suddenly decide to attach it to your phone now?”

he looks away, scratching the back of his neck. “…dunno.” 

eyes dropping into slits, you mutter, “you know, that kinda sounds sus—”

“hey! that was amazing! nagi, right? you should play soccer with me!”

nagi and yourself both turn to the direction of the sudden voice, seeing a familiar figure running towards you, vivid purple eyes gleaming under the gymnasium’s stark white lights.

“mikage?” you exclaim.

ever so slightly, nagi sharpens his usual droopy eyes. “nah.” he immediately says, turning on his heel.

“seishiro? wait, weren't you supposed to be looking for a club?”

“don’t really care.” you follow him, lightly jogging to keep up. as soon as you catch up by his side, the taller male glances at you as he asks, “will you join too?”

is he seriously asking you that… “no?”

“then i won't.” nagi concludes as he continues to walk away from reo.

“hey, wait up!” reo calls out, placing a hand on your shoulder. “ah, i was completely shut down… say, will you help me convince him?”

your brows shoot up as your gaze flicks down where he's casually touching you. after your initial confusion of who he is yesterday, you then recognize him after learning his name—the most popular boy in school, known for his good looks, charisma, and most especially, his wealth. he gets along well with literally everyone, and acts genuinely close with them even if they aren't.

“uh, why should i?”

“remember that limited edition merch you like? i can get you the rest of the collection. in fact, i’ll even buy out the whole place just for you.”

“wha– seriously?” you feel your eye twitch. damn rich people. “it was limited edition. they all ran out of stock already.”

“i have my ways.” well, that's not shady at all. he flashes a grin at your skepticism, winking at you, “anything for my partner.”

and you now understand why he's earned his title. this is probably how he always gets what he wants—with a smile like that, anyone would drop to their knees and do whatever he’d ask. two years ago, you would've keeled over for attention like this, but now, you're nothing but indifferent.

he places his hands on both of your shoulders now, completely stopping you from taking off. wide violet eyes scrutinize your own, making you scrunch your nose at the close proximity. “shouldn't you be begging him and not me?”

“yeah, but...” reo swears he feels an air of animosity radiating from the white-haired male, and that's why he has decided to turn you instead. “you wouldn't leave your partner hanging, right? as partners, we help each other out, riiiight?” he says, dragging his words out.

you lean as far as you physically can from his grip, but he doesn't seem to care, excitedly looking at you with stars evident in his eyes. “mikage, you—” he smiles at you, bright and blinding, and you find yourself withering under his intense gaze. “okay, fine, just—”

“well, that's settled then! they’re joining the club too, nagi seishiro. they can be our manager.” you briefly wonder why he didn't outright offer to have you join the team, but he probably saw how you threw the dodgeballs earlier… though it's not like you have to use your hands in soccer, so what the hell, this is kind of insulting.

“says who, mikage?”

“you're gonna come watch all our games?” he negotiates.

“why don’t you offer that i join the team?”

“ahahaha. haha. hah.” he laughs awkwardly, swinging an arm around your shoulder and ultimately evading your question.

because you were too busy trying to shrug him off, you miss the way nagi’s eyes zero on to reo’s arm around you, wordlessly observing the whole interaction with his lips pressed taut.

you still don’t know why reo hasn't moved away; he's so close that you can see the dark amethyst specks in his irises, the long strands that frame his face are lightly tickling your cheek, and if you lean in even just an inch, you can practically—

“you said anything i want, right?” your voice drops to a low whisper, and reo nods slowly, still seemingly oblivious to the lack of space between you.

“then... what if i said i wanted a kiss?”

reo’s smile drops immediately, recoiling away from you as if you've slapped him, his whole entire face heating up all the way to the tips of his ears. finally out of his grasp, you erupt into boisterous laughter, shaking your head as you leave the flustered boy alone and catching up to nagi.

likes/reblogs/feedback appreciated ♡

#blue lock x reader #nagi seishiro x reader #mikage reo x reader #reo mikage x reader #bllk x reader #bllk x you

[littlerequiem]

— wings of snow, wings of freedom ˚⁎⁺ levi ackerman x gn!reader

You teach Levi how to make snow angels. Turns out warm things can blossom in winter, too.

content — Levi’s POV, Snow & Winter, Fluff, Soft!Levi, Blushing, Kisses, Established Relationship, Mentions of Isabel and Furlan, Grief (wc: 1.4k) Please note that those living above the Underground are referred to as “upsiders”.

Crossposted on AO3.

Winters are a drag. Endless days of white, filled with the kind of cold that bites, and not nearly enough distractions to occupy restless minds. 

Levi hates winter. He hates the cold. 

He doesn’t know if it’s the fact that he grew up lacking sun or that he is, as doctors like to say, too scrawny—but he’s always fucking cold. This is his third year above ground, and he’s still not used to the changing weather. 

But you... you love winter. You get damn excited when the season comes.

There’s the first snowfall that gets you grinning like a cute goofball. There’s the first snowman you always build with Hange (this year, you made them look like titans—a pair of weirdos, the two of you are). There’s the hot drinks you always make on the first winter day, delivered to all Scout soldiers.

You love winter. 

This year is no exception.

“What's all of this?” Levi asks, face impassive as he stares at the strange sight that awaits him.

You, all joyful-looking, are laying in one of the empty training fields. A blanket of snow covers the landscape in broad daylight, painting the world in white. Snowflakes sprinkle down, and you try to catch them with your tongue, warm breath puffing out a veil that resembles gossamer.

How careless. What are you thinking, laying in the snow like this? You're going to catch a cold.

Yes, you're sporting a warm coat, and yes, you're wearing the green mittens Levi knitted for you (green is your best color, no doubt about it), but it's still fucking winter. This isn't the time to get sick.

But, as always, you pay his skeptical gaze no mind; you’re too busy moving your arms in up-and-down motion, ploughing through snow.

“I'm making snow angels,” you explain at last, voice dulcet like a winter melody. Curious eyes find him. “Have you ever made one before?"

A draft of wind stings Levi's face. He shivers.

"No."

This fact seems to peek your interest.

"Oh," you say, "then you must try it! Why don't you lay down and follow my lead?”

“No, thanks.”

Levi has no intention of getting his ass all wet. He's cold just looking at you.

And anyway, what is it with upsiders and their strange habits? He doesn't know a single person living in the Underground who would ever willingly lay on the cold, wet ground. Maybe Isabel—she would have liked snow. She was a kid after all... just a kid.

“C’mon, Levi, give it a try!” you insist. “This is fun.”

Levi huffs out a grunt. “This looks like the opposite of fun.” 

You perk up with your elbows. Snow clings to your hair. You look like you're wearing a crown of white.

“Please.”

You say that one word with a pleading gaze, all crinkled eyes and pouty mouth.

Cute. You think you can convince him with an act.

No such luck.

“No.” Levi is firm with his decision, crossing his arms over his chest.

You don't look bothered by his rejection, shrugging nonchalantly.

“Then you leave me no choice,” you declare.

Levi raises a brow.

Without giving him an explanation, you suddenly stand up. He frowns, muscles tensing as you saunter towards him. He knows what you’re about to do, he knows it and yet—

You surprise him by planting your plush lips on his own.

Oh.

You kiss him.

And as Levi tastes snow on your lips, he decides if there’s one thing he likes about winter, it’s the taste of you.

"You're so warm," you murmur against his lips.

Of course, Levi knows your sweet words are but a ruse in disguise. Soon, your hands settle on his forearms.

And you push him back, just as Levi thought you would all along. Levi lets you, because this snow and your damn playfulness somehow remind him of Isabel and Furlan, and how they never got to witness snow.

Still, just because he's allowed to be pushed doesn't mean that he doesn't intend to make you pay—oh no, if he's going down, he'll make sure to take you with him. He grabs your wrists, and the two of you topple backwards.

Levi is the first one to land on his back, the impact of the fall cushioned by the snow, and you follow him, falling right on top of him.

Snow stings his exposed hands, and he groans.

But then you’re giggling in his ear, your laughter chiming like bells, and Levi forgets all about how cold feels. Freckles of white weave around you, framing you like pale moonlight, and Levi thinks you could belong in a painting, all dressed in white.

Smiling, you bend down and drop a last kiss on the tip of his nose. Blood rushes to his cheeks, dusting them in a rosy hue, and you chuckle at the sight (Levi will later deny blushing at all—like hell one kiss gets him so flustered).

“Now, we're ready to begin,” you announce after you hop off him.

You sit next to him and tap the white ground.

“Follow my lead, 'Vi.”

Levi watches you through a lidded stare.

“What the hell is a snow angel, anyway?” he asks.

“I believe it's meant to be a human with wings.”

“That's not something that exists.”

You hum. “Well, it's an imaginary thing, you know? Like something kids grow up reading about in fables?”

“I wouldn't know.”

That's not entirely true. His mother used to tell him stories, only he was too young to remember them. He thinks her stories must have been full of light, just like she was.

Your gentle stare locks with his, almost as if you could read Levi's thoughts. “Then I suppose we have some making up to do, huh?"

Levi stays silent. He lifts his hand to your cheek, and he lets his caress speak for his gratitude. You smile, a true smile that makes your eyelids crinkle.

"You know, I think I may have found the perfect analogy." Snow crunches beneath you as you shift your weight around. "Think of snow angels like the Survey Corps. We Scout soldiers are the Wings of Freedom, right? So just imagine we're molding a shape into the snow... that of a human with wings."

Wings of Freedom.

Levi likes the idea. It's corny, sure, but it's cute.

It reminds him of—shit, of course it does—of Isabel and Furlan. Of their dreams to live above ground. How Levi is going to carry them for the rest of his days, his own wings propelling them forward.

And for the first time since their deaths, Levi doesn't feel entirely empty at the thought of them. Yes, the grief is there, it's always there... it'll always be present. But now, there is something more to it. There is all the love for them, all the love he never got to express, all the love that continues to manifest in their memories... and that part fills him with warmth.

“Ready for the lesson?" you ask.

Levi nods.

You start to move. "You're going to need to to move your hands and legs like this, see? Then it’s going to make it seem like you’re drawing a person with wings in the snow.”

“Do I look like an artist to you?”

You chuckle. “I promise, drawing isn't a skill you need to make snow angels. Anyone can do it, that's the beauty of it! Now, you try.”

Levi complies. He lays on the ground and stares at the muted sky—who knew winter skies could look so peaceful? Then, he begins to move his limbs in accordion.

And despite the snow, he finds he's no longer cold.

Finally, once you're both done making your angels, you stand up to look at your work. The angels are a patchwork at best, but they look like they’re holding hands, and you seem glad about that.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” you murmur. You've removed one of your mittens, and you slip your fingers between his own.

Levi stares, eyes softening.

“Yeah, pretty.”

Song insp: Everything I Know About Love by Laufey. Graphics made by me. Thanks for reading :))

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[fettuccinealfred0]

Til Death Do Us Part | Part 5

Series Masterlist

Astarion x f!reader, Arranged Marriage AU

Word Count: 13.6k

(CW: SMUT 18+, vampire biting/blood drinking, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, handjob, mentions of past sexual assualt and trauma)

Summary:

Astarion reaches out, feeling the soft petals on one of the flowers. He smells the sweet, floral scent in the air. The smile on your face seems to be wavering the longer he’s silent.

“What do you think? Do you like them?” You ask, nervous.

“I adore them.”

I adore you, he thinks, before he’s able to stop himself. 

Astarion quickly snaps off a blossom and faces you. 

“But, you’re still my favorite little flower,” he says, tucking the stem behind your ear. Your eyes close at the touch of his fingers against your cheek as he pulls away. He’s struck once again by how badly he wants to kiss you. It physically pains him to step away.

But he must distance himself from you. Because love is a sickness, a weakness. Love is about trusting someone enough to offer up your very soul to them, to give them the power to own you. And Astarion wasn’t going to allow that to happen. No one would control him ever again.

Read on ao3 here.

There’s blackness. 

Astarion reaches his hands out, but they hit a wall. 

He reaches to the side. Another wall.

He immediately knows where he is. The dread settles into his bones. He’s back in that cursed coffin, buried beneath the earth. 

He’s scratching and clawing at the wood surrounding him, throat raw from screaming, desperate and choking on his hunger. A vampire without enough blood was driven to madness and he had spent so much time down here with nothing but unending thirst. 

And just when had resigned himself to that eternity, Cazador was digging him out and torturing him anew.

Astarion’s head is pounding and he can’t think straight. Has Cazador finally caught up to him? Is this punishment for escaping?

No, Cazador is dead. 

Astarion is sure of that. And he’s all too sure he’s been here before. 

This is a memory. One of those twisted, ugly things that claws its way out from the back of his mind and he’s helplessly forced to watch it replay. 

He can’t remember what came before this. There was white? 

No. It was snowing. The first snow of the season. Tainted red by blood and dead bodies. They had been ambushed by the Gur. 

Your hand reaching out to him, blood dripping into his mouth.

Astarion closes his eyes and focuses on your face in his mind, filled with a sense of calm and warmth. His pretty wife welcoming him home. 

The image in his brain warps. 

“I have something for you,” you say, poking your head into Astarion’s study. You’re careful to hide your body behind the doorframe so Astarion can’t see what you’re holding, but you’re practically vibrating with excitement. It sends a pleasant thrum through his own chest to see you like this.

“Why, do tell, darling, I can hardly stand the suspense.” Astarion hears himself say without really saying it.

This must be another memory, though his muddled mind struggles to place it. 

You step through the door frame, holding an ornate vase filled to the brim with flowers.

“You need to liven this room up a little bit,” you tell him, setting the vase on an empty table. You take a moment to rearrange the flowers to your satisfaction and step back to inspect your work with your hands on your hips. “It’s not that much longer until the first frost and it feels a shame for all those pretty flowers out in the garden to go unappreciated.”

The bouquet you’ve made is stunning. Red chrysanthemums, red roses, and red asters surrounded by clumps of tiny little white flowers. Heliotropes, Astarion thinks they’re called. 

Astarion is vaguely familiar with the meaning of flowers. In the back of his mind, he can hazily recall his mother telling him their meanings when he was a boy. But he must be misremembering because he’s fairly certain all these flowers you have given him mean love and undying devotion. 

“I thought you’d appreciate red. I assume it’s your favorite color, what with the blood and all,” you tease, sounding entirely too proud of yourself for coming up with that little quip.

Of course you weren’t trying to indirectly communicate with him via flowers. It made much more sense that the bouquet was a joke for you to amuse yourself with. It’s still a sweet gesture. Astarion isn’t quite sure why his stomach sinks with disappointment.  

“A vampire loving red. You’re very clever,” Astarion says sarcastically, coming to stand beside you and inspect the flowers more closely. 

“Wrong answer.” You turn to face him, hands still on your hips and a stern look on your face. It’s cute. “This is the part where you thank your lovely wife for bringing you flowers.” 

Astarion huffs, rolling his eyes. He’ll humor you today because you’ve put him in a good mood. Though, he does try to sound as annoyed as possible. “Thank you for the flowers, dearest wife. They are the highlight of my day.”

Deep down, he knows he means every word of what he just said. If anything, you were far more than the highlight of his day. The highlight of his week, of his year, of his life, more likely. 

And you do look so very pleased with yourself. Giving in to you was undeniably worth it, then. He adored that little look you got when you felt you had bested him. More and more often, he found himself conceding in your little verbal sparring matches just so he could see that look. 

“I have another surprise for you, too, tonight! Plan for a walk in the gardens.” Your voice is so light as you beam at him. His personal ray of sunshine. He wants to keep you like that forever, fill your days with nothing but joy and laughter. 

You hum as you slip down the hallway, practically skipping. 

Drink, Astarion hears you say, but that doesn’t make sense. You left already. 

His head hurts so bad. 

Something cold is pressed against his lips. He opens his mouth and tastes the sweet, metallic tang of your blood against his tongue. His brain is too foggy to question what’s going on, so he just revels in your taste, lets it coat his mouth and dance against his taste buds. 

He drinks and drinks until there’s nothing left. 

It’s not enough. He could never get enough of you.

His eyes flicker open and you’re leaning over him. Something warm presses against his forehead and he recognizes that you must be wiping down his face.

This isn’t a memory, though, the corners of his vision are a bit too crisp. He can feel himself starting to squirm, an attempt to sit up and orient himself. 

“Shh,” you reassure him and your soft voice is music to his ears, even if it does sound clouded and distant. “Rest. We’ll have more for you soon.”

