#like. i enjoyed the vibes of wicked eyes and wicked hearts so much and i understand that's not always a thing everyone likes in Game Games

[arcane-vagabond]

Two Birds: Chapter One

Two Birds: Chapter One

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader x Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

Summary: Growing up in the midwest meant that you weren't exposed to many of the dangers of the world, and it also meant that you missed out on some of what life had to offer. Taking a leap, you move to New York City with a few personal belongings and the little money you have left in your savings. You become good friends with your roommate and, by extension, the people at the club she works at. However, it isn't long until you catch the eye of not one, but two mafia bosses that rule the city with an iron grip. Will you stay out of their clutches, or will you give in and become another pawn in their wicked games? (Mafia!AU)

Content Warnings: Cursing, Mentions of guilt, Gentlemen's club (off hours), Flirting, Handsy Bradley and Jake, Pet names, no use of y/n. I think that's it, but please let me know if I missed something!

Word Count: 3.9k

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

A couple of weeks had passed, and you were now entering your third month of living in the city. Annie had been right, you had become fast friends after long nights spent gabbing about anything and everything, and late mornings after the previous night’s binge drinking. Your roommate was a fun, happy-go-lucky soul, and you loved her all the more for it.

Your job at one of the local bakeries near the heart of the city provided you with enough money for your portion of the rent, food, and enough to spend however you saw fit, a feat you still weren’t sure how you managed. Your boss was a lovely older woman in her mid-fifties who greeted you with a smile every morning as you clocked in for your shift. Thankfully, she preferred to do the early, early morning prep work herself along with her daughter, so you weren’t expected to walk through the doors until sometime around eight every morning.

You enjoyed the tediousness of the job, the routine giving you something to latch on to in the unfamiliarity of the big city. Annie had been coaching you diligently on how to navigate the never-ending, concrete streets and sprawling subways. Your Midwest manners were quickly stamped down by your burgeoning experience with the different crowds that inhabited the city.

“Don’t walk around at night by yourself if you can avoid it,” Annie had told you during your first week there, the two of you headed back to the apartment after you had decided to go out for dinner. “There are a bunch of crazies out here, Mousie. Me? I’m used to this place, but you got that air about you that just invites people to take advantage.”

You hummed, trotting a few paces to try and keep up with her much longer legs. She cast you a sideways glance with a grimace of an apology.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean anything bad by it,” she sighed, hands pushed into her pockets as she slowed slightly to give you a break. “You’ll perfect the art of the ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibe before you know it, Mouse.”

And you liked to think that you had come along way in the few weeks you had spent in the city, perfecting your mean, scary face so that people wouldn’t approach you. Some still did, but the number had certainly decreased. Though, you still felt the nagging feeling of guilt every time you outright ignored someone, averting your eyes and hanging your head as you walked a little faster down the street.

Today was a day you, thankfully, had off. Though, you still rose early, your body already used to the schedule of the bakery, and as you stretched in bed, your mind wandered to the container of chocolate chip cookies that sat on the counter in the kitchen. A gift from your boss, albeit they were cookies that would have been thrown in the trash anyway due to their age of only two days.

You lay in bed for the next half hour, dozing as the light of the day streamed in past your curtains, illuminating your still plainly decorated room. Annie had offered to take you shopping for more decor, but you had insisted on earning your own money and paying for your own decor.

“It’s not like I don’t have the extra cash, babe,” she told you, lips pulled back into a grimace as she watched you flit about the apartment.

“I’m serious, Annie,” you told her, glancing over your shoulder at her as you set the mop to the side. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, but I don’t want to take advantage of your kindness either.”

“How is it taking advantage if I’m offering?” She muttered with a scoff. You had shot her a warning look before placing your hands on your hips.

“I need to prove to myself that I can do this,” you sighed, feeling your shoulders slump.

“Alright, alright,” she relented, giving you an understanding smile. “But if I give you gifts, you have to accept them. It’s a law or something.”

You smiled fondly at the memory, pulling a pillow close to your chest, one of Annie’s many “gifts” as she called them. Your eyes flickered open with a stifled yawn before you lazily rolled over on to your feet. You padded out the door and down the hall to your shared bathroom, Annie’s soft snores filtering out past her closed door. Her job often kept her up until the early morning hours, and there were days where you were headed off to work just as she was walking through the door.

You brushed your teeth and got ready for the rest of the day, settling on a pair of faded jeans, a plain, white t-shirt underneath a beige cardigan and a pair of simple sneakers. You didn’t have much planned for the day, but you had been meaning to check out one of the bookstores downtown. Your groceries were getting low too, and you knew you’d have to go and get more soon, adding a trip to the grocery store to your list of things to do that day. You settled on the couch with a cup of tea, inhaling the aromatic steam that wafted up towards you as you turned on the TV, the news popping up to greet you. A string of violent crimes plagued the city, but you had slowly become accustomed to that news as well during your time there.

Eventually, you grew bored with the news, choosing instead to turn on the latest crime documentary from Netflix, the serious tones of the detectives and witnesses filling the quiet, morning air and lulling you back to a place somewhere between sleep and awake.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when the sound of Annie’s door opening jolted you awake. You blinked, shuffling to sit up on the couch just as she trudged through the doorway, rubbing sleep from her eyes and looking around blearily.

“Wha’ time’s it?” She asked, voice thick with sleep as she rubbed her face. Her hair was sticking up every which way, her eyes still ringed with the tinges of last night’s makeup. You knew she must have had a particularly late night.

“Uh,” you started, glancing at the clock above the stove, “just before noon.”

“Shit!” She hollered out, eyes growing wide and panicked as she turned to sprint back into her room. You heard a commotion from her room before footsteps sounded in the hall, leading to the bathroom where the shower creaked to life, the spray hitting the tub. You sighed, hoisting yourself up off the couch to rinse your mug out in the sink. The shower didn’t run long, and soon you heard the creak of the valves turning off, soft thuds and movement coming from behind the door. Annie burst out, drying her hair furiously as she padded into her room wearing nothing but the small towel wrapped around her.

“Cannot believe I overslept,” she griped, her door closed just enough to provide herself some privacy as you waited in the kitchen.

“It’s a bit early for you to head down to the club, isn’t it?” You asked, brow furrowing. Usually, Annie didn’t head in for another couple of hours, and you heard her let out a huff as she appeared back in the kitchen dressed in a pair of jeans, fitted black top and matching heels. Even running late, she still looked immaculate.

“Bosses want us there extra early today to try out some new routines,” she explained.

“Bosses?” You frowned. “I thought your boss was Reuben?”

“He is,” she assured you, digging through her purse to make sure her keys were still inside. “But the big bosses are coming in today.”

“Who are the big bosses?” You asked, leaning over the counter. She paused, pressing her lips firmly together before giving you an uncertain look.

“No one you wanna get involved with, Mousie,” she said finally. “I mean, they’re nice enough guys, but…”

She trailed off, and the implication wasn’t lost on you. You offered her a tight smile, glancing at the stovetop clock once more before waving her off.

“You better get going before you’re even more late,” you warned, nodding to the time. She cursed again, shouting a quick “thanks” over her shoulder as she sped out the apartment, the door slamming closed behind her. You let out a sigh, rolling your eyes affectionately after her before grimacing at the apartment. Perhaps you would make it to that bookstore another time. For now, you settled on grabbing your own purse to go grocery shopping.

You had just made it back into the apartment when your phone buzzed. You settled the bags on top of the counter, your fingers aching with the strain of the multitude of bags before fishing your phone out of your bag. Annie’s name flashed across the top, and you quickly unlocked your phone before your eyes landed on the all too familiar words.

I forgot something at the apartment.

Could you grab it for me and bring it by the club pretty please? :(

You huffed out a laugh, typing out a quick response to let her know that of course you would bring whatever it was she forgot to the club for her.

You’re the best! Came her even quicker reply, and you just knew she had been pacing nervously backstage, biting her fingers in that terrible habit she had when she was nervous.

It’s a pair of silver heels and a hot pink boa. They should be on my desk chair. You can’t miss them!

You shook your head, noting how she herself missed them in her rush out the door this morning, but dutifully made your way to her room, pushing the door open as you stepped inside. Sure enough, the heels and the boa lay draped on top of the chair in question, and you quickly gathered them up in your arms to bring back into the kitchen. You grabbed your phone, firing off a quick reply.

I’ve gotta put groceries up really quick, but then I’ll head over. Give me about an hour?

Anything for you, Mouse! I owe you!

You laughed outright at that. This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for your roommate, and you often found yourself making the trip down to the club to bring her something she forgot. You set your phone down and made fairly quick work of the groceries, storing the bags underneath the sink for later use. You grabbed your things before grabbing the heels and the boa, pausing to grab the box of cookies that still sat on the counter before making your way out the door and locking it behind you.

It was about a twenty-minute train ride to the neighborhood where Annie worked, and you exited the subway with a squint as your eyes readjusted to the daylight. You walked a block south, coming upon the familiar, unassuming building with a sign that read “The Hard Deck” in a pretty, pink scrawl across the top of the entrance. A man dressed in all black stood by the door, his face mean and intimidating with eyes hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses. You grinned up at him as you approached, and a hint of a smile pulled on his lips as he caught sight of you.

“Hey Tony,” you greeted, wiggling your fingers with the hand that held the heels and the boa. “How’s your day been?”

“It’s better now that you’re here, Mouse,” he chuckled, relaxing his posture somewhat. “I take it Annie forgot something again?”

“Yeah,” you shrugged, rolling your eyes playfully. “Name a time she hasn’t, you know?”

He laughed at that, his head resting against the brick of the building as he rolled his shoulders out.

“She used to tear out of here like a bat from hell before you came to town, ya know,” he grinned. “Wonder what she’s gonna do when you’re not around anymore to spoil her like this.”

“Well,” you started, “hopefully that won’t be for a while yet. Now, do you want a cookie before the others eat them all?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” he laughed, pushing off from the side of the building to peek into the box you held in your hand. He grabbed one, taking a bite and humming as you walked past him and into the building.

When you had first found yourself stepping into Annie’s work, you had been apprehensive, expecting a seedy, little hole in the wall with sticky floors and tacky decor. Instead, you were greeted with a clean, sultry business that Annie told you had earned a reputation of being the best in the city.

“It’s actually pretty classy,” she had told you when you first asked her about what she did for a living. “It’s a lot of high end clients that frequent there, and they tip pretty well too. It’s decent pay to begin with and the manager is a pretty good guy too.”

You had met Reuben on one of your first trips to the club, the handsome man not being at all what you expected from a manager. He was young, for one thing, hovering somewhere between mid-thirties and forty if you had to guess. He was dressed to the nines every time you saw him, a friendly smile always on his face as he greeted you. He was nowhere to be seen now as you strolled into the Hard Dark, voices filtering out from different areas of the large room and from backstage as your eyes swept the area.

There were no windows, the only lights coming from the artificial ones that hung overhead. The main color was black, a red carpet curving across the floor and red drapes hanging from off the walls with gold accents placed everywhere. It gave a feeling of old Hollywood, almost.

“There you are!”

You turned just as Annie rushed over to you, pulling you in for a tight hug. She pulled away, grabbing her heels and boa from you.

“You’re a lifesaver, Mousie!” She beamed, and you waved her off.

“I wasn’t doing much anyway,” you told her, shifting the box of cookies into your now free hand. “I brought the cookies too for everyone.”

“You’re so sweet, babe. Come hang out with us for a while,” she cooed, pulling you further towards the main stage. Familiar faces of the different staff greeted you as you walked through, several waving and others following you once they spotted the bright pink box in your hands. You often brought goodies from the bakery, making you an instant hit with the employees at the club.

“What did you bring for us today, Mouse?” Bryan, one of the bartenders called.

“Cookies!” You called back with a smile.

“You’re such a godsend, hun,” said Lindsey, one of the other dancers. “I never have time to go to this place before it closes.”

“One of the perks of being roomies with an employee there,” Annie grinned at her, swiping a cookie as you set the box down on the stage and opened the lid. Several others clambered toward the stage to snag a cookie before retreating and allowing the next wave in. You were so caught up in the conversations happening around you that you didn’t notice the figure come out from the back.

“What’s going on here?” A deep timber asked. You noticed Annie stiffen visibly beside you before turning your head to look at the newcomer. He was tall, brown hair curled against his forehead that pointed towards a pair of golden brown eyes. Scars littered the golden skin of his face, and you couldn’t help but notice the strong muscles that lay hidden beneath his dress shirt. Your lips twitched at the sight of the mustache that hung above his upper lip, but you quickly tamped it down as you took in the nervous faces around you. He swaggered over towards where you stood, the small crowd parting easily for him, and you had to tilt your head back just to meet his gaze.

“Shouldn’t you all be working?” He pointed out. His voice was light, playful even, but the underlying warning in his tone was palpable, and all but Annie and yourself hastened to get away. You swallowed slightly, shifting uneasily at the change in the atmosphere. Annie stood still next to you, not saying a word which was unlike her.

“And who might you be?” He asked, leaning against the stage with a smirk. “Think I would have remembered a pretty face like yours. You lookin’ for a job, hm?”

“She’s my roommate,” Annie replied before you could say anything. “She’s just stopping by to drop off a few things I forgot is all.”

“Is that so?” The man hummed, peeling his eyes away from you long enough to cast her an unreadable look before they shifted back to you. “So you’re the little mouse Reuben mentioned pops by from time to time, huh?”

“I guess,” you muttered, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt as you looked anywhere but at him. You felt his smirk grow as he leaned into you, his nose almost brushing yours in the process. You squeaked at the sudden proximity, eyes widening as the smell of his cologne encircled you, the scent of sandalwood, vanilla, and something woodsy ensnaring you as he spoke.

“My name’s Bradley, Mouse,” he murmured, lips curling into a sultry smile as he laced a finger through the loop of your jeans. “You gonna give me a taste?”

You had the distinct feeling that he wasn’t talking about the cookies that still sat on the stage. Without thinking, you grabbed the box, bringing it between you and Bradley, putting some distance between the two of you enough so that you could try to scramble for a coherent thought.

“Here,” you squeaked. Bradley looked stunned for a second, brown eyes wide as he looked from you, down towards the box. There was a moment of still silence before he tossed his head back with a loud laugh, one that caused several people nearby to jump. He looked back at you with a wicked grin, taking the box from your hand and putting it back on the stage with an added chuckle. He grabbed your waist, pulling you flush against him and bringing a hand up to cradle your face as he leaned down, his breath fanning over you.

“I might just have to keep you, honey,” he purred, eyes hooded as he drank you in. Your face warmed at the combination of his words and his hand around your waist that slowly started to wander.

“What are you doing, Rooster?”

You jumped at the new voice, turning your head with a gasp as your eyes landed on the stranger standing next to Reuben. His square jaw was clenched in what you could only assume was annoyance, narrowed, green eyes moving from Bradley down to you. His face softened slightly, brow arching as he took you in. You thought you saw his lips twitch in the hint of a smirk before neutrality settled over his features once more.

“Hey, Mouse!” Reuben greeted, his friendly demeanor almost unnerving. He acted as if you weren’t being held captive in the arms of a strange man, instead looking from you towards where Annie stood behind you. “I didn’t know you were stopping by today.”

“Annie forgot something,” you offered weakly, breath still ragged from how close Bradley still held you.

“Rooster,” the blond man spoke up, his voice commanding attention, “you’re scaring the poor thing. Why don’t you let her go?”

Bradley grunted but let you go slowly, shooting you a wink as you backed up a couple of steps. The blond man stepped forward, hands shoved into the pockets of his expensive looking pants as a slow smirk crawled onto his lips.

