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pinkberrytea · 13 days

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Killing you was the sinful culmination of his undying love, and breathing new life into you, a dowry bestowed upon you out of unconditional devotion.

Memento mori—Remember you must die. Enveloped in memories of her death, the Vampire Ascendant watches his darling consort as she slumbers, lost in dreams of blood and mist. Life is short, and shortly it will end; death comes quickly and respects no one. To death we are hastening, let us refrain from sinning.

An exploration of Astarion's character and his relationship with his Dark Consort following the ascension, from a softer perspective.

Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav (F!Reader)

w/c: 6.2k words . ao3 . spotify playlist . 18+ only . nsfw . dividers

a/n: thank you for reading! this is my first time dabbling in creative writing, and of course my first attempt at smut fiction, but still, I hope it is at least somewhat enjoyable. I would like to dedicate this work to the lovely @locallegume, who was a huge source of inspiration, and also to hismostbelovedspawn over on reddit, for being always so incredibly kind and supportive. I love you guys!

tags: blood drinking; cunnilingus; body worship; light dom/sub; vaginal fingering; mildly dubious consent; creampie; fluff & angst; emotional sex; dry humping; possessive behavior

The beginning of the morning twilight is Astarion’s favorite time of the day, for it feels at once ephemeral and infinite. The wistful silence, broken only by the still timid chirping of the waking birds; the royal blue-colored sky, tinged with specks of the purples and violets of the dawn; the chilly morning breeze, gently rustling the flowers in the garden, pushing the still forming dewdrops off their petals and onto the ground; you, slumbering beside him, pale skin reflecting the dim light of the fading moon, rosy lips slightly parted. Sleeping peacefully like this, you look like a life-sized porcelain doll, he thinks—your unmoving chest betrays your otherwise healthy likeness, as does the unnaturally blanched color of your skin. Your nightgown hangs lazily off your shoulder, exposing one of your breasts, and your undergarments lay discarded on the floor, on the exact same spot where he had tossed them earlier that night. He adores this version of you—so vulnerable, so defenseless, laid open for him, and him only.

Astarion finds it curious, how you seem to completely lose yourself in your dreams, yet he is also greatly perturbed by the notion that there is a part of you that he is still unable to access, to dominate. It feels unnatural, not to be able to control this elusive slice of your essence, but having ever only tranced, it also mystifies him that you’d voluntarily give up your consciousness each night. You were after all ever the trusting fool—from the moment you met, he had lied to you, manipulated you countless times, and each time you fell for it, standing by his side even when the world screamed at you not to. And even now, you give yourself to him, unquestioningly, unconditionally. In all the long years of his existence, there had been none like you, and there never will be again. None as trusting, none as kind, and he both hates and loves you for it. The very notion of you extending your kindness to anyone other than him is infuriating, and makes him want to take it for himself, put it in a glass dome and hide it away in a place where only he can bask in its warmth. He thinks he is owed that, at least; yours was the only hand that ever reached out to him, so he is justified in not wanting to share.

You shift slightly in your sleep, and a lock of your hair that had been trapped underneath one of your arms falls onto your chest. After eyeing it for a moment, Astarion reaches out for the tresses and grasps them between his fingers. Bringing them close to his nose, he takes in your scent, that is now also his. It smells comforting, familiar—it smells like home. The corner of his lips curl into an almost imperceptible smile, and he closes his eyes, letting out a contented sigh. The hushed shroud of the early hours acts as a cloak, under which he is granted a brief respite, a rare chance to let himself be gentle, be kind. Just as you become entirely vulnerable before him in your slumber, he too exposes the soft underbelly of his feelings for you; that chaotic, intoxicating brew, a messy blend of passion, guilt, hurt, longing, and love, endless and unrelenting love.

He brings his elegant fingers close to your face, and ever so gently glides their soft pads across the cold, velvety smooth skin of your cheek. Your long lashes flutter slightly, tickling the sensitive area under your eyes as he lowers the digits to brush the plump of your lips. He admires you for a short moment, taking in your image—his pretty consort, so beautiful, so frail, so foolishly devoted to him. Oh how lucky he is, to have you who would do anything for him by his side; his most precious treasure, the reason why his long dead heart beats inside his chest once more. He grasps your chin, delicately tilting your head upward to face him, and tenderly presses his lips to yours. His other hand moves to your chest, fingers softly caressing the pebbled peak of your exposed breast, his touch so faint that his skin barely comes into contact with yours. As much as Astarion enjoys asserting his dominance over you, making you kneel before him, seeing the dejected yet submissive expression on your pretty face whenever he decides to make a show of his power, it is these moments he values the most. In your intimacy, he may treat you gently, tenderly, and in your state of unconsciousness, by morning his loving touches will be but a hazy memory, securing your place below, but close beside him, from where you shall never leave for as long as he draws breath—which he can now only do thanks to you.

His fingers on your nipple leave it alone for a moment to close around your breast, giving it a soft, gentle squeeze. Moving quietly so as not to wake you, he slides his right leg under yours and presses it against the back of your knee, creating a space between your thighs as he pushes them apart, where he then nests himself, climbing on top of you.

“Astarion…” when you softly whisper his name, his half-smile widens into a grin; how reassuring it is, to know you belong to him even in your dreams. He lowers his head to plant a kiss on the delicate skin of the curve of your neck, and his lips brush against the two small indentations disrupting the otherwise pristine smoothness of your flesh. Instinctively, he brings his hand to the back of your right shoulder, his long fingers blindly searching for the matching set of bite marks. The last of the three pairs adorns your left wrist, for which reason he will ever so often take your hand in his, only to lovingly kiss it and turn it around so he can admire the evidence of his proudest feat—having sired you.

“Oh my love, I’m here. I’ve got you,” Astarion coos, holding your head gently against his bare chest, fingers tangled in your hair as you writhe and squirm in his arms, empty and glassy eyes lost in a hollow stare, seeing nothing but darkness, endless darkness. The expression on your face is at once delirious and vacant—mouth agape and fists clenched, pupils blown wide, eyelashes wet with tears and a thin string of drool coming out from the corner of your lip and trickling down your chin. At least for tonight, you are lost to him, and as he winces at the still foreign sensation of the loud, vigorous throbbing in his head, your own fading heartbeat softens, dying down into nothingness. And right as it is about to fall perpetually silent, he lets his fangs pierce his own tongue, drawing droplets of now living blood; bringing your face close to his, he presses his thumb to your lower lip, and covers your mouth with his.

He loses himself in the memory for a moment, as he so often does. Your peaceful, serene expression stands in stark contrast to the one that had been etched on your face on that fateful night. It feels like a lifetime ago, yet still he remembers the pain, the agony, the relentless fear building up in his stomach as your body contorted and tears glistened in your vacant eyes. Never had Astarion been more afraid of anything than he’d been of losing you, and by his hand no less. Killing you was the sinful culmination of his undying love, and breathing new life into you, a dowry bestowed upon you out of unconditional devotion. You only ever questioned him about what had happened on the evening of your turning once, but it mattered not how many times you asked, for he would never fully disclose the raw truth—how he had cradled you in his arms and whispered sweet nothings in your ears, kissing away your tears; how he had picked you up as you lost consciousness and carried you to your bed, where he would then tuck you in so very tenderly, so very gently, softly patting your hair and holding your hand, sharing his warmth with you as you lost your own; how he would patiently wait by your side, watching as the color slowly drained from your face, his stomach sinking at the thought of you never waking again—only for you to then slowly open your eyes, their hue now a rich crimson, much like his own. No, he would never again allow himself to be so weak, for he was supposed to be your warden, your liege. This pathetic side of him was to be ever hidden from you, only rearing its ugly head during the brief, sleepy moments preceding the crack of dawn.

With his lips still pressed against your skin, Astarion starts peppering kisses down your neck, on the hollows of your collarbone and across your sternum, his hand on your breast fondling it gently, the other still tracing the bite marks on your shoulder. His still clothed hips start lazily, almost imperceptibly rocking back and forth, lightly grinding against your naked thighs; thinking back to the night when he made you his almost inevitably causes blood to rush to his groin, and his body starts unconsciously seeking the sweet relief of the friction between his hardening erection and your supple skin. He moves his hand on your breast to grasp your nipple between his fingers, lightly squeezing it. You involuntarily buck your hips in response, which amuses him greatly as he continues playing with the tender nub. A soft moan escapes your lips, encouraging and emboldening his attentions as they drift away from your clavicle towards your chest. He plants gentle kisses on the plump of your bosom, using his teeth to pull at your nightgown and drag it down, exposing your clothed breast to the chilly morning air. You shiver, and he smiles against your skin, pressing his lips to the valleys of your ribs, the softness of your lower belly, and finally to your bare crotch. With his face so close to your swollen sex, the sweet scent of your essence now intoxicates his senses. He stands back for a moment to admire how it glistens in the faint glow of the moonlight, so deliciously inviting, as your juices start building up and collecting in-between your folds.

Feeling his breath caressing the sensitive skin of your core, you finally start to slowly regain consciousness. Once his arousals were returned to him, Astarion would make a habit of waking up during the night at various times to bury his cock in you, so it takes you but a moment to gather your bearings. Either out of mischievousness or curiosity, you play coy at first, pretending to be asleep still. His soft lips briefly come into contact with your engorged bud, sending shock waves through your body, and you are barely able to keep yourself from letting out a yelp, although you can’t prevent your skin from becoming covered with goosebumps. When his tongue pokes out of his mouth to give it a tentative lick, you know you won’t be able to keep up the charade for much longer. He feels your body tense up, and slightly raises his head to look at you from his position between your legs with half-lidded, lascivious eyes, dilated pupils partially covering the ruby hue of his irises. You’re unsure if he has already caught on to your little ruse, so you try staying as still as possible, which proves difficult with his face so close to your cunt.

After what seems like an eternity he decides to continue, lapping at your clit again and then sliding his tongue downwards, burying it between your folds. He presses it against the outer edge of your entrance, squeezing slick out of you, and as he savors your essence, he can’t help but think that while its sweet tanginess does not compare to the coppery, velvety richness of the crimson in your veins—nothing ever will, for his is the blood that courses through them—it may well be the second best thing he has ever tasted. Gliding his tongue upwards once more, he uses it to gently massage the raw bundle of nerves atop your slit, leaving a trail of saliva mixed with your fluids between it and your twitching cunt, which then dribbles down onto your thighs. Placing a hand on each side of your hips, he pulls you closer to him, and the shift causes his fangs to graze the sensitive skin of your folds, in response to which your eyes water and you clutch the silk sheets under you both. Taking no notice of your desperate reaction, he continues swirling his tongue up and down your wetness, gently suckling on the tender skin, eagerly eating you up as if you were a full-course meal served especially for him, just begging to be ravished.

You feel heat pooling in your lower abdomen, and at this rate it won’t be long before you are brought to the edge. Momentarily forgetting the fact that you are supposed to be pretending to be asleep as you lose yourself in the crescendo of your release, you arch your back, leaning on your elbows to support your weight, and as soon as you do, he mercilessly pulls away from you, leaving your dripping core empty and aching. Eyes closed still, you let out a soft mewl in protest, which you regret as soon it leaves your lips, for once Astarion notices your desperation, you are done for.

Still unsure if he has already perceived your awakened state or if he believes your body to be involuntarily reacting to his touch, you dare not produce any further sounds. Having cruelly left your throbbing mound unattended, his tongue now glides its way up your stomach, leaving a glistening wet mess in its wake. Upon reaching your chest, his lips latch onto your left breast, your perked nub fitting perfectly inside his mouth. He sucks on it ever so tenderly, teasing it with a pointed tongue and lightly scraping the squishy surrounding flesh with his fangs. One of his hands leaves its place on your hip and finds its way between your legs, and you let out a sigh of relief when you feel a long, elegant finger ghosting over your clit. The other hand slides further down to the curve of your ass, and his blunt nails dig into your soft skin, giving it a firm squeeze.

The pad of the wandering digit finally presses down onto the engorged flesh of your reddened knot, massaging it leisurely in circular patterns, and another finger suddenly slides between your folds, parting them gently. Unable to contain yourself, you roll your hips into his hand, which you soon learn is a grave mistake as he tightens his grip on your ass, applying such pressure that come morning, bruises are certain to form on the pale skin, which he will then tenderly kiss better while looking apologetically at you from under thick lashes; and you will forgive him, as you always do. Lifting his head up from your now rouged, swollen nipple, he readjusts his position above you, using his body weight to pin you down and hold you in place. He lets go of your ass, firmly grasping at your jaw with his newly freed hand, and even from behind closed eyes you can feel the intensity of his gaze. This does not bode well, and try as you might you cannot ignore the sickening pinch in the pit of your stomach as his eyes scrutinize every inch of your face—has he noticed? Is a punishment in order? Will he deny you your release?

“Open up, darling. Your mouth.” The commanding tone with which Astarion vocalizes the otherwise unassuming words is all it takes to placate your erratic thoughts, and obeying is for you as natural as breathing—or it would be, if you were still alive. Once you do as he says, you feel his thumb pressing on your lower lip, forcing it further down. He slides the digit inside your mouth, gagging you slightly, and your lips instinctively close around it. “Good girl,” he purrs, and encouraged by the tenderness of his praise, you start lightly sucking on it, coating it with saliva. For a short moment, he becomes entranced by the feeling of your wet tongue massaging his skin, and his mind wanders to the thought of your plump lips wrapped tightly around his cock. This prompts him to once again start bucking his hips, rubbing the now obvious bulge underneath his pants against your stomach, but this time his rhythm is much more frantic, more desperate.

