#heavy winter quilt | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

explorevenus · 10 days ago

Text

my soul to keep ♡ vampire!leon kennedy x virgin!reader

nsfw (18+) - minors. dni or i will call ur mom. and also the cops

word count: 6.4k

tags/warnings: romantic vampire leon, virgin/innocent f!reader, leon turns reader into a vampire, some religious allegory, bloodplay (obviously), gravedigging, some gory descriptions but not a whole lot, one instance of overeating (reader's learning, leave her alone </3), manipulation kinda, praise, fingering, p in v, creampie

description: leon creeps into your village at night for a quick drink, only to find himself infatuated with an angel like you. it's a good thing he possesses the means to preserve you for himself.

a/n: yes this is the vampire leon fic i started like a year ago don't look at me <33 i'm just proud of myself for getting it finished before halloween this year AAAAAAAA

divider by @saradika-graphics !!!!

my masterlist ♡

my ao3 ♡

fic under the cut, thanks so much for reading and i hope u enjoy ;w;

-venus ♡

The last time Leon remembered feeling this alive, well… he was still living, and that was a long time ago. When lonely and undead as long as Leon has been, it can be difficult to show restraint upon first contact with anything that evokes such emotion.

But he did, for a while. You were just too cute, he thought as he stood over your slumbering body that first night. It wasn’t something he liked to make a habit of, but a light hunting season for him meant starvation through the winter, and he didn’t have much choice but to go wandering into the nearby little village for a quick bite to eat.

Until he found you.

You looked like a cherub sleeping there in your plush little bed, buried beneath a quilt he could only assume you made yourself. Precious, fragile. You looked especially fragile.

And humans are so fragile, he thought. You smelled so sweet, it made his teeth ache just standing there staring at you without acting upon his festering need to sate his appetite, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He didn’t want to scare you, or worse, lose control of himself and kill you.

He wandered silently around your little cottage in hopes of learning more about you. It was tidy but lived in, well-kept in a way that made him think you were probably a good homemaker. Your old leather boots sat by the door, dirtied by years of garden work and general wear. There was a little handmade ceramic candle holder on your bedside table, the candle in it burned nearly down to the base, and he wondered if maybe you’d held onto it because the piece was sentimental to you. Carefully arranged bouquets of flowers were strung together and hung up above the cracked window, likely to dry them out and preserve them.

And suddenly he realized that maybe he would like to preserve a flower for himself.

He couldn’t allow himself to feed from anyone in your village that night. If word spread around about a vicious animal attack or some other form of brutality, it would only hinder his ability to ultimately get to you, and he couldn’t risk that. Weak and delirious and ravenously hungry as he was, Leon forced himself to bid you adieu and stalk off into the night, back to his crumbling old castle in the middle of the woods… but not before leaving you a gift.

His gift. The gift.

Your lips parted in a dreamy sigh as you slept, rolling over onto your back. He admired your face for a moment before he couldn’t take it anymore— if he didn’t leave now, you were going to become dinner, and he couldn’t have that. Hastily, he bit down on the meat of his palm and squeezed, watching as his old crimson blood bubbled up to the surface, and then he held it up over you.

Drip. Right between your rosy, plush lips. Even in your slumber your face scrunched up at the foreign taste, your heavy arm coming up to swipe at yourself like you were just trying to get your hair out of your eyes.

And just like that, he was gone, having taken his leave through the very same open window that gave him the idea.

He wasn’t a monster, of course. He kept an eye on you as you experienced the very same pain he felt decades ago.

The next day, you woke up later than usual feeling quite lousy. Your whole body was sore and weighty and, reasonably enough, you chalked it up to poor form while tending your garden the day before. It was an easy mistake to make from time to time, after all. But as the day dragged on, you only felt worse, so you retired to bed right after supper that evening.

The day after that, you woke up in the early afternoon feeling awful. Your head was screaming with a migraine and your heart was beating slow and hard in your chest. You were sweating and shaking and could barely even open your eyes because the light hurt so bad. A friend stopped in to check on you after noticing how late of a start to the day you were getting, and almost as soon as she stepped in the door, she was rushing back out to the apothecary, begging the village healer to come check on you.

The village healer loaded you up with tricks and tinctures and anything she could think of to break your fever or at least ease your pain. Dried herbs and poppyseeds and fungus ground up in the mortar and pestle, the paste slathered under your nose, on the bottoms of your feet, steeped into tea that was too hot for you to drink. None of it worked. At a loss for advice to give, the village healer urged you to drink plenty of water and rest, and to quarantine yourself. Couldn’t risk passing whatever you had to the rest of the community.

You woke up drenched in sweat in the middle of the night and didn’t even have time to throw your quilt aside as you doubled over the side of your bed and vomited. This continued for a few moments until you could barely breathe, tears dripping from your eyes as your face reddened with strain and you inwardly resented yourself, knowing you would have to drag your sick body out of bed to clean up the mess you’d just made. You struck a match and lit the candle at your bedside and hesitantly peered down to survey the damage, only to be met with the image of your beautiful wooden floors drenched in blood. Reaching up to wipe your mouth with the back of your hand yielded the same result.

As you stared at your own blood in horror, Leon stared at you in adoration from the other side of the window. For a moment your bleary eyes caught on the glass and he wondered if you saw him, but if you did, you didn’t react.

Even at a distance he could hear your heartbeat continuing to weaken. Soon enough you would be just like him, a beautiful preserved flower, and better yet, you couldn’t be harmed. You wouldn’t change, you wouldn’t grow, you wouldn’t die.

Although your village certainly thought you did. It was a dreary, overcast day when the village healer decided to stop in and check on you, only to find you completely lifeless and splattered with blood where you laid. She had to be the one to break it to your family that you had lost your battle with whatever illness plagued you. Leon watched from the shadows as your father lifted your limp, blood-soaked body from your bed and held you close, sobbing, hesitating to admit to himself that you were gone.

By the end of the afternoon, as the sun went down and the drizzling rain refused to let up, the entire village was standing over your grave, watching you get lowered into the soft, soggy ground.

Once everyone had paid their respects, Leon watched them all retreat to share a drink in your honor, hushed whispers revealing just how unsettled everyone was by your untimely demise. You were so young, they said, so bright and healthy and undeserving of your fate. They wondered what it meant for themselves, and only Leon knew it didn’t mean anything at all. Your illness wasn’t going to spread because he had what he wanted now, and that was you.

As soon as the final candle was blown out for the night, Leon took a shovel from your garden and began to dig, the metal piercing easily through the soaked earth until it revealed the handmade box you’d been laid to rest in. He popped the top off and looked at you, your arms still crossed delicately over your chest with a beaded rosary tucked beneath your palms, a pale flower in your hair. Your family didn’t need to know they’d be spending the rest of their lives praying over an empty coffin in the ground.

Leon scooped you up into his arms, cleaned up after himself and set off into the woods with you clutched to his chest like a princess.

It was a few days before you finally roused. Leon had barely taken his eyes off of you the entire time you slept, and admittedly, he was a bit grateful it had taken you so long, for your own sake. He watched over you and cared for you as the last of your body heat drained out and your fangs descended behind your lips. From what he remembered, that was the most painful part of the transformation, and you were lucky to have slept through the worst of it.

When your eyes finally shot open, he could barely contain his excitement. In one swift movement you sat up on the couch, bringing one hand up to clutch at your pounding head, the other massaging your sore jaw as your worried eyes darted around the room to drink in your surroundings. Then and only then did your gaze finally land on Leon.

The fright and confusion on your face were evident. He knew you would have a lot of questions, and he was prepared to answer them.

“There you are, darling,” he greeted you warmly, the first words he’d ever spoken to you. “How are you feeling?”

"W-Where am I?" You rasped, throat sore and shot from vomiting up blood the other day. Once your new condition fully set in, you would heal, but for now you were still a touch miserable. "Who are you?"

“I’m Leon,” he was gentle in introducing himself, taking your cold, shaking hand in his own so he could brush a polite kiss over your knuckles, “and this is your new home.”

You blinked slowly at him, brows furrowed as you mulled over what he meant, and you came up short. Tears welled up in your bloodshot eyes and you hesitated for a moment before asking him a question you were afraid to know the answer to; “Am I… Did I die?”

Leon wasn’t quite sure how to answer that at first. He imagined that question being posed much later in the conversation, so it sort of caught him off guard. He took a breath and then replied gently, “Something like that, yes.”

“Huh?”

“Shh, don’t worry,” he whispered, kneeling on the floor beside the couch so he could get on your level, his cold, pale fingers tracing gently over your lifeless skin. “You’re safe, your family is safe, your village is safe. I’m just here to take care of you, my beloved, to guide you in this tricky space between life and death. Do you trust me?”

Strangely enough, you did-- or, rather, you felt compelled to.

But that didn’t make the implications of your condition any easier on you. You were such a frightened little lamb, your cheeks hollowing and your eyes glowing like rubies and your skin tone taking on more and more of a pallid quality by the day as you refused to feed. He knew you would have some difficulty with this at first— after all, you were just far too sweet to kill anything— but he also knew you would only become weaker and more agitated if you continued to starve, and perhaps more grim, you would remain stuck in this odd limbo between death and vampirism.

He tried everything he could think of. You wouldn’t drink animal blood, from the body or in a glass, and you certainly refused human blood in either form too. Every time he broached the topic of sating your hunger you would cower away from him and shake your head, eyes screwed shut as you continued to deny the reality of your situation. Starvation brought forth only misery, that much Leon knew, misery and longing and weakness and worse, everything he didn’t want for you.

For two weeks you pushed back on the topic, insisting that if you couldn’t truly die, you would rather starve than take the life of another. As much as it pained him to see you this way, Leon appreciated that you could be so stubborn about your morals. He just wished it wouldn’t come at the cost of your own well-being.

He left you at the castle one night to go hunting himself. It wasn’t often he’d stumble into humans in these woods, especially during the winter, but he hoped he would get lucky for himself anyway. Leon burned a few hours stalking through the trees and all he had to show for it when he returned home was a few small animals that wouldn't last him more than two light meals, but it was better than nothing, he thought.

Then he stepped through the creaking castle doors and his nose perked up to the familiar rich scent of human blood-- thick and heady in the air, cloyingly sweet and indulgent. Intoxicated by it for the moment, it didn’t really dawn on him immediately what that meant… until he followed the scent from the foyer to the living room and found you.

You were on your knees in front of the fireplace, hunched over the writhing body of the village healer, her eyes wide and glassy as she choked out gurgled sounds of agony and clawed weakly at you to let her go. You didn’t even seem to notice Leon as he entered the room, a concerned grimace on his face, though it was accompanied by a tangible sense of relief that you were finally feeding.

“Sweetheart,” he said lowly, causing you to blink with confusion and look up at him through your lashes, the poor village healer’s carotid still clenched tightly between your teeth. “Easy now, you’ll make yourself sick.”

