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peterspinkrobe · 9 months

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Temptation | Priest!Miguel O’Hara x femreader [part 4]

W/C: 7,1k+ Go read the other chapters

Warnings/Rating: 18+. Religious content. Some Spanish. [smut spoilers ahead lol] ~~~~~~~~~~~ Reader has a vagina. Oral (f receiving). Some overstimulation. That’s all, babe.

A/N: so so so sorry it took so long. Thank you for your patience. I got real wrapped up in the chapter and work has been working me. Looking up flower symbolism and shit. Also, turns out the Bible has smut too. The scripture quoted throughout is from Song of Songs 4-7. Let me know what you think. Pic is something I found on Google (shame)

The chill of the evening air reminded the two who stepped into it that August was bleeding into September. Change was in the wind that carried hues of summer - fluttering down from trees that were shedding their warm colors for leaves of yellow, red, and orange gradients. The sun set earlier day by day as autumn approached the little town hidden in the Catskills mountain belt.

As the sun buried itself deeper into the horizon, it cast an expanse of purples and blues on the clouds above the two making their way into the courtyard behind the church. The pair stole away, silently sneaking out a side door, while the others enjoyed their supper inside. They were accompanied only by the statues of winged angels frozen in time - pouring bowls of abundance into the garden.

Wildflowers burst from patches along the walkways as the tall man guides the follower to a bench situated beside a maple tree. He ducked to avoid the overhead branches as he sat down and invited the other to join him there.

Wild Asters sprouted on either side of the bench in large clusters, long stems shooting up petals of white and red. The one still standing admires the stark contrast between the backdrop of the natural world and the seated one’s black clothes and collared neck. No words have been exchanged since they stepped into the open air but the silent invitation of the large hand patting the open space made the other feel tingles, nonetheless.

The black clad man kept his hands in his lap and shot sideways glances at the one beside him. Their nerves caused them to bounce their knees rapidly. The silence and their nervousness was too much for the man to bear. He wanted to calm them down and reassure them that all was well. He placed his large hand on the other’s knee, halting the bobbing leg. The sudden touch caused them to look up at him into the stormy dark eyes that showed nothing but concern and curiosity. He spoke their name and the song brought them back to Earth.

__________________________________________

“Your confession last-” the deacon began, but was interrupted by your nervous apology.

“I’m so sorry that you had to hear all that. I am so embarrassed and I understand if you think I shouldn’t come here anymore. The last thing I want to do is get you in trouble or-.” This time you are interrupted by that large hand squeezing your leg gently. You look down and see the long-sleeved black dress shirt rolled up to his forearm, the muscle there too tight for it to roll up any further. The veins in his arms protrude and you trace one with your eyes that trails up his arm to the back on his hand. His palm envelopes your kneecap and the long fingers create a cage around the joint. You swallow your words and silently curse the clothes separating skin.

“Please… let me finish.” He brought his other hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. He sounded strained, as if he had to get the words out or he would burst. Like the things he had to say were compacted in his skull and caused pressure to build between his eyes. You fell silent again and your eyes darted between the scrunched lids of his eyes.

“Ever since your confession I have been wanting to speak with you. I tried calling after you that day but I know I must have scared you.” Fear wasn’t the primary motive for hauling ass out that church as much as it was shame, but you didn’t want to interrupt him. “And then you weren’t here on Sunday… I realize after your confession that you’re only really here for your mother, but I so wished you were here that day so we could talk face to face.” He continued slightly solemnly.

“I hated that we didn’t get to speak on your struggles further and we weren’t able to close the confession as you deserved. You need to know that I hold no judgment towards you - that session was between you and Him. Everyone's path is different and faith isn’t cookie cutter.” He was so impassioned that when his eyes finally met yours again they lit up with excitement in his explanation.

“I owed a fellow man of the church a favor and I took over his confession shift that day last week. The fact that you came to confession that day… on that day of all days. To you all that may seem serendipitous or coincidental, that you felt that strange urge to release those doubts on the day that I was in the booth, but we in the business like to call that ‘God’s Timing’.” The worry and stress seem to melt away as he talks about your interaction in the booth, very different from the reaction you were expecting. His eyes brighten when you, him, and God are being mentioned in the same breath. He becomes more animated and gestures to the expanse of nature around the two of you.”You were meant to go there that day and say those words, I was meant to be there to hear them, as we are meant to be here now in this garden.”

His chest rises and falls from the excitement he feels. He was certain that this is what is felt to be overcome with the Spirit as he had seen in other churches. For the words to fall out without filters and not hold back the faith. When he lowers his eyes to yours again there is a soft smile in them that matches the one slightly stretching his lips.

“I don’t care if you don’t believe in what I preach,” He says this suddenly and his smile slowly fades into something more serious. “It doesn’t bother me that we don’t share the same faith in Christ.”

Heavy pause follows the revelation and you dare not interrupt him, giving him the time to express himself as he did for you in the booth. The setting sun shines rays into his eyes and they reflect back deep amber irises. Their brilliance bounces across your face like he is studying every inch of it - as if your countenance were a difficult passage in Numbers to interpret.

When he speaks again, you find that you aren't as drunk in the music of his voice. The notes are grounding and almost meditative.

“But what worries me is that you don’t share the same faith in yourself that I do. That you don’t see yourself as worthy of blessings when you are a blessing yourself.” The light chill in the air can’t keep the heat from creeping up your chest and neck. His tone became lighter as he went on.

“You are more than deserving of good things. I know our internal thoughts make us feel otherwise, but I need you to know that what they say to you isn't the truth. We all have personal demons that make us question ourselves.” He tilts his upper half more towards you and his large shoulders jut against the backdrop of maple branches and stirring leaves.

Slowly, so slowly, he slides his hand centimeters up your leg so it’s resting more on your thigh.

“I must also confess that I…” He inhales sharply and releases the words with his exhale, “I’m fighting against every urge in my body to maintain myself when I’m around you.” His brows furrow lightly as his other hand comes to cup your chin again, like he had that first time you’d met. The voice is now the smoky room of a jazz club reverberating lowly in the small distance between the two of you.

“Trying to uphold the principles that have nearly been beaten into me when you are in the same room,” he starts to lean in, “you don’t even have to be in the room, mí vicio, for temptation to threaten the sanctity of my profession.”

He tenses ever so slightly, you feel and hear the hesitation in his touch and voice.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, or abuse my position..” he starts to pull his hands away, but you quickly grab his hand on your leg and grip his wrist to hold him there. His eyes widen at your response and his mouth hangs open slightly. A pointed canine dipping into his plump bottom lip as you move his hand to cup your cheek.

He brings his face to yours and looks into your eyes again before his stubborn raising escapes his lips, attempting to put his faith before pleasure, “Tell me to stop… tell me we can’t do this.” He presses his lips together and turns his head away a little. The anguish in the words makes you think he might crumble from the war in his mind.

You respond by closing the rest of the gap and pressing your lips onto his cheek. There is an evening shadow of hairs that poke into the soft kiss. He brings his eyes forward to lock back with yours and your noses bump together. Your breathing mixes and his shoulders rise and fall heavily and it seems as if he’s bracing himself with the grip on your leg. The temptation of just being close to you causes his lips to tremble.

“I don’t think you’ll burn in hell if we kiss,” you try to lighten his tension some and he does chuckle as you feel the shaky breathing on your cheeks.

“Funny.” He quips, but he doesn’t say aloud that he’s already burning. His insides are on fire at the feeling of you in his hands. He knows his soul is doomed if fantasy is enough to condemn. He’d burn for the images he’s pictured of you, the positions his imagination puts you in, and for the way his body is reacting to your permissive responses now. The fact that you want this as much as him makes holding back more difficult.

The anticipation that hung from your pout was too much for him and he whispered to himself before pulling your chin up and kissing you.

Just a press of lips against lips. They brushed against each other as your noses moved to accommodate for the space removed. That first kiss was brief, an innocent expression of the brewing affection between you. Yet, it was laden with complex emotions. A small jolt of electricity sparks from Miguel's chest at the kiss and his heartbeat echoed like a drum in his chest.

He was taken aback at how the simple, sweet kiss had made his head spin and when your lips parted he saw your eyes reflecting desire in their haze. Your eyes closed again and allowed your lips to guide the way.

The two of you traded little pecks and pleasure courses through his body. His hand from your knee now held your right hip and the cupped palm now snaked behind your neck and held your head to his as he deepened the kiss. It was harder to hold back as the deacon’s lust, his want, his desire, was too strong. He peaked down through slitted lids at your hands holding the chest of his shirt in fists and grunted against your closed mouths.

Unadulterated passion overwhelmed him and he poked the tip of his tongue to your lips in request. In those cold showers he had taken to try and control his thoughts, he had instead sinfully prayed to feel the inside of your mouth with his tongue, his fingers, and his currently tented dick. Your receptiveness made him nearly whine when you opened your lips in invitation. The buzz in his brain made him lose his inhibitions as he greedily licked into your mouth. He explored your slick cheeks and your tongues clashed together in their first meeting.

As your tongues danced between your mouths, you found that you were the one having to pull away for breath. Father Miguel’s face had reddened from lack of oxygen since he was prioritizing kissing you inside of breathing. His eyes would open halfway, his eyebrows would knit together in a pleading manner, and his pursed lips were swollen when you pulled away. Strands of his dark hair dangled into his forehead. The desperation on his face and in his grip on you was certainly a sight to behold. It was alluring that he was so affected just by kissing, you imagined just how sensitive he must be. It would be a lie to say you weren’t also feeling warmth pool in your belly at the exchange of kisses. You held his face in your hands and your bodies pressed against each other when he wrapped his arms around you. His voice dripped with yearning as he spoke:

“Let me show you how worthy you are…”

The words were a whisper in the wind, a secret kept by the rustling leaves, but they held a vow he intended to uphold.

_______________________________________

Getting away from your mother was surprisingly easy. She was wiped from cooking and everyone was shooing her home, telling her they would handle the clean up. The only real clean up was from the dishes they had dirtied as she had done most of the kitchen keep up as she cooked.

You should’ve been tired too but your mind still whirred from the excitement earlier. The promise of another rendezvous had you eager to volunteer in the clean up. Your mother looked at you again with pride when you told her to go on ahead and that you’d meet her home later after finishing here. If only she knew your true intentions.

Getting Father Miguel away from his parish was another story. You were washing your hands in the kitchen sink as the last of the trash was being taken out. Discretion was attempted as you stole glances at him helping others with their things and wishing them a blessed evening. At one point he catches your eye and his conviction nearly crumbles, but to you he maintains his composure. He gives you the aforementioned signal of a nod and shaky smile and you dry your hands before excusing yourself from one of the church members on your street. You make it seem as though you’re leaving for the night, but head towards the opposite end of the hall when the dining room door closes behind you.