“So you’re the little mouse we’ve heard so much about,” he drawled, stopping just in front of you. You shrugged, not saying anything as you averted your gaze. The man arched a brow at you, taking a hand out of his pocket to place a finger underneath your chin, lifting it so that you met his emerald gaze.

“Words, darlin’,” he purred, something twinkling in his gaze as you looked at him. You swallowed thickly.

“Yes,” you replied, earning a hum. The man’s finger traced along your jaw before his hand cupped the side of your neck gently, almost possessively.

“Good girl,” he praised, and something inside of you unexpectedly preened at the words. He leaned forward, the smell of patchouli and a hint of citrus hitting your nose at the movement. His lips brushed against your ear as he murmured, “my name is Jake.”

A shiver ran up your spine, and you felt his lips curl into a grin at your reaction.

“Shouldn’t we be getting back to business?” Bradley snapped, looking put out as Jake withdrew from you. The blond snorted with a roll of his eyes as he stepped back towards his companions.

“Since when do you give a shit?” He asked, the challenge hollow as he kept walking, Reuben quick to fall in line behind him. Bradley frowned as he watched Jake walk past, a muscle twitching in his jaw. His eyes looked back at you, lips curving in a thoughtful smile before shooting you a wink and following his two companions.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, Annie coming up behind you quickly.

“I am so sorry,” she cried, blue eyes big and sorrowful.

“Why are you sorry?” You asked with a snort, brushing your hands down your rumpled shirt. “They’re the ones who’ve never heard of personal space, apparently.”

“Babe, do you not realize who they are?” She asked, brow furrowing as she studied you, lips pursing as she shook her head.

“Of course you don’t,” she muttered, placing a hand on her forehead as she sucked in a breath. “God, I’m so fucking stupid sometimes. How could I forget to tell you one of the most basic things?”

“Annie, what are you talking about?” You asked, crossing your arms as a sinking feeling came over you. Her eyes snapped open as she looked at you with an uncharacteristically solemn expression.

“There’s a lot more to this city than you realize,” she told you. “There are groups always grabbing for power and control of it, and right now there are two who are going head to head: the Daggers and the Harpies. You just met the two men who are in charge of the Dagger syndicate, Mouse: Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin and Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw. ”

Your heart sank, and your head involuntarily whipped around towards where the group of men walked off to. You spotted them sitting in one of the booths, Reuben talking animatedly about something or other, but your stomach did a flip as you realized that both Jake and Bradley were already looking at you. The blond arched a brow at you while the brunette waggled his fingers at you with a playful smirk. Annie followed your gaze, sighing before continuing.

“And it looks like you’ve gone and caught their eye.”

A/N: Still trying to figure out where to take this one ngl, but I would love to hear your thoughts about what you'd want to see!

As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. I no longer do taglists, so if you would like to be notified on when I post, please follow my sideblog ( @arcanevagabond-library ) and turn on post notifications! You can find me and my works on AO3 under the username arcane_vagabond. Until next time!

[oopsallmabari]

also now that i've gone thru saving both cities i do appreciate that there's fallout for both decisions in the environment and it's unnerving to go back to but it isn't the same. i like the idea that only one of these cities is getting blighted--it feels like to the gods, minrathous is a opportunity to gather power given the venatori and the presence of a lot of advanced mages, the military might of an empire, and connections to ancient elvhen history. treviso has no army or strong governmental influence, the crows are not the most useful group to raise as an army of devotees and seem unlikely to ally with the gods regardless, and it's mostly civilians. it's a good place to take off the map/declaw, and for ghilan'nain, what gets blighted is hers to use--treviso is better left as scraps to salvage.

[prythianpages]

Cruel, Wicked Thing | Eris x Reader

summary: you are betrothed to Sawyer Vanserra yet that doesn't stop the eldest Vanserra from wanting you.

warnings: I can't really think of anything? this isn't really fluff or angst, just eris longing. slow burn maybe?

a/n: this can be read as a stand alone imagine but it's a part two to this. I intended the second part to be something else but then I ended up writing this scene and it didn't really fit the vibes I was going with so I decided to just post it separately.

As Eris steps out into the courtyard gardens, his gaze is immediately drawn to you. You’re seated upon one of the stone benches that faces the grand water fountain, the one where he first met you. His steps slow, compelled to take in the sight of you. The sun’s light filters through the clouds, caressing your features with a golden glow as you delicately turn the pages of a book. A gentle breeze rustles through the Autumn trees, creating a ballet of falling leaves and causing loose strands of your hair to dance in the air. As the wind carries the sweet scent of rose and honey to him, Eris inhales deeply.

Among the fluttering leaves, a single one lands atop your head, a delicate crown bestowed by nature itself. Yet, you remain unaware. You’re completely lost to the realm of literature in your lap. The same way Eris is lost in you.

He wonders if he should turn and walk the other way. Much like he has done in the weeks that you’ve moved into the Forest house. He doesn’t want to avoid you but the magnetic pull you exert is thrilling yet fear-inducing. So he's resorted to studying you from afar. He knows you enjoy walking around the gardens, reading and hanging around the stables. He knows you well enough to know you don't belong in a cruel court such as this one.

Yet, the Cauldron has unequivocally marked you as someone special to him and he finds himself wary of the potential depth of affection you might set ablaze within his guarded heart. It’s laughable, how someone as sweet and pure as you is so dangerous to him.

You are engaged to his younger brother, Sawyer. And Eris? He’s engaged in the delicate balance of playing the role of the perfect son—perfect heir—all while conspiring against his own father. He cannot afford to harbor any weakness nor does he want to drag you into the depths of his hell. 

But as he looks around the gardens, he confirms there’s no one else around. He then decides to indulge himself, even if only for a little bit.

As he walks toward you, he deliberately steps on the fallen leaves, allowing them to crunch under his boot. The intentional sound announces his approach and has you looking up. Your eyes widen in surprise as you sit up straight.

“Lord Eris.”

The corner of his lips quirk up and he greets you with the same formality. “Lady y/n.”

His fingers reach out to delicately pluck an orange leaf from the crown of your head. The touch lingers longer than necessary, and “accidentally,” his hand brushes against the softness of your cheek as he lowers it. The lingering contact leaves you slightly flustered, a soft blush creeping up on your face—a reaction he takes delight in.

“I’m surprised you haven’t run away,” he remarks.

Eris knows the past three weeks have been rough for you. He’s not only seen it as you chased Sawyer, your unfortunate husband to be, like a lost puppy but he’s also felt it. On occasion, he sends one of his hounds, Clover, to cheer you up. Even the vicious little creature has fallen victim to you, revealing a softer side in your presence. One she normally only shows Eris.

Your father, a busy and highly esteemed merchant, departed as soon as he signed your marriage contract, leaving you to navigate the Autumn Court alone. Sawyer barely gives you the time of day. It’s a double edged sword because though Sawyer is content with neglecting you, he is the lesser evil of his three remaining brothers. 

Sawyer’s disinterest for you, however, often leaves you vulnerable to his two other brothers, Hunter and Oliver. Hunter, who much like his name, always has a thirst and desire to give chase to anything that isn’t his and Oliver–well, Oliver lusts after anything with two legs. The thought of them touching you–hurting you–sends a fire to course through his veins. It reaches his hand, small flames emerging from his fingertips and the leaf in his hand succumbs to ashes. He brushes them off, feigning nonchalance, grateful that you're unfazed.

With a deft motion, you dog-ear the page you were on before closing your book and gracefully rising to your feet. Upon realizing his attention drifting to the book in your hands, you swiftly hide it behind your back. 

“Why would I run away? Maybe, I’m right where I want to be.”

As his gaze lifts to meet yours, a flicker of surprise and curiosity dances in his amber eyes. Bold words. Unlike you. Despite your hands held behind your back, the subtle nervous twitch of your arm muscles is not lost on him.

“But you’re unhappy,” Eris says and he almost expects the emotions churning within you to come to surface. For you to agree. For you to complain. He leans in closer to you, willing to listen.

You do none of that, though. Instead, you force a smile onto your face. One that fails to reach your eyes. "I'm very happy.”

 “Well, you’re very convincing.” 

“And you’re very nosey.” 

Eris lets out an exhale through his nose and you shrink back, worried you have offended him. The small smirk that lifts the corner of his lips soothes your concern. “I kind of have to be, angel. This is my court and I am to rule over it someday. It is my duty to be aware of everything that goes on.”

“Perhaps, I should start with finding out what had you so captivated earlier.”  Eris adds, eyeing the book you continue to conceal behind your back.

You take a step back, fingers tightening against your book but it’s useless. In a heartbeat, the book disappears from your grasp and reappears in Eris’s thanks to his magic. He holds it up in a taunting manner and you’re running after him.

“Eris!”

A spark ignites in his amber eyes as he recognizes the title, and a chuckle escapes him at your adorable yet desperate attempt to reach for the book. He holds it higher, taking full advantage of his height.

“You shock me, angel. I didn't pin you to be the type to read–”

“Please give it back.” 

Eris pauses for a moment in deep contemplation. You are asking so nicely–begging, more like it. But he finds that he likes the way you’re madly blushing at him too much. He shakes the urge to give into your puppy dog eyes. “I don’t think so…shall I start reading where you left off, hmm?”

Panic flashes in your wide eyes as you desperately lunge forward to retrieve your book. However, Eris's quick reflexes had him turning away, causing you to trip over the pavestone. With Eris's body no longer there to block your path, you found yourself tumbling into the water fountain with a loud splash.

The water is cold and has you gasping, goosebumps rising on your skin. You lift your gaze and though you glare at him, he finds it adorable. Absolutely endearing. He tilts his head back in laughter and the sound softens your gaze.

Eris is still laughing when you hold out your hand to him expectantly. “What?”

Your eyebrows knit together in disbelief. “Aren’t you going to be a gentleman and offer me your hand?”

Unspoken desires stir within him as he gazes at your outstretched hand. In his eyes, there's a subtle ache, a silent wish to offer you more than just his hand. The wave of your hand has him breaking from his thoughts. This time, he takes it. He fails to notice the gleam in your eyes as he does. He doesn’t realize his mistake until it’s already too late–until he’s falling into the fountain and on top of you. Quick reflexes save your book from the water, while one hand is planted at your side to avoid the full weight of his fall.

“Not so funny now, is it?” Your laughter dies in your throat and your voice embarrassingly losing its vigor as you both find yourselves unexpectedly close in the watery aftermath.

Wide amber eyes, bathed in the warm glow of honeyed hues, lock onto yours. His chest is pressed against you and his nose is so close to yours, they’re almost brushing. All you can hear is the soothing sound of running water and his soft breath. You can feel the warmth of it too and the way his chest rises and falls with every breath. 

“You cruel, wicked thing,” he murmurs, voice dripping in velvet, capturing the not so subtle shift in your gaze from his eyes to his lips.

He does the same, also well aware of how close he is to you. Gods, you’re dangerously close to him and as your eyes flutter shut, anticipation charges the air. A mere inch closer, and he could savor the allure of your lips—your pretty but devilish lips. The mere notion sets his heart aflutter. The golden string, binding you both together, seems to tug at him insistently, reeling him in.

Closer, the bond in his chest sings. Closer–

A series of distinct and deliberate chimes has both of you abruptly turning your heads towards the grand clock that oversees the gardens. Eris suppresses a sigh. He has to go but doesn’t want to leave. Reluctantly, he pulls away and rises to his feet, stepping out of the fountain. He then offers you his hand, helping you up. When your shoes slip along the fountain’s tiles, he chuckles and helps steady you by bringing you close to his chest.

“Thanks,” escapes you in a breathless whisper, the frenzy of your mind leaving no room for any other words. 

Once you’re back on steady feet, he distances himself from you, careful not to betray the protest of his heart. While you wrap your arms around your cold, trembling form, your gaze lowers to the book he safeguarded through the entire ordeal. Eris summons every ounce of strength to resist the urge to rush towards you and warm you with his kiss. He has to leave now.

“I’ll return your book to you,” Eris promises, smirking at the small sigh of relief you let out and mischievously adds:  “Once I’m done with it.”

Then, Eris leaves before you can say a single word. Before you can unravel his resolve further. You’re dangerous, he reminds himself. A cruel wicked thing that beckons a wayward soul like his to crave entry into heaven. Not just any heaven, but yours.

a/n: what type of book do we think the lovely reader was reading? lol I do have 2 more parts planned for this little au and maybe more 👀 depending on how the other 2 parts go (they're both inspired by songs and i'm literally just going with the vibes now since I'm really indecisive on how I want to go with this au. I have so many ideas.)

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

Love Bites

Love Bites, Chapter 6 // Love Bites {Masterlist}

Ship: Astarion Ancunin x fem!vampire spawn!elf!Tav/reader

Summary: Astarion remembers you, but it's already too late. He's bedded you and remembered the love and life you had together, two hundred years ago, and now he has to make a choice. Does he sacrifice himself, or does he sacrifice you?

Word Count: 9,455

Warnings: 18+, last night alive vibes, Astarion's memory gaps, being gentle with each other, Astarion anticipates being used but is not, vampire bite, mentions of Astarion's sexual abuse (non-con oral), therapeutic talking, reader is protective of Astarion, Astarion's bad at vocalizing his emotions, love confessions, anxiety, putting each other in danger

18+ Warnings: consensual sex, explicit smut, touching, easing into intimacy, oral (m & f receiving), masturbation (m), vaginal sex, consent & check-ins, loving sex, clit stimulation, multiple orgasms, creampie, cum eating, aftercare

Note: Astarion does talk at length about the sexual abuse he's been through (not a lot of it is detailed), so please take care of yourselves as usual and don't read if you're not comfortable!

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

Astarion clung to your arm the entire walk back to your house. You leaned into him, at first surprised by the lack of body heat but seeming to enjoy his grip on you nonetheless. Instinctively, you put your arm through his and rested your head against his shoulder. He hesitantly placed a soft kiss on the top of your head and you hummed happily. 

“I’ve missed you,” you whispered to him. 

Astarion hesitated, wanting to return the sentiment but unsure if he should; he had spent the past two hundred years—or most of them, at least—not remembering you. But when you looked up at him with a soft smile, the words tumbled out, an absolute necessity to say, “I missed you, too. Even if I didn’t know it, I…I did.”

You smiled at him, soft and gentle, like you knew exactly what he was referring to, like you knew he had felt a hollow absence for all these years he hadn’t realized was there until you filled it again. 

There was a glint in your eye that Astarion was pleased to recognize. He bent just enough to let you kiss his cheek. The two of you both smiled the minute your lips touched his skin. 

You gave directions as the two of you walked, telling him when to turn and which way, until you came to a stop at a door. It was illuminated by a golden lamp, spilling over its lovely emerald green paint. The color was like a burst of life against Astarion’s eyes, vibrant against the blacks and greys of his Darkvision. 

The door did not hold the same familiarity as you did. He glanced at you as you unlooped your arms and slid a key into the lock. “Is this…where we lived?”

“No,” you said, glancing back at him. “Your parents still live in that house. Our bedroom’s untouched, though. The bed still unmade, curtains still closed… It’s as it was when you left for work that morning.”

Pain split through his heart. “My parents are still alive?” You stopped, almost shocked, and turned to him with your mouth slightly open. Before you could speak, he barreled on, “They still live in the same house?”

You glanced up at the sky, likely trying to gauge how much time you had left. You pushed the door open and gently guided him inside as you answered, “Yes. They found it too painful to leave. Your… Your mother said leaving it would feel like selling all that was left of you to a stranger.” You were quiet for a moment. You began lighting the wicks of candles, revealing a kitchen. “I still go back sometimes. To sit in our room. Every so often I sit on the roof like we used to. And, uh…your parents don’t know this, but I’ve been slowly sneaking away pieces of your clothes. It’s…comforting to have them near me, even if I’m terrified that by wearing them too long I’ll lose your scent.”