Your brows furrowed and you bit down a little bit harder, siphoning out a few final greedy gulps from the woman before dropping her from your grasp, your eyes still trained on Leon as her weak body flopped limply to the floor. His eyes softened with empathy as he looked you over, gore dribbling down your chin and the front of your white dress, your stomach puffy like an engorged tick. Now that you weren’t feeding anymore it would seem you made the same realization he had, the fog of desire clearing in your brain to make room for the shame and discomfort. With a soft whimper, you reached for him with both arms outstretched, but otherwise didn’t move.

Leon gave you a nod of understanding before scooping you up into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as he carried you out of the parlor. “My poor baby,” he sighed softly, “It gets easier, I promise. I’m so proud of you.”

He ran a hot bath for you and left you to soak for a while as he got to work cleaning up the mess you’d made. The village healer was barely clinging to what remained of her life, and while he was extremely tempted to nurse her back to health and keep her around to continue feeding on, he knew it would hurt you. He could already tell you hated yourself for victimizing her in the first place, the very same woman who’d tried so hard to save your life just weeks ago and who was responsible for ensuring the health of the entire village, which included your friends and family.

So he mopped up the blood, bottled what he could and wrapped her wounds to the best of his ability before compelling her to forget, dumping her just at the edge of the trees outside the village so someone would find her in the morning.

When he returned again, tired and dirtied from hauling an unconscious woman through the woods on your behalf, you were still relaxing in the tub. The water was tinted pink from all the blood and you still looked a bit swollen in the middle, but the color was returning to your skin and the expression on your face was one of such complete exhaustion that he wasn’t sure if you were actually conscious at first, until your gaze fluttered up to meet his.

Leon let out a deep, sweet sigh, sitting on the bench beside the porcelain clawfoot bath as he took your hand in his and whispered, “What am I going to do with you, huh?”

“I-I’m sorry,” you said just as quietly, bottom lip quivering as you continued to drift back down from your blood-induced daze. “I d-didn’t want to h-hurt her…”

“Shh, shh, I know, darling,” his other hand came forward to pet gently through your wet hair. “She’s going to be alright, I made sure of that. But this can’t happen again, okay? I’ll help you get control of your urges, I promise, but you have to listen to me.”

You were nodding along as he spoke, clutching his hand and shivering in the hot bath. Even transformed you were still fragile. Leon wanted nothing more than to care for you like the fine china you were.

It was fun watching you learn how to walk, so to speak. You were like a baby deer, taking careful steps and looking back at him for reassurance after each one, like his guidance was all you could think to cling to. While your gingerly approach to things was incredibly endearing, he loved watching you grow to love your new abilities with an innocent sense of excitement that he hadn’t seen in a long time, not in himself or in anyone else, really.

You’d taken to exploring the rafters and the view of things from the ceiling, leaving the candles in your room unlit all night just so you could bask in how odd and cool it felt to see so well in the dark. It scared the moonlight out of him every time, when he would scour every inch of the castle in search of you just to find you perched criss-cross on the ceiling, lost in a lengthy novel in a pitch black room.

But he would never scold you, never tell you ‘no.’ In his mind that was a very important lesson for you to learn, one that would open you up to endless possibilities and happiness in an otherwise bleak state of consciousness.

So, when your small voice chimed in from the parlor ceiling one night and startled him more than he’d like to admit, and you asked him a deceptively simple question– “What now?”-- he knew exactly how he wanted to respond.

“Indulge,” he said just as simply, sitting calmly down on the chaise lounge to look up at you, hanging from the rafters by your knees. “Let me ask you this. What’s something you’ve always wanted to do?”

You took pause, humming in thought for a moment. All your life you were never much of a forward thinker because you didn't really have to be. You lived your little old life moment by moment, taking extra special care to appreciate the here and now. You had good friends, a loving family, a beautiful community, food on your plate and a warm bed to return home to every night. That didn’t leave you wanting for much.

Finally, you spoke shyly, "I guess I always wanted to fall in love."

It was so quiet, if he was still human, he wouldn’t have heard you. But he wasn’t, and he did. The corner of his lip tugged up into an endeared and somewhat amused expression, baring the sharp edge of his right canine.

Leon adjusted his posture, sinking back into the couch to gaze up at you, trying to pretend like he wasn’t looking between your legs where your upside-down position left your skirt flipped up nearly to your waist. He cleared his throat softly and cooed, “You poor thing, you’ve never loved before?”

Your face burned and you avoided his eyes, stretching your arms out toward the floor just to give yourself something to do. “N-No,” you began, smoothing your skirt out over your thighs just to watch it ride up again. With a short huff of breath you pulled yourself back up into a normal sitting position on the rafters, staring up at the ceiling. “I guess I just never had the chance.”

“What, not enough fish in your little pond?” He teased, quirking an eyebrow at you.

You laughed, appreciating the way he eased the tension, but he wasn’t exactly wrong. “I mean, yeah, the dating pool made for a better puddle.”

“I figured as much.”

A comfortable silence blanketed over the parlor, broken only by the gentle crackling of the fireplace. You swung your feet idly back and forth, watching the warm flame as you asked aloud, “So… What does it feel like, then?”

“What does what feel like?” He responded, but he knew what you meant. He just wanted to hear you say it.

“Y’know…” You kicked your frilly socked feet, “Love?”

“Well, sweetheart, that’s quite a broad question,” Leon began, patting the space next to him in an attempt to beckon you down from the rafters, and to his delight, the gesture succeeded. You dropped gracefully to the ground and fixed your skirt before curling up beside him on the other side of the couch, your legs tucked up beneath you. You couldn’t possibly be more adorable if you tried.

As you situated yourself at his side, he continued, “There are many different kinds of love. You love your family, and you love your friends, but you don’t love your family in the same way you love your friends, and vice versa. Correct?"

He watched your expression for a moment to ensure you were following along, and surely enough, you were. Your posture was relaxed but you remained dutifully at attention, just like a good little doll should.

Leon felt a pang of pride when you nodded.

“It’s the same thing, just a different kind of love. I’m not sure I know how to describe it, really,” he said, tracing his fingertips along your knee casually. “But I could show you?”

“Show me?” Your head tilted with that innocent curiosity he loved so much about you, and his heart melted all over again. “Show me how?”

He said something lowly and it took you a second to register it because right after, he took your chin in his hand and drew you in for a kiss. Only after your lips collided did your brain recognize his words as, ‘Like this.’

With one hand cradling the back of your head and the other still tracing little shapes on your leg, Leon’s embrace felt all-consuming and overwhelmingly safe. Through it all, you really did trust him. Your fangs knocked together as he pulled you closer to deepen the kiss, making your head spin and your brows furrow in concentration. It felt incredible, unlike anything you’d ever experienced before, but the nerves kept you tense and you couldn’t help but fear you were doing a poor job.

So you let him lead. You resigned yourself to the feeling of his cold lips on your own and his tongue exploring your waiting mouth, his broad hands keeping you pressed against him and feeling slowly up the length of your thigh. His touch made you shiver and tingle in unfamiliar but exhilarating ways and when he eventually pulled away, you were left panting for breath and wanting for more.

He watched your face in an attempt to gauge how you were feeling, and it was evident you enjoyed it. Leon felt a rush knowing he had effectively just turned a new leaf in your training.

You had finally learned to walk. Now it was time for you to sprint.

Leon brushed your hair away from your shoulder, baring your neck to him. He’d waited so long for this moment, for the chance to sink his teeth into you. He wished he could have tasted you fresh, when you were still living, but he would settle for the alternative, and truthfully, it didn't even feel like settling. Especially not when your syrupy sweet blood hit his tongue and pulled a deep, guttural moan from the core of him, his pearlescent eyes rolling back in a display of momentarily mindless rapture. It was unexpectedly hot to see him react to you in such a way. No one had ever expressed such intense need for you, and you were so hung up on it that you barely noticed your thighs subtly shifting together.

But Leon was observant as ever, of course, the movement in no way making it past his keen attention-- you were too precious, too virginal for your own good. He wanted to ruin you, he wanted to tear you apart piece by piece and savor you like holy communion, to pump your undead heart with his own two hands until the end of time, his beautiful baby, his fragile little doll, his corpse bride, his darling and beloved consort.

You were both gasping for breath as he pulled away from your throat, remnants of your tart cherry blood smudged around his pallid lips. Blessed be the gift of undeath, Leon thought to himself, for it granted him the ability to feed from you without consequence-- and vice versa-- to strengthen your bond in the most intimate way imaginable time and time and time again. It still made you dizzy, of course, light and a bit tingly all over, but Leon didn't see that as a bad thing, and as it stood, you didn't seem to either.

He was just trying to come up with a smooth way to tempt you into tasting his own blood, but found himself pleasantly surprised by your initiative.

"Can I try?" You practically purred, your sweet voice all hushed and breathy as your dainty little hand crept up his shoulder, palm coming to rest at the leftmost side of his strong neck.

As you caressed the pad of your thumb over the icy expanse of his skin, you couldn't help but notice the faint, scarred over marks that were dotted about, barely-there dips and craters telling a story that suggested decades of indulgence like this, decades of past lovers, and your heart inexplicably clenched in your chest. Suddenly you were overtaken with the desire to leave your own mark there, much more prominent and recent than any of those faded old others.

Leon was quick to give you his consent, of course, and that was all it took for your mind to snap into a completely different mode of function. The highest points of your mouth were flooding with saliva and the lowest points were pooling with it, slicking your puffy lips as your tongue fell forward to drag a deep, wanton lick up the length of his cold carotid. Then, as anticipated, you helped yourself to a healthy bite of him.

And just like that, you had discovered a new infatuation, as he knew you would. You were bonding yourselves to one another in real time, creating a connection that not even true death could break.

You nearly went weak with how overwhelming it felt, like drinking down pure heaven, hardly even noticing you were moving for a moment as you crawled mindlessly into his lap to straddle him, grinding deep and slow. The pheromones in his sap made your head spin, bringing about the kind of spontaneous sensuality that you'd only ever felt after one too many glasses of mead, the kind that loosened your bones and tinged at your cheeks, the kind that called warmth to bloom at the pit of your stomach.

The flavor of him was coppery and rich, but balanced, a bit dull from undeath but otherwise magnificent. That it was faint only made you want for more.

"Easy, easy," Leon grunted quietly in your ear, reaching a hand up to card through your hair at the back of your head. "Don't drink too fast, little princess... just breathe..."

But it would seem you weren't really listening to him, and that needed to change. Thankfully, Leon knew just the way to grasp your attention.

Letting one arm slip between your two bodies, he wedged his hand down, down, down, until it dipped beneath your skirt to close his palm over the sticky cotton of your panties. That you were already leaking through the fabric like a busted faucet was perfect. You were an absolutely perfect little untouched virgin, and thanks to him, your body would remain that way forever, ripe for his plucking.