Relief washes over you as you feel the fingers still in your slit resume their fondling, the one on your clit now applying greater pressure, handling it much less gently, yet just as skillfully, his knowledge of all the ins and outs of your body having always been something he prided himself on. The other makes its way down from its place between your folds, plunging into you as soon as it reaches your entrance. Your body jerks in response, and your moan is muffled by his thumb in your mouth—when he then plunges another, stretching you open without giving you time to adjust, you involuntarily bite down on the digit gagging you, sinking your fangs into his flesh. He grimaces, and you can tell you have hit an artery, because the flow of the thick, hot blood running down your throat is alarmingly heavy. However, rather than pulling away, he lets you drink, curling his fingers inside you and massaging the tight walls of your cunt with his knuckles. The rich taste of his crimson lingering in your tongue and spreading inside your body, mixing with yours within your veins and making them pulsate with life—pure, raw, vibrating life—works as a powerful aphrodisiac, heightening all your senses, and the feeling of him fucking you with his fingers is all it takes for you to come undone on his hand, muscles spasming and clenching around the digits, coating them in the sweet nectar of your release.

Just as you reach your climax, Astarion’s own teeth sink into the indentations marking the otherwise smooth skin of your neck. You instinctively cock your head to the side to grant him more access, letting him feed on you as you bask in the afterglow of your orgasm, sucking on his thumb still. His blood flows from him to you and then back to him, and the sheer intimacy of it brings you so close together that it’s as if you have merged into one single being. You can no longer tell where you end and he begins, as your minds touch and mesh and then untangle again, in a sensual, chaotic dance, where you both sway to the rhythm of his heartbeat. And while the connection lasts, his emotions rush through you and yours through him, rendering words meaningless as the everlasting adoration, the inebriating, all-consuming love you share, no matter how tainted, is laid bare before you, in all its wickedness and allure.

“Fear not: you are mine.”

You finally open your eyes, letting go of his thumb, and as the fog from the afterglow subsides you notice his fingers remain inside you still, gliding effortlessly up and down your twitching walls, which are now lubricated with slick and come; your skin tingles from the overstimulation, but the sensation is not unwelcome. With the hand you have just freed, he holds your head in place while he continues to feed, and you both stay like this for a while, his fingers buried inside your cunt and his fangs in your neck, where they rightfully belong. His little grunts as he drinks from you and the feeling of his hardened cock pressed flush against your stomach rekindle the ache between your legs, causing the living blood now coursing through your veins to flow to your tender core.

Having drank to his heart’s content, Astarion pulls away from you, making you wince at the sudden emptiness as both his fangs and fingers leave your body. No longer plagued by the perpetual, agonizing hollowness of vampiric hunger, his only reason for feeding on you still is the invigorating thrill of your taste on his tongue and your blood pulsating in his arteries; you were his first, after all, having offered him the greatest gift of them all when you had no good reason to. Killing you on the evening he first revealed his true nature had never been out of the question, and it puzzles him still why you would willingly surrender this sanguine gift to a vampire stalking you in the night—a pitiful creature, hiding in the shadows, with murderous intent and offering you nothing but pain and misery. He is reminded of your foolishness and naïveté every time he sinks his fangs in your soft flesh, and the familiarity of it is oddly comforting to him.

Not bothering to wipe the red smear on his chin, he brings his hand up to your mouth once more, only this time his digits are covered in your juices. A single look into his crimson eyes, clouded with lust, tells you all you need to know, and you eagerly obey the silent order, wrapping your lips around his fingers.

“Ever so obedient, aren’t you, my sweet?” His honeyed words and impish smile send shivers down your spine, and unable to talk as your tongue flicks and swirls, lapping at your own sticky essence, you look up at him through your lashes with coquettish demureness; his pretty little spawn, always so good to him, so docile, so devoted. The very sight of you makes his cock twitch with desire. “I do find it charming when you play your darling little games. Mostly because you are awful at them. You did know I was aware the entire time, didn’t you?,” although his smile widens, there is a hint of danger in his voice, “That you were awake.”

As his blood within you rushes to your cheeks, spreading to the tips of your ears, Astarion’s expression darkens for a moment, and the lust in his eyes grows wilder, more desperate. There is something endlessly enticing about how bashful and girlish you look when your face is hot and flushed with his crimson, like a child caught stealing from the cookie jar, and it makes him want to devour you whole. He abruptly slides his fingers out of your mouth, and the glistening string of your fluids that forms between your lips and his digits breaks off as he uses that same hand to grab your neck and bring your face close to his. Once you are mere inches apart, he stops for a moment, locking eyes with you, and the proximity between you is such that you can feel his long lashes brushing against your skin and see the flecks in different shades of red swimming in his irises. The stillness in the air makes you acutely aware of the sound of his heartbeat, and it paradoxically both comforts and torments you. Such is the nature of your relationship; yearning and sorrow, worship and regret, lust and greed. The duality of it is not lost to you, but you’re past the point of coming up with justifications, for it is far too late for redemption. You made your choice, he made his, and now his burden is yours to bear. It matters not if outsiders looking in cannot make sense of it, as the bond between you was never meant to be understood by anyone else—however ugly and twisted it may be perceived by those around you, it is undeniably a bond of love, one you are willing to protect even if it costs you everything.

“Until the world falls down.”

When he finally closes the distance between you and crashes his mouth into yours, your mind is wiped clean of any semblance of coherent thought and your senses are filled with nothing but him—his scent, his warmth, his taste. He hungrily parts your lips with his tongue as soon as your skin touches his, your teeth clicking in his desperation, and his grip on your neck tightens. You feel tears well up in your eyes, some spilling through your lashes and rolling down your cheeks, your repressed emotions overflowing as you lose yourself in the fierce intensity of his kiss. You want him, you need him, you hate him; you love him, oh how dearly you love him, more than life itself. He explores the inside of your mouth, wantonly, passionately, only stopping to suck on your bottom lip, nipping it with his fangs and lapping at the droplets of blood blooming from the punctured flesh. Once he pulls away, gasping for air, you are both a disheveled mess, lips swollen and bruised and red. Not yet letting go of you, his fingers wrapped around your throat still, he guides your head back down, laying it on the soft feather pillow, only to then straighten up his torso, hand on your neck holding you in place and darkened eyes looking down upon you. From your position below him, he looks ethereal, almost godly, as the moon casts a pale halo around his frame, shining its light on the naked skin of his upper body.

He holds this position for a while, silently studying your face, and as he does, his intense gaze seems to gradually soften, mellowing out into almost tenderness. You feel the pressure of his fingers on your skin lessen, and then cease completely as he frees you, raising his hand up to cup your cheek. His thumb traces the trail of dried tears, and you lean into his soothing touch, eyes wettening once more. Taking notice of this, he leans back down and brushes his lips against the teardrops threatening to escape from your lashes, drying them before they fall.

“Shh, my darling, hush.” The softness in Astarion’s voice and the gentleness of his caresses as he runs his fingers through your hair are all you ever yearned for, all you ever needed, and yet with every touch your chest tightens and you feel a pang of loneliness and guilt tugging at your unbeating heart, for this is what you want, but not what you deserve. You have failed him, just as he has failed others, and your regrets bind you together for eternity as the thread of your fate entangles with his in a constricting embrace—so is it too greedy, to let yourself be selfish and indulge in his warmth before the sun rises? Is even someone as broken and wicked as you allowed a moment of reprieve, however brief? You know not the answer to these questions, nor do you think you ever will. All you know is that there’s nowhere else you want to be but in his arms, no matter how much it hurts, for you’ll endure the pain as long as you are by his side.

“Kiss me,” you quietly plead, your supplication barely a whisper, prompting him to pull away slightly to look into your eyes. He takes a moment to try and read your expression, his gaze sharp, inquisitive, stripping you off all your defenses and laying you bare before him. A short time passes, and without saying a word, he lowers his head down again, lips brushing against yours, their pillowy softness and the taste of your blood still lingering on his skin shrouding your mind in a white fog. You raise both of your arms and wrap them around his neck, bringing him closer as your mouth matches his movements, the desperation of before now manifesting more tenderly, more lovingly, but just as intensely. One of his hands remains on your cheek as he kisses you, and with the other, he finally unlaces his pants, freeing his neglected erection, which by now is slick from the precome leaking from its engorged head. The color of the sky outside slowly begins to brighten, now a beautiful blend of periwinkle and cyan, and as the twilight peaks and starts to reach its end, Astarion decides he has waited long enough—he will take you here and now, before the merciless, harsh light of the sun engulfs you both.

Feeling his hardness against your thigh, you readily comply, spreading your legs apart. You need this just as much as he does; to be one with him, carnally, for your souls have long merged, and there is no you without him just as there is no him without you. As he lines up with your entrance, his lips leave yours and he presses your foreheads together, staring into your eyes with reassuring tenderness. You feel the tip of his cockhead flush against your dripping sex—the reddened, puffed up skin feels warm, and thinking of how it is swollen from his blood in your veins is all it takes for him to finally snap and give into his desires. He slides inside of you in a single thrust, the wetness from your juices facilitating his entry as he stretches your walls to accommodate his large size. You try to bite back a whimper, your eyes once again tingling and prickling with the promise of tears as one of your hands finds its way to the back of his head and your fingers become entangled in his silvery curls. Not moving immediately, he waits a while, giving you time to adjust. You revel in the familiar feeling of his cock stuffed inside your core, the pain and warmth of it, and you wonder if he too can find comfort nowhere else but in your flesh, as it is only when filled with him that you are able to hold together the broken pieces of your descended mind.

The hand that had been cupping your cheek now rests on your waist as he moves his head to nuzzle the curve of your neck, taking in your scent. Ever so slowly he starts rolling his hips back and forth, planting gentle kisses on the delicate skin where his fangs had been buried just moments ago, now stained with patches of dried blood. You close your eyes, still trying to hold back the tears, hugging him as tightly as you can, or as tightly as he’ll let you. His pace is at first languid, sensual, allowing you to feel the entirety of him as he massages your aching, tender walls, still sensitive and spasming from your orgasm. He grunts in your ear, prompting you to start undulating your own hips, doing your best to match his rhythm. Emboldened by this, he moves his hands down to grab your ass, tilting your pelvis up and pulling you closer to him. Just as desperate to feel him as deeply as physically possible, you wrap your legs around his midriff, allowing him to reach the innermost parts of your throbbing cunt. When the tip of his cock brushes against the spongy skin of your cervix, your gut tightens and you cry out for him, unable to contain yourself.

“Astarion…”

The sound of his name in your lips, so very eager, so very sweet, is all the encouragement he needs, and the once languid movements give way to more vigorous pounding, the lewd sound of smacking flesh echoing in the otherwise quiet room as he snaps his hips and buries himself deeper inside your aching core. Your body rocks in rhythm with his thrusts, the tears in your eyes finally escaping your lashes and running down your face, a chaotic culmination of all the pleasure, all the hurt, all the desire and all the devotion brewing deep inside your heart as your raging feelings come to a boil. No one can understand, no one will understand—and yet, as he fucks you senseless in the early hours, pumping his cock in and out of you with lascivious abandon, none of it matters. You hold him even closer, pressing your squishy breasts flush against the sweaty, glistening skin of his chest. He moans at the sensation, intensifying his pace and using his hands on your ass to tilt your pelvis higher, pushing your folded legs, which are still wrapped around him, as close to your upper body as your flexibility will allow it. You feel the muscles in your thighs stretching and burning, but this only excites you further, and the soft whimpers leaving your lips escalate in frequency and loudness alike.

As he continues pounding into you, Astarion’s kisses on your neck become more passionate, more heated, going from pecks, to licking, to sucking, until eventually he gives in and once again sinks his fangs in the bruised flesh. You mewl faintly and your grip on his hair tightens, in response to which he bites down on you harder, nails raking across the skin of your ass as his thrusts grow fiercer, more violent. The message immediately gets through to you—the cheeky little spawn must know her place—so you obediently let go of his curls, although your digits remain entangled in them still; yet he does not slow down his pace, ramming into you with such force that you are afraid you will have trouble walking once he is finished. Be that as it may, one of his hands leaves its place on your ass to hover above your swollen clit, which twitches desperately as his cock resurfaces and then disappears again inside your cunt. He grasps it between two deft fingers, massaging the engorged bundle of nerves as a reward for your obedience, and that is all it takes for tension to again start building up in your groin.

“You have given me everything.”

His digits on your tender bud; your blood running down his throat; his cock slamming into you, stretching open your tight walls—you are so very close to climaxing again, and yet you don’t want the moment to end; you don’t want morning to come, breaking the spell and robbing your lover from you, as it always so cruelly does. The tragic inevitability of it is however unaffected by the infinitude of your existence, a gift that was also bequeathed to you by him, and enveloped by the ice-cold embrace of the memories of your death, your body comes alive as you are pushed over the edge, your twitching cunt fluttering and contracting around him, creaming and squirting your sweet juices all over his length.

As you slump back and go limp is his arms, Astarion unlatches his mouth from your neck and props up his torso to marvel at your image as you bask in the glory of your release—so maddeningly beautiful, cheeks and plump lips flushed bright pink with what remains of his lifeblood within you; his consort, his spawn, his to use as he pleases, his and nobody else’s. While he continues fucking you through your orgasm, all you can hear are his low moans and grunts and the squelching sounds of your wetness as he ruts into you with ever increasing furor. You can tell he is also close by the way he holds your hips with both of his hands, pushing his own against them with almost vicious ferocity while you remain slumped on the headboard, tits bouncing cutely with every thrust. The daylight seeping through the curtains now brightens up the room, and as you look up at him with half-lidded eyes, you notice how handsome he looks illuminated by the gentle glow of the rising sun, sweat beading his temple and dripping down his chin and nose.