Astarion felt like he’d been struck by lightning. His family was alive. His family was alive, had been these past two hundred years, and they still loved him. “My mother…” he whispered, tears gathering in his eyes.

You paused in your lighting. “Asty? Are you alright?”

His lower lip trembled. “I… I don’t know. I didn’t know they were still… Do they miss me?”

You came over to him and wrapped your arms around him. “They miss you very much, darling. There hasn’t been a day when your mother has not spoken of you, or a day that your father has not stared at your painting.” You looked up at him. “There has not been a day where any of us do not wish to change what happened that day. To prevent you from going to work. To get you home faster. To convince you to take a different route home. Anything to keep you alive and with us.”

I’m still loved. They love me.

He bit his lower lip. “I wish I could see them again.”

“Perhaps one day you will,” you said. “Perhaps we’ll find a way out.”

Astarion smiled bitterly. “Cazador will take that optimism from you.”

You studied him for a moment, clearly wanting to argue. But instead you just gave him your hand and whispered to him, “Come with me, love.”

A nervousness filled his chest. “I don’t want to do this to you… I don’t want to lose you.”

You cupped his cheeks and pressed your forehead together. Your thumbs smoothing over his cheeks comforted him in a way he never remembered feeling before—but surely you must have done this a thousand times, with the practiced way you touched him. “You aren’t losing me. And you aren’t the one hurting me, darling. It’s your master who has done this to us both.”

Astarion shuddered. “Don’t speak of him. Not here. Not when we’re about to…” He bit his lip. “Not when I can have you again.”

You nodded and kissed his forehead. He leaned into it, some of the tension in his shoulders draining away. “I won’t.” You began walking him out of the kitchen, leading him up a set of stairs. “This way, love.”

Nervous in a way he didn’t ever remember being, Astarion followed you up the stairs. He glanced around the humble dwelling you had made your home—covered in paintings and tapestries and knickknacks that made it homey and welcoming—safe. It felt lived in, contrary to many of the homes of nobility he had found himself in time and time again. It wasn’t something he would have ever designed himself, at least not as he was now, but he liked it anyway. 

The door to your bedroom was open. It was a cozy, open room that felt familiar enough for him to pause at the threshold.

You noticed. “I may have designed it to be similar to our old bedroom. It was comforting.”

Astarion’s eyes scanned the room: a large bed in the middle, covered in soft blankets and piled with pillows, a circular rug underneath it, a mirror on the wall next to your wardrobe. Your desk was covered with paints and powders and pieces of jewelry similar to what you wore now. 

“I like it,” he said quietly. “I… We lived in a place like this?”

You nodded, sitting in the chair at your desk. He watched you take off your jewelry and take your hair down. “Our bedroom had a different color scheme and it was a little bit bigger. We had a washroom connected to it and two wardrobes—yours was bigger than mine. And we had a balcony we used to sit on late at night. But we shared a desk and I wore your clothes more often than I wore mine.” You smiled at him. “You used to tease me that if you couldn’t find one of your shirts, it was either in my wardrobe or on my body.”

You stood and closed the curtains of the two windows that let moonlight stream into the room. Darkness fell for a moment and Astarion watched your dim figure move to one side of the bed. You struck a match and an oil lamp flared to life. 

“Simpler than magic,” you explained. Then the two of you stared at each other. 

Astarion didn’t know where to start. He knew how to manipulate his victims into bed with him nearly every night. He knew what to say, how to move, when to smile, when to make the approach. But with you in front of him, suddenly all his best tricks seemed useless. 

You cocked your head to the side, noticing his hesitation. “Astarion?”

“I don’t know where to start,” he whispered. 

“Then let me?” you suggested. He nodded. 

You removed your apron and draped it over the back of the chair. You reached around behind you and loosened the strings of your corset, slipping it off after a moment. It wasn’t exactly graceful, but the movement still made Astarion’s throat tighten. Somehow, your movements—unpracticed for two hundred years—were more alluring than the nobles Cazador made him bed or the unfortunate virgins tripping over themselves to have him. 

It’s because it’s you, he knew. You weren’t just alluring—you were comforting. His body was strangely present, strangely here, as you undressed for him. 

You pulled off your skirt and left yourself in a poet shirt similar to the one Astarion himself had worn until it fell apart and then sewn back together time and time again. You glanced up at him for a moment, your breath catching in your throat. Astarion nodded eagerly, taking a step closer to you. So you pulled the shirt up over your head and stood before him.

Your undergarments were made of delicate lace. Automatically, Astarion reached out to touch them—touch you—then hesitated, looking into your eyes, suddenly afraid his instinct had been wrong.

But you only stepped forward and guided his hand to the fabric covering your chest. His touch seemed to arrest you for a moment before you stuttered out, “You gave them to me. The set was an anniversary gift. Somehow I knew when I dressed this morning I wanted this piece of you close to me.”

Warmth bloomed in the pit of his stomach—arousal, actual arousal, not the response he had forced himself to have when his victims got naked. He felt himself stir in his leathers.

Astarion let his fingers trail over the edge of the lace. Your eyes fluttered closed, your breaths coming in heaves. “Well, I…had good taste.”

You touched his chest, fingers trailing over the gold embroidery of his doublet. “You still do, darling.” You let out a heavy, pleased sigh. “Oh, gods, Astarion, please. Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” he breathed desperately, leaning into you. “Yes.”

You stood on your tiptoes; he bent down. As your lips touched, his arms looped around your waist and settled there, holding you against him. Your lips were soft, gentle, welcoming. You let him take the next step instead of forcing it. It was a kindness he wasn’t sure you knew was a kindness. 

He sucked your lower lip between his. You whined softly and then tried to pull away, clearly embarrassed by your need for him, but it brought a smile to his face. He chased your lips and brought one hand to rest between your shoulder blades, guiding you back to him. He kissed you again, softly at first, then licked your lip, asking for more. You obliged him with a slight smile of your own. 

Your tongues slid together, both of you careful of his fangs. After all these years, Astarion had gotten good at hiding them, even during a kiss—but he didn’t feel the need to hide them from you, only keep your tongue away from them.

One of your hands slid into his hair. He tensed momentarily, bracing for an unrelenting tug, but you only scratched his scalp with your nails. He relaxed against you, falling deeper into the kiss. 

When you parted, it was slow, both of you reluctant to part from each other. Your chest was heaving, your breasts straining pleasantly against the delicate lace. Astarion’s eyes dropped to the sight, mesmerized for several moments. Then he looked back up at you with a smile on your face. 

“I missed you,” you breathed. “I’ve missed that.” You toyed with his collar absentmindedly. But your eyes were fixed on his, clear and resolute, some concern clouding your blown pupils. “Are you alright?”

He nodded. “More than alright. You… You’re so gentle with me.”

“Is that what you want?” 

Quickly, he nodded again, almost desperate this time. He didn’t really want to explain the sudden tears that rushed to his eyes, but judging from the heartbreak he saw in yours, you had guessed his reasoning. 

“Then gentle we will be,” you promised. “Soft. Sweet. Slow. Like our old mornings.” Your fingers found the clasps of his doublet. “May I…?”

“You may,” he said, unbearably happy that you had asked. The feeling grew stronger as you carefully undid each clasp, rather than ripping them apart so fast and so hard that he had to fix them when the night was over. He reached up to help you undress him. 

You took the time to ask him before you removed any clothes. You took the time to admire him as skin was revealed. You took the time to kiss him when he hesitantly asked for it. You took the time to wait when you saw his uncertainty, holding him and stroking his hair. 

Is this what it feels like to be loved? 

When Astarion was left standing in only his boxers, you gently led him to the bed. You hooked your fingers into his waistband and met his eyes. Before you could even ask, he whispered, “Pull them off.”

You smiled at him and did so, your touch still light. You spared his half-hard cock only a glance as you stood back up and met his gaze. Astarion could still see the want in your eyes. But instead of doing what you wanted with him, you turned and said over your shoulder, “Would you like to take mine off?”

“Yes,” he whispered, lifting his hands to undo the clasps of your bra. He slipped the straps off your shoulders after you turned back around to him. He let himself admire your breasts as they were exposed before he dropped his hands to your hips and removed your panties in one graceful move that seemed to surprise you. 

“You were always good, but you’re better at this than I remembered,” you said by way of explanation, your cheeks turning pink. “You were always so shy when you undressed me, no matter how many times you had been inside me.”

For some reason, he felt guilty. “I’m sorry I changed.”

You shook your head, cupping his cheek. “Don’t apologize. Not for that. We’ve all changed. We would have changed whether you had died or not.” Your gaze drifted back down his body appreciatively, then to his cock. 

Skin crawling with self-consciousness, familiar from times having to improvise to explain away the struggle to get hard (especially without being able to explain how little blood he actually had in his body), but stronger now that it was you looking at the weakness that took away from the one thing he was good for, Astarion explained, truthfully for the first time, “I can’t get hard right away, not without blood and…and he starves us. Once we actually start, I can do more, but—”

You put your finger to his lips and lay on the bed. “Will it hurt?”

Astarion blinked at you. “What?”

“Your bite. Will it hurt?”

For a moment, it didn’t process what you meant. Then— “You want me to feed from you?”

You nodded. “I’m more than willing to work you up myself if you’d prefer, but…I’ll admit I’m curious. Besides…you finally have someone who knows what you are and loves you anyway. Bite me. Feed the only time you can.”

Astarion stepped closer to the bed, his hunger rearing its head. “Are you sure you want me to?”

You nodded and gestured him closer to you and, after a single moment’s deliberation that ended with the sole thought of, Fuck it!, Astarion crawled over you. You smiled up at him with a fond amazement. He grinned. “You’ve seen this view before, haven’t you?”

“Often,” you said. “I dreamt of this nearly every night. It’s almost hard to believe you’re right here… I half-suspect I’ll wake up in the morning and none of this will have happened.”

Astarion bent and began peppering your neck with soft kisses. Your blood smelled sweet, pumping through your veins with strength. “Believe me, darling, this is very, very real…”

You craned your neck, exposing the column of your throat to him. Astarion pressed his nose to your pulse point and breathed in deeply. He moaned, his whole body shuddering. You put your hand back in his hair, scratching softly. “Please…” you whispered, and all of Astarion’s restraint snapped.

He drew back enough to bare his fangs and sink them into your throat. You gasped sharply. He would have asked if you were alright if your blood did not suddenly fill his mouth, sweet and tangy and heavy all at once. He swallowed and instantly felt the difference. Bugs and rats were enough to keep him functional, surviving—this was enough to let him live. 

The next few pulls of blood had you whimpering pleasantly and warmth filling his body. Strength returned to his muscles with every mouthful and his chest began to move with the illusion of breathing. He became aware of the throbbing need in his cock and began grinding on your thigh. Your responding gasp quickly became a moan and your arms tightened around him.

Somehow, Astarion knew the exact moment that you had become equals again; he had taken half your blood and any more would kill you. In fact, any more and he would be too drunk on it to stop himself from killing you. 

Drain her. Drink her dry and go back to Cazador with enough strength to escape him.

The thought terrified him. He pulled away from you quickly, your blood dripping down his chin and onto your chest. He licked the open wounds of your neck clean of blood before he sat back and stared down at you.

You were paler than you had been when he started, but your eyes fluttered open and you reached up weakly to wipe the thin trail of blood away from the corner of his mouth. You offered him your thumb and he sucked it into his mouth without thinking, licking the blood from your skin. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, brushing a hand through your hair.

You nodded. “A little woozy, but I’ll live.”

Astarion decided not to tell you how close you had come to not living. “What did it feel like?”

You paused, thinking. Eventually, you said, “Like nothing I’ve ever felt before. It was…intimate. Magical. It was ecstasy in a form I’ve never felt before. Pain that turned into pleasure. I felt…connected with you more wholly than ever before. We always said we were one when we had sex, but that…that was being one.” You met his gaze again and breathed out one word: “Wonderful.”

Astarion couldn’t help it; he kissed you needily, pressing his entire body to yours. You responded willingly, even when the kiss turned into a tight hug that allowed him to hide his face in your shoulder so you wouldn’t see his tears. 

Eventually, you tapped his shoulder. “Sit on the edge of the bed, darling.”

A tingle of anticipation raced up Astarion’s spine—clearly his body remembered what you were going to do, even if he did not. You slid to your knees and spread his legs apart far enough to get between them. He tried to hide his shock; you wanted to pleasure him? Time and time he had been forced onto his knees and made to take a cock in his mouth, but he couldn’t remember the last time someone had done it for him… In fact, you were probably the last person to have done it, years and years ago.

“Darling, you don’t have to—”

You looked up at him. “Do you want me to?”

His chest tightened. “Yes,” he whispered.

You smiled slightly. “Then let me pleasure you, Asty.”

“Okay,” he breathed, his chest heaving with phantom breaths as he watched you lean in. You kissed the base of his cock and a quiet whine escaped him. You dragged your tongue up his length and kissed his tip before you took him into your mouth. He threw his head back, groaning. His eyes fluttered as you sucked gently, licking the underside of his cock every so often. Occasionally you popped off of him to kiss up and down his length and the sensitive area around it.

“Look at me,” you breathed. He did as you asked and you went back down on him, holding eye contact with him. He whimpered and bit his lower lip, muffling the sound. You made a face. “Let me hear you, Astarion.”

His answer was a whine as you licked a stripe along the underside of him. He brought his hand to your head and held you as you licked and kissed him. It didn’t take long for him to give into the pleasure; he began to mumble in Elvish to you until the words couldn’t roll off his tongue anymore and began coming out as moans, both low- and high-pitched. Some part of Astarion was deeply embarrassed by his sounds—but he knew now if he tried to hide them, you’d stop, and, gods above, that was the last thing he wanted. But you didn’t let up again and before he could stop himself or even warn you, he was cumming down your throat. 

And you let him. You pulled off of him only when you were sure he was spent. He flopped onto his back, panting heavily. A thrill went up his spine as he watched you swallow his spend, crawling up on his body to join him on the bed.

“That was… Hells, that was good,” he groaned as you laid next to him, getting perfectly cozy against his blood-warmed body. “How did you…?”

“You taught me,” you reminded him with a laugh. “How else did you think I knew exactly what you liked?”

“You could just have really good instincts,” he said, rolling onto his side to kiss you. He cradled you in his arms, holding you as tightly against his body as he could. You melted into his hug readily.

You pulled away for a moment and just stared at him, your eyes peering into his like you could see his soul. A little nervous, Astarion just watched you, taking in the way your eyes roamed over his face and how your lips easily came up into a happy, satisfied smile.

“What?” he whispered when the love on your face was almost too much to bear.

“Nothing,” you said. Then you shook your head. “Well, it’s not nothing. I…never thought I’d see your face again. Not really, not outside of my dreams. So I’m just… I’m glad to have you back.” You reached up and trailed your fingers across his cheekbone. He leaned into your touch. 

Slowly, Astarion began to return the favor, running his fingers across your body. He watched the way you shuddered beneath his touch, paid attention to when you giggled, noticed when your eyes fluttered shut and your body relaxed. He felt like he was learning how you ticked, but there was something about every movement you made that was almost painfully familiar. He had done this to you before, likely thousands of times, and had enjoyed squeezing your hips in his hands and groping your breasts and kissing every available inch of your skin.

“How many times?” he breathed against your sternum, pausing as he kissed down your body. You hummed and he clarified: “How many times did we do this?”

Your eyes were closed, your face the picture of contentment. “You mean the sex or the touching?”

“Touching.”

“Every night,” you answered. “Every night before we went to bed, whether we were naked or not, whether we had sex or not, we would do this. We’d cuddle and kiss and caress each other until one of us fell into trance or sleep, whatever we decided to do that night.”