Bringing down some pressure on your clit with the base of his palm, testing your reaction, he reveled in the way you whimpered on his throat and unlatched to finally suck in a breath, rutting to meet his attention without a second thought, so easily captivated by such slight stimulation. He couldn't wait to show you more, but he'd need to work you open first. He didn't want your first time to be painful, after all.

Leon took you at the waist and moved to put you on your back, hovering above your spread out form on the chaise lounge and pinning you there in the most delicate way possible. Every bit of that attention to detail paid off.

"My precious doll... my most delicate princess," he sighed reverently, stooping low to breathe you in at the neck again, laving his tongue over the bite he'd left just moments ago. "This is what true love feels like, and I wish to share it with you for eternity..."

He let you ponder that as he continued, working you carefully out of your clothes, finding it cute how you seemed to shift and arch along with him to help him get you naked, like you just couldn't wait. In your pretty doe eyes, your undead life had just begun.

It was a bit strange at first, feeling his finger sink into you, but it wasn't long before Leon was seeking out your soft spots and doing an excellent job of it, no less. He curled and pumped one finger carefully in you until he was sure you were comfortable, until he felt any remaining tension in your muscles melt away, and then he introduced a second. You were so wet and so absorbed by the feeling of it all that you almost didn't notice at first, but that delicious stretch was impossible to miss.

"O-Oh," you quivered, head falling back against the plush velvet beneath you as you bucked into his hand.

With an appreciative hum, Leon allowed himself to become a little less careful with his ministrations, watching your reactions with interest as he worked you open on his fingers, his infatuation with you growing more and more with every moan and whine, every flutter of your silky walls.

"There you go, little one," he cooed, "you like that, don't you?"

Your response was barely more than an airy nod, but it delighted him anyway. How could it not? You were just too sweet for words, too cute to handle. You could've done or said anything in that moment and he would have adored it all the same.

Nipping playfully at your throat, fingers still pumping dutifully in and out of your drippy cunt, his lips trailed up to your ear so he could ask in a sultry whisper, "Think you can take more?"

The next several seconds were a blur of impassioned movement, each of you weaving around one another to shed the elder vampire of his own ensemble, revealing his carved marble frame piece-by-piece. You were amazed by the strength in his shoulders, how smooth and soft his skin was from being kept away from the sun for so long, the dark blonde trail of hair that disappeared below his belt, only for its path to be revealed upon the long-awaited removal of his trousers.

Leon's cock was painfully hard, tip flushed red and weeping with milky beads of precum as he freed himself from his confines at last. He felt the intense need to give it a few strokes with how pent up he was at this point, but he didn't see a point in wasting any time pleasuring himself when you were right there, skirt hiked up to your waist while you laid there panting and leaking your arousal all over his nice furniture. With a pout that pretty, it would be a disservice not to fuck you until you cried.

He angled your hips with one hand and lined himself up with the other, pushing in slowly. Your expression screwed tight for a short moment as the swollen head of him caught at your hole, an opportune moment of distraction for him to sink in deeper, stretching you out until he hit the root, drawing a shocked cry from your throat that gave way to a pleasured whine just as quickly as it came.

So he began to move, wanting to draw out that gorgeous sound for as long as you would allow him to hear it. Your cunt was so fucking tight, pulsing and squeezing around his shaft like you were made for it, made for him, delivered to him by fate so that he might just get to fuck you like this forever and ever, and in that moment, he knew he made the right choice in sharing his gift with you. For the first time in recent memory, the future felt bright.

"L... L-Leon..." You babbled, hooking one leg over his hip for purchase just to find out it allowed him to prod that much deeper. You went boneless at the feeling, finding strength only in your ability to claw at his shoulders for dear life, the faint scent of his blood lingering in the air and making your head spin. "Feels... g-good... so good... don't stop..."

He wouldn't dream of it.

Fingertips printing into your thighs, he pulled your legs up to rest over his shoulders instead, driving you down into the soft couch in a firm mating press. You were nose to nose, needy lips catching and fangs clacking between filthy words and gasps for breath as you felt his presence envelope you fully. Leon was in you, on you, around you...

Leon was your home now. Leon was where you laid to rest.

For the first time in your undead life, you felt your body licking with heat, temperature rising steadily at the pit of you and threatening to hit a fever pitch. Every inch of him lit you up from the inside.

"Oh, my baby," he groaned, letting go of you with one hand just to swipe his silvery blonde hair away from his face so he could gaze at you like a work of art. "You're getting close, aren't you? Squeezing me so tight like that..."

"Yeah," you whined, even though you weren't fully sure what it even felt like to be close. You weren't dumb, you knew what orgasms were, you'd just never had one yourself, and as such, you had no basis for comparison.

Leon aimed to fix that, to make damn sure you familiarized yourself with the feeling over the course of your shared eternity.

His thrusts picked up with renewed vigor, the legs of the old chaise lounge scratching against the hardwood floors with every push forward, and he didn't even care. Everything else about life felt so worthless in comparison to you, the new center of his universe. The whole entire house could collapse and he would still be content, so long as he had you.

And every time he remembered that he did have you, that you were here with him right now, squirming and rutting on his cock so beautifully, that he was all you had... it just drove him that much crazier, made him that much more determined to make your first time one you would never forget. He couldn't be happier to spend the entire rest of his endless life topping the last performance.

You were losing your grip, struggling to keep your eyes open and eventually sinking your itching fangs into what you could reach of his throat just to push yourself a little higher, a little closer. The flavor alone made you purr against his skin, jaw clenching tighter, and the delicious sting of it was pushing him forward too. Now his biggest concern wasn't just making sure you came, but making sure that you came first.

So he withheld, even as his balls drew up tight and ached to release, focusing instead on getting you there.

"Don't be shy, princess, I've got you," Leon moaned into your ear, "let it happen... just let it happen..."

Tears pricked at your eyes, the overabundance of stimulation rendering you down into a tearful little puddle, but it wasn't until he spoke up to encourage you that you realized you really were holding back, stalling yourself at the precipice like it was wrong to let go.

But it wasn't wrong. It was divine. It was indulgent.

Sucking back a mouthful of his blood, you unlatched from Leon's neck just to press your forehead against his own, your jaw stuck open in stilted whines and gasps for breath as that molten heat in your belly finally boiled over, and you discovered exactly what it was you were close to.

Your spine drew up into an arch, toes curling over his shoulders as you came on his length with a cry, thighs trembling with strain. Leon had never been baptized before, but it felt like he was just now. He'd never felt so close to God as he allowed himself to finish deep inside your perfect pussy.

You collapsed together in the afterglow, the parlor going quiet again as you both caught your breath and your bearings, a heaping pile of mess on velvet.

"Leon," you whispered, kissing some of the excess blood away from his cold skin as you innocently and earnestly admitted, "I... I think I love you."

He cracked a fond smile at this, if only because he knew you would catch up in time. After all, you still had much to learn, and he didn't want to overwhelm you more than he already had for one evening.

"I love you too, little one."

#venustext #sintext #resident evil #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy smut #vampire leon kennedy #vampire leon #dividers by saradika-graphics

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tadpolesonalgae · 2 months ago

Text

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You — Part 23

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: I’m so relieved to finally be getting to this fun part of the story!

word count: 5,699

-Part 22-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Already there’s a horse and cart in the street, trunks and chests neatly stacked in the back, iron padlocks weighing heavy to keep possessions sealed. Blankets and rugs are tied in bundles, bedsheets and pillowcases that you can still smell, remember the feel of them; the warmth they retained. The heat of bare skin flush to your back. Sleepy golden eyes, sharp even when softened by early morning light.

There’s a lump in your throat.

Held between two chests is an open-topped crate, a myriad of personal belongings jumbled about inside: a box you know contains golden rings, his favourite being the one plain band that wraps two hands around his thumb, clinging snugly; a board game you’d tried to play after drinking, back before you’d become closer than friends; wooden goblets with geometric designs burned into their curve; a pair of glasses with circular, coloured lenses. A stack of something wrapped in cloth which must be crockery, ceramic plates with illustrations of crude figures pick-axing ice. A neatly folded quilt is tied down to one of the chests, the one that had been tucked over the back of his armchair, made up of pinks, oranges, magentas, and turquoise. Small tassels hanging off the ends that he’d made himself.

The door to his house is propped open with a wedge crafted of iron, featuring a rabbit in a coat with carrots stuffed in his pockets. Bas’ figure emerges from the comparative darkness lofting a second, smaller crate in his arms. His eyes find yours but he makes no reaction save for the tightening of the skin at his knuckles. He exits through the waist-high wooden gate, walking to the back of the cart to heft the crate in front of the one your eyes had been previously resting on. “Hi,” you say, stepping closer but pausing a respectful distance away. Bas makes no sign of acknowledgement, muscles in his forearms flexing as he hefts the crate into place, pressing it flush to the back. You consider walking away—he clearly isn’t interested in speaking with you, but… “You’re leaving already?”

Bas turns, his expression unchanging, still retaining the frown of concentration from transporting heavy objects to and fro but seemingly colder now you’ve appeared. His stature casts a shadow over you. “Something you want?” He asks, tone clipped but not quite sharp enough to be impatient. Softened at the end. You watch him for a moment—nothing seems sufficient enough or appropriate. ‘I’m sorry’, ‘I miss you’, ‘how are you��. Would any of those suffice? You can’t imagine them doing so. Instead you shift on your feet, casting a portion of your attention to the moving wagon standing stationary at the foot of his front garden. “It looks like you’ll be gone soon,” you observe, speaking quieter than normal for an open day. After a beat, Bas folds his arms over his chest. “Either tomorrow or the day after.” Golden eyes shift to the cart, glancing over the trunks, “Ma’s still got a few things to pack, but once those are loaded we’ll be off.”

Off and gone to the Winter Court, almost entirely out of your reach. You only have six months left to live—do you have enough time to spend on giving him space? You can’t expect him to forgive you so suddenly, so swiftly. People aren’t made like that. But can you risk that time? If you die before seeing him again, or if this is the last time you see him you can’t risk being anything other than honest. But being honest in a situation like this…you need the time to pass to give it the deserved weight. Springing your timeline on him… You don’t want to tell him like this. So instead you look over your shoulder, glancing back into his house. “Got any more boxes that need carrying?”

“Carrying boxes isn’t going to fix shit,” Bas mutters, the poisoned tone catching you off guard. Have you earned yourself that venom? Apparently so.

“I just want to help,” you murmur, looking back at him. “I might not get to see you again.”

“Your sister’s High Lady. I’m sure reaching Winter Court would hardly require a lift of her fingertips,” Bas snaps. His lips press themselves together, like he regrets the outburst. You look down, peering at the cobbles beneath your feet and give a small shake of your head. “I… If you don’t want me there, I won’t visit.” The words sting your throat like bile, hating how they sound on your tongue. “If you want your space I won’t intrude. But it… Obviously I’d like to be able to see you again.”