You try to keep your nerves together as you enter the room on the far left end. You try not to think about Father Steen’s name on the door. You try not to hear the innocent farewells and blessings from the other side of the church. You try to look away from the surrounding symbols of sacrifice for sins you were actively committing. You try to calm yourself and your racing mind as you settle in the chair opposite to the one at the desk.

Curiosity temporarily overtakes your other worries when you crane your neck to see the pages that are open on the desk in front of you. It’s obvious what book it is but it’s hard to tell what chapter given it’s upside down, eleven size font, and single-spaced.

You don’t notice the noise completely dying down in the other room as you scan the office. You’ve never actually been in this office so you don’t know what belongs to Father Steen or the deacon. You do recognize the Catholic vestments that were worn by the elder but there was one you hadn’t seen that was separated from the others.

You could tell as you approached that it was much more fancy than the humble ones worn by either of the church heads. Its red satin underside was soft and silky against your inquisitive, yet careful, fingertips. The emerald green top portion was trimmed and detailed in intricate golden lacework. Embroidered red and white flowers weaved with golden stems and darker woven patterns accentuated the colors even further. It was sturdy and seemed handmade as you held the matching stole that hung from the hook beside it.

A knock on the door brought you back to reality and you murmured a ‘come in’. Funny how he was knocking to come into his own office.

He opened the door and walked through the threshold - the top of his head not even an inch away from the frame of the door. He saw you standing by the robes and smiled. He approached you and looked at the robe with you, feeling the fabric himself.

“This chasuble is a Spanish cut. It came from the priest that ran an orphanage in the city and it was a gift to me when he passed.” There’s reverence in his voice as he explains the importance of the robe, and the true weight of the words doesn’t go unnoticed to you. There’s still so much you didn’t know about him.

“Obviously it’s way too fancy for regular service but I always carry it with me. Bring it out for weddings and Easter. Best part? It’s got pockets.” You share a laugh as he wiggles his fingers in a hidden pouch along the inner lining on the front of the robe. He wiggles his eyebrows as well making you laugh more. The sound of it makes him beam at you and you can’t help but feel whiplash from the range of expression he’s given in such a short time.

From a near blubbering mess just from your lips, to this coy attitude now after congregating with his congregation. That tingle returns to your gut at his confident smile and you think of what was going through his mind when you left to come into the office. Did he watch you leave as he shook hands and embraced his newfound flock? Did he feel any impatience with the others who hung on his words? Did he have a change of heart and is attempting to let you down gently? You understood that this was a big No-No in his vocation… maybe post-kiss clarity and being surrounded by the ones trusting his judgment was making him have second thoughts.

Your doubts cause you to speak up, unfortunately spoiling the upbeat mode but you had to make your concerns known.

“I don’t want to make you do something you’ll regret.” His smile fades at the comment as you continue, “you could lose your job.”

He turns towards you from the garments you were admiring.

“Think of the consequences…” you stamper as listens to you, “you could lose the influence and respect you have amongst your fellow brothers in preisthood.” You brace yourself on the chair behind you as you slowly back up past it. He follows you closely.

“Breaking your vows would be a sacrilege.” Your back hits the desk but the deacon still approaches you. “You could be cast out.”

His hands are on your hips and face and your breathing quickens as he leans in, his voice a husky whisper, “For a nonbeliever, you’ve really done your research.”

You know his cocky demeanor is only temporary; when you start kissing again he’ll be back to incoherence. It doesn’t stop you from blushing up at his towering frame.

“Are you sure you want this? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable…” he says and starts to pull away as he had before, so careful not to overstep. Again you put your hands on his chest and it takes everything in you not to squeeze the muscular pecs stretching the front of his shirt.

“I want this. So badly. What I don’t want is you feeling guilty. I know what I want but I also know what is right. I don’t want to be the cause of any turmoil or strain in your spirituality. I’ve caused too much wrong to be the reason you break sacred vows important to you.” You both cling to each other against the desk.

“How could I regret this?” He asks so quietly it’s like he’s asking himself, or silently asking God. “Are matters of the heart to be ashamed of?” The storm in his eyes brewed at the idea of even having to explain himself and his feelings to someone above him in the church. For a man who has never been married, never seen God in the loving embrace of another, to try and tell him what love couldn’t be. How could he be expected to turn away from the act of God placed before him now? How do those in the church not see that to love Him, to truly flourish in His image, is to cherish and admire His other creatures? He scans your face and the hand there moves to gently hold your hands on his chest. How badly he wished to banish any doubt clouding your mind.

“I don’t know how else to explain it other than I have developed a deep connection and affection with you and I wish to learn more, so much more.” His breathing is slightly ragged and you feel the rise and fall under your hands. “Your confession, if you still feel the same, makes it nearly impossible for me to deny this anymore.”

“I cannot deny my feelings and continue to serve the church in a capacity that forbids me from you.” You’re speechless at the words and the abrupt honesty. “I’m making these decisions with my eyes wide open.”

“Deacon, I-“ you begin, but he cuts in to say,

“Please, call me Miguel. Not sure how much longer I’ll be a Deacon after this gets out…” He can’t hold back now that you’re alone so he kisses you because he can. Because there is nothing to hold him back from doing so, and your lips feel so good pressed to his. Hearing you say his name causes a low groan to come from his throat and he parts when you frantically protest against his lips.

“What do you mean? No, no one can know! Not yet… oh my god what would my mom think?! She’d believe I corrupted you, and I have, haven’t I?” Your nervousness and the fact that you were more afraid of the judgment from your mother than that of God Almighty made him chuckle again as he nuzzled into your neck and laid kisses up to your ear.

“Corruption and change are not the same. You have brought about a change in me. While I no longer feel I am the same man I once was before meeting you, I am happy for it.” He moves a hand slowly up your back to cradle your head and he feels like King Solomon taking his Queen to bed in Song of Songs as he kisses your neck.

Your neck is like the tower of David,

built with courses of stone;

on it hang a thousand shields,

all of them shields of warriors.

“Please,” He whispers into your ear and takes the lobe between his lips in a tease, “let me reveal my devotion to you.”

Your only response is your fingers entwining in his hair and a gasp, but it’s enough for him to capture your lips again. This time he wastes no time easing your mouth open with his tongue.

Your lips drop sweetness

as the honeycomb,

milk and honey are under your tongue.

He hasn’t had a woman in his arms like this is such a long time. Excitement overcomes him and his hands aren’t sure where to rest on your body. He wants to learn you only by touch. Allowing himself to be led blindly by faith in your embrace. He cups your breasts over your shirt and moans open mouthed into the kiss. You mewl at the abandonment of restraints you both had been holding yourselves back with. You’re not too lost to the feeling of his hands sliding back down and under your shirt. He traces your spine up and down and grabs at newfound flesh.

“You’re skin… tan suave.” He’s breathless again from the frenzy of kisses and touches he’s covering you in. He nearly loses it wondering how soft the rest of you was. The thought brings his fingers to your bra and he undoes the clasp there. He pulls away to see them fall slightly and his teeth dig into his bottom lip and he nearly growls before pulling your shirt up to reveal the loosened bra still veiling your breasts. His eyes are hungry, but he still asks, “May I?”

You’re frustrated at how long this is taking. Usually this sort of thing is a quick ordeal without all this checking in. You take a deep breath and remind yourself who you’re dealing with. You reassure him with a curt, “No more asking.”

Something snaps in his brain and he’s pulling your bra off and quickly replacing the cups with his own hands. He massages them both, lifting them lightly to feel their weight and admiring how your nipples react to the exposure to air and his fingers. The theories of intelligent, immaculate design are confirmed to him as he gazes at them and appreciates them.

At first, you’re on edge about the intensity in his eyes as he looks over you. Then you realize that you don’t know the last time he’s been with someone and that you just aren’t used to time being taken on you. You attempt to regulate your breathing and relax but when he gently tweaks the buds of your breasts between his large fingers your back arches.

He nearly drools at the sight of your body’s reaction and brings the hardened nipple into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the tip and caught it in a suckle. You moan and the last thing he sees before your shirt drops over his head is you tossing your head back. He grins devilishly and grazes his teeth over the sensitive nub before moving to give the other some attention. He doesn’t leave it unattended for long when his fingers run his remaining spit over the delicate pucker.

You pull your shirt up and off, discard it somewhere in the room. You couldn’t go any longer without the enticing image of his face in your chest. His lips parted briefly from your right tit so he could mumble, “Dios, me encantan tus tetas…”

The praise and slightly blasphemy of the Lord’s name used in marvel of your body made your head spin. His free hand gripped your hip, then the flesh of your back, ghosting over your soft belly. His fingertips then slip into the hem of your pants and trail fire in their wake. You buck your hips involuntarily and ignore the dig of the desk in your back side.

He pulls away to see your face and the feedback your body gives him. He accepts it eagerly and continues to tease and pull at your pantyline while pinching and pulling at your nipples.

“Please, Miguel-,” The breathlessness in your voice and the flush of your face makes his already hard dick twitch in the restriction of his pants. His name in that sweet, needy tone made him moan out a ‘yeah?’

“I need you.” Your eyes are glazed from the pleasures he’s bestowing upon you. A sheen of sweat shines on your bare chest from the heat of the moment. Your body is on fire and this is only second base. The sensitivity levels of you both were turned up high, but maybe the taboo of it all was causing such an intense reaction. Or maybe you were feeling the same fervent connection he revealed to feel for you. The same string pulling you to one another.

Any resemblance of control fell away from him completely at your pleading pout. His lips crashed down onto yours again and an image of you he’d had in his mind many times flashed and he knew what you needed.

His hand swiftly unbuttons your jeans and the sound of the zipper is in slow motion as he inhales your breathy moans and pleas. His hands move to either side of you and he peels the denim off your burning skin.

He pulls away from you and looks in your eyes as he begins to lower himself. He kisses every inch of newly revealed skin. You’re suddenly feeling slightly self-conscious because you haven’t had a need to do any sort of landscaping for a while. This hadn’t exactly been planned. You look down at your nearly naked body and blush at how he is still completely clothed. You see the dance of his curls as he pulls the jeans off your feet. Then he’s on his knees.

This man of God, in his uniform of black with the white collar slightly askew, knelt before you as if you were an altar to pray to. His hands roamed from your ankles up to your thighs and then down your backside. He squeezes the flesh all over and they never truly settle in one place. He’s intent on learning each curve and dedicating every mole to memory. He catches your eyes and is emboldened by the lust in them so he leans up to press kisses along your abdomen. He murmurs against your tummy at how beautiful you are and how you can stop him at any time. Then, his fingers are hooked around the sides of your panties and he begins to slide them down.

He can’t help but take his time. There were a couple reasons. The first was this was simply too amazing to rush. He’d been in situations like this, and knowing what was coming next excited him. Pulling you out your jeans and spreading your legs brought wafts of your scent into his nose. The aroma was robust and earthy and it drew him in as your panties came down. It had been so long… the smell of your heat made him nearly light-headed but he inhaled deeply. He couldn’t get enough. He had to taste you.