—----------

It’s dark in Astarion’s mind. He’s walking down the streets in the city of Baldur’s Gate.

“Where are we going?” The man’s voice behind him calls and he tugs insistently on Astarion’s hand.

Astarion takes the opportunity to spin, pinning the man to the wall. He licks up the man’s neck, biting softly on his earlobe before murmuring in that practiced, seductive voice, “Come now, don’t be impatient. Are you really so desperate for me to fuck you?”

He knows the man is. He was one of the creepy ones that were easy to pick up in a seedy tavern. And Astarion can feel the hard length of the man’s cock pressing into his hip.

“Yes, take me here,” the man says breathlessly, head falling back against the wall. 

“Be a good boy for me, wait just a moment longer. I have the perfect spot for us. Then, I can take my time with you,” Astarion purrs, with all the control he can muster. If he could just get him back to the castle quickly enough, he might not actually have to do anything. He might still be able to spare himself that little agony.

Astarion had been through this so many times- he knew exactly what to say, exactly what to do. His whole body felt numb as he continued his way back to Cazador’s palace, his new victim’s hand wandering and groping as they walked. Astarion laughed and pinched him back, even if he hated the feeling of the man’s hands on him. 

It was easier this way, if he just let his body act out the part. If he went to that little part of his mind and hid away in there until this was over.

Once he gets the man inside the palace, it’s finished almost immediately. 

Cazador makes Astarion watch as he drains the man dry. Makes him stare into those desperate, scared eyes of the man he betrayed. That part doesn’t bother Astarion. But the fact that Cazador enjoys a feast Astarion himself will never get to experience has him nearly going blind with hatred. He soothes himself by imagining he’s prying out Cazador’s fangs.

“Good job, boy. Here’s your dinner,” Cazador hurls a rat at Astarion and he drinks greedily. If he was quick enough about it, he almost couldn’t taste the gamey, bitter blood that barely kept him alive.

The man’s body creates a loud thump when Cazador drops him to the ground.

Only, when he looks again, it’s your bloody face staring back at him. Astarion’s crawling forward to you before he can even think- let Cazador unleash his worst punishments for this transgression. Astarion nearly retches at the sight of your once-beautiful eyes staring open at him, lifeless. 

No, no, no- this is all wrong. 

Astarion is sobbing and crying, pulling your dead body to his chest, pressing his forehead against yours. Your skin is so cold. 

Astarion closes his eyes, focuses on the feeling of your cold skin against his hand. 

When he opens them again, you’re in the gardens, shimmering and swimming in the moonlight of his memory. 

“Close your eyes,” you tell him.

“What are you going to do to me, you little minx?” He flirts and he can hear you shushing him as he shuts his eyes. 

You grab one of his hands and your palm is so warm against the cool night air that stings at his skin like needles. Astarion didn’t like the cold before he was turned and after, it was as if his tolerance to weather was nonexistent. 

With your finger intertwined, you lead him, giving gentle instructions on where to step. He practically runs into you when you stop and has to steady himself with his hands on your waist. 

“Oof, sorry, should have told you to stop. You can open your eyes now,” you say, but you don’t really sound too sorry. Astarion opens his eyes, but keeps his hands firmly on your waist, pulling you back against him a bit tighter.

In front of him is a new patch of white, star-shaped flowers. They’re pretty, undoubtedly. But Astarion can’t quite figure out their significance or why this surprise had mattered to you so much. 

“They’re moonflowers!” You rush to explain. “They bloom at night! And they look like stars so they reminded me of you, little star.”

He can hear the nerves in your voice as you say the last part. Little star. Just like his mother used to call him. For the first time in centuries, he thinks that perhaps he can feel his heart beating in his chest, can feel the pounding pulse reverberating in his head, making him dizzy. 

“I asked Gale to help me find them in the woods and then Halsin helped me plant them! I thought you deserved to have something that looked prettier at night than during the day. Something special just for you,” you continue to explain, twisting in his arms so you can study his reaction. 

Astarion used his beauty as a shield, as a distraction. Keep it flirty and light and people’s minds become clouded by desire and they give you what you want. 

But you watch him, study him. He can feel your shrewd eyes on him, catching every involuntary twitch and movement in his face. He can see you categorizing and sorting them away in your pretty little brain. It’s the first time in many years that he hasn’t minded someone’s gaze upon him. 

But it’s endlessly frustrating how you keep poking and prodding at him in an attempt to dig deeper? Why couldn’t you just be distracted by the beauty like everyone else? Why did you make him want things that were impossible?

Astarion is speechless. You had given him these beautiful flowers, a gift just for him. Watching this memory play out before him, he’s forced to remind himself that this was just as real as the memories of Cazador. That despite all the trauma of his life as a spawn, his mind also contained these beautiful moments with you. 

His hands drop from your waist as he moves forward to inspect the flowers. It’s amazing to see. Where most flowers would sleep for the night, these large white blossoms are opening up their petals to the full moon, drinking in the silvery light. Astarion misses the sunlight, desperately. He misses the warmth on his skin and the way colors used to look so bright. But the way these little flowers worship the moonlight, Astarion thinks that perhaps a life relegated to the dark might not be so bad. Not if he has you to worship. 

He reaches out, feeling the soft petals on one of the flowers. He smells the sweet, floral scent in the air. The smile on your face seems to be wavering the longer he’s silent.

“What do you think? Do you like them?” You ask, nervous.

“I adore them.”

I adore you, he thinks, before he’s able to stop himself. 

Astarion quickly snaps off a blossom and faces you. 

“But, you’re still my favorite little flower,” he says, tucking the stem behind your ear. Your eyes close at the touch of his fingers against your cheek as he pulls away. He’s struck once again by how badly he wants to kiss you. It physically pains him to step away.

But he must distance himself from you. Because love is a sickness, a weakness. Love is about trusting someone enough to offer up your very soul to them, to give them the power to own you. And Astarion wasn’t going to allow that to happen. No one would control him ever again. Not after he had killed Cazador. Not when he still needed to figure a way out of his stupid deal with Raphael. 

And that’s not what this feeling is anyway, Astarion tries to reason with himself. He wants to kiss you because that’s what his body is trained to do. To repay. Even if he knows your kindness has no expectations attached to it, Astarion thinks that this desire is a side-effect from centuries of conditioning. Love isn’t possible after what he had experienced. 

But then, that doesn’t explain why he wants to kiss you nearly every time he sees you. Or why he spends half his day thinking of silly lines he can say at dinner that will make you smile. Or why he wants to hold you so close to him that your bodies nearly fuse together. Or why he wants to flutter his eyelashes against your skin until you’re laughing and pushing him away. 

It’s perverse- the soft, domestic things he wants to do to you. 

“Astarion,” he hears your gentle voice coo out, though you’re growing hazy in front of him. 

He’s trying to reach out to you, to keep you with him.

He opens his heavy eyes and your worried face is looking down at him. You’re so blurry.

“You need to drink more,” you say softly, and the goblet is being pressed against his lips again, the irresistible taste of your blood in his mouth.

—--------------------------------------

When Astarion wakes again, it’s night. He finds you sitting next to him, alternating between pretending to read a book and staring out the window. The curtains must have been drawn back after the sun went down. Astarion can tell that you’re worried by the little crease in your brow and the way you chew on your lip. He lets himself watch you for a couple moments before he pushes himself up to sit, finally alerting you that he’s awake.

“Here, drink.” You’re rushing a goblet to his mouth immediately and this time, he’s able to take the cup from your hands and actually raise it to his own mouth with minimal shakiness. He tilts the cup back, throat still burning with hunger as he swallows thick mouthfuls of your blood. 

“You’re looking better. You’ve been pretty out of it for a while,” you say, taking the cup from him and sitting on the bed beside him. 

You reach out to brush a curl away from his forehead and Astarion doesn’t miss the slight shake of your hands or how ashen your skin looks. 

How much blood have you given to him? Astarion makes a mental note to ask Shadowheart to make you a special tea to help deal with any nasty side-effects of blood loss.

“What happened?” He asks, trying to piece together how long he had been unconscious. 

You frown. Astarion hates when he makes you frown. 

“You were staked. Not through the heart, thank the gods, but you lost so much blood. Shadowheart called it blood madness. She said that your body was returning to death,” you explain. 

Blood madness. Everything starts to make sense. The weird visions and memories. Falling in and out of consciousness as his undead body struggled to stay reanimated with so little blood in his system.

Astarion’s shocked when you let out a laugh- a hysteric, sorrowful thing that sounds all wrong coming from you. “You know, it’s funny. I don’t know why I thought vampires would have less blood. But you bled so much.”

“You gave me your blood,” he says and you nod in confirmation. 

“Shadowheart knew some way to drain it from my arm. It was… pretty gross.” You wrinkle your nose so sweetly and Astarion is struck by the desire to reach out and feel the way your skin creases with his thumb. “I passed out the first time she tried. We had to do it a few times so that you’d always have something to drink if you woke up.”

Your hands are folded in your lap and Astarion reaches out to cover them with one of his own. “Thank you.”

“I wasn’t going to let you die,” you scoff. 

“I’m not that easy to kill, pet, but I appreciate the sentiment.” Astarion shoots you a wry grin that has you rolling your eyes before he turns serious again, giving your hands a little squeeze. “I know that your life would be easier without me. So, thank you. This was a gift. I won’t forget that.”

Your eyes are a bit teary when you look up from where his hand rests over yours in your lap and you say with a watery smile, “We’re just lucky they didn’t get you through the heart.”

You lean forward and pull Astarion into an embrace, your arms circling tightly around his torso. He grimaces, letting out an involuntary grunt of pain at the sharp throbbing in his abdomen where you had brushed against his wound. His body must still be starving for blood if his wound wasn’t healing at its normal vampiric rate. 

“Oh, sorry, sorry,” you rush to apologize, drawing away from him. 

“S’okay, little flower, just be gentle with me,” Astarion reassures, pulling you back against him. Your arms circle around him again and you’re careful to not put any pressure on his wound. 

He’s shocked for a moment at how warm your body feels against his. Slowly, he lets one of his own arms wrap around you, tucking you tighter into his side and resting his cheek against the softness of your hair. 

Astarion could live without the warmth of the sun forever, so long as he has this- his own, personal sunlight. 

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” you say, so quietly that Astarion is sure he has mistaken your words. 

You pull away too soon. Though, if it were up to him, he would hold you in his arms forever. 

—-----------

You sit with Astarion and read to him while he continues to regain his strength. His wound heals quicker and quicker the more blood he gets back into his system. By the middle of the night, you finally allow him to get up out of bed and move around. 

He pities any patient that would have you as a nurse. The power went straight to your head. You were far too bossy- yelling at him not to move every time he tried to get comfortable and forcing him to drink some disgusting tea Shadowheart had made to help him heal.

But Astarion won’t lie, it’s nice to have you fussing over him. 

And now that you have finally deemed him safe to take a bath, he shooes you out of the room, sending you off to eat what he is sure is your first meal in days. 

He calls for Gale, who arrives with a flurry of other servants and water a few minutes later. The other servants leave the room after dropping off the water, but Gale stays. He doesn’t need to- they both know that overseeing a bath is beneath his status. But Astarion thinks Gale’s probably sticking around because you asked him to. 

When Astarion peels off the bandage on his abdomen, he finds that the wound has already closed and his skin is an angry red. 

“You always did have a flair for the dramatic, didn’t you?” Gale jokes. Astarion knows this really means ‘glad you came back alive, you really scared us all.’ 

“You can’t even go on one measly trip to Emerald Grove without me or you come back half dead.” Gale pauses for a moment, to laugh at his own words. “Or, more dead than usual.”

This is the sort of light mockery that served as the basis of their friendship. Only, Gale’s wrong that he could have been of any help when the Gur attacked. 

Astarion had a… complicated history with the Gur that had started with a number of key rulings against them during his days as a magistrate. He still didn’t think that warranted beating him to the brink of death in a dark alley, though, so the distaste was mutual. Add to that, the fact that Cazador had ordered Astarion to kidnap a large number of Gur children at one point and that Astarion is now a thriving and powerful member of nobility again and well, the Gur certainly weren’t pleased.

And there were just so many of them during the ambush. 

Karlach is a masterful fighter and Astarion certainly knows how to hold his own and is quick enough to dodge most blows, but it had been a losing battle from the start. They never had a chance. Not when all the Gur seemed to have their eyes trained on Astarion. Not when they all had stakes and seemed content to die so long as they attempted to land a killing blow to him. 

Perhaps if Lae’zel or Wyll had been there, it might have made a difference, but they were off searching another spot. Gale would have just gotten in the way and likely found himself killed in the crossfire. He always did seem to have a knack for getting himself injured in the stupidest of ways back when Astarion had first hired everyone in Baldur’s Gate. 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Gale.” Astarion says, instead, rolling his eyes as he steps into the bath. The warm water feels glorious against his skin, his internal temperature still a mess from the blood madness. “The only thing you could have done was bore the Gur to death by talking in Latin.”

“I’ll remember you said that the next time you need me to translate something,” Gale narrows his eyes, moving a pitcher of water over the fire to warm it, knowing that the cold radiating from Astarion’s body will seep into the bath water all too quickly. 

“And you’ll translate it anyway because you can’t resist showing off to everyone about how smart you are.”

They settle into silence after that. Gale continues to tend to the fire and Astarion begins washing himself with a bar of soap.

“Lady Ancunin was really worried about you,” Gale says, completely changing the subject. It causes Astarion to pause for a moment, the bar of soap slipping out of his hands into the water. Gale pretends he doesn’t notice as Astarion scrambles to catch the slippery thing at the bottom of the tub. “She spent the whole time you were gone pacing like some sort of caged animal. And when you were injured, Shadowheart had to practically chain her to the bed to get her to sleep.”

Gale laughs a bit, but Astarion doesn’t find it amusing. He hates himself for causing you distress. 

“You didn’t tell her anything, did you?” Astarion asks, suspicious of why Gale would bring you up.

“Ye of so little faith,” Gale feigns offense. 

“Perhaps I just know how much you like to talk.”

“Careful, Astarion, or I might think you’re being mean.” Gale says with a tone of warning. They’ve known each other for years now. They know each other’s tells. And they both know that Astarion can grow volatile and catty when he’s defensive.

“But no, my lips are sealed.” Gale makes a motion like he’s zipping up his lips and throwing away a key. “None of us have said anything about…” he trails off, dropping his voice to a loud whisper, “C-a-z-a-d-o-r or R-a-p-h-”

“I’m being serious, Gale,” Astarion interrupts. “And she knows how to spell, idiot, so that was a useless code.”

Gale laughs, pouring the final pitcher of warmed water into the tub and dumping the last bit directly over Astarion’s head. Astarion couldn’t be too mad because his hair was a mess from his days of bedrest and definitely needs to be washed, but it’s about the principle of the thing. 

Astarion pushes the wet hair out of his eyes and glares at Gale, who looks entirely too pleased with himself. They’re silent again for a few minutes as Gale starts tidying up and Astarion washes his hair. 

“She’s a smart one, your wife.” Gale says, always trusted to break the silence. “And loves to read. Might be a big help doing research if we just give her an idea of what we’re looking for.”

Your wife.

It has that jealous, possessive part burning within him. Yes, he thinks, she is mine- and it’d serve you right to remember that. 

But he doesn’t like the rest of what Gale’s saying, hates the idea of involving you in the plot that he’s been so careful to keep you out of. At first, he had been so secretive because he didn’t trust you. But now…

“That’s a slippery slope.” Astarion says, trying to keep his tone careful and not betray the panic that he feels rising in him at the idea. “First, we let her read a few books and then she’ll start getting ideas about coming with us on trips.” 

And then she’ll be hurt and I won’t be able to live with myself, Astarion thinks.

He sighs, “And then it’s only a matter of time before someone mentions Cazador. And you know how she is when she gets something in her head. She’ll torture us all with questions until someone breaks.”

And Astarion knows there is no way you will ever love or respect him if you know who he truly is. No, it was best for you to only know him as the man he is now- not the weak, worthless spawn he once was. 

“You’re just as stubborn as she is,” Gale responds.

It makes his heart beam with pride to be compared to you, even if Gale did mean it as an insult.

Astarion steps out of the tub and dries off, pulling on the clothes that had been set out for him- white shirt and comfortable trousers. His fingers run comfortingly along the words embroidered on the hem of the shirt before he tucks it in. His secret poem, his constant reminder. 