A few beats pass without a reply, the quiet resting on your shoulders and you make an effort not to let it ruin the moment. You clear your throat, shaking off the mood and glancing up at him, “So. Any crates I can take?” Your heart quickens—if he denies you here it’s a full stop. You can’t imagine you’d be able to find him again if you lose him. The Winter Court is large, and their ties already strained with the Night Court—there’ll be no strings to pull. But it’s his decision now. It’s in his hands.

Bas’ jaw works, his eyes narrowing on you in a way they haven’t done in a long time, but it seems he relents, nodding once toward his house, a loc falling across his temple with the sharp movement. “There are two small boxes in the front entrance, one contains shoes and fabrics, and the other contains herbs. Herbs go on top, yeah?” You nod your head, keeping the smile locked up tight. “Herbs go on top.”

The box full of shoes is surprisingly weighty and you wonder if there are more than a few pairs of boots inside, studded with metal that might be weighing the crate down in your arms. Still you manage, sliding it into place on the last row of space available in the wagon before heading back to collect the box of herbs. You can pick out some of the scents: tarragon, mint, thyme. A hint of pepper and cardamon. The slight warmth of cinnamon and ginger. Rosemary. “I won’t forgive you if you try and make off with my herb box,” a voice calls from further inside.

You start, gripping the small chest tight.

Bas is watching from the living room doorway that leads to the hallway, stairs appearing behind him and the kitchen a little further beyond. It’s disturbing in a surreal way, to be standing inside the bones of his home. Gone are the dried herbs and flowers that had been strung along the walls and ceiling beams, rug removed from the floors and furniture sparse of cushions and quilts. Everything that made it a home, every personal detail seems to have been painstakingly stripped away, leaving only that scent of rosemary and freshly tilled earth that has familiarity stretching aching limbs in your chest.

You summon a huff of laughter, glinting down at the plain chest. “It’s certainly tempting me…” You remember trying foods with him. Things you didn’t have access to in the woods. Dishes you wouldn’t have had access to even if you’d remained in high society. All the different herbs and spices they have here, in Prythian. The range of climates allowing for a variety of taste to grow. You remember the first time he’d soaked chicken in wine among other things, how the meat had tasted a little more bearable, flavoured and soft and tender. Feeling more like meat than leather, without the salty burn to help preserve the food.

“One more upstairs then it’s on Ma.” Bas’ statement cuts through the silent memories washing through, bringing a tremble to your fingertips but you nod. Once you load this chest into the wagon then it’s done on your end. Nothing to keep the conversation going. You manage a small smile but don’t meet his eyes as you turn with the chest in hand, walking it out to the cart and loading it in. From inside you pick out the footfalls of Bas descending the staircase and you stand back to give him room. He slides the box into place and lifts the panels of wood that will prevent any trunks from sliding out on an uphill, latching it in place. Safe and secure.

For some reason you can’t look at him. As if looking at him will mean acknowledging it’s over, and he’s going away.

For a moment you simply stand alongside the wagon, neither sure what to say, what to do now the shared task has been completed. Now it’s time for another decision to be made.

Bas breaks the silence. “Thanks for the help.” You look at him, running your eyes over his expression, trying to gain hints to what’s okay to reply with. Trying to make the right choices. “Thanks for letting me help,” you reply, clearing your throat and glancing back to the wagon. Bas pats his hand once against the wood, shifting to lean his weight against the structure. “We’re going to be heading up northeast first,” he tells you and your ears prick with hope. “Ma’s got a sister who lives around there—near the coast. They haven’t spoken in a long time, but she figured if we’re moving it would be good to let her know.”

You nod your head slowly. “Have you met your aunt before?” Bas shrugs his shoulders, his eyes skating across belongings piled up in the back, “don’t think so. Not one I can remember, at least.” You nod again, looking toward the cobbles. You should be going. Letting him get on with packing up and moving. “I hope-” Your voice catches and you have to clear your throat, swallowing a breath. Looking up a little to meet his eyes. “I hope things are better for you, wherever you go. For you and your mother.” Is that too far? Have you pushed too much? Bas seems to be asking himself the same questions, and you hope he comes to a different conclusion.

“Pa mentioned a statue to me once,” he says softly. “One made entirely out of ice, with snakes carved, wrapping around the feet of the first High Lord of the Winter Court. Apparently it’s about the height of one of the Old Pine’s and every scale of the snake’s skin was carved by the same hand.” Bas shifts, his golden eyes locking with yours. “I hadn’t thought much of it, but we’ll be trying to find a spot around that statue since it’s where Pa grew up. Something he remembered from his childhood.”

Your heart falls numb for a second before skipping into a swift pulse, bumping against your ribs and you take in a subtle breath. You nod your head. Ice statue with snakes. Relief strikes so hard your legs are weakened, having to shift your weight from one hip to the other so a knee doesn’t buckle. “I hope you get to see it,” you manage, sounding strained before you swallow, nodding your head. “I hope you find what you’re looking for there.”

Bas’ mouth tightens into something that might have been a smile, then he’s nodding his head once in reply and patting the cart again. “I need to check on Ma now—see how she’s managing with packing.” He pushes off from the wagon, and you turn to watch him pass through the waist-high garden gate. He pauses.

“Give me some time though, yeah? I need…time. Some space. Let me adjust and settle down for a bit.”

You nod your head, happy enough he seems to be allowing you to visit. You can work from there. Earn back his trust. You realise he has his back turned and can’t see you, so offer your reply, “I will.” You want to say more. I’ll miss you until then. I’m sorry. Thank you.

But, time.

You still have some of that left to give.

————

You take your time walking back to the River House, following the Sidra for some way. Affording yourself the allowance to peer in shop windows, gaze at people going about their lives, wondering about what their own stories are.

You’re happy Bas decided to tell you. Not just about where he would be moving to but about the route he’d be taking to bypass his aunt. You know he didn’t have to tell you. You weren’t entitled to that knowledge, but he decided to tell you anyway. A small piece of forgiveness—a small, tentative first step. After so much darkness in your life it seems like a tiny star twinkling in the sky, clouds parting just long enough to catch a glimpse. A promise that there is good in the world, and if you’re in a bad place now it would be foolish to stop.

You need to keep going in order to escape it.

————

The kitchen is surprisingly full when you enter the entry way, discarding your cloak and outer layers to the hooks on the walls, taking care to ease out the ties of your boots before also discarding them alongside other sets.

Inside there’s no need for jumpers or cloaks, fleeces or scarves. A muffled pop of a log sounds from the living room, honestly sounding closer to someone stepping heavily on an upper floorboard but there’s something about the warmth that tells you the fire’s lit. That and you can make out the faded orange flicker on the wall parallel to the living room’s door where flame light is colouring the cream wallpaper. The smell of heated food catches your attention and your stomach shifts in response, squeezing itself together in complaint as if to remind you of how empty it is. Some warmed bread and butter would be lovely to start the day with. There might even be some chilled clotted cream available in the ice-enchanted larder.

Rounding the corner, you’re sure you haven’t ever seen the kitchen so full. Glancing at the clock mounted on the wall beside the crockery cabinet however, you realise it’s approaching lunch time. You suppose it makes sense—if Madja’s at ten O’clock and you left after that to visit Bas, then taking your time to walk back will have brought you to lunch. That would explain the business.

Already there’s crackling from cooking oil on the stove, the smell of heated bread and salt, the slight fattiness of meat mixing with the sweetness of sliced fruit coming from another side of the large kitchen. An egg cracks and you hear the sizzle of it as it hits the pan, the knock of steel as it slices into a chopping board, the smell of chives, onions, and tomatoes greeting you next. On the main table sits sliced bread, baked through with diced olives and rosemary, butter sitting ready for the taking on a platter with a flattened knife propped on the tray’s side.

Feyre, Mor, and Amren are already seated at the table, each with a plate of what appears to be mashed potato surrounded by steamed beans and thickly cut ovals of tender meat. Amren's plate holds meat more that anything else. Feyre tips a deep boat of spiced sauce over her mash so it drizzles atop the vegetables before passing the boat to Mor, seeming not to care they’re eating in the kitchen rather than the connected dining room. Nesta barks something at Cassian over the loud fritz of the oil and he passes two plates to her side before returning to the chopping board, a few moments later stepping close to her side to slide the sliced chives into the pan with the eggs. A shadow whisks past you into the room, depositing salt and pepper to the side of the stove before hurriedly returning the way it had come. You turn your head quick enough to catch as it scampers back to the upper floors, disappearing through the ceiling.

At a side along the window-lined wall is Elain, pressing her fork into some well-mashed banana before scraping it off onto some toasted bread, already softened with butter. You make your way over, taking the serrated bread knife from beside her plate to cut a slice yourself, liking the look of the thick crust and seed-scattered bread. Her eyes find you and a smile follows swiftly after, taking in your appearance, “Was it you I heard come in?” You nod, holding the bread firmly as you grind the knife forward to cut the crust, “I forgot to eat breakfast before heading out and lost track of time.”

Pulling a plate down from one of the stacks inside a cabinet with a window in you move the slice from the chopping board, “You’re having lunch?” Elain’s cheeks warm, her lips tightening as she looks guiltily out onto the front garden. “My sleep was troubled,” she admits, “I only awoke around ten thirty this morning.”

Your brows furrow. “You’re sleeping poorly?”

“It seems that way.” Elain exhales, pausing the sweep of her knife across the mashed banana. “It’s just the same thing over and over again. I wish the beginning would fade now it’s passed but apparently I must watch the whole sequence from start to finish.”

She’s still getting the vision?

You look away from her—down to the side table, “I’m sorry.” But Elain shakes her head, sighing once more before straightening her shoulders. “I’m okay. It’s just a bit of lost sleep.” Before you can ask her anymore however, the sound of footsteps catch your attention, Rhysand and Azriel apparently having finished up whatever had been keeping them from joining the lunch. Elain pushes a smile to her lips then gestures with her eyes to the table, suggesting taking a seat. You follow after her.

“Finally given up work to grace us with your presence?” Feyre muses, resting her chin atop the smooth skin of her tough knuckles. Rhysand lifts a brow, his mouth curving with a fondness specifically meant for his mate, “I gave you plenty of attention this morning, Feyre.” But your youngest sister doesn’t blush like you would have had a lover repeated those same words for you. Instead her mouth matches his curve, blue-grey eyes alight with twinkling mischief as she inclines her head toward Azriel. “In fact I was speaking to your Shadowsinger. His presence is much more appreciated.” The male in question dips his head by a degree, taking his seat beside Amren as silently as possible while the High Lord and Lady continue their domestic teasing.