Your panties were still around your knees when he buried his face into your pubic hair and took a deep breath in. You nearly buckled in embarrassment but his arms wrapped around your legs to bring you to his face even more so. He hugged your crotch for a moment and the smells went straight to his cock. It’d been so long since he’d been presented with such a pretty pussy and he had to appreciate the moment.

He pulls you out your panties the rest of the way and pushes you back against the desk. The back of his hand presses to your inner leg and you oblige him by spreading them both for him to get a better look. He sighs as he sits back on his heels and admires the image that has been in his mind for the last couple weeks. The offering of your own communion already glistening from the heavy petting and kissing is more captivating than his imagination could ever be. He paws at the hardness in his jeans and takes a mental image for later.

Motivated by the hunger in his eyes and the way his eyes move in the need to see it all, you start to lose the voice in your head that makes you worry about your body. You bring your hand down and spread your lips a little for him, a little moan escaping you. He nods as if being given instruction and wordlessly brings his mouth to you.

You cry out his name from the touch of his lips to your sensitive flesh. He’s simply kissing the parts you presented to him so graciously. You lean back and brace yourself more on the desk as his hands come up to massage your inner thighs. He moves lower and looks up at you before dragging his tongue slowly up from your seeping pussy to your clit. Your hips buck again and he grins deviously.

The grin and his lewd teasing showed a transformation in the man, as if this part of him laid dormant just beneath the surface of sacredness. His eyes seemed to shift to an alarming red in the lighting. His fingers dug into you like claws. His teeth seemed more pointed when he flashed those wicked grins up at you. He was the one on his knees, but he was the dominant force.

He brought his hands to his new heaven and spread the pearly gates with his thumbs. He blew gently on the exposed, heated skin and you whined from the lack of friction.

Blow on my garden,

that its fragrance may spread everywhere.

Let my beloved come into his garden

and taste its choice fruits.

The stretch of your legs and the wetness that shone between them looked so inviting. He massaged his thumbs up and down, rubbing your lips together and then apart again. His mouth watered at the sight and he licked his lips.

“You’re so wet for me…” he breathed the words before plunging into your waters. The tension, teasing, and time carefully taken on you had driven you crazy but the satisfaction of his tongue on your clit drove you mad. You arched your back and placed your hands on his broad shoulders, the pleasure bringing you to smile and moan in delirium. No longer were you worried about his job, the way you looked, or if he was interested in you as much as you were into him. He was definitely proving that now as he at you out like his last supper.

You surmised that he had to have had some kind of experience with this as you gawk at the expert movements of his tongue. At first, he prodded with the relaxed muscle to test the waters. Now, he was buried into you up to his nose. His tongue would flatten when he wanted a wider range of flavor and you’d feel the large pad lapping you up. Then he would tighten it and drag circles around your clit, sometimes licking into your tightness as if he were starved. He took note of how your body twitched when he pushed his tongue inside you to taste the velvety smoothness of your tight walls. He saw how you jerked with too much stimulation on your delicate bud. He groaned at the sight of your body moving above him, the way your hair hung in your face. The vibration of his convulsing tongue inside you as he groans makes you toss your head back and chant Miguel, Miguel,…

Fueled by the mantra of his name, Miguel goes back to swirling around your clit. He decided his tongue isn’t long enough to feel as deep inside you as he’d like and pushes his middle finger into you halfway. The promise of penetration causes you to grind on the finger and consequently onto his face as well.

He’s sometimes closing his eyes as if he’s in prayer while consuming communion. But the buck of your hips and your weight shifting down on him made his eyes snap open so he could watch your immodesty through lustful eyes. He pulled as you pushed, maintaining the single digit only halfway. He wanted to take his time feeling you and becoming acquainted with what you had so graciously offered to him. When he pulls away from you to speak, the sight of his puffy lips and chin shining with your wetness nearly makes you fall forward.

“Be patient, please,” his voice drips with desperation, “it’s been so long.”

You let out a low whimper but complain no further when he wraps his lips around your clit again and starts moving his finger inside you deeper, finally. You arch your back and your fingers entangle in his hair.

Your light pulling on his hair pulls another moan out of him and he can’t help but rub the underside of himself as he pleasures you. Your wet noises make him want to bathe in your scent and sleek walls. Your moans make his cock twitch in his tightening pants. He flattens his tongue on your swollen clit and languidly licks around and at it directly. He greedily adds another finger so he can gauge just how tight your opening is, but has to ease it in slowly as you cry out.

“Ooh, so tight.. so wet..” He murmurs against your slick as he wiggles the two fingers inside you. “Todo para mí?” This could easily be interpreted as coy, but the tone is earnest. He truly feels blessed with the gifts you’ve so graciously given. He flicks the tip of his cock over the pants as he sweeps his fingers to graze a particularly delicate spot inside you. As soon as his fingers touch that bumpy groove you see stars in your vision. The direct stimulation to your most sensitive space and this new sensation was nearly overwhelming.

“Miguel, ‘s too much.” You pant and attempt to push him off for some reprieve.

He lifts his head with worry in his eyes. His fingers straighten and pump inside you at a grudgingly slow pace. The slightly sweaty strands of hair stick to your thighs as he gently rests his head on it. Leaning on his devotion.

“I just want to make you feel good.” His eyes trail back to watch the way your pussy clings to his fingers when he pulls them out slowly. He seems entranced with the way you stick to his fingers even when they aren’t inside you. You look down to watch the lewd scene and see just how hard his cock is and how he’s got a grip on it through the clothes he’s still fucking wearing. “As good as you make me feel.”

You melt at the words and when his thumb comes up to press around your glistening pearl. He slid it across the top, just above the screaming bud, as if flipping through the thin pages of the Good Book. He ghosted over the area you found tried and true when you were doing this alone and your body, your voice let him know.

He slides his fingers back inside, unable to hold back any longer. His pace is shaky at first, but becomes stable again.

“Mmm, is that good for you?” He begins rubbing small circles in the spot you so beautifully inclined him towards. You nod and moan in response and then he asks you something that nearly knocks you off the table:

“Will you please cum for me?” He asks between heavy breaths that feel warm on your slit. He wondered how you looked, felt, smelled, sounded, and moved when you orgasmed. When he first placed that wafer in your mouth he wanted to be the reason that it happened. He wanted his name to be the one you called out. “Fuck, I need you to…” the curse and the words from the holy man made your insides twist and burn. The steady driving into your core and thumb on that sweet spot causes you to close your eyes and roll your hips with the rhythm.

He says your name and your eyes snap open again.

“Look at me.”

The way his large body slumps between your legs and the background of Catholicism surrounding the two of you hits a dirty switch in your brain and you’re nearing the edge. He can tell by the tightening of the muscles in your thighs and the way they nearly straighten out to give yourself more purchase.

“Just like that. You’re so close aren’t you, tell me.” You cry out a yes!! through your gaped mouth.

“Cum f’me, please. Cum for me just like this. Just for me.”

The words, the perfect pace of his fingers, the way he’s looking up at you… you reach your climax and fight to keep your eyes open as he asked.

Through your lashes you see that he’s grinning up at you. Your slick still on his mouth and stringing between his lips. The type of grin that shouldn’t be on a priest’s face. That’s two things that shouldn’t be on his face now as he licks around his pumping fingers to devour the flow of juices he’s poured out of you.

Your thighs clench around his head and your body spasms, he pulls his mouth away to look up at you between the trap of your thighs.

“Yesss, just like that you look so good. Such a good girl.” He mumbles with a mouth full of your slickness.

He moves his thumb off the hood of your pulsing nub to not overstimulate you, but his fingers remain inside you. The way you pulsed and squeezed around him mesmerized him. He matched the pulses to the grip on his length in a futile attempt to simulate the intoxicating spasms brought onto you by just his hands.

He tries to memorize the heartbeat of your warm burrow as it begins to ease on your come down. He’ll try to emulate the sensation later - on himself - but he knows and dreads the fact that it would not compare to the readied womanhood presented to him. He bites his bottom lip and groans.

You notice how he holds himself and you can’t pull your eyes away from the tent he’s holding back in his pants. Your arms, still a little shaky, move down and you grab his face. You pull a little and he obliges and stands again. He snakes his large arms around your naked body and doesn’t seem to care about any mess you might leave on him. You pull his face to yours and kiss him. His puffy lips are warm against yours and when your tongues touch you taste yourself and feel another coil form in your gut. You pull away and tell him, in a raspy voice,

“I need you. All of you. Please?” Encouraged by your orgasm, you reach your hand down to grab the erection that’s been begging for you.

He hissed your name through his teeth at the sensation and grabs your wrist. He was already embarrassingly close to his own orgasm after having watched you and toyed with himself. Your grip on him made his knees nearly buckle.

His protest made you worry and your arm seized in its place. You let go of him and stare up into his eyes to see where you went wrong with him.

“What’s wrong, Miguel?” The concern in your voice makes him bore his eyes into yours.

“Nothing, no, nothings wrong. You did nothing wrong. I do want this, oh God, you don’t know how badly…” It’s almost as if he’s gasping the words. Your touch, it set him on fire. But, he didn’t think he should, or could, have you the way he really wanted. Not now. Not here. “There’s something you should know. It’s not embarrassing for me, but it’s important you know.”

The seriousness in his tone has you scanning his face for any more information. He says your name and then reveals the truth and you’re left speechless. His tone is matter of fact, the words shocking.

“I’m a virgin.”

You are a garden locked up;

you are a spring enclosed,

a sealed fountain.

Taglist: IT WONT LET ME TAG MORE THAN 50 I’m crying I’m so sorry I’ll try commenting tagging the rest

@soniajustneedssimping @venusisajpeg @cassidysbbg @haveclayeveryday @fishtail111 @sirbird @thecrowstears @elizzybeth-2005 @tayleighuh @crispypugfs @trashcansally @cheezit-luv3rr @marsout @eliiilamar @hamuuko @jagawriterr @oharaswifexx @limenysnocket @xthejazzdalorianx @y0mill @livingmeat @stranded-dream @its-oevy @be-be-la-la @jxylxx @usagijoestar @queenofroses22 @zaunsin @ceoofmiguel @otomebois @fairycwhores @killakungfu-wolfbitch @buffalolover10177 @jaywalksalloverme @jalxnnie @deepinballs @vomitsama @aurora-burrow @wlalspj @tieonatrenchcoat @cicato @firstghostempathtaco @yallhearsm @mumbi-222 @carmenxhuuuu @dv-ocean-blog @multi-fandom-chick-blog1 @jellybeansupmyass @cheyjellyfish @elyissly @laikve @coffeejellypng @staycgoindown @variouslyalloya @redflame5975 @botchedlove @thatoneenchilada @buck-uwu @donnie-spectacular

Chapter 5? It might take some time tho…

#fanfic #miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #priest!miguel #miguel x reader #priest au #miguel x you #atsv smut #finally!#sorry lol #chapter 4

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fettuccinealfred0 · 3 months

Text

Til Death Do Us Part | Part 5

Series Masterlist

Astarion x f!reader, Arranged Marriage AU

Word Count: 13.6k

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

Summary:

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

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

“I adore them.”