“Gods…” he groans, voice raspy with lust, and with one final push he empties himself inside you, filling you to the brim with his seed, which feels thick and warm flooding your tender walls. Still panting and sucking in sharp breaths, he falls on top of you, not bothering to pull his cock out of your still spasming cunt, chest flush against yours and head burrowed in the crook of your neck. Spillover runs down your thighs and soaks into the wrinkled sheets, but neither of you bother cleaning it up, the resulting stain surely to give the maids good reason to blush later.

You bring a hand up to his silky curls once more, gently running your fingers through them as you feel the calming thumping of his slowing heartbeat vibrating against your cold skin. As the dawn finally breaks over the still sleeping city, signaling the beginning of a new day in your undead life—for better or for worse—you find comfort in the warmth of his flesh and the sound of his ragged breathing as it gradually steadies. All your suffering, all your pain; if even your death is required to bring him to life, then so be it. He will live for the both of you, and you will love him for it. Forever—for good.

“Thank you for trusting me.”

#personal #astarion x tav #bg3 #bg3 fic #ascended astarion #lord astarion #astarion #astarion smut #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #ascended astarion x reader #fic: death and his maiden #my fics

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redwinterroses · 3 months

Text

There’s a cherry tree in the middle of the redwood forest.

False isn’t sure what to make of that. She shifts her grip on the staff in her hand, its pale glow reflecting faintly off the fresh snow. She’s come out here for resources—the vault altar is demanding logs, and these giant trees are an easy source—but the incongruous sight of an enormous, blossoming cherry tree sending pink petals wafting on the frozen wind…

She wonders if this is what fish feel like, when they see a lure.

“Hello?” she calls, her voice echoing off the trees. The world stands in permanent semi-twilight here, and the deeper shadows hide the mobs that will venture out come nightfall. A sneak of creepers is bedded down in a sweetberry bramble just on the other side of the clearing, and False tenses when the lead boar lifts his head, but he apparently doesn’t deem her worth stalking so early in the day.

There is no other reaction to her call.

False is of half a mind just to head back home and farm her own dang trees. It’s not like the vaultar is picky about the kinds of logs—she could just as easily grow up a bunch of birch and throw those in there. But that will take so much longer… not to mention she’s not sure if there are even enough saplings in her storage.

She unhooks her enchantment-glittered axe from her belt and pauses to mentally poke at her mana reserves. Plenty high. Whatever’s lingering near this tree, it can hardly be worse than what she deals with on the daily in the vaults. Overworld dangers are barely a challenge anymore.

The logic of that doesn’t change the uneasy feeling that buzzes over her skin though.

Venturing further into the clearing. False’s gaze traces up the trunk of the cherry tree, following its branches to where they terminate in lush bursts of pink and white blooms. A sweet smell drifts on the wind. She wrinkles her nose, reminded of compost piles and fermented spiders’ eyes.

The tree’s branches stretch long and low—a canopy of their own, heavy with flowers and dark, glossy leaves. The space underneath is filled with falling flowers and a fog of pollen, the air moisture-thick like a lush cave.

Lifting one hand, False catches a falling petal on her fingertip.

It sizzles as it touches her skin, stinging and buzzing like live redstone.

She hisses through her teeth, shaking her hand and letting the petal fall to the forest floor. “What the heck?”

Another petal tumbles past her face, and she watches it with narrowed eyes—right until it fizzles out of existence a few pixels above the forest floor.

“Glitch,” she mutters. “That’s… not good.”

Iskall needs to know about this—it could be a bug from one of the new updates, or it could be something deeper in the code, but either way: this glitched tree is a problem. She’s probably lucky it just stung her.

She reaches for her communicator, raising it to take a pic of the cherry tree.

“Oh, hi there, False!”

False yelps, spinning around with her axe ready to swing.

Gem is standing behind her, a wreath of cherry blossoms tangled in her hair and antlers, leaning casually on a tall staff of blooming cherry wood. Her smile is wide, and sap flows over her fingers, pale golden, dripping down her arms to leave dark spots on the faded denim of her overalls.

“Gem!” False lowers her axe. “Oh my gosh, you scared me. I didn’t know you were doing Vault Hunters.”

“Hm?” Gem raises one eyebrow, and for a moment her eyes flicker to red and then purple before settling back on green. “Oh—I’m not doing Vault Hunters, False.” Her voice is amused, almost chiding.

“Oh.” False feels unexpectedly small—which is impressive, considering she’s nearly half a block taller than Gem.

More of the glitched petals fall, resting on Gem’s hair and slowly melting into it like snowflakes. The brief moment of relief when False had seen Gem’s familiar grin is fading into something like the sensation of freefall.

“What’cha up to?” Gem asks, and her face blinks from one expression to the next like a bad video message. Her clothes are blue—no, green—no, bloodstained and grey—no, blue. They’ve always been blue.

False takes a step back.

“Uh, not much…” she glances up at the redwoods. “Just doing some… resource gathering. You know.”

“Cool!” Gem giggles, and stands up straight. False tenses, but Gem only spins around her staff and waves a hand at the glitched tree. “I didn’t realize this was an occupied server—are there many people here?”

There’s a buzzing in False’s skull, and she blinks rapidly. A muscle twitches under her eye.

“Um…”

“I guess it doesn’t really matter.” Gem lifts one hand and grabs one of the lowest branches of the cherry tree. She really should not have been able to reach that.

Swinging herself up with the lithe, effortless strength of a cat, she perches on the limb and stares down at False. The grin is gone from her face now, and she looks down at False with bright eyes.

“Etho’s not here, is he?”

False opens her mouth to answer, the words yes, of course he is, I can take you to him heavy on her lips… And with effort, she swallows them back.

They taste of sweet rot.

“Why... why doesn’t what matter?” she asks instead.

Gem stares at her for a long moment, expressionless. The flowers woven through her antlers are growing of their own accord, twining up to caress their brethren in the branches overhead.

Then she smiles broadly, flashing teeth that nearly glow white in the dappled shadows. “Oh!” she exclaims. “No reason! I’m only passing through, is all.”

“You’re not… you’re not sticking around?” False tries—and mostly fails—to sound disappointed.

“Naaaaah…” Gem stands and walks along the branch, as secure and balanced as if it were a stone floor. The flowers in her hair flow along behind her, sliding from the branches and falling like a cape down her back. “Worldhopping is easy. Staying in one spot is way harder.”

False watches the flowers move and swirl, their smooth, strange motion ensnaring her attention. The buzzing is back, too. Like bees, drunk on honey and sleepy in their hive.

“World hopping…?” she manages. “With admin commands?”

Gem’s laugh is as brilliant as a knife and as sharp as a spark. “False!” she crows. “You say the funniest things.”

False laughs. It seems appropriate. She isn’t sure why.

“Anyway,” Gem continues, fading into one patch of blossoms and reappearing on the other side of it. Her eyes are sprays of cherry flowers now. Her antlers are branches. “Anyway, cherry trees are all the same. They make it easy to get around.”

“That…” doesn’t make sense, False wants to say. But her lips are heavy, and coated in sticky sap. Maybe it doesn’t really matter.

“Oops! Behind you, False!”

Gem’s chirped warning is flaked in glee, and False turns around, as slow as if her feet are buried in soul sand.

The creepers she had seen—the entire sneak—are standing behind her, pink flowers blooming from their eyes.

“Oh no.”

The boar’s blinded head snaps toward her voice, hissing. He starts to aggro, bioluminescent streaks flashing from his snout to flanks in increasingly-swift pulses of light.

“See ya in season ten, False!” Gem cries out cheerfully.

The axe drops from False’s nerveless fingers, trailing strings of sap. She smells the inescapable stench of burning gunpowder, overlaid with rot.

“...Dangit.”

[FalseSymmetry was blown up by a creeper]

~*~

Jerking upright in her own bed, False swipes wildly at her face, trying to smear away tree sap that isn’t there.

“What the heck, Gem?” she exclaims at her empty base. Her voice falls flat, swallowed up by the sky that surrounds her builds. The clock above her head ticks impatiently, and she huffs in frustration, pushing up out of her bed. All her tools, gone—her levels, gone... and after all that she still needs those logs for the vault.

Grumbling, she starts pulling backup gear from various chests, trying to cobble together something that can get her back to the redwood grove before her items despawn—assuming they hadn’t all been obliterated by a second or third creeper explosion. She glances at the vaulter, and freezes.

It’s been completed. The crystal floats gently atop the stone pedestal, gleaming with an inner light.

And, tumbled at the base of the vaulter—abandoned, more than was needed to fill the crystal’s requirements:

Half a stack of cherry logs.

#falsesymmetry #geminitay #red said eldritch gem rights #let her be cheerful and scary too she deserves it #also there needs to be more Vault Hunter fic in the world. and more False content.#this was inspired by a post of some enormous redwood trees I saw the other day with teeny tiny people at the base of them #along with Gem's tree building -- the cherry trees in her hardcore and s9 builds #and the headcanon from hc8 and empires that she's a worldhopper #anyway this is the first thing I've really written in (over?) a year so... I'm quite happy about it.#might polish and put it on AO3 later but for now it's just for the hellsite <3 #redwinterwrites #oh also excuse for creeper/minecraft worldbuilding yaaay XD

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neverchecking · 11 months

Note

Hi!!! I have a request, but feel free to ignore it if it makes you uncomfortable ❤

So you know the muddle buds in totk? The stuff that confuses allies and enemies in a puff of smoke? How about instead it made ppl horny 👀 with twilight if that's okay? Maybe him and reader went exploring together and accidentally got a puff of that flowers pollen or something?

Idk feel free to ignore this!! Have a nice day <3

Not at all, Darling!

I freaking love the muddle buds. They are my favorite weapon in totk, honestly.

So I went Soft Yandere! Sub! Twilight last time, now we get to go a little more Yandere Dom! Twilight >:D

Slight totk spoilers, but not much! Just about a Muddle Bud!

Smut CW: Hard, rough sex. He pins you to the wall man. AFAB! reader, he has a country accent. Calls you darling, dumbification if you squint, breeding kind. Also, Twilight bites.

Wild had given them the go ahead. He had said that though his Hyrule looked different, most of it was still the same. There were a few new thing, here and there, but it was still Hyrule.

So, obviously you had wanted to explore.

And Twilight wasn't going to stop you. Oh no. But he wouldn't let you go alone. No, he wanted to please you, but he wasn't completely crazy just yet. How could he watch over you if you went off alone? He couldn't! You knew he was Wolfie, so that wouldn't work either since you would catch him right away.

He was just lucky you seemed more than happy to have the company. He was just happy to see you so excited. You trotted in front of him, in some sort of leaky cave, looking at it all as if it was an entirely different entity. You awed over the bomb flowers and ooh'd over the luminous stone deposits. You even cooed over the Bubul frog before being dragged along once more. Twilight merely followed, growling lowly at a Horriblin that seemed to grow a little too cocky. It immediately backed down with a small whine, disappearing into a hole in the roof.

At least it wasn't black blooded.

Twilight remained just paces behind you, staying a steady pillar of security as you let your walls down in favor of exploring. He was more than ecstatic to do so, simply watching you. His Goddess.

Oh, how he adored the spark of life in your eyes as you skipped along, looking around walls and through vine blocked entrances. (Not that they remained blocked for long. One look at your pout had him gently pulling you back with a charming smile before slashing through them easily. When you smiled up at him with pure joy and unfiltered glee, his heart sang.)

"Look, Twi!" You called for his attention that he gave easily, pointing at a small trio of flowers. They were a gorgeous swirl of pinks and purples, almost seeming to shine in the light of the cave. He struck a nearby brightbloom seed to give you a better look.

One of your hands gently graced the petals as you looked up at him. Something inquisitive and endlessly curious lit up your irises, which he just melted over. The inner canine in him howled in admiration, tail wagging as it circled in an excitable circle. He just let himself smile since he doubted you would take too kindly to him just howling.

"What do you think they do?"

"Hard ta' say." He shrugged, crouching beside your own form and eyeing the plant. You gently bounced it on a finger, furrowing your brows at the prospect of a new mystery. "Wild would probably know." You hummed.

He nodded along, before standing, offering you a hand. "Probably. C'mon. We should probably head back before they start gettin' worried. Ya' know how Sky gets."

You giggled behind a hand, taking his before dipping into an exaggerated curtsy. "Why, thank you, Sir Twilight of the Twilight Realm."

Rolling his eyes, he played along-- because he'd be a fool not to. Whatever you wanted, he would give you. There was no question about it. Even if he feigned annoyance. "Why, of course, yer' highness. It is my absolute pleasure." He smiled, one of his canines gleaming.

You laughed again before waving him off. "Oh, shove it. Let's go, cowboy."

"After you." He bowed, making you roll your eyes before you were moving once again. Both of you stopped at the sound of something cracking above you, making you look up. A tip of one of the stalactites shivering before falling. It landed in the flowers, making a puff of lilac smoke bloom in a small cloud around the area. Twilight immediately reached for you, because he'd be damned if he let that hurt you, but unfortunately not even he could fight against pollen as you coughed into his chest.

He gently held your hands, scanning you for anything that could possibly be wrong with you, (Who cared about him? Not when you could be hurt. You could be in danger.). He was going to maim Wild if something happened to you because of something he failed to warn them about. Goddess, if this was something fatal, he'd never forgive himself. No Hyrule would withstand his pure rage should something happen to you. Nothing would survive his pure anger in it's rawest, most feral form.