“Thank you, Gale,” Astarion says, dismissing him. 

“I’ll let her know you’re finished,” Gale nods in acknowledgement as he leaves the room.

It’s like he can smell you as you come down the hallway. Gods, how could he possibly want you more now that he’s tasted your blood. It’s pathetic.

When you knock at the door, Astarion can hear your heart beating so fast, like a little bird. 

“How was your dinner, darling?” He asks, opening the door and leaning against the doorframe. “Devastatingly dull without my company, I assume.”

You completely ignore his teasing, which has Astarion worried immediately. You never passed up the opportunity for a good battle of wits. Instead, you brush past him into the room, wringing your hands together nervously.

“What’s wrong, little flower?”

“You’re doing better now, but you still need blood. You can drink from me, if you need,” you offer, words coming out in a rush. 

It’s everything he ever dreamed of- here you stand, offering yourself up to him. And he does need blood. 

He’s practically tripping over himself to accept. Only a fool would say no. 

“How do you want me?” you ask and it’s sweet how nervous you are underneath your poor attempt at a calm, unbothered demeanor.

“In every way imaginable, darling. But let’s start on the bed.” Astarion says, shamelessly. He can hear your heart quicken at the words, how the breath gets caught in your throat. This is exactly why he loves teasing you- the involuntary reactions you always have that let him know his flirting is working, your unconscious admission that he has at least some effect over you. 

Astarion reaches out for your hand gently and leads you over to his bed, sitting on the edge of it and patting the spot next to him. “Come on, pet, I don’t bite. Not until you ask nicely.”

“Oh, you were serious about the bed,” you say, looking at him with nervous, wide eyes. 

“In case you get lightheaded. I don’t want you to hurt yourself if you pass out again,” he explains, reassuring you with a light smile. 

Astarion guides you down so you’re resting comfortably against a pillow. Selfishly, he’d really rather have this experience be a pleasurable one for you so you’re more likely to let him do this again.

“And it saves us time when you’re unable to resist me after this and demand I ravish you,” he adds when you’ve finally settled next to him on the bed because he can never pass up the opportunity to tease you. The playful elbow you ‘accidentally’ poke into his stomach has him laughing.

His lips are almost on your neck when he hears your voice, barely a whisper, “Will it hurt?”

“Just for a moment, like you’re pricking your finger on a thorn.” Astarion runs the back of his fingers against the soft skin of your neck, soothingly. “Then it won’t feel like much of anything.”

You nod, but he still feels you moving restlessly. Frankly, it’s a bit distracting to have you rubbing against him like that when his pelvis is pressed so snugly against your skirts.

“Relax,” he breathes, as he gently moves your hair away from your neck.

Astarion takes a moment to savor the smell of your blood rushing through your veins, to feel your pulse fluttering so sweetly underneath your skin before he sinks his teeth in. 

The little whimper you let out at his bite has lightning running through his veins straight to his cock. Astarion had seen every sort of depraved, erotic display a person could imagine- had participated, even. Had he really fallen so far from his former grace that just a breathy little sound from you had him half-hard?

You taste just as good as he can remember, perhaps even better, because this time he’s fully conscious and can fully appreciate the rich, savory flavor of your blood. He could buy every expensive wine in the world and he would still be chasing after your full-bodied tang.

Your head falls back against his own and your hand moves up behind you to curl in his hair, pulling him closer. He feels you shiver with delight, feels the gentle thud of your heartbeat ringing in his own ears. He drinks as slowly as he can manage in his half-feral state- he wants this to last, wants to drag this out as long as he can since he’s unsure when you’ll allow this again. 

Tearing himself away from you is perhaps the hardest thing he’s ever done in his life. 

He preens at the little puncture marks on your neck. 

Mine, he thinks. 

He leans down to lick up the drops of blood forming on the surface of the wounds and the gasp you let out has him nearly out of his mind with how badly he wants to fuck you, just to see what other pretty little sounds he could conjure up from you.

“That’s enough for tonight, I think,” he says, pressing a gentle kiss next to the mark on your neck. He turns so he can shuffle around on his nightstand and find one of the bandages Shadowheart had left for his own wound, pressing the cloth carefully against your skin.

You settle your head back against his chest and let out a hum of thanks. Astarion gives himself this moment, lets himself pull you closer and begin carding his fingers through your hair.

Oh, the heavens must have blessed him tonight, indeed, because you let out one more content little sigh as your heavy eyes fall closed. Astarion knows you haven’t slept soundly in days, that the last time you slept longer than a couple hours was probably before he left.

But, Astarion is also sure that you don’t want to spend the night in his bed, so when your breaths become even and your heartbeat slows, he wraps you in his arms and carries you softly back to your own room. You stir a bit as he pulls the blankets up around you, eyes dreamy and unfocused as you pull Astarion down to press a kiss to his cheek. 

Thank gods your eyes have fallen shut again because Astarion is sure his face is bright red. In his own room, his hand immediately moves to hold his cheek, as if that will somehow allow him to revive the sensation of your warm lips against his skin.

Astarion practically crawls on his hands and knees to your room the next night, unable to stay away. From you? Your blood? Both? He doesn’t think about it too hard. All he knows is that he asks and you offer up your neck to him so sweetly that he wants to cut himself open for you and let you dig around inside his chest. 

He comes begging to you the next night and the next night and the next. Had he lost all sense of humility? And did he really even care how weak and foolish he was acting right now? 

Every night, he allows himself to press his lips against your throat in a parting kiss. He allows himself to hold you against him as you fall asleep before he carries you back to your room.

Until one night, your hand clutches behind you blindly, reaching out for any part of him you can catch onto. He thinks you’re going to yell at him, chastise him for taking too much blood, tell him never to come back to your room. But instead, you call out for him to stay.

Astarion is given a new gift that night as you turn around to curl against him, tucking your head underneath his chin and moving one of your arms to wrap around his torso. Your breath is soft against his collarbones and the two of you are so wrapped up in one that Astarion can hardly fathom how he was able to rest before this.

It starts to become a sweet little ritual. You, reading aloud to Astarion as he fights to pay attention and not be distracted by how lovely your voice is. You, pressing against him, sweeping your hair to the side and offering up your throat in sacrifice. Him, worshiping at the altar of your neck. The safety of holding you, or being held by you, as you sleep. 

Astarion is pleasantly surprised one night when he’s wrapped around you, pressing soft kisses near his bite mark after he’s fed, when one of your hands comes up to curl around his own and guide him nervously under your chemise.

Astarion hesitates. 

He’s more than a bit worried about how present you really are, worried that your mind has gone fuzzy from a lack of blood. He shifts a bit, so he’s able to see your face, able to see the way your eyes are boring into his with a desperation that’s so uncharacteristic of you. 

You, his sharp, guarded little heart, who always pretends to be so strong. You, his little wife who hardly ever asks for anything. And here you are, presenting yourself to him like a feast. 

And Astarion wants this, he thinks. For the first time in a long time, he wants something sweet and innocent, a moment that belongs just to him. He aches to make you feel good. Perhaps in part to repay you for the blood, but mostly because you’ve made him feel so impossibly happy these past few weeks. He hopes that this will make you become as dependent on him as he is on you. Then, you would never dream of leaving him.

He lets his fingers trace against the warm, smooth skin of your inner thigh and feels you shiver against him. 

It had been so long since Astarion had felt this desire to discover someone else, since he had felt genuine curiosity at the reactions of his partner. And right now, he can’t seem to tear his gaze away from your face as he lets his hand press feather light, teasing touches right next to where you need him most. 

A cruel part of his mind almost wants him to make you beg for it, to make you pay for all the times he’s so willingly fallen at your feet in submission.

“I had no idea you needed me this badly, pet. You’re so wet you’re practically dripping,” the voice that comes out of Astarion is breathless and full of astonishment, so far away from the low, seductive tone he had mastered long ago. 

“Astarion,” you whimper and he feels your hips shifting slightly towards him, chasing after more. The way his name sounds falling from your lips has him wondering if it’s possible to die twice. 

“In time, little flower,” he shushes you, the pads of his fingers ghosting over the thatch of hair covering your pubic mound. “I intend on drawing this out as long as I can. You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.”

He feels a bit of pride that he will get to make this an exquisite experience for you. Not like the first time he was touched, fumbling around in a back alleyway with another young lord. 

Astarion finally dips his hand so that his fingers can stroke your inner folds, watching intently how your eyes flutter closed as you lose yourself in the sensation. 

Astarion knows bodies- knows their signs, knows their cues, knows how to play them like a maestro. 

But, this is you. This matters. 

This is about taking his time, about learning you better than you know yourself. About watching each little gasp and every little muscle that moves in your face, carefully saving them all away to replay in his brain forever.

For a while, Astarion works with no real purpose. He’s careful to keep his hands away from your clit, which he knows is aching to be touched. Instead, he spends his time learning the folds of your cunt, cherishing the warm, velvety soft skin that just begs him to come inside.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” He croons, desperately trying to distract himself from the blood rushing to his own cock. This was meant to be about you, damn it, not him.

He accentuates that point by finally, mercifully swirling his thumb in teasing circles around your clit, feasting on the way that your mouth falls open in pleasure. 

He’s finally rendered you speechless, it seems. For once, you don’t have a snarky rebuttal or quick little jab. 

No, Astarion is graced with something far better when a shivery little moan escapes you as one of his fingers presses into you. He feels his own mouth water as the soft, wet heat urges him deeper.

Astarion is filled to the brim with lines that he used to make his lovers sing, but somehow, none of those seem enough. All too rehearsed, too empty for the depth of the longing he feels for you. His brain is growing empty as his finger continues to move in and out of you at a torturously slow pace. He feels your own hips moving against his hand, trying to quicken the motion. 

“Uh uh, pet,” he chides, impressed with himself that anything other than incoherent praises are managing to tumble their way out of his mouth right now. “You’ll take what I give you and nothing more.”

It’s easier, trying to revert back into that self-assured, confident persona to regain some semblance of control over the situation, so sure is he that he’s about to lose himself in how velvety soft and sticky sweet your cunt feels against his hand. 

He can only imagine how it would feel to be wrapped inside you. It would probably take every shred of his concentration to last more than a few shallow thrusts. Gods forbid if you clenched your cunt around him, he might just ascend to the heavens.

He sees you nod, catches how your hands claw desperately at the sheets as you try to still your hips. He feels the growing need to grind his own hips against something- to feed that aching, burning desire pooling low in his stomach. 

“Astarion, please.”

And oh, how pretty you beg. 

It’s far better than anything Astarion could have conjured up in the dark recesses of his mind. He considers dragging this out for hours- forcing you to beg over and over and over for him. 

But he’s too needy right now, so instead, he leans down to lick a stripe up your throat, savoring the twin droplets of freshly congealed blood that he picks up before he practically groans in your ear, “Tell me what you need, my love.”

Oh. Evidently you liked that based on the fresh surge of wetness that pools around his hand. He’s not sure whether it’s the endearment or the soft command that affected you so, but he’ll have to experiment with that again in the future.

“More,” you whine out, one of your hands brushing softly against his jaw before you reach up to curl your fingers in his hair and press his forehead against your own. Your eyes are screwed shut and he can feel your sharp pants of breath on his lips. 

He almost thinks about making you answer- more what? But he’s not sure you’re capable of stringing together more than a couple words at the moment and truthfully, he knows exactly what you need. 

“I know, little love,” Astarion says, slipping another finger in and letting them curl against your soft walls. Your hand tightens almost painfully in his hair at the added sensation. He gives you a moment to adjust before his thumb is moving against your clit again. 

“Oh, gods, Astarion. So good… so, so good,” you cry out. 

He feels the soft insides of your cunt fluttering against his fingers. He hears the sharp intake of your breath, your heartbeat erratic as you orgasm. He continues, riding you through the high and working his fingers against you until you’re shaking against him. 

It’s then that he finally grants himself release, finally allows himself to lean down and press his lips to yours. 

It’s just a kiss, but it feels like so much more.

Astarion has kissed many, many people. But fuck… it felt like a disservice to call this just another kiss. Not with how slowly and sweetly your lips slide against his own. Not when you release a happy little sigh into his mouth. 

Astarion feels the warmth in his chest, surrounding his unbeating heart. 

When he pulls away, the sight of you underneath him is breathtaking. Your hair is fanned out against the pillows, pupils blown dark and wide, skin flushed with exertion, the bite on your neck that marks you as his. 

He’d do this forever, until his hand went numb from overuse if it meant you would keep looking up at him with those warm, gooey eyes that feel like sunshine against his skin.

Astarion pulls your chemise back down from where it’s bunched up around your hips and shifts to pull your head down against his chest. His fingers card softly through your hair as he whispers how proud he is of you, how good you did for him, how you listened so well, little flower. 

Your soft, even breaths as you fall asleep and the relaxing, repetitive motion of running his fingers through your hair help to soothe the burning desire he feels within himself. It was easy to ignore his own needs, after all. He was used to that. 

But he can’t help thinking that if this is what the rest of his days are like, an eternity seems too short. 

————

The next day is totally normal. As if the world hasn’t undergone some massive shift that has knocked Astarion’s center of gravity completely off balance. 

It’s not until you’re getting ready for bed that you bring it up, when Astarion finds you nervously pacing the length of his bedroom.

“Last night…” you start, but trail off. Astarion knows what you are going to say- last night was a mistake, it should never happen again. He’s completely taken by surprise when instead you say, “I liked when you kissed me.”

“Oh, you liked that, did you, pet?” He purrs, confidence now firmly back intact since you had reassured him. “Can I do it again?”

You nod so eagerly. Astarion lets his hand come up to cup your face and tilt it up to him. Slowly, with all the restraint he can manage (he’s barely holding on by a thread), he lets his lips press against yours. 

Like last night, it’s slow and sweet how your lips slide against one another’s. One of his arms comes to wrap around your waist, to pull you closer. 

The longer you kiss, the braver you grow. But what else did he really expect from you, his wild wife? You run your tongue along the seam of his lips and Astarion opens his mouth, welcomes your tongue as you explore.

Astarion nibbles on your bottom lip, letting one of his fangs scratch the delicate skin inside. He feels the warm rush of blood and sucks your lip into his mouth to drink from the little cut. An appetizer for the meal yet to come. 

You bite his lower lip in retaliation and Astarion groans, pulling away from your lips so he can press kisses along your jaw as he makes his way to your neck. The familiar wounds have only just begun to heal from yesterday. Astarion sucks at your skin, pulling the blood up to the surface. Then he bites.

He’s rewarded both by the rush of blood into his mouth and the pretty sigh you let out as you wrap your arms around his neck, beckoning him impossibly closer. 

He will never tire of this- of the taste of you in his mouth and the way you writhe against him. He will want this forever, drinking and pleasure and whatever else you bless him with. He will want this for as long as you’re willing to indulge him. 

Astarion is sure to keep a steady arm around your waist in case you get dizzy. But all too soon, you pull him up from your neck and crash your lips onto his again, your tongue licking into his mouth. He’s shocked because he knows the metallic taste of blood must still be heavy in his mouth, but based on the way your tongue slides against his, you don’t seem to mind it at all. If anything, you rather seem to enjoy it.

Astarion presses one last soft, slow kiss to your lips before he breaks apart from you, resting his forehead against yours. Your fingers play with the short curls at the nape of his neck.

“You’re really good at that,” you say. Astarion panics a bit about what you mean but your voice is sweet and relaxed.

“So are you, little flower,” he says, nudging your nose gently with his own. You giggle at that.

“It’s like dancing,” you respond, “Anyone is a good dancer if they have the right partner.”

“Is that so?” Astarion starts to sway and you move with him, feet taking small steps as the two of you dance in a little circle. “If I recall, you were an exceptional dancer. Other than when you stumbled over your feet when you first saw me.”

Astarion was chasing after the exact reaction you give- a little indignified huff as you pull away a bit to narrow your eyes at him.

“Don’t be upset, darling. You’re hardly the first person to trip when they saw me. And you certainly won’t be the last,” Astarion jokingly reassures.

You stop moving and purposefully stick one of your feet out so that Astarion stumbles a bit over it.

“Oops.” You look up at him all innocent, but you’ve got that dangerous little gleam in your eye that means trouble. 

“Cheeky little pup,” he says, shooting you a wicked grin, and you look so proud of yourself. 