“Gods,” he whispered. “I… I didn’t realize it, but I missed it. I think.”

You hesitated for a moment. Then you whispered, “I thought you did this every night.”

“Almost every night,” he corrected. “And…never like this. Never soft. Never gentle. Never…loving. It’s always rough and demanding, brutal.” He glanced at you, expecting criticism, but your face was open. There wasn’t a hint of jealousy that he slept with other people, nor anger that he was complaining about getting laid nightly when you had spent the years alone. So he continued. “I wake up sore and sometimes bleeding in places I didn’t know I could bleed from.”

You curled your arms around him protectively. “Oh, Asty… Love, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” he said quickly.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t feel bad for you,” you insisted. 

Disagreement coiled in Astarion’s belly, but he didn’t voice it, instead laying his head against your chest. He sighed happily when you began to scratch your fingers through his scalp. He remained like that for a few minutes before the words began to tumble out of him, slowly at first, then gaining momentum and—to his surprise—anger.

“It’s not always…random people from taverns. Sometimes he’ll…assign me victims. I’ll be sent to them. Nobles, mostly, who he wants for his thralls. Sometimes he sends them back out into the world to do his bidding, not keeping them the way he keeps me or my siblings, or draining them into dry, mummified corpses like most of the people I bring back for him. But if I don’t bring them back in the single night he gives me— Well. I’d be scarred horribly if vampires didn’t heal quickly, and even then, I don’t heal as quickly as I should so sometimes I go out the next night still wrapped in dirty cloth for bandages, bleeding through them, expected to bring home yet another meal.” 

Astarion paused long enough for you to have a quick interjection. “You have siblings?” 

“Of a sort. There are six others. Six spawn he made to do his bidding.”

“And are you all expected to…fetch your victims the same way?”

Astarion shook his head. “No. Yousen’s a gnome, for gods’ sake, who’s going to sleep with a gnome and not a handsome creature such as myself?”

You rolled your eyes. “There are plenty of people who find gnomes attractive, even if you don’t,” you chastised. 

He sighed. “But you get my point. He made his spawn from people with…different talents, so to speak, to bring in his meals. But if we fail, we all get treated the same way. Beaten. Bitten. Used. He…he does it to me more than the others. I’m his favorite to torture.”

“You mentioned that,” you murmured, touching his ear gently. His cock twitched with pleasure and he gasped. You froze. “Do you want me to stop?”

Hesitantly, he nodded. “Just— Just for a moment…please.”

Immediately, before he had even finished speaking, you removed your hand from his ear. “Alright.”

Surprise flooded his body. No one had ever listened to him before. No one had ever taken his ‘no’ to be a no. They always kept doing what hurt him, what he hated, what made his skin crawl with disgust and hate and fear. 

But you…listened. You more than listened, you stopped.

“Thank you,” he breathed. “It’s just— I…I’m not quite ready to do anything else yet. There’s so much I want to say because I’ve never been able to before and I don’t… I don’t want to ruin the moment, but…”

“But trying to push through will ruin it anyway for you,” you said, understanding him immediately. “That’s alright. Just keep talking, my love, and I will listen to everything.”

Oh, gods above, you understood him. Astarion felt the strong urge to cry until he had no tears left, all out of relief. Instead, he kept talking.

“He hosts grand, lavish parties from time to time. On those nights, we spawn are forced to pose as his…servants. It’s almost a relief to have a break, but then…then there’s the afterparties. And I’m his entertainment at the afterparties. They’re more…orgies than parties by then and I’m at the center of it all, dressed however he wants me for the night, which is sometimes nothing. He lets the partygoers use me however they wish. He orders them to, in fact. It hurts and hurts and hurts until it suddenly doesn’t because I can’t feel anything anymore.” His tears dripped onto your skin. You cooed softly, trying to comfort him, but you said nothing to stop him, so he kept going. “It’s not just the parties, either. It’s… Well, it’s like this. I’m his favorite to torture, and I’m his favorite to…to use.” 

You made a sound of both sympathy and rage. “Asty…”

Your whisper was lost in his continued tirade. “Whenever he wants, I’m there and I’m meant to do whatever he wants me to do and let him do everything he can to me. The others all know. They know I’m Cazador’s plaything and they think I get…special treatment for it. They don’t see how much it hurts, they don’t see that I suffer every night, because I don’t suffer like they do. No, no, I get to have sex! I get one of life’s simple pleasures while he beats them! So how is it fair that I complain?” Astarion looked up at you, his eyes shining with tears. “How is it fair that I complain?”

“It’s not your fault,” you said firmly. “It’s not. Darling, none of this is on you. Your master is…a leech. Yes, he’s a leech, taking what does not belong to him, forcing misery upon you. Astarion, please listen to me, honey. I mean it. This is not your fault. He is sowing dissent amongst all of you on purpose because it is the only way he can control you. If you all were to band together—”

“We’re his thralls, he can control us anyway,” Astarion snapped. “Anything he wants us to do, we do. It’s why I haven’t been able to stop him from—” He fell silent and buried his face in your chest, an unreasonable shame burrowing in his chest. He knew it was unreasonable; he knew you were at least somewhat right. He had no control over his life, and yet… The shame was there anyway. “Poetry. That’s what he said he carved into me. That’s the scar on my back.”

Automatically, your hand drifted from his hair to his shoulder. Before touching the scar you asked, “Does it hurt?”

“Sometimes. It hurt then, when he had to correct his mistakes because I couldn’t keep still enough.”

“Can I touch it?”

He nodded slowly and braced himself. But your touch was gentle and soothing. Your fingers ghosted across the raised marks and you peeked over his shoulder at it.

“It’s written in Infernal,” you murmured. “Last I checked, that’s not exactly the language of poets.”

Astarion raised his head. “Really? I…I didn’t know. What does it say?”

You shrugged. “I can recognize it, but I can’t read it.”

Astarion sighed and fell back against your chest. 

“What do you want to do?” you whispered to him.

“Hold me,” he breathed.

So you wrapped your arms around him and held him tightly to your body, his head against your chest, his own arms coming around your waist. You held each other in silence for quite a while. Your hand began to scratch his scalp and a gentle sound that was close to a purr escaped him. After a few moments, your hand went back to his ear. When he didn’t protest, you began rubbing his ear lightly.

A soft moan escaped Astarion’s lips. He looked up at you, his hips already beginning to grind into the mattress. 

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” you reminded him. “You are more than just sex.”

“I want to,” he whispered, the statement true for the first time in nearly two centuries. “It’s… It’s you, of course I want to.”

You whimpered quietly at the words and pressed a tiny kiss to his forehead. “Only if you’re sure, honey.”

“I’m sure,” he promised. 

It didn’t take long for the heat in his body to rebuild. You caressed every sensitive spot on his body with care and intimate knowledge of who he was: his ears, the nape of his neck, his Adonis belt, his nipples. You touched him with a reverence that felt almost like worship and made his entire body tremble with need. You suckled on his nipples until he moaned loudly and ripped himself away from you to do the same to you. 

Very quickly you learned to give him control. He hovered above you, sucking hickies into your neck and chest, happily leaving little bites on your tits as he went.

“You can draw blood,” you whispered to him in the middle of a bite and he moaned delightedly, letting his fangs scratch your skin until you bled and licking up the crimson droplets. He met your gaze as he let his tongue linger on a deeper cut and found you looking down at him fondly, toying with one of his curls between your fingers. 

Astarion adjusted to slip a hand between your bodies. He cupped your exposed cunt and grinned at the sight of your head going back, exposing the column of your throat to him.

“I’ve barely touched you, darling,” he teased. 

“And I’ve waited two hundred years for this,” you reminded him. “Any touch is enough, but, hells, please put your fingers inside of me.”

“Needy,” he joked, but did as you asked, spreading your pussy to drag his fingers up your slit. He placed his slick fingers on your clit and began to rub gentle circles. You gasped, your body arching up into his. He chuckled and moved up to kiss you sweetly. His tongue against yours was a balm to the both of you; you calmed down enough to wrap your arms around his shoulders and he felt any lingering doubts slip away. 

You were his. You had always been his. You were not just another victim, you were the woman he loved, the woman he had been so devoted to that he was going to marry you. You were not using him like the others.

You seemed to read his thoughts and filled in the last possibility, murmuring against his soft lips, “I love you, Astarion.”

He moaned into your mouth. A single tear slipped past his closed eyelid and fell on your cheek. 

“I love you,” you whispered again. “You don’t have to say it back. I just want you to know.”

Astarion slipped two fingers into you, curling them deep inside you. You arched into him again, moaning obscenely. He giggled again; if just two fingers could make you this happy, what would you do when you felt his cock inside you again?

He pumped his fingers slowly until your hips bucked into his hand, wordlessly asking for more. He picked up the pace until you began panting. He watched you grow closer and closer to the edge, your body writhing, your eyebrows pinching together, your mouth falling open to let out delicious moans. He was almost tempted to just let you finish on his fingers, but… 

Gods, he wanted to taste you.

He pulled his fingers out of you. You whined his name, pitifully, already begging, already asking, “Why did you stop?”

Astarion’s answer was not verbal. Grinning, he dropped to his knees quickly and shuffled closer to the edge of the bed. He yanked you to the edge, letting your legs dangle over his shoulders, and leaned in. You held eye contact as he pressed a kiss to your clit. Then a second. Then a third. By the time he got to the fourth kiss and latched his lips around your sensitive nub, your eyes were rolling into the back of your head.

“Astarion,” you moaned, your hand twisting into his hair but not pulling.

He began to suck gently, letting the pressure drive you wild. He licked your clit slowly, lavishing attention on it with his tongue, feeling you grow very, very wet against his chin. He dropped a little lower to tongue at your entrance, the taste of your arousal pulling a moan from deep in his chest. You gasped at the vibration, your hips rutting against his face. He chuckled into you and slid his tongue inside you, lapping at your cunt. You were delicious in ways he hadn’t thought possible. He knew that his heightened senses meant that he could smell every bit of your arousal, every emotion inside of you, every liquid in your body—but he had not expected your lust to be infused with your love for him. 

It was a new feeling, a new taste. He liked it. 

Astarion reached up and coated his hand in your dripping arousal. Then he wrapped his hand around his cock and began stroking slowly, allowing himself to enjoy it, feeling the heady rush of blood to completely harden his cock. His hips rocked gently, the pace increasing when he glanced up at you and found you smiling as you panted, your breasts heaving. 

He released himself to bring his hand back up to your cunt. He sunk his fingers into your wet entrance and returned to sucking on your clit. You cried out, your hips bucking, and he grinned against your slick skin. 

“Cum for me,” he whispered against you, loud enough for you to hear his command. “Let me taste you. Cum on my face, darling.”

You clenched around his fingers, moaning the loudest you had all night. There was a fresh rush of wetness and the lewd sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of you grew louder. Astarion slipped his fingers out of you and his tongue back into your cunt to taste you as your orgasm ripped through you. He put his thumb on your clit and started rubbing.

Astarion’s eyes fluttered shut as he tasted your cum. You were sweet, absolutely divine, your ecstasy meant entirely for him. He groaned into your pussy and your legs wrapped around his head, helping to bury him in your slick entrance. He giggled, more than happy to stay there longer and keep licking your cum out of you.

He tapped your thigh when he was done and you put your shaking legs back to the floor. He got to his feet and crawled over you, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss. You moaned into his mouth, then made a sound of surprise.

“Do you taste yourself on my tongue?” he whispered, looking at you with hooded eyes.

“Yes,” you breathed.

“Good.” He kissed you again, grinding on your thigh to ease the throbbing in his cock. You groaned at the feeling, your arms tightening around his neck. You broke away from his mouth to pepper his face in tiny, loving kisses.

An overwhelming fondness filled him and he pulled away from you enough to meet your gaze. You trailed your fingertips over his cheekbone and then to his ear, rubbing gently again. He hummed happily and opened his eyes to see your face as he whispered, “I love you, too.”

You stopped, your eyes widening, your lips parting. Gods, you were beautiful. “Do you really mean—?”

“Yes,” he breathed quickly and bent down to kiss you again. You hummed into his mouth, pulling his body down onto yours. He paused in his grinding, wanting to be against you more than he wanted the friction.

“I love you,” both of you said at the same time, then burst into little giggles. You nuzzled into each other, Astarion’s cheeks hurting from the smile he couldn’t seem to drop. Then you kissed him and pulled his lower lip between your teeth. You tugged slightly.

Astarion pulled back and then glanced down your body to where his cock rested on your stomach. “Are you ready for me, darling?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

He grinned. “Spread your legs a little wider for me, sweet girl.”

You did as he asked without a second thought and he settled between your legs. He guided himself against your entrance, notching the head of his cock there. He looked up at you again and you nodded. He smiled softly, kissed you once, and then looked back down to watch himself sink into you.

Astarion moved slowly, careful not to hurt you, well aware that you hadn’t been fucked in two hundred years. You sucked in a deep breath, keeping your eyes on him as he pushed into you. Astarion let out a low groan as you squeezed around him, already a tight fit, your warmth and wetness enveloping him. When he bottomed out, you released your breath, your head falling back against the pillows. 

“Are you alright?” he whispered. 

“Yes,” you breathed. “Yes, I’m alright. Gods… You feel…right. It’s…it’s almost as if it were yesterday you made love to me for the last time.”

He bent down enough to kiss your forehead. “Is that what you want? Do you want me to make love to you?”

“Please,” you whispered. 

Astarion began to move. He started with shallow thrusts, trying to allow you time to adjust and get used to the feeling, watching the pleasure on your face as he did. He held himself up with one hand and let the other slide up and down your side comfortingly.

Eventually, you turned your head to kiss his wrist. “More,” you said quietly. When he raised his eyebrow, prompting you, your already flushed cheeks turned scarlet and you amended, “Deeper.”

“Good girl,” he said and let his next thrust bring his pelvis to yours. Both of you moaned into each other. Your breaths came faster as he began to hit that spot deep inside of you over and over again, sure to never go too hard. Then you whispered, “Harder, Asty,” and all restraint left his limbs. 

Astarion lifted your leg to get a better angle and began pounding into you relentlessly, grunting with every thrust. Your moans became punctuated and he slowed down briefly to let you get some air.

Your response was to throw both legs around his hips, tug him down to you, and breathe into his ear, “Don’t stop. Don’t stop doing what you’re doing, darling.”

Astarion moaned happily and hurried back into his fast pace. You pulled him into a bruising kiss and wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

“Can I touch your back?” you whispered and he nodded quickly. 

“Scratch at me all you want, sweetness,” he replied and your blush darkened.

You settled your hands on his upper back, your nails digging in just slightly as you held onto him. You crossed your ankles at the small of his back and let him drill into you.

Lips, teeth, and tongues clashed into each other as you made out messily, the sound of your spit-slicked kisses drowned out by the rhythmic smacking of your hips into each other. You felt a soreness begin to build, pleasant and familiar and distinctly Astarion.

For his part, Astarion was pleasantly surprised at how present he was. He found himself electing to keep his eyes open to see the ecstasy wash over your face when he wasn’t kissing you and he smiled at every moan, every “Oh gods” you let out, every cry of his name that left your lips. His whole body buzzed with pleasure and his cock throbbed inside of you. He nuzzled into your neck, kissing softly and nipping gently, not taking blood from you this time. He tongued over the bite he left earlier, licking the dried residue of your blood, but the wound had since closed. 

“I love you,” he murmured against your skin. “And I am so sorry that I have been gone.”

You kissed his cheek briefly. “I love you, too.”

Astarion groaned into your neck, then pushed himself back up, fucking into your pussy wildly. “You feel so godsdamn good,” he panted, grinning down at you. “I haven’t felt this way in…a very long time.”