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

Astarion quickly snaps off a blossom and faces you.

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

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

Read on ao3 here.

There’s blackness.

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

He reaches to the side. Another wall.

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

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

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

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

No, Cazador is dead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The image in his brain warps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His head hurts so bad.

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

He drinks and drinks until there’s nothing left.

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

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

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

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

—----------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, no, no- this is all wrong.

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

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

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

“Close your eyes,” you tell him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I adore them.”

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

Astarion quickly snaps off a blossom and faces you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You frown. Astarion hates when he makes you frown.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—-----------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your wife.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s wrong, little flower?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He preens at the little puncture marks on your neck.

Mine, he thinks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Astarion hesitates.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But, this is you. This matters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Astarion, please.”

And oh, how pretty you beg.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And how could Astarion ever refuse you?

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

“Goodnight,” you murmur against his lips.

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

Had he almost told you that he loved you?

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

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

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

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

—---------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let the world know you belong to him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh well, it was worth it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Astarion, what’s wrong?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But, no, he must stand strong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, Astarion stops that line of thinking.

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

You were human, you would die.

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

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

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

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

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

Pathetic.

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

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

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

“Our… arrangement?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Notes:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 fanfic #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #x reader #til death do us part

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razorblade180 · 1 month

Text

Potion Practice

Bonus to this <-

Amber:Aether! Pfft, Nice outfit.

Aether:*in Lisa’s clothes* They’re helping me make better potions. This has been a little hard. *stirs pot*

Amber:Oh yeah? Alchemy does seem complicated. I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it.

Aether:Did you want me to make something or stare at the slit in this outfit.

Amber:I just can’t believe she had one in your size. What’s the likelihood you’d mess up if I held your waist?

Aether:Fairly high.

Amber:Then I will settle for a vigor and stamina potion that’s good for long patrols. Lightly I’ve been pulling expedition alongside my normal routine while other knights are training new recruits.

Aether:Did Ellin and Noelle pass?

Amber:Not yet unfortunately.

Aether:One day. Welp…I could attempt a potion for you.

Amber:You’ll do great! I heard business was fine.

Aether:Last time I messed with vigor and stamina I made an aphrodisiac.

Amber:…

Aether:That was my expression when Lisa told me. Thankfully, she took Sumeru Rose stems away.

Amber:Why were they there in the first place if-

Aether:Because Lisa is chaos. *adds three Rainbow Rose leaves* Now let’s add some Asters and…done.

Potion turns red

Aether:Well it isn’t pink this time, so that’s good. Although maybe I should dip it first?

Amber:No it’s fine. I trust your skills. Besides, it would be bad it something made you have to shut down the shop.

Aether:You have work though.

Amber:Worst case scenario, Kaeya fills in for me after taking care of his nonexistent Calvary. *sips potion*

…….

Aether:Thoughts?

Amber:Taste good. My sinuses are open, like a rush of fresh mint. Guess it works for vigor! Coffee wasn’t really doing it anymore.

Aether:That’s awesome! Glad I can help.

Amber:When is your next break by the way? I’m sure you’re allowed lunch soon?

Aether:All the other potions have been properly prepared and stocked. We can catch up now. Just let me change.

Amber:You’re not walking into town like this?

Aether:I’m not wearing these heels longer than I feel necessary.

Amber:That’s fair. I’m glad I caught you when I did then. Hehe, especially cause this is definitely another type of love potion.

Aether:…Come again?

Amber:This potion. Definitely an aphrodisiac.

Aether:Please say sike.

Amber:*fans face* I wanna, however…

Aether:There’s no fuckin way- *grabs potion book*….. Lisa!!

The witch casually walks over. She doesn’t even need to be asked for her to smell the brew.

Lisa:Ah you used the Rainbow Rose leaves raw. That’s pretty overwhelming at times unless you only add two or ground them up for extract. This is pretty low grade so just add chill water before selling it. *leaves*

Aether:Why the hell is the line between vigor and horny one leaf? Amber, how exactly are you feeling?

Amber:I’ve never had an aphrodisiac before so on a scale from one to ten… I’m sitting at a six. Maybe a six and an half?

Aether:Hold on. I’ve gotten good at stabilizers for obvious reasons. Give me five minutes.

Amber:….Or, I can get our lunch to go and meet you at my place? You need a place to change anyway.

Aether:…

Amber:… *sips potion*

Aether:Paimon!

Paimon:*counting mora* The shop is in good hands! Just come back with snacks!

Amber:Consider it done! *takes Aether’s hand*

Aether: I don’t know how to feel about being on the menu while in this.

Amber:Consider it dessert.

Aether:There’s no way Lisa said that stuff was low grade.

Lisa:*in the distance* I can show you high grade!

Aether:Please don’t!

#genshin impact #gi aether #gi amber #lisa minci #gi paimon #amber x aether #genshin ship

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mousetoe-wc · 7 months

Text

I Got bored one time awhile ago and made a list of every prefix plus some into organised sections so I thought I might as well share.

All the ones that aren’t cannon to warriors, yet at lest are bold

Describing names

Colours: red, russet, copper, golden, amber, yellow, green, blue, violet, pink, white, gray, black, ebony, dark, pale, silver, brown, tawny, fallow

Pattern, Texture + Size: spot/ted, dapple, speckle, freckle, brindle, patch, mottle, ragged, tangle, kink, bristle, fuzzy, curl/y, wooly, soft, sleek, little, tiny, small, slight, short, tall, long, big, heavy, crooked, broken, half, stumpy, shred, torn, jagged

Actions + Character: flip, pounce, bounce, jump, hop, crouch, down, low, drift, flail, strike, running, fidget, mumble, whistle, snap, sneeze, shiver/ing, shining, flutter, fallen, lost, rush, fleet, quick, shy, sweet, brave, loud, quiet, wild, hope, wish,

Other: claw, whisker, dead, odd, one, spike, fringe, echo, song, hallow, haven

Elements

Time + Weather: day, night, dusk, dawn, morning, sky, sun/ny, moon, storm, lightning, thunder, cloud/y, mist/y, fog, snow, blizzard, ice, frost, dew, drizzle, rain, clear, wind, breeze, gale, shadow, shade, bright, light,

Earth/Water/Fire names: stone, rock, boulder, slate, flint, pebble, gravel, sand/y, dust, mud/dy, meadow, hill, rubble, river, ripple, whorl, float, rapid, shimmer, lake, swamp, marsh, wave, wet, bubbling, splash, puddle, pool, creek, fire, flame, flicker, flash, blaze, scorch, ember, spark, ash, soot, cinder, smoke

Plants

Trees: alder, aspen, birch, beech, cedar, cypress, pine, elm, willow, oak, larch, maple, bay, rowan, timber, bark, log, wood, twig, acorn, cone, seed, spire

Berry/Nut/Fruit/Herb: juniper, elder, sloe, holly, yew, mistle, bramble, hickory, hazel, chestnut, nut, apple, cherry, cranberry, olive, pear, plum, peach, chive, mint, fennel, sage, basil, mallow, parsley

Flowers: aster, poppy, primrose, rose, bluebell, marigold, tansy, pansy, briar, cherry, daisy, dandelion, daffodil, tulip, violet, lily, myrtle, thrift, yarrow, heather, lavender, blossom, bloom, flower, petal

Other: leaf, frond, fern, bracken, sorrel, hay, rye, oat, wheat, cotton, reed, pod, cinnamon, milkweed, grass, clover, weed, stem, sedge, gorse, furze, flax, nettle, thistle, ivy, moss, lichen, bush, vine, root, thorn, prickle, nectar

Animals

Mammals: mouse, rat, mole, vole, shrew, squirrel, hedgehog, bat, rabbit, hare, ferret, weasel, stoat, mink, marten, otter, hog, wolf, hound, fox, vixen, badger, deer, doe, stag, fawn, sheep, cow, pig, lion, tiger, leopard, lynx, milk

Birds: robin, jay, cardinal, thrush, sparrow, swallow, shrike, starling, rook, swift, dove, pigeon, crow, raven, duck, goose, heron, wren, finch, swan, stork, quail, gull, lark, owl, eagle, hawk, kestrel, buzzard, kite, hoot, feather, bird, egg, talon

Fish, Reptiles + Amphibians: pike, perch, pollack, trout, tench, cod, carp, bass, bream, eel, minnow, fin, snake, adder, lizard, turtle, frog, toad, newt

Bug type Names: bug, lady or ladybug, moth, spider, ant, snail, slug, beetle, bee, wasp, dragon or dragonfly, bumble, worm, maggot, cricket, fly, midge, web, honey

Skyclan + Warriorclan: Bella, Billy, Big, Harry, Harvey, Snook, Ebony, Monkey

#warrior cats #wc

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sleepingdeath-light · 10 months

Text

darling ; 18+

requested by ; an ao3 user (20/06/23)

word count ; 1344

content ; painting as foreplay, praise, sort of sensation play, implied sex

fandom ; welcome home

pairing ; wally darling x female reader

read also on ; ao3

note ; playfellowxxx is the tag created by clown and the team for nsfw content — please block it if this isn’t something you want to see

additional note ; potentially ooc wally as this is my first smut shot featuring him lol — this was also written at like 8am over 30 mins so that might have contributed

minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

Being vulnerable with your partner came as easily as breathing to you — his gentle words and soft gaze as natural and soothing as a cool, babbling brook on a hot summer day or as welcomingly as a warm blanket on a cold winter evening. He was an artist and saw beauty in everything — from the fluttering wings of the butterfly that flitted in front of your faces to the curve of a friends’ smile to something as small as a fingerprint.

And never before had this trait of his been as obvious and endearing as it was now. Now that you were laid bare before him, nude body sprawled out on a blanket that neither of you minded losing, whilst he hummed in that same old way and mixed some body safe paints onto his palate. You’d seen him carefully pick up and inspect each bottle before picking out what he deemed as the most acceptable shades and turning to you — that same old smile on his face that never failed to leave your stomach fluttering with those butterflies he loved to paint.

‘I think I’ll start from the top,’ he mused, more to himself that anyone else, before kneeling down beside your head and smoothing out your hair, ‘are you okay?’

You hummed in approval and smiling against his lips when he leaned down to give you a chaste kiss — a smile that remained even as he pulled away. He had always been a worrier, even when you had been the one to propose something (as you had this), so his questioning was far from a shock — in fact you’d almost been expecting more of it.

Though, thankfully, your Darling wasn’t in much of a mood to delay your fun and quickly began to mix up his paints — and you were barely able to contain your excitement.

—————

An ocean of asters sprung up from the edges of your lips and wormed their way up above your eyes with intricate interlocking stems that you could barely feel as they were painted. A garden of purple buds and blossoms that was quickly framed by a chain of baby’s breath that dipped in and out of your hairline.