“Is that so?” Rhysand remarks, seating himself in the chair to Feyre’s right, opposite Mor. “Will you tell me what’s so much more appreciated about my brother’s presence than my own?” Feyre arches a brow, her smile widening, “I wouldn’t want to hurt your ego, preening and engorged as it is.” Rhys’ expression shifts to something verging on smug but Mor stabs a thick oval of meat with her fork, lifting it from the plate, shifting it between Rhys and Feyre, “enough from both of you. I don’t want to hear this over lunch.” The compass point of her fork settles on her cousin, Mor’s nose wrinkling, “Az also isn’t a smug bastard, unlike someone else I can think of.”

Elain takes the open seat beside Rhysand and opposite Amren, setting her plate down and drawing her chair back, leaving you to stiffly take the one at her side, across from Azriel. What poor seating choices you’ve all made.

Behind Amren and Azriel, Nesta presses to Cassian’s side who’s holding the plates aloft, keeping them steady as Nesta transfers the four eggs in the pan between them, two soft yolks for the two slices of buttered bread atop each plate.

“Azriel also remembered to bring me blood more frequently than yourself, Rhys,” Amren drawls from opposite Elain, a wicked croon on her crimson-cut mouth. “Even when he didn’t want information from me,” she adds pointedly. Rhys tilts his head, a plate appearing out of thin air before him on the table along with cutlery and a napkin, “and who’s to say those weren’t gifts sent along from myself?” But Amren doesn’t fall for it, reaching for a glass of red wine, “You won’t fool me, boy.” Rhysand shrugs his shoulders, unbothered by her relaxed attitude. “I suppose if you were still of the inclination to accept bottles of lamb’s blood you’d be receiving a box’s worth. I have a request to make of you.”

Amren inclines her head, the black cut of her hair slicing along her sharp jaw, faint interest in her silver eyes, “Pray tell”.

Nesta casts salt and pepper over the plates of eggs and chives, then the two of them join the table. As Cassian departed before Nesta, he fills the seat to your right, while Nesta settles in the space opposite him, to Azriel’s left. The only way the current arrangement could be made worse is if Rhysand and Elain were to swap seats. You grimace internally and treasure her presence.

The High Lord inclines his head to Azriel whose shadows settle a map of Prythian to the centre of the kitchen table. “Cassian and Nesta have already checked through Helion’s libraries. That means excluding the Night Court, there are five other Courts to examine.” As he speaks, thin shadow seeps across the parchment to darken the land of Night and Day, signalling they’ve each been studied.

“Between us,” Rhysand continues, “we can split between those remaining Courts, in turn accessing their libraries. Where I’ll need your help, dear Amren, is translating the books we encounter in the Old Language. I would rather not have to take them all on myself.” Rhysand pauses, lifting violet eyes from the map to the slight female diagonal from his seat, “What do you say?”

Amren seems to consider his request and you have to fathom how respected she is to so idly take her time considering a request from a High Lord. A few beats pass as her grey eyes trace the island, then blood red lips are cutting into a grin, moon-white teeth flashing in her mouth, “I think I’m going to enjoy opening my Solstice presents this year.”

Rhysand smiles and you wonder if he was confident Amren would accept or whether this was a gamble on his part. Feyre would probably be able to tell.

Across from the High Lord, Mor clinks her glass with Amren’s, the two females grinning from the other side of the table. There’s a smile on Feyre’s face but you imagine it’s one of those ones that rather than being of your own choice is truly the result of the infectious kind of happiness—seeing people you love enjoying themselves.

From the other end of the table however, Nesta is studying the map, her silver eyes not even scanning the table before they’re finding Rhysand—suitably distanced from one another. “Five courts and seven of us. I would think you and Feyre would be remaining in the Night Court, leaving us with a court each,” Nesta points out, her tone verging on mild boredom. Steel glints in her hands as cutlery catches the light. “Do you intend for us each to cover the libraries of a court, or do you possess secret reinforcements on hand?”

The beat of pause that follows her inquiry stretches a fraction of a second longer than it normally would, the tensing as if preparing for a collision to occur as it always feels when those two acknowledge one another. But Rhysand inclines his head to his right and the tension dissipates as swiftly as it had gathered. “I wouldn’t call your sisters secrets,” he muses, slowly. “But yes: reinforcements.”

You blink.

From the stiffness of Elain’s shoulders you imagine this is news to her, too, which brings you some level of comfort. More comfort when Elain is the one who meets Rhysand’s gaze, asking, “scouring the libraries for—what?” The relief settles deep. This setting is mildly frightening as it is without the pressure of handling easily observable interactions with others.

Rhysand’s attention settles onto Elain but you get the strange feeling it’s somehow also extending to yourself, “I believe Lucien mentioned the matter of the Prison.” Violet eyes flick over to you. “And that Feyre offered an explanation of the situation last night?” You avoid an answer by diverting your own attention to Elain who is still watching the High Lord. She nods.

“Would you be willing to help?” Rhysand asks, without much preamble.

Help? Help how? If it means coming into contact with a single creature that’s supposed to be inside that Prison your answer has to be a firm no. If it means attempting to wield even an ounce of your magic that seems to be sucking the marrow from your bones every passing day your answer has to be a firm no. If it means-

Your thinking time comes to an end when Elain nods her head, and violet eyes once again flick past her onto yourself. Decision time.

You shift in your seat, unwilling to offer a definite answer, “If I can.”

The High Lord nods and again you wonder if it was a gamble in relying on your help. As Nesta pointed out, one each to a Court seems an impossible task. But how are two extras going to aid that task? You’d have to pair up, but there would still not be enough of you. This seems to be Rhysand’s next subject matter as he again nods to Azriel, shadows pulling the map closer to the centre of the table so all can see it. Besides you, Cassian’s torso blocks out light as he leans forward, wings casting shadow upon the floor as you each examine the map with new eyes.

“So who’s tasked with which Court?” The General asks, “And who’s taking a solo trip?”

Instinctively you’d imagine Azriel and Mor would be the two to travel solo—they seem to be the most suited to handling a task like this on their own, but what do you know?

“Well you certainly won’t be visiting Summer Court after obliterating that building,” Mor deadpans.

“It shouldn’t have been built there,” Cassian replies with a look of mischief.

Leaning closer, Nesta nods her head to the map, “I don’t think Spring Court is a good idea for Cassian and I. I could manage Tamlin but I threatened him the last time I saw him.” Cassian’s smile widens. You guess it makes sense those two would be a pair. “If Summer Court is off the table then we’ll take either Dawn Court or Autumn Court.”

Right.

Someone’s going to have to scour the Autumn Court.

Besides you, Elain clears her throat. “I could go to the Spring Court.” She shifts in her seat, nodding to the lower portion of fae-inhabited lands. “I’m sure if I asked, Lucien would be willing to accompany me, and we have an alliance with them, too. I don’t imagine the High Lord of Spring being a great threat to myself but he certainly won’t be to Lu.” It’s a surprisingly sound argument. But if Elain pairs with Lucien than means you’ll be either with Mor or Amren—unless you could remain here and help search any other books in the Night Court with Feyre.

Just as you’re about to offer the option however, Azriel speaks. “Are your ties with Viviane still sustaining, Mor?”

Mor nods her head though her smile fades almost imperceptibly.

The Shadowsinger nods. “If Mor handles the Winter Court, and Elain and Lucien take the Spring Court, that leaves Dawn, Summer, and Autumn between the rest of us.” Azriel’s shadows shift, further darkening the Courts now with assigned explorers. “Feyre and Rhysand will be staying here, taking care of ruling and the Illyrian texts?”

The High Lord nods his head, “I’ll be covering the Hewn City, too, and splitting any ancient books between Amren and myself. Feyre will be helping with newcomers.”

“And if Cassian and Nesta are planning to move together that leaves the Summer Court,” Azriel states, hazel eyes find your own set across the table, “which you and I will cover.”

You try to convince yourself the silence that passes over the table doesn’t stretch like you think it does.

Hazel eyes hold yours for a second longer before returning back to the map, the Summer Court now tentatively cast in shadow. “That means Cassian and Nesta can take either Dawn or Autumn, but one pair will have to take two courts.”

At your side, Elain fumbles. “She could come with me,” Elain pushes, “I’m sure she could help in Spring.”

“Or with me and Cassian,” Nesta presses.

“She could stay here,” Feyre adds, then turns to Rhysand. “Besides, the Summer Court libraries are part of the Old Temple they have which are deep in the jungle, aren’t they?” Her blue-grey eyes fall to the map, brows pinched, standing from her chair and Mor slides the map along so Feyre can jab her nail to the thick jungle of the Summer Court, an X marked in its middle. “Those jungles are dense, aren’t they,” Nesta adds, glancing to Cassian, a hard look on her face, “no flying overhead.”

“Which is why we should be the ones to go,” Azriel says, keeping calm but firm.

Nesta narrows her eyes, silver boring into the male at her side. “The creatures in that jungle are magical, like most of the beasts spread across Prythian. Not to mention poison and venom, and parasites in water streams unless you know which are fresh and safe to drink from. Even the beetles can be lethal, so unless you take a guide which may alert your presence in a foreign court, it will be too dangerous.”

“Then it’s perfect that she can tell the difference between the poisonous creatures and the harmless ones.”

Azriel holds Nesta’s gaze for a beat before turning to you. “You’ve read about the jungle haven’t you. About the creatures inside?”

You mentioned the spiders the other day.

“I can go with her instead,” Nesta says, eyes sharpening.

“You won’t be able to protect her as well as I can.” There’s no condescension in his statement, just fact. She’s learning from him and Cassian how to fight, after all. How to wield a blade.

Nesta’s eyes remain sharp, not straying a second from their target. The temperature seems to rise, air thickening. You swallow, tongue flicking out over dry lips, “I could tell them apart.”

“No. You already have a limited life-span; you aren’t shortening it any further,” Nesta says calmly, her eyes still piercing into Azriel. And yet it’s Elain who shifts again in her seat, sitting straighter, “If she says she can tell the difference, she can tell the difference.” Elain looks over to you, a small smile on her lips. “She’s the best one to send to the Summer Court.”

A muscle flickers in Nesta’s jaw, a few, heavy moments of tension weighing through the room that have your pulse spiking for no discernible reason. Then it ends, and Nesta looks back to the map. “So Cassian and I will take the Dawn Court and the Autumn Court.”

“You’ll only be taking the Dawn Court.” At the sound of Rhysand’s voice, Nesta’s eyes turn pure silver for a fraction of a second.

She arches a narrow brow, her expression sharper than an Illyrian blade. “So you’ll send Mor instead?” She asks, the hiss of slicing steel underlying her honed tone. “Or do you think you can get Lucien to squeeze his way back into his home-Court?” There’s a dangerous challenge in her silver eyes.