You gently squeezed his hips with your legs and reached up to cup his face. “I’ve missed how perfect you feel,” you said. “How you always hit the right spots.” You moaned as he did exactly that, your entire body tensing, preparing for your orgasm.

“Are you close?” he asked.

“Very,” you breathed. 

He brushed your hair from your face. “Cum whenever you’re ready, darling. I want to feel you spasm around me.”

You whimpered. “Oh, Asty,” you moaned. You relaxed into the mattress. “Go a little harder and I’ll be there.”

He did as you asked, pounding into you fast and hard and just a little bit rough. He reached down to put his fingers on your clit and you let out a shriek, clenching tightly around him. He gasped, his cock twitching at the stimulation. You threw your head back, nearly screaming as you came around him, his name lost somewhere in your shrieks of pleasure. The fresh slickness of your cum surrounded him and he glanced down to find a ring of white on his cock, getting thicker and brighter by the second.

The grunts that fell from Astarion’s mouth were rougher, louder. He squeezed his eyes shut and then forced them open again.

“Darling—” he gasped, his entire body trembling with exertion as he tried to stave off his impending orgasm. “I’m— I’m gonna cum, oh gods, where do you— Where do you want it?”

There was a soft look on your face as you whispered, “Inside. Inside like the last time you ever fucked me.”

Astarion groaned, the reveal bringing tears to his eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the tear drop from his lashes. Your thumb came up to his face and wiped gently at his eye. He whimpered, leaning into your touch.

“Cum for me, honey,” you whispered, softly cupping his cheek.

Astarion whined and kissed your palm, burying himself to the hilt. He moaned loudly, tilting his head back, and it quickly became a series of high-pitched whimpers as ecstasy washed through his body. He trembled, holding himself up until he was spent. Then he collapsed on top of you, panting harshly.

You held him close, soothing him with quiet hushes and soft whispers of how wonderful he had done for you. You kissed the top of his head, running your hand through his curls, murmuring your love to him with a smile on your face. 

Eventually, Astarion pulled out of you. You whimpered and he whispered a soft apology. He sat back to watch his seed drip out of you. Fascinated, he gently swiped his fingers through your mixed releases. You shuddered. He held his fingers up to your mouth. You quirked an eyebrow at him at first, then opened your mouth and let him slide his fingers between your lips. Dutifully, you licked them clean.

“I guess we’ve never done that before, huh?” he joked, laying back down on you. He kissed you sweetly, enjoying the taste of you and him together on his tongue. 

You shook your head. “Nope. You only came inside me for one night.” He raised an eyebrow and you explained carefully, “I’d been tracking my cycle so I knew you could cum inside me without us getting pregnant too early. We wanted to wait until after our wedding to start trying for a baby.”

Astarion’s heart nearly broke. “We…we wanted a family.”

You nodded, smiling in a way that made Astarion feel like you knew the pain twisting in his chest at the moment. “We’d told your parents we wanted one the night before you died. They were…ecstatic. You know, I’m almost surprised they didn’t push us to move the wedding up so we could start faster.”

He laughed, more a huff than anything with how exhausted he was. “I take it they didn’t know about us taking the risk of finishing inside you?”

You grinned. “Well… We didn’t tell them, exactly, but I’m guessing they figured it out with how loud you made me scream that night.”

Astarion smirked. “Was it louder than you just were?”

“Oh, much louder,” you said, somehow teasing and serious at the same time. “I thought the entire neighborhood could hear you making me scream.”

“So I’ve always been good at sex, then?”

You shrugged. “Not…exactly. The first few times were a little…subpar in comparison to what our sex life became, the sex we just had. But because it was you, because it was so new…we still enjoyed it.”

The two of you shuffled to lay on your sides, facing each other. You snuggled against his chest and Astarion held you tightly, pressing soft, lingering kisses to every inch of your face. 

“I love you,” he murmured. “And I see why I loved you then. You are…perfect. Considerate. Gentle. You don’t…push for things I don’t want to do. You just know what I like, even after all this time… I had thought I had changed, but…”

“You did change,” you said. “But not so much that I don’t recognize the man underneath all your disguises, all your layers. You are, deep down, still my Astarion.”

He curled more tightly around you. “I like being yours.”

You kissed his nose. “I like it, too.”

The pair of you lapsed into comfortable silence. Astarion listened to your breathing and your steady heartbeat, watching your chest rise and fall against his, moving as if he was also breathing. 

You were so comfortable with him… So vulnerable. You trusted him with your exposed neck, with your bare body, with your love. Hells, how he wished he could remember what he had done to earn that trust. How he wished he could keep your trust.

Some time later, you mumbled into his skin, “It’s two hours until dawn, my love.”

Fear crept back into Astarion’s mind. “I know.”

“We should get going soon.”

He held you just a little tighter. “Not— Not quite yet, darling. Let me hold you for a few minutes more.”

You smiled knowingly against his chest and Astarion wondered how many mornings he had refused to get up, electing instead for a few more minutes in bed with you, your limbs tangled and the sheets just barely covering your lower halves. “Alright.”

Astarion pressed a grateful kiss to the top of your head. His mind began to spin with the beginnings of half-baked plans. The two of you could run, leave now and get as far away as possible. He could simply not go back, he could hide here with you until night fell again and then the two of you could leave. He could bring you back to Cazador with a plan, with a way to kill him or escape him or both in mind.

Every plan fell short. Nothing would work. Cazador had too many eyes in the city to disappear this quickly. 

We’d never escape alive. And while Astarion was certain that death—true death—would be a relief in comparison to the past two hundred years, he wasn’t willing to force that on you.

He glanced at you, still tucked into his arm, a peaceful look on your face. He tried to capture the image in his mind for a few moments, then stirred and gently slipped out from underneath you. He stood and slowly put his clothes back on.

You watched him do so, sitting up on your arms to grin at him. “Now that’s a sight that never gets old.”

Astarion frowned. “Me putting clothes back on?”

You nodded, reaching for your dress. Astarion helped you get it over your head. “It reminds me of our early mornings when you’d get ready for work and I’d watch you primp and preen until you were perfect.” You adjusted your dress, then looked up at him. “Here—let me fix your hair, I messed it up when I put my hands in it.”

Astarion watched your face, your expression twisted into concentration, your tongue poking out just slightly, as you carded your fingers through his curls and arranged them. When you were satisfied, you stepped back.

“There, good as new,” you said and he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

You wrapped your arms around him and gave him a reassuring squeeze. “Are you ready?”

Astarion clenched his jaw. “Are you? Are you sure you want to do this? I…I really shouldn’t do this, darling, I should just take the punishment—”

“No,” you said firmly. “I will never forgive myself if I know you’re out there, getting hurt, because I wouldn’t go with you.”

“Darling—”

“Take me to him,” you insisted. “Don’t get yourself hurt for me.”

Still, Astarion bit his lip so hard he tasted his blood. “But isn’t that what we should do? I’d be protecting you—”

“I would be putting you in danger, Asty,” you insisted, cupping his cheek. “Please. Please do this and we will find a way out of this, alright? Even if it’s a last-ditch, desperate attempt to run—we’ll do something. I promise you, love.”

It won’t be enough. It will never be enough. But Astarion didn’t want to dash your hopes; naive as it was, it was relieving to see hope after two hundred years without it. It almost convinced him that you would be the lucky soul to escape Cazador’s bite, his eternal punishment. 

Astarion offered you his hand. “Are you ready, darling?”

You nodded, slipping your hand into his. “Ready.”

Before you left, you extinguished the lamps like normal and locked your door behind you like it was any other outing. You slipped the key into a hidden pocket in your dress Astarion hadn’t realized was even there. He admired the stitchwork as you walked hand-in-hand down the street. Despite the anxiety wriggling away in his stomach, Astarion let himself enjoy the feeling of walking with you, touching you, enjoying the last few moments of the night air with you. 

The Szarr residence loomed ahead far too quickly, the palace towers casting a horrible shadow across the road leading up to it. Astarion glanced at you as the pair of you passed into the shadows.

“Last chance to back out, darling,” he said quietly. “I can always circle back to an alleyway and drag some poor soul out—”

“No, Asty,” you said gently. “If that was a real option, you would have already done it.”

He sighed and nodded. “Alright. But—darling?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry for what might happen in there, what he’ll do to you.”

You smiled at him. “You don’t have to be sorry, honey, it’s not your fault. Nothing he does to me is your fault.”

“I brought you here,” he insisted. “I brought you here knowing what you’ll have to go through. I could just take the beating, but… I don’t want to, so I’m letting you suffer like I should.”

For the first time, Astarion saw a glimmer of doubt in your eyes. Your steps faltered and he felt the shudder that passed through your body. You licked your dry lips.

“What’s he going to do?”

A painful first bite. Drink you dry. Bury you. Make you dig your way out of your coffin. Trap you in chains the minute you’re free of the dirt. Whip you until you bleed and then lick your wounds. Astarion’s experience flashed through his head. But the fear on your face… He couldn’t tell you any of that, could he?

“Terrible things,” Astarion said gravely. It came out far darker than he intended and he knew what a terrifying sight he was: weak light in his hair, his red eyes glowing in the shadows, his fangs flashing in the dark with every word. You shrank away from him, stopping in your tracks, and inched out of the shadows. 

“Astarion, I—”

Fear gripped his undead heart, tainted his vision, thrummed in his veins. Astarion hissed and lunged, grabbing your arm with a vice-like grip. “Come on,” he insisted, just slightly aware of the growl in his voice. You resisted for just a moment, but Astarion was stronger than you were; it only took a tug to pull you back into the shadow of the tower. 

Servants of Cazador’s opened the doors for Astarion when they recognized him. They couldn’t hide their shock that he was dragging a victim in, his facade of the perfect lover dropped, and something clicked inside him.

It’s not Cazador who scares her; it’s me.

Astarion nearly let go of you. Then he felt the eyes of his siblings boring into him, all six waiting in a clustered group, and he knew Cazador was near. There was no escape for you now.

Astarion tightened his grip on you and dragged you into the palace’s shadows. He watched your feet cross the threshold, damning you eternally. The door slammed shut.

☞ ❊ ☜

[Image Caption: I do not give permission to repost, translate, or publish my work on any other site or app by anyone except myself. I do not give permission for my work to be fed into AI (for audio, art, or writing).]

Baldur's Gate 3 // Astarion Ancunin

Taglist: {comment and let me know if you'd like to be added to the Astarion taglist!} @wayward-hel @cheeslyy @ofmyth-andmagicart @neetheslayer @whispering-depths @freesidexjunkie @lightsinmycity @the0ldmann @gobbodoggo @oooof-ifellforyou @beeblisss @fangboner @aquaarietes @fiercest-eigengrau-skies @niqhtfell @call-me-nyxx @lueji-m @ceres-xiv @tricksy-trinity @graynstairs @rosa-rubus @ynisthatyou @thegoodwitchs-blog @catching-fire-in-the-wind @kiyastrf94 @vincemachina @silverfangmarks @ravenswritingroom @hinata7346 @hellethil @caramel-hufflepuff @beemiilk @mypainischronicbutmyassisiconic @starwatch77 @julianmarie @sadexistentialism @supernaturallover15 @writinghound

[delirious-donna]

There’s No Better Love [Higuruma Hiromi]

an: entirely inspired by this absolutely amazing art of Hiromi with a soft little tum (link to twitter here). I ADORE soft bellies, and I am here to spread the agenda to normalise this in both men, women and they/them. They are beautiful and I will nuzzle those pooches just like they deserve.

pairing: Higuruma Hiromi x female reader

warnings: none really, soft fluff, domestic vibes, body positivity throughout, suggestive at best, reader loves her husband unconditionally (as she should)

Masterlist

Higuruma enjoys a nice long soak, a fact that you’ve come to appreciate even more than when you found him all those years ago submerged whilst fully suited on that dimly lit stage. That was the day that your life changed forever, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Since then, he tends to stick to more traditional bathing practices, though he has been known to drag you kicking and screaming into the shower when you are both still fully dressed. You had to admit, there was something weirdly satisfying about the experience, almost cathartic, but you continued to bristle when he chuckled and gave you that knowing look. The one where he is certain he’s won and you’re not sure whether you want to smack him or kiss him. No prizes for guessing which option usually wins out…

In lieu of fully clothed bathing, Hiromi takes to visiting a bathhouse on his way home from work once every few weeks. Usually on a Friday, and especially during those weeks where he feels like his workload will never end.

You can always tell when he’s done exactly that, acutely aware of the zen-like hum that radiates from him as soon as he steps through the door. His smile is lax—dopey and carefree. His normally dark, calculating eyes have grown warm and shiny, still just as tired but less sore. A blush decorates his cheeks and the tips of his ears, and of course, his hair is still damp because he never takes the time to dry it fully before tripping his way home to you on a cloud of relaxation.

Many things have changed since that first fateful encounter, so many that it would take an age to list them all out, but right now, your focus falls to that of his stomach. Half undressed, Hiromi stands by the sliding wardrobes with his shirt hanging open. His trousers spill messily from the laundry hamper, leaving him in his underwear and black socks. His stomach forms a soft pooch, a beautiful curve that has you capturing your lip between sharp teeth.

Decorated with black downy hair from navel to the band of his shorts, you reminisce of the days when that subtle tum was simply flat. No real meat to his abdomen to speak of, although he was still strong and was even more so today. A fact he revels in proving by hoisting you onto the nearest surface to have his wicked way with you. Back then though, taking care of himself had always fallen low on his list of priorities, and if that meant he skipped a meal or two to catch up on his emails, then so be it and his physique bore the evidence of his focus.

The evidence of his shifting priorities warmed your heart, a sentimental smile tugging at your lips and it brought you to the edge of the bed. His eyes caught yours in the reflection of the mirror, eyebrows crinkling in question whilst you simply held out a hand for him, which he took without thought.

“Something wrong?” He asked. His other hand found your cheek, palm cupping gently whilst his thumb stroked lovingly across your soft skin.

You hummed. “Far from it. Have I told you lately how much I love this little tummy?” Leaning forward, your nose nuzzled against the small pooch, the coarse hairs tickling at your cheek, until he tensed and tried to suck it in.

“Hey! Don’t do that,” you chastised, glancing up from beneath your lashes with a snort of annoyance exhaled through your nose. Hiromi rubbed at his neck, embarrassed perhaps, but you weren’t having any of that. Not when he so openly worshipped your body. It was his turn to be on the receiving end for once.

“You’ve been over feeding me,” he grumbled with his bottom lip jutting out in a mock pout.

Hiromi let out a yelp as your teeth nipped at his stomach, head snapping down to meet your fiery eyes and he had the decency to look away sheepishly. “I think you’ll find, that I have simply been feeding you. And anyways…” You murmured, drawing a little loveheart next to the pink mark from your bite. “It’s cute. Makes me feel like you’re truly comfortable with me, with us and our life.”

“An understatement, darling.” His hand moved to the back of your head, fingers tangling into your hair. “Now, why don’t you come up here and kiss me where I can return the favour, hm?”

Moving to your knees, you wound an arm around his neck and claimed his lips just as he asked. There was no urgency, no fumbling or groping hands divesting you of clothes, only that sweet connection of two people so in love that they couldn’t bear to be parted. And yet, part you must. The need for oxygen an irksome necessity when you would much rather breathe in your husband until your lungs seized up entirely.

“Mm, I can smell the oils from the bathhouse on you,” you murmured, moving your lips to his jaw, down his neck and across his clavicle, leaving wet little kisses along the way. “Did you have a nice soak?”

Hiromi sighed in contentment, letting his body relax and return to its normal stature. He felt his small but obvious belly sag, brushing against your own and he tipped his head in wonder.