Then he moved on to your throat: splotches of daintily dotted white popping like fireworks against the sky of your skin. His brushwork more dotty than consistent as he didn’t bother drawing their stems, instead focusing on the blossoms himself as he adjusted the colours with each new press of the tip against your neck.

After that came your chest and collarbone, with which he took great care. Mixing calla lilies with camellias of pink, red and white — a bouquet of attraction that sprouted from the swells of your breasts and wound upwards and over your collar and shoulders. A display that left no skin uncoloured, undecorated, unloved whilst he offered more and more praise with each stroke of the brush.

‘I love you,’

‘You’re so beautiful, did you know that?’

‘Perfect,’

‘You’re doing so well,’

And, when you whimpered at the innocent brush of his fingertip across your nipple when he went to correct the paint, he smiled and chuckled. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you when we’re finished,’

Your stomach and sides were adorned with blossoming carnations — wedding white that faded into pink and then deep red as he approached the apex of your thighs. Pure love to a promise of remembrance to a deep love that echoed through his sweet touches and his reassuring words — promises you knew he’d keep (he always did) but that left you terribly wanting nonetheless.

Words crafted as beautifully, as intentionally, as the artwork that now adorned your body that was growing and twisting and almost taking on a life of its own as he continued to work and promise and praise and touch. Leaving no room for doubt as he decorated you.

‘You can ask me to stop if you’d like. Hm? No? Alright, but remember that you always have the option,’

‘Your beauty is astounding,’

Explaining the meaning of each flower as he painted its petals upon your flesh — your stomach, then your thighs. Leaving your head spinning, chest heaving, as he was so close — so very close — and yet still he made you wait. Making you listen to his adoration as he illustrated his affections onto your body itself.

If you’d have been a bit more patient then the romance of the gesture would have left you speechless.

—————

Red chrysanthemums; I love you. He had those flourishing in the depths of your stretch marks.

Daisies; loyal love. Those decorated the circumference of your thighs in delicate chains that tickled as they were applied.

Gardenias; you’re lovely. Their blossoms, detached, free-floated around your knees.

Heliotrope; devotion. Deep purple splotches nestled into the crease where your legs met your body, tantalising centimetres away from where you needed him.

Morning glories; affection. Dotted along the inner side of your calves, each placed on a spot he kissed as he made his way further and further down your body.

Red tulips; passion. He dotted them around your ankle, their stems intertwined with yellow tulips (sunshine in your smile) and yarrows (everlasting love) for good measure.

Red salvias; forever mine. The final flowers he painted, which decorated the outline of your sex with a beautiful array of peaking blossoms and buds that made you giggle and keen as they were applied to your sensitive skin.

Then, finally complete, Wally placed his palate to one side and stood back to admire his handiwork whilst you admired him in return: blue hair dishevelled and partially hanging over his face in tendrils of deep beautiful blue that he hadn’t bothered to put back in place; cardigan discarded and white sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his wrists and hands covered in splotches of colour that matched the mess made of his striped pants; the satisfied smile on his face as his eyes looked you over from ankle to crown — lingering on your exposed, decorated pussy for a few beats before moving upwards once again to meet you own needy, inquisitive gaze.

‘You look amazing,’ he finally offered, his words making you smile as you ushered him over.

‘Thanks to you,’

Once he was close to your level, you grasped his collar and pulled him into a kiss so passionate that it stole the breath from his lungs and neatly had him stumbling over his own legs as he hurriedly knelt down to meet you. You felt him gasp against your lips as he took a moment to adjust before he tilted his head to the side and deepened it — one paint covered hand flying to the back of your head as his fingers tangled themselves in your hair, his other reaching down to both steady you at your waist and keep himself up right as he shuffled between your spread legs.

For a moment you almost felt guilty about so many hours of work going to waste — you’d seen your reflection, after all, and Wally had done a fantastic and very detailed job. But that guilt evaporated mere moments later when you were forced to break the kiss and you saw how worked up your beloved had gotten: dilated pupils, panting breaths, parted lips and a string of saliva connecting you two that broke the moment you rushed forwards and captured his lips in another, even messier kiss.

No longer guilty about the paint not having the time to dry as he lowered you down to the floor and settled between your decorated thighs. No longer guilty about the amount of paint you were sure to get on his clothes as he rubbed his hardening dick against your wet, neglected pussy and you both moaned. No longer guilty about the artwork only lasting a matter of minutes when one of his hands left your hand reached between you to start clumsily rubbing at your clit.

No longer guilty because it was clear that he wanted to make a mess as much as you did.

#sleepingdeath #playfellowxxx #female reader #female reader smut #smut #welcome home smut #welcome home x reader #wally darling smut #wally darling x reader #minors dni #minors fuck off #minors don’t touch

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lupinus-bicolor · 2 years

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Red dead gang + flowers

Arthur Morgan - Dudleya cymosa; Canyon liveforever, native to California cliff faces and craggy areas, thrives in the sun and blooms vibrant red and orange cymes. Pointed rosettes of succulent leaves form the base which sends out a delicate bloom in early summer. This flower is also the one found in the terrarium jar on Arthur's bedside table.

Tilly Jackson - Helianthus annuus; Common sunflower, a showy plant native to grasslands in the US, its undomesticated form is a branching annual plant with many flower heads. Its domesticated form is an important food crop grown both for its seeds and seed oil. It's common in sunny gardens, where its unmistakable bright blooms attract pollinators. Commonly symbolizes longevity and adoration.

Sean Maguire - Tripolium pannonicum; Sea aster, native to Ireland, a very hardy plant that requires very little to thrive. Showy purple blooms usually a bit ruffled, but all the brighter in their seaside environments.

Charles Smith - Quercus alba; White oak, a staple crop for thousands of years, white oaks of the Quercus genus are amongst the most important habitat species for wildlife in North America. These trees provide food, shelter, fuel, and fertilizer for countless native flora and fauna, and oaks are among the few trees that thrive in both open fields and sheltered forests. Their diminuitive flowers (catkins) are wind pollinated and mature into thousands of acorns per tree every 2-10 years. Traditionally associated with bounty, wisdom, and protection. (Not a flower in the traditional sense, but catkins do count and white oak really REALLY suited Charles so I'm putting this in)

Dutch Van Der Linde - Pueraria montana; Kudzu vine, a hardy, subtropical plant introduced to the US with bright sweet pea flower spikes in spring. Rapidly spreads to completely cover native flora, shading out and crushing plants and depleting habitat for mutualistic wildlife. This vine is a noxious invasive in the southern US.

Hosea Matthews - Triticum aestivum; Wheat, grown as a staple crop around the world, wheat has many uses and is considered the backbone of western cuisine. Often grown in wide monocrop fields, mature wheat's golden color makes for a striking image. Commonly symbolizes bounty and resurrection. (Yes, grass (Poaceae) is a flowering plant family!)

Mary-Beth Gaskill - Viola riviniana; Common dog violet, native to europe, its nodding purple blooms can be found along roads and creeks in lightly shaded areas. Flowers in this genus traditionally symbolize modesty and humility.

Abigail Roberts/Marston - Rudbeckia hirta; Black-eyed Susan, a popular midwest native wildflower common in gardens for its sunny florets and contrasting center. Its association with gardening is a long established one, and traditionally symbolizes encouragement, adaptability, and determination.

Molly O'Shea - Passiflora alata; Winged-stem passionflower, a species native to the south American tropics and known for its visually distinctive red petals and exotic striped filaments. A delicate looking nodding flower with an edible fruit, commonly cultivated for its medicinal benefits and its beauty.

This post got very long! I will make a part two to save you the effort of scrolling <3

#rdr2 #Red Dead Redemption 2 #Botany #Long post #Arthur Morgan #Tilly Jackson #Sean Macguire #Dutch van der Linde #Hosea Matthews #Mary Beth Gaskill #Abigail Roberts #Molly O'Shea #*combines my two special interests*

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eclecticmiasma · 1 year

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Kinktober Day 17 (Darknight Diluc x Reader)

"All he can think is that with him, you wouldn't need such an escape. He would help you throw the material into the hearth and satisfy your needs himself. "

NSFW

[Warnings: afab reader, nonconsensual (?) voyeurism, unhealthy obsession]

Art credit: @CGcrescent on twitter

Hot breath fans the frosted window pane. Leather clad fingertips swipe the occlusion away, eager to peek at the world behind the glass. Glowing candlelight light of a warm and lovely home threatens to illuminate his position to the rest of the city. And so, he kneels at the portal like a common criminal.

You're lovely. Desperately, breathtakingly lovely. It makes Diluc's heart ache just imagining a future where your skin is flush with his own, where he can shower you with adoration as you deserve it. Your beaming eyes locked to his own, palms at your waist as he lifts you to the sun and then-

A red petal catches his eye. One small, ruby Windwheel Aster grown outside the winery. Diluc grips the base of the windowsill in elation as he realizes that not only had you kept his gift, but you potted it in delicate glass. The fact that he had it sent anonymously mattered little. Oh, something his lips had touched was in your home, held in your beautiful hands.

He'll see to it you receive a thousand more. Somehow his feelings will be conveyed on the elegant stems and you'll see, you'll truly see, how it feels to be utterly adored. It would be an effortless decision to walk away from your betrothed, a pitiful man that spends more time digging in the snow at Dragonspine than he does basking in your presence.

Like clockwork, you finish preparing for bed and bend over to tug at a drawer in your nightstand. A bit of shuffling reveals the drawer's secret compartment, one where you stash several small, handmade books. Diluc watches your pretty features furrow as you consider your entertainment for the night. All he can think is that with him, you wouldn't need such an escape. He would help you throw the material into the hearth and satisfy your needs himself.

The anticipation is always the hardest part. Watching you climb on top of your linen sheets and settle against the array of pillows, toes curling in excitement leaves time for Diluc to reflect on his actions. Not even your fiancée has seen you in your nightgown, feet bared, swell of your calves exposed to the night air. Yet, he has seen it all. Mondstadt's hero, a shameless pervert.

As soon as your fingers find the edge of your nightgown, those thoughts are crushed to dust. Of course he should be the one to see you, all of you. Who else is privy to such a show than the one who loves you most?

Diluc feels his body stir in response, as inch after inch of flesh is revealed to him. No matter how many times he sees it, it's as if it is the first. You lean back and spread your legs, glistening fruit ripe and bared for taking. How delicious it would be, tongue swirling in the sweet juice of your sex, how gorgeous he could make you sound around him.

Diluc's trousers tighten as the tip of your middle finger traces along slick folds, teasing the nub of flesh that always has you trembling with need. He would tease you, if that's what you want. He would drag slow circles along your most sensitive parts for hours if you would only be his.