“Lay with me?” You ask, tugging on his hands to pull him toward the bed.

And how could Astarion ever refuse you?

He gladly welcomes the few sweet, sleepy kisses you give him as you cuddle together. 

“Goodnight,” you murmur against his lips.

“Goodnight, little flower. I lo-,” Astarion cuts the words off, clearing his throat to cover what he was about to say. You give him a curious look, but lay your head back down against his chest.

Had he almost told you that he loved you? 

No, that was ridiculous. He doesn’t love you- it had just been such a long time since he had kissed someone he actually wanted to. It had been so long since kissing was an enjoyable enough experience to be able to stay in his body. 

Even after Cazador, when Astarion had thrown himself headfirst into all sorts of debauchery as a way of proving his bodily autonomy to himself, it all felt wrong. 

And this didn’t- this felt right. Wires were just getting crossed in his brain, that’s all. He’s pushing heavier emotions onto you because you’re the first person he’s felt comfortable with in centuries. 

He feels satisfied with that explanation so he lets himself relax and close his eyes. 

—---------

Astarion likes how your nightly routine has shifted and evolved. You still read and talk before he drinks from you. But now, afterward, you kiss him until he’s dizzy. And some nights, his hand will slip down under your chemise or he’ll bunch the gown up around your hips and settle himself between your thighs to eat you out like a man starved. 

It’s strange. Astarion can’t remember the last time he was excited about sex. But now, he takes such great pride in how easily your body responds to his touch, at how he’s able to make you sing and writhe with pleasure. He’s never felt so clear headed. 

And when your own hands begin to wander lower down Astarion’s body, he dutifully redirects them. He’s too worried about what might happen if you do touch him- worried that he might slip away to that little part of his mind and begin moving on autopilot, worried that he wouldn’t even be able to enjoy how wonderful you felt. 

And gods, you deserve nothing less than his full, undivided attention. 

Astarion could smell your arousal tonight, could feel the way you shift your hips up to meet his own. He’s more than happy to oblige.

“Can I?” He asks, sliding your nightgown past your waist, moving to pull it off you. He watches you hesitate for a minute, hears your heart racing nervously. 

He’s always fascinated by how certain aspects of intimacy make you shy. It had been so long since he had blushed about anything. He was so used to his body being on display. 

He waits for you to decide, moving to pepper soft kisses across your jawline and reassure you, “You’re so pretty, darling. The sun and stars themselves bow to your beauty.”

He feels you shiver a bit at his words- you always were so wonderfully responsive to praise- and slowly, your own hand moves down to help him drag the soft fabric higher up your chest and over your arms. 

The only thing remaining on your body is the necklace chain with your wedding ring. It sits so beautifully against your bare chest. 

Possessiveness flares within Astarion at the sight. If it were up to him, he’d keep you bare like this forever- covered in only your wedding ring and his bite marks. 

Let the world know you belong to him. 

Astarion’s finger draws a line along your breastbone and he slips the ring over the tip of his finger, using the chain as leverage to pull you closer for another heated kiss. One of your hands tangles in his hair and he feels his groan reverberating in his chest when your nails scratch lightly against his scalp. 

 “Trying to show off your claws, my love?” Astarion purrs. He reaches up to gently disentangle your fingers from his hair. Lacing them between his own, he pins your hand to the bed.

He grabs your other hand from where it had been working to untuck his shirt and pins that one down, as well. You let out a wonderful little moan. He chuckles darkly, “You should know it’s dangerous to tease a vampire. You might get bitten.”

“I seem to get bitten plenty even when I don’t scratch,” you tease back breathlessly. Astarion nips playfully at the column of your throat in retaliation. 

“And yet, you keep coming back for more,” Astarion speaks against your skin. He presses a kiss over the bite mark he left the previous night, “But you’ll have to wait. I have something else I want to taste first.” 

Astarion releases his hold on your hand so he can drag one of his hands down to trace his fingertips in teasing patterns over your slick folds. He presses gently into your cunt to collect some of your wetness on his fingers before he pulls his hand away. 

You huff out a frustrated breath that has Astarion chuckling. You always had to make your opinion known- his sweet, stubborn wife. 

Astarion brings his hand back up to his mouth, his eyes falling shut as he sucks his fingers into his mouth to taste you. He moans, “How do you always taste so much sweeter than I remember?”

He’s done these actions so many times before as part of some performance. But it never felt rehearsed with you. Everything just seemed to flow so naturally. 

You’re looking up at him with wide, loving eyes that nearly pull the breath from his lungs. For a moment, you both just stare at each other, a bit stunned, before Astarion feels your warm palm against his stomach. Your gentle hands nearly burn where they press against his skin, pushing his own shirt higher up his torso. 

He’s hesitant to take it off, to let you see the poem Cazador had carved into his back. He knows you- knows you’ll have questions that he doesn’t want to answer.

“It’s only fair,” you pout and yep, he’s a goner. He’ll just have to be careful about how he angles himself so you can’t see his back. He pulls the shirt off and throws it blindly behind him as he soaks in your victorious little grin. 

Astarion is used to his body inspiring awe in people. And yet, when you gaze upon him, it feels as if he is being worshiped by the sun, herself. 

It’s too intense, the ache nestled deep in his chest feels too much like love. A nervous little shiver runs up his spine that he tries to hide. 

“You can touch, darling, I won’t break. And I certainly plan to touch you,” he says, leaning down to press a slow kiss to your lips. 

If he could just get you distracted, he could tamper down that little part of his brain screaming out to him that he should whisper those three little words against your skin and watch the radiant smile that would light up your face. 

You whimper, but your soft, warm hands descend upon him almost immediately, fingers tracing along the lines of his collarbones and feeling the sinewy muscles in his chest. It feels divine. Astarion could lose himself in this forever. The little voice screaming at him from the back of his mind is soothed and placated by your gentle, wandering hands. 

When one of your hands starts to move its way over his shoulder, getting uncomfortably close to his scars, Astarion distracts you by nipping at your neck. Your hands give up their search immediately, content to hold on to his biceps as he sucks and kisses at your skin. 

Astarion continues to trail kisses along the column of your throat, stopping for a moment to enjoy the beautiful scent that sticks so heavy to your skin before he continues downward. 

Your nipples have hardened from the cool night air and Astarion ghosts his finger on the underside of your breast, watching the goosebumps rise on your skin. He had forgotten how living skin was able to do that. 

Fascinated, he squeezes your breast, feeling the soft, warm weight in his hand. 

“Astarion, stop teasing,” you whine. He can feel your hips grinding subtly against his own.

“You like when I tease,” he smirks, faintly tracing a circle around your nipple before he gives it a pinch. “And I’m not teasing right now, I’m appreciating. It’s completely different.”

Astarion is sure to provide your other breast with equal appreciation, so dedicated to balance is he.

And as he appreciates you, he’s fed with the most salacious little noises. Your hands claw desperately against his skin, looking for purchase. The soft sting of your nails has his own cock aching. 

Astarion adjusts slightly before he rolls his hips against you. You gasp, head sinking even further into the pillow. The curve of your throat, decorated with his bite and little love marks has something akin to pride blooming in his chest. He moves his hips again and this time, you move your own to meet his.

He grinds his hips against yours, the fabric of his pants growing damp where it rubs against your wet cunt. It makes the fabric cling impossibly closer to his own cock. He has to stop himself before he makes a total mess of his pants by coming inside them. 

You pout when he stops moving, but that quickly disappears as he presses kisses along your chest. His journey continues lower- he’s still hungry tonight. 

With each gentle kiss along your sternum, he can feel your stomach muscles tightening with anticipation. He takes his time, savoring how you squirm beneath. When he finally reaches his destination at the juncture of your thighs, he nudges your legs further apart to frame his shoulders. 

How was Astarion expected to find roses beautiful after this? Not after he had feasted on the nectar of the beautiful flower that resided between your thighs. 

“Oh, look how desperately you need me,” he says, astonished. 

Astarion is always amazed with the things you let him get away with saying when you’re spread open before him. You do try to make a noise of protest, but that quickly dies in your throat when Astarion leans forward to lick a flat stripe against your cunt. 

It’s an act of reverence as he licks and sucks at your soft folds, an act of devotion when he dips his tongue inside to taste you, an act of veneration when his tongue rolls over your clit. He can feel your little tremors and he’s studied your body so intently that he recognizes the signals of your impending climax and pulls away.

“I was so close, Astarion,” you whine out his name so pitifully, the fingers that have curled in his hair attempting to push his face back towards your cunt.

“In time, beloved,” he runs his nose along the inside of your thigh, smells the blood rushing underneath your skin, “I just need a taste.”

You recognize that he’s asking for permission, smart little thing that you are, and you’re nodding your head so fast and eagerly that it nearly falls right off. “Gods, yes. Yes, please.” 

You open up your leg a bit so Astarion has easier access to your thigh. As had become his new habit, he presses a soft kiss to the skin of your inner thigh before his teeth sink in. 

It should be a sin how sweetly your blood mixes with the taste of your cunt in his mouth. A concoction made by the devil himself to personally drive Astarion insane. How is he supposed to sustain himself on anything other than this? How is he ever supposed to drink the blood of another when he has tasted the gods’ ambrosia? 

When he’s had his fill (it will never be enough), he moves his mouth back to your center, lets his tongue dip and lick and suck. He presses a finger into you and curls in in the way that always makes you let out a pretty sigh. 

The room is filled with the wet sounds of him feasting on your cunt and all your sweet, delicious noises. Astarion’s chest blooms with an unfamiliar warmth. 

He insists on pulling at least three orgasms from you before he relents, pressing a kiss to your hip bone before he’s moving back up your body.

“You’re so sweet, little flower. Would you like a taste?” Astarion asks and you’re surging up to kiss him, tongue sliding hungrily against his.

He feels your hand trailing down his stomach, moving closer and closer to where he desperately needs you to touch him. His brain is almost short circuiting. 

He goes to move your hand away, as usual, but you’re insistent tonight, evading his grasp as you play with the waistband of his trousers.

“What are you doing, my love?” He asks when your hand dips even lower, tracing along the outline of where his erection strains against the fabric of his pants. 

“Show me,” you tell him, eyes boring pleadingly into his. “Tell me what to do. I want to make you feel good, too.”

Oh, how is he supposed to resist you when you look at him with those warm, loving eyes? 

Astarion’s not even sure anymore why he had been resisting your advances so ardently. He deserves to feel good, he deserves to feel loved. And how could he possibly slip into the darkness of his mind when there’s this electricity running through his veins?

“Okay,” he agrees, moving so the two of you are laying side by side. He manages to pull his pants down and kick them off his legs while still looking moderately graceful.  

You start with innocent, feather light touches that have him almost in agony before you wrap your hand around him and move slowly along his shaft. 

“Tighter,” he instructs you, bringing his own hand down to guide you, to help you adjust your grip and show you how to move up and down a bit faster. He can’t help but think about how tight and hot your cunt would feel wrapped around him.

Tracing his thumb across his tip, Astarion collects some of his precome and spreads it along his length as lubricant. Your fingers chase after his own, eager to learn, and dance over the head of his cock. His whole body nearly jolts in response. 

Astarion’s trying to watch your face, studying how your own curious eyes dart down to glance at his cock and how you bite your lip so sinfully. But your hand moving against him feels so good and it’s been so long and it’s all just getting to be too much. 

“Tell me how it feels,” you murmur, shifting to kiss and suck at his neck while your hand continues to move. 

Astarion wonders if you’ve noticed that he was starting to lose himself. He’s eternally grateful to you for helping to anchor him back to reality. 

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Astarion calms his mind, focusing on how your soft hand is moving against his cock and he manages to choke out, “Warm… your hands are so warm… and so soft.”

And oh, you start twisting your hand a bit toward his tip and that has Astarion’s hips rocking into your hand involuntarily.

“That’s- so close. Fuck… Feels so good. So…” Astarion groans as he trails off. 

He faintly feels you smile against his skin before your teeth are sinking lightly into the base of his neck. It feels unbelievable- the gentle sting only serves to amplify the pleasure. He completely understands why you’re always so eager for him to bite you. 

He comes hard, spilling over your hand and the soft skin of your stomach. 

You keep moving your hand against him, his cock pulsing in your hand, until the sensation starts to hurt a bit and Astarion’s steering your hand away from him. 

“You did so good for me,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth. 

It’s so sweet to have you whisper the words back to him that he always tells you after he’s brought you to ruin. 

“You’re so handsome,” you continue, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Always so patient with me,” you press another kiss to the spot between his eyebrows. “My wonderful husband.” A final kiss on his forehead. 

There’s that lovely, fluttering warmth surrounding his heart again at your words. Astarion catches your chin and guides your lips to his own for one last slow, sweet kiss. You let out a content little sigh into his mouth.

But Astarion feels sticky where his come is drying uncomfortably against his own skin, so he can only imagine how you feel.  

“Let me clean you up,” Astarion says, pushing some strands of your loose hair behind your ear. 

He detangles himself from your arms and you eventually let him go after trying unsuccessfully to pull him back into bed a couple times. Your actions have Astarion smiling with a goofy grin, happy that you seem to crave his embrace as much as he craves you.

After wetting a cloth at the wash pitcher and basin, he comes back to the bed, where you have spread yourself out in his absence.

“And where am I supposed to sleep, little flower?” He teases.

“In a coffin, probably,” you giggle and Astarion snorts out a little laugh at your stupid joke. You kick playfully at him when he tries to sit back down on the bed. 

“You never make anything easy, do you?” Astarion rolls his eyes before catching your foot. He presses a kiss to your ankle before he sets your leg back down on the bed. 

“Where’s the fun in that? You’d get bored.”

Astarion is sure to keep his touch gentle as he wipes down your stomach and he moves his attention to the bite on your inner thigh. The blood had already started to coagulate and heal, but the skin around it was angry and red.

You will have a nasty bruise tomorrow. Astarion will probably get an earful from Shadowheart. 

Oh well, it was worth it. 

“You always take such good care of me,” you say with a dreamy sigh, reaching out to wind your finger around one of Astarion’s curls that had gotten dislodged when your fingers were threaded into his hair earlier. 

He reminds himself that you don’t really mean this- that you’re probably just feeling a bit faint from blood loss and are caught up in the afterglow.

“You’re just tired,” he mutters, avoiding your gaze and continuing to wipe away any remnants of stickiness from your skin. 

“No,” your palm moves from his hair to cup his cheek and your eyes stare into his desperately, like you need him to really hear your next words. “That’s not- I’m trying…”

You huff out a frustrated breath of air. Obviously, you’re going to tell him you’ve grown tired of him- that he had served his purpose and you’d be moving on now. He’s desperately trying to come up with ways to bargain with you in his mind, to convince you to stay.

“I’m not very good at being nice,” you say. 

That’s a lie, Astarion thinks. You’re plenty good at being nice. You can be a bit brazen and you are certainly obstinate and headstrong. But underneath all that, you are deeply kind- you gift Astarion flowers, you offer him your lifeblood when he’s on the brink of death, you save him from the worst parts of his mind even after he has already given you pleasure. 

“I just…” you trail off again, biting at your lip. “You take very good care of me. You let me set boundaries and try things at my own pace. I appreciate that. I appreciate you. Sometimes it just overwhelms me how lucky I am to be married to you.”

That’s… oh… That’s not what Astarion expected at all.

And he knows that if he sits in this moment, if he lets himself say what he’s really thinking, he’s going to finally realize that the feeling you inspire in him is love. And that maybe it’s been love for quite a while. 

“Did you ever imagine yourself saying that when we first married?” He says instead, and he can feel his lips splitting into a wide smile. 

Teasing was easy. Teasing was comfortable. Teasing distracted him from that little feeling gnawing at him. 

You groan in embarrassment, bringing your hands up to cover your eyes. 

“It’s cute, you get all blushy and flustered when you’re embarrassed.” Astarion continues, pulling on your wrists gently to move them away from your eyes. You give him a little pout that makes him chuckle. He leans down, pressing a quick kiss to your pouting lips, “Makes me want to take a bite.”

“Down, boy,” you laugh, lightly pushing Astarion’s head away from you. “You’ve had plenty today. I’m cutting you off.”

“A shame.” Astarion gives a big, dramatic sigh and settles his head against your chest. He feels you shake with laughter. 

The rhythmic movement of your fingers through Astarion’s hair and the loud, steady beat of your heart has him nearly purring. He uses his own hands to draw swirling shapes on the soft skin of your stomach that have you giggling and swatting at his hands.