But, outwardly? You seemed...Fine? Your cheeks were a little red, but you seemed...okay? It was a tentative and hesitant okay, but you seemed just so. "Darling? Are ya' alright? Aches? Pains? Anything wrong at all?"

"No, no, just...hot. Like it suddenly got thirty degrees hotter." That would explain the red cheeks. You gently cupped his cheeks, pupils blowing wildly. "You okay, cowboy?"

"'m fine." Come to think of it, it did feel hotter. Way too hot. And Goddess, he knew you were good looking. But it seemed something just made you positively radiant. Absolutely glow as everything around you hazed away. Your touch was like pure magma, hot and smoldering against his cheek, but he needed more. He couldn't breath without you at this point, but it was more like you were the very oxygen he needed. The atmosphere that kept him together.

He needed you. He needed you so badly. He needed your touch and your aura, for your nails to dig deliciously in his back as he absolutely ruined you. He needed...He needed-

He would fucking explode if he didn't kiss you right now.

So he did. He leaned down, smashing your lips together in a kiss that was more teeth and tongue than anything, animalistic and primal. You groaned against him, fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. Your groans lit a fire under him, urging him on as his own fingers tugged at your useless clothes. You honestly were doing society a disservice by wearing them. No, you were doing him a disservice because he, and only he, was the only one allowed such a delectable view. Only he could make you this way. Feel the way you clung to him like he would disappear should you let go. Relish in the feeling of you pulling at his hair to get him as close as humanly possible. To hear the way you absolute whimpered his name as he pulled away just far enough to rid you of your blasted tunic, dropping it to the side. To experience the electricity between you two as you ground against him.

He couldn't take it anymore. You were primed prey ready for him to take. He had been patient. He had been a gentleman. He had been everything you wanted. But he was little more than a wolf in sheep's clothing. Laying in wait for the perfect opportunity to strike. To bite into his precious little doe.

And now was this opportunity.

Your head angled up just perfectly as he latched to just beneath your ear, licking and sucking his own marks into the skin. A sign that you were his, his, his. All His. His rutting increased in ferocity and tempo, making you cry out for him as you pulled at his belt. It was dropped somewhere to the side with your tunic along with your own belt as your leggings were pulled to your knees.

Anymore would have to wait since he couldn't.

His pelt fell to the ground, discarded carelessly, as he pinned you against the stone wall behind you, holding your ass in his hands as he rutted and rutted and- If he didn't stop, he'd fucking lose his ever loving mind.

With another growled curse, he ripped those pesky panties away from your lips, leaving the shreds fall to the ground as you wiggled him out of his pants. "Darling, I can't- I need-"

"If you don't stop talking and fuck me, I'm asking for a favor from Warriors."

An absolutely feral snarl left him as he plunged into you, feeling you constrict against him as you cried out in either shock or pain. Didn't matter as you were eagerly demanding more.

And more was what he would give you. More. Until you couldn't stand the thought of being without him. More. Until you couldn't think of anyone but him. More. Until he had effected you in at least half of the way you effect him. More. Until you were nothing but a mindless, babbling, crying mess for him and him alone.

Just to see you, tears dripping down the crowns of your cheeks and drool shining along your chin, was a dream he had had many times over. But to have the real thing, clenching around him, marking up his back with nothing but mindless cries? That was a euphoria like no other.

It was what made everything worth it.

You just felt so...Cynefin with him. Perfect in every way. He just wanted to please you. To worship you. So just let him. He would treat you so nice! So well! Give you a nice home, let you do what you wished as long as he came back to you. Wanted to stay home a be a house wife? Perfect. Wanted to get a job? He wouldn't be ecstatic, but he's sure there's some odd jobs around Ordon, where he can watch you. Want kids?

He halted for a second. The thought becoming oh so domestic to him. The thought of you round with his own kid, his pup, a part of you and him put into one. It was something so domestically perfect and something he wanted. Oh, he wanted it bad. It kicked his hindbrain into a whole new gear as he picked up his tempo, hearing you cry out. You were dripping around him at this point, crying his name again and again before squeezing around him. It was as if you were milking him, asking for his children.

That must've been it, and if that was what you wanted, that was what you would get.

His fingers dug into your hip with a bruising grip, jutting as far as he could, biting into the junction of your shoulder and neck, pinning you there as he filled you to the brim. It was yours, all yours. He wouldn't let you waste a drop, oh no.

Besides, he was just getting started.

Dinner wouldn't be ready for a while yet and by the looks of it, you weren't quite satisfied yet either.

And that just wouldn't stand.

Small AN: Man, three in a day, you lucky geese you! I hope you guys enjoy these all, sincerely, I really enjoy writing for you guys and I love seeing your reactions in the tags. So thank you for being so welcoming. I appreciate it more than you could imagine.

With all my love,

Cinder XOXO

#linked universe #linked universe x reader #yandere linked universe #yandere linked universe x reader #cindersins #legend of zelda #loz #linkeduniverse #yandere lu twilight x reader #yandere twilight x reader #lu twilight x reader #lu twilight #yandere legend of zelda x reader #yandere legend of zelda #legend of zelda twilight princess #link x reader #yandere link x reader

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dee-writes-smut · 10 days

Text

SUMMER

FEATURING Azriel x Illyrian!reader

SUMMARY healing is a long journey that can't be summed up in just four simple seasons, but it seems with the help of a certain shadowsinger at your side, you've seemed to do it.

CONTENT WARNINGS mentions of nightmares, apologies, scared reader, comforting Azriel, Cassian POV, and mentions of wingspans ;)

AUTHORS NOTE the finale you've all been waiting for is finally here as promised! Thank you all so much for your support during this series, I am excited to be back and writing for you all again! Love you all and I hope you enjoy! <3

Summer arrives like a promise fulfilled, a canvas awash with vibrant hues of green and gold, as if nature herself has donned her finest attire. The air hums with the gentle whisper of transformation, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and the promise of new beginnings on its warm breeze.

As the sun stretches its golden fingers across the land, casting long shadows that dance in its radiant glow, there's a palpable sense of rejuvenation in the air. It's as if each dawn heralds a new chapter, a chance to shed the burdens of the past and embrace the endless possibilities of the present.

In this season of abundance, life bursts forth with an exuberance that is both intoxicating and invigorating. The world awakens from its slumber, blossoming with a riot of colors as flowers unfurl their petals in joyful defiance of the lingering chill of winter. Leaves rustle in the gentle caress of the wind, their verdant whispers carrying tales of resilience and growth.

Amidst this symphony of nature's symphony, there is a sense of newfound strength coursing through every living thing. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, the warmth of the sun infuses each day with a sense of possibility, igniting a fire within the soul that refuses to be extinguished.

In the heart of summer, time seems to slow, allowing moments to linger like the last rays of sunlight on a balmy evening. It's a season of exploration and adventure, where every day holds the promise of discovery and every sunset marks the end of one chapter and the beginning of another.

And as the days stretch languidly into twilight, there is a quiet resilience that takes root, a deep-seated belief in the power of new beginnings and the strength that comes from embracing change. For in the heart of summer, beneath the sweltering heat and the endless blue skies, lies the untold promise of tomorrow, waiting to be seized with both hands and forged into something beautiful.

(Mid Summer, Velaris)

The afternoon sun poured into the training ring, casting long shadows of the figures sparring lightly within it. Cassian was across from me, a patient yet mischievous grin on his face, as he handed me a training sword. “Ready to get your ass kicked, or are you going to make me work for it today?”

I smirked, feeling the flutter of my old spirit stirring within. “Dream on, Cassian.”

The clash of our swords sang through the air, a melody of metal that resonated with the pounding of my heart. Each strike, each parry, felt like shedding layers of fear that had cocooned me since losing my wings.

“Focus,” Cassian said, his voice a mix of sternness and encouragement. “Remember, it’s not just about strength. It’s about knowing your opponent.”

I nodded, gripping my own wooden sword a little tighter. As I lunged forward, Cassian parried easily, countering with a swift movement that I barely blocked in time. We moved in a rhythm, the clack of our swords punctuating each maneuver. My muscles remembered the dance, even if they ached from disuse. Cassian’s style was a flurry of motion, designed to overwhelm, but today he tempered his usual ferocity, giving me room to find my footing again. The physical exertion was grounding, pulling me further away from my mental ghosts.

Laughter and shouts from Mor, watching from the sidelines, filled the arena, her cheers a buoyant soundtrack to our dance of blades and as we paused for a break, Mor jogged over with a waterskin and a smirk. She threw an arm around my shoulders, squeezing tightly. “Look at you! You’re almost back to your old self,” she beamed, her pride evident.

The warmth from her compliment soaked through me, loosening some of the tightness still lingering in my chest. “Feels good to move like that again,” I admitted, allowing the truth of my words to wash over me. It did feel good—like claiming back pieces of my soul, piece by piece.

“You two look like you’re having fun,” she smiled, squeezing me close again as she handed me the waterskin. After I took a long drink, she shot me a sly glance. “Speaking of fun, have you noticed how Azriel can't seem to stay away from your side?”

Mor’s eyebrows wiggled as I coughed on the water, wiping my mouth as I tried to compose myself. “He’s just being supportive,” I muttered, feeling my cheeks heat up.

Cassian chuckled, leaning on his sword. “Oh, he’s being supportive, all right. Haven’t seen him this glued to someone since… well, ever.”

I rolled my eyes, but the seed of awareness began to sprout in my mind. Azriel had indeed been a constant presence, his quiet strength a comfort I hadn’t realized I’d leaned on so much.

“Do you think it might be a mating bond?” Mor asked casually, too casually, as she inspected her nails.

The question halted me, the weight of the implication settling in my stomach like a stone. The mating bond was sacred, profound—was I ready for something like that? The very thought made my heart race, not just with fear but with a blossoming hope I hadn’t acknowledged until now.

“Maybe he’s just being a good friend,” I countered, but my voice lacked conviction.

Cassian raised an eyebrow, giving me a knowing look. “When you know, you know,” he said simply. “And it looks like you’re starting to realize something there.”

We resumed training, but his words echoed in my mind with each strike and block. Azriel’s face appeared in my thoughts, his smiles, the gentle touch of his hands, the way his eyes lit up when he looked at me lately. My feelings for him, which I had shelved as mere gratitude or the simple need for companionship during recovery, seemed to be deepening into something richer, more profound.

As we finished and walked back towards the House of Wind, Mor looped her arm through mine. “You don’t have to figure it all out at once,” she whispered. “But don’t close your heart to the possibility of something beautiful. Azriel cares for you deeply, more than just as a friend or protector.”

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow that bathed the world in a soft, forgiving light. It felt symbolic, reflective of my own internal dawn. Maybe, just maybe, I was ready to consider that what lay between Azriel and me could be the kind of love that songs and tales were spun from. As fear and doubt receded, leaving room for this new, tender hope, I realized that my journey of healing was also leading me down a path of rediscovering my capacity to love—not just Azriel, but myself and this new life I was slowly, bravely building.

(Mid Summer, The River House)

That evening, the dinner with the Inner Circle was held at the sprawling, candlelit table in the River House. The atmosphere was thick with laughter and the clinking of glasses, a symphony of friendship and familial bonds. The windows were thrown open, allowing the crisp, cool air of Velaris to sweep through the room, mixing with the scent of jasmine and roasted meats.

As I entered the dining room, a subtle change in my demeanor didn’t go unnoticed by the group. Rhysand was the first to catch my eye, giving me a nod of approval and a warm, welcoming smile. Amren, ever observant, watched me with her piercing gaze, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her lips, acknowledging the shift in my spirits.

Azriel, standing slightly apart, offered me a soft, encouraging smile as I took my place next to him. His quiet strength bolstered my newfound resolve to engage more fully with those around me.

Dinner began with a lively discussion led by Feyre about a recent exhibition at the art gallery in the city. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she described the vibrant colors and revolutionary techniques of the new artists showcased. I listened, chiming in with my thoughts on the integration of night and day themes, which earned an approving laugh from Rhys.

As the meal continued, Cassian, true to form, began recounting one of his training escapades, embellishing the details to make his tale more dramatic. “And then, just as I was about to execute my perfectly planned maneuver, an Illyrian baby sneezed on me. Totally threw off my game!”

Laughter erupted around the table, and I found myself genuinely chuckling, the sound surprising even to me. “Only you, Cassian, could be outmaneuvered by a baby’s sneeze,” I teased, earning a round of applause and a mock bow from Cassian.

“See, she’s got jokes now! Our girl’s coming back to us,” Mor exclaimed, her face alight with joy. She reached over to squeeze my hand, her gesture warm and reassuring.

As plates were cleared and desserts were served, the conversation shifted to lighter, more personal stories. Feyre shared anecdotes about her latest painting misadventures, while Mor detailed her plans for the upcoming festival in the city. Each story, each shared laugh, felt like a stitch mending the frayed edges of my soul.

As the dinner party began to wind down in the warm, laughter-filled hall, a soft coo from the corner caught my attention. Nyx, cradled gently in Feyre’s arms, was awake and curiously peeking over her shoulder with wide, starry eyes. I felt my heart tug softly. It had been too long since I had held him, too long since I’d allowed myself to be part of these simpler, beautiful family moments.

Feyre caught my gaze and smiled, understanding immediately. “Someone wants to say hello,” she said softly, walking over with Nyx. His small hand reached out, and I couldn’t help but smile as his fingers grasped at the air between us.

“May I?” I asked, my voice a whisper of excitement mixed with a hint of uncertainty.

“Of course,” Feyre replied, carefully transferring Nyx into my arms. The baby settled against me with ease, a soft sigh escaping him as if he found comfort in my embrace. His tiny hand reached up, touching my cheek gently, an innocent gesture that felt like a reassurance of missed affection. It was as if he was saying he remembered me, that he too had felt the absence of our connection.