“Mhm. Feels nice to lie back and let the stresses of the week slough off. Do you… do you really like it?” He asked, hands settled at your waist and tracing his thumbs in slow circles over the cushion of belly. It was ridiculous to be self-conscious about something like this, but the feeling existed nonetheless. Hiromi knew that had the situations been reversed, with you being the one asking such a silly question, he would waste not a second in proving just how much he loved every inch of you—both with verbose enthusiasm and physical reinforcement of his words.

“Hiro.”

Your fingers skimmed his shoulders, pulling free the shirt that resided on his back. You explored the structure of him; the ridges of bones, the strength of lithe muscles, skin dappled in dark hairs and marked by a small number of scars. Every freckle deserved attention and you followed the path your fingers traversed with your mouth, listening to his breathing grow irratic and stuttered.

“I love the very bones of you. The sinew and tendons. The blood pumping through your heart and moving…” you paused, glancing down deliberately. “To every organ and limb. This stomach proves to me that you’re happy, and whether it stays like this or grows bigger, I will continue to love it, and you.”

He let out a sigh when your lips trailed lower and your tongue peeked out to lick at his happy trail. Hiromi cupped your jaw, waiting until your gaze lifted to gift you a smile that reached his eyes and twinkled with the mischief you were accustomed to. With soft fingers you kneaded his hips and around to his backside to give a squeeze.

“I think you’ve made your point, you little minx,” he hissed, though he couldn’t prevent the breathless giggle that accompanied the words.

“Y’know… I don’t think I have, but let me remedy that,” you purred, reaching for the waistband of his underwear and forcing him one step closer. “We’ve got the rest of our lives, after all…”

[onismdaydream]

what about stepbrother sukuna whose the typical delinquent and you're the normal "good" student, sukuna would happily beat up anyone for you (and get a reward)

hiii anon!! i i loooove this idea, especially because i'm imaging sukuna as someone who likes to push your buttons to try and get you to snap at him. he just loves teasing you :3

i wrote a little something but idk i feel like the vibe kinda changed a bit as it went but hopefully you can still enjoy it!

tw: stepcest, afab reader, kinda mean sukuna, vague/implied smut

“c’mon, princess,” sukuna shoves his hands in his back pockets, leaning back casually as a wicked smile spreads across his face. “don't i get a reward for saving you?”

“i could've handled it.” you mumble defiantly, knowing that you would crumble in an instant if the situation escalated any further. you were never one for confrontation or disrupting the peace. always little miss goodie two shoes, always following the rules because you were too scared of the consequences. sukuna on the other hand…

“is that so?” he's on you in a flash, your heart racing as he corners you — traps you. his rough fingers catching your chin and forcing you to look up at him. “prove it, sis.”

you can feel the heat emanating from his body, a warmth that should be comforting, should make you feel safe and protected. but it doesn't.

when you don't make a move to push him away, he gets even closer. chest pressing against chest and you swear you can taste the bitterness of the cigarette that often sits between his lips on your own tongue.

“prove you can handle yourself. push me away.” sukuna’s dark eyes flicker to your mouth, a hunger swirling in his irises. “show me how much of a big girl you are.”

and it's the way his voice lowers, a dangerously low timbre that makes a shiver run down your spine, that makes you realize that you can't do a thing. you've seen him fight plenty of times, cleaned the blood off his knuckles more; you wouldn't stand a chance.sukuna’s wolfish grin only grows as you break eye contact, your gaze falling to the ground and your shoulders dropping slightly.

"that’s what i thought. now, are you gonna thank me properly,” he leans forward, his warm breath brushing against the shell of your ear, hand resting on your hip. “or am i going to have to take what's mine?”

he gets his reward in the form of your lips around him, your hair in his fist, and your face covered in his release.

[little-star-bun]

⋆｡‧˚ʚ 𝙇𝙤𝙨𝙚𝙧 𝙀𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙚 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙥𝙩｡ 𝟮 ɞ˚‧｡⋆

because you all liked the first one so much, i have more for you <;33

warnings: 18+ Lesbian fanfiction!! Men and Minors DNI!! masturbation, low-key stalking, Ellie is a bottom, mentions of drug use;;

enjoy angels ♡♡

I do not own Ellie or anything associated with TLOU.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌𓆩♡𓆪﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

✎ ;;

Loser! Ellie is a stoner. She has joint butts littering her car and her room. She smokes after school, before work, after work. Pray for her lungs please.

She wants to smoke with you. She low key fantasizes about getting you high for the first time, to watch your eyes turn red and your lips form around the blunt.

She made a playlist and fills it with songs that remind her of you. She's so stereotypically lesbian it hurts.

She has at least a dozen drawings of you in her journal. Sometimes she'll sit in her car, watching you talk with your friends while she doodles you. Sometimes using your social media as references. But it's so sweet the way she adored every feature of yours :((

Like I mentioned last time, she definitely whimpers and begs. I love top! Ellie, but let's be honest, she's a total bottom. She loves to think of you touching her, eating her wet cunt. She genuinely has so many perverted thoughts of you. She wants you to take control of her, make her do anything to give yourself pleasure. Use her face to masturbate, please.

Not just that, but she watches porn thinking about you. She can't help it, she's just so in love. Loves to rub her needy cunt to videos of girls scissoring and cumming, thinking of how she could try it with you.

One day you had asked her if she finished the homework. You were out and hadn't had time to do it. Poor girl could hardly speak, handing you the answers before you could even finish asking.

Your words had played in her head for three days straight. "You're a life saver, Ellie!"

Later that night you even texted her.

[Thanks again! Seriously, I owe you one.]

She stared at the message, heart racing. Come on Ellie, say something clever!!

[No problem, I'll take you up on that one day!]

Nice.

[You're cute. Goodnight, Ellie.]

She had stared at the conversation for hours. She couldn't believe you had been so grateful to her that you texted.

She was so flustered that of course she had gotten hot and bothered, touching herself through her boxers at the way you called her cute.

Shes a gamer, duh, preferring open world rpg shooters. She's tried every cringe game at least once. Fortnight, World of Warcraft, Valorant. She loves GTA and RDD. Her perfect night is just sitting in her room, smoking a joint, playing on her XBOX. (XBOX is superior idc)

She did get the Sims, making a sim of you and then a sim of her. She made you two have a dog (she didn't even know if you liked dogs). And she makes them woohoo. Alot.

Definitely plays with mods and cc. She has wicked whims and basemental. Loves looking at your Sims tits and making them get high together.

And the drawings I've mentioned before? Half of them, you're half or fully naked. She loves to sketch your boobs, your curves. Makes her mouth water. She has no shame, she masturbates to them when she's done.

Her major is defined the arts. She loves to paint and draw and sculpt. She may not seem like it, but she's such an artistic person. Sometimes you'll see her walking around with clay or paint on her hands. It's honestly adorable :(( Thinks of your body as a work of art fs.

Def shops at Spencer's and Hot Topic. She's so fucking emo and cringe. Reddit user vibes.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌𓆩♡𓆪﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

My requests and asks are open!! I'm so bored, please send some!!

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

© 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟹 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎-𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛-𝚋𝚞𝚗 — 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚞𝚗𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚎. 𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚢, 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚖, 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝, 𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚙𝚢 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔!

[some-beans]

Hi! I wanted to request dormleaders with a reader like Millie from helluva boss?

yes 100% yes but god i'm bad at answering these fast 🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️

✎...pairing: twst dorm leaders x millie!reader ✎...themes: hints to murder, mentions of blood, reader is fem with she/her in mind ✎...enjoy !!

𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄

ngl a little freaked out

given your horns and tail, and the vague/slightly tad bits of what your line of work is, it's safe to say riddle was very weary of you

but, i suppose that lessens up when he sees you respecting the queen of hearts' rules

lowkey loves that fact you fit in with the red aesthetic tho

also loves when you easily whip Ace and Deuce into shape

riddle feels surprisingly comfortable with you after the overblot incident due to the fact you simply held onto him and allowed him to cry, and get it out of his system

𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐀

ma'am

he laps up ALL the love and affection you give him

such a smug bastard [ affectionate ]

also kind of "he asked for pickles" but it's more that he's just lazy

definitely respects the shit out of tho

girlboss over here

is so impressed when he witnessed you take down, like, 15 of his housemates like it was riding a bike

did i mention cuddles??

cuz you are now his fav pillow

yeah nah, you're not moving until he's awake

well, i mean, you can cuz not gonna stop you, but ready to then deal with a grumpy lion later on

𝐀𝐙𝐔𝐋

flustered yet intrigued

you said you did some bodyguard work and know how to deal with problematic customers??

. . . do you need a job??

but in all seriousness, very much becomes your malewife

man legit folds at any and all affection you give him, big and small

very surprised when you help him get more contracts for him and he swoons lowkey

something to do with the fact you're from hell or something

he didn't really pay attention cuz azul's brain had crashed from the smile you sent him

𝐊𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐌

oh our sweet sunshine baby

you honestly end up taking over jamil's job at this point

jamil cried tears of joy over this

you can easily calm kalim down and divert his attention back on track

and easily dispose of any hitmen *ahem*

he definitely buys jewellery to decorate your horns

you casually mentioned your, uh, job once, and let's say kalim is grateful that he's on your good side

𝐕𝐈𝐋

you're like a slightly more violent cheerier version of rook in a sense

but also somehow less intense too??

ugh whatever

your bright red skin does intrigue him

and your makeup is quite impressive

. . .

what do you mean you have naturally smooth skin?? had no acne too??

vil may kind of reprehend you for your country accent, but quickly shuts the fuck up from the wicked glare you give him

epel snickered to himself when say that happen

𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐀

you are intense

but in a good way??

you have successfully bamboozled idia shroud

it confuses

he has heard of imps before bc duh ofc he has

he's watched too many manga and shit to not know what those are

you two very much give "he asked for pickles" and "girlboss + malewife" vibes

gets spooked when you don't bat an eye to the gore when watching horror series with him

may have prayed once or twice

𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐔𝐒

at first, he mistook you for another dragon fae cuz of ya horns and got really fuckin excited

tho lowkey sad once you explained you're actually an imp from hell

still jazzed about the horns and tail tho

loves to share stories and whatnot

. . . kinda concerned when you mentioned a job that left your leg in a bear trap

yeah

malleus may have almost asked to . . . talk to your boss

[bleedinqdove]

Hi! Can I request headcanons for how Rocky would go about his feelings for a reader that's the niece of Sedgewick?

Rocky Rickaby with a reader who’s the niece of Wick.

A/n: I got a bit carried away with this request as you see…but I hope you enjoy anon cause I had so much fun writing this!

SFW.

(Couldn’t stop myself from adding a song)

-First of all, I want to say this gives off major lady and the tramp vibes.

-Since Wick himself is rich and influential, no doubt your family is too.

-And then there’s Rocky a rum runner and a fellow who does odd jobs for the Lackadaisy Speakeasy

-You two met at the Little Daisy Cafe when you were with your Uncle Wick.

You quickly got bored as your Uncle was busy talking with some pretty lady named Mitzi. You rolled your eyes as you turned your head to look at something more interesting…and less disturbing than your Uncle’s flirting.

And you do find something that catches your eye! Looking over your seat you spot a grey tabby pouring a rather alarming amount of syrup on his pancakes. Your eyebrows raise in intrigue as a smile crosses your lips. You look over into his booth, tilting your head slightly.

“Well, ain’t that interesting…I’ve never seen anyone who liked syrup this much.” You said with a light-hearted chuckle.

The grey tabby raises his head to look up at you before he flashes a sharp smile a proud look on his face. “You’d be hardpressed to find a gentleman who likes pancakes n’ syrup more than me!”

You giggled at his response before shaking your head a smirk playing on your lips. “Do you have a name, Mister? Or would Sir-Pours-A-Lot suffice?”

“Rocky, Rocky Rickaby…and you? Miss…?” He asked raising an eyebrow.

“Sable. Y/n Sable.”

-And the two of you continued to chat after that, which didn’t escape Ivy’s attention. Right before you left, Ivy slipped a small black pin of a clover into your hands and whispered something in your ear.

-Which kickstarted a whole new life for you.

-Almost every other night you snuck out to the speakeasy…excited to see a particular pancake-loving cat.

-At first, when Rocky met you he was quite intrigued by your curious behavior, and not to mention those witty comebacks of yours.

-You two just played off each other so well…so it wasn’t surprising he found himself falling rather hard.

-He’d look forward to those nights you did come to visit the speakeasy, talking to you about his exciting rum running adventures.

-It’s almost like he was trying to impress you…and he was! The way you looked at him with such awe and intrigue every time he told you a story stroked his ego just a tiny bit…

-You, being the sheltered thing you are, found the stories very interesting, even wishing you were there.

-Yet despite all these feelings of admiration and elation, Rocky couldn’t help but feel insecure…and a little jealous.

-Your wealth and status were apparent, you were Wick’s niece after all!

-If you two were ever to be in a relationship, your parents would most definitely never approve.

-Not to mention he’s already plagued with thoughts that you’ll leave him for a better, richer man…and he couldn’t blame you…but the thought makes him feel sick with jealousy and sadness.

-But every time he was caught in his doubtful thinking you’d flash him that pretty smile of yours and he’d find himself falling head over heels all over again.

-What can I say? he’s a fool for you!

-And being so he can’t himself getting closer and closer to you.

-Neither can you.

-Despite knowing this relationship was probably doomed you couldn’t help but fall further as well, you were young, dumb, and in love after all. The recipe for a perfect beautiful disaster.

Sitting against a tree with your head resting against his shoulder you closed your eyes and sighed, feeling the cold chill of the night air. You slowly opened your eyes and looked up at Rocky, parting your lips to speak.

“You think we can actually do this?”

He’s silent for a moment before he looks down and places his hand over yours, that signature sharp-toothed smile on his face.

“Well, I made it this far, Haven’t I?”

[sillyteecup]

"Mercy" is her word

Roman Reigns x black!reader

Warnings:

18+

Strong language

Implied violence

Actual violence

Suggestive content

A.N: I was gonna make this one little drabble, but then I decided to make a 2-parter. Also, Haunted by Beyonce kinda gave me the idea to write this and the song is the vibe for the whole thing anyway. Anyway, hope you linke it. Enjoy❤️

In this world, the wicked never rest. Not physically, not mentally, and definitely not emotionally.

One would think that after all the death Roman had seen and caused, he'd be impervious to the stinger of heartbreak. Yet they pinched and poked at his heart as the spotlight hit to reveal her ready form. Her radiance never failed to burn holes into his cold and hardened exterior. Maybe that's why he kept coming back to this God forsaken club.

Perhaps to find himself at the mercy of a less forgiving goddess instead.

The music began and so did her dance. Roman watched intently as she gracefully moved about the stage. Every sway of her hips, stretch of her legs and parting of her plump lips carved remnants of their past escapades into his mind.

Nostalgia truly was a cold hearted bitch.

His neck craned when she moved into an arched position, like a majestic panther on the hunt for her prey, looking for some rich sucker to hypnotize with her being. He wished he'd been close enough to be considered as a tribute but alas, Jimmy and Jey preferred the top VIP booth for a better view and to conduct business without much interruption.

Little did they know that as long as she drew breath, his mind was not his own, but merely an extension of her.

Soon she pounced on her chosen victim, straddling him and dusting the excess lint from his probably cheap suit jacket, and kneading him into a heap of a mindless ball of dough with a just a look into his eyes. A spell he'd likely never break out of, that will drive him to come back here every Tuesday to empty his pockets into her cleavage.

A spell Roman was all too familiar with. Not that it meant anything to her anymore. A fact that haunted his thoughts and dreams.

Having finished the job on the poor loser who left a very generous tip in the front of her corset top, she moved back onto the stage that was now littered in well deserved dollar bills. She gracefully reached the closing of her performance, making brief eye contact with Roman.