When Astarion rests his chin on your chest to look up at you, he can’t ignore it any longer.

The only emotion that can possibly fit what he is feeling is love. 

It terrifies him. How could he let himself be so weak, so foolish?

Astarion nearly falls out of bed, attempting to put as much distance between you and himself as quickly as possible. He needs to get away from here, needs to think.

“Astarion, what’s wrong?” 

He can hardly hear your voice over the roaring in his ears, the bubble building in his chest that’s pushing away all of his air. When your hands reach out for him, to pull him back to you, your hands are too hot against his skin. He steps away as if he’s been burned. 

“I have to go,” Astarion manages to choke out, pulling his clothes back on before he’s stumbling out of the room. His feet carry him back to his study. 

He paces the length of the floor. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. 

It was never supposed to go this far. He was never supposed to love you. It’s just that at every step, he kept craving more, kept getting carried away. 

He shouldn’t have concerned himself at all when he overheard your father and that vile man at the party, talking about you like you were an animal up for auction. He shouldn’t have gotten the foolish idea in his head that he could help you. Should have never even conceived the plan to marry you as a solution. 

He should have killed you when you found out he was a vampire. 

But you had such fire, such tenacity. He was intrigued. And he had already concocted the plan to marry you. It had seemed so simple, at that time, to twist his own reasons for why marrying you would help keep his secret from getting out. 

He shouldn’t have started inviting you down to dinner, shouldn’t have entertained you in the library in the evenings or taken walks in the garden with you. 

He never should have tasted your blood. He should have woken up from his nearly comatose state and demanded that they fetch one of his blood bags from the village.

He certainly shouldn’t have allowed himself to drink from you every night. Never should have pulled you into his bed, never should have let you read to him or comb your fingers through his hair or hold him while you sleep. 

He never should have let himself become intoxicated by the taste of your cunt and those delectable noises you make.

You were the sun, the best and worst parts of you. You were bright and brash, the gentle touch of a spring day and the angry blistering heat of summer, creation and destruction. If Astarion stayed on course, he would become consumed in your sweet warmth. 

Without even recognizing it had happened, Astarion had become your moon- existing solely to reflect your own brightness back upon you. 

No, his transgressions would end here. From now on, you were just someone who he shared a house with and nothing more. Whatever that feeling was, whatever love he thought he felt needed to be gone. He couldn’t confront Raphael if his heart had such an obvious gaping wound. 

“Are you alright?” Gale asks from the doorway, shocking Astarion out of his pacing. 

“I’m fine,” Astarion nearly snarls back at him. 

“It’s just… It doesn’t seem like you’re fine?” Gale says, hesitant. “Lady Ancunin sent me to check on you, she was worried.”

And the idea that you’re worried about him nearly has him reversing all his plans again, nearly has him crawling back to you on his knees and begging you to forgive him for causing you distress.

But, no, he must stand strong. 

“Is this another one of your episodes?” Gale asks when Astarion still hasn’t answered.

Astarion feels his face twist in rage at Gale’s unknowing implication that you- his precious, lovely heart- could even be compared to the vicious monster that was Cazador and the horrors Astarion would be forced to relive forever. 

No, this anguish was something entirely new, something entirely foreign that Astarion didn’t know if he would ever be able to navigate.

“Leave,” Astarion commands. “I need to think.”

Gale looks reluctant, but follows the instruction, letting the door click shut behind him.

Astarion throws himself back into research. He has been too distracted lately, too willing to forget his mission so he could spend more time with you. But, the quicker he can find the final gem that Raphael needed to complete the crown, the quicker he can get out of this idiotic contract, the quicker he will be back in your arms…

No, Astarion stops that line of thinking. 

There would be no returning to you. Love is a disease that festers and grows and spreads. Even after he is free of Raphael, growing close to you would grant him nothing but suffering. 

You were human, you would die.

He spends the rest of the day pouring over books, reading until his eyes hurt. Even then, he doesn’t take a break. His mind has to be wholly consumed by getting out of this deal with Raphael. If he lets any part of himself think of you, he might lose his resolve. Deep down, he already knew he was a weak man when it came to you. 

“Astarion,” you knock gently at the door to his study, interrupting him from his reading. 

Astarion shoots a quick glance over to the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. It’s evening again. He had hardly noticed the day passing.

When he looks at you, it feels like someone has staked him through the heart. The circles under your eyes are dark, like you didn’t sleep after he had run off. He quickly turns his gaze back to the papers on his desk. 

Had he really been driven so mad that the mere sight of you threatened to ruin him? 

Pathetic.

“Astarion, talk to me. What happened this morning?” You approach him where he sits at his desk, hands reaching out to relax the muscles in his tense shoulders. He jumps away at the contact and the look on your face is so heartbroken.

“What’s going on? Has something happened? Tell me and I can fix it,” you plead.

“Nothing’s wrong, I’ve just been thinking…” he trails off because the words he needs to say next are getting caught in his throat, his body and his brain at war with one another. “I just think it’s time that we end our little arrangement.”

“Our… arrangement?”

“I don’t need your blood anymore. I have someone else.” He tries to keep his voice as measured and even as possible, tries not to choke around the bile threatening to rise up in his throat. 

“Someone else…” you take a deep breath and it looks like you’re forcing down tears. His hands are itching, shaking at his side with the need to reach out, to cup your pretty face and apologize as he wipes away every single tear. 

But no, Astarion knows the next words out of his mouth will ruin everything with you forever.

“I just need someone who could keep up with my tastes, darling. Not that you weren’t fun for a while, you’re just a little… bland,” he says, trying hard to make it look like his face is contorting with disgust and not anguish. “You were a fun challenge at first, but now, you’re just too easy. Too desperate.”

Astarion does recognize that it is a bit ironic to call you desperate when he is the one who requires your attention as a basic need for his survival. 

You look as if he has split your ribs open and dug the beating heart out of your chest cavity. Astarion wishes that the gods might smite him where he stands so that he can escape this agony. 

“That’s just- that’s not-” you splutter and for a second there’s a warmth that blooms in his chest like there always is when he manages to catch you off guard. Your face twists, anger taking over, “Obviously I haven’t been thinking clearly from the blood loss or I would have never let you touch me!”

And just like that, Astarion’s very worst fear is confirmed. He had been taking advantage of you.

You always have to have the last word, Astarion knows this about you. It’s what he lov- likes about you- that his nettling and teasing always gets him some sort of response. 

But he also knows when you’re angry, when you’re really, truly angry, that your words can almost border on cruelty, and can cut him so deeply in ways you could never understand. He shouldn’t go poking and prodding at you when he knows you’re this upset. 

“Well, consider this,” Astarion points his finger between the two of you, “finished, then.” 

He’s fighting with everything in him to keep his even, trying not to betray the hidden storm brewing beneath the surface.

“I hate you,” you spit out at him before you’re leaving, slamming the door behind you. 

You should, he thinks. He will never forgive himself for what he has done to you. 

Astarion pours himself a glass of wine and finally lets the wave of emotions crest. 

For once, Astarion had something good in his life, something he enjoyed. Something just for him. But of course, he was too selfish, too greedy, and had pushed you too far. He had turned into the monster, Cazador, that he always hated. Someone who took and took and took until the people around him were drained dry. 

And Astarion thought he was being so careful, too. He had waited for you to initiate intimacy. He had checked to make sure you were level-headed. He had thought he had known what you wanted…

But it doesn’t matter what he thought, he reminds himself. It only matters what you think. And you have just confirmed that he is just as bad as Cazador, Worse, even. Because Astarion had done this to someone who he loves.

It was a vicious cycle that he seemed doomed to repeat- the monster and the victim. He had been on both sides of it now. They felt equally miserable, equally terrifying. 

It’s good that he is finished with this dalliance, with this weakness. Astarion would never let love hurt him again. 

------------------------------------------------------------

Notes:

*squirts Astarion with water* No, bad Astarion, stop overthinking and self-sabotaging.

To everyone who made it to the end, thank you for sticking with me! I know this chapter was long and had quite a few emotional ups and downs as well as a lot of plot.

As always, thank you to my wonderful beta-writer AliensNSuch on ao3!

Okay, now time for a couple notes. I do not know the logistics of being bitten by a vampire every day. I’m pretty sure you would just, like, die… HOWEVER, this is fiction and I like vampire bites so I like to imagine that Astarion’s just taking a lil sip every night and that Shadowheart brews a really awesome tea that prevents death by daily vampire blood draw.  

Second note, I have fully lost the plot on whether it’s day or night in most of these scenes lol. In my head, the reader is fully nocturnal by now and it’s like late fall into winter for this chapter, so the nights are longer. But if there’s ever weird night/day mix ups- oops, my bad.

Also, I love you all! I cannot even begin to express my gratitude to everyone who has read this fic and left likes/kudos or sweet and encouraging comments. I see them all, I love them all. It makes me so excited to sit down and keep writing the rest of this!

Chapter 6 will be up next Sunday! It’s somehow just as long as this chapter…

Taglist: @ayselluna @idkbrodontaskme @maruichio @fanfic-share @the-littlest-bruja @asterordinary

Feel free to let me know if you would liked to be added/removed from the taglist for future chapters!

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 fanfic #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #x reader #til death do us part

[momolady]

Placide the Paralangua

The festival of Ash is fast approaching. but before the excitement can build, there is lots of planning in order to prepare. Few humans are selected for the festival, but there is another handful that get to work closely with the Paralangua elders in order to plan and prepare the great event.

Female Reader x Male Monster (both cis)

===============================================

It had been a remarkably cold winter, marked by occasional snow flurries which were a rarity for your neck of the wood. You were used to a chill in the air, maybe some cold rain or ice, but this year felt different. It was as if a shift occurred somewhere in the fall and a wind of change had swept through the trees.

It did not stop your work though, and even through the holidays you worked on coordinating the Festival of Ash that would be happening in the spring. For the past few years now, you’d been hired as the main event coordinator for the yearly festival. All your life you had attended it, so it was an honor to be given this opportunity. This also allowed you a rare access to the paralangua elders in order to receive their input on the festivities.

You’re able to work from home and have set up an office in one of your spare rooms, but you’ll often have meetings with the paralangua that take place elsewhere. Usually you meet with a singular elder each time.

This year, your baby cousin, Lucie, had returned home and the two of you have been hanging out a lot. This year, she is one of the chosen for the Festival of Ash and she will be paired with one of the paralangua during the ritual.

“I’m so nervous,” she said. “I’ve heard so many different stories, I’m not quite sure which one to believe in.”

You had your back turned to her as she talked, fixing you both a cup of hot chai.

“You work with them, right?” She asked.

You smiled back at her. “I do. The elders vary, but they’ve all been very kind.” You took the steaming cups and set them on the coffee table. “It’s strange working with them after being told all our lives that they are a mysterious lot. But really, they're just like anyone else.

“But they’re giant albino lizards,” Lucie laughed.

“Gators,” you corrected. “And they’re quite beautiful to look at.”

Lucie picked up a cup. “You think so? I’m still not sure what to think. It makes me nervous picturing myself being…being with one of them.” Her cheeks blossomed into a bright pink and she kept her eyes casted away.

You chuckled. “Especially since it will be your first time. I can understand how that would make you nervous. But reportedly, they are excellent lovers.”

She fidgeted in her seat. “How big are they?”

“Well, considering most of them make me feel short, I’d say they’re very tall,” you laughed.

“No, I mean-” Lucie took a sip of her chai. “How big are they?”

You glanced at her with surprise. “Oh. Well, that’s one part of them I’m not familiar with. I usually don’t get that intimate while planning the festival.”

“I’ve looked online and I don’t know if I could possibly take anything bigger than a breadstick.” She held a shivering, terrified look in her eyes. “I sometimes wish I’d never been chosen.”

A spike of pain went through your chest.

“You get to have sex whenever you want, you can marry or date anyone you want. I’m twenty-one and still haven’t kissed a guy. All because I’m a stupid chosen.” She set her cup down forcefully.

“Careful.” You pulled her cup back. “And don’t say it’s stupid. You’ve been given a wonderful gift. And the paralangua who fights for you in the labyrinth is going to be yours for the rest of your life. They’re going to love you and adore you.”

“But it’s scary,” Lucie whispered.

You reached out and took hold of her hand. “You’re the lucky one here, Lucie. I understand you’re nervous, but trust me. Once you meet them, you’ll understand all the stories we heard as kids.”

Lucie pouted and sighed. “I hope so.”

“Besides, the dating pool these days is murky. I’m not that lucky,” you chuckled. “Have you seen the state of dating apps?”

Lucie’s smile returned. “Yeah, that’s true.”

The following afternoon you had a meeting with one of the elders. You drove to the castle on the hill and were greeted by him at the door. You were pleased to see it was Placide, your favorite elder to deal with.

Placide opened your car door for you. “Good morning. Another cold one, isn’t it?”

You gathered your things then took his offered hand to stand. “They’re calling for a snowstorm this weekend, can you believe it?”

He scoffed and rolled his dark, red eyes. “I will believe it when I see it. But the way the weather has been this winter, I would not be surprised.”

Placide made you feel petite in stature. He was so tall and broad it was intimidating. But he had a way about him that made you forget that. Unlike some of the other elders, he talked to you on your level, he got personal with you. It was easy to talk to him, which is why you enjoyed working with him. Not to mention his deep, buttery voice made your knees weak.

“I just hope the cold doesn’t linger in spring. I would hate for the labyrinth and the waters to remain cold, especially for our chosen this year.” Placide said as you walked inside and towards the dining hall.

“My cousin is one of the chosen this year, and she’s nervous enough about it as it is.” In the dining room you set your things upon the table, taking out your planner and laptop, both of which you felt were even less suited to the grand room than you.

Placide came up behind you and pulled out your chair. “Well, for her sake I hope the weather warms up.”

“Thank you.” You sit down and open your planner to the notes you had thought out last night. “She’s been asking me all sorts of questions about it. But I’m not quite sure how to answer her.” You ducked your head down and your smile remained sad. “I was never chosen as a child.”

Placide tilted his head up slightly. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

You shook your head. “Oh, it’s nothing now.” You opened your laptop a bit too forcefully. “What about you? Did you ever battle in the labyrinth?”

He chuckled. “Yes, I did. But it was a long time ago.” A distant look came into his eyes and he avoided gazing at you.

“Any advice you’d give to my cousin? She’s nervous about, you know, her first time and all-” You stop. “Oh god, that’s horribly inappropriate, isn’t it? Ignore me! That’s weird! I’m so sorry, Mr. Placide.”

He chuckled. “Just call me Placide, honey. And no worries. I was terrified the first time my victory and I were…you know.”

Your eyes pinched. “Victory?”

Placide’s smile became soft. “That’s what we call one another. Not exactly brides or grooms, are we? But we’re victories to one another. We fought hard to reach one another within the labyrinth; each coupling, each poly group that forms is a victory.”

“That’s really romantic. I didn’t know that part.”

Placide’s eyes cast aside again. “My victory, Carine was her name, she used to say that our first night together was equal parts awkward and sweet. As long as you can laugh together at things, you can conquer most obstacles in each others’ embrace.” He lifted his head up. “She used to love coming to the festival and talking to all the young ones going into the labyrinth. It was her favorite part every year.”

“Does she not do it anymore?” You asked cautiously.

Placide sighed. “I’m sure she does, in spirit at least.”

You felt completely awful. You brought this all up, and now you were having him talk about his deceased wife! You’re a monster, you thought to yourself.

“I’m so sorry,” you tried to smooth things over.

He shook his head. “I like talking about her. I didn’t have her as long, so the more I can talk about her the better that makes me feel.” He smiled. “But we do have business to attend to. So tell me, how goes it with the vendors?”

“Uhm-” You tap at your laptop to get it to turn back on. “So far, so good. A lot of locals are still willing to donate food to be served. And uhm-” You drop your planner onto the ground and reach down to get it. “There’s a lot of crafters this year who applied so-” Your head hit the bottom of the stone table with a loud thud that echoed through the door.

“Honey, are you okay?” Placide jumped up from his chair and came towards you.

You held the back of your head with one hand, while gripping tight onto your planner with the other. “I’ll be okay.”

Placide moved your hand aside to look. His hand felt so cold against the injured part of your head, it was nice.

“Do you feel tired at all?” Placide asked.

“I’m just embarrassed.”