The moment wasn’t lost on Azriel, who watched from a short distance. His shadows flickered subtly around him, a telltale sign of his emotions stirring beneath that calm exterior. Since the conversation with Cassian and Mor earlier today, every glance, every small interaction with him seemed charged with a new, silent tension. My newly admitted feelings for him amplified each shared look, adding weight to the air between us.

As I rocked Nyx gently, my thoughts drifted to Azriel again. His presence at my side had become a constant, his support unwavering. The depth of my affection for him had crept up silently, weaving itself into the fabric of my daily life until it was indistinguishable from my other truths. I found myself stealing glances at him, each look a quiet confession of the feelings I was only beginning to allow myself to acknowledge.

Azriel eventually made his way over, his gaze softening as he looked at Nyx in my arms. “He’s missed you,” Azriel murmured, his voice barely audible over the low hum of conversation around us.

I met his eyes, feeling a flush of warmth at the intimacy of the moment. “I’ve missed him, too. Missed all of this,” I admitted, my voice thick with emotion. The way Azriel looked at me then, with such warmth and depth, made my heart skip a beat.

“Looks good on you,” he said after a pause, nodding towards Nyx.

The comment, simple and offhand, thrummed with unspoken meanings. It was a nudge against the boundaries we had maintained, a gentle probing into the new spaces of my heart that had begun to open to him.

As I handed Nyx back to Feyre, I caught Azriel’s arm gently. “Stay for a moment?” I asked, my voice hopeful, laden with the weight of all the things I hadn’t yet said.

He nodded, his usual reserve melting away for a moment as he stayed by my side, his presence a silent promise of things perhaps soon to be explored. We both knew something unspoken was shifting between us, and while neither of us was ready to dive into those waters just yet, acknowledging it—even in silence—felt like the first step toward a new horizon.

(Mid Summer, The House of Wind)

The following week, Feyre, Mor, Nesta, and I revived our "book club"—a ruse for nights filled with wine, wild discussions about our latest reads, and shared secrets under the cloak of night. As I sat curled up on a plush couch, a glass of wine in hand, surrounded by these incredible women, a profound sense of belonging enveloped me. Here, in these moments, I was safe to just be; to heal, to laugh, to grow.

The cozy nook tucked away in the House of Wind had become our sanctuary, a place where the Inner Circle’s book club convened to discuss literature, life, and everything in between. Tonight, as the flickering candlelight cast soft shadows across the room, I settled into my usual spot among the plush cushions, surrounded by my closest friends.

Feyre, Nesta, and Mor lounged around me, each with a book in hand, their faces alight with anticipation for our weekly gathering. The atmosphere was charged with excitement, the air buzzing with the promise of lively conversation and shared insights.

“So, what’s everyone reading this week?” Mor asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she glanced around the circle.

Feyre held up a worn copy of her latest find, a tale of forbidden love and political intrigue. “I’m revisiting an old favorite,” she said with a smile. “It’s like catching up with an old friend.”

Nesta, with a smirk playing on her lips, produced a rather scandalous-looking novel with a provocative cover. “I’m exploring the more… sensual side of literature,” she declared, her voice dripping with amusement.

As the conversation flowed around me, I couldn’t help but chuckle at Nesta’s choice. Leave it to her to bring a little spice to our book club discussions. I was hesitant to share tonight, scared to share my feelings so blatantly, to say them out loud in a space with women who would not so soon let me forget. Tonight felt different, though, I felt stronger, able to seize this chance to share with my friends the tumultuous emotions swirling inside me.

“I’ve been reading this collection of poetry,” I began, my voice tentative at first. “It’s funny how words can capture the complexity of human emotions so beautifully.”

Mor’s eyes gleamed with interest, her grin widening. “Ah, poetry—the language of the heart,” she said, her tone teasing yet tender. “Any particular poem speaking to you?”

I hesitated, my gaze flickering to the empty spot where Azriel usually sat. His absence was keenly felt, a reminder of the unresolved tension between us. “There’s one poem that resonates with me,” I admitted, my voice growing stronger with each word. “It’s about…” I faltered, the weight of my confession heavy on my tongue.

Feyre leaned forward, her eyes warm with understanding. “About love?” she prompted gently, her hand reaching out to squeeze mine in silent support.

I nodded, the words spilling forth in a rush. “About love, and fear, and the courage to open your heart to someone—even when it scares you.”

Nesta regarded me with a thoughtful expression, her gaze piercing yet compassionate. “Love is a battlefield,” she said, her voice soft yet firm. “But sometimes, the greatest victories come from facing our fears head-on.”

Mor chimed in with her trademark humor, lightening the mood with a well-timed joke. “Who knew our stoic Shadowsinger had a soft spot for you?”

Feyre smiled knowingly, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Maybe it’s time to confront the shadows and see what lies beneath.”

Nesta couldn’t resist adding her own brand of wit to the conversation. “Speaking of shadows,” she said with a sly grin, “has anyone else noticed Azriel’s wingspan lately?”

We all laughed at Nesta’s comment, the tension in the room dissipating as we embraced the camaraderie of our little gathering. Despite the challenges we faced, tonight was a reminder that with the support of friends, even the darkest shadows could be chased away.

As the evening wore on, our conversation drifted from books to more personal topics, each of us sharing snippets of our lives and experiences. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, a chance to peel back the layers and reveal the raw truths hidden beneath.

Nesta, ever the enigma, shared tales of her latest adventures in the human lands, her sharp wit and cunning intellect shining through with every word.

Mor, always the life of the party, regaled us with stories of her escapades in the Court of Nightmares, her laughter contagious as she recounted her misadventures.

And Feyre, with her quiet strength and unwavering compassion, offered words of wisdom and encouragement, her presence a soothing balm to our troubled souls.

As for me, I found solace in their company, the weight of my burdens eased by the warmth of their friendship. In their laughter and shared moments, I found the courage to confront my fears and embrace the possibility of a brighter future.

And as the candles burned low and the night grew late, I knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, I would face them with the unwavering support of my sisters by my side.

The support of the entire Inner Circle was a force as tangible as the magic that coursed through our veins—a constant, steadfast presence that fortified me against the darker moments. Their belief in me, their unyielding backing, gave me strength, and little by little, I began to feel not just the shadow of the person I once was, but someone stronger, resilient, reborn from adversity.

In these gatherings, these moments of shared vulnerability and joy, I was not just healing. I was transforming—emerging not how I was before the kidnapping, but perhaps even brighter, tempered by trials and warmed by the unwavering light of the family I chose and who had chosen me in return.

(Late Summer, The House of Wind)

The night pressed heavily around the room, its silence a thick, oppressive blanket punctuated only by the soft, rhythmic breathing of Azriel beside me. In the comfort of his proximity, sleep had finally granted me a temporary reprieve from the relentless torment of my nightmares. Yet, the peace was fragile, vulnerable to the slightest disturbance—a reality proven as a sharp, inexplicable chill sliced through the room's stagnant warmth.

The temperature plummeted, wrapping its icy fingers around my spine, jolting me awake. My eyes flicked open, instantly scanning the familiar contours of the room bathed in the ethereal glow of moonlight. Shadows clung to the walls like dark, silent sentinels until one stirred coalescing into a form far too human, far too familiar.

Lyris emerged from the darkness as though materializing from my deepest fears, his presence a tangible echo of past horrors. His eyes, sharp and merciless, locked onto mine with the precision of a hunter sighting its prey. The sheer malevolence in his gaze sent a visceral shudder through me, yet it was no longer solely fear that stirred within my veins. Anger, raw and blazing, kindled within, fueling a burgeoning defiance I hadn't known I possessed.

"Thinking you could escape me?" Lyris's voice was a venomous hiss, his form inching closer with predatory grace. His smirk was twisted, a grotesque mask of sadistic anticipation.

But then, with the seamless reflexes honed by centuries of battle, Azriel was between us. His body moved with lethal precision, his hand snapping out to seize Lyris by the wrist, halting his advance with unyielding strength. "She's under my protection," Azriel snarled, his voice a dangerous, low rumble. His other hand flicked to his side, the sound of steel sliding from leather slicing through the tension as he brandished a dagger, its blade catching the moon's silver light.

Lyris recoiled slightly, his eyes darting to the blade then back to Azriel’s unwavering stare. "You think you can keep her from her fate?" he spat, struggling against Azriel's iron grip.

“Her fate is her own, and you have no part in it,” Azriel retorted, his wings unfurling menacingly. The air around us thickened with dark, swirling shadows, responding to the raw power emanating from him. In that moment, he was not just my protector but an avenging angel cloaked in night's embrace.

The room filled with a heavy, expectant silence, thick with the weight of unspoken threats. Breaking the tension, I found my voice, though it trembled with the force of my emotions. "Where are my wings, Lyris?" The question tore from me, a desperate plea tangled with a demand.

"Your wings?" he mused mockingly, his eyes glinting with cruelty. "Such a precious prize… Let's just say they're kept in a place where they await their true destiny—far from your reach.”

"Give them back," Azriel demanded, his tone lethal, a stark contrast to the deceptive calm of his posture.

Lyris's laugh was cold and chilling, like the howl of the wind outside. "You overestimate your power here, shadow singer. I could take her now, and you wouldn't be able to stop me."

Azriel's response was swift and deadly serious. "Try it, and it will be the last thing you do." His wings unfurled dramatically as he snatched Lyris’ wrist in a powerful grip, the span of dark membrane filling the room with a sense of otherworldly power. The shadows around him deepened, swirling in response to his anger and the protective fury that laced every syllable.

The standoff stretched, a moment suspended in time where every breath, every heartbeat was laden with potential violence. Then, with a jerk, Lyris wrenched free, stepping back into the protective shroud of darkness. “She will never be free from me," he hissed, his presence oppressive, suffocating. "And neither will you."

Then, as suddenly as he had appeared, he dissolved into shadows, leaving a cold void in his wake. His final words echoed ominously, a malevolent promise hanging in the air. As the immediate threat vanished, Azriel’s demeanor shifted, the lethal warrior receding to reveal his concern. He turned to me, his intense gaze softening. “Are you alright?” His voice was now a gentle whisper, a stark contrast to the deadly thunder from moments before.

I collapsed back against the pillows, my body trembling uncontrollably. The fear wasn't just about the physical presence of Lyris—it was the emotional and psychological terror, the deep scars he had left on my soul, that overwhelmed me.

Azriel sat beside me, enveloping me in his arms, his presence a solid, reassuring force against the lingering echoes of dread. "I'm here. You're safe," he murmured against my hair, his voice a soothing balm.

Tears streamed down my cheeks, sobs wracking my body as the terror slowly ebbed away, replaced by immense fatigue. "We have to get them back, Azriel. I need to feel whole again."

His embrace tightened, a silent promise of unyielding support. "We will," he assured me quietly. "No matter what it takes, we will bring them back.” He took a deep breath, his arms tightening around me as if he were scared that I might run from him. “Always, I will protect you. From him, from anyone who dares to threaten you,” he murmured into my hair, his breath warm against my scalp. His wings, now gently wrapped around us, formed a cocoon that felt impenetrable.

Settling back against him, I allowed the warmth of his embrace to seep deeper into my bones, expelling the lingering chill of Lyris's visit. His presence was a bastion, within which I found not only protection but a profound sense of belonging.

As we lay back down, the room once again shrouded in the soothing silence of night, a new resolve fortified my spirit. Lyris had found me, yes, but he had not found me alone, nor would he ever. Azriel’s vow to protect me was more than a promise—it was a declaration, a sentinel set against the darkness, both within and without. As sleep beckoned once more, the shadows no longer seemed an ominous threat lurking in the corners but allies, guardians cloaked in the same darkness that wrapped around us, a shield against all that would do harm.

(Late Summer, Cassian)

The morning after Lyris's intrusion, the House of Wind seemed to hold its breath, an unspoken tension palpable in the air. Everyone had shared their worries for her, our friend who had clawed her way back from that bastard's torment. We all worried, we all loved her so greatly, enjoyed the way her presence warmed Azriel’s cold exterior and to see her fall back into that dark place she had fought her way out of, to take Azriel unknowingly with her again, it poured a dark sense of grief over the house.

But amidst the uncertainty, the deep seeded fear of losing our friend once more, there was a glimmer of light, a beacon of hope cutting through the darkness. Entering the kitchen, I was met with a scene that caught me off guard—our friend, her laughter ringing out like a bell as she shared a moment of levity with Azriel. It was a rare sight, one that stirred a mixture of surprise and quiet satisfaction within me.

Azriel, usually cloaked in shadows both literal and metaphorical, had a small, genuine smile playing at the corners of his lips. His usually guarded demeanor seemed to soften in her presence, and I couldn't help but notice the subtle shift in the air between them.

Their interaction spoke volumes, a silent language of understanding and companionship that transcended words. Despite the trials they had faced, there was a sense of comfort and familiarity in their shared laughter, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there was still light to be found in the company of those we held dear.

As I joined them in the kitchen, a silent witness to their shared moment of joy, I couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for the bond that had formed between them. Their friendship had weathered storms that would have broken lesser souls, and yet here they were, laughing together as if the weight of the world had been lifted from their shoulders.

And as I observed them, surrounded by the warmth of their laughter and the comfort of their companionship, I couldn't help but feel a surge of hope for the future. For in the bond between her and Azriel, I saw strength, resilience, and the promise of brighter days ahead.

(Late Summer, The House of Wind)

The day had been long and daunting, with every passing moment feeling like a test of endurance. The worry from my friends was palpable, their concern etched into every glance and every word. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate their care—it was their hovering, their treating me like a fragile thing, that grated against my newfound sense of strength. But amidst it all, there was Azriel.