You sigh, reading your undoubtedly lascivious tales and dipping a single digit into your wet heat as you do so. Diluc makes quick work of the flap on his pants and takes hold of his own leaking member. He presses his thumb lightly against his slit, as lightly as you touched your own hole. This way, your finger's movements become his own and he can drown in the fantasy your body is his to take.

As you press deeper, he gently squeezes his ring finger and thumb over his cock as if it is your tight little opening he penetrates. He swallows a moan as you explore yourself further, allowing him to imagine thrusting between your walls. Celestia. Archons, Celestia would be nothing compared to how your insides would feel. Diluc can barely breathe the idea fills him with such ecstasy. His hips shudder as he thrusts a little farther, loses his composure in the delusion of it all.

By the time you insert a third finger inside of yourself, book dropped to the side completely, hand rubbing desperately at your clothed nipples, Diluc is reduced to a shuddering mess. His gleaming red eyes stay focused on your writhing body beneath his mask, refusing to miss a second of your euphoria. His hips jolt, messily thrusting forward as he tightens his hands around his cock and milks it with his own fluid. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wonders if he can find get his hands on those little books of yours. He would study them like ancient tomes.

You're approaching climax, Diluc knows. He's seen the utter beauty of your orgasm more times than he can count. Your chest heaves, your wrist snaps against your pelvis as you press forward, gyrating your hips against your soaking digits. Though the glass between you is thick, he can hear the volume of your sweet moans, your wanton begging for release. He can give it to you, he will give it to you. Someday, when you realize the folly of your decisions Diluc will welcome you with open arms and bring you to the highest peaks of bliss. The stars themselves will alight at your coupling.

To Diluc's dismay, he falls over the edge before you do. He groans a little more loudly than he would have liked as he comes undone, creamy fluid coating his fingers and cobbled stone of your patio. He rests his forehead against the cold glass, chest heaving as he watches your sweaty form buck and writhe. You're so close, he knows it, and he wishes endlessly to be buried in your heat alongside you.

As he suspected, climax overtakes you. It ripples across your muscles and spreads across your features in the most entrancing way. What he doesn't expect, and what drops his heart straight through to his stomach, are the words that form on your lips as you seize.

"Darknight...Hero..."

*all original work is my intellectual property. do not edit or re-upload. please consider reblogging as mature content is often buried by Tumblr!

[KINKTOBER MASTERLIST]

#diluc #diluc ragnvindr #diluc x reader #darknight hero x reader #x reader #drabbles #kinktober #kinktober 2022 #tw: voyeurism #tw: peeping #I love making diluc suffer #batman lookin ass #afab reader #genshin impact #minors dni #tw: obsession

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peonypaint · 6 months

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flower wips ive been meaning to finish up for a bit

[ ID: three digital paintings of flowers. the first painting is of a pink rose against a green background of other plants, with purple asters dotting the green leaves and a second rose stem without a bloom to the left of the rose. the rose has several thorns on its stem which are painted in red.

the second painting is of an assortment of plants, with purple asters spread out through the green leaves and brown stems and two yellow rudbeckia flowers on the right side of the page. on the left near the center is one tall plant stem growing upwards with large green leaves coming out from its sides.

the third painting is of a thorny rose branch against a dark green background with a single leaf at the end of the stem. the thorns are red and the branch has a gradient going from a lighter green at one end to a darker green at the other. /END ID]

#original #artists on tumblr

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vandaliatraveler · 8 months

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Despite its undignified name, Muddy Creek is a lovely mountain stream that normally runs fast and clear on its steep descent to Cheat River. But after a week of heavy rain in NC-WV, the stream looked a bit murky yesterday. Not even the sediment washing away from the mountains dims its beauty in my eyes. And the enchanting, moss-encrusted forest along its bank holds its own late summer treasures.

From top: great blue lobelia (Lobelia siphilitica), which pairs beautifully with cardinal flower to provide late summer color in a native wildflower garden; white wood aster (Eurybia divaricata), which is the most common of the shade-loving white asters in this area; crooked-stemmed aster (Symphyotrichum prenanthoides), also known as zigzag aster, whose clasping, spatula-shaped leaves distinguish it from big-leaf aster, another woods-loving aster with lavender flowers; blue-stemmed goldenrod (Solidago caesia), whose spreading, yellow-flowered stems provide stunning late-season color in a native wildflower garden; an intensely-green collage of moss, woodland stonecrop (Sedum ternatum), Christmas fern (Polystichum acrostichoides) and heartleaf foamflower (Tiarella cordifolia), which I am trying hard to reproduce in my own native wildflower shade garden; the shaggy-maned stem of Coker's Amanita (Amanita cokeri), one of the most impressive mushrooms of Appalachia's summer forests; beech-drops (Epifagus virginiana), a parasitic plant that grows and subsists on beach tree roots; the bright red berries of false Solomon's seal (Maianthemum racemosum); yellow jewelweed (Impatiens pallida), whose explosive seed pods give the plant its other common name, pale touch-me-not; and narrow-leaved tick-trefoil (Desmodium paniculatum), also known as panicled tick-trefoil, a late summer pea whose sticky seed pods commonly hitch rides on shoes and boots.

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pickerelstripe · 8 months

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[CM] - Flowering Plants 1

More lexicon posts, woohoo! Today I've got some flowering plants. This isn't the full list, but it's the ones I've assigned words so far, so it'll have to do until I work on more.

New york aster (Symphyotrichum novi-belgii) - Palefi Derived from base Clanmew palifuh* (purple) and pfefi* (fluff petal). Tall, thin-stemmed plant with narrow leaves and pale purple flowers. Grows on marshland borders and may be found in nutritionally poor soil. Attractive to butterflies, moths, and bees!

Bog aster (Oclemena nemoralis) - Oskfi Derived from palefi and osk* (white). Very similar to palefi, but a little smaller and with pale, pink-or-white flowers. Found in wetlands and on shores.

Bog goldenrod (Solidago uliginosa) - Morree Derived from waymor* (taller than it is wide) and rreen* (golden). Very tall with a thin, reddish stem and fluffy golden flowers that bloom in late summer. Grows in wetlands and on shores. Resistant to deer and attractive to butterflies.

Water hemlock (Cicuta maculata) - Mwrai Branched plant with clusters of tiny white flowers and deeply-toothed leaves. Grows in marshes and on shores. Mwrai is highly toxic! Consumption results in tremors, extreme pain, fever, and death. Mwrai is especially dangerous due to its resemblance to the herbs boneset and valerian.

Blueflag iris (Iris versicolor) - Pail Derived from palifuh* (purple) and pai* (petal). Thick-leaved plant with fancy blue-to-purple flowers. Found in marshes, fields, and on shores. Though beautiful, pail is irritating when handled, and ingestion results in stomach upset.

Fragrant water-lily (Nymphea odorata) - Ssoskai Derived from osk* (white), pai* (petal), and yasschoop* (sense of smell). Leaves are wide and float on the water; flowers are ornate, white with a yellow center, and bloom from morning til noon during warm months. Ssoskai are found exclusively on the lake. Flowers carry a sweet scent that may be detected hundreds of yards away!

Wild sarsaparilla (Aralia nudicaulis) - Sikibow Cat-sized plant with tiny white flowers in spherical clusters; these flowers develop into dark berries in mid-summer. Grows in forest understories. Browsed by deer and moose, while the berries are consumed by foxes and chipmunks.

Sheep laurel (Kalmia angustifolia) - Besskaf Derived from beka* (pink), peske* (clusters of flowers), and mwssaf* (poisonous). Shrub with thick, leathery leaves and circular pink flowers. Grows in wetlands, forests, and on shores. Besskaf is highly toxic to cats and also exudes chemicals that inhibit other plants, particularly conifers.

Northern St. John's-wort (Hypericum boreale) - Mwurfs Leafy, shrubby plant with fancy yellow flowers. Found in wetlands, on shores, and in shallow lake water. Mwurfs is toxic - contact may result in boils and irritation, while consumption leads to photosensitivity, drooling, and depression.

Red clover (Trifolium pratense) - Shuf Tiny spreading plant with little pink-or-red flowers. Grows in fields and on shores. Shuf is an herb that aids skin inflammation and (possibly) arthritis! It's also consumed by numerous animals.

#claymew #plants #flowering plants

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fourthage · 11 months

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01 June 2023 (backdated) (2 of 2)

That’s not trash in the first shot, that’s me covering up bits of grass poking through the newspapers. So much new planting space this fall!

Back bed: the rose seems just about done with blooming, which seems a change from last year. The red yarrow is getting close to blooming (in front of oak barrel). You can’t see them, but the nasturtiums in the barrel have their first buds too.

Flower buds on the honeysuckle!

Main bed, right side.

Not much movement here. The lavender is about to bloom on the right. No cosmos yet from the seeds I scattered in the big open area in the middle.

Main bed - left side

One of the hollyhock’s leaves has turned yellow (against the fence in the back). I’m hoping for the best. The asters are bushing out after their haircut. The rue in front of them has been blooming away (yellow flowers). Behind the aster is the meadowsweet finally open (white-pink flowers). All along the front you can see the poppies and the euphorbia coming up.

The small dark red plant is the cardinal flower (later summer bloom). The plant with red stems next to the purple spike speedwell is the gaura about to bloom.

Poppy!

And along the very front, the honeywort has sprouted!

Close-up of the meadowsweet.

#fourthage gardens

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mysterycharacterflowers · 10 months

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A bouquet of azalea, red calla lily, thistle and amaranthus (love-lies-bleeding) VS Tartarian Aster

First, let's talk about the bouquet of azalea, red calla lily, thistle and amaranthus (love-lies-bleeding)

Meaning and why these flowers were chosen: Firstly, azalea, because it’s famously toxic and thus has been used as a death threat [...]. This fits my guy because he’s killed a vast number of people, and because his appearance and presence are generally threatening. But [...] it also symbolizes temperance, abundance, fragile or held-back passion, and prudence, which better suits his actual personality, as he’s a careful, reserved, thoughtful person with an abundance of intelligence; with the symbolism about passion, the only person he’s loved romantically he didn’t ultimately pursue or have a chance with, and even familial love for him tends to be an understated thing. Calla lily, because it symbolizes death and so does he, and because it also symbolizes rebirth and, from the right perspective, he’s certainly been reborn a couple times. I’d specifically go with red calla lilies, since those also symbolize determination and he is nothing if not devoted to his goals when it counts. Thistle, because it symbolizes pain, which he has both endured a lot of and dealt out a lot of; aggression, which for a while overtook him; and protection from evil, which he always does his best to provide. Amaranthus (love-lies-bleeding), because it can symbolize hopelessness and he spent quite a bit of his life full of despair; it also symbolizes immortality and he more or less has that Description: He’s an earnest, downtrodden person who tried to turn away from his ‘normal’ life because of something horrible that happened to his loved ones, but then once he came back into action, it turned into a long journey as far downhill as he could be pushed. He spent years half out of his mind [...] During this time, even those who might have considered him a friend before quickly considered him a lost cause and generally dehumanized him, which is even worse because their perspective there was understandable. He’s often very critical, and doesn’t necessarily know where to stop; he’s always been intense, and people are usually uncomfortable around him, whether it’s justified or not. He’s as moral a person as he can be—he’s not exactly anti-murder, but he has high standards, when he’s his usual self—and as practical as he can bear to be. He almost killed a (technical) family member once, but on the other hand he also helped them kill a personification of a cosmic force, so it balances out, right? He’s a weird mix of straightforward and mysterious, and an absolute icon of creepy good. He’s alive against all odds and extremely tired to a magical degree. He’s also, at least implicitly, in a lot of pain due to some murders. Physical pain, that is.