Placide looked into your eyes, gazing really for what felt like the longest time. “I’m just making sure you don’t have a concussion.”

“I have a notoriously thick skull.” You tried to laugh but you were more nervous than you realized. Having Placide this close was doing some damage on the girly side of your heart. “Seriously, I was on a bike once as a kid and went right through the fence. Not a scratch on my head, and I went head first.”

Placide pulled his hand back and there was a touch of blood on his fingertips.

“That’s yours?” You asked.

Placide’s brow raised. “You’re hurt. Let me take you to Adele, she’ll be able to assess things better than I. Give me your hand, honey.”

He takes hold of your hand, then wraps his arm around your waist as you stand. For a moment, you thought this could be the cover of a romance novel.

“I’m fine, really!”

“I’m not risking it,” Placide said with a stern tone. “I’d hate myself if I sent you home and you drove your car into a wall or something.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” You stopped when you saw the sharp look in his eye. “I’m joking. I’m joking!”

Placide led you further into the castle than you had ever been before. You passed by some paralangua and humans, all of whom seemed curious by your being there.

Placide knocked on a door with a golden plaque upon it. The plaque swung aside and bright pink eyes started out. “Placide, what the hell do you want?”

“This is our event planner,” he said. “She hit her head upon the table and now she’s bleeding a bit.”

“From where?” Adele snipped.

“The back of her head.” Placide sounded confused.

Adele closed the plaque and opened the door. “Oh, good. If it was her eyes or nose or something, that’d be bad. Just wait out here, Placide. I’ll get her looked at.” She closed the door behind you.

Adele was another one of the elders you liked to work with. She wasn’t flowery like the others, she was direct and liked asking questions that helped you sort things out.

“So you hit your head?” Adele had you sit down then pushed up your hair to examine. “I hate that stone table. I feel like laying on it like that lion in those kids books. How are you feeling, girl?”

“Like I hit my head.”

“Oh, good. I would have been concerned had you said you felt like you hit your knee.” She pushed your hair over the top of your head and wrapped some gauze around it to keep it out of the way.

“Is everything okay?” You asked.

“I’m just going to clean up this cut back here and keep you talking. I don’t think anything is wrong, but Placide overreacts to these sorts of things.”

“I told him I had a thick skull,” you murmured.

Adele dabbed something onto the cut that burned and stung; it made you kick your legs.

“Hold still.” She blotted at the cut with a bandage. “Yup, ole Placide is going to worry over you now.”

“Why?”

Adele let out a heavy sigh. “He was never quite right after Carine died. They were both so young, and trauma does things to a person.”

Your stomach sunk with how sad that was. “Oh.”

“I think you’ll live though. But if you start feeling any sort of way, you go to a hospital.” She said, helping you to stand up. She took off the gauze holding your hair up. “And be careful of that cut back there. It’s not awful, but getting shampoo into it will be.” She opened the door and Placide stood alert then relaxed when he saw you.

“Is everything okay?” He asked.

“Should be, the girl has a pretty thick skull, so she’ll survive long enough to have regrets.” Adele shut the door behind her without another word.

Placide still looked at you with concern.

You offered him a bright smile, hoping to reassure him. “I’m fine really. Let's finish our meeting.”

“Are you sure?” He walked along beside you. “You don’t have to continue if you don’t feel like it. I would gladly reschedule.”

“I’m fine, I can get through this meeting.”

He nodded. “If you’re sure. I’m sorry if my worrying comes off as annoying.”

You shook your head. “Adele told me about Carine, I understand why you do worry.”

Placide’s gaze faded into something pitiful. “I don’t like seeing people I care about in pain,” he said simply. “But I suppose that’s anybody.”

Your heart fluttered as if it had wings. “Anybody worth their salt, anyways.” You placed your hand upon his thick arm. “Thank you.”

He smiled and nodded. “I’ve grown fond of our meetings. Being an elder, things tend to get stuffy. I enjoy your company because it makes me feel-” He hesitated. “Well, it’s a highlight of my week when I get to see you.”

He needs to stop or I am going to allow this crush to progress further than it needs, you think to yourself.

You leaned in closer to him. “Don’t tell any of the other elders, but you’re my favorite.” You gave him a wink and he laughed. “The others feel so serious all of the time.”

Placide pulled out your chair for you again. “They’re still part of the age where this is all ritual, pomp, and purpose. They don’t see the fun in it like the younger generation does.”

You smirk at him. “Do you not consider yourself part of that generation?”

His smile grew. “How young do you think I am?”

“Hard to tell,” you smiled shyly up at him. “But considering you're an elder I would say you’re older than me, but younger than the elders you work with.”

Placide chuckled. “Well, you’re partly right. Paralangua don’t age like humans, so would it surprise you if I told you I was fifty?”

You stared for a moment, slowly easing back in your chair. “You’re not.”

“I am,” he laughed. “Is that really so hard to believe?”

“What’s your skincare routine?”

Placide laughed loudly and graced you with a big grin. “Having thick scales.”

You clicked your tongue and shook your head. “Damn. And here I am bragging about my skull.”

“This is why I enjoy our meetings.” Placide’s smile softens. “You always make my day brighter like this.”

He needs to stop or you’ll catch feelings, you thought.

“You too.” You say this then immediately open up the planner in hopes of covering up the sentimentality floating all around. “Vendors!”

“Yes, vendors,” he chuckled. “Last year we had that lady who made the flower crowns. I was hoping we could get her to do some ornate ones for the chosen group this year.”

You nodded and smiled. “I had that idea too and already brought it up with her.”

“Another reason I like you so much. You already have all the good ideas.”

Your cheeks flushed and you returned to discussing business as usual. As the meeting ended, the back of your head was pretty sore, so you were planning on putting a bag of frozen peas on it when you got home.

“Let me walk you out.” Placide took your bag and carried it for you. “How are you feeling?”

You put your hand on the back of your head. “There’s a knot for sure. But I have a bag of peas in my freezer that’ll take care of me tonight.”

Placide opened the door for you. “I may be stepping out of bounds, but I could come by and bring you dinner tonight so you wouldn’t have to worry. I feel responsible.”

Your stomach flipped. “Oh, no, no,  it’s okay really! It’s not your fault I hit my head. You don’t have to.”

His smile was gentle as he looked at you. “What if I just wanted to bring you dinner?”

Your stomach flipped again. “I mean…I like food.” You hated yourself and tried to recoup. “You don’t have to really! I’ll be fine, you don’t need to go out of your way. But if you wanted to-” You trailed off, unsure where to go.

“I want to,” he said. He opened your car door for you. “What time would be best?”

“Five, I suppose.” You still were still a bit confused. “I’m the one that hit my head though. You don’t need to worry.”

“It’s not just that. I want to see you, outside of this castle and not have to talk about the festival. I want to see you and only you.”

Not fair, not fair, not fair, not fair, the words ran through your mind. “You can’t say things like that, Placide, and expect a girl to stay okay for the rest of the day.”

Placide chuckled and kissed your forehead. “To feel better.”

Not fair, not fair, not fair, not fair!

“Drive home slowly. Just in case.” Placide handed you your bag. “And I will see you at five.”

“Thank you.” You weren’t sure what to say, and that probably wasn’t the correct answer. You sat in your car for a second, watching as Placide went back towards the door. He turned and waved at you, making your heart spike into your throat.

“Okay then…it’s a date,” you murmured in disbelief.

==================================

The first Festival of Ash you could remember attending, was the one where you were taken to see if you’d be one of the chosen. At the time, your town was small and there weren’t very many kids your age. It had been very likely at the time you were going to be chosen. The ceremony progressed as normal, but you weren’t selected.

All your friends had been chosen, and they talked about it all the time. You smiled and nodded along, congratulating them on how lucky they were. But of course, you were lucky too. You could date anyone you wanted. Sure. You could. Time went by, and by your twenty-first birthday you had placed yourself on the other side of the world, away from home, and away from the Festival of Ash that year, the year your friends would no longer be chosen, and instead be with their paralangua in the labyrinth.

It didn’t bother you, you could date whoever you wanted. It really didn’t bother you.

What did bother you was that your hair looked greasy and awful, but Adele had warned you about washing your hair while you had that injury at the back of your head.

“Oh sure, I have to injure myself like this.” You fussed with your hair, trying to style it one way and then another. But absolutely nothing looked good to you.

You tapped your forehead where Placide had kissed you. “Don’t get your hopes up. That never works out.” You put on an old, favorite beanie to cover the greasy hair as well as put extra protection around the bump growing from the back of your head.

“Just act cool. You can do that at least.” You strolled out into your living room and sat down upon the sofa. “Nonchalant. Casual. Cool,” you repeated the words to yourself. You picked up the remote to turn the TV on. But then the panic set in of having to select something to watch, so if Placide came at that moment, you could have something interesting on. Whatever you had on would be a reflection of yourself, an intimate peek into your daily life, the way your mind worked.

True crime documentary? No. Too creepy.

Something based on Jane Austen? No. Too desperate.

Maybe a video game walk through? No! Too corny.

Music? No! Your music is weird!

There was a knock on the door and you placed your remote down gently. No harm, no foul. You got up and went to the door, peeking on your video doorbell who was there. It was Placide, dressed in a very dapper wool coat and carrying a bag in each hand.

“Crap, he looks nice. And I look like an off the hours goth girl.” You calmed yourself. It didn’t matter. This was going to be a nice visit.

You opened the door and smiled. “Welcome! Glad you found the place okay.”

Placide stepped in and you offered to take one of the bags. “You have a beautiful house. I was surprised.”

You furrowed your brow. “You were?”

“I mean-” Placide cleared his throat. “I was expecting something much smaller. You said you lived alone, right?”

“This is my family’s ancient stomping grounds. I inherited it from my grandmother. The kitchen is this way.” You led him down the hall. “During the wedding season I rent it out for extra money.”

“That’s not a bad idea. It’d be a perfect place.” Placide stepped into the kitchen and looked around. He shed his heavy coat and hung it aside. “It’s so cold out. I’m glad your house is warm.”

“Surprisingly good heating system for an old house, right? Do you need helping with anything?” You asked.

“I just need to heat a few things up.” He set some wrapped dishes down on the table. “How are you feeling, by the way?”

You touched your hat and shrugged. “Hurt and embarrassed still.”

“Don’t be. Embarrassed that is. But is the pain bad?”

You shook your head. “Only if I touch it. And here, this is the stove.” You stepped aside to let him near it.

It did feel a bit awkward, but you couldn’t tell if it was all just you, or if maybe Placide was feeling it too.

“It’s odd, I’ve never talked to you outside of being an elder,” you chuckled. “I’m not sure how to quite…go about it.”

Placide’s tail twitched upon the hardwood floor and slightly perked up. “Just treat me like any other man you’d have in your home.”

“Not had that much experience there either,” you muttered under your breath.

Placide put the dishes into the stove. “Although, I am a bit shy myself. After Carine, there weren’t many women who piqued my interest.”

“I piqued you?” You wanted to hit your head again.

Placide chuckled. “I enjoy talking to you. Our last event planner used the same things every single year. But the past few years you’ve worked with us the Festival of Ash has changed and grown, it feels like it did when I was a young man again.”

“I would argue you’re still young.” You cleared your throat and glance aside. “I just know the festival is important for us. Not just the paralangua or the chosen. But everyone here knows it’s special.”

Placide’s smile is soft, but it was the way his eyes graze over you. There's confidence there, as well as a nervous vulnerability. “It’ll take a minute for the food to warm up. Maybe we should sit down.”

“Oh sure, here is fine. Or the sofa might be comfier for you.” You stepped towards the doorway, leading him back to the living room. He took a seat, curling his tail around his waist so it curled over his thigh and draped down.

You sat on the ottoman, a bit too anxious to sit on the sofa with him.

“You said your cousin was chosen. How is she looking forward to it?” Placide asked.

You shrugged. “Somedays she’s excited, other days she’s nervous. When I was growing up, most of my friends had gotten chosen too. I used to be so jealous of them.”

Placide tilted his head to the side. “Did it ever bother you?”

You swallowed. “Sometimes. I mean, I was happy for them. It was such a great honor and all. I got to see them get excited and nervous too.” You bit down on your lip. You sighed and shook your head. “There weren’t a lot of families here back then. Our group was small. So I felt left out a bit sometimes.”

“I’m sorry that happened, honey.” Placide’s smile was gentle as he looked at you.

“It’s fine really,” you tried to laugh. “I figured there was another purpose for me so-” You shrugged and brought a knee up to your chest. “I’m not worried about it anymore. What about you though? How was the labyrinth for you?”

“It was so long ago,” he chuckled. “I just remember all the build up and the adrenaline. The fighting was worse back then too, like you said, there were lesser people here long ago. So at the time I really had to fight my way through all the others my age.” He pulled up a sleeve and showed a scar on his arm that hindered the pattern of his scales.

“Back then, the ceremony didn’t really start until everyone had their stitches complete.” He offered out his arm towards you.

You touched his arm and ran your fingers up the scar, feeling how cool and smooth his scales were. “It was that brutal back then, huh?”

“Extremely.” Placide held your eyes for a moment then he sat up and pulled his sleeve back down. “There weren't enough humans to go around, and all of us wanted our own victory so badly.”

You wanted to ask more, but you felt that was prying too deep.

“I think everyone wants to feel like they’re being fought for in one way or another. I think that's why being chosen is so sought after. You want to feel like someone, anyone, wants you.”

You catch yourself in a nod then clear your throat. “It is nice.”

“I know romance is hard these days. But I’ve always been a bit of a dreamer.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Why don’t you come and sit beside me? I’m cold blooded and any extra warmth helps.”

Your cheeks warmed and you moved from the ottoman to the sofa, sitting near Placide and feeling more anxious than before. “It's a nice sofa. My grandmother bought it before she died, so it’s new-ish.”

“I see,” Placide chuckled. “It is nice.”

His hand was alone and vulnerable beside him. It was placed strangely though, almost like a piece of candy before a trap. You placed your hand upon the sofa, inching it towards his until your fingers brushed against his hand. His hand moved and then it was touching yours. You looked away as your hands touched then held one another.

“Do the paralangua allow this?” You asked out of nerves.

“It’s not exactly tradition. But it’s allowed.” He moved in close to you. “Although I do feel a bit strange. It’s been a long time and I like you.”

You leaned into his side. “I like you too.”

He chuckled. “Good. Or else this would be much more awkward than I feel.”

You laughed too and for a moment things were quiet. The two of you sat there, holding hands, and then a warmth seemed to grow between you.You shifted, facing one another again, and Placide’s mouth opened.

“Oh no, my spinach puffs!” Placide stood and held out his hand again. “The food should be ready now.”

Dinner was delicious, you ate more than you expected. But it was the conversation that came afterwards that you enjoyed most. You and Placide talked over coffee about little things. It grew from there as you talked about music, your love for punk and his surprising confession of playing guitar when he was young. From there, the night felt natural and time slipped away until you noticed the wall clock.

“I can’t believe it’s one already.”

Placide double checked it and laughed. “I had no idea! I thought it was still so early. Perhaps I should go.”

“Sorry I kept you so long. I’ll wash your dishes and bring them back later.” You rose to show him to the door, but he didn’t move. He remained sitting at the table with a stern look upon his face.

“Is everything okay?” You asked.

He sighed. “I want to kiss you, but I’m afraid of what will happen when I do.”

You licked your lips. “Nothing has to happen. It can just be a kiss.”

Placide stood and approached you. “I can promise you, it won’t be. So if we kiss, you’ll have to promise me you won’t let me get away with anything.”

It was just suggestive enough for you to enjoy it, and just a little cute. “You’re making me the responsible adult here?”

“If you can try to be.” Placide’s hand rested upon your waist. “One of us needs to think clearly.”

His hand brushed against your cheek, the smooth scales and dark claws made you shiver. “Should we pull straws for it?”

Placide bent down and there it was, the kiss. You were taken back for a second, almost watching down at yourself while it happened. But you returned to the present, pressing closer and closer to him as the kiss deepened. You held onto him as a moan rumbled in his chest.

Placide was the one to pull back and his hands both rested upon your waist, holding you tightly so you didn’t come closer or move farther away.

“See…” You cleared your throat. “You did well.”

“But I could sink deeper,” he growled against your ear. “I feel it. It’s an old desire but I know it.”

You smoothed your hand down his chest. “But-”

“Yes, but.” Placide released you. “We both mentioned it has been a long while. We shouldn’t let want override our own needs.”