He stood as a steadfast anchor amidst the storm, a silent guardian who watched over me with unwavering determination. While others fretted and fussed, he remained at my side, a silent sentinel who seemed to understand without the need for words. His presence alone was enough to bolster my spirits, to remind me that I was not alone in this struggle.

Throughout the day, I found myself stealing glances at him, marveling at the depth of his care. How had I not noticed it before? His gaze lingered on me with a mixture of concern and understanding, his eyes a window to the depths of his soul. It was as if he saw straight through the facade I presented to the world, recognizing the strength within me even when I doubted it myself.

As evening descended and the weight of the day settled upon us, we retreated to the familiar sanctuary of my room. Azriel had made it his own, his presence a comforting presence in the darkness. The routine of preparing for bed had become second nature to us—changing into pajamas, brushing our teeth side by side, and slipping under the covers as Azriel performed his meticulous check of the room.

In the quiet moments before sleep claimed us, we lay in silence, each lost in our own thoughts. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude for Azriel's unwavering support, for his steadfast presence that had seen me through the darkest of days. It was a bond forged in the crucible of adversity, a connection that defied explanation yet felt more real than anything I had ever known.

“Azriel?” I called softly into the night, my voice barely a whisper.

He turned to me, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the window. For a moment, we simply gazed at each other, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. And then, with a small smile, he reached out, pulling me closer until I was nestled against his chest.

At that moment, as I lay nestled against Azriel's chest, something shifted between us—a subtle yet profound change that altered the very fabric of our connection. It was as if the air crackled with an invisible energy, a tangible tension that seemed to draw us closer together.

I felt it first, the unmistakable sensation of the mating bond snapping into place with a sudden clarity that took my breath away. It was as if a veil had been lifted, revealing a truth that had always been there, hidden beneath the surface. The primal need to be close to him, to feel his presence as an extension of my own, suddenly made perfect sense.

And then, as if in response to my realization, Azriel let out a small gasp, his arms tightening around me with a fierce urgency that mirrored my own. It was a primal, instinctual reaction, as if some ancient part of him recognized the significance of this moment and refused to let me go.

In that instant, all doubts and uncertainties melted away, replaced by a profound sense of clarity and understanding. We were bound together, our souls intertwined in a way that transcended the physical realm. And as I gazed into Azriel's eyes, I knew that no matter what trials lay ahead, we would face them together, united by the unbreakable bond that now bound us.

"I'll protect you, ensure you are safe and happy and loved," Azriel vowed, his voice a soothing melody that wrapped around me like a warm embrace, promising sanctuary in the depths of his love.

Tears welled in my eyes as his words washed over me, a flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm my fragile resolve. "As will I," I replied, my voice trembling with the weight of my own commitment, my heart laid bare before him in a moment of raw vulnerability.

His eyes, pools of darkness tinged with golden fire, bore into mine with a fierce intensity, piercing through the walls I had built around my heart. "Throughout all the seasons you will be mine, if that is what you want?" His voice was a whisper, yet it echoed through the chambers of my soul, stirring something deep within me that I could no longer deny.

With a trembling breath, I reached out to him, my fingers trembling as they traced the contours of his face, memorizing every line, every scar, every shadow that danced across his skin. "There is no one else I would rather share them with," I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper, the truth of my words ringing out in the quiet room like a sacred vow.

And in that moment, as our souls intertwined in the golden threads of the mating bond, I felt a surge of emotion wash over me, overwhelming in its intensity. It was as if the weight of a thousand lifetimes had been lifted from my shoulders, replaced by a sense of peace and belonging that I had longed for all my life.

With tears streaming down my cheeks, I pressed my forehead against his, our breaths mingling in the space between us as we stood on the precipice of eternity. In that sacred embrace, we found refuge from the storms that had battered our souls, forging a connection that would endure the trials of time. And as we surrendered to the pull of the mating bond, our hearts beat as one, a symphony of love and devotion that echoed through the halls of the House of Wind.

Together, we would face the challenges that lay ahead, our bond a beacon of hope in the darkness, guiding us through the labyrinth of life with unwavering strength and unwavering love.

For in each other's arms, we had found our home, our sanctuary, our forever. And as the night enveloped us in its embrace, we knew that no matter what trials awaited us, we would face them together, united in a love that was destined to last for all eternity.

[PREVIOUS]

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quills-of-freedom · 1 year

Text

Head Canons ~

Cockwarming

Eren - Armin - Reiner - Porco - Bertoldt - Jean

Eren

Cockwarming with Eren is an extreme experience, to say the least.

Eren is laying awake, the weight of the world on his shoulders as per usual. (Maybe that’s why he hunches so much?) He’s been tossing and turning but didn’t want to disturb you so he turns on his side and watches you sleep.

As the silver glow of the moonlight illuminates your skin from the open sliver of the curtain, his brooding eyes can’t remove themselves from your form as you breathe softly; totally lost in another world.

He’ll bring his lips to your cheek in a peck - hoping that whatever dimension you’re in is a good one, and you’re being treated well by the hosts of that world.

The feel of your flesh against his lips and the warmth radiating from your body entices his large palm to run up your stomach, he himself not even realising his hips pressing themselves against your ass.

His kisses become frantic and you begin to stir awake as he quickly becomes feral, his shoulder and back muscles tensing as his fingers hook onto your bottoms and pull them down all while nuzzling into your neck.

A groan parts your lips as you awaken, confused as to why your body was smouldering with heated desire, your boyfriend's fingers sliding up and down your slit as he pulls your back tighter against his chest.

“Eren…?” You croak.

“Shh…” He soothes, his hand splaying around your throat. “I love you, so much… mmm ~ ah…”

You take in a sharp breath as he pushes your panties to the side, pushing his swollen head at your entrance and inserting himself inside of you with a grunt.

You rut your hips back with glee, expecting him to fuck you deep into the twilight.

But he just… stays there. His mouth desperately devouring your neck, palms squeezing your breasts as his staggered breathing coats your skin.

“Let me be with you…” His vocals are guttural.

You’re not entirely sure what he means by that - your mind is still heavily within the realm of dreams but you’re more than happy to allow him. Eventually, the both of you fell back into a slumber while he was buried inside of your flesh.

Armin

One time in particular you and Armin had such an intimate moment was when you were having a picnic at one of your favourite spots.

It was spring and the cherry blossoms were out in full bloom as you sat between his legs, his back against the bark.

The sun was starting to set after a full day of fun with him, so the air was beginning to nip a little. Resulting in Armin throwing a blanket over the both of you.

There’s times where Armin’s dark side shows and its… so hot.

His arms snake around your waist as he inhales your scent - another perfect day with his perfect partner.

His brows furrow as he quickly gets carried away, his nuzzles into the crook of your neck becoming more hungry.

You end up cockwarming him there and then under that tree - flittering pink petals cascading down around the both of you.

Your insides squeeze him in reflex, his muffled groans into your neck only encouraging them more as your slick gets more and more thick.

He gasps your name with each flutter around his entirety, slowly his vocals grow in volume as he gets closer and closer to an orgasm.

“Y/n… I’m getting close. You wanna finish this in the car?”

He’ll scoop you up into his arms and carry you down to the parking lot if you agree. If not, he’s more than happy to let you milk him under the branches of the tree.

Reiner

Reiner loves nothing more than to gently ease his huge weight onto you on the bed, pinning your legs as high as they’ll go and sinking into you.

This man craves closeness and anything to do with you. So he’s more than happy to nestle himself within you while he mutters desperately how much he loves, adores and worships you.

It’s pretty easy to make him cum from this. He gets himself too riled up with emotion, and your pulsating insides push him over the edge.

He loves pressing his chest onto yours and feeling your heart hammer against his own, his large hand pawing at your hair and face.

“N'umph… your pussy. Babe… ah, you’re gonna make me cum, gorgeous.”

Will absolutely stay plugged up in you after he has done so, his breeding kink always ignited at the sight of you so needy for his touch.

This is a common occurrence with you and Reiner. It’s one of his most treasured ways to show how much you mean to him.

Porco

In all total honesty - Porco is the worst to do this with.

He finds it extremely difficult not to thrust when he’s inside of you.

Except that one time he was sick but also horny. He wanted sex, you said he should rest. So he pulled you onto his lap and lay you down on top of him, sliding himself into you while he just held you and watched TV.

It was a little gross, as his nose kept on running, but you didn’t mind. You love him and if your closeness helped him feel better then it was all worth it.

“I love you baby.” He whimpered while holding you close, really needing to feel your presence.

Running your fingers through his hair, you return his affections. After a while, you remove yourself and make him some soup.

Bertoldt

Bertoldt oh my lord…

He’s up there with the most passionate cockwarmers to be honest. He can control himself but the effort that shows of himself holding back is to die for.

His fingers will dig into your flesh, he’ll groan, he’ll whimper, and he’ll gasp. Its almost torture, but he loves it.

Will try any dirty trick to get you to move. Including dirty talk.

“Ah~ you feel s'so amazing… You’re so warm and tight. Do you like the feel of my length so deep in you? D'do I ah~ feel good? mmmm…”

His heart is braying against his chest as he clings on you for dear life, his head pressed into your chest as if he were worshipping some goddess.

“God, I love you…”

After a while, if you feel mercy for him, for god sake give your hips a little roll. He’ll come undone instantly.

Jean

Another who’s favourite thing to do with you is this. He’s just overjoyed and privileged he gets to have you this way.

Praises you, oh so much.

“You’re a goddess.”

“You’re so perfect.”

“I love you… so much. God, you feel so good…”

Expect a lot of whimpering once you’ve been there a while - his cock twitching inside of you is everything.

It’s extremely difficult not to just start bouncing because his dick is just… *chefs kiss*

He’s a sneaky little shit though. He’ll lazily rub your clit and get you to orgasm, your insides pulling at him getting him off slyly - all with a coy grin.

Loves to spread your legs and turn you around so he can just sit and watch you splayed and splitting around him.

#reiner smut #reiner braun #attack on titan eren #eren smut #aot jean #jean smut #armin smut #porco smut

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cirilla-fiona-riannon · 14 days

Text

Act 4 Prologue (Matias Asbrink)

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies.

At the same time, in Acroite.

Large snowflakes fluttered down like flower petals, painting the traditional stone-built streets white.

The main street, illuminated by street lamps, was bustling with crowds of people. However, there were no troublemakers here, no drunken shouts or fights like in other countries.

In this country, governed by the strictest laws on the continent, those who disturb the peace are quickly apprehended and held accountable for their crimes.

Yet amidst the orderly and well-maintained streets, there was a corner where women gathered unnaturally.

Woman 1: “Please join me at the lovely party I’m having tonight.”

Woman 2: “That’s not fair. Please also come to my party.”

Woman 3: “Where are you off to at this hour? If you’re interested, would you like to join me for dinner?”

Matias: “I have work to attend to. Please excuse me.”

Slipping smoothly out of the midst of the women, with his golden hair gathering the twilight’s glow and snow-shadowed eyes tinged with melancholy, was Matias, the guardian of Acroite’s law.

Though his appearance and demeanor were stern, there was an alluring aura about him that made the women gaze at him dreamily.

Matias: “Haah.”

With a sigh, he casually brushed back his smooth blond hair, eliciting another round of cheers from the women behind him.

A colleague, a judge, then playfully tapped his back as he swiftly walked away to escape their intense stares.

Lars: “Quite the charmer, as always, huh? Matias.”

Pushing up his round glasses, the man smiled teasingly at Matias, and his expression changed to a more relaxed one.

Matias: “Lars, if you saw that, you could’ve helped me.”

Matias: “You know I struggle with women.”

Lars: "I know, but having too many admirers is honestly a problem I envy. I wish I could trade places with you."

Matias: "You wish you could trade places with me? Did you see those women? They had the eyes of warriors determined to annihilate their enemies."

Lars: "I think they were all beauties, though."

Matias: "Whether they're beautiful or not doesn't matter. The only woman I need is my soulmate."

Matias: "She doesn't need to dote on me or stare at me like those women. All she needs to do is wish me luck, fix my tie, give me a kiss, and wave goodbye before I head to work."

Lars: "Yeah, yeah, I get it. I've heard about your embarrassing fantasies more than a hundred times, Matias."

Lars: "Are you alright, though?"

Matias: "I've been saying it since earlier, but I'm not okay. You have to back me up next time."

Lars: "I meant about the trial. The defendant this time is your friend, right?"

Matias: "Ah, yeah. We were roommates for a while back in the Royal Academy. We enlisted together and served in the same unit."

Lars: "You were close then."

Matias: "He was a good guy. Cheerful, smart, and quick-witted. He was good with women too, effortlessly handling situations like earlier."

Lars: "I see. Matias, about that..."

Matias' snow-shadow-colored eyes gaze straight at his colleague, looking somewhat uneasy.

Matias: "It's fine."

Matias: "I'm a man of the Asbrink family."

The Royal Court, which determines the nation’s justice, was filled with a solemn atmosphere tonight.

The defendant and his defense attorney, the government officials prosecuting his crimes, and numerous citizens in the gallery all watched with bated breath as the five judges, especially the guardian of the law, sat atop the judicial platform.

Matias: “I’ll now deliver the verdict on the suspicion of unauthorized leakage of classified Acroite military information.”

Matias: “Defendant, step forward.”

The defendant stepped onto the witness stand.

Though looking severely worn out, his eyes, fixed on the guardian of the law, held a faint glimmer of hope.

It was well known among some circles that the defendant had a friendship with the guardian.