Check his post here for the full description

Now, let's talk about the Tartarian Aster

Meaning and why this picture was chosen: It means 'I wont forget you' which is DEEPLY on brand for her character. This is for two major reasons, the space yuri plot with the reincarnation thing that ends with them having to go separate ways to save the universe from imploding, and the fact that a lot of her actions a based on her mourning and canon severe complex PTSD. Description: - Extremely PTSD-riddled 20-something STEM major plagued by emails. - Grieving a lot of people and Really Going Through It but still manages to teeth-grit hold onto hope for the future. - Space lesbian subtext. - Friends include some space frat boys, her male workwife, a character that looks like every letter of the LGBT+ at once, and several robots. - Enjoys playing video games

Check her post here

#round 1 #mysterious character: bouquet of azalea - red calla lily - thistle - amaranthus #mysterious character: tartarian aster

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sunnyrealist · 5 months

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Chapter 15: There Are Things You Don't Know

The Sun, the Moon, and All Our Stars

Summary and Details…

Chapter Background and Summary: Kate and Sebastian met each other about a month ago at the Three Broomsticks. Their instant connection and pull towards each other felt like pure magic, but it all collapsed when Sebastian told her about his past and current use of dark magic. Since then, he and Kate have been hanging out as "friends," though both of them still have strong feelings for each other. In the previous chapter, Sebastian helped Kate in her garden; she promised him a home-cooked meal as a reward. Sebastian takes her up on it in this chapter and finally explains more about his past and what he does for a living.

Pairing: Aged-up, post-Azkaban Sebastian Sallow x female OC (Kate Mayflower)

Trigger warnings: Discussion of domestic abuse and drinking, trauma, brief mention of imprisonment, gang membership, discussion of illness, fast use of the word "love," a basic Italian dinner being considered "exotic" (😂)

The full chapter is available below the cut; it can also be found on AO3. Any kind of constructive feedback would be greatly appreciated. A comment, like, or Kudos would make my day.

Chapter 15: There Are Things You Don't Know

Kate is ready when Sebastian knocks on her front door on Wednesday night.

After getting out of work, she went into cooking and cleaning mode immediately. Of course, she had overthought everything. Candles - too romantic or appropriate for any dinner? Dessert - what would Sebastian like most? Or should she make a treat that complimented the meal? How should she dress? Not too fancy - that might give the wrong idea…

Kate had decided after Sebastian’s last meeting that she wanted to show him how she used items from her garden in her cooking. Since nothing was quite in season yet, she had to rely on her canned items, of which she had tomatoes aplenty. She settled on making pasta, a dish that most were not fully accustomed to in Britain, with a homemade sauce, meatballs, and crusty bread, preparing as much as she could the night before. In addition, she had cleaned up her living room and bathroom. She told herself that it was completely unnecessary to do anything special with her bedroom. He would not be going in there.

“Hi,” Kate says shyly.

Sebastian smiles and holds out a bouquet of asters. “Hi. These are for you.”

She blinks, trying to remember what asters symbolize. Patience.

“That was completely unnecessary, but thank you.” She takes the flowers out of his hands, inviting him inside. She gestures for him to sit in the living room. “I’ll just put these in water. I’ll be back.”

Sebastian has a moment alone to survey her home again on his own, and he can’t help but feel as though this cozy, green room felt like home. A home he would love to return to every day after work. Patience. Patience.

“Hey, whatever you’re cooking smells amazing!” he shouts out towards the kitchen in a friendly and excited tone.

Kate steps out, smiling. “I hope you like it! It’s… well, kind of an exotic dish from Italy.”

Sebastian grins widely. “I love any kind of adventure.”

She ducks back into the kitchen to make sure it really is ready to go. Plating the food, she carefully sets a dish down by each seat, arranging a napkin, spoon, and fork next to them.

When Sebastian is finally called in, his eyes widen upon seeing the perfect setting arrangements and candles. It feels romantic.

“Is red wine alright? Or would you prefer something else?” she asks, wiping her hands on her apron. She unties the bow in the back and then removes it entirely.

“That’s perfect,” he replies, his eyes trained on her.

Sebastian attempts to avert his eyes, but he can’t help but glance over when she reaches high up for the bottle, taking in her shapely form. He offers to help her reach the bottle, but she refuses. Carefully bringing it to the counter, she uncorks the bottle with a pop, then pours it generously into two wine stems.

Sebastian’s eyes are sparkling and joyful when he offers a toast. “To the most beautiful, kind, intelligent, and sweet hostess, who deserves the entire world and more.” Kate blushes deeply as she clinks her glass to his, not saying a word in stunned silence.

“So… what exactly are we eating?” he asks.

“Oh! It’s pasta with marinara sauce and meatballs. And this is crusty Italian bread. I have a garlic butter spread to accompany it.” She points out everything.

“I’ve heard of all of this but never tried it. I’m sure it’s delicious, Kate.”

In Sebastian’s head, he wonders if this was set up to be a date. It feels romantic - red wine, candlelight, cooking for a sweetheart.

“I wanted to show you that I’m a good cook,” Kate says, blushing. “The sauce was made from red tomatoes I grew in my garden and canned last year. There are also herbs in it that I harvested from the garden as well.”

Sebastian takes his first bite. “Oh, gods, this is so delicious…”

Kate beams with pride. “Truly? Oh, I’m so glad! Erm, I didn’t make the pasta myself, though - that’s the only thing I cannot take credit for. I happened upon it recently when a traveling vendor came through town. I was so excited that I bought three pounds of it!”

“That was lucky for you - but for me as well! I guess I love pasta,” he replies, his mouth full. A moment later, he bites into the garlic buttered bread.

“Do you… like trying new foods? Like from other countries?” Kate asks eagerly.

“Well, I love food in general. I have a bottomless stomach,” he says with a chuckle. “But, yes, I enjoy trying new things.”

“I love exploring new cuisine. I want to travel the world and gather new ingredients everywhere I go. It’s so difficult to find international items in Britain,” she explains. “Not just for cooking, either - baking, too.”

Sebastian nods appreciatively, his mouth filled to the brim as he chews. When he finally swallows, he takes her hand and sincerely says, “Gods, I’ll do any chores you want if it means getting more of your food. And… your company, too.”

Kate inhales, blushing. “I… I very much enjoy your company as well, Sebastian. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Her mind conjures images of domesticity - Sebastian helping her carry groceries home, opening stubborn jars, doing hard work out in the yard, shirtless and sweating, while she cooks and prepares beautiful, gourmet meals and tasty treats for him. She can see them washing dishes side by side, laughing, then reading together on the couch, falling asleep cuddled in bed… It’s getting so much harder for Kate to deny how much she wants all of it. A true companion. Someone to listen to her, someone to hold her at night, someone to share joy and sorrow with. Someone to end the loneliness that has seeped into her bones like a curse.

And that true companion - her life partner - is not anyone her mother has set her up with. It’s him. It’s Sebastian, and deep down, she knows it.

But how can she compromise her morals? He’s a dark magic user. And she is anything but. She wouldn’t want her - their - children to grow up idolizing dark wizards.

Sebastian isn’t what Kate ever pictured when she thought of a man who practiced the dark arts. That is what baffles her most of all: he isn’t a bad person. He once made mistakes - serious mistakes - as a boy, but who he seems to be now, as a man, doesn’t line up with his past actions. She remembers how wounded he looked when she had turned him away nearly a month ago, how he said dejectedly that he’ll always be punished in every way for what he did at 16 years old - practically a decade prior. When she thinks about his face at that moment, his tone, it makes her want to burst into tears. True sadness that could only be ended with her acceptance - her love and care - she’s sure of it.

Just as she is sure that he could end her loneliness. He would lift her up, challenge her, and encourage her to pursue her dreams until they come true.

Suddenly, Kate realizes she never let go of Sebastian’s hand. He is gently rubbing the back of hers with a finger. His facial expression changes into one that is intent and serious.

“Kate… I…” he begins hesitantly. “I realize you might not want to hear this, but I need you to know… I still love you. Desperately. Gods, I’m desperate for you. I swear, I think of you all day every day. Every moment, I’m counting how much longer it will be until I see you again. You’ve changed my life so much in such a short time. Everything is so much brighter. I have… I have hope again. Kate, I’ll do anything to make you mine. I mean it. Truly, I mean it.”

Kate opens her mouth, knowing she has to tell him that she can’t, but not really wanting to all the same - but he silences her with a finger to her lips.

“Please, don’t say no. Please, Kate,” he begs. “There are things you don’t know about me that I’ve never explained, but I want you to know it all. If you don’t want me after, I… well, I don’t know… but I just need a chance to tell you.”

Kate nods, taking a sip of wine. “Alright.” She sits up, leaning forward with interest but keeping her face neutral. “Go ahead.”

He looks at her for a minute, thinking. “Gods, I don’t even know where to begin… maybe when my parents died…”

“Anne and I had just barely turned ten when it happened. You know, before then, my parents were busy all the time, but we were loved and cared for and wanted for nothing. When Uncle Solomon took us in, that ended. Everything - everything changed. He couldn’t afford to live in my parents’ home in Aranshire, since they still owed money on it. And honestly, it was a huge house with multiple stories - we even had a cellar. Solomon barely had a job. He had gotten fired as an Auror. He didn’t have much choice but to become a simple farmer. We had to move into his tiny cottage at Feldcroft near the fields. My uncle was forced to take us in, as our only living relative. And he took it out on us every day - but mostly on me. He saw my da in me, and the truth is that they had never gotten on well. So, having to take us in was truly a burden - it reminded him every day of their broken relationship. And we never had breaks from each other. There was no privacy in that house.

“Solomon… he was not good to us. He sold all of our parents’ belongings and valuables, save for just a few heirlooms - and portraits, which weren’t worth any money. He said he had to so that he could take care of our needs and eventually our Hogwarts tuition. We were never spoiled again from that point forward. Anne and I only had necessities - nothing more. But what we needed, really, was a guardian who cared for us. I needed someone who wouldn’t hit me and yell at me all the time. I needed a protector. But I had to step up and become Anne’s. I took the beatings when Solomon was drunk. And he was drunk often.”

“Gods, Sebastian, that’s awful…” Kate whispered.