“Right.We have lots of time anyways.” You handed him his coat.

“You would think so, but even from where I stand, time doesn’t matter. It only moves forward, and it can pull us under that current.” He slipped on his coat. “So that is why I’d like to know when I can see you again.”

You lost your breath for a beat. “I’m free tomorrow?”

Placide smiled. “Tomorrow then.”

For the next few weeks, you and Placide met regularly. Nothing more than kissing happened, but there were moments where it felt like something more would happen. But you stopped each time, agreeing to wait and make sure it was right.

One evening, you woke up on the sofa lying on Placide’s chest. The TV had gone back to the main menu, and it was the only light on. You laid your head back down, resting it upon his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Placide murmured.

His voice started you and made you jump. “What?”

“I felt you stir,” he whispered. “And I almost called you Carine.”

You sat up, seeing his eyes were still closed tight. “I was half awake,” he said.

“I understand. It's okay.”

Placide sat up and sniffled. “But I’m with you. I know that. I care for you deeply, more and more each day. And it was so long ago.”

“How long?” You asked. “I’ve wanted to know, but I’ve been too afraid to ask.”

Placide breathed in and let it out slowly. “I had her for ten years, and then she was gone. Then another ten years went by, and then another.” Tears filled his eyes. “Somedays it feels like yesterday.”

You held his hand tight. “I know.”

“She made me promise not to give up. That I was too good to not share.” He smiled sadly. “I feel like I’ve let her down.”

You cupped your hand around his face. “Do you really think that?”

His red eyes turned to yours. “I think it. But I know she wouldn’t.”

You kissed him then rested your head upon his shoulder. “Then stop it.”

His hands rubbed up and down your back. “I’ll try. I promise.” He lifted your head and kissed you again. Once again there was that unspoken desire between you. This kiss could go either way, all you had to do was decide.

“I want you,” Placide growled.

You panicked. “That’s nice.”

He laughed and held you tight in his arms. “If it wasn’t so cold out, I’d take you into the labyrinthe right now.”

“Why there?”

He sighed and cupped his hands around your face. “To make you feel like a victory. I know it bothers you, and I was hoping I could wait and make myself behave until spring. But the more time I spend with you, the more I can’t stop thinking about how much I want to be with you. I think like I’m young again, and I keep driving myself crazy.”

You bit your lip to contain your smile. “Have you touched yourself thinking about me?” You said with a teasing tone.

Placide grunted and averted his eyes.

“If you want to wait until spring, we can. I would like to see it for myself and have you win me over.” You kissed his neck and cheek. “If you can wait. I will too.”

Placide’s hands tightened around your hips and he fidgeted his lap. “I’m not sure I can. Right now I feel…frustrated.”

“Maybe I can just help with that.” You laid a palm in his lap.

“Wait-” His voice choked and he captured your wrist in his hand.

You kissed him, pressing up against his chest and easing him back down upon the sofa. You sat back up, tugging off your sweater and his eyes bulged. You kissed down his chest, the smooth, plate scales felt cool to your lips, but you were growing warmer and warmer with each second.

“Tell me about the labyrinthe.” You say as you straddle his lap again.

“Uhm-” He breathed in deep. “It’s beautiful. Lots of lush moss and vines. It goes deeper than most people think.”

You dip down, kissing his belly as he talks. Your fingers find a mound between his legs that’s begun to open and dribble out a viscous ooze.

“There’s places to swim, but it’s the underground lake that’s my favorite.” He whimpered and his hips bucked.

Your fingers were inside and bit by bit he revealed himself. The top was ruby red, and compared to the rest of his pale body it stood out. Even more so, the size of him was prodigious. The thick base of his cock was baby pink and when it was fully released it laid against his stomach.

“May I?” You asked, sliding yourself down to be between his legs.

“Please, keep going.” Placide gently cupped the back of your head, careful as there was still a tenderness there. You kissed along the shaft, dragging your tongue up to the tip. The slippery ooze that covered him was slightly sweet and barely unpleasant. You brought him to your lips, kissing down the side and feeling his pulse twitch.

Placide gulped and tried to breathe. “I would…I would take you to that lake in the labyrinthe and lay you there upon the moss. You would…you would know how badly I wanted you, how much of a prize you really are.”

Pausing, you tried to decide what to do. You sat up, removing the rest of your clothes and Placide placed his hands upon you. He kissed you and nipped your skin, burying his face against your soft form  until you sat upon his lap.

“Don’t move,” he growled into your ear. “I can feel you…so warm and wet.” His claws sunk into your back. “Don’t move or I’ll take you right here. Right now.”

His cock pressed against your mound. As you breathed, your body moved and rubbed against him.

“I want it,” Placide panted.

“Me too.” You looked into his eyes. “I can’t wait for spring when you’re right here. Show me the labyrinthe when it’s warm. But you’ve won me now.”

Tears were in his eyes. “I won’t waste this. I promise.” He adjusted himself, moving so that he could be inside you. You let out a long, strangled sound then buried your face upon his shoulder.

Placide turned so that his feet were off the sofa and you we leaned into him. He arched his hips, pressing deeper inside you. He held you up just a bit to pull out but he was deep within a second later.

“So warm,” he whimpered.

“So big,” you whined back.

Placide swallowed and pressed his forehead against yours. “I’m trying to control myself. You’re not helping things.”

“Don’t hold back. I want it.” You wrapped your arms around his neck. “Go ahead, do what you want with me.”

He shook his head. “I want to but-”

You kissed him, pressing your palms down upon his shoulders so he pressed into the sofa. You rode him, taking what you wanted if only to let him know you were ready for anything he could give.

“Oh god, honey-” he growled.

“Stop waiting and just-” You saw nothing but a blur before you and you were on the floor. Placide was on top of you and lifting your legs up before he pressed deep inside you again. It was another blur again mixed with snarls and grunts into your ear. He pressed himself into you, giving you everything he had.

A bright light woke you from your dreams. And while your bedroom was dark, the sharp, white light that reflected from your window was a thick blanket of sparkling snow. You rested back into your pillow with a deep sigh. You then felt arms around you, and kisses upon your neck.

“Good morning,” Placide whispered.

Your body remembered all at once his ferocity last night and you felt a shiver crawl down your spine. “G-good morning!”

Placide chuckled. “It was nice having this warm body last night. When it snows like this all I want to do is cuddle.”

“I almost thought I dreamed last night.”

“I went a little too hard, I’ll be gentle next time, promise.” He kissed your cheek and wrapped his body around you.

“Tell me again about the labyrinthe.” You say as you stroke your hands down his body. “What will you do to me there?”

Placide growled. “What I won’t do to earn my victory. Lay back, I’ll show you.”

#exophilia #tertophilia #monster romance #monster boyfriend #monster lemon #monster x human #monster x reader #teratophilia writing #exophilia writing #momolady monsters #my writing

[cissyenthusiast010155]

Hi! I love your fics to bits! I would like to request a Morticia Addams x Taller Masc! Fem!Reader because we need more of your Morticia fics cause they are so good. The two of them meet as students at Nevermore and with reader being a member of the Archery Club. Their first meeting involves reader saying the line, “If you keep undressing me with your eyes, I’m gonna catch cold.” when she catches Morticia staring at her as she practices.

You can write how their love story as students blossom, you’re a genius at it anyway. Also, please make reader’s character have a grunge vibe and a huge Nirvana and Deftones fan.

But the oneshot ends with reader and Morticia as adults, already married, they had Pugsley and Wednesday. Morticia is admiring her wife practice archery outside of their Manor with the kids and says that very same line that started it all and Morticia doesn’t hesitate to give her wife a breathtaking kiss.

Please make the ending fluffy and cute. Thank you so much! <333

Stare Me Cold ~Morticia Addams xFem Tall!Wife!MascPresenting!Reader

Summary— Read the request. Anon response— Hi hi anon!! Thank you for the request! I love love love this idea. Morticia could always use more content eheheh. Hope you Enjoy! ♥️

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: fluff, staring, flustering, teasing, light praise, implied smut, happy endings, etc.

Enjoy (;

“It all started many years ago at Nevermore… We met for the first time at Archery Club, and your mother made quite the impression…” Morticia hummed, remembering the time like it was yesterday…

~~

Morticia’s feet crunched through the early January snow, he arms wrapped around her body to keep warm. The young raven haired woman walked up to the archery field, where students were starting to gather for Club.

Morticia found you, standing still and holding a bow and arrow. You had the arrow drawn back with intense concentration, aiming towards the target.

You felt Morticia’s icy eyes on you, starring. You had heard of Morticia Frump, but this was your first proper interaction with her. You sidedeyed the young woman after a couple seconds, her gaze making it hard for you to concentrate.

You took a deep breath and focused back on your target. In a sharp second, you released the arrow, and it went whizzing into the center of the target. You sighed out a breath that you’d been holding in.

Morticia’s gaze was still steady and intensely on you. You could feel her eyes raking up and down your frame.

You chuckled, lowering your bow and turning over your shoulder to look at the young woman.

“If you keep undressing me with your eyes, I’m gonna catch cold…” you chuckled.

Morticia stammered and blushed a little, before properly approaching you. She stuck out her hand.

“I’m Morticia, Morticia Frump” she breathed out, a little nervous.

This was different… Morticia was the ‘it’s girl of Nevermore… She didn’t shake hands or sound nervous.

You smirked and took her hand.

“Y/N, Y/N L/N.” You told the raven haired girl.

This time Morticia’s eyes raked up and down your frame uninhibited. she but her lip and smirked.

“I like your clothing style… suits you…” Morticia purred.

And her sassy, self-confident manner was back.

You tilted your head, unsure if the girl was actually complimenting you…

“Thanks…” you slowly said.

She did mean it.

At that, Morticia pursed her lips and retracted her hand, going to get her bow and a couple of arrows for archery.

~~

After that interaction, you could always feel Morticia’s eyes on you no matter where you went. It was unnerving, but at the same time you loved it.

You loved it because you could tell it unnerved her as well. Morticia was fascinated by you. She was fascinated by her like of you.

But the two of you didn’t hang around each other. Morticia was in the popular crowd, she had her own group of friends and acquaintances. You liked to do things more on your own. You were more of a grungy, loner, and you liked it that way.

But after that interaction last time with Morticia, you were starting to doubt if being alone was really what you wanted…

And Morticia was beginning to doubt if being surrounded by surface level acquaintances was what she really wanted…

One a particularly windy day, you were carrying some extra bows and arrows for archery. Before you saw Morticia coming diagnal into your path, you were crashing into her. You both fell to the ground, the bows and arrows scattering everywhere.

Morticia fell first, and you fell on top of her. You froze, your lisp parted, and your breath bated. You both stared at each other, eyes mesmerized with one another. You flickered your gaze down to Morticia’s lips, then quickly back up to her eyes.

You gulped, shook your head, and broke the trance, scrambling to get off of the young woman. You stood up and brushed yourself off, apologizing to the raven haired girl. You then went to pick up all the archery things you and dropped.

Morticia got up as well and immediately apologized as well, starting to help you grab all the scattered arrows.

“Thanks” you mumbled, blushing lightly as Morticia’s hand brushed yours when she was handing off the arrows she had collected for you.

The raven haired teen nodded in recognition.

“I… I heard your music from your dorm this morning.” Morticia hummed, “You have odd taste…”

“You mean grunge…?” You chuckled.

Morticia nodded and smiled.

You liked it when she smiled…

“Yea that. Maybe you should invite me over sometime and tell me about it…” the raven haired girl boldly said with a quirk of her brow.

Your jaw dropped slightly at the just of confidence going through the young woman in front of you.

“I—Ok!” You exclaimed.

“Excellent…” Morticia hummed, “I’ll come by after dinner.”

You hummed and nodded, trying to contain your excitement.

You spent the rest of day, only thinking about the basically date that you had with Morticia that night.

Finally, at around 9pm, you heard a knock on your door. Your roommate had left Nevermore recently, so you currently had a room all to yourself…

You let Morticia in. She sauntered into the room, sitting down on your bed. You quickly grabbed a tape and put it into the receiver, then sitting down next to the raven haired teen. The music started blaring.

Your gazes interlocked. And Morticia bit her lips.

~~

“And that is how I meet your mother…!!” Morticia exclaimed, lounging back against her hands on the picnic blanket.

Pugsley was curled up in Morticia’s lap, Wednesday was sitting in solitude on the corner of the blanket. Morticia’s gaze was on you. You were shooting apples off a fence, practicing your arrow aim.

“That’s so cool!” Pugsley exclaimed.

Morticia chuckled and nodded, bringing her attention to your shared son.

“But mother…” Wednesday quipped wickedly, “You did not finish telling us what happened in mother’s room…”

Wednesday said her words with a deep smirk, while Pugsley just stared at Wednesday in confusion.

“Wait what?” Pugsley said in confusion.

“Nothing! It’s nothing, no worries my little Pug bear…!” Morticia exclaimed, then shooting daggers at Wednesday.

Wednesday was about to say something again, Morticia clapped her hands together and exclaimed she was going to see how you were doing.

Morticia got up and sauntered over to your side.

“How’s it going, my Darling…?” Morticia hummed.