As everyone sought to interpret the meaning behind the intersecting gazes, the sound of the gavel resounded.

Matias: “Death penalty.”

After delivering the merciless verdict, the courtroom fell into a brief silence before erupting into chaos.

Defendant: “Matias, are you really going to kill me!? Me, who ate, slept, and fought alongside you? We're friends, aren't we!?”

Defendant: “You can’t do this!”

While the defendant cried out in despair, Matias appeared entirely unaffected.

Matias: “That does not excuse your crime.”

Defendant: “Isn’t a death sentence too heavy for a single mistake?”

Matias: "The law is justice. If you are a citizen of Acroite, obedience is absolute."

Matias: "All you can do is comply with the verdict that has been passed down."

With a detached voice, Matias continued to gaze directly at the collapsing defendant, seemingly in despair.

Matias: "The execution will be carried out in five days, at noon."

Defendant: "M-Matias..."

As the defendant was taken away, Matias watched them with his snow-shadow-colored eyes.

To dispel the murmurs, he struck the gavel twice.

Matias: "This concludes the session."

As the people left the courtroom in silence, he stood alone.

It was unusual for him to stay in the courtroom after it had adjourned, without a clear reason.

Walking to the spot where the defendant had collapsed during the trial, he gently touched the witness stand with his fingers.

Though his snow-shadowed eyes flickered slightly, he murmured with the same emotionless voice as during the trial.

Matias: "I did the right thing."

Matias: "I'm Matias, the next king of Acroite, a proud man of the esteemed Asbrink family."

Matias: "Until all evil is condemned, I cannot afford to stop."

☆ Ikepri Masterlist

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri spoilers #ikepri jp #ikepri translations #cybird #matias asbrink #ikepri matias

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system-to-the-madness · 1 month

Text

Cherry Blossom Naps 🌸 Tomioka Giyū x Reader

Pairing: Tomioka Giyū x Reader (can be read as any gender, no pronouns used) Genre: fluff Word Count: 1 626 Summary: after a a night of fighting demons, you and Tomioka find shelter

Sakura Festival Masterlist - Masterlist

Freezing cold rain dripped into your face, feeling like a thousand needles pricking your skin and blurring your vision. Your clothes were drenched, not just from the cold spring rain, but also sweat from the battle you had fought in the night. Now, through thick covers of rain heavy clouds, the sky began brightening, announcing the sunrise to not be long away.

"Over here!"

Your companion's voice carried over the drumming rain, and lifting your gaze, you found Tomioka heading straight to what looked like an abandoned shed. Well, less a shed than a roof held up by four wooden beams, but considering it was only raining and not storming, it should be enough for now. A sigh of relief brushed past your lips at the prospect of shelter, and quickly you hurried after the fellow demon slayer.

By the time you stepped underneath the roof, he had already thrown off his haori and crouched down beside an old fireplace in the middle of the area.

"The wood's dry," he mumbled, his voice filled with silent surprise. Indeed, the shelter seemed in surprisingly good shape. The roof wasn’t leaking and a stack of wood close to the fireplace seemed old but completely untouched by the weather.

Walking past the fireplace, you glanced out from underneath the roof at the other side. Before you opened a small garden, a stretch of grass, sprinkled with blooming cherry trees. Their blossoms seemed to glow in the twilight of the approaching morning, the rain glittering on their leaves like stars.

"What's wrong?" Tomioka had noticed you freezing at the edge of the small room, and alarmed, he quickly came up behind you, his hand already on the handle of his katana.

"It's beautiful," you breathed, momentarily even forgetting how cold you were.

Tomioka only hummed in agreement before turning back around, slightly annoyed to have been disturbed by such an unimportant thing as trees.

"Let's get a fire going," he mumbled instead, leaving you standing. You watched the rain tear at the petals another few moments before you pulled away from the sight and helped Tomioka with the fire.

It didn’t take you long to get the fire to a good size, not so big as that it would eat up unnecessarily big amounts of wood, but still big enough to warm you up and dry your haoris, which you had hung up on long sticks by the fire.

You had sat down a while ago, a safe distance away from Tomioka, your eyes fixed on the cherry trees in the rain, while you let your mind wander. It had not been the first time that you had been sent out on a mission with him, but somehow it felt as if your relationship was shifting with each time you met. It would have been a lie to claim you were not curious about the quiet Demon Slayer… although curious might be a strange word to use. Interested in him? Maybe… attracted even?

You shook your head slightly, watching as the pouring rain turned into a slight drizzle. It was foolish to think about him this way. Not only because he was a demon slayer and he faced death in the form of sharp demon teeth and long claws each night. Tomioka was one of the most skilled demon slayers you knew. You didn’t doubt he would survive for a long time. It was more because, well, because he was Tomioka. You had never met anyone else who was as quiet and grumpy as him. Holding conversations with him was hard since he hardly talked more than one or two sentences in one go. But the few times when he had, your conversations had stretched several hours, making you admire the young man even more than before. While his quietness caused other demon slayers to make fun of him and even mock him, you had been lucky to have gotten more insight into his character by now, understanding that inside he was angry and sad at and about the world. You wished you could help him, make him feel better somehow, but unless he let you in, which he hardly ever did, there was only so much you could do. And if he didn’t want to let you in, how was there ever to be a relationship other than that of work colleagues between you?

A tickling at the side of your face alarmed you to the fact that someone – Tomioka – was staring at you. Resisting the urge to turn to him, you kept your eyes focused on the trees. The clouds were still not finished with the downpour, although they had reduced it to a fine spray of morning rain, and a soft breeze had picked up, breaking them apart so the first beams of light could flicker through. It bounced off the rain drops on the pink petals of the cherry blossoms, looking like a thousand crystals glimmering in the light. You smiled at the sight, continuing to ignore Tomioka’s insistent staring. If each night fighting gruesome demons could end in a peaceful scenery like the one before you now… you certainly wouldn’t complain.

The fire flickered a little, and at your side Tomioka moved to grab his haori before he added more wood to the fire, making it lick up higher into the air as you continued watching the garden. The spray of rain continued, but the ground seemed to warm up, as soft white fog began lifting off the grass blades. It wasn’t hard to imagine a wood god, or a tree spirit to walk through the thin fog now, their paws glimmering with raindrops but still leaving no traces in the grass.

You startled as suddenly something touched your shoulder. Irritated you looked up to find Tomioka had grabbed your sleeve softly between his thumb and index finger. When your eyes met his ocean blue ones, he gently tucked at the fabric, making you furrow your brows. It was careful motion, as he tucked again, no force put into it, rather an invitation. Following it, you scooted a little closer to him, and closer again, when he kept tucking, until you were sitting side by side with him, close enough for your legs to touch.

Wordlessly he wrapped his haori first over your shoulders, then over his, the fabric barely big enough for both of you to fit. It had already dried next to the fire and only when you had sat for a few minutes, uncertain what to make of that sudden display of intimacy, you realized how cold you had gotten from the rain, and how nice the haori warmed you. But what was even warmer than the Haori, was Tomioka by your side. He felt almost like a living furnace as he sat still, almost stiffly by your side. You wanted to look over to him, wanted to see his expression, but something stopped you. Instead, you looked out over the garden again, trying to commit the sight of the beautiful blooming trees to your memory.

You were not sure when it had happened, but you startled when you felt your head lull to the side. Had you dozed off? Taking a deep breath, you were trying to sit up straight again, when suddenly Tomioka reached his hand up, gently guiding your head to rest against his shoulder, where you almost would have rested it before waking up again.

“You need to rest,” he whispered, his voice sounding deep and soothing from where it rumbled in his chest. “Sleep a little.”

You let him pull your head against his shoulder, feeling the stubborn hair of his tickle your face, which refused to be bound back by his hairband. Reaching up you brushed it aside enough to not be disturbed by it anymore before closing your eyes again. You had always struggled falling asleep in the company of other slayers, but something about Tomioka made it almost too easy to doze off. Maybe because you trusted him. You had almost fallen asleep again when a sudden thought stirred you back awake.

“Tomioka?”

He hummed to signal you that he was listening.

“Why are you doing this?”

He was quiet for a moment, hesitating to answer as if he were scared to get reprimanded, but then he said: “Because I’m not good with words. And I don’t know how else to show I care about you.”

Not opening your eyes, you furrowed your brows. “Why would you care about me?”

“’cause I like you. I hope that’s okay.”

His words didn’t fully process in your sleepy mind. Or maybe they did, they just didn’t trigger the same excited reaction they would have triggered had you been fully awake.

“Hm,” you hummed in response, “I like you too.”

And before Giyū could sort his thoughts out to answer to that sudden confession, your breaths were evening out and you had fallen asleep.

Giyū carefully turned his head, stealing a glance at your face and tucked his haori in place over your shoulders before he carefully rested his cheek against your hair. So you liked him too, huh? It felt like this was the first good news in a long time. It also meant you’d have to talk about this in more detail as soon as both of you were awake enough to do so. Maybe he’d finally find a way to convey his feelings to you then, like he had wanted to do for so long already. Giyū suppressed a yawn, and smiled to himself, taking a last glance at the cherry blossoms in the garden before he too closed his eyes and fell asleep to the feeling of you safely resting on his shoulder.

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misselysia · 6 months

Text

Just for you

pairing: clive rosfield x (female) reader word count: 654

Finding yourself in the Valisthean woods, you moved with a purpose – Clive. Your goal: to gather some of the beautiful wyvern tails, the flowers that reminded you of Clive.

The woods were alive with nature's sounds, the birds singing their tune but your mind was fixed on your handsome leader, that you definitely had a crush on, Clive. You pictured his face, stoic most times, maybe softening if he saw the flowers you were collecting. Each wyvern tail you picked felt like a piece of hope and unspoken love. In the midst of the trees, you daydreamed about Clive's sturdy presence. This whole thing felt like a scene from a story, and you were playing the main character.

Lost in your thoughts, time flew away like it always does. The bunch of flowers in your hands meant more than just petals – it was a silent message.

As you clutched the bouquet of wyvern tails, deciding you've had enough collected, you made your way back through the woods from where you came, Obolus already awaited your return at the skiff. You eagerly jumped on board, the ferry man ready to take off. The fading light hinted at the approaching night as you sailed back towards the hideaway.

The blighted sea, a dangerous yet truly beautiful sight, stretched out before you, its eerie waters reflecting the darkening sky. The skiff cut through the tainted waves, and the scent of salt mixed with the ominous air of the Blight. The distant horizon, painted with hues of orange and purple, signaled the approaching end of the day.

As you approached the hideaway, the silhouette of the old ruins of the shipwreck emerged against the dimming sky. Skillfully guiding the skiff, the soft lapping of blighted waves accompanied your journey. You clutched your bouquet, the wyvern tails seeming to glow in the fading light. Little did you know, the night held more than just stars.

The skiff gently docked at the hideaway and Obolus, experienced in these waters, skillfully secured the vessel. Your heart quickened as you stepped onto the creaky, old docks. Behind you, the Blighted Sea stretched, its murky waters reflecting the dimming twilight. You took a steadying breath, mustering the courage to ascend the worn wooden elevator that led to the upper decks.

Approaching the huge doors of Clive's chambers, you felt the weight of unspoken emotions. With a hesitant breath, you raised your hand to knock.

However, a strange impulse stopped you from doing so. Instead, you peered through the gaps in the wooden door, hoping for a glimpse of Clive. What you saw inside shattered your excitement like glass.

Through the dimly lit room, you saw Clive and Jill, in a moment that, in the shadows, appeared more intimate than it probably was. Your heart dropped, and you felt a lump forming in your throat. Without thinking, you let go of the wyvern tails. The flowers tumbled to the floor, their vibrant petals now scattered like fallen dreams.

Embarrassment and hurt gripped you as you turned away. You ran to the bunks, seeking refuge in the darkness. You wanted nothing more than to get some sleep and forget about everything that had happened.

Meanwhile in Clive's chambers, the air carried the weight of unspoken tension. Jill, after sharing old memories with Clive, sensed the unresolved something hanging between them. With a casual goodbye, she left the room, leaving Clive alone in the dim light. Watching her leave, his eyes fell on the fallen wyvern tails. The vibrant petals glowed in the muted room, and suddenly, it hit him. He recognized those flowers, grasped their meaning, and a hint of regret settled in his chest. With a resigned sigh, Clive knelt down to gather the scattered wyvern tails. Each flower held a silent tale, and he could almost feel the weight of your gesture. Feeling the weight of the misunderstanding, he decided to seek clarity. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- Cliffhangerrrrr hehe I thought it would be better to do it in 2 parts, so the anticipation is higher. But don't worry, part 2 is on it's way! Good night/morning my lovelies <3

#clive rosfield #clive x reader #ffxvi x reader #clive rosfield x reader #ffxvi #ff16 #ff16 x reader

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sanluvssu · 8 months

Text

light shower

it was no surprise that after your months of tenure in fontaine, he had taken a keen interest in you. lyney was never the type to trust someone so swiftly, never mind actually becoming enamored with another. due to his past, he had become accustomed to being wary of others. he learned to only put faith in his kin, and take heed to anyone outside of the house. but you gave him a different perspective. a different angle on the way he viewed others.

though he knew that the way you looked upon him would forever be tainted by the fact that he was apart of the fatui, he felt quite the opposite since the trial. his infatuation with you had been accumulating for the last couple weeks. and honestly, he couldn’t view you as anything less than un saint. absolutely everything about you made his heart glow. the way your skin shimmered in the late afternoon sun, how your laugh echoed throughout his mind on repeat, your slick remarks. any and every part of you had him head over heels.

it frightened him to think of how much you had taken over his consciousness. his entire life he had to consider his family’s wellbeing. ‘will me and lynette have something to eat tonight? how much longer will we have to go through this?’ as a child. and as an adult, he prayed every twilight that the time that he will have to take father’s place will not be soon. he would never let anyone see this vulnerable side of him. he couldn’t lose face in front of his siblings, and especially not you or his audience. to him, you were light itself.