“Neither,” the High Lord answers, slowly. “Feyre, Amren, and I will remain here. Myself searching the libraries the priestess’ cannot cover, Amren for backup on the ancient texts, and Feyre with helping as we begin a slow evacuation of the towns surrounding the Prison as a precaution and preventative. Mor will cover Winter, Elain and Lucien will cover Spring, and you and Cassian will cover Dawn.”

Even Feyre’s looking at him strangely.

“The Summer Court boarders the Autumn Court,” Rhysand states. “We can’t afford to waste time making extra journeys.”

So you and Azriel will be taking both the Summer Court, and the Autumn Court.

Rhysand breaks his gaze with Nesta only to find your eyes further along the table. They’re steadfast. Grounded. “Will you manage that?”

Why put that decision on you?

You look across the table to Azriel—why had he of all people volunteered to pair up with you? His logic checks out, but wouldn’t Mor have been able to ward off any magical creatures? Then again, your relationship with Mor isn’t the best…

Azriel gives no clue to his emotions, other than a subtle incline of his head.

Your throat rolls, but you force yourself to look back at Rhysand, and offer a nod of your head, “I can manage.”

All seven Courts are ensconced in shadow.

————

You sigh as you settle into bed, tucking yourself close between the duvet and mattress. Plumping the pillow beneath your cheek as you curl your knees to your chest.

You’ll be leaving in three days, but bypassing a coastal town Northeast of Velaris. The condition of you entering the Summer Court jungle was you’d at least have some kind of protection other than Azriel. The sea-town is also the only town outside of Illyria that will sell Illyrian blades, and Illyrian leather from the wild oxen that inhabit the unforgiving terrain of the steppes, its hide significantly tougher to compete with the rocky climate and freezing nights.

You don’t like the idea of having to carry a blade of your own, but you suppose, knowing some of the creatures within, you’d rather be with it than without it. Although you’ve yet to decide whether you’ll be visiting Autumn first or Summer.

But that’s a decision for tomorrow.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria @nighttimemoonlover @mrsjna

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut @vickykazuya @starlitlakes @kksbookstuff @feerique @ratgirl2020 @just-m-2

cbmthy taglist: @impossibelle @naturakaashi @fae-glamour-petrichorus @ficienjoyedrbspot @azriels-shadowsinger @marina468 @misstea12 @going-through-shit @fussel9913 @minakay @i-am-infinite @wannabewolf @thegirlintheshadows101

#azriel x reader #azriel x reader angst #azriel x reader series #can’t bring myself to hate you #can’t bring myself to hate you chapter 23 #azriel angst

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hometoursandotherstuff · 1 month ago

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Usually, rustic is my least favorite style, but this 1982, (reno'd 1995), home in Sonoma, CA has an elegance to it. 4bds, 3ba, 4,335 sq ft, $4.295m + $250mo. HOA (Really?)

One thing about living in California is that you never have to worry about weather. It rarely rains and you can basically live outdoors. Makes me wonder why I put up with these stupid winters.

This living room is gorgeous- look at the ceiling. Modern fireplace, stone feature wall, and several double doors that open to the garden.

Huge kitchen. There're also lots of doors in here, too.

Store-bought wooden island, not the usual built-in, fits perfectly.

No store-bought cabinetry, this elegant gourmet chef's kitchen has chunky wood pieces, instead. The cement sink was fit into the piece on the right. I love mismatched cabinetry.

These double doors opne to a stone patio with a dining table.

So many lovely details.

A long addition to the home houses this amazing stone dining room. Love the row of chandeliers and the giant old wood round made into a clock.

Off to the side there's a large sitting area. The huge table of blocks is certainly flexible- the loose blocks can be reconfigured.

Ancient barn doors open and close off the space on the side. It looks like there's also a small door or window in the panel on the right.

Light, airy primary bedroom has a sitting area by the French doors.

Spacious bath with stone sinks. Note the interesting columns on the left.

This is an elegant bedroom. I love how they mixed heavy rustic pieces with posh.

This piece that the cement sink is set into looks like an antique architectural piece. The mirror frame looks like it was made from rusty pieces. Yet, looking at it closely, it also looks like it could be a patterned quilted fabric.

The bed in this smaller bedroom is the star of the room.

And, this pretty room has a delicate canopy bed with filmy curtains.

What a pretty garage.

Look at this water feature down the stone stairs from the open living room.

Such beautiful water features.

The grounds are stunning. I love the stone buildings.

This is so cute, it's a little potting shed.

Then, there's this additional outdoor sitting room.

A plaque by the door says "The home of an artist," in French.

Gated entry to the property. So, then why do you need an HOA? They can't even see it.

And, in addition, there's a vast 7.18 acres of land.

#rustic homes #unusual homes #houses #house tours #stone houses #artist's home #home tour

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starlight-starwrites · 10 months ago

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a dozen tiny suns

astarion x bard!elf!reader

summary: after the battle for baldur's gate, you and astarion have settled into a new routine in your old home. nocturnal life isn't easy, and you come up with a surprise for him to have a little sunlight.

wc: 1.4k

warnings: oh boy i got fluffy

note: written for the BG3 holiday challenge twinkling lights prompt! reader is not described or named, but is an elf bard for context (a little magic for our favorite vampire)

“Darling, the sun’s down,” you shuffle over to the four-poster bed, flopping on the side with the open curtains. “Astarion, love?”

Darkness has fallen outside, and the few lamps lit in your apartment barely penetrate the canopy you’ve made of your bed. The mass of blankets move slightly at your intrusion, the only sign that Astarion really is in here. You catch sight of light on white hair, and you reach to pull the heavy quilt away.

“Darling, did you hear me? The sun’s gone downnn,” you sing.

He doesn’t open his eyes. His only acknowledgment is a wrinkled nose as he nestles further into the pillow. You stretch, crawling on your stomach to get close enough to press a kiss to his bare shoulder.

The action seems to appease him, his expression a pout instead. “Mmph, it’s much too early for that. Come back to bed.” You ignore him, gently pulling away the blankets before he really wakes up. One eye cracks open, and you’re fixed by his red gaze. “What are you doing? Why are you dressed?”

“It’s time to get up, you’ll waste the night.” You still can’t help but smile at the way his nose wrinkles.

“Night is not for hours.”

“Night, evening,” you wave a hand, “It’s winter, love. The sun sets earlier, so we can get up earlier. Now come on, I want to show you something.”

Astarion usually wasn’t one to laze in bed, often taking advantage of the daylight hours as well as the night. These last few months completely free of the horrors, masters, and tadpoles that haunted you since leaving Baldur’s Gate did wonders for him. His newfound freedom was only limited by the rise of the sun, and even that he rebelled against. The new curtains blanketed your rooms in darkness to accommodate him, but you often caught him pulling them back to let in a patch of light. You half expected to find him one day lying in the sunlight like a cat, if not for the fact he was still very much a vampire.

You poke a finger into his arm. “Did I really tire you out that much this morning? And here I thought you were indomitable—yeeeep!”

He’s fast. One second he’s face down and curled around the pillow, and the next he’s snatching your hand to yank you under him.

“No, no, noooo!” You wiggle, but he’s smart and he knows you. He has you pinned.

“I will smother you, darling. Don’t doubt me again.”

You pout. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He hums, pleased, and starts to get comfortable, his nose to the column of your throat. You shift again. “No, don’t you dare, you have to get up.”

“Why?”

“I have a surprise for you.”

“I hate surprises.”

You laugh, hand coming to weave fingers through his hair and give a little tug. “You love my surprises. It won’t last forever. Now come on.” A second tug and his eye opens again, accompanied by a raised brow. You lean forward to press a kiss to his nose, and just like that, you slip from his grasp.

He grumbles about it, but his complaining has long since become background noise to you. It takes him a minute to rise, pulling apart the curtains on his side of the bed and stumbling out. You wait, nearly bouncing on the balls of your feet as he pulls on a robe.

“What is it?” he asks, and though he tries to sound indifferent, you can hear his curiosity.

“Do you really want me to tell you, or would you rather see it for yourself?” you ask as you slowly back to the balcony doors.

“It’s outside?” He acts put-out, but he fastens his robe quickly without hesitating to follow you. “What in the hells are you up to?”

He squints, amused now at your excitement, and when you hold out your arms, his hands take hold of yours like they have a hundred times before.

“Just…come see,” you say softly.

The balcony of your apartments isn’t large—a space for your old chair and table, and now a new lounge right beside them. Overlooking the street, the other new addition balances along the railing: night-blooming flowers grow tall, offering slightly more privacy than you had before.

In between, there was enough space for you to stand with your love. Dance, even, when you could convince him.

It was there you had arranged your little surprise, smooth rope running above your heads. It had taken longer than you wanted to admit, fastening each one from roof to roof, making sure that they would hold. Almost as long as it took to create the enchantment that holds Astarion’s attention now.

You smile at him even though his gaze is far from you. You step backwards slowly, pulling him along. His wide eyes dart above, taking it in, the hand you hold stretched in front of him. You like the way his fangs poke out with the gape of his mouth. You love the way you seem to have stolen all words from him.

Winter night air nips at your skin, but between watching him and the faint heat radiating from your enchantment, you barely notice.

The orbs had fit perfectly in the palm of your hand as you whispered your incantations, and now they hung like a dozen tiny suns above your heads.

The warm glow from the light was meant to mimic the sun itself, albeit in a much smaller and less powerful form. You let Astarion’s hand slip from yours as he turned to face each of them, let him wonder at the lights that shone on his bed-tousled hair.

“You did this?” There’s awe in his voice, though it’s careful. Perhaps not quite believing, not quite willing to reveal himself. The red of his eyes seems softer, almost orange in the light, and he looks over your decoration once more before his gaze falls to you.

You nod, smile hopeful. “I had help,” you admit, “I wanted to make sure that the spell would cause no damage—” you gesture to Astarion, “for obvious reasons. It’s meant to mimic Daylight, but in truth the incantation is closer to what I do for Dancing Lights. Just…obviously not dancing,” you laugh, “the light moves within, I don’t know, a little shield?”

It’s you who looks away this time, eyes up as you call to one of the orbs. It drifts down, and you cup it in your hands, holding it between you and Astarion. It warms your skin, brighter now that it’s so close. You have to look away.

You find him staring at you.

His hands brush over yours as he takes a step closer, the light held within your palms, your hands held within his.

He’s beautiful.

It reminds you of all the little moments on your adventures, ones that didn’t seem so significant at the time. You remember how he stood in the sun, that morning after in the woods. You remember how he laughed in camp, faced tilted up to the bright sky as you teased him over breakfast. You remember how he stared in wonder at the colorful streets of Baldur’s Gate, both weirdly relieved to be home.

“I know you miss the sun.”

His hands tighten around yours, and you watch his face as he takes hold of the orb. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t wince, doesn’t burn. His brows raise, eyes big as he looks again from the warm light he holds to you.

“I…thank you.”