“If you keep undressing me with your eyes, I’m gonna catch cold…” you chuckled under your breath, making Morticia have shivers run down her spine, just like the day she met you.

~~~

Morticia Addams Masterlist

#morticia addams x reader #morticia addams #morticia frump #morticia frump x reader #morticia frump fluff #morticia Addams fluff #wife!reader #tall!reader #wednesday #wednesday x reader #wednesday fanfic #wednesday fandom #wednesday fluff #wednesday netflix #catherine zeta jones #CZJ #cissyenthusiast010155 answers

[genjv4rse]

𖥻 THINGS — enhypen ◌ ִ ۫ ּ

syn ; things enha reminds me of !

heeseung !

dangly earrings, pendent chains, skinny ripped jeans, rock guitar, clubbing, late studio night, concerts, rainy empty street, love songs, specs, ice cream, deers, rainforest, going over the speed limit, long drive, polaroids, balcony, tattoos, collage campus, basketball, getting into fist fights, breaking rules, warm breeze, kisses, sharing earphones, untied shoelaces, sleeveless tops, cross jewelries, chase atlantic songs

jay !

red wine, ball dance, guitar, empty kitchen, champagne bubbles, tuxedo suits, runaway, black cat, fashion magazines, gold jewelries, camping, eucalyptus, biking, biker jackets, street racing, late night walks, city lights, porsche, cologne, the weeknd songs, loose tie, fancy restaurant, chanel bags, iced americano, home, long hugs, words of affirmation, eye contact, autumn, posh music, v necks, opera, musical recital, marriage, ancient churches

jake !

pancakes, golden retrievers, empty parks, cardigans, picnic, wolf pups, landscapes, abstract art, lip piercings, makeout sessions, mornings, cream, sheets, swimming, sand castles, tree houses, venus, varsity player, rings, clashing waves, sun shinning through curtains, backyard, champagne, sparkly eyes, netflix and chill, forehead kisses, caramel fudge, winter, jb songs, garden, lilies, lipstick stains

sunghoon !

sculptures, greek mythology, snow, ice skating, pointe shoes, swan lake, ice rinks, rhinestones, vampires, sharp canines, royalty, huskies, novels, cruise, 90s songs, ear muffs, moon phase, poetry, dandelions, maple leaves, vanilla shake, pearls, penguins, blush, lucid dreams, confessions, lullaby, archangels, romance movies, boyfriend coats, monsoon, hair blowing because of the wind, moles, tears, old love, unrequited love, ribbons, weddings

sunoo !

sun, tulip field, solar system, marshmallows, tteobokki, street food, shopping, karaoke, smiles, cute stationeries, stickers, secret diary, cheek kisses, mufflers, red foxes, bratz doll, playdate, selfies, carnations, easter, boba tea, bestfriends to lovers, cherry blossoms, lip gloss, skincare, disney shows, late night face timing, gossiping, watching kdramas, sanrio stuffs, blowing bubbles, photo booths, texts, horizon

jungwon !

kittens, valleys, teenage dream, gold fish, aquariums, subways, cds, headphones, empty bus rides, babybreaths, holding hands, first love, taylor swift songs, messy hair, vacation, countryside, group study, constellations, piggyback ride, dimples, converse, empty classroom, sheep cubs, indoor plants, mini cactus, namsan tower, han river, late fall, vintage hand written letters , young love, romcom, kitties

ni-ki !

graffiti, sunsets, baggy pants, late night dance jam, empty beach, bicycling, sea shore, ear piercings, watermelon, summer, slow dancing, grass field, bungeoppangs, duck chicks, disneyland, ps5, arcade, puma cubs, eskimo kisses, bracelets, youth, climbing fences, skipping school, skateboarding, mangas, school festivals, footsies, cute band aids, oversized attires, j-rock, night sky, laughters, slice of life, teenage, playfulness, photo booths, anime, shoujo manga

© aenfilmz / 02072023

taglist ; @solarwoniii @shiningstar-byulxx @wtfhyuck @ichiibunztwt @enhawhoreist

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen moodboard #enhypen oneshots #enhypen x reader #enhypen jungwon #engene #enhypen niki #enhypen headcanons #enhypen jay #enhypen jake #sunghoon #heeseung #sunoo #nishimura riki #enhypen fic #enha #enhypen fluff #enhypen angst #enhypen smut #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen blog #enhypen icons #yang jungwon #park sunghoon #park jongseong #sim jaeyun #kim sunoo #lee heeseung

[mymegumi]

SEASONALLY YOURS ෆ KAMO CHOSO

⠀ warnings: potentially ooc!choso (i dont rlly write for him:()

choso doesn’t really enjoy the winter.

he hates wearing big clunky shoes, and his doc martins don’t have any sort of grip to resist the icy streets when he has to walk places. sometimes, snow gets in his shoes and then he has to deal with terminally wet feet—of which the wrinkly little toe pads sketch him out and make him feel like he has to dry off as soon as possible. the snow melts in his hair and that means any sort of hairstyle has to be de facto shoved underneath a beanie. plus his ears get cold and he hates when his ears get cold.

there’s a few perks, like driving around and looking at christmas lights, and the late night first snow walks he loves taking—everything is so serene and untouched by humanity it makes his chest ache with the peacefulness.

he feels as though the winter cold seeps into his bones, chilling him to his core until he can’t seem to get warm. he could be standing in front of a fire and still the winter’s winds would find a way to him. he hates it. he hates being cold.

he supposes winter isn’t so bad because he met you one wintery night.

he’d been taking a slow first snow walk when he happened upon you. you were in the middle of the street, splayed on your back and making snow angels. you had your eyes closed and you just seemed so at ease, so in tune with the falling snow that he thought he had imagined you. the sound of the snow crunching underneath his feet had made you open your eyes lethargically, as if there was anything else you’d rather be doing.

you had smiled at him, all teeth and gums and sugary sweet happiness that he had instinctively smiled back. motioning to the space beside you, he had laid down and made his very first snow angle. he hadn’t worried about his hair until after you pointed at it and giggled over the way it was skewing wildly. watching you laugh, he had blurted out that he wanted to see you again and the shy smile that spilled across your face was worth all the embarrassment in the world.

and, he thinks, maybe winter is so bad but, spring isn’t any better to him.

the wintery snows melt into warm soggy rains and he hates tracking mud through the house. it’s a pain to clean every day, and he just wishes the raining would stop because his hair is always soaked when he goes anywhere, perpetually cursed to have bad hair. the spring storms are more tame than the summer ones, but he dreads the feeling of ice cold rain stinging through his clothes. the pollen is getting worse, too, and his allergies act up in such a way that his nose is constantly stuffed and it feels as though he’ll never breathe normally again.

the budding cherry blossoms and tiny, fragile blooms of flowers make him feel hopeful. hopeful for the future and brighter days and sunnier skies.

he supposes that one shining day is better than the rest in spring, as a year after you’d been together with choso, you’d moved in together.

he’s never lived with anyone but his brothers, and itadori—but he was a brother for lack of a better word. so he’s scared that his unusual oddities are going to be jarring and spook you like a shy stray cat.

but the first night he splays out on the couch, legs sprawled over the back of the couch and head draped over the seating area, he is delightfully surprised when you copy his motions. you complain that you’re getting lightheaded and end up back in a normal seated position, but lean down and press a kiss to his lips and tell him to be careful. he blames the red cheeks on the blood rush to his head. in the morning, you tease him for his snoring and he blames the spring pollen.

choso supposes he has a good memory to hold onto spring.

the days turn longer, the night hours slowly slipping away to daylight and choso finds himself restless.

choso despises summer for taking away the lonely nights. he finds solace in the dark, shadowy places he can tuck himself into when he feels as if the world is looking at him too long.

he closes the curtains tight, and cuts out the sunlight when he can. he sweats through his shirts and there’s a level of frizz happening to his hair that he thinks is just innately criminal and wants to absolutely obliterate the sun and the humidity and the stupid warm summer rains that make him uncomfortable in his own skin. he showers daily, and still it feels like the grime of the day sits on his skin and he has to scrub and scrub and scrub just to feel even slightly clean. the first time you catch him rubbing his skin raw, you hold him in the shower as tears fall down his cheeks like the shower’s water down his back.

after his showers, you always press a kiss to his forehead and hold him close, gently braiding his hair so it’s out of his face and so it’s wavy by the time it dries. ‘you look so handsome when it’s this way,’ you had said once, and he’d never done his hair any other way since. occasionally he’ll style them in his usual two buns to keep his sweating hair from sticking to his neck, but sometimes he lets his hair down at home in the air conditioning and revels in the way you tease and curl it around your fingers.

choso wishes the summer nights were cooler, so he could press against you and fake complain that you’re sticking your cold feet in between his thighs. secretly, the feeling of being needed is more important than the split-second shock of cold.

and when the days begin to bleed into fall, he thinks those are his favorite days. he hates to be cliché or even close to mainstream, but fall is truly his favorite.

there’s a feeling of satisfaction in his chest when he can go out in just jeans and a hoodie, hand wrapped tightly around yours because your hands get so cold in the fall and you refuse to wear gloves. he loves the feeling of interlacing your fingers together and kissing the back of your hand, lips cool to the touch. choso is admittedly greedy for the feeling of you, the feeling of your skin against his and the cool breeze of your laugh against his neck and the smile you always, always have when you kiss him. choso has never known being greedy in this way.

the bright green summer leaves begin to brown and he curls into the reading nook with something new—a thriller, a murder mystery, a slightly above-averagely horny book, anything he can get his hands on.

fall is, objectively, his favorite.

the weather is ideal, somewhere between cold enough to pile on blanket after blanket at night and warm enough that he doesn’t feel as if he’ll turn into an ice sculpture in the foreseeable future. the landscape is so picturesque he feels as if looking at the mountains punches the air out of his lungs. he’s living in a painting and all he can do is awe and gawk and sputter about the unreal scenery he’s surrounded by.

he also loves fall because you love fall. it’s easy to love what you love because everything you enjoy is seamlessly a part of what makes you, you.

truthfully, he might like fall the most, but every season is good enough for him because he has you in all of them. as long as your by his side, he’d weather a million blizzards, sneeze as many times as he had to in spring pollen, and sweat through every shirt he owned. his love and devotion is soft and quiet but it’s always there. he will always be there for you.

#txt!writing #lowkey word vom lol #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jjk choso #choso kamo #choso x reader #choso #jujutsu kaisen choso #choso x you #choso x y/n #choso fluff #choso kamo x you #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo x y/n #jjk fluff

[nicksolemnlyswears]

No joke, just the other day I was searching through the tags in hopes of finding a Coriolanus Snow x scientist!reader fic because I thought it was such an interesting concept but was disappointed by the lack of results. I was so excited to get on here today and see your fic!!! It was so good

oh yay!!! at least my timing was somewhat on point!

i wanna give you a little extra prompt cause as much as i love my oneshot i know it’s mostly smut.

imagine this pairing after the relationship has become more serious. feelings have surfaced and despite all odds, coriolanus has fallen in love with you.

the competitiveness is still very much there but you’ve come to an agreement to leave any work tension in the lab for both of your sanities.

one day at the lab you come up with a great idea to engineer a new creature. dr. gaul approves almost immediately from how good it is.

a twinge of jealousy blossoms in his chest. he’s coriolanus snow. he’s had so many more accomplishments but it’s not enough.

but for the first time that jealousy is accompanied by pride. not in himself but in you. that jealousy twists and morphs into something new.

your accomplishments are his. after all, it’s the push and pull between you two that drives you.

not to mention you’re his. you’re in a relationship with him. whenever you go out into important events you’re promoting his image.

no powerful man should be with a brainless woman. marriage is just that…a collaboration. wouldn’t be fair for him to do all the work.

when it’s just the two of you in your newly shared apartment he addresses it. he breaks the arrangement you’ve made.

he steps out of the shower, towel around his waist. water droplets fall down his chest, following the contours of his body.

you’re on your side of the two sink counter, applying your serums and lotions. coriolanus presses behind you, propping his head on your shoulder to meet your eyes on the mirror.

“what you did today at work,” he begins.

you shush him immediately, desperately trying to avoid confrontation. “coriolanus,” you warn him.

“just wanted to say i’m proud of you,” he says defensively.

“yeah?” your eyes widen at his words. a genuine smile gracing your lips.

“yeah. good job,” he responds, kissing your exposed shoulder and giving your ass a playful spank as he walks out to the bedroom.

#fanfiction #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow #the hunger games #hunger games fanfiction #anon asks #coriolanus x reader #nicksolemnlyswears #nikki’s asks

[etherealyoungk]

━☆ first kiss with seventeen: minghao

♡ first kiss with seventeen series ♡ masterlist ♡

pairing: minghao x reader

warnings: kissing, fluff

word count: 595

thank you lovely @idubiluv for proof reading this for me &lt;3

the temperature was freezing, given it was the peak of winter right now. you were heading back home from work and made an impromptu stop at your favorite local bakery for their scones. the bakery owners really had a liking for you and always gave you the freshest baked goods. and tonight was no exception as you walked home with a box full of warm scones fresh out of the oven.

just as you reach the road that leads to your apartment you catch a familiar face - minghao. didn't he say he had to be somewhere? you're confused as your strides become bigger in order to catch up to him. he looks your way and there's a flash of suprise in his eyes before he smiles and you wave back, walking up to him.

"hao? i thought you had work?", you ask, standing in front of your boyfriend. "well...that was um a lie. but i wanted to suprise you!", he explains, looking at you. "i even got us dinner", he adds, holding up the bag of food. "but it seems like you've surprised me", he says, chuckling. "i have a special sixth sense you know", you add and he smiles, his hand intertwining with yours. "let's get home before we freeze hm", he tells and you both walk to your apartment.

the table is set and you're just about the start eating when you're eyes fixate on the small flecks outside. minghao is telling you about a funny incident that happened today as he pours you a glass of water but you're not listening. it takes you a few seconds before you register what's happening. it was snowing. and this was the first snow of the year!

"hao", you tell, not bothering to look away from the window. "yes love?", he replies, glancing at you. "it's snowing. HAO IT'S SNOWING!!", you repeat louder, getting up and going towards the balcony. you watch as the snow falls, in a steadier pace now and it starts to coat the road, the top of cars and trees in soft white flakes.

you're beaming and minghao stands beside you, watching you with an endearing gaze. "you know this is the first snow of the year!", you tell excitedly and he nods. "i know", he replies. you lean closer to minghao's presence and his arms automatically wrap around you. "do you know", minghao starts and you turn your head to look at him. "that watching the first snowfall with someone you love will make our love blossom even more. our love will be everlasting", he says and you smile. "i love that", you reply, smiling up at him.

as you're looking up at minghao, his arms wrapped around you, you don't realize how close you'd gotten to him. maybe it was because you leaned in, or he did, or maybe you both did. but you were centimeters apart for his lips.

"you know what would make tonight even more special?", his gaze almost making you melt under it. "a kiss?", you whisper and he smiles. "can i?", he asks and you nod your head. he gently cups your cheek as his lips meet yours. he kisses you sweetly and softly as he moves his lips against yours. it was the type of kiss that was gentle, but loving and sweet. you almost couldn't bring yourself to pull away but you did. and when you open your eyes, minghao is looking at you, adoration in his gaze.

"here's to our everlasting love", he whispers softly before kissing you again.

taglist: @daisycheols @naaaaafla @joshuaahong @slytherinshua @fairyhaos @rubywonu @wheeboo @icyminghao @kyeomyun @minhui896 @gam3bo1z @graybaeismytae @musingsofananxiouspotato @thehao8 @cheiyoma @keiyx @novalpha @fallingforshua29 @txtandroll @nishloves @kokoiinuts @writingsbybirdie @hauvits @jennimisu @dahliatopia @prpldahy @ryujineebae @onedumbho3 @weird-bookworm @yo-wassup-boi @idubiluv @horanghae-hoshi @bangchansbae @sorrylola

drop an ask or comment if you want to be added to the taglist for this series!

#first kiss with seventeen by skye! #skye's writing #k-labels #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenarios #seventeen soft hours #seventeen drabbles #seventeen x reader #svt imagines #svt fluff #svt soft hours #svt scenarios #svt drabbles #svt x reader #minghao imagines #minghao x reader #minghao fluff #minghao drabbles #minghao scenarios #xu minghao fluff #xu minghao imagine

[touyazbbygirl]

you take the man out of the-

Warning! Bittersweet, angsty but fluff. this was written at the time of posting so 3am. Its not proof read nor super amazing I was half asleep. so bad writing has its own warning <3

And when Im back in Miyagi.. I feel it.  Tooru had left for Argentina not long after high school, breaking contact with the one he had loved. He wanted you to come with, but you had things you needed to accomplish first. Finishing school, you had friends and family in Miyagi. You couldnt just leave that behind like he wanted to. Like he could. 

When Tooru had returned to Miyagi for a visit, he saw you. You seemed happy. Lively. The winter air made your cheeks flushed, the heat from your breath creating small clouds as you spoke so kindly to the elderly lady you were helping. He couldnt help it. His feet moved faster than he could listen to his brain telling him to stop. The moonlight and the signs reflection creating colors against your skin. Pants fell from his lips, the air cooled his nerves, enough.  He stood there, looking at you with pleading eyes, begging you not to run off, not to tell him to leave you alone. Begging you to stay, just for a moment. He loved you, he hated being away from you. He hated being in Argentina without you.  “Y/n..” Tooru started as he felt his breath hitch in his throat. Seeing your expression. He knew, knew you felt the same as he did. Knew that the longing feeling of each other was so deeply embedded in your veins.  “Ya know, ive been waiting for a long time for you shittykawa” You spoke with a watery tone, eyes matching as they filled with tears. Just being able to see him, just to be able to hear his voice caused everything around you to stand still. To stop, to just be him. In this moment, not a single thing else mattered. Reaching out to reach for him, grasping his hand in his. “I love you.” the three words rolled off your tongue just as pretty as they used too.  “Im sick of waiting. You better be here to take me with you” Tooru felt his heart stop, the genuine smile tugging at the corners of his chapped lips. He did the only logical thing in that moment as the snow started falling, as delicate as the heart he held in his hands. He stepped closer, cupping your cheeks that warmed his icy fingertips, thumbs caressing the apples that became more prominent as you returned the smile he was giving.  Tooru rested his forehead against yours as he let out a sigh of relief. His heart felt like it was going to jump out of his chest. He leaned down pressing a kiss against your lips, feeling the lip balm against his own. “I missed you” He whispered after he broke the kiss. “So much. Im not leaving without you. I dont care what id have to do. Im not.. Im not going home without you.” Tooru could careless about his pride. It seemed meaningless. Having you standing in from of him. His stupid senseless pride meant nothing to him. He would get on his knees and begged if it meant you would go with him.  You were home, his home. It had nothing to do with Miyagi.. You were the city lights. You were the moon tonight. You were the stars in the sky. You were cherry blossoms in early spring. You were all he ever needed. You were everything. Nothing else mattered to him. Not volleyball, hell not even his milk bread could compare to you.  He was glad he went home, just to visit family. He got his world back, and that was the one thing he was missing back in Argentina. 

#oikawa tōru #oikawa x reader #haikyuu oikawa #oikawa tooru #hq oikawa #oikawa fluff #oikawa toru #oikawa x reader angst #tooru oikawa #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #tooru oikawa x reader #toru oikawa #hq x reader #hq photos #hq smut #hq fanart #sakusa kiyoomi #kagehina #hinata shouyou #hq fluff #haikyuu smut #atsumu miya #kuroo testuro #hinata shoyo #iwaizumi #ushijima #kuroo #matsukawa issei #iwaizumi hajime