✦

“was this your card?” lyney inquired, holding a 3 of hearts on showcase for all the children flocked around him to see. a little boy at the front of the crowd exclaimed in surprise and delight at the magician’s correct hunch about his card. lyney smiled a bit while the group of kids exchanged “oohs” and “ahs”. he shushed them gently, drawing their attention to the front. lyney balled up the card in his gloved hand, and told the youth to watch closely. as he prepared his trick, he saw you out the corner of his periwinkle shaded eyes. you were exiting the aquabus and saw him sitting on a bench, entertaining the children with simple tricks. lyney smirked and gave you a small wave with his free hand, and then diverted his attention back to the ones in front of him. he shook his clenched hand and opened it, revealing a dozen small golden butterflies. your mouth hung agape. you wondered how he did it while continuing to walk towards lyney. he looked back at you again while giving thanks to his minuscule audience for watching him. they all flocked off to their parents, while he stood up to greet you.

“well what do i have the honors of seeing you here today?” he quipped at you with his usual joyful persona. he extended his palm to you, inviting you to shake his hand. you took it, and felt a little surprised at him suddenly gripping your hand. he gazed into your eyes and you felt a pit of nervousness in your stomach. your eyes met and you gave him a look of confusion, communicating non-verbally. he sustained your gaze, making you feel a little flustered. you couldn’t pinpoint why. suddenly, he let go and in the palm of your hand, you saw the petals of a marcotte. you eyed it in surprise, while lyney giggled at your amazement. he also giggled at how cute your expressions had been, but he would be the only one to know that. “you weren’t expecting that, were you?” he questioned. “yes actually….i think i’ve gotten to know your behaviors pretty well, lyney”. something about your snarky replies to him made his heart flutter. the way you gave him knowing looks, made sarcastic remarks, and—

“lyney? hello??” your sudden interjection made him snap back into reality. “oh…my apologies..” he quickly let go of your hand and gave a shaky smile. “i zoned out for a bit.. anyway since you’re here, would you fancy taking a walk around the court with me? my day is pretty empty today.” he rambled. “i finished my commissions for the day, so i think i’ll take you up on that offer.” you softly smiled and put the petals in your pocket for keepsake. lyney grinned and led the way towards the marketplace of the court. you spent a couple hours looking around at the shops, trying various snacks, and generally just messing around with your companion. as he watched you try on different accessories within the shops, he couldn’t help but admire you. “quel spectacle pour les yeux de sorr…”

“huh? what does that mean?” lyney jolted, realizing that he had said that out loud. he turned away from you, embarrassed of what he just said. he spun a quick white lie about how it means the clothes in the shop are nice. you didn’t question it anymore but was a little confused about the way he reacted. the two of you eventually left the little shop and discussed where to traverse from there. lyney noticed it wouldn’t be long until sunset, so he took your hand gently as if it was a reflex and led you towards the aquabus station.

“let me take you one last place before our rendezvous ends.”

your trip on the aquabus was headed towards the beryl region of fontaine. lyney still would not tell you where he was bringing you even after your myriad of protests. you finally gave up as you listened to the sound of the ocean and admired the scenic views around you. lyney too, was enjoying the view, but not of the natural scenery. he was taking every opportunity to steal a glance at you. you noticed he was being unusually quiet and turned to eye him. he had his chin resting in his palm, and he was looking at you with a calm but intent face. you had never seen him so quiet. his cheeks were the slightest shade of pink, and his periwinkle eyes narrowed down and relaxed. his lips had a very soft and subtle smile to them. you had never seen him like this. he always had his performer persona on; projecting his voice, engaging dialogue, and a wide smile always spread on his face. in the middle of you observing and analyzing him, he had stopped staring and was trying to get your attention.

“(name)? are you alright?”

you snapped out of your trance, a little embarrassed by your faux pas. “sorry lyney, i got…lost in thought. anyway, are we close?”

“why? already ready to depart from our outing?” he retorted teasingly. you scoffed and rolled your eyes in a joking way. “yeah, you aren’t the best shopping companion.” he facetiously pushed you a little, the both of you laughing heartily. you noticed that the ride was now over and the melusine guide had thanked you both for riding. lyney thanked the driver and led you off the bus and to the garden of the opera epiclese, your final destination. the sun had already started to set so you both walked with haste to admire the different flora growing. while you bent down and looked at the plethora of flowers around, lyney snuck off to pluck one of his favorites, a rainbow rose. he hid it up his sleeve to prepare to bid you adieu.

“to mark the end of this joyous day we’ve had with eachother, i’d like to have a finale with one last magic trick. if that’s okay with you?”

you turned to him, and stood up to talk to him. “i didn’t know you had a trick for me today too? i’d love to see it.” he looked at you with a expression of content and happiness. “i’d never leave my audience with a bad impression would i? now, look here.” just as he was about to start, it started to lightly rain. “perfect timing…” he said begrudgingly. “come, i don’t want you to get sick. let me take you home.” he grabbed your hand, this time gently intertwining your fingers with his. he lead you home in a hurry. his grip on your hand slowly got stronger, but not to the point where it caused pain. in all honesty, it gave you a warm feeling inside. you eventually reached the hotel, a little wet but there nonetheless. you smiled at him and thanked him for the day out.

“well (name), i had a ton of fun with you too.. and before i forget.” his words trailed off and he took your free hand and placed his on top. “i have a gift for you, make sure to check under your pillow before you go to sleep.” he let go, then pulled you into a hug that caught you off guard, but you didn’t mind. he pulled away after a couple of beats and then looked at you inquisitively. “i see something in your hair, allow me to get it out.” he got closer and fidgeted with whatever was on your crown. the feeling of his hair brushing against your face felt interestingly intimate. you felt your cheeks grow warm, but brushed it off. he backed up and had a rainbow rose in his hand just like the first one he had gifted you. “tada! i know it isn’t anything big, but i just wanted…to show you how much i appreciated today.” his energy shifted to a much more timid one, something out of character for him. you smiled and looked at him kindly. everything you wanted to say at that moment was written on your face. he returned your smile and traced circles along your knuckles; you had just realized he was still holding your hand. he let go and jumped right back into his usual antics. “sweet dreams to you. hopefully we can have another day like this some other time?” he left, leaving his question rhetorical.

you ended up lingering outside the entrance, watching him walk away until you could only see a dot in the distance. you went inside and checked in, then going to your room upstairs. you freshened up and got ready for bed, thoughts of him frequently crossing your mind. you sighed and plopped down in bed exhausted. you heard something crinkle under your pillow and in that moment you recalled what he had told you. you sat up and reached under the pillow. you had uncovered a folded up note and a (now mushed..) rainbow rose. you were puzzled on how it had got there but shook the thought. you opened the note slowly;

(name), i can hardly express how much you’ve brightened up my life. in just these past few months, i’ve learned to bring my guard down, at least a little bit… i feel i only feel safe around my siblings. i still need to learn how to be vulnerable around others, even my family. but i think that if things continue the way they are, i may be able to open up to them…and maybe even you, if you’re okay with it? i’m sorry if this letter is a downer, but i just wanted to tell you.

tu as vraiment illuminé ma vie depuis peu. tout en toi brille. ta peau au soleil, tes yeux, tes cheveux, ta personnalité brillent. je voulais juste te faire prendre conscience de combien tu m'as impacté ces derniers temps. tu seras toujours la lumière de ma vie.

avec amour et lumière, lyney

#lyney #lyney x reader #g/n reader #genshin lyney #fluff #SoundCloud

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petals2fish · 17 days

Text

I’m rewatching twilight as one does and I FORGOT SHE CARRIED A FUCKING CACTUS IN THE INTRO LIKE A BABY

#petals talks #Bella Swan #petals watches twilight

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zablife · 9 months

Text

Windflowers

Tommy Shelby x Lily Shelby (OC, Tommy's wife)

Summary: A continuation of my fic, Lily, where we revisit Tommy and his wife a year after the death of their daughter. As Lily wakes from a nightmare Tommy is there to comfort her and they have a break thru in her recovery.

Author's Note: Requested by @jomarch-wannabe who wanted to read a fic about Tommy comforting someone after a nightmare. I decided to use my OC. I hope that's ok!

Warnings: drinking, PTSD, mention of child death

“You’ve brought her those every day for months. Why?” Tommy gestured wearily toward the white and black flowers, thinking how much they reminded him of funeral flowers. They were nothing like the cheerful pink tulips and red roses his wife had kept in the house before their daughter was taken from them. Why must the color be stolen from every corner of their lives, Tommy wondered.

“Where streams his blood there blushing springs a rose and where a tear has dropped, a wind-flower blows,” Ada mused softly as she arranged the blossoms carefully in a vase. Turning to face her brother she explained. "These flowers only close at night and open in the morning. Like an anticipation of something soon to arrive.”

“What are you on about, eh?” Tommy asked, stamping out his cigarette in frustration. His head throbbed with a fresh headache, the first whisky of the day not doing enough to quell his growing fears about his wife’s condition.

"I thought Lily should have something to remind her of her strength," she said, holding Tommy’s gaze for a moment before reaching forward to give his hand a reassuring squeeze.

As his sister’s hand slipped from his calloused fingertips, Tommy called out, “Ada, what if…”

But she interrupted, knowing all too well what trepidation he held close to his heart. “She’ll come back to you, Tom. Give her time,” she said quietly.

“She will,” Tommy agreed quickly. He paced toward his desk, stomping the thought out like burning embers of weakness he didn’t dare let catch fire.

There wasn’t anything anyone could do except wait for Lily to reemerge from the dense forest of her mind. She seemed to wander aimlessly about Arrow House as though in a dream, but when she slept she seemed to be fully conscious elsewhere, her facial expressions changing in her sleep.

While she lay in repose, Tommy kept careful watch over her, noticing these small shifts of movement, wanting nothing more than to reach for her and stroke her cheek. He wondered in those moments if she might awaken and speak to him as she used to, looking up through heavy eyelids and smile when she realized how adoringly he gazed upon her. Would she blush and giggle as she did when they were first married, hearing him compliment her natural beauty?

That night as Tommy watched Frances gather his wife’s nightgown and slippers, he stared at the flowers on the bedside table.

“The windflowers are lovely aren’t they, Mr. Shelby?,” she asked, making pleasant conversation.

“Windflowers? Is that what they’re called?” he responded.

“Yes, sir. Only open when the wind blows. Or as my mum used to tell us —fairy folk hid in the petals and closed them up when it threatened to rain,” she added with a chuckle, heading toward the bathroom to help Mrs. Shelby dress for bed.

Tommy smiled at the children’s tale, having heard similar stories in his youth of fairies and their world of twilight. For a moment he thought of sharing it with his daughter, a funny little bedtime story, and then he remembered her empty room at the end of the silent corridor. It was moments like those that made him lose breath, the unbearable ache taking him from joy to grief so suddenly he felt nauseous. Sitting forward on the bed, he placed his head in his hands to keep the room from swaying, waiting for his balance to return before descending the stairs in a panic.

It wasn’t until hours later, he returned to bed, properly numbed by the alcohol and stacks of paperwork. Lily slept, though he couldn’t quite tell if it was a peaceful slumber. She often moved about the mattress at night and currently she was laying across it so there was little room for Tommy. He didn’t mind, taking up a place in the armchair across from her to keep watch. He had only just sunk into the deep cushions when her lips parted in a shallow cry and Tommy lurched forward in fear, worried tonight might be a rare occasion for the doctor.

Tommy placed a hand on the duvet to be closer to her, though he didn’t dare touch her directly. In the early days that had sent Lily into a panic, setting off screaming and thrashing that could only be calmed by sedatives. Now Tommy was more cautious in his approach. However, tonight would be different. To his surprise, Lily’s demeanor was calm and contented as she seemed to be having a pleasant dream. Her hand reached for something in the darkness and Tommy observed with awe, enchanted by her beautiful smile.

Then suddenly she recoiled and her body began to shake uncontrollably. Tommy froze, unsure what to do. Should he wake her or allow the dream to continue? Uncertain what she was seeing, he debated for a fraction of a second. When Lily began to toss and whimper painfully, he could not restrain himself any longer. He hadn’t been there when the Changrettas tortured his wife and daughter, but he was here now and he could comfort her. He had to try.

Sliding into bed beside his wife, he took her in his arms, smoothing back her hair as he hushed her. “Lily, darling, it’s me. You’re home. You’re safe,” he whispered to her as he rocked her. To his surprise she clung to him, fingers gripping him with brutal strength he didn’t know she possessed. Then her eyes opened, wild and frightened at first.

Suddenly, she focused on him, seeing him for the first time in months. Eyes glistening with tears, her lip trembled. “T-tommy?”

“Yes, yes,” Tommy replied, overwhelmed by the sound of his name on her lips once again.

“I’m here. You’re safe with me,” he repeated as he kissed the top her head. “I love you, Lily,” he said, feeling tears stinging his eyes. Feeling her in his arms was a revelation, the solace he had been seeking all that time without knowing it. Had she really said his name or did he imagine it?

As they sat huddled together, the sun began to rise in the distance. For the first time Tommy noticed what Ada and Frances had told him. The flowers were opening slightly and leaning toward the light. As Lily stroked a hand down his chest, he felt hopeful. She had let him comfort her and she had said his name. He was sure of it now more than ever, she would return to him.

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

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