The rays from the enchantment seem stronger somehow, blazing light between strands of his hair, clearing all shadows from his face. Your other tiny suns still above you act like a halo around him.

You could almost believe the two of you stood under the real sun.

You open your mouth to respond, to wave away the gift, tell him he deserves more, deserves better. To remind him that as long as you’re together, you’ll take care of him. That you can still find another solution.

Instead, Astarion drops the orb. Though neither of you look to it, it stays floating in the space between your chests. His hands, no longer cold, come to cup your face, and his fingers trail up to the tips of your ears. You find yourself mirroring his movements, his cheeks in your palms, the edge of his pink ears under your fingertips.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

He kisses you.

And it’s warm, and it’s bright, and it feels like sunlight.

#bg3holidayfluffle23 #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin x reader #astarion #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x tav

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anmolsmsblog · 5 hours ago

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FF Winter Warm 3 in 1 Beanie Hat Scarf Gloves Set, Knitted Hat Neck Warmers Touch Screen Gloves for Men & Women

Price: (as of – Details) Product Description FF Winter Beanie Hat Scarf Set of 1 This beanie hat is trendy and easy to complete any type of outfit, which helps protect your face and ears away from cold and wind and keeps you a more slouchy look or skully style at the same time. The head and neck warmer set to come in 2 pieces, a beanie hat, and a round neck scarf, it’s very soft, you can pull…

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le-monchou · 24 days ago

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cold, cold feet || xavier

hello. this is a repost from my old accounts, don't mind me :) just trying to make @aprityormarj motivated to finish her work. || 490 words.

"you're already ready for bed? that was fast." xavier smiles as you beam at him, snuggled into his quilts for the night. he turns off the lights in the room besides a small glowing mushroom lamp you'd bought for him, and he opens the quilts to quickly dive in in a valiant attempt to protect you from the cold.

"you sure took your time changing from a hoodie into another hoodie," you tease as you cuddle up to him, exhaling as he wraps his arms around you. "whatever shall i say, hmm? perhaps my boyfriend decided to abandon me in favour of hunting wanderers in some far off zone again?" you laugh as xavier frowns like a kicked puppy, one of the most prominent expressions on his face.

"i would never," he insists as you turn away from him to laugh, burying your face in a pillow that smells too much like him, heavy and heady with his scent. "[name], listen to me. i would never. [name]. [name]." turning back after a good long chuckle, you see his lip jutting out ever so slightly, clearly affronted by your lack of attention and affection for him.

"you're like a needy puppy," you hum as you pull him into your chest, xavier humming as he snuggles closer, not even bothering to deny what you said. "needy puppy who mildly sucks at both cards and the claw machine."

"watch it, he grumbles half-heartedly, an arm extending towards your lower back to rub and pat it. "you're threatening my masculinity here." you laugh, attempting to slowly slide your feet over to xaviers as he frowns once again and pulls away. "no. i know what you're going to do, and i won't allow it."

"please? pretty please? you're my boyfriend, this is a boyfriend duty!"

"the last time i agreed to this, i was feeling ice stamps on my back for most of the night. no thank you." he retorts, kicking your feet away as the duvet rises, letting in a draft as the two of you huddle closer for warmth. "okay. maybe i understand your pain a little bit. but it is still a no," he adds quickly as you beam and then grimace.

"y'know, why do i even care," you mumble as you shove him off of you, turning him around and putting your feet on his calves. xavier flinches and kicks his legs, hopefully to throw you off, but you aren't the hunter's super rookie for no reason, and you stay exactly where you burrowed yourself, waiting for xavier to stop thrashing around like a piece of meat.

and when he eventually does, you kiss his shoulder as he mutters his own version of expletives at you, a silent apology for the pain he will be going through every other day now. "come spring," you murmur next to his now flushed ears, "i'll let you put your cold feet on mine, okay?"

some of my headcanons for xavier, i hope y'all don't mind :3 i hc he gets cold in spring instead of winter (idk, it just suits the image i have of him).

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace xavier #lads #lads x reader #xavier x reader #xavier love and deepspace #love and deespace headcanons #lads fluff

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jaipurwholesaler · 1 month ago

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Why Are Jaipuri Quilts a Good Choice for Heavy Winters

Discover why Jaipuri quilts and razai are ideal for heavy winters. Learn about quality from top Jaipuri quilt manufacturers for ultimate warmth.

#jaipuri quilts manufacturer #infographic #jaipuri razai for heavy winter

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ratanjaipur1 · 5 months ago

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Buy Cotton Bed Covers, Winter Quilts, and Duvet Cover Sets Online

Creating a warm and inviting bedroom is essential for a restful sleep. This blog will guide you through the benefits and uses of cotton bed covers, quilts for heavy winter, and duvet cover sets. Each of these bedding options will help you stay cozy and comfortable throughout the year.

The Comfort of Cotton Bed Covers

Cotton bed covers are a great choice for every bedroom. They are soft, breathable, and gentle on the skin, making them perfect for everyone, especially those with allergies. Cotton is also very durable and can withstand many washes without losing its quality. With a wide variety of designs and colors, cotton bed covers can easily match any bedroom decor.

Stay Warm with Quilts for Heavy Winter

When winter arrives, staying warm in bed becomes a priority. A quilt for heavy winter is designed to provide the extra warmth you need during the coldest nights. These quilts are often filled with materials like down or synthetic fibers that retain heat effectively. Choosing a quilt with a high fill power ensures maximum warmth and comfort, making your winter nights snug and cozy.

Versatility of Duvet Cover Sets

Duvet cover sets are an excellent addition to any bedding collection. They protect your duvet from dirt and wear, extending its life. These sets usually include a duvet cover and matching pillowcases, giving your bed a coordinated and stylish look. Duvet cover sets come in various materials, such as cotton, linen, and microfiber, allowing you to pick the best one for your needs. They are also easy to remove and wash, which makes maintenance a breeze.

How to Choose the Right Bedding

Selecting the perfect bedding involves considering a few key factors:

Climate: For warmer climates, a light cotton bed cover is ideal. In colder areas, a quilt for heavy winter or a thick duvet is necessary.

Material: Cotton is an excellent choice for its breathability and softness. However, linen and microfiber also offer unique benefits.

Style: Pick colors and patterns that enhance your bedroom's decor. Duvet cover sets are an easy way to refresh your room’s look.

Ease of Care: Look for bedding that is machine washable to save time and effort in maintaining cleanliness.

Conclusion

Choosing the right bedding can make a significant difference in your sleep quality and overall comfort. By investing in cotton bed covers, quilts for heavy winter, and duvet cover sets, you can create a cozy and stylish bedroom that meets your needs throughout the year. Enjoy the comfort and warmth of well-chosen bedding and transform your sleep experience.

#cotton bed cover #quilt for heavy winter #duvet cover sets

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goodearth200 · 1 year ago

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Designer Coffee Mugs

Discover a captivating collection of designer coffee mugs at GoodEarth. Elevate your coffee experience with exquisitely crafted mugs that blend artistry and functionality. Explore our Living category and indulge in the finest selection of drinkware and bar accessories. Elevate your home with the perfect blend of aesthetics and utility.

#good earth #embroidered cushions #winter quilts #heavy winter quilts #dinner plates #coffeemugs #designer mugs

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writers-potion · 6 months ago

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Writing Armour

Types of Armour

All types of clothing provide some protection.

For street fights where you have a couple of teenagers brawling, it would be appropriate to dress them in jeans and a jacket. For more protection, a quilted winter coat or a morotbiker's thick leather jacket, perhaps.

Leather, especially when treated and straightened, offers good protection against arrows, swords, and spears.

The historical armour will include glued-together layers of fabric, thin wooden or bone platelets sewn onto cloth. For wealthier and more advanced societies, metal would be used.

An armour has many parts, and you'll want to describe them with varying levels of detail. However, here are the basics:

A cuirass is a breastplate, protecting the heart and abdomen.

Greaves are shin guards, usually strapped on, protecting the front fo teh lower legs.

Arm guards (bracers)

Helmets

Modern armour will involve a bulletproof vest (which may also be knife-proof). It can be stiff and heavy, and the wearer will sweat under them.

The body armour can lose its effectiveness after a few years.

Disadvantages of Armour

The typical armour (made of steel) is heavy and clunky. In a few hours, your hero is likely to be sweaty, hot and stinky on the inside.

Armour restricts mobility.

Every armour have gaps (the wearer needs to breathe!), and a clever fighter will aim for the chinks.

Shields

Shields are held by the hand rather than worn, so larger shields will be cumbersome and heavey to move, while smaller ones will offer only partial protection.

Shield often consise of wooden frames with leather, hides or metal. They may be painted with heraldic emblems, scary faces, or with magical pentagons.

A shield can also be used as a weapon, like ramming it under the opponent's chin or slamming it down his feet.

The smaller fighter can use a shield well to their advantage, since a shield of the same size will have fuller coverage of their body. However, they will need a strong arm.

Units of githers may use shield formations, such as the tortoise of the Roman legions, the shield wall of the Vikings, and the Greek hoplites shielding not only themselves but the man next to them.

This post is for writers who are trying to bluff their way through a fight scene with minimal knowledge! For full-fledged scenes, I recommend more research.

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

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bonny-kookoo · 1 year ago

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Jungkook

TERRITORIAL. | Softcore

"Don't worry- I'll take it real slow with you so you know I mean it."

Tags/Warnings: Punk!Jungkook, Wolf!Jungkook, Good girl!Reader, Dom!Jungkook, Sub!Reader, Corruption kink, strangers to crushes to lovers, Fluff, Adult themes

+ Additional Tags/Warnings: none, some flirting?

Length: who's counting anyways

There is no taglist for this fic.

-> Masterlist

⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──💗── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅

"Damn, who's pissed in your breakfast this morning?" Jimin laughs, trying to joke- but it's clear that Jungkook is genuinely angry with his packmate, heated glare sent his way.

"I told you, you were being too mean yesterday!" Hoseok scolds, smacking the younger wolf on the back of his head. "Now you ruined jungkookie's fun last night." He mumbles, looking at the youngest apologetically-

Though the wolf sits up almost proudly, a sly smile growing on his lips as he chews his food.

"Looks like he still got his dick wet." Jimin laughs, making Jungkook growl.

"I wasn't out to get my dick wet you dog!" He argues, before crossing his arms. "Was just.. driving around." He shrugs.

"You." Taehyung raises a brown before he sits down at the table as well. "Just driving around." He continues, making the youngest roll his eyes.

"You act like I'm always up to something." He accuses, before his phone buzzes on the table, quickly snatched away by Jimin who grins brightly while fighting against Jungkook's reaching hands.

"Movie sounds great, do you have one in mind?" He reads the message out loud. "Oooh, Jungkookie has an actual date?!" He exclaims, before the youngest wolf can snatch his phone back.