What was probably 3 seconds, felt like an eternity to both of them. His longing browns connected with hers that spiraled with different emotions. Sadness, annoyance, nostalgia....you name it. But it was short lived as she refocused her attention to the end of her dance as the music was coming to an end.

Finally the lights went off and the club filled with loud boisterous cheers and hands clapping in appreciation. Without a second thought, Roman stood up from his seat with a mission on his mind. He was gonna make things right by her. At all costs.

He ignored his cousins questions and protests as he left the booth and navigated his way to her dressing room. Having been there so many times, the short journey felt like muscle memory. Finally he arrived at his destination and was met with her door left slightly ajar.

That's new. It's usually locked.

That's when he heard the yelling. Her boss Vince's familiar voice rang through the small space, followed by her yelling right back.

"Vince you don't understand! The hospital bills from Carl's chemo are drowning me...I need this!" she pleaded. The sound of her choked up voice begging Vince tore at Roman's heartstrings.

How he wished they were still on good terms. Maybe then she could've asked him for help. Then again she was always the headstrong type who preferred to work for the money instead of relying on favours.

As much as he admired that about her, he still wanted her to let him take care of her.

"No, Kiara, you don't understand! Your problems are none of my concern and therefore none of my money's concern. Now are you gonna be a good little bitch and hand over my cut-" he heard Vince snarl.

"Fuck you, you sick, greedy, old bastard-" she was interrupted by an ear ringing slap.

He peeked through the space and saw Kiara holding her cheek in disbelief as tears threatened to escape her eyes. The sight sent him into a blind rage that drove him to barge into the room right as Vince had his hand raised to land another slap, and grab his wrist, damn near breaking it.

"Roman? What the fuck!?" he hear Kiara yell, choosing to ignore her for now.

Roman grabbed the older man by his jacket and pinned him against a nearby wall. "R-Roman, what are you doing here?" Vince said chuckling nervously. "It's not what it looks like, I swear."

"Really? Because I could've sworn I saw you not only slap her, but also fix your wrinkly ass hand to do it again! Unless my eyes deceive me...Do they deceive me Vince?" Roman demanded, giving the man the opportunity to tell the truth. Something Vince was known to be allergic to.

"I-I have no idea what you're talking about," Vince lied in true Vince fashion.

Roman clicked his tongue. His jaw clenched and the veins in his neck strained as he fought to simmer his boiling temper.

Thou shalt not kill the man who currently puts food on his goddesses table. No matter how much it pains him. No matter how much more he could give to her. Her grace always comes first.

"See, I'm gonna do something I don't do often Vince. I'm gonna grant you a fucking curtesy. You're gonna let Kiara keep all the money, then you're gonna get the fuck out of here, and in return, I'm gonna let you keep your worthless life," he warned Vince in a dangerously low tone. 

Taking Roman's words with gratitude, Vince nodded vigorously, thanking Roman for his kindness. However Roman wasn't done.

"Shh, I'm not finished. If you even think about firing Kiara or finding any other fucked up ways to make her life difficult, it will be the end of yours. Do you understand me?"

Vince had turned beet red in fear, sweating harder than a summer rain. "I understand, my Tribal Chief," he agreed hastily, not forgetting to address Roman correctly. After all, his every breath was at the Tribal Chief's mercy.

Kiara's mercy.

Roman stepped back from Vince, loosening his grip on the older man's jacket before smoothening it out. "Out," he commanded gruffly, tilting his head towards the door, to which Vince obeyed by immediately dashing out of the room.

As soon as the door slammed closed, Roman turned to Kiara, who stood by her vanity fuming. He had expected her to be upset by his meddling, but he knew that this damage was controllable. Well, if he found a way to fix the damage he had done prior 3 weeks ago.

"Kiki-" he began only to be interrupted by her cutting tone.

"Don't. Don't you dare try and pull that sweet shit after the shit you just did," she said coldly. Again, to be expected.

He held his hands up in surrender as he took a cautious step towards her. He hoped she would recognize this as a sign that he meant no harm. Physical or emotional. Her guard, however, showed no signs of relenting. Her trust in him had waned into a piece of thread. So he kneeled before her; a silent appeal to her unforgiving nature, a plea for her mercy.

Oh how the tables turn

Kira's steely glare softened at the familiar gesture. Roman had left his power at the door. He had come to her, not as the untouchable and damn near godly Tribal Chief, but as a mere mortal who bleeds from his skin and his heart.

"Please." A single word that wouldn't have held even a shred of weight coming from any other man. But to Kiara, this wasn't any other man. This was Roman, the man who if she would let him, would burn the world to it's last ash just to keep her warm. The man who she held dear to her heart mind and soul for the short time she had known him. The only man she would shed her iron skin to reveal her soul to.

The only man she had come to love.

"Fine. You have 15 minutes."

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Could I please get a romantic matchup for X-Men, Spiderverse, and Marvel? I’m a 22-year-old transmasc achillean (guys and other), and I use he/him pronouns. I’m built like a Hobbit and have short brown hair and brown eyes. I wear thin, round glasses, and my clothing aesthetic tends to be very similar to a librarian’s. I love music, theatre, history, and reading.

Hello! :)

I hope you like your matchups! I had some fun with these!

<333333

Enjoy!

Romantic Matchups; X-Men, Spiderverse, and Marvel

~~~

Romantic;

~~~

X-Men;

Bobby Drake (Iceman) -

You meet Bobby during a visit to Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. You’re a guest lecturer in Bobby's class, invited to discuss historical perspectives on mutant rights with his students.

Bobby is intrigued by your intellectual vibe and how effortlessly you engage with his students.

He tries to impress you with his ice sculptures, casually creating a tiny, frosty replicas of whatever you were talking about during your talk.

After class, during lunch, you and Bobby went to the teacher's lounge.

You bond over your shared love for learning and humor, with Bobby throwing in clever jokes to break the ice (literally).

It takes you a bit of time before Bobby by his first name, and not 'Professor Drake.'

Bobby loves to tease you, calling you "Professor" even though you insist you’re not. It becomes a running joke between the two of you.

You find his playful nature refreshing and balance it with your more grounded energy.

He often pulls you out of your book-filled bubble with spontaneous snowball fights - indoors, of course.

Even though he was an adult, a professor no less, he still acted like a kid at times.

"Kid at heart," He'd say.

You introduce Bobby to the magic of theatre, and he surprises you by enthusiastically participating in karaoke nights where he dramatically belts out show tunes.

He likes to sing Wicked songs. He's Glinda.

Bobby starts realizing his feelings when he notices how much he looks forward to your conversations about history and music. You have a way of making intellectual topics exciting.

For you, it’s the way he always makes you laugh even when you’re stressed. His charm sneaks up on you in the sweetest way.

Bobby starts going out of his way to learn more about your interests, reading up on obscure historical events just so he can keep up with your endless curiosity.

Bobby takes you ice skating on your first official date, creating a private rink in the school’s courtyard.

He showers you with handmade ice flowers.

You bake him cookies and insist on making him tea while he studies his X-Men training manuals, claiming, “Even heroes need snacks.”

Bobby loves how cozy and homey your librarian-like aesthetic is. He often “borrows” your cardigans, which you find both endearing and mildly annoying.

Reading historical novels together, often debating the accuracy of the events depicted.

Attending musicals or plays, where Bobby spends intermission whispering jokes in your ear to make you giggle.

Seasonal traditions!

Summertime; go to local pools or the beach.

Springtime; getting ice cream and taking walks in the park.

Fall time; carving pumpkins and playing in the fallen leaves.

Winter time; ice skating, building snowmen, and snowball fights.

He’s always there to warm you up (ironically) when you’re cold, wrapping you in his arms or fetching you a blanket.

When you are stressed, Bobby will make sure you are alright.

He would fetch you your favorite snack or drink, turn on your favorite movie or show, and just sit with you and be there for you if you want to vent or just want company.

You encourage him to embrace his leadership qualities, reminding him how inspiring he is to the younger mutants.

You join him in his pranks on the other X-Men, adding your own witty twists to his playful schemes.

~~~

Spiderverse;

Hobie Brown -

You met Hobie when you were asked to join the Spider Society.

You weren't one of the Spidermen then went out, you stayed behind in the society, working on the tech.

Whenever Hobie would come around, that was when he'd talk to you.

You had heard from most of the other Spider people that Hobie wasn't really one to stick around or follow the rules, but you had noticed that he came around more often.

Maybe it was to speak to you.

He talked to you a lot.

Before you knew it, you were ditching 'work' with Hobie and rebelling.

It was only a matter of time.

Hobie loves dragging you to concerts in his dimension.

He also likes to show off his guitar skills, trying to impress you.

He admires your curiosity and how you manage to tie everything back to history or literature. “You’re like a walking encyclopedia, but cool,” He quips.

You introduce Hobie to the theatre, and he’s surprisingly into it - especially Shakespeare. He starts calling you his “muse” after a while.

Will write you songs on his electric guitar.

Hobie realizes his feelings when he notices how much calmer he feels around you.

Your grounded energy complements his chaotic, rebellious nature.

For you, it’s the way Hobie never tries to change who you are, fully embracing your bookish, intellectual side while still encouraging you to step out of your comfort zone.

Hobie’s idea of a date involves rooftop picnics overlooking the city, complete with a boombox blasting punk covers of your favorite songs.

He also has a more chill side, where the two of you just stay in and watch movies, snacking on popcorn and candy.

You introduce Hobie to your favorite libraries, and he surprises you by finding punk-themed books to share with you.

Hobie insists on making you a custom jacket with patches representing all your favorite things, from historical symbols to obscure theatre references.

Sneaking into old, abandoned buildings to admire their architecture and speculate on their history.

And of course, take epic pictures and selfies in them.

Late-night jam sessions where you read poetry while Hobie improvises music on his guitar.

Watching documentaries together, which usually turns into Hobie ranting about corrupt systems while you eagerly debate solutions.

He’s fiercely protective of you, always stepping in when anyone tries to belittle your intellectual pursuits.

Hobie would craft handmade accessories, like necklaces or bracelets, using bits of his guitar strings or other recycled materials as a token of his affection.

You’d attend all his gigs, cheering louder than anyone else.

You’d surprise him with handwritten notes or sketches of punk-inspired designs for his outfits or guitar.

~~~

Marvel;

Bucky Barnes -

You meet Bucky at a vintage bookstore, where he’s drawn to the WWII history section.

You strike up a conversation, casually mentioning a historical inaccuracy in a book he’s holding.

Having already read it, you know that they got some dates wrong, and a few other important things...

Bucky is initially reserved, but your enthusiasm for history and warm demeanor disarm him. He starts coming back to the bookstore just to see you.

Bucky appreciates how patient and understanding you are with him.

You never push him to open up, but you’re always there to listen when he’s ready.

He enjoys your librarian aesthetic, often jokingly asking for book recommendations even when he already knows what he wants.

You'd be happy to give him recommendations though.

He already likes the theater, so that's great! He likes the more dramatic and thought-provoking plays and musicals.

Such as the Phantom Of The Opera, Les Miserable, and The Sound Of Music.

Bucky starts realizing his feelings when he finds himself smiling more around you.

Your kindness and enthusiasm are contagious, and he feels lighter in your presence.

For you, it’s the way Bucky’s quiet strength and vulnerability resonate with your love for history - he feels like a living relic of the past, and you’re fascinated by his stories.

He is more than happy to tell you anything.

Bucky’s idea of romance is subtle but deeply thoughtful.

He surprises you with handwritten notes tucked into your books or tickets to plays he knows you’ll love.

He adores watching you talk passionately about history or theatre, often catching himself staring and smiling.

He's a bit shy at first, but he likes to sing, especially with you.

You bake him treats (even if they’re not perfect), and he always eats them with a grin, saying, “You’re getting better every time.”

Dances with you, in the living room, without any music.

Bucky finds comfort in your presence, often resting his head on your shoulder while you read aloud to him.

Taking long walks through historical sites or museums, where Bucky shares his firsthand knowledge of the past.

Watching classic films together, like Casablanca, and Alfred Hitchcock films.

Cozy evenings spent reading, where he insists on you using his arm as a pillow.

Bucky would restore old books or antiques for you, carefully repairing them as a gesture of love.

He’s always there to lend a hand, whether it’s fixing something around your place or helping you carry a stack of heavy books.

When he sees you stressed, he takes you on quiet walks or surprises you with small, meaningful gifts like the first edition of a book you��ve been hunting for.

You’d be his biggest supporter, constantly reminding him of his worth and how far he’s come.

[criticowl]

Lunter Fic Idea

The idea is that Hunter reads an Empire-approved book about Wild Witches that claims that they intend to rebuild their clans and culture using the "Superior, magic rich genes of proper Coven Witches!" and then lists out all the ways they go about formally claiming and courting a mate like they're some wild animal. Hunter thinks it's nonsense of course, but then Luz starts fulfilling some of those conditions and performing some of those actions (Without realizing) and he ends up thinking that she has fully embraced Wild Witch culture and is after his powerful Coven Witch babies. Luz, meanwhile, is just vibing and bonding with her newest friend! She also enjoys just how blushy and easily flustered the cute Witch boy is! Luz: *Grabs Hunter's hand* C'mon, I wanna show you this new glyph combo I just found! Hunter: Sure Hunter in His Head: UNHOLY TEMPTRESS! VILE SEDUCTRESS! WICKED BEWITCHER! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA- Of course, it wouldn't always be silly moments, gotta throw some real sweetness in there too. I thought of juxtaposing them with dreams at the start and end of each chapter, the starting one being goofier and playing more into the "Empire Boy Thinks He's Going to get Unga Bunga'd", where as the close-out one would be more intimate and soft-hearted, all hooded eyes and candlelight. Highlight his turmoil over these feelings of attraction and a different kind of Want, wholly new things to him that Luz induces, how he both wants to luxuriate in and fears these emotions. As an example of one of those closing dreams; Hunter wanders in the dark forest, unsure where he is or why, when he suddenly clears the wood. There, up a hill illuminated by blue moonlight, standing before a simple stone altar, she stands. Luz, clothed in a black, sheer cloth that flowed in the gentle breeze, her back to him as she stares up. He's as confused as he is drawn to her. When he's naught but a few steps away, she finally speaks. "The oldest Witches joined under the full moon, whenever it shone." She said quietly, as she reverently traced the runic designs in the altar, "So that their children would be born healthy and strong, so that their magic would be as a deep well, plentiful and pure." She turns to him, and while her smile is as bright as ever, it's different, more demure and coy, the moonlight outlining her toned, lithe body behind the thin cloth, stealing his breath away. However, the shine it gives those ever wide, chocolate brown eyes, hooded now and warm, always so warm for him, is what steals his heart. "Well come on, silly," she says with a quiet chuckle, reaching a hand out to him, "Don't keep me waiting!" And then he wakes up, and all at once his heart feels so full it might burst, and like he's in freefall, terrified of how much he enjoys these feelings, of what's at the bottom of this fall he's taken

[starlightsearches]

Hi your highness, you majesty! Okay so for mixtape milestone i'm going with track 5 because I need drama and I need something in this trope because i'm a sucker for it. So I want; Hux with lovers to enemies trope. Okay before going away I just want to say what I have in my mind for this request; think like reader is a Jedi and fighting with Armitage. And while they were lovers he said something like "If I ever hurt you don't hold back and hurt me more" and than reader does what he said. And i'm sorry if it's doesn't make sense, I always had trouble with writing my ideas. Whatever. I talked too much. Have a good day/afternoon/night!

Hurt Me More

Track 5: Landslide by Fleetwood Mac - Give me a character and an angst prompt (or give me free rein) and I'll write a short blurb or headcanons about it.