“One night, when I was 13, he and I got into an argument over my parents’ money. Solomon had used almost all of it up. It was supposed to be our inheritance when we graduated. But he spent almost all of it on firewhisky and gambling. It was a bad fight. A really bad one. My uncle told me that that was the final straw, and I couldn’t sleep in his house anymore. Kate, I was 13. 13 years old.

“He built a tiny shed and told me that that was my bedroom now. I had no choice but to sleep there whenever we were home from Hogwarts. And honestly, in some ways it was better than being near him, but I froze every night out there, even with warming charms. I always worried about leaving Anne alone with him, but she was alright. She learned how to handle his outbursts without consequence eventually. Unlike me. He just hated me so much for no reason. I never could do anything right. Never. It didn’t matter to my uncle that I earned top marks, that I was on the Quidditch team, that I was the top duelist at Hogwarts - I was always ‘just like my stubborn father.’ As if it was an insult to be like my da.”

“I’m sure your father was lovely, if you truly are like him, Sebastian,” Kate whispered, stroking his hand soothingly. “I know it.”

Sebastian seemed to tear up a little. This was hard to talk about; he hadn’t let any of this out for nearly a decade, and here was this wonderful woman - the one he loved - comforting him, truly listening to him. “Thank you. He- he really was a great man. I hope I can live up to him someday. I admired him so much.”

Kate squeezed his hand, and he continued.

“My uncle was typically awful to us, but I have to be fair and say he had some nice moments. He took in our friend, Ominis, during the summers so that he wouldn’t have to go back to his abusive family. Ironic, right? But Ominis’ family was worse. Anyway, Solomon never did anything too crazy when he was around. Anne and I were thankful for that. And my uncle did help us practice spells. I think that’s how I became so good at dueling.” Sebastian smirked a little. “I was once the top duelist at school.”

“In the spring during our fourth year, something awful happened. We were at home for the break. In the middle of the night, there was screaming and shouting outside. Anne ran out of the house to see what was going on and if she could help. It was a disaster. Feldcroft was under attack. Before my uncle and I could catch her, she was already fighting goblins and dark wizards in the hamlet. We had to as well. But then we heard Anne. She was screaming and rolling on the ground in pain. From that day forward, she was never the same. She had been cursed. The way that it worked was that whenever she felt any strong emotion, she would fall into a bout of pure suffering.

“Solomon took her to St. Mungo’s. The healers said there was no cure, so he gave up. But I couldn’t bear to see Anne in pain like that. I mean, everything has to have a cure. Everything. I made it my goal to find it so that Anne could come back to school. That led to many incidents in which I had to sneak into the restricted section. Merlin’s beard, Madam Scribner hated me so much. Every time I was caught, she sent an owl straight to my uncle, which always made things at home so much worse. He kept telling me to leave things be, but I couldn’t. Anne was my twin, and I couldn’t let her suffer. It hurt me to see her in such a state. Before the curse, she was always cheerful, funny, even mischievous - and she had become withdrawn and quiet - as though she had resigned herself to agony. I just couldn’t let it be.

“Anyway, nothing I did seemed to work. I finally came to the conclusion that I had to try something new. I decided to fight fire with fire - to try to use dark magic to break a dark curse. But it got out of control quickly. Rather, the truth was that I was out of control, and I wouldn’t listen to Ominis or our good friend, Ruby. The two of them followed me one day deep in the Feldcroft catacombs with a dark relic that, I now believe, had been influencing me for some time. My uncle arrived shortly after, too. He saw what I was doing. I had raised Inferi and was planning to make a dark sacrifice so that Anne could live again. But Solomon attacked me over and over. He even used Fiendfyre, Kate. He was going to kill me. I could see it in his eyes. So, I defended myself - but in the worst way possible. I used the killing curse.

“In an instant, Solomon was dead. Afterward, Anne wouldn’t speak to me and simply disappeared. I never saw her again. In Azkaban, I was told that she died, alone and in terrible pain. In the end, not only could I not save her, but, in fact, I made everything worse. When Anne lost our uncle, she lost her guardian - her caregiver, and I don’t understand how she got by with no money and no help. All I know is that two days after I killed Solomon, aurors showed up at Hogwarts and took me away. I stood before the Wizengamot, with my friends in the audience, as they questioned me and debated my fate. I’ll never forget the expression on Ominis’ face when they gave me a life sentence. He was shocked - absolutely horrified.

Kate had been silently taking it all in. “I understand that what you did was unacceptable, but… a life sentence for a teenage boy is very harsh,” she whispered.

“You have no idea, Kate. No idea how brutal it is in Azkaban. I honestly… I don’t want to talk about it right now. I might tell you someday, but I’m not ready.” Sebastian shakes his head. “It’s far too painful.”

There is a heavy silence. Sebastian still wants to tell Kate more, but he wants to give her a chance to process it and ask questions.

“So… Sebastian, if dark magic basically ruined your life, why do you still use it? I don’t understand…” she asks.

The question is clearly a painful one. “In Azkaban, I… I don’t want to explain it, but I had to use it to defend myself. I promise, Kate… I will tell you someday.” It seems as though he could say more but is choosing specifically not to.

“And what about now?” Kate refuses to give him an inch on the subject. Her tone is firm. “If you really want me like you say you do, don’t you dare dodge the question.”

Sebastian shifts in his seat uncomfortably. “I can’t tell you much. It’s Ministry business. If I share anything with you, you must swear to complete secrecy. It would endanger wizardkind and me if the information got into the wrong hands.”

Kate’s eyes widen at hearing this unexpected answer. “Sebastian, you can trust me. I swear I won’t tell anyone.”

He sighs. “As you know, I was supposed to serve a life sentence in Azkaban. I would still be there now if not for the… the Kelpies.”

“The Kelpies?” Kate asks in a panicked whisper. “Do you mean the Kelpies? The dark wizards terrorizing Britain?”

“Yes, the very same. They conducted a successful jail break when I was in Azkaban. I was 21. That’s how they rose to power again - by getting their most important members back. I wasn’t one of them, but they offered their help to get me out … if I would join them,” Sebastian explains. He sees the alarmed look on her face. “Kate, I would have died in Azkaban had I not accepted. I had no choice. No choice. For years, I followed them, doing what they asked of me. It was awful. Gods, absolutely awful. But I couldn’t get away, and to stay in their favor, I had to do terrible things. Unforgivable things.

“Eventually, the Ministry caught up to me about two and a half years later. They were going to take me right back to Azkaban, but then, a plan was concocted. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement had been working for years to apprehend the Kelpies with little success. I became their spy - a double-agent. To remain safe and complete the job, I have no choice but to continue to practice dark magic. So… I can’t just quit like you want me to. Otherwise, the Kelpies will kill me without a second thought. I’m not officially one of them yet, but they’re about ready to initiate me. It involves becoming an animagus - a black horse - you know, a Kelpie. But I don’t want it. And I have a plan to put them off.”

Kate sucks in a breath, her mind spinning.

“I won’t lie to you, though. I am still fascinated with the dark arts. I find the history of dark wizards fascinating. I enjoy learning about all of it but not using it anymore,” Sebastian admits openly. “Kate, there’s much more to explain. I am willing to tell you everything in the future, if you’ll give me an opportunity to be in yours. I… I would do anything to be part of your future, Kate. Truly.”

A long silence takes hold.

“I… I need time to think more clearly,” Kate answers after a minute. “This is… a lot to process.”

Sebastian nods, smiling slightly. Her answer isn’t no, and that is a win. “That’s fine. That’s fine, Kate.”

Eventually, the topic of conversation lightens. Sebastian helps Kate to clear the table and clean the dishes. At the sink, she handles the soap, and next to her, he dries with a towel.

Five minutes later, just as they are wrapping up, Sebastian starts laughing.

“What?” Kate asks him, confused.

“I, uh, think you might have some soap on your nose,” he replies, still laughing.

Sebastian reaches towards Kate’s face. His fingers brush the bubbles away, but they linger on her cheek. He tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear as she blushes.

When they finish with the cleaning, Kate reveals that she has also made dessert.

“Really?!” he asks, his eyes bulging.

She nods with a chuckle. “Really.”

Kate has Sebastian sit. She warms up some hot chocolate in mugs, then places a tray of biscuits on the table.

“Have you ever tried biscotti?” she asks. “They’re Italian cookies. These have almonds in them. They’re meant to be served with coffee or another hot beverage that they could potentially be dipped into.”

“No, I’ve never tried those…”

“Be my guest, then.” She gestures for him to take some.

Kate is amazed when, five minutes later, Sebastian has eaten half of the cookies on the tray and downed his entire mug. It appears that he has an enormous sweet tooth, which couldn’t be more perfect for someone who loves to bake.

“Shall I send some home with you?” Kate asks, giggling. “I have more. You could take them.”

He nods eagerly, and she is happy to oblige.

When they finally say goodbye that night, Kate hands him a cloth bag filled with the biscotti, but Sebastian lingers at the door.

“Kate… I mean everything I said tonight. I never want to leave you. I don’t even want to leave you now. Not at all,” he whispers, caressing her cheek. “I want to be here for you all the time. I could… I- I could be your protector…”

She turns red and tries to change the tone, laughing awkwardly. “Sebastian, I don’t need a protector. This is Hogsmeade. What on Earth could possibly happen here?” Suddenly, hilarious images fill her head. “What are you going to protect me from? A puffskein that escaped from Brood and Peck? An annoying traveling vendor who just will not give up on selling some junk to me? Buying too many sweets at Honeydukes?” Now she’s really laughing.

He smiles widely. “All of the above, sunshine. And more.”

There’s a period of quiet again.

Kate hesitates, then finally says, “Sebastian, I need some time to think, but… I want to see more of you. I do.”

Sebastian takes her hand, kissing it eagerly. “Kate… could I ask you for something?”

Her head tilts. “What is it?”

“Stop seeing those other men your mum sets you up with,” he pleads. “See only me. Kate, I can’t stand the thought of you with anyone else.”

Kate smiles weakly. “I can’t break what I’ve already committed to, but perhaps I can put off more arranged dates in the future. Perhaps.”

Sebastian kisses her cheek sweetly. Then, he whispers in her ear, “I love you, Kate. I love you. I swear, if you choose me, I will dedicate my entire life to you. I would be the happiest wizard in the world.”

They gaze at each other with love in their eyes. She can’t hide it much anymore.

“Saturday. Let’s meet again on Saturday,” Kate suggests.

“Yes. And every day after that, if you’ll allow it.” Sebastian smiles widely. “Sorry, I know I’m pushing too much, but I can’t help it. I’ll go now. Goodbye, my love.”

“Good night, Sebastian,” Kate whispers sweetly, kissing his cheek. “Be safe.”

Sebastian doesn’t sleep at all the rest of the night. It finally seems that the pieces are coming together. He dares to hope.

#hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy sebastian #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x oc #post azkaban sebastian #aged up sebastian sallow #hufflepuff x slytherin

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