"Shut up." He growls, before he gets up to put on his jacket and boots, turning around once more. "Don't fuck this up for me. Next time you see us, just shut your mouth." He requests awfully.. nervously almost, before he leaves, door closing behind him.

"You think he's found someone he likes?" Taehyung wonders, pulling Jungkook's leftovers toward him.

"Looks like it." Hoseok shrugs.

"Huh." Jimin huffs, leaning bag with an almost proud smile. "Would you look at that."

⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──💗── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅

Your apartment is cozy, small but very inviting, and most of all- it smells like you and you only, something that Jungkook enjoys a lot.

"Do you want me to dry your jacket?" You wonder, looking at him carefully taking off his wet jacket, since it's been pouring outside. Only now do you notice that, once he pulls off his beanie, it's the first time you see him like that.

Damn. Those tattoos really paint a full sleeve and some.

Not to mention the fact that his black sleeveless top hugs his body so tightly that it leaves almost nothing to the imagination- and in a way, that makes you a bit self-conscious. He seems like someone who works out a lot and often- would he think of you as less attractive once he notices you hide no defined physique underneath your clothes, but small rolls and chubby thighs?

Maybe. Maybe this is a bad idea.

Interestingly enough, it seems like Jungkook notices your change in mood- posture changing to appear less threatening to you, tail waving a little behind him to add to the appearance. It helps- if just a little.

"I mean- sure? If it's not a bother.." He answers your question, making you nod before you take the heavy jacket from him, glad to have something to distract yourself with.

"You can.. sit down? Or, I don't know- raid my fridge." You joke a bit stiff, before you flee the scene, hanging his jacket up in your little laundry room where your dryer has already warmed up the air, everything smelling of your favorite fabric softener. You actually sometimes take a nap in here, especially during winter- you're not sure why, but the smells and warmth offers you the bestest naps, especially when you sleep on your thick feather filled quilt.

It's an odd habit. Will he think you're weird if he finds out about that?

Once you return to your living room and kitchen space, you find Jungkook already looking inside the fridge, scanning the different snacks and drinks in there, visibly curious as his tail stands high. You can't help it, in that moment-

sneakily tugging just a little on the very tip, causing him to snap around, startled.

"Sorry!" You apologize immediately, shrinking back a little. "I- that was rude-" You start, when he wags his tail so much it smacks against the open fridge door, his laughter ringing through the small space of the apartment.

"No worries, was just caught off guard-" He reassures with a grin. "-you're really quiet. And those ears work really well!" He jokes, pointing to his pierced ear.

"Should I be louder then?" You wonder, reaching past him for a bottle of water. "So you can hear me?" You ask, and he looks at you for a second, before he chuckles, throwing his head back.

"You're so cute!" He barks out, before he closes your fridge, following you back towards your couch. And there, you sit as if you're being scolded almost- hugging your legs in the very corner, too shy to really be comfortable around him, and of course- he notices.

"What's making you uncomfortable right now?" He wonders, zapping through the recommended shows on your TV.

"Huh?" You ask, looking at him. "Nothing. I'm fine!" You laugh, though even that sounds more like you're just trying to pacify him, and it reminds him of one of his packmates' mates, back when she first met the whole group.

You're acting very similar. Intimidated, unsure where your place is. Trying not to step out of line.

"Hm, you're not." He chuckles, sitting back a little more relaxed. "Is it the tattoos? They're off-putting to some, my mom doesn't like them either." He chuckles, trying to ease the tension- something he craves out of pure instinct, because, considering his interest in you, he can't have his possible future mate be this uneasy around him.

He's supposed to be your person of safety and protection, someone you can and want to rely on- not someone you're scared of, in any way.

"No- not really." You shake your head, looking at them from the distance, noticing the colors and intricate details in some parts. "Just.. I don't know." You mumble.

"Is it the muscle?" He wonders, head tilting to the side a bit, and when you look away and adjust your position a little, he clicks his tongue. "Ah, please don't worry. I know how to control my strength!" He jokes playfully, but you shake your head. "No?"

"It's not.. that, at least not really?" You wonder, deciding that you better rip off the bandaid right now so it'll hurt less later. "You're just.. you look really fit, and I'm not. I'm lazy." You explain, without any demeaning tone thrown at yourself. "I don't really do any.. working out." You say, and he shrugs.

"Fine by me. It's your body, not mine." He offers, and you're unsure what to think about that statement.

Growing up, you learned from both your family and past friendships and relationships even, that every sentence uttered by mankind has some sort of second meaning. It created some sort of imposter syndrome for you in a way, as if every praise and compliment had some sort of background to it. Like you didn't deserve it- and people were simply too nice to tell you that blunt and openly.

So maybe it's not him saying that it's your choice and he doesn't mind it- but him saying that he's simply aware of the fact that he can't force you to do anything, but that he's glad he's not in your place. It's a far reach, and you know this- but the petty demon inside your head just won't shut up, ever.

Luckily however, the wolf next to you on the couch seems to have telepathic powers or something- or maybe he can smell your feelings? Because he immediately adds something to his words to soften up his statement. "The most important thing for me is that you're healthy and happy. I don't need anything else, really." He smiles encouragingly, and you shrug, before nodding.

"I guess." You just mumble, letting the awkward silence wash over you both while Jungkook chooses a movie, logging into his own account on your streaming service- something you notice. "You can just buy it-" You say, but he chuckles.

"Nop. Let me do that- I'd feel bad otherwise." He explains, buying the movie with his own money. So his last name is Jeon? You really didn't mean to look at it, but it's hard not to. It's when the movie starts that he leans a bit more onto your little sofa, opening his arms. "Can we cuddle?" He wonders, and you look at him a bit like a deer in the headlights. "I promise my friend down there will behave. I just wanna have you close- is that okay?" He wonders, and you shrug, unsure how to approach it.

Considering how long you've been living by yourself, you feel like you forgot how to properly.. cuddle at all. And it's like you just realize that right now- when was the last time you hugged someone? Held someone's hand? Or just sat close to someone else?

"You don't have to. I just.. wanna make you feel more at ease." He softly says, pausing the movie on the TV. "If you're not ready to be this close to me yet that's fine, and understandable. We can try another time-" He starts, but you shake your head.

"I just.. I've been living alone for a while now." You say, opening up at least a little bit. "I'm.. I don't know, it feels awkward now." You admit, and he nods, soaking up the info you give him.

"Alright, I can work with that." He smiles. "We can take it slow and easy, no issues." He shrugs, setting down his hands again.

And that's where they stay, as you both simply watch the movie-

Jungkook quietly leaving after you fall asleep, but not before putting a blanket from the couch over your body.

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"I can't promise you they won't be weird-" Jungkook chuckles through the speaker in your helmet- a new one now, that you suspect he might've bought just for you, because it's a lot smaller and fits way better than the other one you've been given before. "-but I'll keep them in check." he reassures you.

"Are you like, the leader?" You wonder, unsure, and he chuckles again, stopping at a red light.

"No, I'll tell you who's who when we're there- I'm just a regular member, nothing more nothing less." He shrugs, one of his hands leaving the handle of his bike to rest on your thigh next to his leg, running up and down absentmindedly. "Is that okay? Or too much?" He asks, looking back for a second, though you can't see his face with the helmet covering his head entirely.

"That's fine." You say, genuinely meaning it- and you can't see it, but he's grinning brightly at this small step forwards, tail wagging. He's noticed you leaning against his back a lot more this time, slowly seeming to grow more comfortable on his bike, even so much so that you've begun to instinctively sit in the proper way to make driving easy for him.

And he also really enjoys you clinging onto him not in fear but comfort- but that's besides the main point.

The moment you arrive, everyone already standing around with their own bikes or by themselves, it's very clear that Jungkook's whole.. adventures with you has made the round. People are whistling and laughing, but it's also clear that it's just to tease him, and not in bad nature. You can even hear someone cooing when Jungkook reaches out to help you take your helmet off, bike standing secure on the kickstand, his own helmet already having been taken off. "Don't mind them. I'm the youngest of the pack." He admits, and you nod, smiling.

"You'll handle it, I'm sure." You agree, and he grins proudly, before he helps you get off the bike.

"Oh look at them, this is so cute!" Someone laughs, commenting probably on the fact that Jungkook had taken your hand in his to maybe offer you some extra security- something you appreciate.

"Please stop, you're scaring her off." He whines, as someone walks up beside you.

"Jungkook's right. Leave him be." A tall guy says, before he looks at you kindly. "I'm namjoon- not sure if he's told you already, but I'm the pack leader here " he offers, and you nod in greeting, smiling back. "I hope he treats you well- if not I'm gonna have to have a word with him." He jokingly threatens, making Jungkook roll his eyes.

"I'm treating her very well, thanks for asking." He snaps back, and you can't help but giggle a little at the banter they're both participating in.

Up close and personal like this, the whole pack of wolves doesn't actually feel all that threatening.

They're clearly playing around with him, teasing whenever he does anything considered affectionate towards you, and it's almost cute to see him glare at his friends for it. What makes you even happier is the fact that he doesn't mind being seen- he still makes sure you're always comfortable, checks in if you want to leave or if you're cold or if you're tired.

Right now, he's got you sat on his thigh, as he's sitting on the sidewalk- when there seems to be some tension rising, multiple wolves now moving to stand almost protectively in front of the rest. "Hey- stay here for a second yeah? I'll just check what's up." He says, helping you stand near his bike, before he leaves to do just what he said.

The way his tail suddenly rises, standing straight back, shows you that he's in an aggressive-defensive stance.

Somethings going on.

But it's resolved with simple glares from the pack, as Jungkook returns later to offer you your helmet. "Let's get you home, okay?" He says, and you nod, letting him help you with the helmet itself. "Don't worry, by the way. There's just some tension- and I'd like to.. not have you in the crossfire." He chuckles.

That's a nice thing to do, actually. He seems very much interested in your well-being, and that's new to you. But it's nice. Feeling like you're special.

Back at your home, he's helping you off his bike, taking the helmet from you- and you can't help yourself, as you unhook his own helmet with a click, before you slip it off his head, and lean in to kiss him.

It's a quick one, his helmet pushed into his hands as you run off into your home-

One look back making you laugh, as you see him frozen it appears like, tail wildly wagging behind him.

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He's awfully cocky next time he visits you, instantly leaning down as you open the door to let him in. "What? Do I only get goodbye-kisses?" He complains, and you giggle, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

And he growls at that, though his wagging tail reassures you there's no anger behind it.

"You have to earn it." You say, and he glares at you.

"Isn't my giant crush on you enough?" He wonders, and you laugh.

"Maybe?" You shrug, putting on your jacket. "Well.. I'll think about it after the date." You tease and he grins.

"Well in that case, I'll be getting a ton of kisses after tonight." He beams at you, proudly so.

And you're sure of it.

He already earned himself quite a few.

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