Dark! Emperor! (?) Hux x GN! Reader

Thank you for the emotionally devastating request, my friend! I hope you enjoy 😚

📼✨ mixtape milestone ✨📼

Warnings: it's all angst, and like, A LOT OF IT, totally estranged from canon, canon and not-canon typical violence, murder-suicide vibes but it's a little open-ended. Let me know what you think!!

You see him standing in the wreckage of your base, surrounded by black smoke and the raining embers, landing in his hair like stars in a celestial crown, and you just know.

You've been a fool.

A fool for never suspecting it would come to this. A fool for thinking that your love for him could change anything—could make a a knight in shining armor out of death himself.

"Don't come any closer."

Your words come out hollow, and Armitage wouldn't listen, even if you meant it.

He stalks toward you, a force of nature, the hem of his white cape pristine even as it brushes across the backs of your dead compatriots. You still think he's beautiful, even with blood staining his hands. Even though some of it is yours.

"I warned you," Armitage says in a voice that's low and dangerous, "you knew there would be consequences. But you still ran."

He smells different than you remember—a thick, rich scent that makes your stomach turn. No cigarettes or day old caff on his breath. You'd learned to love that taste, loved the way the dark shadows under his eyes felt under his finger tips. Loved the way his hands used to shake against your skin, like it was an honor to touch you.

He's not shaking now, as his grip bites at the back of your neck. Maybe blaster fire would be too generous an end for you. Maybe he wants the pleasure of squeezing the life out of you, the print of his hands on your corpse, forever.

You let your eyes fall closed, and there's a memory shifting on the periphery. Warm sheets and his cool hands, fingers tickling your spine as you drifted in and out of sleep. Hush promises and whispered confessions, and something else.

"Promise me. If I ever hurt you, don't hold back. Hurt me more."

Your fingers find the hidden blaster because you still know all the parts of him he'd hoped to destroy. The weapon slips smoothly between your bodies, your arm trapped against his chest and the wicked beating of his heart. You curl your other hand around the back of his neck, holding him like he holds you. The barrel of the blaster waivers, unsure which of you it wants to most look at.

There's a smirk on Armitage's pink lips. You can't kill him like this. There's no physical wound you could leave on him that he couldn't shoulder.

So you steel yourself. Make your mouth form the words.

"I never loved you, Armitage."

The blow hits just like you knew it would. Armitage exhales sharply, tightens his grip on your neck like a vise.

"Never?" he asks. There's a hint of the man you used to know, hidden in the storm green of his eyes.

You shake your head. The blaster nods in your direction, like it's confirming his worst fears.

"Never. Why do you think it was so easy for me to leave?"

It had killed you to leave him, but Armitage will never know that. You push forward, tasting his lips one last time as you squeeze down on the trigger.

[fruit-salad-ship]

Monster Rome AU

I woke up to an overwhelming amount of ideas from y'all, and i love it.

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

I think i really like the minotaur grey idea, i keep mulling over other options for him and it just doesnt suit as well, gives me Ferdinand vibes, a mean looking huge monster of a creature, who just wants to sit under a tree and feel the breeze and get pets and love. Also then we can branch into the whole 'someone goes to slay him' story, Grey tries not to fight, cant help it to survive and ends up becoming feared when hes actually very docile, rince and repeat story line.

This is where plum comes in, I 1000% cant see her as anything other than a full blown godess, her energy, her demeanour, everything about her point to a deity. She is kind and calm and finds humans fun little things to intervene with, perhaps a little mischevious, somewhat of a trickster but never with harmful things, more just little pranks. She sees Grey is lonely and sad, and feels for the creature, perhaps she made him, perhaps she knows who did, and they didnt accoutn for his gentle heart. But she does. She sees he's stuck in a loop of vioence and needs to be freed, but she cant do it, she's got to send a champion to meddle.

Enter demigod peach, a very tired, very well trained fighter, who simply wishes for the same thing, peace and quiet. I'd like to think years of fighting and a slow aging process make her wise but worn out, totally burnt to the very end of her wick from fighting endless battles, perhaps even other gods messed with her to make her a champion to battle things she never wanted to fight. Almost a puppet in some game, she doesnt have any control of her choices, and its made her very jittery and uncertain in social settings, kind of a massive nervous introvert, despite her skill level.

She's been crushing on plum for ages, but thats a literal god, and Peach is just some little fragment of one, not even someone who'd catch her attentions. She gives up that attempt to win a shred of plum's attention without even starting, its destined to fail, shes a tired, worn out scarred and nervous person with nothing to offer, she knows that Plum's out of hr league, so much so she's not even playing the same sport. But when the goddess she looks so fondly towards asks her for a favour, to go and free the minotaur trapped away, she does it for once with a bit more enthusiasm, Plum asked kindly, she wasnt pushy or bossy like the others, and that gentle touch was enough to make Peach (dare she say it) eager to help. At first theres a mix up, peach thinks "freed" meant kill, thats what shes known for, its why they ask her to perform such dangerous tasks so often, but she see's Grey sat somewhere quiet making something, he's intelligent, and kind, and curious, so she doesnt take out her sword. Grey's instinct after many years of being targeted is to lash out, but Peach doesnt retaliate, and he slowly realises this one is different. They become fast friends, he shows her all the things hes made in his isolation, he's actualy rather inventive, with a fine eye for craft.

The pair start to fight together, he swears his sword to her, and she's...a little taken back by this but fine, if he's sworn to help her he can leave his current location and prison, he's technically freed if her orders are to live and enjoy more. Besides, she too has travelled and worked alone for many years, maybe some company would be nice, especially company that likes the same stuff as she does. She finds he likes a good scratch on the neck, and doesn tmind her putting little briads in his hair. They have a petience for anything nature based, sitting and watching birds, or making cool carvings from wood, finding interesting rocks or spotting a deer out in the forests. It's like they were cut from the same cloth. Peach never got on with humans, and the gods were out of reach or if they did pay attention to her it was never for good reasons, always taking from her, and she only ever recieved trauma in return or a new scar, or a new level of fear and exhaustion. Other demigods like her often came off arrogant or entitled, they had more favour with the gods more often than not so they felt better than her. She never found her people, but maybe her person was a monster? A very kind one.

We also get to have some low key fun with a little monster fucking going on there. because why not, for the spicy side of this all. both of them are total outcasts, covered in battle damage, who find common ground in the soft touches and gentle moments. Things neither have much experince with.

plum becomes very fond of this little demigod whos done as shes asked and then some, how Peach had gone unseen for so long is a question she'll ask the other gods sometime, she cant even find out which god is her relative, its been redacted, no one will speak of her, as if Peach is taboo, and everything she came from is too. Perhaps she's some secret disgrace, or maybe an heir to something far bigger than she ever could have imagined. For a demigod she shows incredible strength and resilience, things that have killed others like her almost slide off her back. Whatever she is, wherever she came from, shes less human than others would like to say, and her lowley status despite this means theres certainly a secret to be found there, someones not telling the truth here. Plum would 100% dig for more on this strange little demigod, and start asking questions about her that get her called up by far more important gods who tell her to stop sniffing around, that Peach is a child of a disgraced match, nothing more, they do not speak of her. Plum doesnt believe it, shes too strong, holds no power amongst her own despite that, she should be high ranking, well renown, in a better position, and yet. Bottom of the pile, essentially thrown away. Plums got to know the truth.

Perhaps its a child of prophecy situation, but Peach is clueless, she just gets orders, and her and Grey go off to do the jobs. Plum gives them as much protection as she can, and at every point possible, spends time with them, theyre sweet and compelling, and she can sense Peach is totally nervous around her, its very sweet for someone so big and tough. Grey loves this god, he finds out she was the one that got him out, and becomes a big soft puppy of a monster with her, brings her little trinkets, makes her stuff, shares his stories which plum loves, all the while peach is quiet, more so than normal, polite and kind but very stoic, her personlaity reverts to how she behaves with all the other gods, theyre above her, she retreats in on herself, doesnt make eye contact, doesnt argue, doesnt express opinions, just shuts up and behaves. Plums nice but shes still a god, and peach has been subject to their wrath a few times too many to push her luck here. Shes simply happy that nothings gone wrong, and that Plums not quick to anger, her old crush on this woman gets shoved down and she just plays the part handed to her. Just some lowley half human who has no place to even look her way, that she gets to sit with someone so special is in itself a gift.

Grey doesnt seem to have the same fear peach does, nor the reserved behaviour, in fact he picks up when plum is around, gets excited and jolly, this is a kind lady and he likes her attention, wishes his dear friend would feel the same. Notices Peach just shuts down a lot, never brings it up, just tries to include her when this happens, not that it usually works.

Plum would get frustrtaed at her champions quiet behaviour, she's seen her without that mask on, when shes less tightly wound, and its so much nicer. she'd out right ask why she does that, peach dancing around the truth that she gets nervious around someone so pretty. Greys defo worked it out, hes not the best at social, but hes got a good eye for Peach now, teases her for it a lot.

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

this setup defo feels like it can retain that tired sad beaten down peach energy original Rome AU had, which i LOVED, shes always so emotionally durable, so like, i like to make her weaker, and more unnrved and unsettled, she'd not understand recieving affections, or kind gestures, or anythign other than orders.

i may toy with this a bit more if i get five!

Thank you everyone for the great ideas and notes and messages, its helped me feel like i can dip my toe back into this kind of an AU without being pooped on for it.

[currentlyherlunch]

I’M JUST CURIOUS

Ellie x you

You were just finishing up changing after a long day, adjusting your shirt when you heard a light knock on the door. Ellie didn’t even wait for a response; she came in with that slightly mischievous smile.

“Aren't you gonna invite me to watch the show?” She raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence, but there was a clear spark of teasing in her eyes.

“You really have no shame, huh?” you shot back, trying to hide how much that look made you fall apart inside.

She shrugged, stepping closer. “Hey, I’m not the one who left the door open… Maybe you were hoping I’d show up.”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “You’re such a freeloader, you know that?”

Ellie gasped in mock offense, putting a hand on her chest. “Freeloader? Me? I’m just… curious.” Her gaze trailed down slowly, purposefully. “Very curious, actually.”

The air thickened, and she seemed to enjoy your reaction. Keeping her teasing tone, she gave you a wink before leaving, leaving you with flushed cheeks, a head full of thoughts, and maybe a goofy smile on your face.

After that little incident, it was clear Ellie got a kick out of the effect she had on you. And it didn’t take long before she started using it whenever she could.

That night, you two were on the couch, sharing a blanket while watching a movie. The vibe was light, but you knew she wouldn’t hold back her teasing for long. Sure enough, at some point, Ellie leaned over and whispered, her voice low and playful:

“You know, you got really red earlier. I thought it was cute.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up your face again. “I thought we were over that already.”

She chuckled softly and shrugged. “Maybe, but it’s fun watching you try to run from it.” Her fingers brushed yours, a light, intentional touch that held a lot more meaning.

“Oh, so now you think you’re funny?” you shot back, trying to play it cool.

“You don’t have to admit it now.” Ellie grinned, leaning in even closer. “But I bet you wouldn’t push me away if I tried again.”

Your heart was racing, and you knew you were a goner. Before you could even think of a response, Ellie was so close you could feel her warm breath on your skin.

“Ellie…” you murmured, feeling any remaining resistance melt away. She just smiled, watching you with that intense look, waiting for you to make a move.

In that moment, all you wanted was to give in.

For a split second, everything seemed to slow down. Ellie was so close you could catch her subtle scent, mixed with that earthy, grassy smell that was so her. Your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it echoed through the room.

Before you could hesitate, Ellie lifted her hand, running her fingers along your face, tracing a soft line from your cheek down to your chin. Her touch was gentle, but her eyes held an undeniable intensity.

“If I’m crossing a line… just push me away,” she whispered, with that wicked smile that somehow only made her even more irresistible.

“I don’t think I’ll be pushing you away right now,” you answered, not breaking eye contact.

Ellie leaned in, even closer, and you felt her breath brush your lips. There was a tension in the air, an energy that had been building between you two for so long, finally ready to explode.

She paused, her gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips, as if silently asking for permission. You answered the only way you knew how: by closing the distance and pressing your lips to hers in a soft, tentative kiss that quickly deepened.

With each passing second, the kiss grew more intense, and the teasing that had brought you both here felt like it had just been leading to this. Ellie grinned against your lips before whispering:

“Knew you couldn’t resist.” She laughed, that mischievous laugh that always made you unravel.

You rolled your eyes, still out of breath, and pulled her closer. “Shut the hell up, Ellie.”

And, for the first time, she actually did.

[mamasplat]

let it be known when anyone posts about zinnia and courtney in shared context i’m out there.

i’m out there and i’m kicking my feet, i’m giggling, i’m hiding my face in my hands, i’m a bomb about to explode like a firework in the night sky-

[fine print:]

[this is based on my own unhinged opinion and day dreaming activities, i have color coded specific words to assist in visualization. zinnia is red, courtney is purple. these are of course open to interpretation and i am of course open to further discussion.]

therefore, brainrot playlist below ↓↓↓

———•———

•What Is This Feeling?:

seems self explanatory for the grunt zinnia era, but can also work in pasio forced proximity.

“What is this feeling, So sudden and new?. I felt the moment, I laid eyes on you. My pulse is rushing. My head is reeling. My face is flushing. What is this feeling? Fervid as a flame, Does it have a name? Yes! Loathing, Unadulterated loathing”

• Mary:

frankly not my usual taste, but the potential in the lyrics is ripe. specifically the amount of ways you can utilize it, you could make it fit most plots if you try hard enough and i throughly enjoy tragic lesbians.

“Mary is the girl that I wanna kiss. She's got big red eyes and big red lips, She's got big sharp teeth and big fat hips. Mary is the girl that I wanna fuck. She's got leather heart and leather gloves, She's the only girl that I wanna love.”

and it only gets even more angsty if that’s what your wanting, for instance- the delta episode

“Mary is the girl that leaves you to rot. She says, "I am real and you are not" She says, "I am real and you are not"”

• Again:

heavy delta episode break down. and flyleaf in general gives me big courtney vibes (the whole reason they got into my top artists so fast)

“I love the way that your heart breaks, With every injustice and deadly fate.”

“I love that you're never satisfied, With face value wisdom and happy lies.”

“You take what they say and go back and cry. You're so close to me that you nearly died.”

• This Is (Not):

also delta episode. if Again is courtney’s pov, This Is (Not) is zinnia’s.

“We're specks of dust, Hurling nowhere through unending void. We're blinks of time, Clinging haphazardly to life.”

“And we'll do it again 'til it's done. But we know it's never enough. You can only get what you give. As the sky crashes down, Hold me firm 'til it's my turn again.”

• Ecstasy (Apple of My Eye):

with so much inherent angst with unworldlyshipping (not complaining i enjoy sobbing over them.) it’s only fair i switch the pace. we all know courtney can be a bit…intense. some would say obsessive. but i hear ecstasy and my first thought is courtney being all mushy over that wild lorekeeper.

“In my darkest dreams I see, You're much close now to me. I have got you in my hair, I can feel you round me everywhere”

“In a kiss lies so much more than touch. And my life has found a new temptation, And ecstasy has meaning once again. I find suddenly I'm closer to you. And I find all my wildest dreams, Have come true, While I spin round. My heart is beating for two. And I am wishing, It will always be you and I.”

• Set Fire to the Rain:

hear me out when i say 2010s adele fits unworldly shipping- because i’m right. zinnia’s team magma betrayal in a courtney pov.

“I let it fall, my heart. And as it fell, you rose to claim it”

“My hands, they're strong, But my knees were far too weak. To stand in your arms, Without falling to your feet.”

“But there's a side to you, That I never knew, never knew. All the things you'd say, They were never true, never true. And the games you play, You would always win, always win”

———

!honorable mentions!:

———

that’s all i got (for now…) you may now forget this post byeee

———•———